#the shoulder plate has me in a chokehold on the floor

[wildsaltair]

[onlyfreds]

Cupid’s Chokehold | F.W.

Title: Cupid’s Chokehold (band!au)

Requested: Yes/No [x]

Summary: Fred hasn’t always been known to not be serious about a girl, until he meets Y/N and finds himself in Cupid’s Chokehold

“You okay sweetheart?” Fred asked, slinging an arm around my shoulder as their band wrapped up practice.

I nodded, fiddling with the end of my shirt, “Yeah, just a bit nervous.”

“For what?” He asked, “Meeting my parents?”

I nodded, avoiding his gaze.

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to my temple, “Don’t be nervous. They’ll love you. Even if they don’t m, that won’t stop me from loving you.”

I looked up at him, “Really?”

“Of course. I’d even tell the whole world if you want.” He said before hopping on to the stage and grabbing the microphone, pointing a finger in my direction, “Take a look at my girlfriend. She’s the only one I want.”

I laughed, “Freddie, you don’t have to do that.”

My boyfriend grinned, “There’s that radiant smile!”

—

I looked up at the house where my fate would be decided. I felt like my heart would jump out of my throat as we were mere inches away from the door.

“You okay?” George asked, “You look like you’re going to be sick.”

“Yup.” I said, “Just dealing with some nerves.”

Fred pressed a kiss to my cheek, “You’ll be fine sweetheart.”

George knocked on the door, causing their mother to open it and engulf the both of them into a hug, fussing about them getting thinner with all the practice they’re doing.

When Molly’s attention turned to me, a smile grew on her lips as she pulled me into a bone-crushing hug, “You must be Y/N! Goodness, you’re so beautiful! How was my son able to snag someone like you?”

Fred laughed, “I ask myself the same question everyday.”

Dinner with the Weasleys went by smoothly, we gathered around the living room exchanging stories when I excused myself to get some water from the kitchen.

That’s when I overheard Fred and Molly’s conversation.

“Fred, are you really sure about her?” Molly asked.

Fred nodded, “Mum, this is going to sound like a really bad joke. But, it’s safe to say she’s my new girlfriend.”

Molly sighed, “I know, but she is the first girl that you brought home. You have to, at least, be serious about her.”

“I am serious about her. I know it sounds old, but Cupid got me in a chokehold. We even got a secret handshake. And she loves the music that my band makes. I know I’m young, but if I had to choose her or the sun: I won’t have any second thoughts about choosing her.”

—

“Good morning sweetheart.” Fred greeted, wrapping his arms around my waist as I transferred the pancakes unto the plate.

“You ready for your show later?” I asked as he scattered soft kisses along my neck.

“Just a tad bit nervous.” He admitted, “But, knowing that you’ll be there in the front row makes me a whole lot better.”

“Is that my favorite pancakes?” He asked, peeking over my shoulder.

I chuckled, “Yeah. Just thought you would like some.”

Fred smiled, burying his head into the crook of my neck, “If this ain’t love then I don’t know what love is.”

—

Fred and his band performed perfectly, receiving a standing ovation from the audience.

I pushed through the crowd of people, making my way backstage when I felt somebody tap my shoulder.

I turned and saw a girl giving me a small smile, “You’re the lead singer's girlfriend, right?”

“Yeah. I am.” I said.

She giggled, “You’re so lucky to be his girlfriend and it was sweet of him to dedicate the last song to you.”

I smiled, “As far as I know, that song was about me. But, you’re right, he is a gentleman and I’m lucky to have him.”

As soon as we finished our conversation, I headed backstage and almost walked into another conversation.

Fred’s voice could be heard, “Dad, I’m trying hard not to talk fast. But, I finally have found the one. She is the type of girl that will make you way proud of your son. She’s my soulmate, I can tell by the way she says my name.”

Arthur smiled at him, clapping him on the shoulder, “I’m already proud of you.”

—

I glanced at the clock that hung on the kitchen wall: 11:30 am. The band’s practice time must’ve been extended.

I then heard the door open as Fred came in. He had a slightly pissed off look on his face as he took off his coat and threw it on the couch, dropping his bag on the floor.

Sensing his exhaustion, I left my chore and ran into his arms, breathing in his musky scent.

“Bad day?” I asked, looking up at him.

“Better.” He mused, kissing the top of my head, “Now that you’re here in my arms.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?” I said.

My boyfriend shook his head, “Maybe later. Right now, I just want all of my attention on you.”

—

Another week has ended, which meant another Sunday dinner at the Weasley household.

“You’ve got to be kidding!” Charlie said, “You can’t tell me that Fred’s girlfriend is this gorgeous!”

“I told you!” Bill said with a small laugh, “It’s hard to believe that he managed to snag someone like her.”

Fred raised his hands in mock surrender, “I know you guys think that I slipped her a love potion or something. I,myself, can’t figure out how she fell for a dork like me. I mean, look at her: she’s got a smile that would make the most senile. Her eyes are comparable to sunrise. And it doesn’t stop there, she’s got the cutest laugh I’ve ever heard. When I start to build my future, she’s the main component.”

“Simp.” George snickered, teasing his twin.

Fred draped an arm around my shoulder, “Call it dumb, call it luck, call it love, or whatever you call it but no matter what you say, she’s the one for me.”

Ginny shushed him, “Why don’t we ask your girlfriend.”

I suddenly felt all eyes on me, “Well, Fred may be a dork. But, he is the sweetest and most caring person ever. He always knows what to do to make me feel better. As cliche as it sounds, he brings out the best in me. That, and the fact that he is handsome and hot.”

Fred beamed at me with pride, “Take a look at my girlfriend. She’s the only one I want.”

𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝:

@lumosandnoxwriting @gostupid-godumb @famdomhideout @nova-darling @gaycatlord-stuff @pandaxnienke @escapingrealitybyreading @catching-the-train-to-hogwarts @lunylovelovegood @thefallengodesse (Send a Message/Ask if you want to be added!)

[fangirl-writes]

Honey

Colby Brock x Reader

Request: Colby x reader with the song Honey by Johnny Balik in a Soulmate AU where the two finally meet when the Trap boys decide to go to this retro aesthetic restaurant and Honey is playing on the jukebox! Y/N is their waitress and Colby instantly falls head over heels for her. Tysm! ♥️💗

Warning(s): None

Notes: Okay I loved this request and I listened to the song for the first time and omg I’m in love with it, but I didn’t really know how to work it into the story besides being the song. Anyway, I hope you enjoy @sammieh​ !

It was a mid-summer evening. The sun had just started to dip below the horizon and the empty diner was caked in a warm orange light.

The whole restaurant looked straight out of the fifties. The checkered tile, the red and silver booths, the round stools along the bar, and the jukebox in the corner that was softly playing Have You Ever Been In Love by The Ivy and you hummed along as you wiped down the counter behind the bar.

You were wearing the appropriate uniform; Hair pulled back, a white blouse and a black poodle skirt with a white apron tied around your waist and a pair of matching flats on your feet. The sleeves were long to cover your soul-mark, but you had them pushed up to your elbows to avoid getting them wet from the rag.

You glanced towards your mark. Honey by Johnny Balik was scrawled in your soulmates handwriting on your forearm.

You’d heard the song many times. It was one of the many songs on the jukebox and you’d heard it when you first came in the restaurant. You supposed that’s why you had applied to work there, hoping that you’d run into your soulmate.

It had yet to happen, but you’d seen many soulmates meet each other in the diner and you hoped that one day the location would bring yours to you.

The bell above the door jingled, indicating the arrival of some new customers.

“Hello,” You said, dropping your rag into the bucket before looking up. “Welcome to the Milkshake Malt Shop.” 

There were four boys standing at the entrance, looking around at the shop in a sort of awe. The first thing you noticed was that one of them held a camera, the second was their appearances.

Two of them were brunettes, one of them had firetruck red hair, and the last one had purple hair. Two had long sleeves, the other two had short sleeves. This meant two of them had found their soulmates and the other two were still mysterious.

The purple-haired one perked up at the music, looking over at the jukebox; the song seeming to be a familiar sound to his ears.

You smiled in their direction. “Feel free to seat yourselves and I’ll be over with menus and to take your drink order.”

They made their way over to a booth at the center of the aisle by the windows, chatting away about the décor to the camera that the one of the brunette boys pointed at each of them. The one with the camera and the one with the purple hair occupied one side of the rather small booth, the other brunette and red-dyed one took up the other.

You reached down into your apron to grab your pen and pad and started to make your way over to their table.

The jukebox made a clicking noise as it changed over the song.

“What can I get for you boys?”

The camera was pointed in your direction as you spoke and you suddenly felt very self-conscious.

“I think we should try some of the Milkshake’s milkshakes, huh boys?” the one holding the camera said.

The other three seemed to agree.

“What kinds do you-”

The beginning of Honey started playing on the jukebox and you’re heart stopped.

The boy with the purple hair was staring you right in the eyes. 

His were a beautiful color blue that went wide looking into your (e/c) ones, turned slightly golden by the setting sun. He had a bit of stubble across his lip and chin that you thought suited him, made him look older. His lips were parted, frozen around the remains of his sentence. He had a stud nose-ring and similar black earrings. He was, perhaps, the most handsome man you’d ever seen.

“Honey,” You both breathed at the same time. The pad and paper fell from your hands and clattered against the floor as your arms fell limp at your sides.

All three of the other boys simultaneously looked down towards Colby’s soulmark and then over to yours. They immediately recognized Colby’s handwriting scribbled on your forearm.

They’d heard/seen this kind of thing before. Sam had Cupid's Chokehold by Gym Class Heroes Ft. Patrick Stump scrawled in Katrina’s handwriting and Jake had Drag Me Down by One Direction in Tara’s. It wasn’t new, but it was certainly unexpected.

Colby was drinking in your appearance. He had never seen someone so beautiful.

His lips curved upwards into a giddy smile that was contagious and it made your heart flutter. “I’m Colby.”

His voice was deeper than you were expecting. He spoke softly, as if he was afraid of scaring you off. How could he? You had been waiting for this moment your whole life.

“Y/N,”

“Y/N.” he breathed out. Your name rolled gracefully from his tongue and it was as if you had never heard it spoken before.

“Colby.” You responded, trying his name out yourself.

His smile got bigger, if it was possible, and his cheeks tinted pink. He suddenly became aware of the others sitting around him.

Sam was the first to clear his throat. “Uh- Should we leave, or-?”

“No, no, you guys are okay. We’ve been exploring all day, we need to eat. I’ll just uh-”

He motioned for Sam to move out of the booth so he could slide out after him.

He was stood next to you now. He was tall. “I’ll sit at the bar so we can talk, okay?”

You nodded, still too in awe of him to speak.

He walked that direction and you retrieved your things from the floor before straightening up with a blush covering your cheeks. “Now, what can I get for you guys?”

About a half an hour had passed and you were leaning on the counter, across from Colby who was eating his burger and drinking a vanilla shake that he insisted has two straw so you could have some as well.

You’d been talking so long and getting to know each other. You found out his name was actually Cole, but he preferred Colby, that he has two YouTube channels, a personal one and one with Sam (the brunette with the camera) who is his best friend along with Jake and Corey (the other two boys). That they all live in a house in LA together and they do exploring and haunted videos. He showed you all his other tattoos and you showed him yours (if you have any).

“This is going to seem kind of forward, considering we just met, but can I kiss you?” He asked.

You grinned. “I’d like that.”

He pushed his plate and drink aside and leaned over the counter to reach your lips. You met him in the middle and nearly gasped as your lips touched. It was everything you’d ever wanted it to be, everything the stories prepared you for. You felt sparks and absolute bliss.

Colby hummed into the kiss, communicating to you that he was feeling everything you were.

You pulled apart and both had goofy grins on your face.

“Hey, Colby, man, we gotta get going, sorry.” Sam said, placing a hand on Colby’s shoulder.

Colby’s face fell and he looked at you with sad eyes. “How long until you get off?”

“We close in another half hour.”

“Come see me after?” He asked, puppy-dog eyes shining at you.

You smiled, scribbling your phone number down on your pad before ripping it off and handing it to him. “I’ll text you when I’m finished up, okay?”

Colby’s face lit up and he took the paper from your hand, placing a quick kiss on your lips before taking off with the other three boys.

You were left in surprise and watched him go through the windows. He got into the drivers seat of a red corolla, sending a longing look back at the diner before he did so.

You let out a dreamy sigh, listening to Dusk Till Dawn play from the jukebox and running your fingers along your tattoo.

One Year Later

You stood behind the counter at the diner, again, chatting with one of your coworkers.

It was your last day at the retro restaurant and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t going to miss it, but you were moving in with Colby, your soulmate, in LA and you thought it was time to move on.

“Excuse me, doll, you lookin’ to get outta here?”

You turned and resisted the urge to burst out laughing.

There was Colby, dressed to the nines in 50s greaser gear. He had leather pants, white shirt, leather jacket, and his hair was gelled back in the classic style.

“I don’t know, daddy-o. Know any greasers looking to show a girl a good time?”

“Why don’t’cha come with me a find out, kitten?”

You giggled into your hand, bidding your coworker farewell with a hug, and clocked out for the last time before intertwining your fingers with Colby’s and letting him lead you outside.

You gasped as you saw him straddle the bike. “Where did you get a motorcycle?”

He chuckled. “Rented it from a place. Thought I’d give you the full Grease experience.”

You smiled at him. “Do you even know how to ride one of these things?”

“They gave me a lesson at the place. Not that hard.”

He handed you a helmet to put on, which you did, and you got on behind him, being mindful of your skirt, and wrapped your arms around him. 

“Now let’s go finish packing for your move, honey,” He said.

Honey

It quickly became your favorite pet name.

[deathonyourtongue]

Resurrection | 11

Summary: A ragtag team of Spec-Ops operators are brought out of retirement for all the wrong reasons. When the dust settles, only the best will be left standing. Pairing: Pablo Schreiber x OFC, Henry Cavill x OFC (listen, she gets with the whole team, okay? Don’t lie, you would too.) Word Count: 2.1K Warnings: Nothing much really. A/N: Shit hath hitteth the fan. Again.

“Ooh, smells like semen in here!” Jake says with far too much enthusiasm, smiling brightly at me as he pours two cups of coffee, doctoring mine just how I like it. 

“Shut up. If you or anyone else brings it up, be ready to be on the receiving end of Beef’s fist,” I mutter, giving Jake the only warning he’ll get from me as I take my seat at the conference table, rolling my neck side to side, amazed at just how sore I am. 

“My lips are sealed. I just gotta know one thing: What was he holding out for?”

“Me,” I whisper, watching as Jake’s eyebrows go sky high and he leans back in his seat, silenced. 

“I mean, we all sort of suspected. He’s not exactly subtle about...well, anything, but you never seemed to catch on, so we left it alone.” He shrugs, his smile more genuine this time, Jake looking truly touched by the revelation. 

“Yeah, well, next time do us both a favor and tell me sooner.”

“And spare him the blue balls? Where’s the fun in that? Was it a mess? Did you have to stick the shower head up there after?”

“Jake, shut up!” I crow, throwing a spare pen at him just as Rick walks through the door, breakfast in hand. 

“Literally the last two people I expected to be up early after last night, but I’ll take it. Where’s the rest of the gang?” Rick asked, setting the bags of food and the tray of coffee down in the center of the table. 

“What did you get up to last night?” It’s my turn to interrogate Jake, my eyebrow going up as I watch his smile go impish. 

“Her name was Star and she did things to me that are deadly sins in most religions.” Jake says with as much seriousness as he can muster for all of 2.5 seconds, his face breaking into a smile just as he takes a sip of his coffee.

“Just be glad you weren’t stuck in a box with him for more than 24 hours,” Benji mutters as he takes the seat to my left, squeezing my shoulders before sitting down. 

“Morning,” Max mumbles as he sits to my right, avoiding eye contact with everyone, including me.

“Save the act, Beef. We all know you got some,” Dom cuts in, moving to sit next to Rick, leaning back in his seat, and grinning like that cat that ate the canary. 

“Congratulations on losing your V-card, bro,” Flip adds as he comes in, patting Max on the back as he scoots by him. 

“Alright, enough. What d’we got, Rick?” I cut the shenanigans short, knowing if I let it go on any longer, the guys will yank Max’s chain a little too hard first thing in the morning. Even I’m not that patient before coffee. 

“Well, since we let Wallace literally walk out the front door, we have to chase again. I asked intel for his whereabo--”

There’s barely time to hear the blast before the shockwave hits us, taking out the bulletproof glass as if it were single pane. I feel Max’s body collide into mine, before we both hit the ground hard. Car alarms and smoke detectors go off in nearby buildings, making it clear the blast came from the outside in, but leaving no doubt we’re the targets.

Breaching charges come next, one at the front door, one at the secondary exit. I finally open my eyes as I get to my feet, keeping low and feeling Max’s hand clamped around the back of my neck. Though smoke fills the meeting room, I get enough of a glance to know that the guys are all okay, each of them in the same crouched position I am, all of us moving with precision. 

Max pushes me into my room, slamming the door behind me. Without hesitation, I grab a t-shirt, vest, pants and socks, throwing everything on in a hurry. My boots go last, the laces double knotted so I don’t have a slip-up later. I pull my hair into a messy knot before grabbing my M4 and checking the mag. Seeing it fully loaded, I push it back into place and slam it home, ready to go. 

The knock at my door comes just in time, and I knock back once to let whoever is on the other side know I’m ready and armed. Pulling it open, I fall in behind Flip, covering him and bringing up the tail end of our little procession down the hall. Up front, I hear Dom call out targets, he and Rick taking out three men without hesitation. 

“Let’s move!” Rick calls out, and I pivot so that as I move forward, I can cover us against anyone who might want to come up behind. Within moments of doing so, two of Wallace’s men come out of the meeting room and into the hallway. Leveling my M4, I take four shots, ensuring both men’s deaths. 

Just as I pass the last of the bedrooms, I feel my body get pulled sideways. With little time to react, I let my gun fall to my side and pull my knife out of my vest. Before I can sink it into the nearest limb, I feel his arm go around my throat in a rear naked choke, the man squeezing hard enough to make me see stars. I only have six seconds before the chokehold takes me out, and with gunfire sounding ahead of us, I know the boys won’t be coming to save me. Stepping forward, I pivot towards the man’s thumb, palm striking his hand away as I go. Out of the hold, I don’t waste time, wrapping his neck in a guillotine choke and cranking with every ounce of anger I feel towards the man who’s made our lives a living hell for the last few weeks. 

It takes a second, but I feel the distinct pop of tendon and bone breaking and from how limp the man goes, I know he’s gone. Swinging my gun back into my hands, I check my corners and sprint to catch up with the team, reaching them as they start going down the exterior stairs of the building. At street level, more of Wallace’s men are posted up, guns aimed directly at us. I pause for a moment, eyeing the most imperative man to take out, and with a quick check through my scope, put two through his forehead, taking him out just before he can let a shot off; a shot that would’ve surely hit Rick where it counts. Taking out two more men before moving again, I sprint for our car, slipping in just as Dom puts the pedal to the floor. 

“Everyone good?” Benji calls, his eyes wide as they dart around the van, watching carefully as we all pat ourselves down. Unlike our last shootout, I don’t find a hole where it shouldn’t be. Still, I’m not surprised when I find Max’s fingers lifting my chin. 

“Jesus,” he hisses as I turn my head out of his grip, nodding. 

“Yeah, it’s gonna be muteville for me tomorrow unless I can ice this soon,” I acknowledge, resting my head back against the seat as the pain finally kicks in. 

Our secondary safehouse is nowhere near as luxurious as the one we use for headquarters, being nothing but a small, modified warehouse, but it has water, ice, and a place for me to lean back while I ice my neck. Max brings me the bag and gingerly sets the ice down on my neck, smoothing my hair back after. With a gentle kiss to my forehead, he takes his seat next to me, his gaze focusing on the screens where Rick is pulling up traffic cameras.

