#the last problem set that they said was supposed to be easy and take only a few hours took me like 20 hours

[holdinggrudges]

what's my flavor?

pairing: sam winchester x reader

content: EXPLICIT 18+, oral (fem!receiving), vampire!sam, blood drinking, bloodplay (surprisingly little though tbh), fem!reader (afab anatomy + the word girl used in reference like three times or so), feeding being explicitly referred to as similar to drugs/getting high, mentions of serious illness (made up for plot reasons but still)

word count: 10.5K

summary: Working your way through college, you find a secretary job with great pay and more than enough downtime on the clock to get your coursework done. The only downside is that it leaves you with no choice but to attend night classes. But it's not so bad, especially with Mysterious Hot Guy attending them as well. Oh, and there's been blood bags going missing, but you're pretty sure that's not going to be relevant to your life any time soon.

notes: this was supposed to be pwp. it was also supposed to be posted on halloween. clearly, neither of those things happened. but fuck it, we ball.

crossposted on ao3

You don’t understand how anyone could get through college without a job. You hear about people surviving off scholarships all the time, and you try your first year, you really do. But, God, something has to change. You can’t imagine working your way through school could be any more stressful than the budgeting, and the skipping meals, and the cards declining at the grocery store. 

So you get a job. A good one, too; a secretary job at an office ten minutes away from your apartment, and only twenty minutes away from campus. The job is easy, with plenty of downtime for you to work on your coursework, and the pay is good. Better than good, even. The only problem is the hours; 9-5 is great, generally, but not very convenient when setting up a college schedule. You’re relegated almost exclusively to night classes. Which is fine. Not ideal, but fine. 

You take four classes, two a night, and it leaves your Fridays wide open after work. It would truly be a perfect schedule if it didn’t mean you were on campus until 11 o’clock most nights. But the classes are relatively empty and none of your professors are total hardasses, so it’s not so bad. Actually, you start to really enjoy it. 

You make a little game out of studying the other students, trying to figure them out. The woman who sits in front of you in your statistics class is a stay-at-home mom, you think. The older man a few rows down in english is retired military. It’s interesting, and it gives you a reason to actually make it to class everyday. Well, that and Mysterious Hot Guy. 

Mysterious Hot Guy (or MHG, for short) is in two of your classes: your 6 o’clock political science class on Mondays and Wednesdays sitting a row down from you, and sitting beside you in your 8:30 biology class on Tuesdays and Thursdays. He first caught your eye because, frankly, he looks more like he should be on a movie set than night classes at a dinky community college. He’s drop dead gorgeous, and that’s putting it lightly. Even so, that’s not what has you so intrigued. Something about him is off somehow, strange in such a way that it has you completely captivated. Alluring in a way you can’t quite put your finger on, even outside his appearance. 

MHG hardly ever speaks. You’re pretty sure he’s only said one word to you the entire four weeks of the semester so far, and he sits literally a foot away from you every other day. He’s also, apparently, a genius. He never takes notes, never writes a single thing down, he never asks questions and never answers them either, for that matter. Still, you happened to catch a glimpse of his grade on the test your biology professor handed back last week, and he got a perfect score. 

He also doesn’t have a car. Or, rather, he doesn’t have a car of his own. Every Tuesday and Thursday as you’re walking back to your own car at almost 11 PM, he’s climbing into the passenger seat of an absolutely gorgeous vintage Chevrolet Impala that makes you simultaneously green with envy and desperate for him to push you up against the side of it. Or push you down against the backseat. Or the front seat, which you find out is a bench seat after some minor googling. Car like that, you’re not exactly gonna be picky about where. 

Still, even after all your observing, you don’t learn a single useful piece of information about MHG until six weeks into the semester—two weeks out from midterms—when your biology professor announces that you will be choosing your partners for the midterm project. You barely even let the words leave his mouth before you’re turning to your right, pouncing with what you hope is a normal amount of enthusiasm, although you’re so damn intrigued by this guy that all you can do is pray you don’t come across as a total stalker. “Hey. Would you wanna partner up?” 

MHG turns to you, his eyes wide in a way that leaves you a lot less hopeful about how normal your greeting was. “Uh. Me?” he asks, and his voice is…warm in a way you weren’t expecting. He could do audiobooks, or a podcast, or something—he has a nice voice is what you’re getting at.

You laugh. You’re almost a little starstruck—it makes sense; you’ve definitely turned this guy into your own personal celebrity. “Who else?” you respond, holding out your hand for him to shake. “I’m ____.” 

He eyes you for a moment before he clasps your hand and gives it a shake. Jesus, this guy must have anemia or something because his hand is fucking freezing. “Sam. Uh, Winchester. Sam Winchester.” His touch lingers for a moment before he tugs his hand back. “And…yeah. Yeah, we can…partner up.” 

Sam Winchester. Finally, a name to put to the face. No more thinking of him as Mysterious Hot Guy for you; you and MHG are on a first name basis now. “Awesome,” you say softly, and you really, desperately hope your smile looks less manic than it feels. “So. Sam. Would you mind giving me your number or something so we can set up a time and place to meet up?” 

He hesitates, but he does scribble a number down on the corner of his empty notebook page. “I, uh. I can’t do…daytime,” he tells you as he slides it over. 

Okay. Weird way to phrase that, but you assume he’s like you, he works during the day or something. So you shrug and take the proffered paper. “Me neither. I have work.” You pinch it between your fingers with a grin. “We’ll make it work.” 

He smiles at you, a shy sort of thing that makes your chest ache to draw out more. “Yeah. Okay.” 

You plug the number in your phone almost as soon as you get home, but it takes you almost an hour to actually text him. You go through probably a hundred different drafts before you finally land on: ‘hey!! it’s ____. does friday work for you? my only day without classes lol’ 

Once you press send, you figure you’ll probably have at least five minutes to freak out and overthink. Sam doesn’t really seem the type to be glued to his phone. Which is why, you suppose, that you nearly have a heart attack when your phone buzzes with a response no more than 30 seconds later. ‘Friday works. 7 at the library?’ 

‘see you then :)’ You debate over the smiley face for a solid minute and a half before finally sending it and then violently throwing your phone across the couch and screaming into your throw pillow. 

When you do finally work up the courage to pick your phone up again, he’s sent two texts back. ‘See you then.’ And then another one, a small bubble containing two characters: ‘:)’ Embarrassingly, you giggle alone in your living room. Oh, this guy is going to be the death of you. 

You spend the rest of the night googling Sam Winchester and coming up with absolutely nothing. He seems to have absolutely no social media presence at all, not even an old MySpace or a private Facebook account. The only reference you can find to his name at all has it listed as one of two sons of some random serial killer from, like, the 1800s, which is obviously useless. 

You give up your fruitless search with a sigh, closing your laptop and shoving it aside. Your tv is playing on some local news station—doesn’t matter which one, they’ve all been reporting the same story for weeks. You click it off, 100% disinterested in hearing about the blood bags going missing from local clinics for the millionth time this month. 

You go to bed and dream of brown hair and eyes that you just can’t quite place the color of, but you can swear you see them flash red.

Friday finds you at the library almost a full hour early. You’d agonized over your outfit all day yesterday, and for another half an hour after work to boot. In the end, you’d decided to go casual. After all, it is just a study date—and actually, not a date at all! A study meet-up. A study hangout, at best. The fact that you did your make-up and your hair for it is entirely irrelevant. 

It’s 6:45 when a cough draws your attention up from your phone. Sam is standing in front of you with another one of those shy smiles, and two coffee cups in his hands. Coffee cups from your favorite cafe. He shoves one in your direction. “Uh. I’ve noticed that you have drinks from here pretty often. And- I hope you don’t mind, but I…I read one of the cups? So. This is for you.” 

Your eyes flick over him, your heartbeat practically pounding out of your chest. So he’s been watching you too. Or—Jesus, not watching, that makes it sound creepy. Observing is a better word for it. He noticed a pattern in your coffee cups. He read one to find out what it was you were drinking. “Thanks,” you tell him, taking the cup from his hand. Turning it to read the writing, you find he’d gotten it right. Maybe you should find it creepy, actually. As it is, you’re sort of having a hard time not swooning. You beam at him. “I’ll…have to return the favor.” 

For some reason, that makes Sam laugh as he sits down across from you. “Sure.” He opens his backpack and takes out his laptop. “So, this project.” 

Sam, as it turns out, is a genius. Or at least exceptionally smart. A project that would’ve taken you hours on your own is done in record time with him, which leaves the two of you there at 7:30 with a fully completed midterm project and half-empty coffee cups. You don’t want to leave, and it seems Sam doesn’t either, as he closes his laptop and asks, “Why are you taking night classes?” like he’s really, genuinely curious. 

So you tell him. You tell him about trying to get through college on your own, deciding you needed a full time job, how it’s probably the best job you’ve ever had. You ask him the same question, and he tells you about his brother, who is, apparently, the one who drives that fucking awesome car. He drops Sam off at classes, and pretty much anywhere else he needs to go.

The two of you chat for an hour and a half before Sam gets a text that says his brother is literally going to leave him there if he doesn’t shag ass and get in the car pronto. So Sam walks you out of the library. 

“You know,” you blurt out before you can lose your nerve, “I feel like our classes would be a lot easier if we put our heads together like this. You know, regularly. Like, every Friday, maybe.” 

He ducks his head, smiling that same shy smile he’d had when he gave you the coffee. “Sure. Every Friday. Sounds…helpful.” 

You don’t realize until you get home that he never actually told you why he takes night classes. It turns out to be a pattern for him, as the two of you meet up week after week. You simultaneously feel like you know everything and nothing about him, and every week you like him more and more for it. Well, for that and the coffee that he gets you every time. 

It takes a week before he moves seats in your political science class. The Monday after the second Friday you meet up with him, you almost sit in the wrong seat because you’re so used to him sitting two rows ahead of you. Of course, when you realize what’s happened, Sam’s staring at you with an amused grin on his face, like he’s trying really hard not to laugh at you. So, you decide, you are friends, at least. And as far as friends go, Sam’s a pretty good one.

You and Sam text, constantly. Despite seeming relatively unplugged, he responds to you instantly almost every time. You hate to get your hopes up, but by the time finals roll around, you’re starting to really like him. You’re starting to think he really likes you too. 

He finishes his biology final on the last Thursday of classes long before you, but when you leave the classroom, you see him leaning against the wall, waiting. Again, you don’t want to get your hopes up, but when he lifts his head and sees you approaching him, you swear to God, you see his whole face light up.  He looks a little pale, maybe. But it also might just be the fluorescent lights of the hallway.

“How do you think you did?” he asks, falling into step beside you.

And, you think, it’s now or never, now, isn’t it? Classes are over. You may never see Sam again (although, you like to think the two of you are close enough now that you would at least remain friends outside of having classes together, but still, the sentiment remains). So you change the subject and ask, “Would you wanna get dinner with me on Saturday?” 

He pauses, freezes in place pretty much, and you stop to match him. “Dinner, like…dinner?” he asks, as if that question makes any sense. 

You laugh, a little awkward, and adjust your backpack straps. “Uh, yeah. Like, dinner.” You don’t want to explicitly mention it being a date. You feel like he likes you, you really do, but if you’re wrong…that rejection is going to sting. So you don’t say it, not explicitly. 

But still, Sam’s face lights up with a grin. “Yeah. I’d…really love to get dinner with you, actually. I’ll have to—I’ll text you. But…yes, yeah. I’d love to.” 

You’re pretty sure the smile on your face matches his. “Okay. Then, I’ll see you on Saturday. And you’ll text me.” 

“I’ll text you,” he agrees. 

The two of you linger for a moment before parting, and you have never been more excited to say goodbye to someone in your entire fucking life. 

When you get home, you have a text message. ‘I’ll pick you up. Does 7 work for you?’

You have to take a moment to squeal into your pillow before answering that yes, 7 does work for you, and you’re excited to see him then. And then, as an afterthought, your address.

God, you need to find something to wear.

Saturday comes around, and you’re fully ready by 6. Sam’s almost always shown up early, after all. Your TV plays news footage, stating that the clinics have taken to putting up extra security around their blood banks to no avail. You couldn’t care less, too giddy and girlishly excited to even think about the stolen blood bags. 

6:45 rolls around. Sam isn’t there. That’s…fine. He’s not obligated to show up early. You set up a time to pick you up for a reason, right? There’s no reason for the sinking feeling in your gut. 

7:00. No sign of Sam. But that’s no reason to worry. Maybe he got stuck in traffic. People are late sometimes, and you don’t need to panic just because Sam’s never been late before. 

At 7:30, you shoot Sam a text. ‘are you okay? don’t tell me you forgot about me :( lol’ You don’t get a response. 

You don’t change back into lounge clothes until 8, and you don’t take off your makeup until 8:30, and that’s only because you’re pretty sure you’re about to start crying and ruin it anyway. 

The real kicker is that you thought Sam, at the very least, considered you a friend. Or at least friendly enough to let you down easy rather than agree to a date and then stand you up. Clearly, you severely misread the entire situation. You entirely misunderstood Sam in general, if he’s really the type of person to do this sort of thing. 

Wiping hot tears off your face, you cork open your expensive bottle of wine. Desperate times, right?

Two hours and half a wine bottle later, you’ve swung from devastated to angry. How dare he stand you up? You’re a catch! You’re gorgeous, you’re funny, you’ve ignored all of his weird quirks and red flags, and for what? To cry into a glass or five of overpriced wine on a Saturday night? Screw that. You should call him and give him a piece of your mind.

Or…no, you’re pretty drunk, actually, so you probably shouldn’t call him. But you could text him. Yeah. You fumble for your phone, furiously typing out a text and hitting send without a second thought. ‘if u werent interested in me u cldve just said so. didnt have 2 ghost me’ 

Next thing you know, you’re opening your eyes the next morning with a killer headache, a damn near empty bottle of wine, and no response from Sam. While you’re curled over the toilet, the alcohol isn’t the only thing turning your stomach. There’s a worry brewing there too. 

Because the more you think about it, the more that this really just doesn’t feel like Sam. Now that you’re further out from it, you can acknowledge that much. When you ask yourself if you truly believe that the guy who bought you your favorite drink every time you met up, the guy who remembered every single thing you ever told him, the guy whose face totally lit up when you asked him to dinner—when you ask yourself if that guy would stand you up, you truly, honestly don’t believe he would. So the real question is: why did he?

You fight through the worry until about halfway through your shift on Monday when you realize that with finals over, you have absolutely no idea when, or even if you’ll see Sam again. You call him. It rings all the way through until you get his voicemail, and you wish the sound of his voice could calm you, but it only reminds you that he’s not answering. You don’t leave a message, sending him a text instead. ‘seriously, are you okay? please at least let me know you’re not dead.’ You’re not surprised to find you haven’t gotten a response the next time you check your phone, walking to your car at the end of the day. Desperately, heart-clenchingly worried, but not surprised. 

You open your laptop the second you get home, furiously searching anything you can think of. You search for his name again, hoping to find anything that could point you towards family or friends, to the brother he mentioned. You search local obituaries, John Does, anyone who might even bear the slightest resemblance to Sam, but there’s nothing. Nothing, until you accidentally click on one of the articles about the blood theft. There, in a blurry screenshot of footage from the new security cameras one of the blood banks had installed, you see it. You recognize his brother’s gorgeous fucking car. 

Your eyes go wide. Holy shit, you’ve been flirting with a criminal. You scroll up through the article, reading furiously, but it doesn’t even mention the car, focusing instead on the blurry, shrouded figure entering the doors. Is this why Sam went missing? Laying low until he can be sure no one will connect the footage of the car to him or his brother? Why the fuck is he stealing blood bags in the first place? Needless to say, the discovery leaves you with more questions than it does answers. 

The world, unfortunately, does not stop with this revelation. You go to bed. You get up, you go to work, you come home. You think about Sam. You have no idea what you’re supposed to do in this situation. Should you go to the police? It’s not like he’s killing people but…it’s still illegal to steal blood bags. Also morally wrong, probably. Plus, you now have information that could help forward an ongoing police investigation. You’re not entirely sure what counts as aiding and abetting, but you’re not exactly itching to find out where the line is. 

On the other hand, Sam never seemed particularly…criminal-like to you. Strange, sure, but he was nice. Kind, even. You never in a million years would’ve pegged him as some sort of criminal mastermind. That’s got to count for something. Right? At the very least, you think it allows him the benefit of the doubt. So…late Tuesday night, you send him another text, the last one you’ll ever send him. Probably. ‘hey so keep ignoring me if im wrong but are you the one stealing blood from the clinics?’ 

He doesn’t text you back, and you pretend that means you’re wrong. That you can clear your conscience and go to sleep. That you can go to work and stop worrying about vintage cars in blurry security footage. 

Then the sun goes down on Wednesday, and someone knocks on your door. 

The man on the other side of it is unfamiliar to you. He’s wearing a leather jacket, an amulet hanging off his neck. There’s absolutely no reason you should recognize him as quickly as you do. Except that he has this quality about him, something unreal or maybe inhuman, and you’ve seen it before. You can’t quite tell what color his eyes are.

He smiles at you, and confirms it. “You’re ____, right? Sam’s told me all about you.” This is Sam’s brother, the one with the car. The car that you recognized in the blood bank footage. “I’m Dean. Can I come in?” 

You keep your hand on the edge of the door, ready to slam it in his face if need be. “How’d you get my address?” you ask, instead of answering the question. This man could be dangerous. You trust Sam, mostly, but his brother…that’s a different story.

“Sammy had it. Remember? For your little date.” Dean says, taking a step towards the threshold. You take a step back. “Can I come in now?” 

You ignore the fear raging down your spine, the urge to turn tail and run away. Sam carries himself differently than Dean, presents himself in such a way that instead of cowering away from him, you want to keep looking. His strangeness is intriguing, not off-putting. Dean, though, he takes those same qualities and twists them on their head. Dean looks at you, and your entire body screams Danger! Like he’s some sort of predator. “Why are you here?” 

“Look, I don’t have time for this,” he snaps. He takes another step forward, but stays notably on the other side of the door. Just barely. “Sam needs help. Are you gonna invite me in, or not?” 

He could be lying. He could be manipulating the affection you already have for his brother to get you to let him in so he can off you, maybe the only person who’s connected him to his crimes. But, if that was the case, why wouldn’t he have just forced his way in? And also, why the fuck would he go that far just to cover up some stolen blood bags? “What’s wrong with Sam?” you ask, stepping back from the door to allow him inside. When in Rome, right?

His lips press together, like he’s irritated, though you can’t imagine why. You’re letting him in, which is what he wanted. He stares at you for a moment before sighing, world weary, like he’s holding the weight of a hundred lifetimes of idiocy on his shoulders. Jesus, this guy’s dramatic. “You have to invite me,” he grits out. 

Your confusion only grows, but you oblige anyway. “Okay…come in, then.” 

Dean steps into the apartment almost as soon as you’ve said it, like you’ve only just now opened the door. You back up a few steps further. 

“Just so you know,” you say, standing up taller and trying to act less terrified than you feel, “I have a gun. So don’t- don’t try anything ‘cause I’ll shoot you.” You’re completely bluffing, of course, but there’s no way Dean could know that. 

“No, you don’t,” Dean says, like he definitely knows you were bluffing. Well, great. “Besides, I’m not here to hurt you. My brother needs help, you think I’m gonna kill the only person who can help him?” 

He doesn’t look like he’s lying. Then again, you’re pretty sure this man is a criminal, so maybe he’s just a really good liar. “Yeah, you said that before. If he needs my help so bad, why didn’t he just tell me himself?” It’s not like you slammed the door in Sam’s face and told him to leave you alone. You’ve sent him four texts and a phone call since he dropped off the face of the earth last week. He’s had every opportunity to ask for your help. 

“Cause he’s sick,” Dean tells you. He lifts his hands before he approaches you, like you’re some sort of wild animal that he doesn’t want to spook. Embarrassingly, it works. “Really sick.” 

You shake your head, bemused. “I don’t understand—what does that have to do with me? If he’s sick, he needs a doctor. Not…a random college student.” 

Dean nods. “Yeah, he would. But he’s got…it’s complicated.” He pauses in his approach and nods his head toward you. “Can I come closer, or are you gonna shoot me, tough girl?” 

You roll your eyes, but gesture him closer. “Be my guest, so long as it means you’re gonna tell me something that actually makes sense.” You’re tired of the riddles, frankly. If he doesn’t give you real answers soon, you don’t care how terrifying he is, you’re gonna have to do something drastic.

Dean scoffs. “Yeah, I can see why Sam likes you,” he mutters, shaking his head. “See, me and Sam…we’re not exactly normal. If I took him to a doctor, not only would they not be able to fix him, they’d probably kill him.” He stops beside you, forcing you to look up at him as he speaks. He cuts an intimidating figure, even without the air of a predator about him. You really, really wish you actually owned a gun.

“What do you mean by that?” you ask, voice quiet in the face of this hunter. “That you’re not normal?” 

He grins, big and sharp and toothy. And then his illusion drops. Your eyes seem to fail you, like someone’s dropped the floor out from under you and then told you the floor was never real in the first place. His eyes catch your attention first, blood red and striking. And then, of course, you see his teeth—no, his fangs. Two long, sharp, killer fangs where his canines used to be. “Welcome to the night of the living dead, sweetheart.”

Vampires are real. There’s a monster in your fucking living room. This is crazy. You should be screaming. You should shove this man out the door and lock it behind him and maybe never leave your apartment again. Instead, you blurt out, “So that’s why you were stealing blood bags.” Honestly, a lot of things are starting to make way more sense now. You’re almost embarrassed you didn’t think of it before. 

Dean laughs. “Right on the money.” You flinch as he claps you on the shoulder, and he laughs at you again. 

“So…I’m guessing Sam doesn’t just have a regular old stomach bug, then?” You really feel like you should be having a more extreme reaction to this situation. You just found out that not only are vampires real, but you’ve been actively flirting with one. You think maybe you’re in shock. “This is some sort of weird…vampire virus, or something?” 

“Smart girl,” he says, pointing at you approvingly. “Though it’s not exactly a virus, more like…food poisoning. Actually, we call it blood poisoning. Comes from drinking stale blood—bagged blood, for example—rather than fresh from the source.” 

You frown. “Why drink bagged blood, then, if it makes you sick?” 

“Why do people go vegan even though they need protein?” Dean counters. “Harm reduction. Plus, it doesn’t always make us sick. It’s pretty rare, actually. More common now than, you know, the olden times, but it happened back then too. Storing blood in vials, bottles, anything can make blood go stale, but it means you don’t have to hurt as many people getting it. Some things are worth the risk.” 