“Home Office is going to love knowing you broke the Freedom Act just for one man,” Max deadpans, all of us focusing on a different part of the screen, trying to figure out where Wallace and his men went after the bombing. 

“I’ll have a look at security cam footage from right after the stairs, see if I can pinpoint what direction he went in,” Dom says, pulling his laptop closer before entering the same camera network the traffic ones are on. If nothing else, I’m glad we’re in London because as one of the most surveilled cities in the world, the chances of not finding him are slim to none.

Silence falls over the room as we all study the feeds, looking for any sign of the black vans Wallace and his men got into after the bombing. It seems like hours go by before Dom finally speaks up, his voice terse as he checks and double-checks his findings.

“Cameras show him headed east-”

“I got him. He’s on A12,” Rick interjects, standing to get a closer look at his square, where the two vans are headed in the exact direction Dom had said. 

“A12 ends at London City. He’s gonna try and hop ship!” Max is the one on his feet now, reaching for his phone. 

Taking the ice off my neck, I sit up, well-versed in what’s about to happen. Joint ops are always a mess, but we need the airport locked down with him and his team in it, and with the head start Wallace has, we’ll never make it in time. 

Max paces as the call rings, his face making it clear he needs the person on the other end to pick up, and pick up quickly. As he waits, we all start getting ready. Vest plates are checked, mags get loaded and stowed, and extra ammo is stuffed into a singular go-bag one of us will carry just in case. 

“John. Hey mate, I need a favor and I need it fast. No questions right now. I need you to lock down London City as quickly as you can. No making calls to anti-terror, understood? This one’s ours and ours alone. He’s an animal and we need to put him down. Can you do that, mate? Good, thank you. What’s your ETA?”

Max listens intently to his friend on the other line even as he starts prepping his own gear, knowing we don’t have much time. 

“Great. I’ll see you there, mate. I’ll explain over a pint when it’s all over, I promise.” Closing the call, Max grabs his gear, on my heels as we all rush out the door and back into the truck. 

We check and recheck everything as Max drives towards the airport we know Wallace will be trying to fly out of. The silence in the truck is deafening, all of us tensed and ready for what we hope will be the end of this nightmare. 

London City’s facade reminds me of a used car dealership, all concrete and glass, with the airport’s title written in blue letters across the top of the entrance. It’s not a stunning piece of architecture, and despite its prime location, it’s nowhere near as heavily-trafficked as Heathrow or Gatwick. I try my best to keep my face neutral as we arrive; by the amount of lights and personnel standing around outside the building, the Mets weren’t exactly subtle about their approach. The chances that Wallace is still in the building drop more and more, the closer we get.

Max tears out of the car like a bull in a china shop, eyes narrowed with laser precision as he marches inside to find his friend. We follow suit, scanning the area for any sign of Wallace or his men, knowing he could be waiting to spring another trap on us at any moment. 

“What the hell happened, John?” Max barks as he makes a beeline for his friend, having no idea how scary he looks when he’s on the warpath. 

“We were too late, mate. He had a private jet set to take off. Wheels were up by the time we got to the counters. We’re pulling surveillance and the flight manifest as we speak.” John, to his credit, manages to face Max without shrinking in his presence, unintimidated by the rabid dog routine he tends to default to whenever a plan is going south.

Appeased by the quick reaction to missing their primary objective, Max backs off, scrubbing a hand over his face as he turns back towards us.

“We’re all in consensus that he wants to recreate the night he was arrested, correct?” He asks as we all gather around, ready to rejig the plan as necessary. Everyone nods, the rest of the team’s anger rising to the level of Max’s, none of us wanting a repeat of that night. “So he’s headed south. Probably back to Libya.” 

The flight manifest appears before anyone can say another word, and as Max reads over the report, I know the bad news is about to be compounded. 

“He took a hostage. FUCK!”

[echo-hiraeth]

“Will you just shut that kriffing mouth of yours and listen for a second?” Din Djarin x GN! Reader

Summary: Reader was forced to kill someone when a bounty retrieval went rogue and is pestered by memories of the scene. Din tries to comfort them to the best of his abilities.

Warnings: Angst, swearing, mentions of violence and blood, injury, death, some fluff to balance it all out (:

Masterlist

It was supposed to be an easy job but it had (not surprisingly) turned into a complete shitshow. Karga had slid the puck across the table, informing the Mandalorian that it was just a harmless quarry. Din was eager to accept it and take things slow from there on out. Because for months now everything had been pure chaos and hecticness, it started to take a toll on the three of you.

The baby started getting more fussy and restless, sensing the stress and pent-up frustrations within the Crest. It had sounded like a dream, the perfect opportunity for the both of you to take a break.

“No matter what happens, stay in the ship”, Din ordered while slinging his pulsar rifle over his shoulder. “If you need anything, talk to me.”

He slid a tiny device into your clammy hand, a commlink. You looked up at him, giving him a half smile. No matter the stakes or risks, you always hated it when he left.

“Just be careful, please?” You gently rested your hand against his chest plate.

The bounty hunter tilted his helmet, trying to reassure his partner. “Don’t worry cyar’ika. It’s an easy job, should only take a couple hours.”

You nodded, feeling a sense of relief wash over you. He’d survived way more dangerous trips, he’d be fine.

The Mandalorian turned to leave, opening the hull and promptly stepping outside. He reminded you to start up the ground security protocol and with that he took off. The shine of his beskar slowly fading away as he ventured into the distance.

Another bounty, another day alone on the ship. Well, that was until your foundling woke up and accompanied you. You spent an hour cleaning the ship, picking up dirty clothes and quickly sweeping the floors. By the time you got around to the small kitchen, you heard cooing and whining coming from Din’s cot.

As you opened the door you were met with those big brown eyes, melting your heart on sight.

“Good morning little one”, you mused, picking him up to press a gentle kiss to his fuzzy head.

He reached out, tiny hands cupping your face, as if trying to reciprocate the gesture. You chuckled, absolutely smitten by his antics. A chuckle of his own left his throat upon seeing you so relaxed.

“Let’s get you some breakfast ad’ika.”

 Karga was right, the bounty didn’t even fuss when Din went to collect him. He simply nodded and extended his arms, cooperating as the beskar-covered man secured the handcuffs around the quarry’s wrists. He was human, and if Din had to guess maybe in his sixties, face covered in wrinkles and scars, each telling a story of their own.

“I hope you didn’t have too much trouble getting here, the sandstorms tend to be quite intense.”

Din sighed, helping the quarry stand up and slowly guiding him out of the cantina. He rolled his eyes underneath the helmet, steadily becoming more and more annoyed with every attempt at conversation that left the old man’s mouth.

“Do you ever take that bucket off?”, the man questioned, gesturing towards the helmet.

“No living thing has seen my face since I swore to the creed”, the Mandalorian replied in a monotone voice.

“Oh so you can talk, you’re just stubborn.” The man let out a laugh, amused by his own remark.

The bounty hunter decided right there and then that his new guest would spend his time on the ship in the carbonite freezer, in silence. As the Crest came into view, Din started to pick up his pace, not caring about the sand starting to obstruct his visor.

“That’s the start of a new storm, if we don’t find cover soon, we’ll both be dead!” The man yelled, the sound of the harsh wind picking up almost drowning him out completely.

“Less talking more running”, the Mandalorian commanded, dragging the bounty by the collar of his shirt. Their bodies colliding in the process.

He tapped away on his vambrace, the hull of his beloved ship starting to open. Distracted by the storm, Din was surprised by the sudden laser blast flying past him.

“Give me my father and I might just let you live”, a female voice spoke.

Within a second he whipped around, face to face with a small woman, a blaster in each hand. She wore a mask, hiding her face from him and goggles to guard her eyes from the sand.

“I’m not asking again, Mandalorian.”

“I’m afraid I don’t negotiate easily”, Din sighed, reaching for his own blaster, only to find it missing.

“I suggest you listen to my daughter.” The man spoke, blaster held in his cuffed hands. He must’ve apprehended it when they’d bumped into one another.

Din tried to assess the situation and its possible outcomes. He quickly wrapped his arm around the man’s throat, holding him in a threatening chokehold while hastily grabbing the blaster from his hands.

He mentally scolded himself for being so uncaring and distracted. He could clearly use a break as well.

The girl quickly fired at him, pulling him out of his own head, aiming for the weak spot between his helmet and right pauldron.

He stumbled back a bit, hissing at the burning flesh.

“Next one won’t miss”, the daughter threatened, taking a few confident strides in his direction.

Without hesitation he fired his blaster, barely missing the girl who moved at a surprisingly fast pace.

She pointed the blaster at him once again, but before she could pull the trigger, she fell down. Din hit the quarry in the head with his elbow, his unconscious form falling the ground.

“Cyar’ika..” Din started, looking at your trembling form, blaster still aimed at the woman.

“There’s no time, get them inside, storm’s getting worse.” You’d tried to sound confident despite the obvious shake in your voice.

Din was left alone, quickly dragging the bodies into the hull of the ship while you went to the ‘fresher. Locking the door you had to hold on to the metal counter to steady yourself. Your knuckles turned white with the intensity of your grip. The sound of your shallow breaths filled the small space, only causing you to panic even more.

Meanwhile, in the hull of the ship, the Mandalorian had put the bounty into the carbonite freezer. He then kneeled beside the woman’s body, carefully removing her coverings. He shook his head upon seeing her face, she was young, just a kid. Despite being seen as a cold killer, he hated this, he hated having to involve innocent people into other people’s messes.

As he went to stand again, he felt a dull ache in his shoulder and remembered the injury he’d sustained earlier. He quietly made his way over to the fresher, while cautiously removing his pauldron. He stopped dead in his tracks upon hearing your soft sobs.

“Are you hurt?”, his modulated voice was faint and low.

You gasped, quickly wiping your eyes and splashing your face with some water.

“N-no, I’m fine. Are you?” You slid the door open, and were met with a tilt of his helmet that you interpreted as nothing but concern for you.

“You did what you had to do, to protect me, us.”

Your shoulders started shaking at his words, sobs filling the silence. He was never good at this but wanted nothing more than to help you, so gently, he put his arms around you. His embrace was gentle and soft, almost as if you would break if he were to hold you any tighter.

The tears freely streamed down your cheeks now and fell onto the beskar, rolling down his chest plate as your body trembled.

He winced a little when you went to wrap your arms around his neck. Your eyes quickly found his visor. His heart ached when he saw your glassy eyes, which were otherwise so vibrant and full of life.

“Is she dead?”, you croaked out, never averting your gaze from the visor.

Din hesitantly held your hands in his, slowly nodding.

“A-are you injured?”, you asked trying to regain control over your emotions.

“It’s just a scratch, I can take care of it, you sho-“

“Let me help you, please,” you begged while extending your arms towards the med kit.

“You really don’t have to.” He spoke softly.

You forced a smile, guiding him back to the hull and froze upon seeing the body, the woman. Her face was bare, revealing a young girl, a teenager, a kid. Scoffing, you looked up at the ceiling in an attempt not to break out in tears again.

“Let’s get you patched up.”

 After you tended to Din’s wounds, the storm had passed. He suggested you throw the body out of the ship, but you insisted he wouldn’t. A loaded silence filled the cockpit ever since, until he prepared the ship to take off.

“Y/n, you need to process this, seeing her body will only make it harder.” He reiterated, trying to convince you to leave her behind once more.

“She deserves a proper burial, just get us to the outer rim of this hellhole”, with that you’d left him and the baby in the cockpit, disappearing into your cot.

As you went to lay down and close your eyes, sleep quickly settled in, the sheer exhaustion of the day finally catching up to you. The earlier events plagued you, the scene replaying over and over again. Except she screamed and cried for mercy in your nightmare, which made you jolt awake. Your hands rested over your eyes as you started to sob again. You never thought you’d have to shoot, let alone kill someone, but here you were, a murderer, not even strong enough to face the consequences of their own actions.

Din rushed to your side upon hearing your cries and screams.

“What happened?”, he removed your hands form your face, wanting you to look at him.

“How can you stand to even look at me…”, you spoke through gritted teeth, voice laced with self-hatred.

“You did what you-“

You shoved past him while interrupting: “No Din, that’s not what I meant. How can you stand to live your life with someone so weak and pathetic.”

“What do you mean?”, he questioned, grabbing a hold of your wrist to keep you from leaving the small cot.

“What good is a partner if they can’t even kill to save their life.”

“Stop it.”

“I mean it, you should’ve just left me back there to perish in the sand.”

“I said stop that.” He grabbed your jaw and made you face him. “For Maker’s sake, will you just shut that kriffing mouth of yours and listen for a second.”

Your eyes started brimming with tears again as you slowly nodded your head.

“If I wanted someone to help me with the bounties, I would’ve gotten someone from the guild. I didn’t hire an assassin and I don’t need you to be one either. You’re here because I want you to be. You’re here because I couldn’t stand to not have you with me. You’re here because you keep me grounded.”

You took a step towards him, tears threatening to spill.

“Din I-“

“I’m not finished. The way you care for the kid.. the way you make sure that I always have food and water, the way you take short showers so that I have hot water as well. The way you pick up after us, how you tend to our every need and desire. You made this ship into a home for the three of us, with your love and care. I don’t want you to be okay with what you did because you wouldn’t be the cyar’ika that I’ve grown to care about.”

He stumbled back when you practically hurled yourself into his arms. His gloves hands rested on your lower back as you stood in a comfortable silence, the only sounds being his frantic breathing. A modulated chuckle escaped his armour as he sensed you nuzzling into him.

“Thank you”, you whispered into the space between his helmet and shoulder.

“Close your eyes y/n.. let me kiss you”, he murmured, hands gripping onto you more tightly.

You hummed, doing as you were told and soon you heard the clang of beskar against the floor. Before you could say anything else, his lips were on yours. He wanted them to speak for him, afraid that his words would fall short in trying to describe the complete and utmost adoration he felt for and because of you. His movements were eager and desperate, the lack of touch and affection over the years encouraging him to kiss you even harder. Your teeth accidentally grazed his lip, which startled him a bit. This caused the both of you to break apart, his hand quickly coming up to cover your eyes, just as a precaution.

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum”, he breathed, panting as his lips found yours once again.

You didn’t know what it meant, but you know that if he said it in Mando’a it must’ve been something he wasn’t ready to have you know just yet, but you didn’t mind, you had all the time in world.

[viastro]

somewhere only we know | lee seokmin

ミ★ synopsis: in which you and seokmin go to your hidden spot. laying under the night sky, you both catch sight of a shooting star.

ミ★ genre: best friends!au, humor, fluff, hidden feelings

ミ★ warnings: none!

ミ★ word count: 1844

ミ★ pairings: seokmin x female reader

ミ★ notes: i literally almost cried while writing this uh HELP! i’m in my FEELINGS! i’ve been blaring day6 in my headphones for the past three hours and it’s almost 4 am but it’s fiNE! i’m going through it and that’s OKAY! omg i love seokmin he’s so precious i hope you guys like this one

“I just think we as a society should appreciate guys wearing cardigans more.” Mingyu states, taking a sip of his soda afterwards as he awaits everyone's response. Minghao raises his hands up in the air and claps, “Outstanding. Say it LOUDER!” 

“I JUST THINK WE AS A SOCIETY-”

“Stop.” Seungkwan goes into a laughing fit, causing the rest of the guys to lose it. You grin behind your soda, trying to hold back your own laughter. Seokmin laughs loudly beside you as Mingyu gets up to shove Minghao off the couch. 

It’s a warm Friday night at the Jeon residence, the fourteen of you goofing around after finishing your finals. You guys haven’t been able to hangout altogether like this for a month since you were all so busy studying for your exams, so being able to sit down and spend time with them is nice.

Except for the fact that you feel this heavy weight on your shoulders cause you feel like you absolutely failed your sociology final. You know that Seokmin has noticed your mood due to him staying close beside you the whole night, trying to make you laugh as much as he can. 

“You alright?” Seokmin finally asks, spouting you out of your thoughts. He wraps an arm around your shoulders and you give him a small smile, “Kinda. Just worried about my final, but it’s okay. Don’t worry about me.” 

“Of course I’m gonna worry about you yn, you’re my best friend. I can literally sense how much it’s bothering you based on how slouched you are right now.” You immediately straighten your shoulders, making Seokmin chuckle at you. 

“Mingyu please get off of mE!”

“No, you were rude.”

“HELLO??!!”

“Wow, and nobody’s gonna help him?” Jeonghan says as he videotapes the whole thing, and you snort, reaching over to the coffee table to grab a chip.

“Some world we live in.” Chan finishes, bursting into laughter when Minghao starts slamming his fists onto the floor like a child who got their favorite toy taken away. Mingyu finally gets up off the poor boy, and Minghao lets out a wheeze before standing up and jumping on the giant.

“Ah shit, everyone grab their cups and plates.” You announce, and everyone grabs whatever’s fragile and places it out of their way. Minghao currently has Mingyu in a chokehold, and Mingyu is refusing to tap out as Vernon now takes the role as referee.

“Mingyu! Just tap out already!” Wonwoo yells, and Mingyu shakes his head no.

“Your face is so fucking red Mingyu please!”

“N-neve-” Mingyu wheezes in the middle of his sentence, tapping Minghao’s arm. Minghao finally lets go, and stands up in victory. You all laugh when Vernon raises his arm up as if they just won the Olympics.

“You wanna head out?” Seokmin asks as you pull out your phone while everyone starts talking again. You turn to look at him, letting out a small grin, “Yeah, sure.” 

“Okay guys, I need to take yn home. She’s really tired.” Seokmin announces, and the boys release a round of, “Awe man.” and, “We’ll see you on Monday!” 

“Bye guys! Love you, text you later.” You say as you put on your hoodie. You and Seokmin wave goodbye before heading out of Wonwoo’s house. You breathe in the fresh air, gazing up at the dark night sky. Slight disappointment settles in your stomach once you take notice of the lack of stars. 

“Yn, let’s go to our place.” Seokmin says from his car, half his body already in the driver’s seat. You feel excitement fill your veins at the thought of looking at the stars from you and Seok’s secret place, so a big smile breaks out onto your face. You nod your head and skip over to the car.

“Do you have a blanket?” You ask as you step out of the car and into the clearing. Seokmin nods his head, stepping over and opening the trunk. You go to him, peeking your head over his shoulder you take notice of the basket of snacks and two blankets. Warmth floods your face once you realize he must’ve planned this, making your heart do a little backflip.

“You planned this?” Seokmin doesn’t respond, instead he takes one of the blankets and hands it to you. You hug it tightly in your arms as he grabs the second blanket and the basket of snacks. 

“Let’s go!” He exclaims, dashing off up the hill of grass. You let out a squeal, yelling out, “Wait for me!” as you put your phone into your pocket and start running after him.

You’ve been best friends with the twelve guys since your freshman year of high school, having met through you all collectively getting detention for multiple different reasons. You love all of them with your whole heart, they played a big role in making high school a lot more bearable. You’re closest to Seokmin though, you think of him as a soulmate of sorts. You guys becoming best friends was unexpected to the group, considering the fact that you both argued all the time in the beginning of the friendship. 

It was only when you and Seokmin decided to prank Mingyu one random summer day, that you two quickly became best friends. You both even got into the same college! As did half of the friend group actually, the other half going to another university a few minutes away from yours. It was 2 am on a warm spring night Seokmin called you, telling you to get ready in five minutes.

“You look pretty.” Seokmin says when you step into his car, and you scoff. You’re literally wearing your winnie the pooh onesie since it’s deadass three in the fucking morning.

“Can’t believe you’re making me leave my warm bed.” You mutter, crossing your arms and pouting out the window. Seokmin turns to look at you, letting out a small giggle at your expression.

“You could’ve told me no.”

“You literally called me saying get ready in five minutes, then hung up the phone without letting me respond.”

“And? It’s not my fault you’re too slow.”

“I’m gonna kill you.” Seokmin lets out a gasp, placing his hand over his mouth in feign shock. You roll your eyes, finally giggling a bit. He glances at you and smiles at the sight of you giggling in your winnie the pooh onesie. 