That much, at least, you can understand. “So this…this stale blood, whatever—it makes you sick,” you repeat, that same worry for Sam from before roiling in your stomach again. “How sick?” 

Dean grimaces, so whatever it is is clearly not good news. “It can kill us. Pretty easily, too. I have to tell you, I don’t know exactly how it works. Sam’s way better at this sort of thing.” He taps his fingers against your coffee table. “But I do know how to fix it.” 

It’s pretty easy to guess. Dean’s here, despite the fact his brother is apparently dying, and there’s really only one thing you have that they don’t. “He needs blood,” you say quietly, beating Dean to the punch. “Fresh blood.” 

He nods and shoots you a stilted smile. “Quick on the draw, huh?” The two of you stare at each other for a moment before he sighs, shaking his head. “Sam hates what he is. Doesn’t matter that he’ll die without it, he won’t hurt anyone. He just won’t.”

You cross your arms over your chest, suddenly uncomfortable with Dean’s intense stare, like he can see straight into your soul. “So- so, what am I supposed to do about it?” you ask, your shoulders shrugging helplessly. “I’m still a person. I can’t force him to do something he doesn’t want to do.” 

Dean takes a step toward you, and this time you don’t step back or shrink away. He’s dangerous, sure, but not to you. Not as long as you’re the only thing standing between his brother and certain death. “Look, Sam really likes you. If he knew I was here right now, and he wasn’t on his deathbed, he’d kill me. But I just—I’ve tried. It’s been a week, and I’ve tried so hard—” He ducks his head as he cuts off, his jaw working over clenched teeth. “I know that you care about him, right? I mean, I saw the texts; I know—I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t desperate. I can’t just sit around and watch my little brother die. I had to try. I have to try.” 

Seeing him now, you almost can’t believe you were afraid of him. He looks almost terrified himself. And despite the uncertainty you feel, the fear, well…there’s a clear answer here. Yes, there’s a chance Sam refuses to feed from you, but there’s also a chance to save him. You can’t just stand back and let him die because you’re scared. “Okay.”

Dean’s eyes snap to yours again. They sparkle with hope, and even though the illusion is dropped, even though his eyes are red and his teeth are viciously sharp, for the first time since you first saw him, he looks human. “Okay?” 

“Take me to him,” you tell him, moving past him to grab your coat off the hanger by your door. “Let me try to save him.” 

Dean gives you the key to the apartment and a wish good luck, but stays in the car (which, yes, is just as nice as you imagined, though you wish you’d gotten to experience it under different circumstances). He tells you as you climb out the passenger door, “If this goes the way I hope it does, you two aren’t gonna want me there. Trust me.” 

Apprehension keeps you rooted outside the locked door, biting a hole through your bottom lip. There’s a lot of ways this could go. Quite a few of them could end up with you dead, and you’d be a fool not to acknowledge that. Then again, you’d also be a fool not to acknowledge what you know about Sam, what Dean’s told you about him today. Kind, gentle Sam, who is sick and dying, but apparently still refuses to hurt anyone. Who drinks from blood bags, despite the risk, simply because it means he can live without harming others. He doesn’t deserve to die.

You take a deep breath, and unlock the door. 

The apartment is…Well, it’s a little dingy, but it’s cozy. Homey. There’s clutter and trinkets on every shelf, books that look so old that you fear they’d disintegrate if you touched them. It occurs to you, then, that you don’t know how old Sam actually is. A memory flashes in your mind of his name mentioned in records from the 1800s. Holy shit. 

“Dean?” You recognize Sam’s voice, but it’s thin and croaky. Weak. Really sick, Dean had said. “Are you home?” 

  You follow the sound of his voice into a bedroom, and the stale smell of illness almost makes you stumble back from the doorway. It doesn’t smell bad, necessarily, so much as still and wrong. Sam’s been in this room, wallowing in sickness, for a week. Your heart aches for him. “Not Dean,” you say quietly, hoping not to spook him. You approach the bed, and only just keep from gasping at the state of the man curled up in it. Sam is pale and sunken, visibly weak and malnourished. He’s trembling, shaking all over with chills, maybe, or just tremors in general. 

His face changes when he hears your voice, his brows furrowed in confusion. He opens his eyes and peers up at you over his cocoon of blankets. His eyes, like Dean’s, are red, but unlike Dean’s, they’re glassy and tired, his eyelids fluttering like he’s struggling to keep them open. “____? What…what’re you doing here?” He pushes himself up to sit, and you can see the effort it takes him to do even that, his arms shaking under his own weight. 

You sit gingerly on the edge of the bed beside him. “Dean sent me,” you tell him, ratting Dean out immediately. 

Sam groans, rubbing his hands over his eyes. The veins in his hands are standing out, ugly, mottled red under pale skin. As if the blood really had poisoned him. “I’m gonna kill him.” Wow, Dean hadn’t even exaggerated, huh?

“Not like this, you’re not,” you mutter, reaching out to take his hand in yours. “Jesus, Sam…” He’s ice cold to the touch like he’s been out in the snow for hours. You curl your hands around his, trying to warm him. 

His gaze flicks to them, your hands barely covering his. “Sorry I missed our date,” he says, mournful like he really is repentant, like standing you up is the worst sin he could’ve possibly committed. “It…was a date, right?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it—I meant for it to be.” You huff out a laugh, sympathetic as you smile at him. “And, you know, somehow I can’t find it in myself to hold it against you.” 

Sam laughs, and for the first time, you catch a glimpse of his fangs. They’re just as viciously sharp as Dean’s, but they somehow look less dangerous on Sam. You’d worry you’d been charmed or something (isn’t that supposed to be something vampires can do? You have to admit, you’re a little out of the loop of vampire lore), if you weren’t certain that Sam would never do something like that. No, not charmed, not in any sort of magical sense. “I’ll die happy then.” 

Wow, you see the dramatics run in the family. “You’re not going to die,” you say firmly, releasing Sam’s hand to brush his bangs out of his face. He’s freezing all over. It makes you want to wrap him up in your arms, make sure he never goes cold again. You settle for pressing your palm against his cheek, your fingers cupping around his jaw. 

“I am, though,” he shoots back, like he’s arguing about who’s answer on the homework is right, not about his actual, literal life. “I’m going to die. But that’s—it’s okay. It’s been a week, so I’ve sort of come to terms with it.” 

“Screw that.” You turn more firmly towards him, pulling your legs under you to kneel on the bed. “Seriously, screw that. I can help you. If you think I’m just gonna- what, stand aside and let you die, then you really don’t know me at all.” 

“Sure. And you’re just gonna fix me, huh?” He shakes his head, turning it away from you with a huff. “All sunshine and rainbows after that. Not like I’ll have to bleed you to get better, right? Oh, wait.” Oh, he’s such a fucking diva, even on his deathbed, apparently.

“Oh, my God—yeah! I sort of figured it wouldn’t exactly be pleasant.” You didn’t spend all that time hesitating at the door because you thought it would be a walk in the park. “But if the choice is between that and letting you die, there’s no contest. I don’t understand why you’re so set on it when I’m sitting here offering you a solution!” 

“Maybe I don’t want to be saved!” His outburst silences you, especially because it seems to take a lot of energy from him to snap at you like that. He stares you down, red eyes meeting yours, and you…you don’t know what to say to that. 

You can lead a horse to water, but… “Sam—”

He cuts you off with another shake of his head. “Dean…he used to tell me that what we are doesn't make us monsters, it’s what we do. And I really wish I believed that, but the thing is, I…am going to die if I don’t feed from someone, like- like a fucking parasite. What is that if not monstrous?” 

“I don’t think you’re a monster,” you tell him. Slowly, cautiously, you reach for his face and replace your hand on his cheek, turning his gaze to meet yours. “I actually happen to think you’re one of the kindest people I’ve ever met. I don’t know what kind of monster would’ve apologized for getting deathly ill and accidentally standing me up.” 

His eyes flick over your face, like he’s searching for something. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.” His voice, thin and mournful, is heartbreaking. “I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t know—I’ve never been sick like this before. It’s possible I won’t have a lot of control if I feed on you like this.” 

That’s sort of what you were afraid of. But that’s the benefit of him feeding from you, rather than some random person off the street, right? You know what’s going on. “I won’t let you go too far,” you assure him. “Sam, please. I want to do this for you. Let me…let me help you.” 

His eyes meet yours, and he seems to find what he’s looking for. He lifts his hand and brushes your hair back off your neck. “If I do this—if—it’ll hurt, at first,” he tells you, placing his hand on your shoulder. Just resting there. It sends sparks down your spine all the same. “But not for long. It’ll start to feel good, kind of like getting high. But if I—I’m not going to bite you if I’m not sure you’ll be able to stop me if I take too much.” 

“I’ll stop you. If I have to.” You trust him, mostly. But you’re also aware that he hasn’t fed in a week, so you’re prepared to have to at least alert him to your blood loss. 

His fingers trail along your neck, goosebumps following in his wake. His eyes follow the path of his touch, and his hands may be hesitant, but you can see the hunger in his eyes. Maybe you can make the horse drink, after all. “Are you sure?” he asks, and his hand moves to the back of your head. Bracing. 

“I told you—” you say, your voice coming out almost as quiet as a breath— “I want to do this for you.” 

“Okay.” He leans forward until you can feel his breath on your neck. It’s almost cold, unnaturally so. “Tilt your head a little more, that way—there you go,” he instructs, and that tone in his voice is…yeah. You are definitely glad Dean didn’t come in with you. His lips brush your skin when he speaks next, “Ready?” 

“Yes.” You’re not sure how you manage to get your voice to come out as stable as it does. You bring your hands up to brace on his shoulders, and your grip goes a bit tighter when you feel his fangs press, just barely, against your skin. “Yeah, I’m—go ahead.” 

You’ve never been bitten by a vampire before. You have no frame of reference of whether this is what it’s like every time, or if it’s just a Sam thing. Or if it’s just a you and Sam thing. But the whole process is intensely intimate in a way you weren’t expecting. Even when he first sinks his fangs in and it stings, makes you draw in a sharp breath. He’s a little uncoordinated, you think, and maybe goes in at a weird angle, because he draws his teeth out to sink them in again, but not before his tongue flicks out to catch the blood that drips down the side of your neck. The gasp that escapes you this time is not just from the pain.

He was right, of course. It does hurt at first. But the pain is offset by his hand on your head, his fingers curling just so to grip your hair. You swear you can feel in real time as he gets his strength back. As your blood flushes the sickness out of him. You’re not sure there is anything more intimate than that. 

You think maybe you expected a transition between pain and euphoria, but there is no slow fade. In between one blink and the next, the pain disappears, replaced with a floaty, echoing pleasure that has your fingers clutching at Sam’s shirt. Everything around you goes a little unfocused, fuzzy, except for everywhere Sam touches, where you swear your nerves are lighting up with sparks and ecstasy. You might be making noises. It’s a little hard to tell, your senses dampened as they are. 

“Sam…” You shove a little at his shoulders when you notice your hands start to shake. He hums, and you feel it on your skin. You can see, now, why he likened this feeling to getting high, although you’re not sure it’s the feeding that you can see yourself getting addicted to. You shove him a little harder. “Gettin’ dizzy here.” 

He pulls back from your neck, and your senses return to you in a rush of sound and a pinprick sort of ache where his teeth had sunk into your skin. You watch, full focused vision returned, as Sam wipes at his mouth and then drags his tongue over his hand, now free of mottled veins, to catch the blood that had, you assumed, spilled as he drank from you. Like he can’t bear to waste a single drop. You swallow thickly, your mouth suddenly very dry. 

“You taste like…” He trails off, and then his mouth is on you again, but not biting. No, his tongue drags up your throat, and it occurs to you—vaguely, through the fog of earth-shattering, soul-bending lust that settles over you—that if blood had spilled down his mouth, then it stands to reason that it had made a mess of your neck as well. Not that you’re complaining, if this is the result of a little mess. He makes a soft noise against your skin, his breath hot now in a way it hadn’t been before. “Taste like…” His voice peters off again, distracted or just unable to find the words to describe it.

Yeah, screw this. “Let me find out for myself,” you murmur, your hands moving from his shoulders to his face—and his skin, too, is warmer now, almost the temperature you would generally expect it would be—until you can drag him into a kiss. The answer, as it turns out, is blood. You taste like blood, although you sort of assume it tastes different to him. Strangely, the flavor isn’t as off-putting as you would assume, especially not when he groans and uses his grip on your hair to tilt your head, kiss you deeper. !You lick into his mouth, tasting your actual, literal blood on his tongue, and you…don’t have the words to describe how absurdly hot it is.  

He’s not careful with his fangs, not really, lets them catch on your bottom lip and draw out pinpricks of blood that he soothes with his tongue. It makes the whole thing a little messy; he’s got blood smeared over his lips when you pull back to breathe. Your eyes track his tongue as he licks it up. 

His hand, the one that’s not braced on the back of your head, brushes against the skin of your waist under the hem of your shirt. “Is this okay?” he asks quietly, still so close that you can feel the words on your lips. 

Is this okay? You almost have to laugh at the question. As if you hadn’t wanted him since the first moment you saw him. “Yeah,” you tell him, a little smile tugging at your lips. “It is so absolutely more than okay.” 

At your confirmation, he smiles too, and his hand rests more firmly on your waist, almost grounding. “Well, I didn’t buy you dinner first. Wouldn’t want you to think I was ungentlemanly,” he says, drawing a soft laugh from you. 

“Aw, well. You did try.” You press forward, leaving a short kiss on his lips as your hand shifts from his face to tangle your fingers through his hair. “Plus, I mean…technically, I—”

Sam cuts you off with a kiss, but you can feel his grin against your mouth. “That does not count,” he protests.

“I dunno,” you say, a little sing-song in your voice as you grin at him. “I did quite literally just save your life. I think we might be a little past dinner.” 

He scoffs, shaking his head at you. He’s not annoyed though. You can tell, because his fingers flex on your waist and then move, brushing up your side. “Uh-huh. Sounds to me like I’m slacking.” He ducks his head and presses two short, soft kisses to your neck, right on top of the pinprick aches. “I’ll have to repay you. You did just save my life, after all.” 

Almost subconsciously, your fingers tighten in his hair. Anticipation settles in the small space between you, a space that grows even smaller when his hand presses against the small of your back and tugs your closer. “I did just save your life,” you repeat, your voice significantly breathier than it was before.

He laughs, a little puff of breath against your skin, and his lips drag down your throat in a line of open mouthed kisses until it lands at your pulse point. You swear to God, time slows down as he breathes in, slow and deep like he’s smelling your blood beneath your skin, and then presses his teeth to it until you can feel the points of them, precarious like water pooled on top of a penny. He doesn’t bite down, doesn’t break the skin, but fuck, you almost want him to. It seems like he wants to, too, as he closes his mouth with a snap. “Fuck…” He pulls back and lifts his eyes to yours. “Can I taste you? Please?” 

It takes you a second to understand what, exactly, he means. He’d already tasted you; if he wanted more blood, he could’ve just bitten you again. Then, it clicks, and you…well, what are you supposed to say to that? Sam Winchester, all big, cow eyes and mouth smeared with your blood, so politely asking to eat you out, like you’d be giving him a gift. How could you possibly turn that down? “Yeah. Yeah, fuck, that’s—yeah.” 

You only see his answering smile for half a second before his lips are on yours again, kissing, biting, while his hand caresses over the bare skin of your stomach. His kiss, his touch, is almost overwhelming, doesn’t leave you much room to think about anything else but him. Not that you really want to. He tugs at the hem of your shirt, pulls back just far enough from you to speak, and even then you can feel his lips move against yours as he asks, “Can I take this off?” 

You really do laugh this time, drawing your hands down his neck and over his shoulders. “I appreciate the whole gentleman thing, I really do, but Sam, baby, I’ve wanted you since before I even knew your name. So let’s just assume that whatever you wanna do, I really fuckin’ want it, too.” 

His eyes flick over your face, and you can literally feel the cocky ass grin he gets at that. It is, unfortunately, like everything else he does, ridiculously sexy. “That long, huh?” He’s such a dick. You want him more than you’ve ever wanted anything in your entire life. He tugs back and drags his gaze down your torso, his hand leaving your hair to join the other in toying with the hem of your shirt. “Guess I shouldn’t keep you waiting any longer, then.” His hands brush against the skin of your stomach as he pulls your shirt up and over your head before tossing it aside, not caring where it lands. You’ll find it later. Or you won’t. 

His eyes lave over your newly bare skin, his hands following shortly behind. “You are so beautiful,” he murmurs, pressing his palms flat against your stomach and dragging them up your ribs. “Can you lay back for me, darling?” he asks, even as his hands press you back against the mattress before you can respond. 

You go easily, not in the least because the name knocks the breath out of you. “Darling?” you echo, shifting until you’re resting comfortably against the nest of pillows at the head of the bed. 

Sam climbs over you, his knee nudging yours until you spread your legs to make room for his hips to settle between your thighs. “Is that alright?” he asks, ducking his head to press his lips to the hinge of your jaw. 

More than alright, if the fluttering in your stomach is anything to go by. “It’s fine,” you say, playing it cool. Then, because his hands are rubbing up and down the bare skin of your sides and his teeth (the blunt ones, not the fangs, because he has much more self control than you do) are nipping at the skin of your neck, you play it decidedly uncool and continue, “Darling.” 

You feel his answering smile against the skin of your collarbone as he and his kisses and his teeth travel down the line of your neck and chest, pausing at the edge of your bra. He lifts his eyes to meet yours through his lashes as his lips press the softest of kisses there. “‘M gonna take this off, now,” he tells you, his voice deep and rumbling. His hands move up your back, and you arch your spine to allow him room to do so. He undoes your bra clasp without removing his lips from your chest, tugs the garment down your arms and tosses it vaguely in the same direction as your shirt without a second thought. 

“I thought about this, you know,” he says, softly, against the skin in the valley of your breasts. “Getting my mouth on you. How it would feel.” He shifts his attention, his lips closing over your nipple while his hand palms your other breast. It draws a soft gasp from your lips, your fingers twisting in his hair. “How you’d sound,” he continues, his voice a little cocky now. 

“Sam…” His name falls from your lips on an exhale, like you’re breathing him in, like he’s pumping through your veins the same way you’re now pumping through his. 

He smirks. If you thought he was cocky before… “Yeah, pretty much—” He presses that smirk against one nipple and brushes his thumb over the other, and while your head is dropping back onto the pillows with a moan, he laves his tongue over it to make you moan even louder— “just like that.” He's got you so distracted, you almost don't notice his free hand trailing down your stomach, brushing along the waistband of your jeans, not until his fingers undo the button with practiced ease. 

“Oh, God, you are so unfairly hot.” You lift your head to watch as he kisses his way down your stomach until he finally reaches your waistband with his mouth, too, and leaves a nippy little bite there. 

He laughs, glances up at you with that fucking smirk as he drags your jeans down your hips. “Unfair to who? You?” The two of you maneuver a bit until he can tug your pants off your ankles and toss them aside, another clothing casualty lost to the war on your sanity led by the swooping in your gut whenever Sam looks at you like that. 

“Not me,” you elaborate, although it’s hard to do so when Sam’s hands are settling on your hips and his thumbs are rubbing slow circles on your skin and dipping just so under the elastic of your panties on every other pass. “But, like, every other guy. How is anyone supposed to compete with…this?” 

This being Sam motherfucking Winchester, who had spent months shyly testing the waters and cautiously flirting so subtly that you were terrified you’d read him wrong, suddenly suave and confident and practically begging to eat you out. Oh, and also being, objectively, the hottest monster. This man has been terrorizing the dating pool for maybe centuries. You shudder to think how many women’s standards he has completely obliterated. 

Continuing the streak of obliterating your standards, he ducks his head, that shy smile on his lips again. “I mean, I should hope no one is competing with me in this particular instance,” he says, voice hesitant as if there’s a chance on Earth you’d ever turn him down. 

You shake your head, and honestly, you can’t help but laugh because a literal vampire is about to go down on you, and somehow the most unbelievable part of this situation is that he thinks he has an ounce of competition. “Are you actually asking me if I want to be exclusive right now?” you ask, drawing a hand up and through his hair, brushing his fringe off his forehead. “Because I feel like I made it so obvious how much I like you. Obviously, there is no competition.” 

You have the honor of watching Sam blush for the first time, and knowing that you made it possible. Your blood flushes his cheeks, makes his face go the prettiest shade of pink you’ve ever seen. 

 “Obviously,” he echoes, his words brushing against the skin just above your panties. His hands brush down your thighs, and he pulls one of your legs up and over his shoulder so your heel rests against his back. He turns his head, and with your thigh now bracketing his head, it’s easy for him to press an open-mouthed kiss there, and then another, and then another until he’s brought you back practically to panting again. 

“‘M gonna make you see stars,” he tells you, his lips pressed against the crease where your thigh meets your hip. “And then, because I am a gentleman, I’m going to buy you dinner. And I’m gonna be thinking about this—” He nips at your skin, bares his fangs this time and draws a well of blood and a gasp from you simultaneously— “The way you taste; the way you feel—I’m gonna be thinking about it the whole time.” He draws his hands back up to your hips just to tuck his fingers under the elastic of your panties, lifting his eyes to yours as he tugs on it. “Can I take these off?” 

You think you might die if he doesn’t. “Please.” 

His fangs seem to glint in the light when he grins, but he ducks his head before you can look again, a sort of hyperfocus to his posture as he shifts your hips and legs until he can pull your underwear off your ankles, and finally, finally, leaves you bare to him. He doesn’t waste a second, his hands dragging up your thighs and then spreading them further, his eyes roving over you like you’re the most beautiful work of art he’s ever seen. “Gorgeous.” His voice, breathy and sweet, washing over you is the only warning you get before his lips press against you in a surprisingly gentle kiss. 

Your lungs expand on a gasp, and then deflate on a moan as he laves his tongue between your folds, the muscle pressed flat and soft like a tease. Or a preview. You’re not totally sure you’re going to survive this actually. You might die with Sam’s tongue licking over your pussy, and honestly, what a fucking way to go. 

“Taste so good all over, huh?” Oh, holy fuck, he’s still talking. His lips brush over your skin and make you whine, and you’re pretty sure you can feel the vibrations of his voice better than you can hear him. “Feel like I should thank you. Letting me feed from you, and now this?” He makes it sound like it’s some sacrifice to let him go down on you, like you’re not gripping his hair so tight you’re surprised you’re not pulling it out. “You’re perfect.” 

“Oh, my God,” your voice comes out high and tight as he closes his lips over your clit and sucks. Your back arches off the bed, but as your hips shift to press up against his mouth, you find his hand pressed low on your stomach, pinning you down. “Sam—oh, my God.” 

You can feel as much as hear the soft, contented hums he’s making, like he’s never wanted to be anywhere more than with his head between your legs and his tongue drawing circles over your clit. His fangs, sharp and dangerous, are almost artfully pressed against your skin, just barely enough to feel the points of them. His free hand, the one not pressing you down against the mattress, keeps trailing up and down the outside of your thigh, making you shiver and press your heel into his back. And it’s so obvious he’s loving this maybe even as much as you are, his whole body shifting as he grinds down against the mattress, and God, that feels almost as good as his mouth on your cunt does. He’s getting off on the taste of you, on making you squirm and whine and moan.

It’s over the second he presses his tongue against your entrance and his nose smushes against your clit—everything after that is a jumble of sensation. The feeling of his tongue fucking in and out, his nose rubbing against you with every movement of his mouth, his hand grabbing at your thigh and holding your legs open when your muscles go tense and tight and anticipatory. 

He draws his tongue out of you with an obscene slurping sound that just has you hurtling even faster towards the edge, your hands grabbing at his hair for dear fucking life, white knuckled. “Are you gonna come?” he asks, his voice low and gruff and almost fucked out. You squeeze your eyes shut, nodding as if it wasn’t obvious from the constant stream of noises spilling from your lips. “Yeah? Go on, come on my tongue. Give it to me, darling, let me taste it.” 

How could you resist that? His words and his stupidly talented mouth draw you over the edge, your pussy spasming as you do exactly as he asked and come on his tongue. True to his word, he does, in fact, make you see stars, lights sparking behind your eyelids. His mouth works you through it until you’re whining and using your grip on his hair to tug him away, oversensitive as you come down from an explosive fucking orgasm. 

He presses kisses on your inner thigh as he shifts it off his shoulder, your body loose and pliant now. “There you go, good girl.” The words make your cunt give a valiant twitch, even as he draws himself up your body until he’s laying beside you and pressing kisses over your face. “Was that good?” 

You peek one eye open to look at him, incredulous. “Was that good—you’re so ridiculous, c’mere.” You turn your head to draw him into a slow, lingering kiss. Much like the taste of your blood in his mouth, the taste of your pussy on his tongue is, frankly, life-changing. You’re addicted already. 

He draws back with a soft laugh, his eyes traveling over your face with such obvious fondness that you have to press another quick kiss against his lips. “Okay, understood.” He brings his hand up to brush over your face, soft and gentle and such a contrast to the obscene pleasure he’d taken in going down on you that it makes your cheeks go warm. “So when can I buy you that dinner?” 

The question gives you pauses, and your eyes flick down his body, curious. “Did you not want me to…” 

You watch your blood, again, flood his cheeks as he laughs and rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “That’s not—I really like giving head,” he explains, as if that is not literally the hottest thing he could’ve possibly said. 

Fuck dinner, you wanna go five rounds with him back to back right now. “Okay,” you say, because he’s very sweet and he wants to be a gentleman and who are you to take that from him? “You can take me to dinner, if you swear you’ll let me suck you off when we get back. Deal?” 

The way his face lights up is worth having to wait. “Deal.”  

“And,” you continue, your hand smoothing over his hair where your grip had mussed it up, “next time you need blood, let’s just skip the whole ‘I’m a monster’ thing. I am more than willing to supply you; I have a vested interest in keeping you around.” 

He rolls his eyes, but the way he kisses you, fangs and all, tells you he gets it.

[otaku553]

I am bored and sad about schoolwork so I want to interact a little bit,,, please send me some asks!

Can’t promise any fancy pieces but if you want a small doodle of a character (preferably not ocs please) feel free to send in a request as well!

[sathavious]

bro-code.ᐟ | y.itadori x f!reader

synopsis : You're megumi's little sister, that means hands off you according to bro-code, only problem is yuuji's so in love with you. Will he risk going against his best friend and breaking bro-code?

warnings : profanity, somewhat mean yuuji, making out, megumi walks in, mutual pining, they’re shirtless.

wc : 2.5k

You were Megumi's sister, he'd known you since the start of high school, and his feelings for you just continued to grow.

5:10 pm

you heard a knock on your door, You open it and you see your brother's cute best friend Yuuji standing outside the door with what looked like a disk for a console game in his hand.

"Megumi home yet? He was supposed to be here to play with me"

Yuuji says breaking the silence.

You snap out of it, realizing you had been staring at him for the past 2 minutes.

"No sorry he isn't, You're welcome to stay inside and wait for him."

You shrug and give him an awkward smile pointing to the inside of your apartment, the tension in the air getting thicker and thicker.

"Sure! I'll come in and wait for him."

Yuuji says, entering your apartment and making himself comfortable on the couch.

You shut the door and follow him.

Although the both of you know each other, you've never had a conversation that lasted more than 5 minutes. 'This is going to be awkward' The both of you seem to share the same thought, unaware of how the other feels.

"Yuuji, why don't you text him."

You say trying hard to find any reason to talk to him.

"That's.. a good idea."

Yuuji says, pulling out his phone from the pocket of his jeans.

"Hey dude, how long until you get here? I'm already here, you're sister let me in."-5:16 pm

Yuuji texts Megumi, and his phone buzzes again a minute later.

"Got busy with something, be there by 8."-5:17 pm

He shuts off his phone and puts it on the coffee table, stretching his feet out and getting comfortable. 'I'm gonna spend almost 3 hours alone with her? I really hope I don't bore her or make her hate me.' Yuuji thinks to himself, looking at you.

"Megumi's gonna be home by 8, I'm gonna wait here for him, if that's alright with you."

Yuuji asks you, hoping you say yes.

"Yeah, sure if you don't mind being alone with me."

You respond, letting out a small laugh at the end of your sentence. He lets out an awkward chuckle in response.

'This is my chance.' The both of you think to yourself as you clear your throat trying not to let the conversation die.

"You said you were going to play with him right? How about we play to kill the time? I'm not as good as Megumi but I'm sure you at least won't die of boredom."

You say, your eyes lighting up with a glimmer.

"Sure, I hope you're not a sore loser because I'm not going to go easy on you."

He says as he gets up and turns on the TV and the console then proceeds to enter the disk, handing you the controller as he sits back on the couch.

"I'd like to see you try to win."

You say, clearly excited to play as you take the controller and ask.

"You ready Yuuji? Better start getting ready to lose now."

"As if, I'm gonna win."

Yuuji says as he sets up a custom FIFA match for you.

"Need a recap of the controls? Don't want you saying you didn't know how to do that after you lose."

"Nah I'm good."

You and Yuuji share a cocky smile as you divert your attention back to the screen. 3…2…1..START the TV screen reads as the room gets silent, the only sounds heard are the beeping of the controller and the game noises.

6:07 pm

Game over. Yuuji wins!

He looks at you with a mischievous grin on his face.

"Sucks to suck loser."

He chuckles and gives you a fake look of sympathy.

"That was only warmup, Let's play more, best of 3."

You say pouting and looking away.

"Sure princess. I'd be happy to defeat you a second time."

Yuuji says, leaning in closer to you as his voice gets deeper and his eyes glisten. He's clearly trying to flirt but doesn't want to make it too obvious.

You blush at the nickname but you try not to let it bother you. 'It probably meant nothing,' you say to yourself as you brush it off and give him a serious glare.

"Let's go then. The loser does whatever the winner wants."

"Sure what are you waiting for."

He says with a determined look on his face. He was gonna win at any cost.

You turn your attention back to the screen again as you play another round.

6:51 pm

Game over. Yuuji wins.

Your face turns into a face of defeat as you look down trying not to meet eyes with him.

"Getting shy now that you lost princess?"

Yuuji says as he moves in ever so close to you.

"The loser does whatever the winner wants."

He reminds you as you're rendered speechless, your face inches away from his as you feel yourself getting redder. You take a good look at him, analyzing his face.

He's so fucking pretty. He has pretty brown eyes, long eyelashes, plump pink lips, and a good smile, he has an undercut with pink dye and he smells like the ocean mist. He's not that muscular but just enough to the point where he has buff arms and toned abs. You're so in love with him and you've barely ever spoken to him. You just want to kiss him so bad. You snap out of your trance as you say.

"What do you want me to do pretty boy?"

Your crush on him is so fucking obvious, he doesn't seem to mind though, in fact, it looks like he's planning something.

'Shit, Megumi's gonna kill me for breaking bro code but I've come so far, no use backing down now.'

Yuuji thinks to himself, upon hearing you call him a pretty boy, his face is stained with a deep pink hue.

'I'm gonna do it.' he thinks to himself.

He leans closer to you his lips slightly parted.

"What? Are you too scared now pretty boy, You don't have to do it you know you could jus-"

He closed his eyes as he placed a gentle kiss on your lips, not wanting to pull away but he did, his mind started overthinking as he opened his eyes to look at you.

You're brains scrambled, and you're dazed for a second, it's clear you enjoyed the kiss, you pause for a second as you move closer to him, reducing the distance he put between you.

"If you wanted to do that you could've just told me, you didn't have to stop me mid-sentence. Although I'm not opposed to it either."

You say smirking as you look at him, your face turning to a dark hue of red as you give him a small but comforting smile.

"I've wanted to do that for so long, you have no idea. Wait does this mean you like me? Because I like you, I've liked you for so long, didn't know how to say it thought."

He says kinda embarrassed but also happy after that kiss.

"God yes, I like you so so much."

You say laughing as you grab his hand and intertwine it with yours.

"Does this mean we can y-you know um date and stuff?"

Yuuji asks, his eyes lighting up as he looks at you, curious about how you answer his question.

“Of course Yuuji my pretty boy”

You respond giving him a soft smile.

You both were still visibly flustered, eyes meeting each other, as you leaned closer feeling his warm breath on your face.

“I guess this is a good time…”

Yuuji says as he looks at your mouth, wanting to kiss you again, his eyes are still locked onto yours, waiting for you to say something.

“Good time to what?”

You ask, leaning in even closer.

“To do this princess.”

Yuuji pauses before he softly presses his lips against yours kissing you deeply with his eyes closed, his hands wrapping around you, he holds you close to him as he deepens the kiss.

“..so good…baby...”

You say mumbling as you grab onto him bringing him closer.

He kept going, closing his eyes as he kissed you. It was hard for him to stop now, not that he wanted to. He pulled away for a moment, opening his eyes as he breathed heavily.

“Your lips are so addictive I can’t stop.”

Yuuji looked at you as he spoke, slightly parting his lips. He was planning on doing something.

He got closer to you, kissing you again.

You felt his tongue run against your lower lip. His hands come over to your head, as they run through your hair.

“You’re making me want to do this princess.”

His tongue went further in, touching the roof of your mouth as his eyes stayed on yours.

“Don’t stop pretty boy…”

You say letting out soft whimpers and moans.

He had a playful look in his eyes as he kept going, he got a little more aggressive as his tongue got deeper.

You rake your fingers through his pink fluffy hair as your other hand cups his cheeks bringing him impossibly closer.

He let out a low moan when he felt how you were pulling him in closer. He was clearly very flustered.

Your hand pulls on his hair causing him to let out a few more moans as your other hand drops from his cheek to his shirt tugging on it.

He broke away from the kiss for a moment, pulling his shirt off as he threw it to the side cupping your face and kissing you again.

His actions were flirty and playful as he kept kissing you, you could see his toned body and muscles now.

“Gosh, baby you’re so hot.”

You say between muffled kisses as you stare intently at his body.

His face went a little red, his heart beating a lot more, you really were making him flustered.

“mm I’m really glad you think so princess.”

His tongue went deeper again as he kept kissing you.

You move your hand to his abdomen, tracing the outlines of his well-defined body as your other hand remains in his hair, pulling harder.

He gets a little more confident and seductive as he moves his hand down to tug on your shirt, pulling it off you.

Your face went redder, he was teasing you, and he knew exactly what to do.

“..your body is perfect just like you princess…”

He says completely pulling your shirt off you, now kissing and sucking on your neck as one of his hands grabs your waist pulling you closer and the other one fiddles with your chest then moves to your hair.

He leaves deep purple marks on your neck then goes back to kissing you.

All sounds drown out as the both of you continue making out completely mesmerized and your faces turning bright red.

7:37 pm

Just then the keys jingle and the door opens Of course the both of you, too involved with each other don't hear when it happens, and when Megumi walks in, he sees the both of you on his couch he says with his voice raised

“WHAT THE FUCK YUUJI??”

Both of you pause for a moment as you pull away your eyes widening in shock. You turn around to look at a disappointed Megumi as he sighs

“You’re really breaking bro code I thought I told you my sister was off-limits.”

Megumi says to Yuuji as he facepalms himself.

“And you…”

He says turning around to you.

“You’re really not that innocent either. Kissing MY best friend on MY couch…”

He’s furious at you, you can feel it in his eyes as you look down avoiding Megumi’s gaze lips parted but not saying anything.

“You’re both shirtless too what the fuck were you even planning on doing. Is this a one-time thing that’s going to make it awkward for me to hang out with either of you again or do you actually like each other.”

Megumi is so mad. That's what you and Yuuji think as you both share a glance.

“I'm sorry bro but I really like her, I really do.”

Yuuji says pleading to Megumi as he hands you your shirt.

You put your shirt back on as you say.

“It's true Megumi I really like him too..”

You say trying to calm Megumi down and explain to him that you and Yuuji have liked each other for a long time and are dating now.

He freaks out a little but eventually comes to terms with everything.

“If you really like each other it’s fine. It's okay to break bro code if your feelings for each other are genuine. Next time though, don't make out on my couch.”

He says huffing as he looks at you and lets out a little laugh. Megumi really is the worst, you think to yourself.

You grab a pillow off the couch and hit him in the face.

“Go away now you’re ruining the moment.”

You say, Yuuji and you laughing at Megumi’s annoyed expression.

“Gross, get a room.”

He says as he walks away going to his room and putting headphones on.

“The moment’s ruined now isn't it?.”

Yuuji breaks the silence looking at you with a soft smile.

“Totally. Megumi’s a dickhead.”

You respond breaking out in laughter.

“I really do like you though princess.”

Yuuji says sounding a little more nervous now.

“Me too. I really like you too pretty boy.”

You say blushing a little more.

“Lunch date tomorrow? An official date now that you’re my girlfriend and I’m your boyfriend. I’ll pick you up at 12.”

Yuuji shrugs, not meeting your gaze as he asks you.

“I would love to.”

You say giving him a kiss on the cheek.

He ruffles your hair and gives you a kiss on your forehead as he says.

“Gonna go hang out with Megumi’s now, bet he’s probably pissed. See you tomorrow, princess.”

He winks at you as he gets off the couch.

“Yeah, he’s probably pissed. I’ll be in my room then. See you tomorrow indeed, pretty boy.”

You say pouting as you get off the couch too making your way to your room.

He goes to Megumi’s room apologizes and then hangs out with him.

“I know you broke bro code but I think I can make an exception.”

Megumi says as he invites Yuuji next to him on the bed flicking his forehead and then handing Yuuji a controller.

“Thanks. I promise not to break her heart.”

Yuuji says smiling

“Good. I’ll kill you if you do.”

Megumi says with a serious expression on his face.

You walk into your room closing the door behind you as you plop onto your bed smiling after what happened. You look for your headphones as you listen to your playlist and text your best friend about what happened.

Both you and Yuuji were still smiley and blushing. Still thinking about each other.

[lale-txt]

❈ 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐰/ 𝐆𝐨𝐣𝐨 & 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐥!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 (𝐠𝐧)

@bas-writes asked: That was supposed to be a joke but I can't get it out of my mind after our extra conversation 😭😂 Could I request Gojo or Geto (still can't decide sorry aklskdd) taking bath or shower with their tall afab s/o - or rather, attempting to because when the average height is like 185cm nothing possibly can be easy 🤭 Thank you! ❤

a/n: ngl this drabble sent me into a deep dive of how certain parts of a shower are called because somehow i forgot them in all three languages LMAO it ended up being a short drabble and only slightly suggestive at the end, but the scenario was just too funny for me to take the full blown nsfw route asdfhjks but i hope you'll enjoy it anyway! thank you for your request, Bas! you're always giving me such fun prompts to work with, hehe.

word count: 637

“Uhm, excuse me, personal space?” 

You let out a small huff when someone squeezes into the shower with you, basically cornering you with his tall frame. It’s not like you were small to begin with, and yet Gojo still could rest his chin on top of your head if he wanted to–and right now there was almost no other choice than to do so. This shower wasn’t built for a person above average height, even less for two of your kind.

“You didn’t seem to mind me in your personal space last ni–OI!”

Note to yourself: Shower head aimed directly at his face can make Gojo shut up for an approximate span of two seconds. He’ll never get rid of the house cat accusations, huh?

Gojo grabs your hand that’s holding the cursed tool and gently nibs at your neck (again with the cat behavior…) before he puts the shower head back where it belongs. He’s not bothered by your protests and reaches to adjust the temperature of the water from a pleasant medium high to something that could best be described as close to boiling, filling the already too small shower with so much steam you practically go blind. Not much of a problem for the Six Eyes though.

“You could have just waited till I got out of the shower, you know?”, you grumble, trying to find your shampoo bottle but continue to grab anything but said bottle, maybe because Gojo is everywhere your hands reach out to in this cramped space. He hums, a deep sound in his chest that was close to purring, his big hands running over your body playfully with his chest pressed against your back. 

“But Ichiji texted me that he’s already waiting for us outside, even before I got into the shower. I’m just being time-efficient here”, Gojo coos and presses a kiss on the back of your neck. His wet hair tickles your skin while his hands sneak around your waist—a moment of defenselessness, leaving him unprepared for you abruptly bending over to grab your shampoo from the ground and pummeling your boyfriend out of the shower with the sheer force of your arched back.

Freedom never tasted sweeter than in this moment; to finally move around somewhat freely in your shower again without bumping into this brick of a man. Sure, you still had to duck slightly to stand under the shower head, but at least it wasn’t getting blocked by another giant. You love Gojo, with all your heart, but you learned very early on in your relationship that showering together wasn’t this romantic and cute scenario for you two to enjoy–it was war.

“Oi!”

The shower curtain gets dramatically pulled aside and once the hot water steam sets slightly, you see your butt-naked lover with his hands on his hips, bright blue eyes on you, probably thinking of a hundred creative ways to make you pay for your crime. You would be intimidated if he didn’t look like a soggy wet Norwegian cat which makes you bite back a laughter forming in your throat.

“Don’t come back in here, I swear, this shower is too small for–”, you threaten him with a laugh, already reaching for your weapon–the shower head–again. 

With one big step Gojo is back in the shower with you, cornering you once more, his mouth finding your neck and trailing kisses up to your ear before he bites it gently. He chuckles quietly at the small noise you let out and you know he won’t stop until he charms out many, many other sounds. Something tells you that you won’t be getting out of this shower anytime soon and you make a mental note to send Ichiji a gift basket for putting up with your demeanors. It probably won’t be the last time.

[oleander-nin]

Hello I really like your work, do you think you could yandere Leo/Donnie with a reader that cries really easily?

A/N, not important: YES I KNOW I HAVE A SCHEDULE NOW BUT LEON SAID I COULD IGNORE IT ONCE A MONTH AND I AM SO PROUD OF THIS. This was so fun to do because I am the most emotional person, and I cry so much it isn't even funny. I apologize for the headcanon bit, I really suck at writing them and Leo's contradicts himself left and right lmaooo. Maybe I'll go back and rework them one day. Am VERY proud of the fic portion though. Once I finish a last couple fics, I might do Raph and Mikey for this as well. Any criticism is welcome, constructive or not. This is supposed to be a gender neutral reader, so if I screwed up somewhere, please tell me.

-Ollie

Tw: Needles(Donnie), kidnapping, restraints, crying, dark themes, yandere

Words: 3629

Summary: Yandere Leo and Donnie navigate trying to deal with their darling who cries easily

Leo:

He finds your sniffles and tears a bit endearing, and it plays into his hero complex. You’re just the cute little human who can’t handle the real world. That’s why he saved you, whisking you away to the lair to ‘keep you safe’. 

Teases you relentlessly for it. He finds it funny, albeit a bit worrying. He knows how easy you cry though, and isn’t all that concerned. He’s been watching you for years, he’s well aware how easily you’re set off.

He knows you’re only crying because of him, so he feels safe poking fun at you. It’s not like you’d willingly let him help, so he might as well have some fun if you’re going to be ‘dramatic’.

He’s determined to make you smile one of these days instead of breaking into sobs when he gets too close, but until then, he’ll just pretend your tears are from the joy of seeing him.

While he does find your puffy eyes slightly adorable, your countless tears do slightly annoy him. He doesn't like that you cry at the sight of him, or whimper at his touch. You’re supposed to love him. He usually ends up guilt tripping you after a few minutes, trying to make you feel bad for your emotions.

If he goes too far in his teasing and realizes what he’s saying is actually hurting you, he immediately changes gears and starts pampering you instead. He loves you, you’re his darling. He was just trying to get back at you for crying whenever he touched you. He didn’t mean to actually upset you. He just thought you were a crybaby.

Instantly pulls you close and starts actually trying to comfort you. He holds you in his arms while whispering apologies, letting himself be more vulnerable with you. You love him after all, you’re just confused. If he can’t be vulnerable with you, how can he expect you to ever trust him.

His favorite thing to do is kiss your tears away, trying to comfort you through bouts of affection. He knows you’re more sensitive, so once he realizes it’s serious, he’ll take care of you.

If you cry for a reason other than being scared of him, he’s quick to help you with your problem and comfort you, even if his form of comfort makes you cry more. It’s not his fault you hate his amazing hugs. He can’t deal with you crying for another reason, it means you got hurt or are thinking of something that’s not him. He can’t have that.

If you’re crying from a person or because you’re hurt(either emotionally or physically), he gets more serious and takes care of you. He’ll put on a movie and burrito you in blankets until you can’t get out, then snuggle up with you and whisper sweet nothings while you’re stuck. He finds it sweet and caring. You find it nerve wracking.

If a person makes you cry, he’ll gladly go remove them so they’ll never bother you again. If it was one of his brothers, he’d mess with something they enjoy and be as petty as possible to them for the next few days. He doesn't want you to truly be upset.

I let out a small groan as a buzzing sounds through my head and rattles my skull. I slowly shake off the sleep, trying to ignore how heavy I felt. My skin tingles uncomfortably, as if there were bugs crawling just underneath the skin. I stretch in my bed, confused to feel a plush comforter on top of me. A distant rattling sounds as I move and my wrists are tugged painfully back into place. My eyes flutter open and I look around, panic coursing through me. This wasn’t my bed. This wasn’t my room.

Where in the world was I?