“Where are we even going anyways Seok?” You ask and he shrugs in response, turning up the heater. 

“So it’s a surprise?”

“Precisely. If I say more, then it’s no longer a surprise.” 

“Well that’s lame.”

“You’re the one wearing a winnie the pooh onesie here, yn.” 

“BITCH!”

That night Seokmin took you to this hidden hill that he found for the first time, and it became your guys’ spot. You go here every once in a while when you’re stressed, with or without Seokmin. However, there’s been multiple instances where you head over and see him already staring up at the stars. It’s been a month since you’ve last been here, and Seokmin knew that. That’s why he planned to take you here after the friend group hangout.

“Last one up the hill has to buy the other boba-” Seokmin trips and lands face flat into the grass mid-sentence, letting you take the lead and run all the way to the tree. You slap the bark, turning to look at Seokmin with a big smirk on your face. 

“Good GOD I think I have grass in my nose.” He yells and you laugh as he walks up to you. He sets down the blanket he was holding onto the ground, and places the basket on top. He turns to you with a small smile.

“You owe me boba.” 

“I know.” Seokmin sighs in defeat, taking off his sneakers and sitting on the blanket. You take yours off as well, sitting down close beside him and unfolding the blanket you were holding. You place it over both of your legs before opening the basket. 

“Eeee! You got sour patch kids!” You exclaim, quickly opening up the bag and placing a blue one into your mouth. 

“Of course, they’re your favorite.” He says nonchalantly, but internally his heart is warm at your excited reaction. You turn and give Seokmin a smile, placing a red one into the palm of his hand. He puts in his mouth and his face scrunches up at the initial sourness, and you giggle. 

“You seem to be in a better mood now.” Seokmin mentions and you nod your head slowly, letting out a small laugh. You lay on your back to get a better look at the stars, and your eyes widen at how clear the night sky is at the top of the hill.

“I can never get used to this view.” You whisper, and Seokmin nods his head. He adjusts the blanket before laying down beside you. He lets out a low whistle at the view, and you both lay there in silence for a moment. Soaking in the beautiful night sky.

“I’m worried about my future, my potential internship really relies on that final I took.” You confess, and Seokmin turns his head to look at you. The stars reflect in your eyes, and the natural light from the moon brings a beautiful, soft glow to your features. 

“You probably did great yn, you’re the most diligent out of all of us besides Wonwoo.” Seokmin tells you and you shake your head, letting out a sigh.

“I don’t know. I just feel stupid, my intelligence is such a big insecurity of mine. I just hope my hard work pays off again.” You mutter and Seokmin finds your hand under the blanket, intertwining your fingers together as a sign of comfort. 

“You’re smart yn. Don’t let that bad conscious of yours tell you otherwise.” Seokmin says softly, and you turn your head to find him already staring at you.

“I don’t believe in myself.” He squeezes your hand, noticing how your eyes sparkle underneath the moonlight.

“That’s okay, because I believe in you.” You purse your lips at the sweet comment, heart practically palpitating in your chest due to it. He gives you a soft smile, turning back to face the stars.

“Oh! A shooting star! Make a wish!” Seokmin says, pointing at the sky. You quickly turn your head and catch the last seconds of the shooting star. You immediately close your eyes, letting go of Seokmin’s hand to clap your own hands together, quietly saying your wish in your head. 

Seokmin turns his head back so that he’s looking at you, and he lets out a small smile. Your eyes are closed as you make your wish, a slight furrow to your brow and a small pout on your lips. He lets out a breath before closing his eyes, 

I wish for you, the girl who’s fascinated by the stars but fails to notice that she holds the whole galaxy in her gaze.

[sooibian]

Stranger Things (2)

Pairing: Baekhyun x fem!Reader ft. Kyungsoo, Mark Lee, Jongdae (if you squint)

Description: You met an obnoxious lawyer at the airport and fell stupidly in “love” but little did you know, his heart belonged to someone else.

Themes: Fluff, crack, stupid OC, Mark Lee’s debut with a law firm, organic cucumbers, cowsheds, corgis, farmer!Soo, lawyer!Baek

A/N: This was not supposed to happen but four people asked for it and that’s really all it takes to get me to do something. I was SO tempted to title this - Of Cowsheds and Corgis!! This fic is ridiculous and very predictable but I gave up on the angst I was writing for this because ridiculous is just what I need right now. I truly hope you’re all safe and healthy!

Word Count: ~ 1.6k

Chapters:  One | Two | Three | Four (Final)

Groaning, you put down your second ‘fruit platter’ with a deliberate clang on Kyungsoo’s bedside table. Nothing. “Yah! Did you catch narcolepsy in that ridiculously mind numbing hamlet?” The skinny end of your chopstick slowly made its way to the sole of his left foot. Still nothing. Panic swelled within you and you crawled over to his side to check his breathing. He was breathing, alright.

“Eomma!” You bellowed. Maybe it was time for the third medley of diced apples and bananas.

Still nothing.

***

“Sloth.” You took a jibe at a barely awake Kyungsoo.

“Creep.”

“Creep?”

“You were watching me sleep!”

“I was waiting for you to wake up! There’s a difference, Snorlax.”

“Patience - -”, his mouth fell open in a huge yawn.

“Isn’t my greatest virtue. Yeah, I know. You’ve said it a million times. It’s etched in my heart. I’ll get it tattooed across my forehead. Now spill.”

For a moment Kyungsoo looked confused before diving into his fruit platter with a half-suppressed snicker. 

“What?” You attacked his stupid bespectacled face with a pillow. When was the last time he got a change of glasses? He’s worn this thick-rimmed atrocity forever. Although the man was optically challenged, his hearing was more than just fine. He was quick to spot the hint of defensiveness in your tone and his heart shaped smile had a reputation of showing up only when you were in deep trouble. “Ahhhhh….my case? The bank is entitled to a lien on the adjoining cowshed - ”

You cut in with a long impatient sigh. “Kyungsoo, sweetie, can we talk about corgis for now?”

“Chubs”, you undid your messy bun at the sound of that horrendous nickname, “you’ve got a bad case of --- honestly whatever this is. You spent two hours with him. Two.”

“Squishy, I’m not three anymore. I am a woman now.” His face contorted into an expression of disgust. “Stop. Calling me. Chubs.” Interjecting every word by striking his shoulder with your feeble wrist, you noticed how ‘un-Squishy’ he’d gotten over the past one year. “And I know all there is to know...about your 174 cm tall friend who struts around like he’s no less than 185. But that’s not him...that’s Handsome Mr. Park, his partner.”

“Stalker!” Kyungsoo’s eyes grew wide in horror and he flicked your forehead very, very hard.

Swallowing your cry of pain, you pinched his ear with all your might, making him wince. “It’s called content curation. If you ever happen to meet a lovelorn village belle ….let me know, yeah? I’m willing to put up my skills to offer. For a fee, of course.”

“YAH!” He freed himself from your grasp. “Behave! You’re not three anymore, right? Tell me...how much do you know about Baekhyun?” He was curious. Slightly panic-struck, even. But you couldn’t tell why.

“I will tell you but I need to know something before that. Has he - Doh Kyungsoo I swear to God I will bury you alive if you so much as smile - has he mentioned me at all?” You felt your face flame and a part of you really did not want to know the answer to that.

Kyungsoo sucked the insides of his cheeks in and said, “He thinks you’re interesting.”

You knew 'interesting', almost always, was nothing but a euphemism for weird. Ignoring the tender ache in your chest you said, "Well, I think he looks a lot like his corgi Mongryong. Mum has invited you to dinner tomorrow. Later, Squish." You pulled him in a bear hug, picked up the two, now polished, plates and walked out of Kyungsoo's room, slowly closing the door behind you.

"Eomma, Kyungsoo will be joining us for dinner -"  

"Chubs, wait!" He hurried out of his room and handed you a rather heavy C4 size envelope. "My dentist appointment has been moved to today and I had to drop these documents off at Byun Park's", after a small pause he hesitantly continued, "he won't be there."

"Who won't be there?" Kyungsoo’s mother eyed the both of you suspiciously.

You couldn’t say no to the illustrious prince of a family who fed you a whole carton of organic fruits a while ago. At least not in front of the matriarch.

"It's nothing Eomma… it's Kyungsoo's friend Byun Baekhyun. Yah! Doh Kyungsoo! Stop acting like he's my ex boyfriend."

***

Your heart raced as you stepped into the elevator of the swanky commercial building. Pushing the button for the 27th floor, you turned around to examine yourself in the mirror feeling frumpy and underdressed in your faded yellow sweater and mom-jeans. The ding of the elevator jolted your heart and your mouth went dry as you lay your eyes on the blond haired man standing in front of you. You wanted nothing more than to snake your arm around Doh Kyungsoo’s neck and put him in a tight chokehold until he begged for mercy -- at this point you weren’t very keen on letting go of the imaginary, gasping for breath, blue in the face, Doh Kyungsoo. He won’t be there??

“Hi”, you said stepping out of the elevator but what you really wanted to say was ‘I want to delete myself’.

“Airport Girl!” He jested. You didn’t feel very apologetic anymore or even underdressed for that matter since the partner of a snooty law firm thought that a long sleeved jersey with bib shorts were an acceptable choice of clothing. Nevertheless, you properly introduced yourself and did what was long overdue.

“I am sorry about the other day and -- ” You briefly waited for him to cut you off with a ‘Don’t worry about it’ or even dismiss it with loud ‘hahaha’ but instead his little eyebrow raise insisted you complete your apology. “And I shouldn’t have - -”

“Airport Girl, I notice you have a problem completing your sentences.” Resting his hands on his hips he cocked his head to the side. That vaguely familiar annoying smirk made your skin crawl.

“Byun Baekhyun-ssi, I am here to see Lee Min Hyung. I am supposed to hand over Kyungsoo’s documents to him. I hope you’re working hard on my friend’s case. He really needs that cowshed back, he’s paid the broker’s fee in full for it. I hope this was coherent enough for you.” His smirk stretched into a genuine smile as he inched closer to you. Uncomfortable as you were standing in an enclosed space and conversing with a man in bib shorts, the diminished distance from his two small strides made you squirm. You could practically smell his cologne.

“I’ll forgive you if you agree to come cycling with me. Right now.”

“Absolutely not. Can I go see Lee Min Hyung now?”

“MARK LEE!” Baekhyun bellowed. The unsparing luminous smile on his face wasn’t doing any favours to the health of your heart. Within seconds, a bespectacled young lad who looked like he hadn’t slept a wink for days came rushing to his side. So Byun Baekhyun worked his employees to the bone while he himself took hiking trips in absurd outfits.

He put an arm around the frail boy and introduced the fresh law graduate to you, “This is my main man Mark Lee from Canada.” Violently thumping Mark’s back he continued, “Madam’s here with Doh Kyungsoo’s documents. Take her inside and go over the file. Check if anything’s missing and most importantly, offer her something cold to drink.” Letting go of Mark, he said to you with a wink, “I’ll be waiting in the lobby, Airport Girl. Or you’re never losing the nickname.”

***

Mark Lee’s involuntary metamorphosis from scaredy cat to ferocious lion cub in the conference room took you by surprise. While going over Kyungsoo’s documents like a hawk focused on its prey, he dutifully put a glass of ice water in front of you just as instructed by Byun Baekhyun. It was nothing more than a courtesy call. “Doh Kyungso-ssi’s personal documents all look okay -- ID card, bank statements, transaction information, realtors invoice, property possession documents.” You lost him at ‘realtor’s invoice’. “Seems to me, the realtor tricked him - - why did he not get due diligence done before investing in property? How could he not notice that the title deed does not extend to the cowshed?” Mark Lee was furious….at you.

“He’s just a simple man with simple dreams who wanted to trade his city existence for a quiet rural homestead and grow organic cucumbers, I guess? Why don’t you give him a call and --”

Mark Lee’s paw met the desk in a loud smack, startling you. “A simple due diligence would’ve saved him the hassle - -”

You weren’t exactly sure of the reason Byun Baekhyun thought you’d need a cold drink but he was so right, everything else seemed wrong. You took a rather large gulp of water, snatched Mark Lee’s notepad from his firm grasp and scribbled Kyungsoo’s number in it. “Here’s Doh Kyungsoo’s number. Call him if you need anything further.” You rose from your chair and eyed him sympathetically. “Take care, Mark Lee and please don’t skip meals.”

***

He waited for you, just as he’d promised. He somehow managed to look just as stunning in that funny costume as he did when you saw him at the airport. “Let’s go. Half an hour with that enthu cutlet Mark Lee and I need to feel the wind in my hair. How do you manage?”

“Yah! Airport Girl. He’s my best and brightest.” Sounding like a proud parent he guided you to the parking lot. The guilt weighing your heart down compelled you to ask, “What about Yoona?”

“She’ll be joining us.” Baekhyun quipped nonchalantly, opening the door to his Audi for you.

It was at that exact moment you said a silent prayer to a certain 3rd generation male idol to strike you with lightning and put you out of your misery.

Tagging: @hirumixoxo @majesticsnow @dreamingofdreamydream @juncottonluvbot

[sourbkg]

ｃｉｎｑ

ｆｉｃ  ｎａｖｉｇａｔｉｏｎ

ｗｏｒｄ  ｃｏｕｎｔ:  ２１９３

ｗａｒｎｉｎｇｓ:  ａｌｃｏｈｏｌ ｃｏｎｓｕｍｐｔｉｏｎ （ｂｙ ｏｔｈｅｒｓ）， ｓｏｆｔ ｂｋｇ

“Did you guys… race to the door?” You ask with a laugh, stepping in after Kiro. Mina grins, taking a dish from you while Kirishima takes the brownies from your brother. 

“Maybe. Do you blame us? We’re excited to have you around!” 

“That’s very sweet.” You laughed, following as the two set the dishes on the counter in the kitchen.

You look around the house as you walk, taking in the way he has the home decorated and set up. There’s some pictures of him and friends, what you can assume is family, and random paintings. It’s not bare, necessarily, but it’s tasteful from what you can see. Organized, there isn’t a mess in sight- well, if you take away the drinking cups and food trays brought from the adults. Kiro’s tugging on Kirishima’s arm the second he sets the brownies down, begging him to show him how to play some game the red head must've mentioned previously. You open your mouth to tell him to stop, but Mina squeezes your upper arm. 

“Don’t worry about Kiro, babe,” she hums, “everyone here’s used to having a kid around. Jirou and Kami’s daughter Mari usually comes with them to these things. They should be on the way, actually.” 

“Everyone?” You repeat, eyes narrowing, an unspoken question catching on your tongue. 

“Even Bakugou.” She laughs, tugging on your arm to guide you where everyone else has gathered. 

Kiro sits in Kirishima’s lap, pressing random buttons on the controller as the red head explains how to play Mario Kart while Bakugou sets up the game. The blonde’s eyes briefly travel to you and Mina as you make yourselves comfortable on either side of Kirishima, and you give him a small smile when you make eye contact. He turns his attention back to the game in return. 

“So, what’d you bring to eat?” Mina adjusts herself to where she’s facing you, leaning against the arm of the couch while Kirishima leans back slightly so the two of you can talk, “Me and Eiji- I mean Kiri brought drinks, we also grabbed some juice pouches for the kids.” She winks. 

“That’s smart, I didn’t even think about that.” You also adjust yourself, leaning against the other arm. Kiro gives you a toothy grin, showing you the controller and tries to explain how to play it, only to be corrected softly by Kirishima. “I made some  teriyaki tofu, broccoli gomaae, and brownies. I didn’t really know what kind of food you guys usually make, so…” 

“Yo, that sounds amazing,” Kiri practically drools, “I bet it’s as good as Bakugou’s cooking.” 

Bakugou’s shoulders tense at the proclamation, before muttering under his breath, “I doubt it.” 

You choose to not comment, instead turning your head when the door is thrown open. A small girl with blonde hair and dark eyes stands in the doorway, an obscure band tee hanging off her form that’s too many sizes too big, but the longsleeve and shorts under it seems to make up for the bagginess. She immediately pounces on Bakugou, throwing her arms around his shoulders with a giggle. 

“Mari!” Jirou calls, kicking in a stray volleyball while carrying alcohol in one hand and chips in another, “Come carry your toys!”

Bakugou stands with the girl dangling from his neck, keeping an arm around her waist in case she loses her grip, “You heard your mom, go help.” Mari puffs out her cheeks, but complies, dropping her arms and letting Bakugou set her down on the floor. Bakugou moves to take the beers from Jirou while a blonde man walks in, wearing a matching tee to Mari and carrying more alcohol, specifically beer. 

He makes immediate eye contact with Kirishima, pointing at the red head, “Hope you’re ready for a drink off.” 

“Bring it on.” Kirishima laughs, catching a can as he throws one. 

The blonde then looks at you, “Oh, you must be (l/n)! Kyoka told me about you! I’m Kaminari, but you can call me Denki!” 

“Just call me (y/n).” You answer awkwardly, before the stray volleyball makes contact with Kaminari’s face, followed by an annoyed Jirou. 

“Don’t flirt with everyone you meet!” 

Kirishima leans over to you, whispering, “Don’t worry about Kami’s flirting, he does that with everyone.” 

Your shoulders visibly relaxed, eyebrows raising when Kiro tuggs on your arm and points at Mari, who holds a juice pouch (being given to her by Bakugou). 

“You want one?” You asked, receiving a nod, “Alright, c’mon,” 

You both get up, getting whichever flavor he wanted and watched as the two compared juices with a smile. The two kids begin to talk as they drink their juice pouches, some nonsense only children would understand, before they’re scurrying away in a game of tag. 

“Don’t run in!… the house.” What starts as you calling out to your brother only ends with a sigh, hand on your hip. 

“‘S fine.” A voice says from beside you, making you jump. 

It’s Bakugou, who pulls out plates and silverware to set on the table. 

“Oh… uh, do you need help setting the table?” You offer, tilting your head slightly. 

He clicks his tongue, but gestures to the dishes that are out, “Go for it.” 

You take the plates and set up the table, then place napkins and silverware at each space, before he starts taking tinfoil off of the dishes you brought and you open chip bags, following him as he put everything on the table.

“Come make your plates!” He calls out suddenly, making you jump again. Everything had been unwrapped or brought out, save for the drinks and brownies. Bakugou made sashimi, which looked divine (but you’d never tell him that), and it seemed that aside from that, the only other real food was what you brought. 

Bakugou gestures for you to make plates for you and Kiro first, and when Kirishima voices complaints about it, he fixes him with a glare, “They helped set up plates.” 

Kirishima’s argument is lost while you quickly put food on two different plates, Bakugou following by making his own plate. Kaminari makes a plate for Mari, and you help the two kids settle in the living room in front of the tv on the coffee table. 

“Don’t spill anything on my carpet.” Bakugou warns, though the way Mari gives him a thumbs up with her tongue sticking out tells you there’s no real threat behind his words. 

When you settle back at the table with the adults, you realize there’s an empty chair. Maybe Bakugou miscounted how many people were coming? You were given your answer when the door opened, the black haired boy you’d seen a couple days ago walking in. He had a sleeve trailing up his left arm and under the tank top he wore, eyebrow pierced, and snake bites. 

“How dare you start eating without me.” He says with mock offense, going straight to the kitchen for a drink before coming back and settling in the empty seat you’d previously been thinking about. 

“Should’ve been here on time, soy sauce face.” Bakugou grumbles, taking a bite of the food he made. 

“‘Soy sauce face’?” You repeat, causing the newcomer's eyes to fall to you, he gives a fake frown. 

“You drink soy sauce as a dare one time in high school and a nickname sticks for life.” His frown turns to a grin, “The name’s Sero Hanta.” 

“(l/n) (y/n).” You return his smile, “(y/n)’s fine, though.” You begin eating as he makes his plate. 

Soon enough, everyone’s full and light conversation flows between the group. Kirishima and Mina thanked you more than one time for making what you did, saying it really did compliment Bakugou’s sashimi. You even think you hear the blonde mutter about everything you made being okay. And to your understanding, that’s a compliment coming from him. 