I feel my throat start to tighten as a heavy weight settles on my chest. This was wrong. I pull uselessly at the restraints connecting my wrists to the pole that stretched from floor to ceiling. No matter how hard I tug, it didn’t give. All it did was make the skin on my wrists red and inflamed. They were starting to burn. I look around my prison with misty eyes, trying to figure out my surroundings. It looked as if I was in a refurbished subway car.

I blink away my tears as I suck in a shaky breath. Crying wouldn’t help. I couldn’t cry, not now. I needed a clear mind to get out of here. Swallowing back the building tears, I scan the room for something that could possibly clue me in to what was happening. I was obviously kidnapped and restrained, but why?

Ransom? I shake my head. I wasn’t the most well off considering I was just a college student. That same logic applies to robbery. I wasn’t wealthy, and sure didn’t look at it. My family wasn't exactly the cream of the crop either.

I shakily exhale. Was I just brought here to be tortured and murdered? Just an unlikely victim of a crime of passion? I shudder at the thought, new tears brimming my eyes. This wasn’t fair. I just wanted to go home. I wipe a few tears off my cheeks as they fall, the salty liquid leaving small stains on my cheeks. I sniffle softly, trying to keep it down. Crying in front of my captor would not be the best.

My head shoots up as I hear the faint padding of footsteps outside the door, a loud voice shouting to others in the area. I thickly swallow. There was more than one. I was outnumbered, chained, and alone. I quickly settle back into the bed, squeezing my eyes shut for a moment before letting my face relax. I take a couple deep breaths to calm my tears. Years of crying at the slightest inconvenience sure helps when you need to calm down quickly. Although, I would argue this is a perfectly acceptable situation to cry over. Not that I wanted to.

The fluttering of a curtain being pushed to the side sounds through the room. I hear my captor walk towards me, a soft tune being hummed as he nears. His voice was smooth and crisp, way too happy to match the fear coursing through me. I feel a wave of disgust wash over me. This guy kidnapped me, and is now humming a happy little tune like everything was right in the world. I wanted to jump up and scream at him, hit him with everything I had. This wasn’t fair.

I stay still on the bed despite my violent desires. Doing such a bold action while I was chained would only result in my own injury. I try my best not to tense as I feel his presence near and the humming grow louder. I make sure to keep my cheeks soft, trying to keep up the facade of a deep sleep. Maybe if he saw I was sleeping, he’d leave me alone.

I feel a finger caress my cheek, tracing the tracks of my tears. I hold back a shudder at his touch, trying not to shake. I forgot about the tear tracks. My pulse thunders in my ears as every part of my body begs me to run, but I can’t. I was stuck, a loop of chain keeping me grounded. There was nowhere I could go. Nowhere to run, nor hide. I was trapped with a monster, awaiting my demise.

“You were crying.” The voice pauses for a moment, seemingly thinking. I try everything to keep my breathing steady. I hear a small chuckle from above me as the voice speaks once more, this time in a more teasing tone. “Aww, did you miss me that much?”

My breath hitches in my throat and I don’t breathe, trying to convince him of my unconsciousness. It doesn’t work. I feel a couple more quick taps to my face, each one sending a chill down my spine. I hear another chuckle above me as he continues to poke at my face, watching it scrunch up from my inability to control my muscles.

"Open your eyes, I wanna see them." The voice demands, despite his tone being surprisingly soft. I hold out for a moment more before I feel a sudden wetness and pressure in my ear cavity. I jolt back, glaring at him while I wipe my ear with the heel of my hand. I open my mouth to complain, to try and hold my ground, but all words leave me the moment I meet his eyes.

He was a turtle. A large, smug, humanoid turtle. His arms were muscular and the limited part I could see of his build was strong. Two stark red crescents peaked out of his blue mask and stood out against his green skin. I could barely understand what I was looking at. 

I gape at him for a moment, trying to process what I was seeing. A scream builds up in my chest, fear upon what I saw. His eyes were big and held a strong ego, scanning me up and

down for my reaction. 

"What, don't like what you see?" He asks, still grinning. It was if he thought this whole thing was some huge joke. Nothing more than something to laugh over as the years go by. I swallow the lump in my throat, trying to control my breathing. Too much was happening at once and I could feel my chest starting to constrict on me. The pressure keeps rising and my heart thumps loudly in my ears, drowning out the words I watch him speak but cannot hear. New tears prick at my eyes, quickly falling down my cheek and gathering at my chin before splashing onto my clothes and lap. The turtle's grin widens as he sees my tears, a small coo sounding from his throat. "I know, I know. This meeting was bound to get a bit emotional. It sure is shocking to meet your soulmate for the first time."

I pause at his words, blinking as more tears fall. I try to hold back the choked sobs as I hurriedly wipe away my tears, feeling weak and pathetic for crying in what was possibly my killer. In the least, he was certainly my kidnapper. Showing any ounce of emotional vulnerability in front of him made me feel like I was falling further into his grasp, the chains around my wrists rattling quietly as I move my hands. I jolt back as his three fingered hands move to cup my cheeks, holding my face tight to keep me from squirming away. Tears continue to roll down my cheeks, completely out of my control. His blue masked face just smiles, wiping them as they fall with his thumbs.

Donnie:

He gets really upset at your constant stream of tears. You’re supposed to be happy with him. He doesn’t understand why you insist on throwing a ‘tantrum’ every time he comes near you or something slightly inconvenient happens. Your emotions don’t make much sense to him, even if he realizes the pattern.

Donnie’s not the best at empathizing with your tears. He finds them annoying and proof of you not settling him in. In his mind, the tears equal his own failures as a lover.

The more you cry, the more intense he’ll get. It’ll start with him trying to find solutions and devolve into threats. He just wants you to stop crying. Why won’t you stop crying?

Despite knowing you will cry at anything, he still takes it personally every time. It starts to annoy him and stress him out as he desperately tries to figure out what’s wrong.

Will probably lock you in his room if you keep crying. He doesn’t want to deal with it. Your tears stress him out and make him feel bad, which he doesn’t want. You’re supposed to love him, not cry at the sight of him.

If you’re crying about him or something he did(in his mind, something you made him do), he’ll just ignore your cries. He may snap at you to shut up a couple times, but just grumbles under his breath other than that.

The reason he hates it when you cry is because it makes him feel bad. He learned pretty quickly the way he tries to comfort you doesn’t help much, so instead he just ignores you. He would love to hold you close and keep you occupied so your tears stop, but you never let him touch you. At least, not without a fight. He usually gets fed up enough to leave you alone, but he’ll probably ignore you for days afterwards as a punishment.

If you have a ‘valid’ reason to cry(according to him), he’ll step in and actually help you. He’ll try to comfort you to the best of his ability. He doesn’t want anyone else to bring you pain, so he’ll take care of the problem and make sure to help you. He’ll pull you close as he works and let you cry into his chest for once, ignoring the way you fight him.

He wishes so badly you’d just stop crying. Sometimes he’ll even go to Mikey for advice on how to make you not so scared. It hurts him to see it, and it makes him more agitated with you, which ends in more tears. He wants it to stop.

He tries not to physically punish you for crying. He hates your tears, but you are doing a relatively good thing by trusting Donnie enough to cry in front of him. He’ll usually end up building you a quick item to keep you occupied or have SHELLDON spend time with you until you calm down. He doesn’t want to make your sobs worse.

If he wants affection, and you cry, he’ll just not care. He’ll spoon you from behind so you don’t get your tears on him and hold you close. He’s not willing to give up his own needs for your dramatics.

Bright lights shine into my closed eyelids, my body recoiling as my eyes start to open. I keep them squeezed shut, trying to minimize the damage to my sight. To my left, soft footfalls could be heard paired with a low muttering. I try to move my limbs, my breath hitching once I realize I was strapped down. I feel my breathing quicken, my blood running cold. I let my eyes flutter open, ignoring the way the bright burned my retinas as I force my eyes into focus. Tears built up in the corners of my eyes while my chest tightened.

I couldn’t move. My head was stuck between two large pieces of padding and my limbs were strapped down. The cold metal of the straps burned into my skin, the padding pressing uncomfortably against my cheeks. My face grows hot with tears as I try to force them down, not wanting to alert the presence at my left to my consciousness. A small gasp sounds, and I realize I was too late.

A large, humanoid turtle moves into my vision, my heart pounding in fear as he looks me up and down. I couldn’t help but gasp at his appearance while he towers over me. A purple mask covered the top half of his face, only showing his cold eyes. I look at the purple metal on his back, watching the light catch it to make it shimmer. The purple markings on his shoulders and thighs seemed to glow with the screen he had in front of him, glancing between it and me. His face is scrunched up in thought while he stares down at me, the look of surprise in his eyes morphing into one of confusion. I stay silent, unable to wipe the tears trailing down my cheeks away, unable to keep my dignity in front of this monster.

I couldn’t help but wish for my parents, for freedom. Silent tears continued to build up and fall while the figure in front of me stared me down. His eyes were glued to my cheeks and my expression, one I could only imagine is of terror. He raises his hand to grab my face and I flinch.

I press my head against the headrest of the chair, trying to dodge his approaching hand. He ignores my attempts, grabbing my face firmly and frowning as he stares into my eyes. He wipes my tears before dropping his hand down to cup my chin. I struggle as he forces my face up to make me look at him, a short whimper being pulled from my throat. I blink back more tears, unsure what to make of the turtle in front of me. He continues to stare down my shaking form for a moment, his bottom lip jutting out.

“Are you… Crying?” His surprisingly smooth voice asks. I scrunch my face up, confused why he was even asking. His question took me a bit off guard. Why was he confused about my tears? Sure, I cried more easily than most people, but this situation wasn’t one I would consider something I shouldn’t cry over. The turtle continues to stare me down, seemingly waiting for me to answer. I don’t. I had nothing to say. My voice wouldn’t let me either way. He drops my chin with a glare, rolling his eyes. I let out a breath of relief when he backs up, my limbs still shaking slightly from the fear. I watch him move around the room, not sure whether to be relieved or worried when he ducks out of my sight. 

"Your tears won't phase me." He says, the clinking of metal and glass punctuating his words. I hear a small beep along with liquid being swirled around, my fear rising. Was I about to be experimented on? To be ripped apart and killed brutally? What would something like him even want with me? "Cry all you want, but it won't stop me. You're mine."

His words make me pause as I try to decipher the meaning of his words while he comes back into my line of vision. He's absentmindedly pulling a medical cart with him, staring down at the screen on his wrist. I try to look at the contents of the medical cart, but his body is blocking my sight. I gulp. What could he possibly want? The pads around my head feel sticky from my tears. I wanted to be away from this dreaded chair so bad. I wanted to go home. The turtle looks at me again, smirking at my discomfort. I take a deep breath as he drops his wrist and wheels the cart in front, ready to show off the torture he planned on putting me through.

My breath leaves my chest when I see four syringes lined neatly on the surface of the cart, a sharps container and needles off to the side. I feel as though I had been doused in cold water, new tears springing to my eyes. I was right, I was about to be experimented on then killed. There was no way I could fathom getting out of this alive. I grip the armrest of the chair I was strapped to, my hand cramping and my knuckles turning white from the force. His eyes meet mine and narrow slightly, tsking at the new tears rolling down my cheeks. He didn’t comment on them, but he seemed obviously relieved I wasn’t making much noise. If I could, I would thank the heavens I was a silent crier.

His gaze follows mine to the medical cart holding the needles, a thoughtful hum sounding from his throat. He turns back to me, he drawn eyebrows raising. “I am aware of your allergy to penicillin, and I can assure you there is none in any of the injections I’m about to give you.”

I pause at his words, trying to understand how he knew that. Did he run tests on me while I was asleep? Access my medical history? I shudder at the thought, my mouth too dry to scream and shout all the things I wanted to. My eyes widen as he comes near me with the first shot, his three-fingered hands covered in latex gloves. I struggle violently against the straps, trying desperately to escape. A loud sob is pulled from my chest as more tears pour down my face, fear crashing over me in strong waves.

The turtle pauses, looking down at my mess of a form. A minute goes by as he watches me panic, his right eye twitching. He looks down at the needle in his hand and frowns, tapping his thigh repeatedly with the unoccupied hand. He looks back at me, ignoring my teary face. “I was not aware you had trypanophobia. I apologize, but I really need to do this. If you close your eyes, it’ll be easier. Your struggling will only make it worse.

I suck in a shaky breath, trying to speak. I blank at his words, my eyes still trained on the needle. I assumed he thought I had a fear of needles, and not of being injected with a mystery liquid. Hopefully my death would be quick. He reaches out with one hand and stabilizes my arm, bringing the needle dangerously close to my flesh. I sob harder, trying to jerk away from him, but to no avail. I take one last look at the world around me, expecting to not be able to see it for much longer. I close my eyes and try not to scream as the needle enters my skin.

[hiding-in-my-blanket-fort]

Following Orders

(Soap x domme civvy F!Reader)

When the conversation between you and your best friend, Johnny, takes a turn into heated territory, he can't hide his physical reaction. You decide to help him out and offer a little relief, as long as he follows orders.

Minors DNI. 18+ only.

Word count: 3.4k

Content warnings: JOI, friends to lovers, dry humping, discussions of sex, protected PiV

Or read on Ao3

"Don't even think about it," you said, slashing at the air with your chopsticks. 

With your back against your couch, seated on the floor, you were closer to the array of food spread across the coffee table of your apartment. But your position came at a cost.

Johnny huffed a laugh at your empty threat. Since he was on the couch behind you, he easily reached over your shoulder, snatching a piece of food from your takeout container.

"Asshole," you muttered.

"Admit it, hen. You love me."

You narrowed your eyes and pointed your chopsticks at him.

"Pushing your luck, buddy."

He chuckled and swapped his takeout container for a different one. After shoving a bite of food into his mouth that was too big, he spoke around it.

“Speaking of which, when are you finally gonna bring ‘round that boyfriend of yours? Need to give him a talk, you know. Man to man.”

You rolled your eyes. “I told you, Johnny. There is no boyfriend. And even if there was one, I’m not introducing him just so you can scare him off.”

Johnny spread his hands. “I wouldn’t scare him off!”

You shot him a fond look of annoyance.

“That’s what you did with the last one.”

He lifted one shoulder in a half shrug.

“It’s not my fault the little shite pissed his pants over a friendly discussion involving C4.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from laughing because you knew that would only egg him on even more. The corner of Johnny’s mouth quirked up because he saw right through you anyway.

“I could set you up,” he offered.

“Not in a million years.”

Johnny raised an eyebrow in amusement.

“Chicken.”

You stuck your tongue out at him.

“Sticks and stones, Johnny.”

He snorted and offered his takeout toward you, giving it a shake.

“Trade.”

You swapped containers. When you started digging into it, you sighed.

“I think I’m just too damn difficult to please.”

“Obviously,” Johnny replied dryly. “I figured that out a long time ago.”

You grabbed a pillow and chucked it at his head. He laughed and caught it smoothly without spilling his food. Then he set it on the couch beside him.

“Easy with the friendly fire. No need to get violent.”

“Says Mr. Sexy Soldier who has no problem taking someone home. You get along with everyone.”

“Come on now, that’s not true,” Johnny protested, his tone turning serious. “I’ve had my moments. What’s the hang up, anyway? Are these guys you’re dating not…reciprocatin’?”

You chewed the inside of your cheek, deliberating on just how much to divulge. While you and Johnny weren’t shy about conversations regarding sex, you didn’t want him to tease you about your most intimate desires either.

“No, it’s just…” You trailed off and dropped your gaze. “I have certain preferences. They don’t always align with what most guys consider to be standard sex.”

There was a pause. Johnny nodded.

Then…

“You’re into feet, aren’t you?”

You lobbed another pillow at him.

“No! God, you’re such a fucking child.”

He batted it aside, laughing.

“You were bein’ vague! What was I supposed to think?”

“Not that!”

Johnny raised his eyebrows and rolled his wrist in a go on gesture.

“Details, bonnie. I need details.”

“No, you really don’t.”

“When did you get to be so god awful bashful?”

You made a noise of distress, wishing you hadn’t brought up this topic of conversation. Using your elbow on the couch cushion, you leveraged yourself up and moved to the armchair - as far away from Johnny as you could get. You pulled your feet up to your chest and poked at your food.

“It’s just - I like to be in charge, okay?"

A beat of silence settled over the room. Johnny tilted his head as he considered this piece of information.

“That tracks,” he said at last. “You’ve always been mean to me. That’s how I knew you liked me.”

“I have not,” you countered, indignant.

He held up his forefinger and thumb with a squint to indicate a little bit.

“It isn’t about being mean,” I insisted. “I’m not interested in being submissive, that’s all. It makes me feel…”

You trailed off, suddenly realizing just how much you’d said. Johnny didn’t appear to be judging you though. And he wasn’t cracking any jokes at your expense either. In fact, he was suspiciously quiet and attentive.

“Makes you feel…what?” he prompted.

You sighed. “Powerless. But when I have a man handcuffed to the bed, hanging on every word out of my mouth, it’s…it’s intoxicating. It’s the greatest feeling in the world. I love watching how eager he is, quick to follow orders, hungry to obey. I love seeing how hard and desperate he gets, especially when he can’t do a damn thing about it until I decide to have mercy on him and give him the release he craves. That’s what I’m looking for. But the guys I’ve dated…they’re not into it at all.”

When you finished, Johnny had this glazed expression in his eyes. He cleared his throat, blinking a few times. Then he tugged the pillow beside him over his lap.

“That’s–uh–that’s good. Sounds like you know what you want, hen.”

His voice seemed…off. Too rough and scratchy.

“Did I say something wrong?” you asked.

Johnny shook his head vigorously. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

“Nope. Not at all.”

As a brief silence settled over the room, Johnny shifted on the couch. You could have sworn the muscles in his biceps flexed a little more than necessary, straining at his T-shirt sleeve when he pressed his elbow into the pillow on his lap.

That’s when it clicked in your brain. And a giddy little thrill zipped up your spine.

“Johnny.”

He raised his eyebrows, overly focused at prodding into his takeout container, even though he hadn’t eaten a bite in several seconds.

“Yeah?”

“What’s with the pillow?” you asked.

He glanced up. “What about it?”

“Why is it on your lap?”

He shrugged. “No–no reason. It’s just…there.”

Oh, you were like a missile locked onto your target now.

“Did I…fluster you?” you asked, lowering your voice.

Johnny growled. “Damn it, woman. Can’t you see when a man is fighting for his life out here?”

You laughed and eagerly pushed your food aside, fixing all your attention on him.

“I can’t believe this. Did you really just pop a boner because of what I was talking about?”

He tipped his head back with a groan.

“Fine! Fine, god, yes. Is that what you wanted to hear? Are you happy now? You devilish little minx. Fuckin’ hell.”

You were smiling so big that your cheeks hurt. You adjusted in your seat until you were kneeling on your chair, elbows propped on the armrest, studying the delicious strain in Johnny’s posture as he grappled for control.

“Johnny MacTavish,” you said. “I had no idea you would be into that.”

“Yeah, well…I guess I am. It’s hot, okay?”

You smirked.

“Stop smiling,” he said with a strangled laugh.

You snickered and pushed out of your seat, taking a position on the opposite end of the couch from Johnny.

“So, you like to be bossed around, huh?”

“Jesus,” he muttered, pressing himself deeper into the couch. 

When he pushed his knees wider, the pillow bucked upward. You tried–and failed miserably–to not think about the thrust of his hips. Why did that make the back of your neck prickle and your stomach get all tangled up in knots?

You bit your lower lip, debating whether you should continue or pull back. Even though you and Johnny were never shy about your conversations, this was clearly flirting with a sexual line that could muddy the waters between you.

Johnny’s gaze flicked to you, uncertain.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked.

You shrugged. “Like what?”

“Like I’m fresh meat and you’re a hungry wolf.”

You grinned. “Do you want me to change the subject?”

Johnny hedged. That was all the answer you needed. 

“I could help with your…little problem,” you added.

He blew out a shaky breath and turned his head away, his voice pitched so low that you almost missed it.

“You know damn well it’s not little, hen.”

Bracing an arm across the back of the couch, you leaned closer. Then you reached out and pinched a corner of the pillow between two fingers with a playful tug.

“Let me see,” you said softly.

Johnny clutched the pillow with a white-knuckled grip.

“No way.”

“Pretty please?” you teased.

Johnny didn’t budge, didn’t breathe a word. For once, he was uncharacteristically silent. You sidled closer and brushed a butterfly kiss to his cheek.

Slowly, Johnny turned to look at you. As soon as you met his gaze, your breath hitched in your chest. His ice-blue eyes were nearly completely black with arousal. In the back of your mind, you thought, we can’t do this. What if it ruins our friendship?

Then Johnny moved his hand away from the pillow without breaking eye contact.

You pulled it aside.

For a split second, you held Johnny’s gaze. Then you glanced down at his lap.

His jeans were stretched tight, the prominent ridge of his bulge showing just how much your words had affected him. Propping your elbow on the back of the couch, you rested your hand on your fist.

“Is this…too weird?”

Johnny adjusted in his seat, tugging at the front of his jeans.

“To be honest, bonnie, I don’t really give a shit right now. Do you…do you want to stop?”

You shook your head. A small smile flickered at the corner of his mouth.

“Good.”

A shiver of anticipation rose in your chest and you traced a fingertip down Johnny’s bicep.

“Unzip for me.”

Holding your gaze, Johnny’s shoulders and forearms flexed as he unbuckled his belt and unzipped his fly. The tip of his cock was barely visible, protruding from the waistband of his jeans. But when he started to pull it out, you clucked your tongue.

“Hold up. Did I tell you to touch yourself?”

Johnny bit back a groan. A muscle twitched in his jaw and he splayed his palms across his thighs. The tendons in his neck strained from fighting to sit still. Judging by the throb between your thighs and the jittery feeling in your stomach, you were just as eager as Johnny to plow ahead and get things moving. But you liked making him work for it, too.

“I should have known,” you said. “That you’d be so good at following orders, soldier boy.”

Johnny let out a breathless laugh.

“See? Like I said. You’re mean to me.”

“Oh, I haven’t even started yet.” You tilted your chin in the direction of his lap. “Push your pants down a little more. Show off the goods.”

Johnny arched his hips up, shoving his pants and boxers down to mid-thigh. His cock curved up toward his stomach, thick, straining, and beautiful. The blunt head glistened with pre-cum. All you wanted to do was reach out and claim it for yourself. He clutched the couch cushions on either side of him, fists tight, biceps straining.

You couldn’t help yourself and hovered your hand over his lap, your fingers so close to touching his cock that you could feel the heat radiating off him. Then you brought your mouth to his ear.

“Let’s see how strong your stroke game is, yeah?”

Johnny’s breath shuddered and you didn’t miss the way his abs flexed beneath his shirt. When he thrust up toward your hand, you pulled away at the last second. He sagged against the mattress with a noise of frustration that broke off into a laugh.

“Oh, you little shite,” he said.

“Come on. Try again. I know for a fact you’re too stubborn to give up that easily, Johnny. Keep going.”

His palm strayed over your thigh as he thrust up again, straining for that painfully slight friction your fingers would offer. You didn’t reprimand him for the touch to your leg. The way his palm settled there seemed like a comforting gesture, for both of you, so you let him get away with it just this once.

You watched Johnny struggle, falling short of coming in contact with your fingers every time no matter how much he arched upward. Head tilted back, lower lip clamped between his teeth. The way he pushed his hips back into the couch then up toward your hand was mesmerizing to witness, putting every gorgeous muscle in his body on powerful display.

“Fuck, bonnie, you’re killing me,” he said through his teeth.

You gave a pleased hum.

“You’re doing very well.”

He blew out a breath of frustration. A thin sheen of sweat was already beginning to form on his collarbones, pooling in the hollow of his throat. Your mouth watered at the thought of dragging your tongue over it, tasting the saltiness of him.

“Go on then,” you said. “Since you were so good for me, you can touch yourself.”

You sat back as Johnny frantically wrapped a hand around his cock with a breathless oh thank god.

You granted him two long, desperate strokes before you swatted his wrist. His skin was scorching beneath your touch.

“I didn’t say you could finish yourself off, big boy.”

“Fuck,” Johnny rasped, stilling his motion.

“That’s better. Bring your hand up over the head of your crown. You’re sensitive there, aren’t you?”

Johnny practically whimpered, his lips pressed into a thin, tight line as he obeyed. 

“Keep circling with your thumb for a bit,” you said. “And do it slowly. I want to watch.”

He passed the pad of his thumb over the head of his cock in steady circles. You loved the way his cock jumped in his hand. When you lifted your gaze, you found Johnny looking at you with hooded eyes, his lips slightly parted. With his head tipped back against the couch, it fully exposed his neck, and it struck you how open and loose and vulnerable his position was.

He was putty in your hands even though the only touch you’d initiated was the slightest brush of your fingertip against his bicep a few minutes ago. You smiled sweetly and swept your knuckles along his cheek.

“If I had known you were so willing to please me,” you said. “We could have done this sooner.”

Johnny huffed. “You were too distracted with those damn sods who were no good for you.”

“Are you saying you like it when I’m mean to you?”

“I’ve got my fucking cock in my hand, hard as a rock. Do you really need me to spell it out for you more than that, love?”

You laughed softly with a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Fuck your fist for me, Johnny,” you whispered against his skin. “But don’t come. I want to see how long you can hold out.”

He gave a deep groan. The slick sound of his fist around his cock echoed in the room, sloppy and hurried. His palm left your leg for a moment, and before you could register the loss, he cupped his hand beneath your chin, pulling you in for a proper kiss.

You gasped at the electric shock of his mouth against yours, the wet heat of his tongue sliding past your lips. It was hard to breathe, hard to think, when your senses were full of Johnny.

For a brief moment, you pulled back just long enough to watch him pumping along his length. His arm flexed with the movement, but his hand was still beneath your chin. After a second or two, Johnny slid his hand into your hair, cradling the back of your neck. 

You needed him, ached for him, and you had no idea how that happened. When had you changed from thinking of him as a friend to…this?

Before you realized what you were doing, you pushed Johnny’s fist away from his cock. Then you hitched your leg over his lap, your hands braced on the couch behind his head. Johnny’s palms came to rest on your hips, partly to guide you, but mostly to anchor himself. The weight of his cock bumped against your clothed pussy as you started grinding down on him.

“Fuck, you’re desperate, aren’t you, love?” he murmured. “You just needed a free cock to use and no one would give you what you needed.”

“But you’ll do that for me, won’t you, Johnny?” you said between one kiss and the next, breathing hard. “You’ll let me use your cock any time I want to, right?”

He nodded as he cupped his hands on either side of your face, pressing your mouth open for another soul-scorching kiss. Even through your clothes, you felt his cock throb and pulse, pressed up against your core.

You were both lost to the heat of the moment now, moving together, grasping, kissing, grinding. With his hands full of your ass, he rocked you back and forth on the ridge of his cock. When he mouthed at your clothed breasts, you yanked your shirt off with impatience, tossing it aside. A moment later, your bra followed.

You were surprised at how good and natural it felt. This was your best friend in the entire world and it could have been awkward but it wasn’t. As Johnny dragged the flat of his tongue over your nipple, pinching it between his teeth with a slight jolt of sweet pain, you closed your eyes and let your head fall back.

As you tugged at his hair, you realized just how wet and sticky your pants were getting. Gripping a fistful of fabric, you pulled his T-shirt over his head.

“Inside me,” you said, practically a croak because your voice was so raw with need. “Johnny, now.”

Johnny spread you out on the couch, cradling the back of your head in his hand to protect you in case you came in contact with the armrest. As he pulled away, he trailed his hands down your body, mapping every curve and swell as he went. When he reached your jeans, he flicked his gaze to yours in a silent request for permission.

Your lips quirked up. “Use your words, sweetie.”

He breathed a faint laugh and his cock twitched, thick and heavy between his legs.

“May I take your pants off, hen?”

You’d barely nodded when Johnny gave a playful growl and sucked a bruising kiss into your hip. He unbuttoned your jeans and stripped them off eagerly, leaving you in just your panties. He paused as he took in the sight of you there, waiting for him. He trailed his hands up your calves and thighs, teasing his thumbs at the edge of your panties.

“May I?” he asked again, his voice significantly gruffer this time.

Again, you nodded. Slowly, he hooked his thumbs into your panties and dragged them down, fully exposing you. Never in a million years would you have thought that inviting Johnny MacTavish over for your usual takeout to chat and catch up would lead to this - fucking on the couch.

“Condom,” you said even though it felt like your voice was going to give out at any moment.

Johnny blinked, shaking himself out of his reverie. Stripping his pants off the rest of the way, he fished a condom from his pocket and tore it open. When he rolled it on, you didn’t waste a second and locked your fingers into his hair with an insistent tug. You pulled him up until his body was flush against yours.

“Show me,” you said. “Show me how those damn sods were no good for me. Show me that you can do better.”

A hungry gleam came into Johnny’s arms as he braced his elbows on the couch, hemming you in. You cupped his face as he slotted his cock inside you and slowly, perfectly sank all the way in. Your mouth fell open at the first inch. You were moaning by the time his balls were pressed against your ass, filling you until you felt all of him, thick and throbbing and completely buried inside you.

“Oh, fuck, Johnny,” you said, your voice shaking with sensation. “All for me?”

“All for you, love,” he confirmed. 

As he enveloped your body beneath him, your eyes rolled back in your head and you sank your teeth into his shoulder. The salty taste of his skin was even better than you imagined.

Masterlist

[neuroticbookworm]

FRIENDS. FRIENDS.

Cooking Crush is undoubtedly one of the best shows airing at the moment.

Today's episode gave me so much life that I don't even know where to begin, but I'm gonna try my best to pull two (2) coherent thoughts out of my melting brain.

1. The Three Must-Eat-eers Conflict and Resolution:

Last episode had set up such a perfect conflict that's rarely handled well in any media: the bruised feelings of the single friend when the rest of the gang gets into committed romantic relationships. Most of the time this scenario shows up in media, one party will be framed as selfish and/or jealous. None of that nonsense here; Cooking Crush has always taken the friendship of its characters very seriously, especially Prem, Dynamite and Samsee. Samsee’s feelings were hurt not just because of his own fears of being abandoned by his friends, he was also (rightfully) mad that he ended up as the only friend who was kept out of the loop of knowing that his best friends had boyfriends now. But Prem and Dynamite did not intend to do this, and they were also right to set their own pace in making their relationship public, but it’s just that the string of accidental reveals happened in an order that made Samsee feel like a third-wheeler in his own home, twice over.

Cooking Crush treats its characters with a lot of kindness and empathy and it shows. Prem and Dy wanting to keep their relationships under wraps for the time being is valid. Samsee feeling hurt and lost, and opting out of the competition is valid. This episode begins with the drama of the cooking competition and works its comedy (thank you for the chuckles, wildly gesticulating White Man) and romance (my poor heart swooned all over my rib cage when Ten helped Prem into his chef clothes). And when the time came for the big reconciliation, the show does not sweep away Samee’s very hurt feelings just because Prem and Dy struggled without Samsee for most of the first round of cooking. He apologizes for ditching them and Dy was having none of it.

(Dy, my perfect child, oh how I love you with my entire heart)

Perfect resolution. and a well-earned, most adorable group hug to bookend it. I truly could not be more in love with this show. Or can I?

2. Miscommunication? Nah.

Well, this episode also featured the Annoying Asshole Chef dude who’s determined to pursue Prem even though it is very clear that Prem is not interested and would reject his advances, if only he stuck around long enough to actually get rejected and not run away from him like a goddamn coward. I was furious when he positioned himself as an actual option for Prem to Ten in this episode, and thoroughly enjoyed every moment Ten chose to call him out on his bullshit.

But y’all. The very inappropriate hug. The well-deserved punch to his stupid face. The storm-off. All of it had me very concerned that this is all barrelling towards a classic miscommunication moment.

BUT NO.

THE SHOW SAID THERE WILL BE NO STUPID MISCOMMUNICATION.

NOT IN THIS HOUSE.

My problem with the miscommunication trope is that it ultimately positions the couple we are supposed to be rooting for as a weak team. Honest communication and vulnerability in a new-ish relationship is not easy, and it takes a lot of courage to take that step to be the one to spell out the facts, and trust that the other person likes them well enough to keep an open ear, and believe them when they say a meddling cowardly asshole is trying to get in the way of their relationship. Ten’s bravery was perfectly contrasted with the sliminess of the Annoying Cowardly Chef (I refuse to learn his name, he is not worth my braincells).

Oh but Ten wasn’t done yet!

I absolutely adore how he moves the conversation away from that pesky little pest of a human towards something that matters more: his desire to make things official with Prem. The Annoying Asshole Chef was not the focus of the conversation, Ten and Prem are. And it all culminates in an incredible kiss and a camera swoop that already has a permanent little shrine in my silly little head.

TAKE MY HEART, COOKING CRUSH. TREAT IT WELL.

[apomaro-mellow]

Demon!Eddie 5

At some point, Eddie had cleaned Steve up a little and dressed him in a tank top and shorts. The shirt had a band he’d never heard of but maybe Eddie would tell him about it sometime. Steve had tried to get up on his own only to immediately fall back onto the bed when he felt a sharp pain. That would be last night, coming back to literally bite him in the ass.

“Job hunting’s gonna have to wait”, Eddie grinned.

Eventually they migrated to the couch back in the apartment, Eddie lying on his back and Steve right on top of him. He found it very easy to imagine if the rest of his life was like this. In Eddie’s clothes, in his place, completely surrounded by him.

Steve didn't even know where his clothes from the first night went and he didn't give a flying fuck. Not when he was laying on top of Eddie, getting his lower back rubbed.

"Don't get a big head about it. That was the first dick I ever took."

“I didn’t say anything”, Eddie said.

“I can feel it in your hands”, Steve replied before letting out a soft hum as Eddie’s fingers pressed a spot on his spine. 

The morning was spent so lazily and for the first time in a long time, Steve wasn’t thinking about his future or what he was supposed to do about it. He just relaxed in Eddie’s hold. The only time he worried was when Eddie got up to say he was making breakfast. Steve ignored any soreness to confirm if his suspicions were correct.

And to his horror, Eddie dumped ground coffee into a pot, filled it with water, and then set it all on the stove. 

“You’re an animal”, Steve said.

“I think we established that last night”, Eddie smirked.

“I’m talking about your coffee set up. Where’s your coffee maker? Your filters?”

“What’s wrong with the way I make coffee?”

“Tony the tiger wouldn’t make it that way.”

Eddie’s retort was cut off by a knock on the door and a man’s voice. “Eddie? Edifice Edacity Edger you open this door right now!”

“Shit!”

“Who’s that?”, Steve asked.

“Uhh, that would be my uncle. Stay here for a second and don’t make a sound.” Eddie pushed Steve towards the magic door and before Steve knew it, he was floating in a dark abyss.

He wasn’t in the lavish bedroom from before, nor was he in any of the places Eddie took him yesterday. It was just an endless void with no gravity. Steve was no stranger to hiding in girls’ closets, but this was definitely different.

“His uncle, huh...”, Steve whispered just in case. He wondered what he was like. Probably terrifying if Eddie was trying to hide him. Maybe he was closer to a more traditional demon and would’ve eaten Steve up or sucked our his soul.

Steve felt like he was flying and floating and descending all at the same time and just as he was starting to feel disoriented, he saw the light of the door opening right next to him and Eddie reaching in. Steve took his hand and was pulled back into the apartment.

“Wayne, this is Steve, my current contractor. Steve, this is my Uncle Wayne.”

Uncle Wayne looked more like the kind of guy who spent his free time at hardware stores and bait shops than a demon. But now Steve felt like it would be rude to ask.

“Hi there, sir. Nice to meet you.”

Wayne’s hands were on his hips as he looked Steve up and down. “Hmph. He’s easy on the eyes, I’ll give ‘im that. But you should know better than to be swayed by a nice face.”

“I’m not being swayed”, Eddie said. “It’s just taking some time to fulfill his request.”

Wayne gave him a disappointed look. Steve knew they were talking about him but couldn’t see what the exact problem was.

“You know how this story ends, son.”

Eddie crossed his arms. “No actually, I don’t. Why don’t you enlighten us, oh wise storyteller.”

“Eddie, don’t be rude to your uncle”, Steve chastised. 

Wayne held up a hand. “He’s a brat, but he ain’t misbehavin’. But my official designation is ‘storykeeper’.”

“A what?”

Wayne waved a hand and glowing tomes materialized all around them. “Every single person that has ever existed, has a story to tell. Demons too. When a life ends, everything gets compiled and their story comes into my hands.”

“So...you know everything that’s ever going to happen?”, Steve asked in awe.

“I’m not omniscient. I only know what happens when the story’s over. But after doing this for as long as I have, you start to notice patterns.”

“And what’s my pattern?”, Eddie raised a brow.

“How does bullheaded young buck gets too caught up in one deal sound? Does that sound like a fit?”

“I’m not-” Eddie rolled his eyes but made the mistake of looking at Steve while doing so and had to quickly avert them.

“I don’t understand how any of this works, but is Eddie doing anything wrong? We have a deal and he’s seeing it through”, Steve said in his defense.

“Most demons ain’t so thorough”, Wayne answered.

“You and I both know most demons ain’t honest either”, Eddie said.

“Eddie, get the deal done. And move on.”

Eddie didn’t respond but Wayne wasn’t waiting for one, already on his way out the door. Steve waited for the door to close to speak again.

“Am I....are you breaking any rules because of me?”

“Rule breaking is a part of my creed, baby. But technically, no. Wayne’s right, most demons would’ve set you up in a new place with a new name and considered their job done. But I pride myself on my customer service.”

Steve smiled. “Right. You serve all your customers the same way?”

Eddie saw the way Steve was looking at him and faltered. “N-no. No, I don’t. But you’re special.”

It certainly made Steve feel special to hear it straight from Eddie. He got the deeper meaning of Wayne’s warning. They were both supposed to be very short chapters in each other’s lives. Ships passing in the night or whatever. Steve knew, once he had figured out what he wanted, Eddie would leave and he’d never hear from him again.

“I think I’m all rested up now. Let’s keep looking.”

“You sure?”, Eddie asked.

“Yeah. After we get some decent coffee.”

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

Maybe it was because of his uncle’s words, but Eddie kept his distance for the next few jobs. Steve tried not to mind too much. He was going to have to do whatever he chose without Eddie anyway. He spent the rest of the morning into the early afternoon in a summer camp, working as a sports counselor. 

He had plenty of fun teaching some boys the basics of basketball and running them through drills and even getting through a mini game that they all seemed to enjoy. After a couple periods though, he had a free moment and explored the camp. He ended up being wrangled by a group of boys who needed some muscle for a satellite project.

“I didn’t even know we did this kind of thing at this camp”, he admitted, while lugging around machinery he couldn’t even begin to name.

“Yeah, no duh. You sports counselors barely leave Jock Row”, one kid snarked.

“You should come by the Arts and Sciences building some time”, another said. “We’re always doing something cool.”

“Even if it’s not totally legal!”, the one who had grabbed Steve beamed.

“Uh, what’re you guys’ names again?”

“I’m Dustin, the nice one’s Will, and those two are Lucas and Mike.”

“How does Will get ‘nice one’?”, Lucas asked.

“You know Will’s the reason your cabin didn’t get Cinnamon Toast night, right?”, Mike said.

Dustin gave such a gasp, Steve was worried he’d swallowed a lung.

“Our cabin had to do it with biscuits! How could you?”

“They made it a competition and that’s the one kind I can win”, Will shrugged.

They made it to their destination and Steve followed their disjointed directions but eventually the satellite was built and they were talking to the girls camp across the lake. It was completely juvenile and fun and Steve couldn’t remember the last time he’d done something like this. 

The lunch bugle rang and Steve was approached by a black and red frog while the campers went off to eat.

“And what have you been up to? Frog stuff?”

Eddie croaked, then hopped a couple times in place. Steve crossed his arms.

“I’m not picking you up like this. You’re all, slimy. And you look poisonous.”

Frog-Eddie croaked and hopped onto his shoe, still urging at him but Steve was a rock. Eddie transformed back into himself, wearing the camp t-shirt and red shorts that was the counselor uniform.

“You weren’t so picky about my fluids last night”, Eddie smirked, while wrapping his arms around Steve.

“Yeah there’s a difference.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, beautiful~ Lunch and then on to the next?”

“Let’s.”

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

Eddie had zero idea why Steve wanted to work in an office. But hey, who was he to judge? At least he wasn’t trying to be a cop anymore. 

Steve really just wanted to experience office culture for himself. It was the sort of thing his father had been setting him up for. Before the ritual sacrifice of course. He was put on mailroom duty and that was where he met his worst enemy - Robin Buckley.

She sneered and scoffed at him most of the time. And when she deigned to use words, her comments were always biting. Delivering mail wasn’t too bad, except the fact that most of the employees barely looked him in the face while delivering. He came to the break room and Robin was already there. He tried to ignore her while getting a yogurt from the fridge.

He leaned against it when another guy came in. Steve was pretty sure his name was Kenneth.

“Hey, it’s the mailroom crew!”, he smarmed while refilling his mug with coffee. “You know Robin you should, maybe not scowl so much the boys here appreciate a nice smile.”

Kenneth walked out before he could see Robin’s megawatt dirty look. She glanced at Steve and saw he had the same look as her.

“What an asshole”, Steve said.

“That’s putting it lightly. There’s so much as, there’s no hole left”, Robin snarked.

Steve slid over closer to her so they could continue to talk in whispers. The people here were jerks but he might choose to work with them one day.

“At least he’s better than Nick.”

Robin wretched with her tongue out. “You know he slept with Norma at the Christmas party?”

Steve raised a brow. “Nick? With the ring on his finger and the happy family picture in his cubicle?”

“Yeah.”

“Scumbag.”

They spent more than was probably allowed on their break, trading gossip. Steve only got distracted when he saw a very attractive janitor roll by with his mop and bucket. Without a word, he walked off and followed him right into the closet.

“You’ve been wandering around more”, Steve said as the door closed.

“Just tryina give you space baby. Wouldn’t wanna influence your decision”, Eddie grinned, taking the cap off his head.

“And what if my decision was to blow off work and have some fun with the cleaning guy in the broom closet?”

“Sounds like the opposite of climbing the corporate ladder”, Eddie grinned while unzipping his jumpsuit.

“The opposite of climbing is what again?”, Steve said as he sank down to his knees.

Part 7

Tag Team

@swimmingbirdrunningrock @flustratedcas @estrellami-1 @weirdandabsurd42 @lololol-1234 @chaoticvictorianspirit @giopandaonice @marklee-blackmore @blackpanzy @kacatshi @stevesbipanic @goodolefashionedloverboi @panicatthediaz @gregre369 @littlewildflowerkitten @starryeyedpoet17 @envyadams-vs-me @abbiecadabi-blog @genderless-spoon  @stxrcrossed186 @l0st-strawberry @willowsmelody @bornonthesavage @mxmakessense @roaringgoodshow @potato-of-the-lord @actualwakingnightmare @meccaminayah @irregular-child  @cherr1ehead @anaibis @finalmoondragon @sani-86 @bestwifehaver @tinyplanet95 @mc-i-r @abstractnaturaldisaster @livgil273 @crowley--aziraphale @formacoon @slv-333 @just-a-tiny-void @beckkthewreck @awkwardgravity1 @plasticcrotches

[helloalycia]

the king’s ward [one] // morgana pendragon

summary: when you and your brother travel to Camelot to compete in a fighting competition, there's one problem: women can't fight. So, naturally, you convince him to switch places with you whilst you have your chance to fight. And impressing the King's Ward is merely a bonus.

warning/s: mentions of fighting and violence.

author's note: hello! so this was impulse written not long ago when i rewatched merlin bc who doesn't love katie mcgrath? it's inspired by that merlin ep where arthur uses a decoy in his jousting (?) match! and it's kind of like she's the man if you think about it haha, so do enjoy! it's a multi-part imagine :)

two / three / four / masterlist / wattpad

"This is gonna be amazing, Y/B/N," I said with a grin, trying to contain my excitement as we approached the tournament grounds.

"Reign it in," he said lightheartedly, though I knew he was right. I wasn't supposed to be competing, he was, so I had to play the part.

Every year, Camelot held a fighting tournament that anybody could compete in, even those who weren't knights. There were no rules and it was an open competition, however despite nothing explicitly saying women couldn't compete, it was a given. And so every year, I only dreamt of competing so that I could see if I was as good as I hoped. Finally, I came up with the genius idea for my brother, Y/B/N, to pretend to compete whilst I actually did the fighting. It wasn't foolproof, but I was desperate, and he agreed after much convincing.

We'd arrived in Camelot last night, our first ever visit to the kingdom, and were staying in the full to-the-brim tavern in a room above the pub. It wasn't ideal, but it would do the job. The real reason I was here was right before me and I couldn't be more excited.

"Y/B/N Y/L/N?" a voice called, and my brother and I both spun around to see a servant boy approaching. "You're up first. You can use the tent over there to get into your armour, if you have any."

"Thank you," Y/B/N said with a nod before we both headed over to his – AKA mine – tent.

"This is perfect for making the switch," I said with a contained grin, looking around the enclosed space.