You and Jirou settle in the backyard after a while, Kaminari and Kirishima having already started their drinking challenge with Mina and Sero egging them on. Bakugou sits in the kitchen, putting food away while Mari and Kiro play with the ball Mari brought (you tried to help Bakugou with the dishes, but he waved you off and said something about not needing the help). The two of you talked about adult things; how your job is going so far, new ways to coerce the two kids to eat their vegetables, and what school Mari was going to attend when summer ended. Jirou threw a few suggestions of where Kiro could go, but ultimately helped you decide the school Mari was going would be the best bet. 

The water you’d been drinking was soon gone, and you left Jirou with the two kids with the promise of refilling both of your cups. You pause at the doorway of the living room, staring at the mess unfolding before you. Kirishima and Kaminari sit in front of each other, chugging beer after beer. Once one leaves their hands, Mina or Sero provides them with another, already cracked open. 

“Bet you Kiri’s winning.” Jirou says from beside you, making you jump at the sudden voice. She gives a giggle at your fright as you pass her her cup. 

“Where’s the kids?” You ask after a moment, realizing the two aren’t running around inside. You can still hear their screams of excitement, but it’s pretty late out. There should be someone standing outside with them-

“Bakugou’s got ‘em.” She hums, taking a sip from her drink. She notices the furrow of your brows and nudges your shoulder, “Don’t worry, he isn’t a bad babysitter.” 

It does little to ease your anxiety, seeing how rambunctious his friends get when they’re drunk. You ease your way back outside as Jirou joins Mina and Sero in encouraging either boy. You lean against the sliding door frame, watching the blonde fight off the two kids. Mari hangs from his bicep while Kiro latches on his leg. Bakugou groans dramatically, allowing himself to fall to one knee while Mari moves herself to his back, putting him in a faux chokehold and Kiro attaches to his free arm. 

You let out a small laugh, alerting the three of your presence. Bakugou’s head turns straight at you, while Kiro drops from Bakugou and runs over to you, grabbing your hand that doesn’t have water and practically drags you to where Mari still attempts to bring the blonde down. 

“(y/n)! You gotta help us take down Mr. Bakugou the Villain or else!!” 

“Or else what?” You laugh again, setting your cup down and placing your hands on your hips as Kiro jumps on Bakugou’s back as well, trying to use both of their weight to pull him down. 

“Or else he’ll destroy the city!” Mari answers, before the two let out a screech. Bakugou complies with their wishes, letting his body fall lax backwards. They didn’t take into account that he’d be on top of them. You can tell he’s holding some of his weight up, bracing his elbows in the grass on either side of him as Kiro and Mari squirm beneath him. 

You give a tilt of your head, “You’re gonna crush them Mr. Villain.” You nudge at his side slightly with your foot. He scrunches his nose. 

“I can’t let these dorks win.” He counters. 

There’s a muffled, ‘we’re not dorks!’ ‘yeah!’ but you really can’t decipher who said it, with their giggles intermingling and screeches being so high. He lets some of his weight fall, snickering at the grunts that follow. 

“Katsu, please!” Mari wails, hand coming around to hit at his shoulder. 

“I’m sorry, do you guys give up?” He taunts, eyes cutting you for a brief moment. Kiro manages to wiggle himself out enough, legs still trapped beneath Bakugou and Mari. He lays on his stomach, one arm sandwiched beneath him while the other reaches out for assistance. 

“(y/n), help!” 

You stare down at the pile of limbs, looking between your brother’s outstretched hand to the male laying atop him. The blonde raises an eyebrow. A dare to try, if you’ve ever seen one. You reach down to pull him out, hearing him laugh maniacally at the prospect of escape, but Bakugou isn’t having it. There’s barely time to process his mumbled ‘oh no you don’t’ before he’s moving. 

Grabbing your arm and pulling you down while at the same time flipping you onto your back- you'd commend him for the smoothness of the attack, if you had the time to realize what even happened. A small oof is pulled from your lungs, the impact being dulled by an arm lying beneath your lower back. You blink, processing what just happened. Bakugou leers above you, fingers still brushing against your arm while his other arm moves from under you to cage you in. Red eyes scan over your features, before his attention is being drawn to the side. 

You hear someone yell ‘attack’, before his body is being shifted by two five-year-olds. He shakes his head momentarily, standing while the pair latch onto both his legs. You can only stare at him with a doe-eyed expression, blinking when he offers you a hand to help you up. You take it, mumbling a thanks, then watch as he walks back towards the house with seemingly no trouble- despite the extra weight sitting on his toes. 

--

{𝓽𝓪𝓰𝓼} @mrsreina @cold-deep-water @pm4gal @dragonempress123 @my-neighbor-todoro @starsandkeysruler @goodpop9

[handsupinthebalorclub]

Anagapesis (chapter 3)

pairing: the shield x reader

word count: 3,034

summary: Anagapesis (n.) no longer feeling any affection for something or someone you once loved. After three years, you’re officially the manager of the Shield once again. But, things aren’t quite the same as they used to be.

warnings: cursing, mentions of betrayal, violence and trust issues

a/n: I have a question for you guys. Do you like the idea of having romantic subplots or should this story be strictly platonic? 

playlist: x

chapter one / chapter two / chapter three / chapter four

Normally, when the announcer team wanted a WWE talent to be on commentary for the night, an email would be sent to them or their manager weeks prior. Yet, for some reason, a last minute request was found in your inbox Sunday afternoon. The Shield had a match against The Bar scheduled, so you assumed commentary wanted to take Roman out of the match to add more fire to the pre-existing feud Seth and Dean had with The Bar. But, to your surprise, the email was a commentary call for you during their match. You had been on commentary a number of times before, but it was always accompanying one of your clients. You were weary about being called up alone, but after you had thought about it for a few hours, it made sense you would be getting some attention with your admission back into the group.

You stepped out from behind of the black curtains and begun the descent down the ramp. The Shield’s music blasted throughout the arena, which caused fans to gawk at the three men who traveled through the crowd. You crossed paths with them briefly once they had jumped over the barriers. You had already gave them a pep talk earlier but gave them a smile of encouragement nonetheless. Before you had stepped out of reach, Roman placed a hand on your shoulder and nodded as if saying ‘good luck’.

Thankfully, Roman wasn’t mad at you for falling asleep at Finn’s hotel room. By the time he had returned from his search, you had gotten out of the shower and had a huge monologue ready that asked for his forgiveness. The concept of losing one of the only positive influences you had at the moment frightened you to no end. But Roman was very understanding and simply wrapped you up in his arms upon first sight. When you explained what had happened, he only smiled and asked for you to be more careful next time.

“Welcome, y/n.”  Michael Cole greeted as you sat down in the designated chair. You took the extra microphone that was being offered to you by Coachman, but kept your eyes on the guys as they met The Bar in the center of the ring. “Thank you for joining us.” You took your gaze off of the match and looked towards the announcer team.

You didn’t know Corey Graves, Jonathan Coachman, or Michael Cole that well. You knew Corey was close with Seth and Roman, and he was on decent terms with Dean, but you never quite befriended him yourself. Michael Cole was someone you had spoke to during events, but it was always small talk until either of you had to leave. Coachman was new to the commentary team, but you had heard a lot about him from his previous positions in the industry.

“Thank you for having me,” You said as the bell rang, symbolising the beginning of the match.

Dean was the first person to make a move. He threw himself towards Sheamus, but the Irishman was quick to counter the charge. Sheamus hooked his arm underneath of Dean’s underarm and pulled him into a backbreaker. Michael Cole made a comment about the move, which led into a whole conversation between him and Corey. This went on for quite a while until Michael Cole completely dismissed his co-worker’s banter and decided to pull you into the conversation.

“Y/n, are you happy to be working with the Shield again?” Before you could respond, Coachman decided to pipe up.

“According to Dolph Ziggler, she isn’t.”

You leaned back into the black leather conference chair with an irritated facial expression. Technically, you no longer represented Dolph nor the Smackdown brand, so you could outwardly detest his words.

“Actually,” You spoke up. “What Dolph said was false.” This statement earned various curious looks from the three men. “I never confined in him about working with The Shield again. He didn’t even know I was leaving until I had already departed for RAW. We weren’t friends like he painted us to be.”

“Why do you think Dolph lied?” Corey asked. You shrugged lightly and allowed your eyes to fall upon Dean tagging Seth into the match.

“To make himself look like the good guy, I guess. Maybe even give the locker room a reason to doubt my loyalty to the Shield? I never did understand that man’s thought process. I suppose they don’t call him The Show Off for nothing, though.”  

“So you’re saying you feel completely comfortable working with the Shield again?”

You hesitated to answer Michael’s question at first, but collected yourself after a few seconds passed.

“My relationship with the members of the Shield is a work in progress. Things aren’t quite the same as they used to be, and I feel very sad about that, but there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to ensure The Shield continues to thrive.”

This must have been a good enough answer for the three color commentators, because they began to speak about the way Seth was climbing onto the ropes to perform a high flying move. Seth managed to successfully land the frog splash on Sheamus and pull him into the pin, but the orange haired man kicked out. While Seth caught his breath, Sheamus pulled his body over to the corner of the ring and tagged in Cesaro. Cesaro went over to the recovering male and grabbed the back of his pants. He forced Seth up to his feet and uppercut him.

“Y/n,” Coachman began. “It’s been awhile since you’ve seen Seth Rollins, Dean Ambrose, and Roman Reigns in action besides the match last week, right?”

“Yes, that’s correct. Over the last couple of years I’ve seen them in some matches when they went up against one of my clients. But, I haven’t had the chance to actually sit down and analyze their moves until now.” This was somewhat of a lie since you had watched numerous amounts of YouTube videos to see when the reunion was beginning to form, but you didn’t want to tell them that.

“Who do you think has improved the most and the least since the old days?”

You thoughtfully watched as Seth recoiled from one of Cesaro’s attacks and did a high kick to his opponents jaw.

“I think in a way, they’ve all improved a lot. When The Shield formed they all had a strong foundation, and it’s become really apparent to me since I’ve re-joined the group that their styles have grown. Honestly, sitting here right now, I’m fairly impressed with Rollins.”

“Really?” Corey’s eyebrows arched upwards. His eyes shifted over to you to make eye contact before he looked back at the match.

“His moves look a lot cleaner than what I’m used to. He’s always been the one to calculate and plan but it seems as if puts a lot more thought in between moves. He also seems to be having a lot more…” You paused as you tried to find the correct word. “fun? During matches.”

“Is that last part necessarily a good thing?” Michael remarked, but Corey quickly followed up with another question.

“And the person who has improved the least?”

“Like I’ve stated before, they’ve all improved throughout the years. But, I’d have to say that title goes to Dean. Dean is so unpredictable when he’s fighting and he doesn’t have a set style-so it’s hard to gauge exactly if he meant to do something or if he’s just rolling with the punches.”

Back in the ring, Seth had Cesaro in a chokehold. He was slowly inching his way over to the corner where Roman and Dean stood, despite Cesaro’s efforts. Eventually, Seth’s hand made contact with Roman’s outstretched one and Roman entered the fight. Seth handed Cesaro over to Roman before climbing over the ropes. Roman pulled Cesaro above him and performed a Samoan drop. When Cesaro’s back collided against the canvas, Roman threw his body overtop of the other man and pinned him. The ref counted to three and claimed the Shield as the victors of the match.

“Thank you again for having me,” You placed down the microphone and stood up from the leather seat, slightly stretching as you did so. You gave the three announcers a kind smile before walking towards the ring to join Dean, Seth and Roman.

* * *

The bustling sounds of catering filled your ears as you sat alone at one of the circular white tables. A plate of various fruits sat in front of you, which you had been picking at since you had arrived a half hour ago. Dean, Seth, and Roman had disappeared into the locker room after you guys had arrived at the arena, and you doubted you would see them any time soon since you weren’t scheduled to accompany Roman in his match against Triple H for another twenty minutes.

“Hey, y/n.”

Or, maybe not. You looked to your left to see Seth approaching in his Shield attire, although his vest was nowhere to be seen. You couldn't quite blame him for waiting for the last minute before putting it on. The vest concept never did seem very comfortable to you. That’s why you had opted for a leather jacket overtop of a black tank top when your “ring gear” was being decided.

“Hi,” A smile came onto your face as Seth stopped so he was standing right next to your table. “What’s up?”

“Nothing much. Just looking for a way to kill time before we have to go out.” He shrugged as he picked up a blueberry from the plate in front of you and popped it into his mouth. “Wanna take a walk around the arena with me?”

“Sure, beats sitting here.”  The sound of the metal chair you were sitting in scraping against the concrete floor stopped Seth from stealing another piece of fruit, this time a grape, from your plate. You gestured towards the plate, a laugh escaping your throat as you did so. “Do you want the rest?”

“No, I’m good. Let me just take the grape before you throw it out, though.”

You picked up the plate and held it in front of Seth, who took his grape happily. As the two of you headed out of catering, you threw the plate out and exited into the hallway. You and Seth made your way through the labyrinth of corridors, talking about whatever came to mind.

“How do you think Roman’s going to do against Triple H?” You asked.

“Roman’s totally going to kick that old man’s ass. Why wouldn’t he?”

Your silence spoke volumes, causing Seth to pause in his tracks. You did the same and looked towards him with pursed lips. He looked tense for a second, but with a shake of his shoulders, the tension seemed to slip from his body.

“You’re going into your ‘worried manager’ mode, aren’t you?”

“No,” You were quick to defend yourself, but the deadpanned look on Seth’s face made you sigh. “Okay, yes. I am. Can you blame me, though? Yeah, we had a good run a Payback. No significant injuries and a win at a pay per view. Hell, it’s a manager’s wet dream. It was simultaneously one of the proudest and scariest moments in my career. But, Hunter’s going to be absolutely pissed about it. Especially after Batista quit-”

“Y/n, take a deep breath.” Seth took a step forward and placed his hands onto your shoulders firmly to stop your rambling. “Roman’s going to be fine. Dean and I are going to be fine, too. Whatever Triple H throws at us, we’re gonna hit him back with ten times the force.” Seth’s brown eyes looked deeply into yours before he pulled you into a hug. You melted into the warm embrace, the feeling of his toned arms wrapped around you made you feel safe-a feeling that you didn’t feel often in your line of work.

One moment, your arms are wrapped around Seth’s torso and the next, you’re staring at a black door. It took you a few seconds to process what exactly had just happened, but when you came to the realization that Seth had just pushed you into a custodian closet, you huffed.

“Ha, ha. Very funny Seth. Prank your stressed out manager. Gosh, you’re such a dick.” It wasn’t unusual for the members of the Shield to prank each other in over the top ways. You placed your hand onto the doorknob of the closet to open it, but the door stayed shut. “Really? You locked it? We don’t have time for this, Seth. We need to get back to the main part of the arena. C’mon.”

An eerie silence followed your words and a sinking feeling entered your stomach.

“Seth?” Again, nothing. “This isn’t funny!” You wrapped your hands around the doorknob and desperately attempted to free yourself, but it wouldn’t budge. Panic seeped into your brain and your breath quickened. The concept that Seth was no longer standing in the hallway hit you like a ton of bricks. Your eyes widened as you patted your pockets to find your phone, only to remember you had left it in your duffel bag.

Time seemed to slow down to a crawl, making a mere ten minutes seem like hours. You banged your fists against the door rapidly in hopes that someone would hear you.

“Help! Please, someone!”

Four more minutes passed before you slid down onto the floor with tear stained cheeks.  You screamed until your voice morphed into sobbed pleas. Your fists were pulsating but you still struck the door, although the rhythm was less frantic.

Your mind buzzed in your skull. It created so much noise that you almost didn’t hear the steady footsteps coming from the hallway. A rush of adrenaline entered your body, causing you to jump up to your feet and bang upon the door again.

“Please! Let me out!”

The footsteps paused and you watched in awe as the doorknob turned slightly. As the door swung open, it revealed a very concerned stagehand.

“Miss l/n? Are you okay? What happened?” She immediately took a step back and allowed you to exit the closet.

“Where’s Seth Rollins?” You breathed out, ignoring her questions. You only had one goal right now and that was to find Seth.

Her face twisted into a look of confusion, as if she was attempting to piece the puzzle together herself.

“He’s in the ring with Dean Ambrose and Roman Reigns. Shouldn’t you be there as well?”

Your eyes widened and your heartbeat quickened. “I-I have to go.” You quickly dashed in the direction that you and Seth had came. Wrestlers and crew alike gave you muddled glances as you entered the gorilla for a few different reasons, but the two most common was that fact that you should have been with your clients and your frazzled appearance.

The sound of muffled grunts and metal bouncing repeatedly off of something made you gaze at a nearby monitor. You were already riddled with different emotions, but nothing could compare to what you saw on that screen. Seth. Beating Dean over and over again with a metal chair and Roman laying only a few feet away, face down with his hands wrapped around himself. Triple H and Randy Orton stood at the bottom of the ramp, triumphant smiles plastered across their faces.

“N-no…” Fresh tears threatened to fall from your eyes as you ran over to the black curtain that parted the WWE Universe from the gorilla. You pushed open the split fabric and stepped out onto the ramp, the situation you saw on the monitor coming to live in front of you. You had to felt the urge to look away as you barreled down the ramp. You don’t know what you exactly going to do once you got to Seth but it probably wasn’t going to be pretty.

You made it to the edge of the ramp, but before you could throw yourself into the ring to stop Seth, Randy pulled you into his arms. You tried your best to thrash around, but his grip didn’t loosen up in the slightest.

“Welcome to the party, y/n.” The tone of Hunter’s voice made your skin crawl.

The metal chair bounced off of Dean’s body once more but this time, Seth allowed the object to clash onto the floor of the ring. His head slowly looked upwards to look at the crowd as if saying ‘I did that’ before his eyes snapped over to where you, Hunter, and Randy stood. You saw a flicker of something in his eyes when he saw you behind held back by Randy, but you couldn’t tell if it was surprise or amusement.

Seth’s eyes scanned over his former brothers before he picked up the chair and made his way out of the ring and in your direction. You tried to stare him down, but he refused to make eye contact with you as he looked towards Hunter. His gaze then switched to Randy, who allowed his grip to loosen for just enough time for Hunter to grab your left shoulder firmly. Seth outstretched the arm and offered the managaled chair to Randy, who happily grabbed the weapon and climbed back into the ring. Hunter wrapped his other arm around the shoulder of Seth proudly.

You opened your mouth to snap at the two men, but the image of Randy slamming the chair right into Roman’s spine made you flinch. Your vision blurred from the tears that rushed down your face, but you could still see Randy take the vest and shirt off of Roman and the bruises that followed.

This was the point in which you tried to run over to the ring, but Seth wrapped his arms around your chest once you pulled free from Hunter. The fact that you felt safe in his arms practically a half hour before but now felt completely terrified churned your insides.

“Let go of me, you fuck!” You growled, but Seth chose to stay quiet. Hunter walked over to the apron of the ring and climbed onto it so he could get a better view of what was happening. Even with you in his arms, Seth managed to position himself next to Hunter. You watched in both horror and anger as Randy continued to beat down your brothers.

Moments passed before Randy took a step back from pummeling Roman, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Hunter turned to Seth before he nodded towards the injured Dean and Roman.

“Let her go,” He commanded to Seth. As soon as Seth’s arms dropped to his sides, you lurched forward and propelled yourself between the ropes. You dropped to your knees next to Dean and Roman, your tears now falling freely as you weeped in between them. The crowd formulated a chant for the man who had done this to your bothers. ‘You sold out!’ repeated throughout the stands.  

Dean noticed your hunched figure above him and maneuvered his body so his head rested in your lap. You ran your hands through his tangled brown hair.

“I’m okay, kiddo.” Dean cracked a smile despite the pain that shot through his body. You felt movement behind but you didn’t bother to look up until Hunter had wrapped his arms around both Randy and Seth.

“That’s Evolution…” Hunter sneered down at you before looking back up at the camera. “I win.”

“Y/n!”