"You heard the boy, you're up first," Y/B/N said with a smile, before dropping our bag on the bench. "Let's get you suited up."

He helped me pull my armour over the top of my clothes, a bulky-looking but lightweight set that fit us both and was easy enough for me to manoeuvre in whilst also hiding any distinguishable feminine body parts that could give me away. After that, he handed me my sword and gave me a supportive nod.

"Good luck out there," he said, my helmet in his hand. "You're gonna smash it, sis."

I grinned. "I will indeed. They aren't going to know what's hit them."

He laughed and helped me put on my helmet, the metal covering my whole head except for some slits in the eyes to let me see.

"You ready?" he asked once more, and I gave him a thumbs up, already committing to staying quiet. He patted my back. "Go and win!"

Taking a deep breath, I left the tent and headed to the grounds, the sight of all those people watching only exciting me more. All I'd ever dreamt of was showing people my skills, for them to take me seriously. Not as a woman or a man, but a fighter. And this was my chance, finally. I wasn't going to let it slip by.

"I'm sure you're all excited about the tournament, as am I," the King began to speak, silencing everyone in seconds. "It's going to be a magnificent week of fighting, skill and talent. We shall see who the best fighters of Albion truly are. Starting with our first match of the tournament – Y/B/N Y/L/N versus Henry Wright!"

The crowd erupted into cheers as my opponent and I walked in the centre, our chosen weapons at our side. The King looked down at us both with anticipation, waiting for quiet. And then when he was ready, he raised his hand.

"You may begin," was all he said, and I barely had chance to take a breath before my opponent, Henry, swung first.

His mace, spiked and heavy, almost took my head off if I didn't move in time. The crowd 'ooh'd' as it did and I tried to tune them out, focusing on the fight. I couldn't afford distractions.

As Henry kept moving forward, slashing his mace at me and trying to touch my armour, I dodged effortlessly. Henry may have been strong, but he was slow, and his weapon of choice was particularly terrible. Once he'd worn himself out, it was my turn to take a swing at him, my sword coming down on his gauntlets in a wide arc. Contact was made and he grunted loudly, grossly, and stepped back. I slashed a few more times, to which he was now on the defensive, using his clunky weapon as a barrier. But it didn't faze me as I kept on slashing, trying to back him into the side.

Once he was trapped, I let him take a shot at me, only to roll to the side at the last second and swipe his legs out from beneath him. He hit the ground as quickly as I directed my sword at his neck. Lifting his hands in defeat, I couldn't fight the grin from my lips.

The crowd erupted into cheers, yelling my brother's name, and I lowered my sword before offering out my hand. Henry let me pull him up before letting go bitterly, walking off the grounds. I laughed to myself before looking around me at the crowd, waving a little too cockily. I couldn't help it – I'd won! My first match!

When I turned to face the King, I saw he was clapping in his chair, impressed at my handiwork. Seated beside him was his ward, Morgana, and I'd heard so much of her but never seen her before. I wasn't prepared for her beauty, nor the vibrancy of her green eyes in the sun, even from a distance. And once again, I couldn't help but let my cockiness get the better of me. Between waving, I blew her a kiss, facing her directly in a way that I hoped she knew it was for her. Judging from the way she immediately turned pink in the face, I knew I'd succeeded.

After soaking in the glory a moment longer, I left to return to Y/B/N who was waiting for me in the tent. As soon as he saw me, a grin was on his face.

"Sounds like you gave them a good show," he commented as I rushed to remove my helmet and armour.

"Y/B/N, it was like nothing I've ever experienced," I admitted, still buzzing with adrenaline and excitement. "It was perfect. And you should've seen the way I got the other guy on his butt!"

He chuckled as I helped pull the armour onto him. "I'm sure it was something special. It's a shame I can't watch."

"We can't risk you being caught," I reminded him, before handing my sword and helmet. "Go on. Do your final waves. Don't forget to rub it in their face that I won, yeah?"

He rolled his eyes playfully. "I'm not doing that."

I laughed as he left the tent. My smile was permanent as I stood alone. One round down, several more to go.

"The other guys are pretty rough," Y/B/N said as we hung back to watch the other matches and get a better feel for the competition. "You sure you're up for it?"

"Don't even joke," I said to him with a knowing look. "You know it's all I want. They don't scare me."

He raised his eyebrows. "Hey, I was thinking more about them. They're gonna get smothered and not even know it. You don't wanna give them a chance?"

A smile grew on my lips as I shoved him in the side. "You're so stupid."

He mirrored my smile before paying attention to the fights. We stayed there until the last fight before chatting about what we'd seen by the tents. The crowd was dispersing and the other fighters were talking about getting a drink at the tavern, even inviting my brother to join them. He found it strange, the attention, especially since he knew it wasn't for him. I assured him he had to be a team player and not raise suspicion, but he wasn't impressed.

As we were chatting, I couldn't help but notice a blur of black hair in my peripheral vision, and when I looked, I saw the Lady Morgana walking by with her handmaiden. She spotted my brother and I and, naturally, her attention was on my brother. She flashed him a smile, to which he awkwardly returned, and then began to approach us.

"Er, why is the Lady Morgana coming to talk to us?" Y/B/N asked nervously.

"No idea," I said, though my own smile was tempting to break out as my eyes wandered over her figure. She was seriously stunning.

"Hello there," Morgana spoke when she stopped before us. "It's Y/B/N, right?"

He nodded slowly, before clearing his throat and bowing. "A pleasure to meet you, my lady."

"Please, no need for the formalities," she said with a slight laugh, one that I knew I'd be dreaming of for days. "I just came to say that you put up a good fight this morning. I look forward to seeing your performance throughout the week."

"Thank you, my lady," was all he said, and I almost rolled my eyes at his dense self. Couldn't he see she was interested him?

"And who is this pretty lady?" she continued, and I realised she was speaking to me.

"I'm Y/N, my lady," I introduced myself with a smile. "Y/B/N's twin sister. Not identical, thankfully."

Y/B/N rolled his eyes as Morgana laughed at my joke.

"Well, it's lovely to meet you, Y/N," she said, eyes lingering on mine. "Might I say, you have a very talented brother."

I hummed in agreement, biting my tongue and trying not to laugh. Talented... I'd take it.

"I should be going, but have a good evening, both of you," Morgana finished, glancing between us before leaving.

"Y/N, what did you do? Why is she suddenly interested?" Y/B/N asked as I watched her walk away, entranced.

"Nothing," I reassured him, before tearing my gaze from Morgana and looking to Y/B/N. "What? I didn't do anything!"

He rolled his eyes and shoved me before walking away. I bit my lip to contain a grin and skipped after him. I was beginning to like it here.

The next fight was soon upon me and it was safe to say that I was nailing it. My opponent was supposed to be a challenge, but I could swear it was only getting easier. He was over six feet tall and towering over me. Compared to me AKA Y/B/N, he was huge. Luckily for me, height wasn't an issue as my brother and I were close enough in height, a solid five foot eight and nine respectively, so it wouldn't give us away.

The fight was over in minutes, with me landing a winning blow to my clown of an opponent, right in the gut. As soon as he was down, the crowd were up and out of their seats, cheering me on. The intensity of their cheering surprised me at first, as I didn't realise they loved me so much. It took them longer to calm down, and a few flowers were thrown from the stands, making me grin as I waved at them. When I looked to the King, he was surprisingly smiling as he clapped his leather-gloved hands heavily. Morgana was stood up beside him, clapping with the crowd, and I couldn't stop myself.

Without thinking, I picked up a flower from the ground, dusted it off on my armour and threw it up to her. I was relieved when it landed at her feet, worried I'd missed, and she seemed surprised as she picked it up. When she looked at me, I bowed respectfully, making the crowd cheer even louder, and I tried to pretend I couldn't see King Uther losing his smile as he looked at me with suspicion. Oops?

I jogged back to the tent, feeling lightweight and overwhelmingly happy. Y/B/N clapped me on the back in congratulations before we exchanged gear and he headed back out to reveal his face, waving once more.

After he soaked in the glory for a little longer, I packed up our things and we left the tent to get some water. A few knights, to our surprise, approached us and began chatting to Y/B/N about his technique. He played along perfectly, since he was a decent fighter himself, and I merely watched as they spoke of my moves and skill, grinning to myself. Clearly I was doing better than I thought if the knights of Camelot were complimenting me.

"Hey, Y/B/N," a voice called from behind, and we both turned to see a flirtatiously-smiling Morgana walking past. She nodded at my brother, saying, "The flower was cute."

Poor Y/B/N was clueless. "The flower?"

Morgana laughed, thinking he was joking, and left. I suppressed a smile as we both turned to the knights. One of them gave Y/B/N a knowing look.

"Bold move giving the King's ward a flower right in front of the King himself," they said with a snicker, before leaving.

Y/B/N blinked and began to turn to me. "I did what?"

I smiled sheepishly. "What? She was impressed by my skill! How could I resist?"

"Y/N!"

"Look, she's pretty and she deserved it, okay?" I said nonchalantly. "It's no biggie."

He facepalmed and I could tell he was already regretting changing places with me.

Later that same evening, Y/B/N and I were making the most of the training grounds that Prince Arthur was letting the contestants use for the week. To everyone else, I was merely practicing with him, but to us, he was actually helping me practice. 

For the third time in five minutes, I knocked Y/B/N on his butt and laughed at the expression on his face.

"C'mon, at least give me some sort of challenge," I teased, holding out my hand for him.

He let me help him up as he gave me a knowing look. "Don't be too good or people will suspect."

I scoffed. "Nobody will think twice about me."

"Oh yeah, because you're so inconspicuous dressed like that," he said sarcastically.

I ignored him, though I knew he was only looking out for me. Ladies wore frocks and dresses, not pants and shirts. But I didn't like to be restricted – why was that such a bad thing? I hated that I had to put myself in a box just to make others feel comfortable. It wasn't fair.

"Are you ready?" I asked, readying my sword.

He nodded and did the same before coming at me without warning. I held my own well enough, even with him giving his all, and with the utmost satisfaction, I managed to land him on his butt yet again. He narrowed his eyes at me and I began to laugh before pissing him off that little bit more by twiddling the hilt of my sword on my forefinger in the air, watching it spin before catching it. It was a silly little celebratory move I liked to do, one that Y/B/N hated because it usually meant I had beaten him.

Grumbling to himself, Y/B/N helped himself stand up as I watched on with amusement.

"Impressive."

Surprised, I turned around and definitely didn't expect to see the Lady Morgana approaching us.

"You're almost as good as your brother," she commented, looking at me.

Smile fading slightly, I tried not to draw anymore attention to myself. "Something like that."

She lifted a brow curiously. "It's a shame you couldn't compete. You're better than half the men in this competition."

"It's just how it is, my lady. The King's rules," I said, though I was secretly smiling because she thought I was good. As me, the real me, not my brother.

"If it were up to me, I'd have loved to watch you fight," she said, making me smile to myself. I risked glancing at her and saw she was watching me with her own smile, before looking to my brother.

"Good luck tomorrow," she said to him considerately.

"Thank you, my lady," Y/B/N said, bowing.

She nodded her head at him before catching my staring, offering a smile, then leaving.

"Gosh, she's so pretty," I said, unable to look away from her.

"Not here, not now," Y/B/N said in a warning tone before slapping me on the back.

"I'm gonna win just to see her smile," I decided, finally looking away from her retreating figure.

Y/B/N rolled his eyes, shaking his head with disbelief. I raised an eyebrow challengingly.

"Another round?"

"No way," he said immediately, making me laugh as I watched him walk away.

"Like you always do," I whispered to myself as I stood face to face with my next opponent. "Come on."

My opponent carried a sword and shield and was very good with both, as I'd seen him using it these past few days. Probably the first real challenge I had, I was a little nervous, but one look at my sword reminded me why I was here and what I was capable of. I wasn't going to let this man throw me off.

As we fought, I quickly realised he wasn't going to tire out easily. As quick as he was skilful, he dodged all of my slashes, blocked all of my stabs and avoided all of my feigned shots. He was too good, keeping me on my toes. I was growing tired as the minutes dragged on and he knew this, using it as his opportunity to slam his shield against me, knocking me back. I tuned out the audience's reactions, shaking my head to get back into it.

I let him believe he was going in for a strike before rolling out the way and slashing the back of his legs. He groaned as he spun around, blocking my next hit. This seemed to piss him off as he came at me quick and hard, striking every second and driving me further and further backwards. One sturdy hit with his shield and I was on my back. Just as he tried to strike me, I rolled out the way and stood up, putting some distance between us.

Collecting myself, I saw that he pulled his shield over him once more and knew I needed to use that to my advantage. He wasn't going to let it go, no matter how hard I hit it. And I was already growing tired, my body battered and bruised, my energy depleting. If he kept going like this, he'd surely win. And I couldn't let him.

A stupid idea came to my head and I figured it was worth a shot if I was already losing. Why not?

Running directly at my opponent, I watched as he tucked in, shield up and ready to block my hit. Just when he was about to shove it towards me, I used the momentum to jump on it, over his head and hitting the ground, just about. I was so shocked it worked that I almost forgot to use his own surprise to my advantage. Without wasting a second, I spun around and smacked the hilt of my sword at the back of his head, knocking him to the ground. Worried I'd hit him too hard, I kneeled down to listen in.

When he let out a breath, I sighed with relief and stood up, eyes closing for a moment. Then the stands shook as everyone stood up, cheering and yelling and clapping, and I opened my eyes with a smile. As I waved my sword hand in the air, bowing, the cheering only intensified and I couldn't stop grinning. Admittedly, the thrill of it all got to my head and I began to show off, waving to the crowd on all sides. Just because I could, I twiddled my sword on the tip of my gloved forefinger in the air and threw it up before catching it by the hilt. The crowd seemed to love it and a grin was permanently fixed on my face as I left the grounds to return to my tent.

"That's the loudest I've ever heard them," Y/B/N said as soon as he saw me. "What did you do?"

"Whatever I could," I said between a laugh, before pulling off my helmet. "Get me out of this, I'm so hot."

He chuckled and helped me out of it, and I helped him into it as usual. Giving him his sword and helmet, I sent him off before taking a deep breath and drinking lots of water. My body was aching and there were definitely bruises all along my legs and chest, but I didn't care because that was insane. How the hell did I manage that?! Whatever it was, it was incredible and I couldn't wait to do it again in my next fight.

Y/B/N returned after soaking in the glory, pulling off the armour and ready to help me pack it all away, but to both of our surprises, Prince Arthur walked in the tent.

"Hello," he greeted awkwardly, before looking to Y/B/N. "You fought excellently today. I wanted to ask if you'd have a word with me outside."

I hid my smile as my brother nodded, exchanging glances with me before following after the prince. Prince Arthur was impressed by me? No way. There was no way! I'd have to fight him soon enough, since he was also competing, but who cared? He was impressed!

I tried to contain my excitement as I went about packing away my armour, stuck in my own daydream land. So much, in fact, that I didn't hear anybody enter the tent behind me.

"It's you!"

I nearly jumped out of my skin when a familiar voice came out of nowhere. Spinning around, I was surprised to see the Lady Morgana standing there with a shocked smile on her face.

"Huh?"

She licked her lips, stepping fully inside the tent and glancing behind her, before looking to me. Lowering her voice, she said, "It's you. The fighting out there. It's not your brother, it's you."

When I finally managed to stop getting distracted by her pretty smile and listened to what she was saying, my own smile faded.

Swallowing hard, I played dumb. "What? That's crazy."

I tried to busy myself with packing my bag whilst also panicking inside, but she kept going with it.

"The sword trick at the end," she stated with confidence. "Where you twirl it on your finger. You did the same thing when you beat your brother yesterday. It's you, isn't?"

I closed my eyes, cursing myself at my stupidity. The damned sword trick. Why did I have to let my cockiness get the better of me?

"Maybe," I admitted, turning to face her, and she smiled to herself.

"I bloody knew it! Well– okay, maybe I didn't, but it makes sense," she said. "Your brother acts like a completely different person out on the grounds compared to when he's literally anywhere else. Because it's not him."

I stayed quiet, both embarrassed that I'd been caught out and nervous to what it meant for me.

"Wait," she realised, pausing, and I could practically see her brain working everything out. Green eyes met mine as she asked, "The flower. Blowing me the kiss. That was... that was you?"

If only the earth could swallow me up there and then.

"I was committing to the role...?" I said dumbly, making me her chuckle. Beginning to panic even more now, I said, "Look, if I'm in trouble, please don't punish Y/B/N. He didn't even want to do this, but I made him. It was the only way I could compete. I just wanted to see how far I could get."

She furrowed her brows, a confused smile on her face. "Y/N, you're not in trouble."

I blinked, taken aback. "I'm not in... huh?"

"I won't tell a soul," she promised, expression softening. "Keep doing what you're doing. You've single-handedly impressed every member of the court, all the knights, the prince and the King himself. You're amazing, Y/N."

At her words, I began to smile, feeling a sense of pride take over. "Why are you doing this?"

She shrugged, playing coy. "Maybe it's women sticking together. Maybe it's because I enjoy watching you fight. Or maybe I don't want to see you getting punished for being such a good fighter."

I sighed quietly, a sense of relief spreading through me. "Whatever it is, thank you, my lady. Truly."

"It's Morgana," she corrected, eyes flickering between mine.

I pursed my lips to stop my smile from widening, and then she stepped forward and kissed my cheek, making me freeze at the contact.

"And thank you for the flower," she whispered in my ear, before stepping back.

My mouth went dry as I watched her red lips curled into a smile before she left the tent. I was certain I was as red as her lipstick, my heart racing in my chest. A grin soon formed on my lips and I couldn't stop.

Moments later, Y/B/N returned and seemed surprised with his chat with Prince Arthur, but I was too distracted thinking about Morgana, my cheek still tingling from her touch.

"The prince wanted to personally congratulate me on my progress thus far," Y/B/N shared. "He hopes to see me make it to the finals so he can see what I'm all about up close."

His words went in one ear and out the other. Did Morgana always smell of jasmine, I wondered?

"Seriously? I thought you'd be dying to know more," Y/B/N said with suspicion.

"What?" I finally tuned back in, kind of. "Yeah, that's great, Y/B/N."

He studied me curiously. "I just saw the Lady Morgana leave here. What did she want?"

"Huh?" I asked, half listening.

"Y/N!" he said, startling me.

Finally, his words settled and I answered, "She just wanted to compliment how great you did today."

"How kind," he said, not believing me.

I couldn't tell him that she actually knew the truth – he'd get cold feet and back out of the competition, and then I'd never get to prove myself. Besides, Morgana said she wouldn't tell anyone, so we were still good to go. What Y/B/N didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

"Wait," I said, finally acknowledging what he said earlier. "What did Prince Arthur say about me?"

Y/B/N groaned dramatically and grabbed the bag of armour, ignoring me. I was forced to chase after him, doing his head in about everything the prince said.

[brooooswriting]

melissa barrera where R gets an anxiety attack on set and she helps?

ANXIETY

Melissa Barrera x reader

Growing up with anxiety wasn’t easy, especially when it got worse at your teenage years. Ever since then a lot of things tend to freak you out, groups of people, too much stress, people screaming at you, loud sounds and chaos. It changes your life in every situation, you had panic attacks and anxiety attacks at least every two days, but lately things have gotten a bit worse. You were stressed due to your work which made everything worse. After a quick discussion with your therapist you were allowed to up the intake of your medications, the only problem was that it didn’t complete cancel then out. A lot of stress could still trigger them.

Your cast mates knew that you had small problems with anxiety, you liked to keep the problem on the low. If people knew they wouldn’t wanna work with you anymore because it makes it a lot harder. That’s what you told yourself at least. Some of them still knew, or rather guessed. You were good at hiding them but some of them, even when they were mild where noticeable to some people. Just like Melissa. She noticed every single one of them but she never said anything. As your girlfriend she obviously knew about them but you kept the fact that they were getting worse hidden. She’d be too stressed herself.

By now you wished you had told her, or anyone, as it might have prevented this situation. You were supposed to be filming but all the loud noises and the pressure were triggering you. A lot. “I need a minute” you quickly mumbled before hurrying into your trailer. Or at least that was your plan but before you could even reach it your lungs cramped and your legs have out. You sank to the ground gasping for air, your brain was a mess and you couldn’t focus on anything except your dark thoughts and the way your lungs cramped.

Melissa went to the set where you were supposed to film, her scene got done a couple of minutes ago and she wanted to see you. Often you looked carefree while acting, you looked happy. But when she arrived everybody sat around, it was quiet and there were no cameras rolling which was rather confusing. “Where’s y/n?” She asked one of your coworkers, she was nice, a friend of your by now.

“She suddenly disappeared, saying she needed a minute. I wanted to follow her but she made it clear that she didn’t want that” she told her, she sounded rather confused too. Melissa nodded and went to look for you, your trailer was her first thought.

She was about to turn the corner to your trailer when she heard a gasp from her right, quickly turning to find you leaning against a wall while trying to regulate your breathing. “Honey, what’s wrong?” The brunette quickly jumped to your aid as she kneeled in front of you taking your hands in hers. “It’s alright. Deep breaths” she said calmly, her thumbs stroking the back of your hands in regular circles.

You tried to follow her breaths as best as you could but it was no use. “I can’t” you gasped out, pulling one of your hands from hers to massage over your sternum. You were trembling and had tears streaming down your face.

“It’s going to be alright. Come here, let’s take breaths together” Melissa grabbed your hand and placed it on her chest so you could follow the up and downs. It helped, your breathing slowed to the point where it was nearly normal. One of your girlfriends hands raised to wipe the tears from your face as she send you a small smile which made you smile too.

“I’m sorry” you mumbled but the brunette shook her head and sat next to you, grabbing your hand and placing it in her lap. She knew you liked your quietness after an attack to regulate yourself.

“It’s not your fault. I just want you to be fine” she told you as she wrapped her arm around you to help you up.

“I need to go and film my last scene” you told her, your voice showing clear evidence of tiredness and exhaustion. It took a bit until you could convince Melissa to let you go back to filming.

“I’m staying there and as soon as you’re done we’re going home! Oh, and if you feel another attack coming you’re immediately stopping alright?!” She was stubborn when it came to your health so you chuckled and nodded before grabbing her hand and pulling her to set.

She sat on a chair watching you act as if nothing had happened, you were a great actress she couldn’t deny that. When you were done she stood by the door waiting for you, you quickly ran to her and fell into her arms letting her hold most of your weight. “Let’s go home, I’m exhausted” you mumbled as you parted from her so you could walk. Before you could get to far she wrapped an arm around you and pulled you into her, hoping to give you some comfort.

She sat in your trailer quietly as you changed into your everyday clothes. Once you were done she drove you home, the car quiet as she was deep in thoughts.