You sprang upwards and looked around at your surroundings, bringing you back to reality. Eventually, your eyes landed on Dean. He was sitting on side of your bed, and even in the dark of the hotel room you could tell his face showed concern.

“I’m guessing you were having a nightmare or something? You were screaming so loud I thought someone was going to call the front desk and tell them someone’s committing a murder.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but the lump that had formed in your throat forbade them from escaping. Tears began to stream down your cheeks and land onto the white bedsheets, one after another in rapid succession. Your chest began to grow tight and your brain was foggy. Everything, all of the stress and the frustration, that had been building up in your life had finally rushed forward.

“H-hey..” He inched closer to your now heavily crying form and placed a hand onto your back in a comforting matter. When he did, you quickly latched onto his shirt and began crying into his chest. Dean’s body tensed from the sudden action, but his muscles slowly relaxed and he started rubbing circles into your back. “Shhh, you’re okay sweetheart. Everything’s okay.”

After awhile, your breathing had steadied and Dean looked down to see that the exhaustion from your breakdown had put you back to sleep. He shifted slightly and pulled your sleeping form away from his body. A light smile found its way onto his face as he went over to his own bed.

* * *

Neither you nor Dean spoke a word to each other the next day until Dean broke the uncomfortable silence. One hand was dug into the pocket of his jeans while the other fiddled with the keys of the rental car.

“Hey, I’m about to head out to grab some lunch. Want to come?”

You nodded, although you were taken back from his offer. In all honesty, you had been under the impression that the event  from last night had left him with even more of a reason to dislike you, but this action proved you wrong.

“Yeah, sure.” You closed your laptop and stood up. Dean made his way towards the door but paused when he noticed that you were rummaging through the backpack that rested upon your bed.

“What are you looking for?” He asked as he leaned back onto the wall.

“My wallet.” You answered simply as you sorted through the various items in the bag.

One of Dean’s eyebrows cocked upwards.

“I’ll pay.”

You casted him a shocked look, but decided not to question his change in character since it involved free food.

“Thank you, Dean.”

“No problem.”

With that situation solved, the two of you exited the hotel room and went down into the lobby parking lot. You climbed into the passenger seat of the rental vehicle and Dean got into the driver’s seat. The car came to life with a hum and in the span of minutes, the two of you were driving down the street on your way to eat.

When Dean pulled up to the restaurant, a large grin stretched across your face. You couldn’t help but smile at the quaintness of the small diner in front of you. A neon sign sat on the roof, accompanied by a large red arrow that pointed to the double doored entrance. The parking lot was almost empty despite a cluster of cars in the left hand corner of the blacktop.

“Thought you’d like it. You always were a weirdo when it came to diners.” He smirked when he saw your reaction.

“I would take offense to that, but you’re kind of true.” You chuckled as you unclipped your seatbelt.

Everyone who travels has a quirk. Some people collect postcards, others enjoy seeing gigantic items in which the owners claim they’re the largest in the world, and most by merchandise  to commemorate where they have been. But you? You enjoyed visiting diners.

You knew it was strange and every travel partner you have had since joining WWE have pointed out that fact as well, but you always found them fascinating. No matter what state or country you were in, every diner had a similar feel to it. Over the years, you had grown a certain distaste for change. It felt comforting to you that no matter what, you could walk into a diner and feel some familiarity.  

When you entered the diner, you were greeted by an elderly hostess.

“Table for two?”

“Yes, please.” You smiled back at the lady. She nodded and grabbed two menus. The lady guided you and Dean through the restaurant and over to a booth that was nestled away from the doorway. She laid down the two menus and shot one more friendly smile before walking off.

“So,” you tapped your fingers against the white top of the table. You were obviously very confused in Dean’s sudden change of heart.

Dean must have noticed where this conversation was going because a sigh exited his mouth.

“Look, last night made me realize a lot of things.”

“Like?”

“I still care about you, no matter how hard I try not to. I could have woken you up, told you to pipe down and then go back to sleep. But, I couldn’t.” Dean paused as he tried to think of what else he wanted to say. “Last week when you didn’t come back to the hotel room, I kept calling you a bitch in my mind but I couldn’t stop myself from worrying so fucking much. I miss being that big brother figure to you.”

“I appreciate you telling me this and you were completely right in what you said last week.” You tried to ignore the shocked expression Dean horribly hid. “My work life and personal life are completely separate. I should have found time to talk to you and Roman. I truly apologize.”

“Hm. Apology accepted, kid. But don’t think you’re off the hook because I’m still mad. If you buy me a few beers next pub crawl, I’ll think about forgiving you a little bit more.” A faint smile came onto his lips. “Plus, you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to but what was all that about last night?”

“Can I put a pin in that question? We can talk about it later, I just don’t really want to talk about it now.” You admitted with a frown.

“Yeah, sure.” Dean said just as the waiter arrived.

You could tell it would take awhile to rekindle your friendship but Dean, but there was potential for things to go back to how they used to be.

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[firewolf-marvels]

Sweatpants

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: semi bad writing, mutual pining, talk of someone’s private parts (no smut.. yet)

Word count: +/-1800

A/N: This is my submission for @caramell0w’s 500 followers writing challenge. Thank you so much for the extra time. I hope you like it! My prompt: It’s just your imagination. There will be a part 2 :) Gif source: xxxxx

Bucky loves to wear sweatpants, it’s the complete opposite of his Winter Soldier outfit. He likes that it’s kind of baggy but still form fitting, that he can move around with ease and mainly the softness of the fabric. He likes that the most. His favorite pair are these grey sweatpants Steve gave him. What he doesn’t know is that that particular pair leaves little to the imagination when it comes to his lower body. His thick thighs and a bulge are visible more often than not, especially when he’s at the gym working out or sparring. And that hasn’t gone unnoticed by you.

During your time with the Avengers you’ve gradually fallen for the former Winter Soldier. You’ve been friends for years now and you always had a soft spot for him and thought he was handsome, but lately your mind wandered off to more inappropriate thoughts about your friend. The fact that he loved to walk around in those sweatpants didn’t help you at all. Some days you swear you can see the outline of a certain body part you’re not meant to see. This usually results in you walking away from Bucky repeating “It’s just your imagination,” over and over to yourself. He’s your friend after all.

An example of this situation happened about a week ago. Bucky walked to the living room passing you and Nat sitting at the kitchen island, he was wearing the clothing in question. You swore you could see something move under the fabric of his sweats as he walked by. When he reached the other room you mindlessly muttered, “Does he always walk around commando?”, quickly hiding your face behind your cup of coffee, hoping Nat didn’t pick up on it when you realized that you said it out loud.

However Nat’s trained ears did hear it, “Excuse me?”, she turns to you with a knowing smirk on her face.

You wished you could disappear right on the spot, “Never mind,” you whispered feigning innocence, “It’s probably just my imagination.”

To Steve and Natasha it’s obvious that you and Bucky like each other very much and they don’t understand why neither of you ever acted on your feelings.

Bucky started to notice your walking away pattern after a couple weeks, but he tries to dismiss the feeling that it might have something to do with him. You’re his friend, one of his best friends really, and you care for each other, you would tell him if anything was wrong. Right?

The slight nagging feeling never completely fades though. He wishes you’d come to him for comfort, like you often used to with other things. Whatever this ‘thing’ is you feel you can’t tell him, he wants it gone. He wants to watch movies together, sitting close to each other on the couch or bed. And telling each other stupid jokes, to hear you laugh and to see you happy. He wants to be part of the reason you’re happy.

But he knows you and doesn’t want to bring it up if you’re not ready to tell him. So he waits.

One day you’re at the gym sparring with Nat. Steve and Bucky are working out at the other side of the spacious room. You’re moments away from winning the fight, having Nat in a chokehold on the mat when she whispers “You’re right about being able to see his junk.” Once your brain registers what she means you freeze and she slips out of your hold only to pin you face down on the mat.

When Nat lets go you lightly slap her shoulder, “That’s not fair!”

“Never said this would be a fair fight, Y/N,” She wiggles her eyebrows and looks to where the guys are doing bench presses and back to you. Both of you burst out laughing, a blush creeping on your face as you keep stealing glances of Bucky.

Bucky watches the two of you, much more interested in what’s going on between you and Nat than his workout. The music coming from the speakers is too loud for him to make out what you are talking about, but he can hear you laugh. He absolutely loves the way you laugh and stares at your lips a little longer than intended. Soon his thoughts are filled with his desire for you, the sweatpants starting to feel a little restricting on his body. When Bucky gets distracted enough he isn’t even lifting the weights anymore Steve, who is spotting for him, appears hanging over Bucky’s head. He looks at his friend knowingly, “Pal, just tell her.”

“Steve, I’m her friend. I don’t wanna ruin what we have,” Bucky almost whispers not looking away from you having fun with Natasha as he puts the weights on the bench rack.

Steve scoffs and crosses his arms, “Come on Buck, you know Y/N better than that. Even if the feelings weren’t mutual she wouldn’t cut you off.” Bucky sighs, he knows Steve is right. The men continue their workout in silence switching between spotting and doing the weightlifting.  

After Nat tells you to ‘go get your man’ she shoves you in the direction of where Steve and Bucky are before she walks off with a smirk on her face. You glare at her but she only acknowledges it by waving you goodbye.

“Hey guys,” you greet the soldiers as you walk past them to the grab two dumbbells from the rack. You catch Bucky’s gaze and toothy grin and lower your head smiling, embarrassed how your cheeks heat up so easily because of him. It doesn’t take long for you to be focused on your workout doing a routine consisting of weighted sit ups, punches and step ups with the dumbbells.

Bucky is back on the bench now lifting extra heavy dumbbells with Steve spotting him. He keeps glancing at you and as a result of not paying attention to his own movements one of the weights slips from his hand landing very close to Steve’s foot. “That’s it. I’m done,” Steve says. “We’ll continue once you’re less distracted,” he nods towards you and pats Bucky’s shoulder, “Just talk to her, will ya?” He asks before walking out of the gym. Bucky stays put for a moment, lost in thought staring at the door Steve disappeared through.

You had heard the equipment fall but didn’t think too much of it. The guys drop or break things all the time, so it isn’t really something new and you don’t stop your exercise for it unless there is yelling involved. As the exertion of the repeated movements sets in your muscles start to ache and you begin to groan and grunt with each lift getting heavier on your body. Unlike the guys you didn’t have a serum helping you out.

A strained groan snaps Bucky’s head to your form. His eyes are glued to you as he listens to the sounds you make and he pictures it would be him causing you to make such sounds. With your body wearing down you lift the dumbbell one last time deciding it has been enough for the day. The groan Bucky hears leaving your lips at that moment goes straight to his core. His dick twitches and he readjusts it trying not to think too much about how he wishes it were you touching him. He never notices that adjusting himself left a stain on his sweats caused by a bead of pre-cum.

Figuring now is as good a time as any Bucky decides to take Steve’s advice and calls you over, “Y/N, you wanna help me out?” You put the dumbbells down, turning to fully face Bucky and raising your eyebrow silently questioning him. “Oh.. ehm.. Wanna be my spotter? Steve had, ehm, some stuff to do.” He smiles innocently.

You agree nodding, “Yeah sure.” You put the dumbbells back where you got them from and walk over to him.

With you standing at the head of the bench Bucky lays on his back winking at you, “Thanks, doll” before he grabs the heavy dumbbells and holds them in the air again. You count his presses without much thought, your eyes taking in his muscular arm and the shifting plates of his metal arm as he pushes the weights in the air. Slowly your eyes drift to his chest, the muscles visible through his shirt with each up and down movement of his arms. Wandering further down your eyes grow wide as they fall on his crotch. More specifically the stain on his crotch. You almost choke on your words, coughing when you suck in your breath.

Bucky stops and studies the weird look on your face from his spot on the bench. “Y/N, are you ok?” When you don’t answer him, he follows your line of sight to the general direction of his lower body and then looks back to you. Your eyes are still glued to the stain on his crotch. Confused and thinking he ripped his pants or something he sits, puts the dumbbells on the floor and swings his leg over the bench so he can face you and starts patting down the fabric, “What? What’s wrong with my pants?” he mutters.

When his hands reach the crotch area you see it. The perfect outline of Bucky’s penis. Your face gets flushed hot and you didn’t think your eyes could grow wider but they did. This time you were not imagining anything. Before Bucky realizes what you saw you’re mumbling some apologies about needing to leave as you start walking away from him and run out of the gym leaving Bucky behind.

A very confused Bucky quickly follows you, wanting to know if you are ok and whether he did something to upset you. He catches up with you almost immediately, cornering you at the end of the hallway. Bucky places his hands on your shoulders, using his thumbs to brush over your skin in an attempt to soothe you. “Please tell me what’s going on, doll.” he pleads. You see the concern in his eyes and avert your gaze. You feel bad for leaving but you had to get out of there. “You’ve kinda been avoiding me for weeks now, and I miss ya.” he confesses.

Why did you have to have feelings for your best friend? You laugh at yourself, and a little at Bucky, here you are hot and bothered because of him and he’s concerned about your wellbeing. He really is the sweetest man. In the hopes he gets the hint you glance down nodding at his crotch before looking at his face and dropping your gaze again in slight embarrassment. Of course you’re not that lucky and he doesn’t get the hint. “Well..?” he asks tilting your chin so he can meet your eyes.

Tags: @promarvelfangirl @after-avenging-hours @ursulaismymiddlename @eve1978 @mashroom-burrito @dangerousvikings @dani-si (if you want on or off the tag list let me know)

[tsaomengde]

DVD commentary meme! Anything from Aliit (Chapter 9 of Calamities II), please? Because feels trains are always wild? ^_^

Commentary below the cuuuut

Padmé shot another droid in the head and ducked back beneath their makeshift barricade, narrowly avoiding the withering hail of fire which its fellows hurled at her.  “How’s that door coming?” she called.

There was a loud sparking sound, followed by a hearty Mando curse.  “They really don’t want us getting into the command superstructure, that’s how,” Kal’s son Kom’rk growled.  He was sitting on the floor, surrounded by a mess of wires trailing out of a console in the wall.  To the left of the console was a truly massive door, which was – as far as the boarding party had been able to determine – the only way that creatures larger than a mouse droid could get into the command tower of the Executor.

Skirata’s other five Null ARC sons, as well as the little Sergeant himself, were gathered around the door, either trying to slice its controls, jump-start its hydraulic release, or just burn through it.  Padmé, Jango Fett, Walon Vau, Rav Bralor, Mij Gilamar, and half a dozen other Cuy’val Dar Mandos were holding off the droid advance.  Their barricade had begun its life as ten large cargo crates they’d appropriated from a nearby hangar when it had become clear they needed to batten down for a siege.  It had since expanded considerably in the last twenty minutes, as more and more dead droids had been heaped atop and between the crates themselves.

This scene was a combination of “Jesus, I have too many Mando’ade” and “I haven’t done enough with the Cuy’val Dar, they all need to do something”

There was a loud blast, and Jango dropped back behind the barricade to Padmé’s left with a hiss.  “Shab!”

“What happened?” Padmé asked.  “I was reloading.”

“One of these di’kutla hut’uune just shot a mini-spider droid in the fuel cells,” Jango growled, jerking a thumb at the rest of the Mando contingent.  “I just felt a piece of shrapnel hit me under my left arm.”

“Usen’ye, Jango!” Bralor bellowed at him.  “It was shoot it in the fuel cells or watch it plant a be’senaar right in the middle of our wall!  Or did you not see the underslung launcher?”

Jango gave her a rude gesture as he slashed open his undertunic with his wrist knife and slapped a bacta patch against the impact site.  That would keep the wound from getting infected, Padmé thought, until the splinter of metal could be removed.

“Be’senaar?” Padmé asked, popping back up to take another few shots before the droids began focusing on her again.  “I don’t know that one.”

“Missile,” Jango said.  “Specifically a low-yield one used against people.  Proton torpedoes and the like are me’senkyr’am. ‘Ship death.’”

“We could use one of those to deal with this blasted door,” Padmé said.

Thank God for Wookiepedia and their complete Mando’a dictionary.

To her right, Vau, who had spent most of the protracted shootout silently offing droids with a Verpine rifle he’d borrowed from Skirata, laughed quietly.  The sound was barely audible over the blaster fire and occasional grenade, but Padmé could still hear it.  “We’d need to be a quarter kilometer away not to go up with it if we tried that.”

“And?” Padmé asked.  “Any other reason why that wouldn’t work?”

“It might destabilize the ship’s structural integrity too much for us to even be able to get access to the command superstructure,” Jango told her.  “This is the slow, annoying way to do it, but it’s also the way that’ll work.”  He snapped off another shot at the droids.  “Assuming that certain people haven’t massively exaggerated how good their sons are at slicing!” he called pointedly over his shoulder.

This was the point at which I paused, asked, “Why aren’t they using explosives?”, and had to cover my butt.  Well, when shoehorning in explanations, add sass to cover it up.

“Mir’osik,” Skirata barked back at Jango.  Dung for brains, Padmé mentally translated.  She was picking up quite a lot of Mando’a, at this point.  “My lads know their stuff.  Not their fault that Vader’s got his ship sealed up tighter than a –”

The door made a loud boom as its seal broke, and the two massive halves began to slide apart.

“See?” Skirata laughed.  “Like magic.  I –”

Padmé stared in horror as the passageway on the other side of the door began to disgorge dozens of Myrmidons.  Lightsabers blazing, they fell on Skirata and his sons, while others leapt over their fellows’ heads to take the fight to the rest of the Cuy’val Dar, pressing them up against the barricade which had been keeping them alive a moment earlier.

I initially introduced the Myrmidons both as a nod to the old EU’s wishy-washy rules about how cloning Jedi works - in Force Unleashed II, you play Starkiller’s clone, and the final battle against Vader has you cutting through literally hundreds of the failed versions of you - and as a threat that could give Jedi trouble, but not to the same extent as my rapidly-shrinking cast of Sith Lords.  (Clone Wars’s version of this threat is to have Grievous show up, chew scenery, and lose every five episodes, thus making him completely unintimidating.) Then it occurred to me that while the Mando’ade are Jedi-killers, they’d still have a lot of trouble with the Myrmidons, and cackled a little.

One of them landed in a crouch of in front of Padmé.  She felt a terrific, invisible force slam into her chest, crushing her against the cargo crate behind her.  If she hadn’t been wearing beskar, she was certain the impacts would have broken every bone in her chest and back.  The Myrmidon followed up with a lightsaber jab straight into her heart, but the beskar turned the blade aside.  It corkscrewed away along the surface of the Mandalorian iron to embed itself deeply into the crate.

Padmé, in pain and winded, still managed to snap her blaster up to fire half a dozen shots into the Myrmidon’s gut.  Its armor absorbed the first three shots, but the last three penetrated.  The cyborg staggered back, Anakin’s eyes glaring out at her from beneath its metal mask.  Padmé seized the opening and twitched the blaster up to beneath the thing’s chin, where there was a hint of flesh visible between the mask and the sheath of armor around the throat.  She fired a single bolt.

Green plasma flames erupted from the eye holes in the mask and the Myrmidon dropped.  Padmé knew, from Ordo’s report, that it could get back up if the cybernetic implants in its brain were still functional.  Fortunately, she was confident that this one no longer had a brain.

Padme kicking ass is my fetish.

Myrmidons and Mandalorians were struggling everywhere she looked.  Vau, wielding his beskar saber, deftly parried a vicious blow from an opponent, then skewered it through the torso.  He tossed the saber to his other hand, drew his pistol, and shot it in the head to keep it down.  Gilamar got his crushgaunt-clad hand’s fingers hooked into the eyes of another Myrmidon, then let his weaponized gauntlets trigger, literally pulping the creature’s face.

oh God I’d forgotten about the crushgaunt thing.  that’s gross and wonderful

She looked for Skirata, and felt her heart stop.  He was down, a Myrmidon towering over him, lightsaber held aloft.  The Nulls were all occupied with foes of their own, too far away to get to him.

Padmé screamed a challenge, knowing that it was useless with these cold-blooded things but unable to contain her fear and anger.  She snapped up her blaster and fired into the Myrmidon’s back, over and over, not expecting to penetrate the thicker armor there but hoping to distract it, keep it from delivering the coup de grace while she closed the distance.

It staggered around to confront her.  She was less than a meter away when it lashed out with a deadly kick at her head.  Helmet or no, it would definitely drop her if it landed.  Padmé let her legs go out from under her, and she skidded beneath the kick into the Myrmidon’s other leg, spilling it to the floor.

Grappling with it was a poor decision, but letting it keep its lightsaber hand free would be a worse one.  Padmé flipped herself onto her back, whirled a leg around to kick out at the blazing weapon’s hilt.  Her armored toe landed perfectly against the Myrmidon’s metal wrist, sending the lightsaber flying from its grip to skid across the floor.  It twisted on top of her, its other hand going for her throat.

Self-defense reflexes kicked in.  Padmé got her left forearm between the Myrmidon’s grasping fingers and her throat, keeping it from strangling her or just ripping out her windpipe.  She tried to bring her blaster around next, but it pinned her wrist with a heavy prosthetic knee.  Its saber hand, now empty, came around, fingers curled into a metal fist, and slammed into the side of her helmet with bone-jarring force.

I can’t take another hit like that.  She might already be concussed, and if she lost consciousness that would be the end of her.  Padmé got a knee into the Myrmidon’s stomach, levered her other foot beneath her, and pushed her muscles into a convulsive wave, hurling the cyborg off of her while also kipping herself back up.  She landed on her knees rather than her feet, which was less than ideal, but at least she was no longer on the ground.

The Myrmidon had turned, going for its lightsaber.  Padmé shoved herself to her feet, took three running steps, and leapt atop its back, wrapping her left arm in a chokehold around its neck and grabbing her wrist with her other hand.  With all her might, she squeezed.

Its neck was armored, but by necessity it was light, flexible material rather than hardened plates.  Padmé’s crushing grip forced that material into the flesh of the Myrmidon’s throat, pressing on its windpipe.

It took less than fifteen pounds of pressure to collapse a human windpipe.  Myrmidons, seemingly, were not exceptional in that regard.

When it collapsed beneath her, taking her down with it, Padmé scrabbled for its lightsaber.  She got the hilt into her hand, ignited the crimson blade, and stabbed down through the back of the dying creature’s head.  It gave one last shudder and died.

I wanted Padme to have to take one of the Myrmidons down barehanded, because yes, but then I found myself wondering how one kills a phrik-armored cyborg barehanded.  The answer, of course, is to fuck up a sleeper hold so it puts pressure on the windpipe instead of the arteries.  Necks are hard to armor.

Padmé dropped the weapon and ran back to Skirata, picking up her blaster as she did.  Around her, the Mandalorians were recovering from the ambush, killing the last of the Myrmidons and resuming suppressing fire against the droids on the other side of the barricade – none of which had managed to make it over, thankfully.  It had been a brutal melee, but it had been mercifully short.

“Kal,” she breathed as she got to him.  He was face-down, not moving, his helmet fallen several feet away.  Blood slicked the deck beneath him.  “Kal, we got them.  Stay with me.”

With a grunt, she managed to turn him over.  She felt the blood drain from her face as shock flooded her.  The Myrmidon had punched its phrik fist clean through his beskar chestplate.  Blood frothed at his lips every time he breathed, and his breaths were shallow.

His eyes fluttered open.  “Pad’ika,” he murmured.  “Shabla thing jumped me.”  He coughed, violently, his blood spraying all across her breastplate.

“MIJ!” Padmé bellowed for their unit medic.  “MIJ, HURRY!”

Gilamar was there in two seconds, bleeding himself from a nasty head wound but seemingly unaffected.  He swore when he saw Skirata’s chest.  “Kal, you di’kut.  Not good.  Not good.”  He knelt, began undoing the seals on Skirata’s armor.

“Mij, it’s too late,” Skirata told him, his voice quiet.  A terrible gurgling sounded beneath his words.  “Punctured lung.  Slashed aorta.  Drown in my own blood, if blood loss doesn’t… get me first.”

Padmé barely heard the weapons of the fire of the Cuy’val Dar returning to the barricade, beating back the advancing droids.  Her own pulse seemed to thud in her ears, unbearably loud.  This was war, she knew.  People died.  People you cared about.

But not Skirata.  He wasn’t supposed to die.

I’m a self-admitted fan of Skirata, but he is an Author’s Pet.  So, naturally, I wanted to use him myself, and then fridge him to cause Padme pain.

She became aware of the fact that six white-armored figures stood around her, Skirata, and Gilamar.  Looking up, she saw the Nulls, helmets off, all staring down at their father.

“Got to… do it now,” Skirata gasped.

“Udesii, buir,” Ordo whispered, dropping to one knee next to him.  “Mij is the best.  Let’s just get this armor off, and –”

“No!” Skirata barked, his eyes blazing.  He shoved Mij away.  “No rest.  Got to do this now.”  He grasped Ordo’s hand, reached out and grabbed Padmé’s too.  “The gai bal manda.”  He swept his gaze across his sons.  “Ni kyr’tayl gai sa’ad – Ordo, Mereel, Jaing, Kom’rk, A’den, Prudii.”

Padmé forced herself to breathe as he looked at her.  “Ni kyr’tayl gai sa’ad – Padmé.”

He closed his eyes, sighed, and was suddenly gone.

As I mentioned in my reply to one of the comments on that chapter - maybe yours, even, I can’t remember - the spinoff story from this development would be how Jango dies, or quits being Mandalore, and Padme throws her helmet into the ring for the job now that she’s Mando, to stop some Death Watch fuckstick like Pre Vizsla from getting the job.  But I don’t have the time and energy these days to even write Venge when I want to, so.  Someone else can write that.

“Kal,” Padmé said, almost not recognizing her own voice.  She sounded weak, and lost.

“Not Kal,” Ordo told her, looking at her over Skirata’s body.  “Buir.  He adopted you.  He made it official with us, just now, but he also adopted you.  You’re kin, now.  Aliit.”

The other Nulls began moving in.  Each of them took something off of Skirata’s body; Padmé realized they were all taking a piece of his armor.  A gauntlet, a vambrace, his belt.  Jaing lifted the Verpine pistol free from Skirata’s holster.

Ordo let his brothers finish before he claimed Kal’s armor tallies.  He hung them around his own neck, nestling them beneath his armor.  Then he looked at Padmé.  “You too, vod,” he said.  “We take him with us, now.”

In the realm of things I think are good about Mando’a: vod is entirely gender-neutral.  Most of the language is, actually.  Good shit.

Padmé nodded.  There would be tears later, she knew.  Right now, they were still on a mission, and the other Mando’ade were fighting back droids to give her and the Nulls this moment, this sacred moment to say goodbye.

Gilamar had gotten Skirata’s breastplate half-off before he’d been pushed away.  A jagged piece of beskar protruded from the wound in his chest, punched free of the rest of the armor by the Myrmidon’s fatal blow.  Padmé seized it and pulled; it came free, though she felt it bite into her palm even through her gauntlet.

She slipped the metal, still slick with Skirata’s blood and her own, into a pouch at her belt.

“Let’s go,” she said, getting back to her feet.  “We still have someone to save.”

I feel a little bad, because as the story turned out, Padme and the rest of the Cuy’val Dar end up being used in a hostage gambit by Vader, which then backfires on him and allows Venge and Anakin to force the alliance that lets them beat Plagueis.  So they contribute, but not in a glorious or badass way.

But it would have been inconsistent with the fiction and Vader’s established full power for them to have even the remotest chance, so.  I like how this chapter turned out, and vaguely regret that it didn’t amount to more.  There will definitely be references to it in the epilogue of the Venge series, though.

[another-chorus-girl]

“Erik House” Chapter 10

Jones paced uncomfortably back and forth, "Are you sure this is a good idea? This feels like a bad idea."

Meanwhile Crawford was in the process of dethorning rose stems, having freshly picked them. Despite Cherik being the caretaker of rose garden he'd grown on the roof-with Erik's approval of course-many of the residents tended to pick a few flowers here and there. Mauer had been up on the roof a few days ago plucking some for Elizabeth.

"Yes, I'm quite sure."  Crawford nodded

"But I'm not like you, I don't have such authority of the others or respect like they do for you." Jones shook his head.

Patting his friend on the shoulder, the older Merik chuckled.

"Nonsense, you'll do just fine. Besides I'll only be away for two nights, and if you must you know how to reach me."

Crawford didn't like the strange little contraption the others insisted he get, but they insisted his previous phone was quote 'A prehistoric relic'. He hadn't quite grasped the concept of half the 'apps' on this thing.

After the mishap in the pool a week ago, the older Merik felt it was high time for a break. He hated losing his temper, and concluded a dosage of too much stress was to blame.

Sarah was free when he'd contacted her and like that had an overnight bag and a bouquet of vibrant red roses.

As the Meriks exited the roof heading down to the main floor, Jones was a bundle of nerves. It was one weekend sure, but alot could happen in one weekend.

Adjusting his cloak and fedora, Crawford sighed.

"Please my friend, you'll do just fine while I'm away." He smiled at Jones, "I trust you."

Jones watched Crawford depart, heaving a heavy exhale. "I do hope you're right." -- "How about this one?" Cherik asked, handing Karimloo another mask. Since his was broken, Cherik was more than happy to offer some help.

Karimloo tried another on, it felt a little tight around his face and nose-The West End man being unaccustomed to wearing a full mask. Aside from the the black lines drooping down from the eye piece, it was the best option. Elsewhere on the second floor Panaro was working on a little project of his own. 

He just hoped his craftsmanship wasn't too shoddy. 

--

Gerik opened his door, creeping downstairs. All was silent on the second floor, almost deftly silent. In an attempt to avoid a fuss from the Meriks, Jones had taken the sea of porcelain masks to a new production of 'Magic Flute' being performed at the opera.

Not just the Meriks, a majority of the residents were absent.

Normally Gerik would see what Mr. Y was up to, but the older man was out today enjoying a visit with his son to a local fair that was in town.

Destler-and astonishingly-Winslow had left together earlier, the latter rarely leaving the house.

Cherik was still around but was tending to the rooftop garden. Between the roses and the assorted taxidermy creatures he'd placed up there it'd become a new dreamery of sorts.

Taking full advantage of the quiet and solidarity, Gerik made his way down to the parlour room on the main floor. He sighed happily getting the chance to play.

Though he didn't have very long to sing.

"No stop STOP," Gerik flinched realising he wasn't alone. But he was surprised to see Erik standing behind him. "Just what was THAT?"

"I was just doing a warm up," Gerik said.

Behind the black mask, Gerik could see Erik's piercing golden eyes widen in disbelief.

"A warm up? My God..." Erik shook his head. "You can't continue, not like that at least."

Gerik hung his head shamefully and got up to make his leave, only to be blocked by Erik's long, skeletal hand.

"And just where do you think you're going? I didn't say leave." Erik sighed.

Gerik blinked confused. "I just-?"

Suddenly he felt Erik grasp his wrist, tugging him along as he turned toward the basement.

"Wait! Where are we going?" The film adapted man asked.

"If you're going to wear the mask, you need a half decent voice, but I'll be damned if it's only half of it's potential."

Erik had forgotten just how delightful teaching was. And if he could turn Christine's screeching into that of a graceful songbird, he could certainly retune Gerik's poor tenor.

It was the start of a strange partnership.

--

So for Friday night came and went and they were into Saturday. Jones was feeling at ease, the opera went splendidly last night. Granted Carpenter and Cudia made him nervous staring up at the chandelier every so often. But the crystal light fixture went untouched and the Meriks thoroughly enthralled.

Maybe things would be ok after all.

Jones was reading the L'Epoque that morning when he heard the first warning sign of trouble.

"What's that you have there?" Kerik inquired, snatching the open box Panaro held.

"Hey!" The Merik scowled

The novelised man seemed to scrutinise whatever it was before tossing back the box. "Not bad. I mean not up to my level but not bad."

"What's that suppose to mean?" Panaro snapped, "I'll have you know I've been working hard on this!"

"Not enough it seems." Kerik chuckled before turning his back to him, only the just miss an object woosh past him.

Judging by the pattern and breadcrumbs the shattered remnants were Panaro's breakfast plate.

Kerik made an about turn.

"Did you just throw a plate at me?" He scowled yellow eyes at Panaro.

"Quite the unseen genius you are!" The Merik bit back.

Kerik held a glass in his hands and gave it a toss, also missing his target. Jones folded up his paper. 'Uh oh'

"Now gentlemen. Let's wrap things up before things-"

A whoosh of fire came next.

"-Worse." -- Crawford smiled listening to Sarah sing. She had been working on several new arias, and his reprieve from the others seemed like an ideal time to practice.

"Bravisimi my darling! That was wonderful," He praised.

"You really think so?" The brunette asked.

"My dear, I would not give you false hope. Our past lessons have quite clearly paid off."

Sarah smiled sweetly up at him with a light peck on the cheek of his mask.

They then heard a whistle from a separate room.

The curly haired brunette stood, "That'll be the tea."

As Sarah went off to check on the kettle, Crawford took a moment to check the phone. No messages since last night about the trip to the opera.

While the older Merik had much faith in Jones, he was concerned seeing no new update.

Punching in Jones number he hit dial.

"Hello?" Jones sounded a little tense. But then again, he usually sounded like that.

"Just checking in. So, how are things?" Crawford asked.

"O-Oh! Fine! Yes, everything is fine,"

The older Merik raised a brow hearing the sound of garbled French and Persian swearing in the background.

"You're sure?" He asked as Sarah came back with two steaming cups of tea.

"Oh yes yes! Hey now, stop that!"

And then the sound of shattered glass.

"What was that?" Crawford asked.

Jones sounded a little more uneasy, "Oh that! I was clumsy, dropped my glass in all the commotion! WELL I MEAN! Not commotion! I uh...."

"I'm feeling a little better now if you need me back."

"No no! Enjoy the rest! I have it all. UNDER. CON- WAIT, SEE HERE NOW! I'll call you later, got to go!"

The older Merik set the device down as the call ended.

"Is everything alright?" Sarah asked.

Crawford sighed, "At this point I'm honestly afraid to find out."

She pouted, "Do you have to go back?"

He shook his head, "It sounded a little...off putting what I heard but nothing Jones can't handle for a day. He's a decent man, if he were in imminent trouble he would tell me."

The brunette leaned back, resting her head on the Merik's shoulder, "Alright." --

In the meantime however, Jones had thought he had everything under control once he took away Panaro staff and had some help keeping he and Kerik separated.

He knocked on Panaro's door.

"What?" He could practically feel the Broadway man's scowl as he opened the door.

Jones cleared his throat, holding out a box. "You left this on the couch."

Panaro's eyes wide immediately yanked the box from Jones outstretched hands.

"Do you, do you think it's good?" He asked.

Jones smiled kindly, "I'm sure he'll love it."

“What? How did you know-?"

The slightly older Merik chuckled, "He has a particular facial structure, what with the cheekbones he has. Don't let what Kerik said get the better of you."

Panaro sighed, "Fine. Thank you for returning this."

Jones left Panaro to his solitude and sighed.

Just one little setback and he fixed. He was doing just fine. And everything was just fi-

And that all came crashing down seeing Harley and Gerik tumble down the stairs toward the main floor-being kicked down by a rather rage induced party of six.

"Oh not again! Jones groaned. "What is all this about now?"

He tried to ask but the Meriks seemed too intuned to kicking the men whilst they were down.

"Sadly I know how this came about," Mr. Y said regretfully, going on to explain why the outcasted Phantoms were receiving such a swift beating.

It wasn't Gerik or Y's intent to join Harley's little scheme this week. Ever since what happened at the pool, the what could have been Merik was plotting out more plans against Crawford and any way to make a fool out of him.

None of these plans going anywhere. At least he thought one might work once he'd heard the older Merik would be away.

"I'm not doing it," Gerik said bluntly. "I'm not risking another throat punch now."

Harley scoffed, "Come now, I just need a lookout is all!"

"While you destroy the room of someone who stands at 5'10 and had ME in a chokehold?" Y asked flatly.

"I didn't say destroy it, just a little.....redecorating."

Gerik shook his head, "Forget it. I'm done with revenge schemes I don't even play a part in."

Harley smirked behind the metallic mask, pulling something out of his breast pocket. "Not even for these?"

Gerik glanced up at him and gasped.

In his gloved hand Harley held out for him photographs. More specifically snap shots of a certain Merik whom enjoyed lifting at the gym.

Gerik snatched up the Karimloo photos, from the angles he could clearly tell the Merik hadn't outright posed or known there was a camera nearby.

"How did you?" Gerik asked somewhat dumbfounded.

Harley shook his head, "Not important. So, you help me trash the old man's room and I let you keep the photos. Deal?"

Y shook his head, "You're going to get yourselves hurt."

Harley scowled, "Thanks dad, now come on Gerik it's a fair trade!"

Gerik sighed, feeling Y's disapproving glance, "Deal. But only a lookout! If I see one of those masked madmen coming I had nothing to do with this." But neither man was successful with either plan.

Harley only had a solid two minutes and six seconds in Crawford's room after picking the lock before he and Gerik were jumped from behind yet again.

"I just followed them to make sure they wouldn't get into trouble." Y exclaimed trying to help Jones pull Mauer off Gerik.

"And it didn't occur to you to tell me of this plan?!"

"For all I knew you were as insane as the others!" --

It took far too long to subdue them but at least Y helped Jones fend off the Meriks.

Jones tired and feeling his breath hitched and uneasy glanced at his pocketwatch.

It was just passed four. Still a whole night to go. Part of him desperately wanted to call Crawford back and plead for help. But he saw what sort of stress the older Merik went through each day, he deserved at least a short period of R&R.

But how was he to tame the others for one more night until morning? Jones was not a drunkard by any means but he would strangle a stagehand for a drink right about now.

Then the thought occurred to him.

He knew Destler had enough spirits in his room to intoxicate a tavern of sailors. 

Jones had one idea, it could surely be either brilliant or backfire horribly. But he decided to take that chance. --

Gerik's assault wasn't anywhere near as bad as last time, he had escaped with a few bruises but nothing that wouldn't fade away by tomorrow.

He decided to play it safe and stay upstairs. Though when he started hearing music blare from the second floor, it peaked his interest. More specifically because this music was not the monotone sad groans of a pipe organ or screeches of a violin. It was a bit more...eccentric.

Creaking the Meriks door open Gerik found the cause to be a small sound system rewired to work as a router for a karaoke machine-never mind who karaoke machine it was or where it came from.

Many of the Meriks were there out in the parlor hooting and hollering like young men out at the town.

Karimloo was laughing with them, holding his mic dominantly, an arm around Panaro holding another microphone. 

Wilkinson blinked surveying the scene, turning to Jones

"You got them drunk?!"

Jones scratched the back of his head, "Well it's distracting them right?"

"And making a mess of the parlour," He retorted.

True, while the Meriks were highly inebriated they weren't causing too much trouble. While anyone else would be worried about a noise complaint the only one had was Lerik beating a broom handle on the ceiling as Panaro and Karimloo sang 'My Prerogative'.

"Another! Another!" Karrie jeered.

"Well?" Karimloo asked Panaro.

The Broadway man felt his face go warm, "Well I actually had something prepared."

Stepping forward to change the track-and accidentally spilling his glass while doing so-Panaro cleared his throat gazing back at Karimloo.

It only takes a moment

For your eyes to meet and then

Your heart knows in a moment

You will never be alone again

Perhaps it was the wine triggering his boldness stepping closer to the West End man.

I held you for an instant

But my arms felt sure and strong

It only takes a moment

To be loved a whole life long...

The whole room seemed to fall silent when Panaro pulled Karimloo by his loosened bowtie and felt his malformed lips against his own.

Pulling away Panaro's eyes widened, seeming to just now realise what he'd done. Before Karimloo-whom was just as dumbstruck-could say anything, the Broadway man took off.