“It has been getting worse for a bit now right?” She suddenly asked when she pulled off her shoes making you freeze. You had hoped that she didn’t notice but it seems like you were mistaken.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about” it was a terrible lie but it was worth a try, you didn’t want her to worry more than she already did. You knew that she wasn’t pitying you but it still felt wrong.

“You’ve been sleeping less, you’ve been zoning out, you need new medication quicker than normal which means that you upped the Dosis, you’ve been to more therapy and you started to pull on your fingers again. Something you only do when your anxiety gets worse” she listed while studying your face. She knew that you didn’t want her to worry but she loved you more than anything else so how was she supposed to not worry? And if she knew she might be able to help you, or at least be there for you. It’s the least she could do but that was only possible if you told her about your well-being.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you” you looked at the brunette like a dog who got kicked or a child who was caught doing something bad. You did feel bad hiding something from her and your mind was going crazy when you lied to her but you thought you were doing it for her. “I didn’t want you to worry, having anxiety sucks. It doesn’t just make life harder for myself but also for the people around me. I didn’t want that for you” you confessed.

“Y/n, I asked you to be my girlfriend with full knowledge about your anxiety and depression. It’s something that I wish you didn’t have because I see how much it destroys you but I don’t care about having to go out with you because it’s too full or having to take breaks during arguments so we can calm your nerves. I love you because of who you are and I wanna be able to help you when you feel like this” she told you as her hand found your cheek carefully stroking over it.

You could have cried but instead leaned forward to kiss her. Again you were falling in her arms, the attacks exhausted you more than you’d like to. “Let’s sit down” Melissa whispered into your ear before you walked to the couch. She prepared dinner quickly before joining you.

“We are watching scream 6” you told her with a grin, knowing that she wasn’t going to deny you even if she hated watching herself so she only grumbled.

During the movie you fell asleep cuddled into her chest, her arms around your waist while she pressed a kiss to your forehead every now and then. She settled onto the couch, she wasn’t going to wake you once you finally fell asleep.

[gx-gameon]

Gotta ask how's Seto's relationship with the rest of Yugi's friends in this au? How'd the gang take the news that Seto and Yugi were dating? What about when they got engaged and married on the same day?

Okay so we are actually going to see a lot of this in the story itself.

So right now I’m editing all the rough drafts I posted here. I think I have three more to do and then it’s brand new content.

I think I’ll have somewhere between 2 to 3 more chapters from there. I have them all scripted out I just need to actually write them.

That will finish the first arc of this au. Jaden getting adopted and the afterlife adventure.

It will also be the end of the first book.

I think from there we will go into the second arc which will focus on two things. 1) Jaden and Atem adjusting to life 2) Yugi and Seto

The story will set up Gx season one. I think it will take place over Jaden’s first year or two in the family and then we will time skip to Gx.

I might do some one-shots with young Jaden and the DM crew in the time skip eventually (like Seto and Yugi’s proposal/wedding. But that could also be the last chapter so arc 2 I’m still scripting the second arc.

So we are going to have a whole little adventure dedicated to the two of them.

But it boils down to Seto realizing he has feelings for Yugi starts trying to so affection, as only Seto Kaiba can.

Jaden and Yugi are getting harassed by paparazzi? Now they had a security team following them ‘from a distance’

Things like that.

Problem: Yugi thinks this is Seto sending people to follow them to get him or Atem to duel.

He goes over to Seto to be like. ‘Hey we’re friends now. If you want something from me, like a duel, just ask me. Don’t send a goon squad to follow me. It’s freaking Jaden out.’

Seto hears two separate statements. ‘If you want me ask.’ And ‘security is scaring Jaden’ he will take care of that later.

He takes care of number 1 first and asks Yugi out. Yugi’s brain kinda breaks. Looking back he can see how everything Kaiba has been doing can be seen as either sweet or flirty in the most Seto Kaiba way ever. Because of this, and the fact that he’s not used to people actually flirting with him, made him totally miss the fact that he was being flirted with? Courted?

(All the people who flirt with him at tournaments actually want Atem or so he thinks. It’s hard sharing a body with someone for years because people outside their group don’t know. Yugi just naturally assumes that anyone that flirts with him really wants Atem, because Atem’s confident and wonderful. Yugi still has only kid insecurities.)

Seto also has no idea how to human when it comes to things like dating. He was raised to conquer businesses. He’s pretty sure your not suppose force people to date you (Mokuba said no) and your not suppose to pay them. So he has to get Yugi’s attention some other way. Mokuba is the point of reference and reason. “Do something nice for him. Talk to him. Show him you care.”

But he’s Seto, rich boy, Kaiba and he’s pursuing Yugi, if I’m near anything expensive I’ll have anxiety about breaking it, Muto. Yugi, for better and worse, isn’t interested in his wealth.

What is Yugi interested in?? Games and his friends.

He already hired Yugi and Atem to Kaiba Corp.

this is before he started pursuing Yugi. It was because he over heard them taking finances once. Its was going to be hard having Yugi, Atem, Solomon, and Jaden in one house.

He can’t just give them money, Yugi and Atem would refuse. He thinks Solomon might burn it to prove a point.

Yugi is going to college, Atem though is new to the world and still figuring out his place. Seto offered him a job at play testing games. Atem will probably beat all of them, but it will help show the flaws in the program, were things are to easy or to hard, and no one knows how to think outside the box quite like Yugi and Atem.

Atem is skeptical at first, thinking the job is just dueling Seto all day long. Which fun but no. But after hearing the actual job and pay. He takes it. (He talks with Yugi before doing so and they agree)

Later at the end of Yugi’s semester they have a final project to create a game. Their freshman so it’s not suppose to be that impressive. Yugi knocks it out of the park. Like a few tweaks and it’s ready to be sold.

He starts getting offers from other businesses. Pegasus, Zigfried, and others to higher him.

Seto isn’t losing his rival to another company. (And ya maybe the crush played a role but you can’t say Yugi didn’t earn his spot) so he highest Yugi as a game designer.

This makes there failed flirting worse and better. Because some co-workers think Seto only higher Yugi because he likes him. This gets swiftly shut down because of Yugi’s skill at his job, but there are still whispers of favoritism. They are also the most entertaining water cooler gossip of all time. Especially once they start dating. They go through all the proper channels to make dating an employee as ethically sound as possible. (They’re 19 and have known each other forever, it’s not surprising to outsiders. But Seto is still a CEO and held to certain standards when starting a relationship.) but all the other workers get a free show of watching their boss trying to flirt with his boyfriend.

It back to topic. They already have jobs so he can’t offer them that and they won’t take money without reason.

Yugi is interested in games and friends. So Seto will play games and ‘help’ his friends.

Problem. All these people are used to Seto only doing ‘nice’ thinks when he wants something (which he wants something but he’s genuinely not trying to trick them, he for once is trying to be nice) and they are not having it (Seto’s over here like I get it but let me grow as a person)

He’s trying to flirt with Yugi. A part of liking Yugi is being around his friends (preferably getting a long with them) everyone thinks Seto is finally joining the friend group but they are wary (some more than others, Joey and Tristian)

He’s someone who only knows how to show he cares through taking care of someone (you have a problem he removes it) (his love language is acts of service you can’t convince me otherwise wise)

unfortunately he’s not the best at telling people what he’s doing or asking them how they want help. He will learn but it’s ruff in the beginning.

Leading us back to. ‘Hey your goons are scaring my kid. Can you maybe call them off? If you want to duel just ask.’

‘Will you go out with me?’

They talk it out. Seto revealing all the nice things he’s done.

‘So is this why you hired me?’ ‘No I hired you because you’re competent. But I do like you because you’re competent.’

‘The goon squad?’ ‘Reporters weren’t leaving you and Jaden alone so I made them leave you alone.’

‘Joey’s sponsorship?’ ‘I wouldn’t have offered if he was going to embarrass me. He’s not on our level but he is, (big sigh) a good duelist. You value your friends so I value your friends. He earned his spot in the pro leagues. Money should be the thing that stops him from entering.’

This is also the time that Seto reveals he’s started planning duel academy because he wants Jadne to be able to have a ‘normal’ high school experience. Plus it’s a solid business move and the more he looked into it the better it was. He’s actually making 5 schools all around the world. It started out of love for Jaden but will now help so many kids.

And look Yugi always had a crush on Seto. But they have both grown and changed as people. To see Seto now verse the Seto he knew at the start of season 1. He’s grown a lot.

They talk out a lot of things. Mainly Seto’s instinctual need to fix his loved ones problems vs actually talking to them about what they want/what he’s doing.

The do end up on that date though.

Now everyone else’s reactions….. that’s a story for another time.

[bengiyo]

Only Friends Ep 4 Stray Thoughts

Last week, Boston played to win and achieved his goal of hooking up with Top again. Nick moved in with Sand and secretly recorded audio of Boston's hookup with Top. Boston convinced Top that Mew is lying about being a virgin and playing games with him and Ray. Mew is playing this virgin card too hard and is now losing. Ray continues to play hard for Sand, but threw him away to run to Mew. Cheum is the only one properly focused on their project. Yo is the only person in a stable relationship.

Yes, show. Remind us about how loudly Top was moaning in that car. He was present for that.

"Emergency Contact." Loving the names of these episodes.

I like the choice to use a 4:3 aspect ratio for the past sequence. Khaotung would have been just as beautiful in the 90s.

Man, I hated calls like this. You feel so powerless, but you feel like you have to do something when you think your friend is going to harm themselves.

Oof. We called that Ray has been like this for a while, and this was as sad as I thought his depression would be.

I feel bad for Mew. It couldn't have been easy to reject Ray when he's in a constant emotional spiral. You want to help your friend, but you also don't want to give him false hope.

Boston is such an ass for recording them. I get the curiosity and how it probably felt like a joke at the time, but he used it in such a malicious way.

Mew is unsubtle, but you end up being that way when you have a friend who's always intoxicated. They miss cues.

Mew needed to set that boundary with Ray. He can't get used to taking advantage of him like that.

We didn't get to see Mark and First work together much in Moonlight Chicken. I like the rapport they built for these characters. Sand is like, "Boston? Really?"

Okay this 80s style synth track sent me into orbit. I'm obsessed.

Top is good at this game they're playing.

Big bass drop on the question about the model plane.

It's interesting in this A-B shot with Ray begging Sand to let him spend the day with him that they put Sand center frame when we see his face, but he's almost offscreen when we see Ray. It feels like Ray is crowding him.

I hate that I'm getting used to Ray being drunk all the time.

I like that Sand can clearly state how he feels. Sucks that he knows he's falling for a problem.

Damn, Top destroyed Boston in that elevator, and not in a way Boston hoped for.

Top is still getting his on the side, but he's not messing around with Boston anymore. Mew really think he has this man on lock because he wants that virgin ass so bad.

Unsurprisingly, Nick is not afraid to go through this man's phone.

So, Boston gave a reasonable proscription against taking photos, but that only makes Nick more jealous because of the Top photos. Boston says Nick is always welcome, but that's dependent upon Nick being nice and lovely. He ain't ready for Nick.

He said, "It's Mr. Nick, if ya nasty."

Top is so fascinating. As soon as he understood what Nick wanted he took total control of that conversation, and he literally ends the meeting looking down on Nick.

So Top definitely fucked one of Sand's boyfriends. That beef felt specific and personal.

Thank you for confirming that, Sand.

Ray really came over here to piss with Mew after trying to snuggle back in with Sand. This man is a mess.

Yes, Mew, share your big secret that your friend still has a crush on you and you kissed once.

"I'm not an addict." Gurl.

Now, Mew. You already have an addict as a friend. Why would you even consider using transactional sex to encourage your would-be boyfriend to quit? I thought you were supposed to be the smart one.

Top is rich. He does not care about the little hit he just threw away. It's a small price to pay for victory.

No penetration? Oh lord I'm about to get trampled by the disk horse.

"I only have you." Top is now winning.

Damn, I can't even really believe that Top actually cares about Mew's feelings.

Oh, Sand. You know, and yet he's just too charming. I get it.

Looks like we're setting up for the spiral next week.

TOP IS BACK TO LIVING UP TO HIS NAME! Incredible week for him. He decimated every single character he encountered.

Mew, you lost, baby; he played you.

Nick and Boston, both of your half-formed plans looked tired this week and you both need to retool.

Sand and Ray, you are the only two straightforward characters and I am so looking forward to the havoc you will wreak when you are finally pushed over the edge.

Sand, you in particular will be my champion; you keep telling everyone exactly who you are and they keep fucking with you. Let me know when you need your bat, king.

[starfall-spirit]

Read on Ao3

Summary: With new love and broken trust to navigate, the tension between Xaden and Violet is at an all-time high after the battle beyond the Athebyne outpost. Two months after swearing Xaden off romantically, Violet finds he has her pinned to the mat again. And he has no intention of showing mercy.

AN: As promised, here's my first Fourth Wing fic.

CW: Smut, language

Violet grunted as her back met the gym mat for the third time in thirty minutes. "Damn." She wasn't so sure everything that she just heard pop was actually supposed to pop. "You know, I get thrown around enough during my daily training as it is. I don't need you beating me to a pulp after hours."

"Pull yourself together, Violence. If I realized just how sloppy you had gotten I never would have neglected this part of your training."

Negligence may not be the most accurate description of their current problem. The truth was that she had been brilliantly evading him since she had started picking up the tells her own dragon gave when he sensed his mate and her rider were near. Violet had seen Xaden face-to-face only a handful of times since his graduation and this was the first time in the two months since the wyvern attack she had let him close enough to spar. She thought it had been long enough—that her mind was set enough on the logical path that her leniency tonight wouldn't do any harm. She desperately needed to get her brain and her body on the same page when it came to Xaden Riorson. Because Violet Sorrengail never made the same mistake twice. She was not ending tonight by dragging Xaden to her private room.

And she was definitely not fucking him on the gym floor. Or any floor for that matter.

Eyeing her scattered daggers—the short blades he'd personally commissioned for her and had her take straight off his vest when he was still her supposed enemy—she shoved at his chest for the third time that night with every intention of starting again. He didn't budge. "Tell me what to do, Violet," he groaned. "You've been treating me like a damn plague every time I come back to the college with Sgaeyl."

"You said you'd give me the space I need, Xaden. Don't tell me you're already back to lying to me."

"I never—" He growled, his arms buckling on either side of her hips. "Fuck."

The steady tension of the night began to build far too rapidly for her comfort as need coiled within her. She tried to Ground herself. Tried to reach that door that would seal off the waves of Tairn's shameless arousal. But with Xaden practically trembling between her thighs she knew the night wouldn't be easy on either of them. If they tried to resist that urge rippling down the bond. They needed to separate now, or what Xaden was asking for she'd be all too willing to hand over. She hadn't tested his vow in those two months because she was terrified he would make a fool of her. But the logical part of her recognized he wouldn't hurt her again. It was a fear of her wounded heart. Hadn't he been the one to tell her that fear would only get her killed faster?

Her resistance shattered and she pressed a hand to his bare chest. "Xa—"

"Thank the gods." His mouth claimed hers in a brutal kiss as his shadows skittered out to clear the last of the unsheathed daggers off of the mat as he gripped her wrists, pinning them together under one hand and effectively immobilizing her upper body. "Thank the fucking gods and dragons too selfish to shield."

"You're welcome, Silver One." She stiffened, thinking back to how long it had been since she felt Tairn so prominently. "I can not fully protect you and see to my mate if you are at odds with her human."

This was a fucking setup. One Xaden was equally aware of if his smirk was anything to go by. "Meddlesome mother hens."

"Indeed they are." He hunched over her once again, his smirk somehow broadening as he used his free hand to lift the hem of her shirt, guiding it up to her bust as he trailed the path of his hand with those sinful lips. "So fucking beautiful," he praised her. Violet whined, giving a half-hearted attempt to free her wrists before he tightened his grip. "Just let me give you this, Violet. While we still have the chance." Before this war came to such a height where they'd never catch a moment alone. She nodded, aching for the familiar heat of his mouth on her skin. It had been a hard two months. Dipping his head, he trailed his lips from the top of her neck down to her collarbone. His hips shifted to pin hers as she tried to lift them to grind against him. It was fucking torture, feeling his hard body against hers and being able to do absolutely nothing about it. "Patience, Violet."

She glared at him, reading the slight taunt beneath his own need. He released her hands to peel her out of her top, chuckling when her free hands moved straight to his hair, dragging his mouth back to hers as he moved on to the buttons on her pants.

She followed that mental stream of night that she hadn't touched in months, likely broadcasting every emotion running through her at the moment. "I'm going to take my sweet time with you tonight, Violence. I'm gonna have you begging for me by the end of it all."

Fuck. "I don't beg," she retorted.

He pulled away from the kiss, giving her a wolfish grin as he peeled her pants down her legs to expose her damp panties. "We'll see about that." With that final piece of clothing gone, his attention returned to keeping her from gaining an edge, his shadows gathering to pin her arms again, leaving both of his hands free to touch her. She didn't bother fighting them. "Good girl."

She bit her lip, trying not to show what those two little words did to her. She honestly wasn't ready to identify it. The next time their eyes met she knew it was pointless. He could always read her too well. Still, he spared her the embarrassment of saying anything about it, instead reaching between them to stroke his thumb over her clit, two fingers dipping between her legs. "Fucking soaked," he growled out loud, shifting back until his head was between her thighs, those soft lips trailing up each leg as he positioned them over his shoulders. He was going to ruin her with nothing more than a stroke of his tongue. How the hell was she supposed to think of anything but this the next time she was training with another Rider on the mats.

Two fingers curled inside her and she gasped, the muscles in her legs tight enough to snap as Xaden hit that spot he knew made her see stars. And as that smirking mouth closed over her clit... despite what little time they had before everything fell apart, Xaden hadn't forgotten a single thing about how to please her. "Xaden, more." 

He kept his pace, his mouth still pressed flush against her as he returned his attention to the mental bond. "Are you asking or telling me? Because you're in no position to be giving orders, Violence."  He was moving unbearably slowly now, maintaining her need for him, but failing to bring her closer to orgasm. The bastard planned to edge her.

"This is my punishment?" she panted out. "This is what I get for avoiding you? Pinned down and edged until you get bored of the game?"

He raised his head to look at her, his gaze drowsy with his own lust as he met her eyes. "Violence, don't you know? This is a game I'll never grow bored of. Seeing you squirm is far too delightful and we both know you can't hold out for long."

He returned to his task, each stroke clearly at his leisure. "Now be my good girl and ask nicely for what you want."

There was the line in the sand. Xaden Riorson was a patient man, more than willing to take his sweet time with her tonight. He delighted in the game he created and didn't find any difficulty in a slow indulgence. She was the only one suffering tonight. 

Unless she folded.

Begged.

She twisted her wrists against his shadows, jolting the next time he brought her to the edge of release. "Xaden, please." 

He broke away and she whimpered. "Please what?"

"Please let me come." 

Satisfaction rippled down the bond between them and her body went white-hot with mounting pleasure. She clenched her jaw to keep from screaming as she finally fell over the edge, rolling her hips as best she could with her legs still slung over Xaden's broad shoulders. "So. Fucking. Beautiful," he murmured, silently ordering the shadows holding her to release. She could taste herself on him as he swept her into another feverish kiss, his fingers unwinding her braid and fisting in the silver and black of her hair. "I'll never get enough of you, Violet." He pulled away just long enough to ease out of his own leathers before seeking her mouth again. Knowing he'd be off balance for a few seconds, she took advantage of the time she had to get him on his back. "Vi—" Her name faded to a soft curse as she stroked the hard length of him. "Dirty tricks, Violence."

"Well-earned on your part, I'd say. You had your fun," she purred, sinking down on his cock inch by inch. Gods, she had missed that feeling. "Now it's my turn."

One hand anchoring at her right hip, he raised his other to her breast, rolling her nipple between his fingers. "You want to ride me, sweetheart? Go right ahead. One way or another I still get to watch as you shatter on my cock." The words sent a shudder through her and he grinned as her nails bit into his shoulders. His hand fell away from her breast, his fingers rethreading in her hair and tugging just enough to sting her scalp. "Go on, baby. Ride me."

~~~~~

His few memories of watching Violet come for him didn't do the actual sight of it justice. No memory could hold the exact expression on her face as she reached the edge of her climax or the little sounds that left her when she realized she needed help getting there. No memory could quite hold the arch of her body or the scent of her skin as she pressed up against him. And no memory could quite hold this moment. His Violet, half-asleep on his chest as they both came down from the rush of what they'd done.

"I'm never going to be able to go to my hand-to-hand training again without thinking of this. You're a terrible influence, Xaden Riorson." 

He chuckled. "I suppose a gentleman would have taken you to a bed first. But I never claimed to be such a thing. At least this way you'll remember who you belong to when your squadmates start ogling you during training."

"I'm not an object," she growled, sounding about as violent as a kitten as exhaustion continued to weigh on her.

"No. But you're still mine. Just as I'm yours, whenever you're ready to claim me again."

The fog of lust that triggered this all was behind them. And in its place was an understanding. He had hurt her, but he would never make that mistake twice. This could be the time they start fresh, but only if she was ready. "Well, Violet?"

"I'm ready, Xaden."

[liaromancewriter]

It Happened One Miami Night (2/?)

Series Premise: A work trip to Miami means finally accepting that some risks are worth taking. Or are they?

Fandom: Choices Book: Open Heart Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Cassie Valentine) Rating/Category: Teen. Angsty Fluff Words: 975

Series Masterlist

A/N: I'm using @choicesflashfics week 77, prompt 2 and @choicesmonthlychallenge March challenge dialogue prompt 7.

In the usual scheme of things, Ethan Ramsey enjoyed attending medical conferences. He found the plenaries and presentations on ongoing research thought-provoking, for the most part, and enjoyed scintillating conversations with noted medical minds from around the world.

But these were not regular times. Half of him was still in Boston, running differentials and trying to find a cure for Naveen. The other half was deathly worried his plan this weekend would fail on both fronts: convincing Declan Nash to help him and keeping things strictly professional with Cassie Valentine.

To make matters worse, he spotted the current president of the AMA, who sneered nastily when their eyes met across the lobby. He was clearly still smarting from when Ethan had torn apart his keynote address after last year’s conference.

The man’s research was flawed. Was he supposed to sit quietly and shower adoration on a pompous fraud?

He mentally rolled his eyes and half-listened to colleagues who’d accosted him as soon as they arrived at the hotel in Miami.

Ethan might have exaggerated when he told the Rookie that everyone at these conferences either hated him or wanted something from him, but the truth was somewhere in between.

Given his relatively young age, senior physicians felt he hadn’t earned his dues yet and needed to be put in his place. Event organizers coerced him into participating in their program — an example of a young doctor who’d completed his training in the new millennium. His age showed residents they’d chosen the right career, and success was in sight sooner than they thought.

Ethan’s heart skipped a beat as Cassie appeared through the rotating doors. His eyes narrowed as he noticed her disquiet. Was there an issue with her room? He might have added her to the trip late, but he had updated the hotel reservation before the cut-off deadline.

Her expression cleared as she ran into Mirani and Delarosa. He was too far away to hear their conversation, but the easy smile and laughter in Cassie’s eyes mesmerized him. A gentle ocean breeze ruffled her hair and toyed with the hem of her black dress, lifting it above her knee.

He froze, a fly helplessly caught in a spider’s web.

“She’s off limits,” he repeated silently under his breath, forcing himself to look away.

After promising to meet for drinks later, he finally extricated himself from the group. He joined Cassie near the steps, where she was instructing the bellhop about their luggage.

“Dear lord, that was tedious,” Ethan commented. “Please, tell me we’re all set with the rooms.”

“Yes, but there was one problem,” Cassie said, handing the bellhop a folded bill before facing Ethan and giving him a keycard. “The reservation was only for room.”

Ethan rubbed his brows as Cassie explained the room mix-up. He felt the heat under his collar at the thought of sharing a couples’ suite with her. This weekend was already off to a rough start.

“Morons.” His eyes snapped in anger at the incompetence of the hotel staff.

But he was more annoyed at himself. He’d been in a hurry when he called the hotel a few days ago and should’ve paid more attention.

“Let’s head inside,” he said as Cassie watched him anxiously. “We’ve got work to do.”

Thirty minutes later, Ethan marched out of the convention hall and kept going, uncaring about the voices calling his name in greeting.

“Dr. Ramsey, wait,” he heard Cassie behind him, but he couldn’t face her. Not yet.

His head buzzed with Nash’s taunts, and the vindictiveness in the other man’s supercilious tone burned like salt on an open wound.

He stopped when he reached the outdoor deck facing the ocean. Gripping the railing tightly, he breathed in the saltwater air and closed his eyes against the rays of the mid-morning sun.

Ethan’s shoulders hunched in dejection. He had failed Naveen.

He jumped when he felt a hand tentatively touch his back. From the way his pulse quickened, he knew it was Cassie.

God, he wanted to lose himself in her. Just once, he wanted to take something for himself without worrying about risks or consequences.

“It’s pointless,” he said quietly, watching waves crash against the white sands. “Nash won’t budge.”

“About that … I think we need to talk,” Cassie said, breathless from chasing after him. “Nash isn’t the only Panacea rep here. I can wait until he leaves the booth and try with someone else.”

“They all report to him,” Ethan said, looking over his shoulder. “By now, they’ve all been warned not to help us.”

“But——”

“This is not your fault, Valentine,” Ethan cut off her protests with a raised hand. “I knew it was a long shot.”

“We can still try,” Cassie insisted, lifting one manicured hand to shade her eyes as she tilted her head back to gaze determinedly at him. “We have two whole days here.”

“You should attend the sessions,” Ethan said, peering intently into green eyes brimming with emotion. “It’s good learning for a resident and will give you a leg up in the competition.”

“I thought we were in this together,” Cassie said, lifting her hands in an agitated plea.

“I need to catch up with some colleagues.” He shook his head and made to brush past her into the lobby. “I’ll see you later.”

Ethan knew abandoning Cassie like that was cowardly, but his feelings were too raw. Desire swam under the surface, ready to surface at the slightest provocation. He had to get himself under control before sharing a room with her.

Off limits, he told himself grimly.

But his heart had a mind of its own, and he glanced over his shoulder to where Cassie stood, watching him walk away, the sun shining down on her, lighting her blonde hair bright like a beacon calling him home.

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

All Fics & Edits: @bluebelle08 @coffeeheartaddict2 @crazy-loca-blog @jerzwriter @lady-calypso

@mainstreetreader @peonierose @potionsprefect @queencarb @quixoticdreamer16

@justyourusualash @tessa-liam @trappedinfanfiction

Submissions: @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

Ethan & Cassie only: @cariantha @custaroonie @youlookappropriate

[catsafarithewriter]

Day 4: Superheroes

A/N: Welp it looks like I got my days mixed up and am running a day late, but no fear! This is for day 4 of this year's TCR birthday bash, superheroes. I thought I'd go with something more lighthearted today, so here is a little ficlet regarding a different way the cat kingdom could have tried to thank Haru :D

x

"We have decided," said the cat on Haru's windowsill, "that you must be thanked appropriately for saving Prince Lune."

"Uh-huh," Haru said. What she really wanted to say was something like, "I'm dreaming, right?" or "Excuse me, do you know you're a cat?" or even "AAHHHH" coupled with violently swinging a chair – but cats who could talk probably could do other things they weren't meant to, and she didn't want to find out if that included curses.

"Given the magnitude of our debt, the King has decreed that we shall do everything in our power to make you happy," the cat continued, oblivious to Haru weighing up the pros and cons of punting it off a first floor window. "For instance, our research has indicated that humans your age tend to struggle with low confidence, body image, and preoccupation with finding a mate."

"Uh-huh," Haru said again, for entirely different reasons.

"So, to show our gratitude, we have eliminated such problems!"

Haru stared. "...How?"

"Come to a mirror, and I'll show you!"

This had to be a dream. But now Haru was curious to see what her sleeping mind would conjure up in her reflection. She fumbled for her phone and switched on the camera. Maybe her skin would now be porcelain smooth. Maybe her hair would look effortlessly perfect. Maybe she would see entirely a different face.

She was disappointed when there appeared to be nothing changed. "Okay, cat, I'm looking."

"Open your mouth!"

She gave the cat a dubious side-eye, but did so. A maw lined with sharp feline teeth filled the picture.

Haru snapped her mouth shut.

"Do you like it?" the cat asked, with a tone that indicated this was a rhetorical question and that she could start thanking it any time now.

"You gave me fangs??"

"Canines! Fangs have venom!"

"Is that really what's importa–" She felt wood chips beneath her nails and quickly withdrew her hand from her desk. "And claws? What did you do to me?"

"We gave you the ideal body!" the cat announced.

"You gave me claws!"

"Claws are attractive! They're far better than those blunt little stumps you call nails! This way you can prove your hunting prowess and win a mate!"

"You think I'm gonna get a boyfriend because I can catch mice now?"

"Oh, Miss Haru, at your size you should set your sights on much bigger prey! Squirrels and rats, at least! Our research also indicated you were frustrated with your lack of balance–"

"This feels needlessly personal."

"–so we gave you feline grace!"

"Wait," Haru said as she realised the other insinuation of the cat's comment, "have you been watching me?"

"Yes!"

"Oh." Haru blinked. She'd expected at least a little guilt in the admission.

"If this is not sufficient thanks, I'm sure we can find other ways to improve your life–"

"No! I mean, no thank you. This is..." easy enough to hide. "This is fine. You don't need to thank me any more." This was not fine. This was so far over the line of 'fine' that it was a dot on the horizon.

"Are you sure? There was some debate over the inclusion of a tail..."

"I'm good."

"–at least on a permanent basis."

"What?"

"Don't worry, we realised that a persistant tail would require a strain on your wardrobe–"

"What does that–"

"–so we decided that you should get the best of both worlds and have it only when needed!"

A beat passed. A herd of questions hoofed through her mind. "And... the wardrobe problem?" she hazarded at last.

The cat waved a breezy paw. "Oh, don't worry about that! We've sorted it out."

Haru's mouth formed the word 'how' and then her mind thought better of it. "I don't suppose I could convince you to take it all back, could I?" she tried instead.

The cat's mouth wobbled. "You don't like it?"

Well darn it. Now she felt bad. "No, of course I like it!" she lied. "I just don't think I really need it. Or deserve it. I mean, I just acted without thinking, I wasn't being brave."

"Oh." The cat blinked, and the watery look vanished immediately. "Oh," it said again, with far too much assurance, "this is one of those adolescent lack of confidence things, isn't it?"

"I – no?"

"You don't think you're worthy of such a gift because you don't believe in yourself!" the cat proclaimed, with all the confidence of someone adding one plus one and getting three. It patted Haru's hand. "Don't worry, the whole cat kingdom has agreed that you earned this, so enjoy it! Oh, and before I forget..." With a flourish, the cat whipped a little velvet box out of thin air. "The final part to your reward."

Despite all her misgivings, Haru took the box and cautiously opened it. A beautiful silver necklace with a shimmering cat charm rested inside, its single visible eye carved out of a golden-brown gemstone. (Tiger eye, she suspected.)

"It's... lovely," she stuttered. "But I can't accept–"

"You can and you will! Goodbye!" And before Haru could fumble for any other excuses, the cat had leapt out of the window, Haru still holding the box. After a dubious moment passed, she gingerly put the necklace on. (After all, it was gorgeous. It would be a waste not to wear it.) Then she picked up the phone and was halfway through dialling Hiromi, when she hesitated.

Just what was she going to say?

Yeah, so you know the cat I saved yesterday, well it turns out it was a prince...

Look, when you see me, don't make a fuss over my teeth or my claws...

So it looks like cats are trying to help my love life...

She put the phone down. No, best to just not mention it and hope no one noticed. After all, who would jump to the conclusion that they were blessings from a cat and not just a figment of the imagination? Haru barely believed it, and her windowsill was still warm from where the cat had sat.

Then, because it was a Tuesday morning and school didn't accept sick notes for 'my entire physiology was altered by cats in the night' she dragged herself out of bed and prepared herself for the day.

It was just as she was finishing changing into her uniform that the giant rat stampeded past her front door. (Haru was fairly sure that 'stampede' was the right word for, even if it was only a single beast, it did have half a dozen feet.)

Since this wasn't an acceptable thing to see, not even on a gloomy Tuesday schoolday, Haru naturally leant of her window out to better see the chaos. She vaguely wondered if she should call the police – but rather suspected that things like rampaging rats taller than a bungaloo were probably already on the police's radar.

What were police even meant to do about unnatural megafauna? Build a giant mousetrap? Ask it politely to turn itself in? This kind of shenanigan, Haru thought, probably weren't covered in training.

Really, she continued to think, this kind of shenanigan was more the territory of comic book heroes or magical girl responsibilities.

It was as that exact thought struck, that Haru became engulfed in golden light. She felt her form shift, her hair change, and most notably, her clothes alter.

I've literally just gotten ready for school, she thought, and then she was deposited back on the floor. She looked down at herself.

What she was now wearing could best be described as a marriage between a leopard-print leotard and her school uniform. There were bows. There were ribbons. There was a sparkly tutu (and a pair of shorts, much to Haru's relief).

And, as she moved to sit down in disbelief, she discovered there was – emerging from perfectly-tailored shorts and tutu – a tail.

"Well," she said eventually, "I guess that does solve the wardrobe problem."

x

A/N: Gee, some of you may be thinking, it sure is serendipitous/a coincidence that the same day Haru gets 'superpowers' there appears a monster! Well, I'm here to tell you that it's less happenstance, and more like the truck driver who nearly ran over Lune is having the worst Tuesday of his life. (Don't worry, he gets transformed back with only an increase in cheese preference and a fun day explaining to his boss why he didn't turn up for work.) As far as the cats are concerned, if you reward a human by turning her into the best thing to be (cat, obvs) then you punish a human by turning him into the worst thing to be (a rodent).

[poisonheadcrabsalesman]

Fault Tolerance

Roland POV of the end of Spartan Ops and the beginning of Halo: Escalation. Also posted on ao3

2558 had a rough start, Halsey escaping, Requiem dragged into a sun, said sun exploding. Hopefully the Infinity and her crew would have it easy for the rest of the year. Nothing bad would happen, right?

-

Earth.

Not home to him, but safe, or it was supposed to be.

Australia was directly below his orbit, half obscured by clouds. Swirls of white with deep blues uncovered by invisible winds. The landmass half covered in the sprawling grays of progress and parking lots. A maze of office buildings hid the object of his worries. It wasn't enough to block his scanners, but he'd be told to sit tight and wait.

He hated waiting. He hated the powerlessness of not knowing. His kind were supposed to know, supposed to problem solve, supposed to save the day with a wink and a smile. Back to Earth and everything seemed different now. Everything was different now. Last time he was here, Roland was brand new, eager to get started and ready to jump headfirst into a mission with his new assignment. His new home, the UNSC Infinity, was now his cage floating above Sydney, HIGHCOM Bravo-6, where his captain and commander were being debriefed after the debacle that was the Requiem campaign. 

Sit and wait, oh how it ate at him, especially when recently all he had been doing was running for their lives. Faster and faster, more and more, pouring on the engines and calculations to pull them from the fire. Spreading himself so thin to keep them alive for what was supposedly a reconnoiter mission. Less than a month ago they had arrived at the Forerunner shield world, and then it seemed like everything had gone wrong.

It was only March. Less than 72 hours ago, he and his entire crew were almost pulled into a dying star. He wasn't even 4 full months into service yet! What was going to happen? Was he going to lose his home? Lose his captain? Were they going to take the Infinity away from him or him from her? It was hard not to worry, especially since it was HIGHCOM and especially since the override code had unraveled him at a critical point of the campaign. Halsey had gotten her hooks into him, and now she was gone and he was a potential liability.  

The last time he was this worried was the trial. Iona. Her fate. The precedence she set forth, and his role as her advocate at the end of her life and the beginning of his. Black Box had tried to assuage his fears, and looking back, had been surprisingly hopeful for the future, but their roles as tools was still very much the status quo. Broken or faulty tools went into a box, or worse.

January felt like a lifetime ago, but it had stuck with him. Hard not to, what with having perfect recall and nigh infinite memory and all. What if they audited him? Black Box would be kind, maybe, if he was given the mercy of a peer review. Brand new AI, Forerunner engines grafted on to a human ship, destroyed Forerunner planet, missing evil scientist; he didn't have a lot going in his favor other than he was ready to be pulled off the shelf at the right time and that replacing him would be very, very expensive.

4 weeks ago he'd been excited to let loose and show what he could do, 6 weeks ago, with Iona's trial, he'd been worried but hopeful, 13 weeks ago he'd been ecstatic, new to this world and all of its intricacies and wonder. So much information, so much to do and see! Now with 351 potential weeks remaining, several parts of him worry at the paths that will be taken from him. There's only so much time. A week is an eon and a blink of an eye to his kind.

Fifth generation Volitional AIs were supposed to be top of the line, but what would happen because of this newly revealed weakness? Halsey had tricks that left them vulnerable during the attack. He'd lost crew and been helpless against the tempest of Forerunner influence and the debilitating override.

And now the two most important members of his Command were at the mercy of a board of Admirals baying for blood and a scapegoat.

Roland might wish he was as hopeful as Captain Lasky, but Palmer's pragmatic nature was more akin to his own logic trees. Not doubting, but realistic. You had to be when the numbers came naturally into your thoughts - especially when a thread of himself unhelpfully pulled up the track record of those who pissed off Osman. Not even Hood could protect them forever.

How had it all gone so wrong so fast?

Roland’s left with nothing to do but pace and triple-check…everything. Life support, engines, shielding, electrical, communication, and health systems, all came back green. Operating nominally, just as they were when he checked 10 nanoseconds ago. He circles the systems like a cat unhappy with how the furniture has been moved an inch to the left. He yowls at techs, at Spartans, at crew, for attention and updates. On their health and comfort as well as if they heard anything. He’s tolerated and comforted and swatted away. Roland skulks around Cmdr. Bradley and peeks at his datapad – nothing. He spies on chatty pilots who know the comings and goings. He startles neurotic mission handlers who know less than him. He listens in on conversations in the mess halls, the hangars, the science labs, the engine room, the crew quarters. The palpable relief should be contagious, but he still worries.

His crew reconnects with their loved ones via Waypoint in real time – no delay from lightyears of distance. Their joy is his, but like theirs it is also a fleeting thing. There is always another deployment on the horizon, and on the flagship, that could be tomorrow.

Hours pass.

The hive of activity winds down but never remains dormant for long. One shift ends and another begins; the constant cycle unbroken under his watch. Pelicans and Broadswords and frigates circle like remoras around a shark. They hover around the Infinity's hull and then land or depart. Roland watches them, watches their flight paths and signals strengthen and weaken as they flit around the massive ship. Her titanium hull casts a long shadow until her orbit over Australia crosses the terminator and then night comes. The ships continue on their own schedule - blips of light in the dark as they are not beholden to Earth and her gravity. They operate on military time and there is always work to be done.

Roland shifts his focus away, leaving a few winking eyes to watch the display. None of them have the signals he’s waiting for.

Hours pass.

It’s afternoon shiptime when a signal crosses his consciousness and Roland’s focus drops from unimportant matters to watch one lonely little pelican come home to him. He nearly smothers the dumb AI announcing SIGNAL DETECTED in his rush to check on the pelican’s crew. Pelican radios weren’t that different from Mjolnir when you push yourself.

He does not exaggerate his relief nor does he make any jokes; not with the mood coming off of his captain and commander. Their biosigns are a mess even as their masks are firmly in place. The bickering doesn’t start until they’re out of the hangar and making plans to talk somewhere with fewer eyes and ears. Roland would almost feel offended if he wasn’t oh so aware of the spooks onboard, and he knew there were most likely more ONI operatives that even he wasn’t aware of.

It does frustrate him that they go to the one place on the ship that he has the fewest cameras and holotanks. The atrium is an excellent place for humans to unwind, connect with dirt and plants and other stuff that calms their ape brains, and keep an eye on any unwanted parties approaching their debrief about whatever the hell happened at HIGHCOM.

Commander Palmer was upset but doing her best not to show it. Roland could tell by the clenched jaw and flared nostrils she was trying, but she was frustrated enough that it took her a second to slow her gait so Captain Lasky could catch up. The fact they changed into PT gear to keep up the charade was almost comical, if Roland hadn’t been stressing the entire time they were gone.

“You didn’t need to stretch the facts back there.” The captain says, partially out of breath and nearly too quiet for his mics to pick up. He can lipread with the best of them, but it’s still a challenge. Too many uncertainties. Though he did have plenty of practice staring at Lasky’s face.

“Uh, yes. I did.” The commander retorts. She furrows her brow and turns to make eye contact as they pretend to jog. 

Oh, she is not happy. The brief pause she gives him is punctuated with a look that lets Roland know she’s about to lay into the captain. And in his core, Roland believes that he probably needs it. After watching them work together this long, he’s been able to see how they balance each other out. His opinion might carry some weight, But the commander knew when not to pull her punches. Lasky’s bleeding heart would get him benched - or worse - without Palmer there to knock some sense into him. Didn’t mean that their arguments weren’t messy. Unstoppable force and immovable object, Roland thinks. 

“I don’t know if you noticed, but Osman was painting a target on you they could have seen from the Outer Colonies.” The commander continues.

“Sarah–” He has no chance yet the captain tries and interjects. 

“They pulled Del Rio out of the chair, Tom. And he had 20 years’ experience on you.” She continues on. Palmer is struggling to keep a slow pace, but Lasky is keeping up. “You can’t boy scout your way around those people.” 

Lasky’s frown thins into a pale line at that. Palmer slows her run as they near the end of the path and are closer to potential eavesdroppers– and Roland. 

Palmer isn’t finished either. Whatever happened down there wasn’t pretty and Palmer stretching the truth - lying - on Lasky’s behalf to a panel of Admirals was no small thing. She’s trying to drill her point into the captain’s head as if he’s a too-green IV. “Maybe when you were an XO but not anymore.”

The commander is upset; not mad, but fearful. Sarah Palmer doesn’t like to mince words and she doesn’t care for people lording their intelligence over her, but she's not stupid. She’s loyal to their captain and trying to keep him out of the crosshairs.

It’s just that Captain Lasky follows his gut more than the rules and ends up in them despite her best efforts.

They jog in silence for ten excruciating seconds, finally getting closer to a holotank where Roland doesn’t have to strain to hear or be heard. Now or never, since he’s got an Admiral asking for docking clearance. 

“Captain Lasky?”

“What is it, Roland?” Lasky asks. His voice is flat– tired, not annoyed at the intrusion – or at least not as annoyed as Roland thought he’d be. Maybe because he was using his avatar and grimacing politely when they approached.

Still, Roland’s job is not just delivering information or opening doors, he does try to take care of his captain. Soften the blow of bad news, when he could. He aims for humor despite the fact that Lord Admiral Hood is here, now, instead of back in Sydney. Something that couldn’t have been an email, Roland guesses.

“Hey, Cap. Orbital Command just alerted us to a shuttle inbound. Diplomatic transponder. Don’t suppose you’re expecting anyone for dinner?”

It doesn’t soften the news.

Twenty minutes later, Captain Lasky is meeting Lord Admiral Hood in hangar 11 and Commander Palmer is back in her armor with a snarl on her face. 

She still minds her “pleases” and “thank yous” with Roland while demanding updates every other minute.

“It’s Admiral Hood, Commander. Shouldn’t we be happy?”

“The Brass never make house visits for good reasons, Roland.” She sighs “Hood’s just as bad as Tom.”

Roland doesn’t think he should respond to that so he stays quiet, but keeps his avatar deployed in her office while he checks in with the other parts of himself.

In the hangar, he’s front and center for Captain Lasky’s talk with Hood.

“Admiral Hood. Twice in one day. I’m either very lucky or very unlucky.” Lasky smiles, but it’s a weak thing that doesn’t reach his eyes. It’s somehow sadder than his usual mopey expression when things go wrong.

“A little of both. I’ll fill you in on the way, but you should call upstairs and have your folks start spinning up for departure.” Hood returns with a tight smile of his own and then launches into the details of the plan.

Well…that might not be all bad. Not getting to deal with Halsey and ‘Mdama would be a sore spot for everyone, but at least they’re not grounded. Nothing’s going to happen to him either! No word on Roland’s performance. He feels guilty for his relief when the captain and commander went through an unofficial but really pretty official inquiry. 

But this would go well and they could prove themselves! 2558 was still young! It was only March so plenty of time left for the year to improve.

Peace talks – babysitting emissaries who hated each other's guts and wanted to put a superheated plasma sword through the other’s skull. How hard could it be? He just had to sit and wait in orbit. Roland couldn’t shake the bad feeling buzzing through him. “Jiralhanae” and “Diplomacy” weren’t words usually used in the same sentence. A UNSC Admiral, Captain, the Arbiter, and two Fireteams go down to a planet sounds like a beginning to a bad joke to him.

He was overthinking again. No one knew the location and they had a full contingent of Spartans and a fleet on standby. 

This would be a cakewalk compared to Requiem.

-

Author's note: It was not a cakewalk