"Why? Why did I go and do that?" Panaro mumbled woefully to himself, locked up in his room. "I'm such a fool..."

A short time later he heard a soft knock on his door.

"Go away!" Panaro grumbled.

"It's me," His head lifted up hearing Karimloo's velvety voice. Slightly hesitant, Panaro opened the door revealing Karimloo at the door.

"About earlier," The Broadway man sighed, "You don't need to worry about it. It was a mistake, I've had alcohol and I just-"

But he was silenced when he felt Karimloo pull him to him by the shoulders, kissing him back. Panaro felt his eyes flutter closed unintentionally leaning in closer. 

Both seemed frozen in place before Karimloo pulled away, "I hope you still don't think it was a mistake."

Holding something out for Panaro, the latter gently accepted the offered rose.

"I went up to the garden after you left, that's why it took me awhile."

“T-Thank you...” And then Panaro remembered, "Oh, I actually have something for you!"

Opening his nightstand drawer he pulled out a black box handing it to Karimloo.

He opened it and felt his lips curve in a smile. In his hands he held a new mask, he already knew it was handcrafted.

"I lined it as well, so it shouldn't scratch at your face as the other one did." He lifted a hand to the full mask on Karimloo's face, "May I?"

He nodded, shutting his eyes as the mask was pulled away.

Karimloo felt Panaro's digits roam along the ridges and twisted flesh of his deformed half. And then he felt the mask gently pressed in place like a perfectly aligned puzzle piece.

Karimloo's dark eyes opened and found himself smiling, "Thank you."

Pulling Panaro close once more they shared another kiss.

“Do I get to hear the rest of the song?” Karimloo mumbled against his lips.

“Of course...”

Taking Karimloo’s broad hands in his, Panaro cleared his throat.

I’ve heard it said, that love must grow

That to be sure, you must be slow

I saw you smile, and now I know

I’ll sing to just my heart

That smile made me trust my heart

Panaro’s eyes beamed, singing as Karimloo gazed back at him. Karimloo joined his companion, creating a duet.  

For it only takes a moment,

For your eyes to meet, and then.

Your heart knows, in a moment.

You will never be alone again

I held you for an instant,

But my arms felt sure and strong

It only takes a moment,

To be loved a whole life long

Their arms went around the other, the Merik’s just inches away.

And that is all that love’s about

And we’ll recall when time runs out

That it only took a moment

To be loved a whole life long

Unbeknown to either of them, a nosy Gerik was peaking through the doorway, hearing and seeing everything as he could feel his heart shattering. The film adapted man knew from the way Panaro kept looking at the West End man that it was only a matter of time before they would be together.

Yet again Gerik found himself pining for someone already taken.

Heartbroken and slightly tipsy-the other Meriks were so intoxicated they barely registered his foreign forbidden presence on their floor-Gerik staggered away to make his leave. Only to be intercepted by Kerik's hooked arm.

"Tut tut, not a wise idea to see you here," The novelised man grinned like a Cheshire Cat. "But I shouldn't be surprised you'd be spying since seeing your face go red as a tomato at the pool party."

"Leave me be," Gerik mumbled woefully.

"Come now, no reason you can't stick around a little longer, have a bit more fun." Kerik said, a hand rubbing along Gerik's broad shoulder. The man couldn't sing his way out of a paper bag, but he was physically well developed. "Might take your mind off West End and bread boy down the hall. Just a night?"

Gerik barely registered they'd entered Kerik's room until the door shut behind them. -- Crawford awoke early on Sunday to an annoying repetitive beep.

He sat up, noticing Sarah was blissfully sound asleep. He glanced around noticing the infernal black rectangle called a phone was flashing. Picking it up the older Merik was wide eyed to see several missed calls.

"Oh my..." He mumbled, noticing one message in particular.

ERIK: Home now, urgent.

Mismatch eyes wide, he stood dressing promptly and quietly gathering his belongings. Leaving a note of apology for Sarah, Crawford adorned his cloak and fedora, making his way back to the house.

When the Merik arrived he was surprised to see Erik sitting patiently in the main parlour, hands clasped together.

"Ah good, you're finally here," Though the Merik could hear a slight edge of annoyance. "While I understand your boys can be more than a handful I think it's best you not leave the House for so long."

"So long? What's happened? I was only gone two days!" Crawford was suffice to say surprised. Sure he expected a few hiccups, but how bad could it be?

"Why don't I show you?" Erik mumbled behind the black mask as they walked up the second floor.

"Sweet music's throne, what the bloody hell happened?" Crawford gaped.

Their parlour looked like a tornado had come through it. There was broken glass, some pieces of furniture flipped-though his heart calmed when he saw the organ was thankfully untouched-he could even see scorch marks on the wall. There were a few Meriks still present-passed out but present-a few clutching empty wine bottles to themselves.

Erik wanted to be angry (and when he discovered this he most certainly was), but seeing the shock and confusion on Crawford's face-well half of it-made him feel some pity. Some.

"Where's Jones?" The older Merik asked fearfully, to which Erik pointing a finger to the other side of the room, where it looked as though Jones was asleep. His suit a mess, and his wig untamed and wild.

"The poor fellow was close to going up the wall trying to tame this. Apparently there was a dispute between three of them wanting to sing the same song or some similar ridiculous notion."

Crawford sighed, "I can't carry him, help me with his legs?"

Erik and the older Merik lifted Jones up and carried him down the hall to his room, so as he was more comfortable than on the floor. Unfolding a nearby blanket, Crawford draped it over Jones, trying to slick the wig back so as it was more manageable. Plucking Jones earphones off the adjacent table he placed them in the unconscious Merik's ears before making his leave.

Closing Jones door behind them, Erik asked, "Just what do you plan to do about this?"

Crawford's mismatch eyes narrowed, "What I must."

In a loud booming tone that the entirety of their floor could hear, Crawford shouted.

"ALL OF YOU, IN THE PARLOUR. RIGHT NOW OR SO HELP ME I WILL DRAG YOU LOT OUT HERE."

All at once doors flew open, Meriks half asleep and still dressed in dishevelled suits came barrelling out hearing that familiar authoritative voice. Crawford's brow rose, noting Karimloo and Panaro exited together out of the latter's room. Kerik calmly stepped out of his room yawning, "Could you be any louder?"

The novelised man walking passed Crawford so as to go downstairs, only to be yanked back by his wrinkled shirt collar.

"Not so fast." Crawford said.

"Oi, let go of me old man! I'm not even one of you guys!" Kerik grumbled, but the older Merik just dragged him with him to the parlor.

"No but I have a strong feeling you had something to do with this mess,"

As Crawford began giving the Meriks an ear ful no one seemed to notice Gerik, whom was half dressed and his wig discarded tip toe out of Kerik's room and up the stairwell towards his floor.  

-In this story Mauer also gets his Christine, whom in this case was Elizabeth Southard whom in r/l he is currently happily married to as well.

-There is much Actor Allusion I’m using here. As Crawford’s Merik originated in the 1980′s I of course am making his Merik quite clueless by result of present 2010+ technology. So yes, the Meriks made him get a smartphone. And of course not knowing how to use it had it on silent mode!

-The mask Karimloo borrows is the sort of clown mask Cherik wears over his own mask at one point in his adaptation, I believe in part two of Cherik’s special.

-Yes Panaro was shooting fireballs at Kerik with the skull staff from the ‘Bravo Monsieur!’ scene in the ALW musical

-In the novel “Phantom of the Opera” Christine’s voice was rather screechy and flat before Erik started teaching her. 

-I picked “It Only Takes a Moment” From Hello Dolly! as A) The Meriks in this story love musicals and B) Hugh Panaro has sung this song for the album “Tap Your Troubles Away! The Words and Music of Jerry Herman” look it up it’s quite lovely!

-I should hope everyone’s well aware of the “Hugh Panera Bread” joke by now hence bread boy XD

[baekyeolife]

Baekyeol Fanfic– The Moon Keeper and The Sun Soilder Part 6

Chanyeol moved his head up and down, nose brushing against Baekhyun's in a slow manner. He kept their foreheads pressed together and simply stayed that way, breathing each other in.

Baekhyun felt his heart grow, if that was even possible. But he didn't feel anxious or nervous, it had been a settling feeling. The only thing giving him an unnerving sensation was the sudden need to have Chanyeol even closer. Despite that, the tranquility that sprinkled through his mind could not be topped.

Therefore, he closed his eyes and cherished this present moment. He would lie if he said he hadn't waited for Chanyeol's plush lips, but instead he received the warmth on the middle of his forehead.

Fluttering his eyes open, all Baekhyun could see was Chanyeol's chin while the man pressed the kiss onto his skin. He looked up at him when he pulled away, the warmth of his lips lingering even then.

"No matter what happens, I want you to know that I'll always be there to protect you." Chanyeol said as he swiped Baekhyun's fringe to the side, finger tracing down to his cheek, then cupping it.

He leaned into his touch. "I know... I will try to always protect you too."

Chanyeol let out a grin, a crinkle about the ends of his eyes. He was going to say something, but a noise of feet stomping harshly onto the ground above them echoed and cut him off. Darting his eyes up, he furrowed his brows, "Did you hear that?"

Baekhyun had also been looking up, "It sounded like feet... how could anyone be walking on water?"

"They can't."

Then the next thing they knew the latch flipped open and down came three men with chucks of ice floating around them, and it took Baekhyun a moment to realize that they had been controlling them. He was all but surprised. How is that even possible?

"Baekhyun, get down!" Chanyeol shouted out just as the men launched their blocks of ice at them. They had jumped behind Heiwa in the flash of a second, who roared up and literally blew the men away.

"Stay behind Heiwa," Chanyeol spoke and tried to move towards the men, but Baekhyun grabbed his wrist before he could even move. Heiwa has released yet another roar as blocks of ice and water crashed into the wall in front of them.

"N-No! You can't go out there, they're not normal!" He was all urgency and fear, which had been clear in his shaking irises.

Chanyeol held his hand and squeezed to reassure him, but the alarm had swallowed it up. "Don't worry, just stay behind Heiwa, please." He gave him a look and bolted to the side, where he dashed off. Baekhyun took in a gulp as his whole body tensed up, shoulders and legs trembling.

He dared to look beyond Heiwa's back and watched as Chanyeol's hand glew in an orange-red color, a flame growing out of it. Baekhyun's lips parted.

He had battled with it as the men cooled his flames with their water, and Baekhyun tightened his fist as he hoped for Chanyeol to prevail.

Baekhyun has been watching Chanyeol so intently that he hadn't noticed one of the men sneaking up behind him, which had him jolt when he was pulled into a chokehold.

Panicking, he ran his foot through the shoes of the man and caused him to loosen his grip on him as he bent over with Baekhyun still in his hold. Baekhyun's limbs had been shaking, but he heard a voice in his head that sounded a lot like Chanyeol. Use your elbow.

And so he connected the dots and jammed his elbow right into the other man's ribs, which made him fall to the ground. When he thought he was free, he felt a huge wave hit him from the side, knocking him hard into the wall.

Baekhyun slipped down from the sudden impact, the room hazy in his vision. He tried to look around, but it was to no avail. He could make out the blurry outline of the man, though, and it took no perfect sight to see the sharp, thick iced knife in his hand. It raced against the air to prick him in the heart, but a body swam in front of him and held the arm up and pushed the man away roughly.

The room stopped spinning and he held his head as he lifted his back up, where he had a view of Chanyeol's backside. But something had been wrong as the material on his body suddenly began to light on fire, the flames raising out of his skin like it was a part of him.

Chanyeol spun his head around and created a giant ball of fire; Baekhyun coughed as the heat blocked his senses, but it didn't stop him from watching as he beamed it at them, the fire burning them to death.

The flames around Chanyeol began to decrease bit by bit until he was left completely naked. He turned around and hurried over to Baekhyun nonetheless, getting into his knees to look him over.

"Are you hurt?" He put an arm around his shoulders and helped him sit up, all the while Baekhyun groaned at the movement.

"I'm okay.." he touched a hand to his head and closed his eyes for a minute, attempting to gather his bearings.

He looked over at Chanyeol from behind his shoulder and woke right up when he saw the burns covered all over his naked body. Baekhyun turned on his knees instantly, eyes scanning him from head to toe. The stinging rang in the back of his head at the quick movement, but he pushed it to the side.

"C-Chanyeol! You're burned!" He reached out to touch him, causing Chanyeol to grimance. He pulled back immediately, eyes rounding in worry.

"As long as you're okay then it's fine."

Instead of his body, Baekhyun touched Chanyeol's cheeks with the slightest fingers. "No it's not, Chanyeol.." he shook his head and tried to brush the ash and dust off of his hair.

Taking off his cloak, he drapped it around Chanyeol's back and made sure to tie it firmly. Baekhyun continued to look at him with pain in his eyes, pain that he felt for him.

"You can heal me when we get back, I'm already feeling better because you're by my side." Chanyeol tried, but it didn't supress the sadness or guilt that lurked in his sides.

He frowned, but grabbed Chanyeol's hand and held onto it as lightly as he could, before helping him up and leading him out of the cave.

Days passed by after that, and Baekhyun had been by Chanyeol's side 24 hours every day. Although Chanyeol never once asked for anything of him, he still came through for the sake of being there for him. His heart was more at ease when he saw him, rather than just hearing how he was doing.

Baekhyun knocked on Chanyeol's door and entered not a beat too late, finding the sun soilder bent over his chair, working on yet another peace treaty.

"Can you stop with these? The first one you made 7 days ago is just fine." He laid the plate of rice and stew on the side of the desk. "You should eat."

Chanyeol sighed, "Thanks, but it has to be perfect if it's going to end this 67 year old war."

There he went again. The fact that this war had prolonged for so long blew Baekhyun's mind. People were so stubborn, so selfish to put others in danger for the sake of power.

He walked over behind Chanyeol and began massaging his shoulders, rubbing them and squeezing them just the way he liked it. When Chanyeol let out a pleased "hmm," he smirked. "It's getting late now anyways... come to bed. You know it's the only way I can continue to heal you."

Unfortunately, that had been true. Baekhyun couldn't heal Chanyeol unless they were asleep. He didn't know why, but he thought it was better than not being able to heal him at all.

"That sounds pretty tempting. I don't think I can say no." Chanyeol grabs Baekhyun's hands and tugs him over to the side, where he wraps his arms around his back and lays his head on his flat stomach.

Baekhyun fiddled with his tinted locks and stroked his back with a gentle touch. "Then come on," he whispered, "I'm tired."

Chanyeol peeked up at that and stood up to swing Baekhyun into his arms all of a sudden, catching the man off guard.

"Chanyeol! Your wounds could open up if you stress them like this! Put me down!" He yelped, but Chanyeol had only been staring at him, a grin sent from one lip to the other.

"As you wish." He walked over towards the bed and laid him down softly, then whisked over on top of him to place a kiss onto his forehead.

They laid side to side with fingers intertwined, shoulders pressed together and heads occasionally sharing one. Baekhyun smiled himself to sleep at the fuzzy warmth that he felt whenever he shared a bed with Chanyeol. And he hoped Chanyeol felt the same way.

The next morning, Baekhyun and Chanyeol sat on the dining table for breakfast. He looked over at Chanyeol and laughed as he read over the peace treaty he has written 1000 times. Shaking his head, he reached for a grape and took one into his mouth.

Everything had been normal until the royal food taster had a coughing fit. It seemed usual, but then he splurged out a line of blood onto the floor, where he crumbled down and began throwing up more and more blood. Baekhyun gasped and threw a hand over his mouth as he watched in horror.

"The porridge has been poisoned!" Yelled out one of the sevents, who quickly came to swipe it away as the queen showed up at the door.

"What is the meaning of this? This whole kingdom is to be searched right now! I want every room inspected! There is a trader lurking within our walls!" She bellowed out angerly, sending the servents into a frenzy.

All Baekhyun could think about was the possibility of loosing Chanyeol. And although he's faced such a change before, it felt even more terrorizing then.

- END -

I don't think I'll put in any options anymore since not many of you are participating, but I'm obviously gonna continue writing it ^-^ As for parts, I don't know how much parts this will end up being, but the more the merrier! xD

[wildkaleidoscope]

Of Blood and Stitches (2/?)

This one is really NSFW, I mean it. Enjoy! SFF, just under 5k words.

Part one is here 

Let me know what you thought of it, maybe it’ll motivate me to write the next part faster!

Time passes by in a duller manner since Root has met Shaw. She struggles to find any ER case as entertaining and fun than when she was held in a chokehold by a potentially fatally hurt trauma surgeon. These things just do not repeat themselves.

Since her interns have been getting a little too comfortable in their reflexes, Root has started a new game she likes to call “Surprise Emergencies”.

Usually it’s on a quiet day, or right after they finished a surgery, or just as they walk in the hospital. It’s any time, really. Today, she’s waiting for one of them outside the men’s washroom, her small pocket blade in hand. She knows he's just finished scrubbing in on a five hours surgery. He must be tired. She lifts one side of her hospital shirt up a couple inches, and as soon as the door opens, she presses the blade to her pale skin. A quick slash, and a short wince, and she calls to her unsuspecting intern.

“Fusco! I just got stabbed, my liver is touched, what do you do?”

Fusco almost whimpers before grabbing Root and sitting her down on the nearest bed. Immediately, he starts reciting the procedures, putting on gloves and applying sterilized gauze to her wound.

“This is starting to get concerning, Dr Root.” He mumbles as he patches her up, unwillingly darting his eyes between the small wound to her wrist, where the three stitches he put in last week are slowly fading away.

“This is fun! Oh, next time, I’ll give myself an insulin overdose, see how fast you can work as a team!” she proclaims, lost in her next episode of “surprise emergencies”

“Don’t you have a hobby?” the man asks, pulling down her shirt with a disgruntled look.

“This is my hobby!” Root pleads, but her smile is anything but sorry.

Get another one, this is not normal.” He grumbles, getting up without another word.

“Oh, Lionel, you’re no fun!” she giggles, rummaging through the nearest drawer for some painkillers; his hands are anything but delicate.

He did a really good job, though. She takes long strides to the on call room, hoping she might get some shut eye, but, with no surprise, the phone rings.

She readies her emergency voice, trying not to sound too bored, and picks up.

“Hi.”

Her serious face flips upwards and she rolls alongside the wall, twisting the telephone cord in her finger.

“This is an emergency phone line. How'd you get this number?” Root tries to sound at least a little patronizing.

“You're not the only one with special talents. Samantha.”

Root grins even wider, picturing Sameen digging information on her, trying to up her one. Thinking about her. Her stomach is giddy.

“Oh, I never said you were talentless. You make frowning sexy.”

There's a silence at the other end. Root giggles, looking over her shoulder to see the rest of the staff just going their way.

“Was there a reason you called? Or did you just miss me?” this time, she hears a scoff.

“Yeah right. You left your phone in the hospital.”

She was waiting for that call. It only took two months.

“It's a good thing you found it.” Shaw is waiting for the rest, but it never comes.

“So, when can you pick it up?” The tone is pointedly formal.

“How about we meet halfway?” Root asks, resting her temple on the wall, holding the phone closer.

“Whenever you're in the area, just drop by, it'll be at the ER admission.”

“You took two months to find my phone. The least you can do is bring it halfway.” There's a grunt and a mumbled ‘fine’ before she goes on; “There's this nice little restaurant just left to the bridge. Meet me there tomorrow at nine.”

A shocked silence follows suite, and Shaw scoffs in realization.

“You left your phone here, didn't you?”

“Goodbye, Sameen.” Root says softly, hanging up with a satisfied smirk.

---

Sameen is left with a half smirk on, the line ringing in her ear. She shakes her head; she really hung up on her! The woman tuts in disbelief, although her face looks amused.

She looks at the phone in her hand and hesitates for just a second. She looks around quickly; no one is paying attention to her. With a few taps and slides, she has put her number in Root’s phone, under the name “Don't Ever Stab Again”. She grins to herself, puts the phone back and goes on her way to look for an intern to terrorize.

 That'll keep her in a good mood.

She doesn't have time to find one, though, before the emergency line rings and in comes multiple gunshot wound victims. An excited look brightens her features for a second, and only a little voice in her head tells her she should be getting sleep before tomorrow afternoon for her date - date?!

Her mind is quick to focus on the victims ahead, which is a relief; she can't handle thinking about going on a date with Root when there are at least five people bleeding on gurneys coming her way.

Shaw dispatches the ER staff as the ambulances rush in. Everybody is walking fast and steady, just like she taught almost every single person on her service. The only other doctor she didn't train is John Reese, the closest thing to a best friend she has. They work well together because none of them likes to chitchat.

It's no surprise they exchange a look of challenge when the paramedics informs them the last ambulance to come in is a woman, and her husband holding her guts.

Shaw smacks him in the groin right as the ambulances doors open and she grins, claiming the patient.

“You're an animal.” Reese grunts as she flies by.

------

Tomorrow goes faster when you spend three quarters of your yesterday in surgery, trying to put back into place a woman's intestines with minimal complications.

When she walks out, Shaw is a little dizzy, but content; the woman didn't die! She'll have months of rehab and healing, possibly a few more surgeries, but she will be alright. Chest inflated with pride, Shaw sets to find Reese.

They share a copious breakfast - he pays - while Shaw tells him the entire sixteen hour surgery that went on.

He lets her finish his steak, and parts of his fries, with a smirk inching up his lips.

“What?” Shaw asks, mouth full of scrambled eggs.

“Don't you have a date at 9?” his tone is dripping like honey, but his shit-eating grin betrays his intent.

“Shit!” she mournfully looks at the half eaten plate before her, then shoots a look at Reese. “You let me eat all this and now I have to pretend like I'm hungry again in -” She looks at his watch and grunts in agony “in an hour!”

Reese carefully slides her plate towards himself and chuckles.

“I'm sure you'll work up an appetite by then, Shaw.” He looks so innocent, Sameen wants to punch him.

“You're the worst kind of friend, you know that?” She rolls her eyes at him, but her smile tells another story.

She gets up and is about to leave before she whips around and glares at him.

“And it's not a date.”

She walks out before seeing his head tilt as he claims her uneaten waffle.

An hour to wash the scent of blood and guts and surgery out of her hair, and skin. She needs more than that. She needs at least three hours of sleep, and an hour long shower, and she probably doesn't even have clean clothes, and - she stops her brain.

This is not a date.

She will simply shower, tie her hair in a ponytail, put jeans and a t shirt on, and she will give Root her phone back. She probably won't even eat.

Shaw is decided as she enters her apartment complex.

In front of her door lies a white rectangular box and a note is attached to it.

“Congratulations on your surgery! I hope this isn't too much. I look forward to seeing you.”

Shaw is intrigued, and slightly annoyed that she knows whom it's from. She wonders for a second how in hell the woman could’ve known about her surgery, but again, doctors are the worst gossip. She sits on her bed and opens it, scoffing loudly at the sight.

In her lap, delicately folded, sits a bright red dress, and when she takes it out, she realizes it is a short dress, with a very deep v-neck. She shakes her head, already convinced she will not be wearing this. Another note falls when she chugs the box on her bed.

“It's too much, isn't it? It's okay, I figured as much. It probably looks better on the floor anyways.”

Shaw looks over her shoulder as if someone might suddenly read this note, and then back at the lump of fabric on the floor. She can't help the grin on her face, and she hates Root for it. Something does a back flip in her stomach, and as she tries to say no, her body is already undressing and getting ready for a night in a tight dress.

The idea of Root seeing her in the dress and thinking of it on the floor is too exciting to pass. If she can make the woman flustered, it's bound to be a good night.

She has no difficulties finding the restaurant, but she is about fifteen minutes late. Her pony tail has turned into crafted loose curls, and her jeans and t-shirt have metamorphosed into a red dress and black heels. She has put a matte lipstick and dark eye shadow on, just to complete the look.

Root sees her first. Sameen sees her wide and bright smile right after.

She sways her hips - result of the high heels and tight waist - to the table, very much aware of Root’s delighted look and wandering eyes. Once she is sat, Shaw tries to contain her smile.

“You wore it.” states Root with an impressed note in her voice.

“Hey, free dress. A dress makes everyone think you've put effort in your clothes when it's just because you were lazy.” She retorts, shrugging with one shoulder.

“And the hair and makeup, is that part of the facade of being lazy?” Root questions, raising an eyebrow.

Shaw tuts and rolls her eyes, waving for the waiter. He comes, all smiles and nice, and Shaw asks for a scotch, on the rocks. Root raises an inquiring eyebrow, but before she can reorder wine for herself, Sameen takes her glass and gives it a whirl. She inhales, and then wets her lips with the red liquid. With a knowing smile, she orders the exact wine Root is drinking.

“That was quite the feat, Sameen.”

Shaw shrugs, opening the menu to distract her hands. And eyes. Because Root has let her hair down, and the way it cascades over one bare collarbone, framing her long and thin features in a softened shadow, it is too much to take in. She does not want to admit Root looks more than lovely tonight.

This is not a date.

They order food and Shaw has worked up an appetite, but it isn't as much for the steak in her plate than it is for the way Root keeps casually touching her hand across the table. Or how she laughs at the intern stories she extracts from Shaw, and her neck lengthens, exposing pale skin and the perfect spot for Shaw to bite, certain it would drag a low moan from the same throat. Or even the way Root has courageously inched closer to Sameen, their legs brushing under the table from time to time.

When desert comes, Shaw is fairly certain Root is playing footsies, and that the hand she wrapped around her knee earlier is now right under the hem of her dress. She can't really think of anything but the burning sensation of her fingers achingly sprawled against her inner thigh.

She snatches the check from Root, with a wicked grin, and she gets up to pay.

Once she's back, Root is up as well, ready to leave, and she looks expectant.

“What?” Shaw asks, gathering her coat and purse.

“Aren't you forgetting something?” Root retorts

“I'm not kissing you.” She deadpans, although maybe she would like to kiss her.

“My phone, silly.” She holds her hand out.

Oh.

Right.

They met so Shaw could give her phone back.

She smiles apologetically, and Root bursts out laughing. People are startled and Shaw hushes her out of the restaurant.

“I forgot it at my place. It's not far from here. Just come with, you can grab a cab from there.”

“Is this the part where you look all innocent to lure me in your apartment, only to cut me in pieces and ditch me in the desert?” Root tries to look scared, but she’s smiling too wide.

“There's no dessert, we're in New York.” Shaw starts walking.

Root rolls her eyes; one day, she will make Shaw laugh. She makes it her goal from now on. The brunette quickly follows Sameen, and nonchalantly slips her arm around hers. Shaw looks down at their linked arms and sigh, but doesn't take it away.

It's a peaceful night, if only peaceful is a word that can be used in The Big Apple. Once they approach her building, Shaw starts to slow down, until they come to a full stop. She looks down at her feet, and Root feels her heart tighten. Is she shying away from her? She thinks, and she has a hard time restraining her need to gush. Shaw clears her throat and plants herself in front of the brunette.

“You can wait here, I’ll be right back.” she takes back her arm, but her hand gets stuck in Root’s.

“You’re going to make me wait out here, on the street?” she raises an eyebrow, taking a swift step forward, closing the distance between hers and Sameen’s body. “In the cold?” she whispers, towering with a full head above the other surgeon.

“Why do you have to be so dramatic?” she replies, not flinching at Root’s closeness, their faces inches apart - again.

Root’s cocky grin is all she gets for a response; that, and unfaltering direct eye contact. Shaw wants to win this, but Root is way too close, and too pretty, and she had one too many scotch, and she smells too nice, and this is just - no. She rolls her eyes and scoffs a “fine” before turning swiftly around.

Root closes her eyes for half a second, inhaling Shaw’s perfume with delight.

They climb the five floors by foot, and Root is convinced Shaw is trying to race her. Sameen is actually trying to diffuse her increased heartbeat with actual physical activity. No one has been to her apartment. Not even John and they’ve known each other for literal years. Yet, here she is, sliding her key in the doorway, unlocking her home to a stranger, and a very annoying one at that.

Root lets herself in right after Shaw; she can feel the woman’s warmth irradiating on her back. She waves her hand around, swiftly going over the kitchen, the living room and the hallway to her bedroom. Shaw doesn’t keep much in sight, but there is an easel with a painting half finished. Her therapist said it would help with the nightmares.

Shaw tries to subtly put herself between her most intimate passion and Root, but the woman has already seen it. She lets her head fall back as she sees Root bee lining for it. The tall woman points at it after a few seconds, and a soft smile makes her lips quiver.

“This is really good, I like it. Did you paint this?” she asks, tilting her head for another angle.

“Yeah, I did.” Shaw decides she has to speed this up, because this is way out of her comfort zone.

She disappears for a minute, but she doesn’t have time to come back. Root has followed her to her bedroom, and she leans on the doorframe.

“So, this is where the magic happens, uh?” she teases, glancing around the neat and tidy room, except for the box carelessly thrown on the bed.

“No magic. Just sleep. Here’s your phone.” Sameen tries to body-block Root’s inquisitive looks, but the woman does not budge, and she finds herself almost pressed chest to chest.

She puts her phone on her torso, waiting for the brunette to grab it. Instead, Root just cocks her head, looking over Sameen’s head. Shaw raises an eyebrow, an uncertain smile tugging at her lips. Root closes her hand over hers, but makes apparently has no intent on taking her phone.

Instead, she takes a step forward, pushing Sameen back into her room. Shaw can definitely feel Root’s heart beating fast, and hers follows a similar rhythm. The tall woman has this indescribable smirk and she lifts a hand to grip Shaw’s hip, never breaking eye contact. Sameen’s breath hitches in her throat and she gasps softly; her left hand is gripping Root’s belt.

“It’s too bad only sleep happens here.” Root purrs, tilting her chin so their noses are touching, lips ghosting over each other’s.

“Shut up.” Shaw closes the distance, her heart exploding in her chest, relishing in the taste of wine and lipstick.

Root grips her hip tighter, and swirls them around, harshly shoving Shaw against the wall. Sameen’s hands work fast to unfasten her jeans’ belt, nearly ripping them open. She moans and gasps loudly when Root, one hand pulling her hair and bending her neck backwards, sinks her teeth in the sensitive skin above her collarbone.

She pushes Root back, and the woman stumbles a few steps. It gives Shaw enough time to cock her head, grinning mischievously, before she launches herself at Root. She presses her roughly against her dresser, lifting both of her arms and pinning them on the wall. She slowly reaches under her shirt until her fingers bump against her bra. She chuckles breathlessly as she feels the fabric; lace, and very thin. Root lets her head fall back when Sameen’s hot lips kiss their way from her lower abdomen to the hem of her garment. She’s still holding a firm grip on her wrists, making Root squirm under the languishing pecks.

Shaw drags her teeth over her half exposed breasts, pulling down the pigeoning bra with them. She revels in the sight for a second, and her tight loosens just enough that Root yanks her hands free. The brunette presses her body grimly against Shaw’s until the woman is backed up against her bed. She looks her straight in the eyes as she drops to her knees. Shaw’s eyes roll to the back of her head and she takes a handful of Root’s hair, balling her fingers into a tight fist. Root is kissing up her thigh, lifting her dress at the same time, and Shaw is about ready to cave in.

But not yet.

She likes control.

Root’s mouth is getting dangerously close to her panties, and Shaw’s having more difficulty breathing and focusing on her next move. The dark-haired woman moans loudly, and an echo from the brunette’s mouth sends a shiver through her entire body.

Shaw grips Root’s hair a little tighter, and she tugs at it, forcing the woman to get back up. As soon as she’s on her feet, Shaw takes off her shirt and unclasps her bra. Root is standing in front of her, bare-chested, breathing heavily, and Shaw needs to taste her. She shoves the taller woman on the bed, and kneels in front of her bent knees.

With experienced fingers, she rips open her jeans and slides them off her ass. Root thinks Sameen is still wearing way too much clothing; she sits back up and pulls her in, close. As the black haired woman straddles her hips, biting and sucking on her exposed shoulders, Root unzips the dress and simply lifts it off Shaw’s body.

Their ragged breaths become moans, and grunts, as they both try to take control of the situation.

Root finally gives in when Shaw ruthlessly bites her hip, sliding herself off of her and onto the carpeted floor, hooking her fingers under the waistband of her matching lace panties. Root helps her take them off, and she pulls Shaw back up, shivering under the weight and warmth of her body grazing against her bare skin. She bucks her hips under the avalanche of successive bites, kisses and licks from Shaw. Her hands manage to undo her bra, and as soon as their chests collide, Root grabs onto Sameen’s ass with both hands and arches her body into the embrace.

Shaw leaves a trail of wet and lustful kisses down Root’s torso, onto her abdomen, and she stops briefly to bite her right hip. She drags her teeth over smooth skin until her chin is prickled with short hairs. She smiles at the guttural sound that escapes Root’s mouth, and reaches to cup one of her breasts.

Root doesn’t know what to do with her hands; grab Shaw’s hair and push her head just an inch lower, grip the sheets in exquisite apprehension or cover her hand to keep her groping her chest.

She settles for a sheet grab, as Shaw kisses her inner thighs, making Root whip her hips towards her mouth every time she gets close. Never close enough.

Finally, after excruciating tongue drags and sloppy kisses, Root feels Shaw’s breath directly on her navel. A low and loud moan rumbles deep in her throat, and it gives Shaw the final push; she presses the length of her tongue on Root’s hot center, dragging it upwards.

She flicks the tip of it right under her clit and Root quivers under her mouth. Shaw feels so powerful in that single instant, more so even than when she’s saving lives in surgery. This is power. The way Root is silently - not that silently- begging for more, completely unraveling at the simple touch of her tongue.

Shaw feels too tight in her own underwear, but she is so not ready to let Root go. She drags her nails down her chest, until she can hook her arm under the brunette’s hips, and grips tightly. Her mouth feasts on the wetness beneath her, and she’s holding Root into place. Her tongue swirls around her swollen clit, making Root moan loudly. She flattens it; her nose pressed right above her sensitive bud, and almost lazily licks her up and down. Every time she gets close to her entrance, Root bucks her hip just that much stronger. Shaw gets the message quickly, and she teases her with the tip of her tongue. Her own desire takes over and she buries her tongue inside her wet navel.

A high pitched moan, quickly followed by a harsh gasp tells her that his feels as good as she thinks. Root lets go of the sheets and fists a bunch of Shaw’s hair. She’s pushing her head almost viciously against her cunt, dictating the speed at which Shaw fucks her with her tongue. Reaching above her hip with one hand, Shaw places two fingers just above her clit, and drives Root to the edge with fast motions in tandem with her tongue.

She feels the woman tightening her pelvis, bucking her hips more erratically, and it makes her smile. She shifts her weight and slides one arm out from under Root’s ass. She slides her tongue in one more time before lapping the wetness. She replaces her tongue with two fingers easily curling inside her. She feels for the rigged area inside Root, and she fingerfucks her hard, sucking on her throbbing clit.

She wraps her tongue around it as Root presses her head even harder against her cunt. Shaw’s fingers are working at a steady and fast pace, hitting just the right spot every time they curl in, and she switches from sucking to licking with a flat tongue.

Soon enough, Root is whimpering, ordering her to keep going, and she grits her teeth, jaws furiously clenched, when Shaw stops. The hand in her hair yanks her head back and Root can barely look directly at her with a glistening chin, and eyes dark with lust.

“Impatient much, Dr. Groves?” Shaw chuckles a little nervously as Root digs her nails in her scalp.

“‘My name is Root.” she growls, watching closely when Shaw drags herself on top of her.

“And what’s mine?” Shaw bites her earlobe harshly, smirking.

Root gasps loudly, and she’s about to reply when she feels Sameen’s hand cup her navel, fingers curling inside her, and deep. She picks up a fast pace, her thumb circling her clit at a perfect rhythm. Root holds onto Shaw’s body, pressing her as close as possible. Shaw observes her closely, and when she feels Root is about to orgasm, she slows down her fingerfucking with a smug look.

“This is for stabbing me in the neck.” Shaw growls, kissing Root’s neck avidly.

“I saved your life.” Root retorts, gasping loudly as Shaw’s fingertips lazily drag over her clit.

“I saved yours too.” Sameen is having a little too much fun, and she’s let her guard down just enough.

Root sees an opportunity, and she switches their positions. She’s straddling Shaw’s hips, her dripping wet navel darkening the grey underwear she’s still wearing. She pins Sameen’s hands above her head and a sassy snicker cascades out of her parted lips.

“Let me apologize properly, Sameen.” Root purrs, grinding her hips down.

She slowly releases Shaw’s hands, pointing a warning finger at her. Shaw doesn’t move and her breath catches in her throat when she understands what Root is about to do. The woman pulls her panties to the side, and she slowly rubs her thumb over her clit. Her other hand reaches down her exposed cunt, and she reproduces the same motion on herself. Shaw’s eyes fall back, but she can’t look away from the sight.

Root is gyrating her hips down, and every time, it presses her hand harder on her cunt, and makes Shaw moan louder. She can feel her orgasm build up, but never enough pressure or fast pace to tilt her over the edge. When she realizes that Root is going to get herself off with her own hand while watching Shaw squirm, the black haired woman cocks her head in astonishment.

“Oh no you won’t.” She stammers through gritted teeth, quickly gripping Root’s hips before she can pin her wrist back up.

She crudely pulls her by the ass, inching herself down until she engulfs Root’s cunt in her mouth. She watches the other woman intently, smirking when she can’t even stay upright. Her shoulder slump forward and she barely holds herself up, smacking her hand on the wall to not completely fold in half. Shaw cups one of her breasts, groping it roughly, swirling her tongue around Root’s clit. She was so close before Shaw had her sit on her face, she can’t hold back anymore - and neither is Sameen.

Root reaches back, seconds before her orgasm, and digs her nails into Shaw’s thigh. Root lets her head fall back, one hand gripping Shaw’s head, keeping her in place, the other leaving deep crescents in her bare skin. She moans loudly, groaning Shaw’s name, unraveling in the feeling of her tongue indecently pressing and circling on her clit.

Shaw lets Root ride her face until her body is quivering and every time she moves her tongue, Root trembles. Then, she slowly kisses her inner thigh, sinks her teeth in the hot and humid skin with a content smile. Root lets her head hang low, her hair sticking to her sweaty face, panting heavily. She caresses Shaw’s face, an almost inaudible moan torn from her dry throat when Sameen teases her raw clit.

“You have a strange way of apologizing. “ Shaw states, and Root covers her face with one hand.

She slowly peels herself off of Sameen’s face, and falls beside her on the messy bed. She gently wipes away her own wetness from the other woman, grinning. Root’s eyes flutter shut, and Shaw’s quick to shuffle under the blankets, softly covering her as well. She brings an arm under her pillow, looking intently at Shaw.

“Stop staring.” Sameen whispers, eyes half closed.

“Stop being so beautiful.” Root retorts, and it makes Shaw scoff.

She turns away from Root, her cheeks flushed red. The brunette slides closer to her and Shaw gasps when a cold hand snakes around her hip.

“It’s your turn to scream my name.” Root growls, biting her ear lobe sharply.

Shaw instinctively backs herself closer to Root, seeking contact.

Tomorrow cannot come slow enough.

[tales-of-abysia]

Mind of a Madman - Sorrowful Farewell

(This entry is late to post because life has been crazy and relates to a week or two back now... It follows The Accord pretty directly.)

Lexi's wide white eyes curiously examined a hardened black ooze that ran much like tar, or pitch. As it dried to the undercroft pipes bits of it crystalized into odd shapes. She picked up a small piece of wood and scraped it. The crystal growths had not yet set into place, and wiggled as she pressed against it. The surface was similar to metal, making a rustic scree as she dragged the point along. “Weird.” As she poked the fluid, it dripped down onto the ground, where it sucked the color out of the stones. She curiously placed the wood down and extended a finger out. As she reached forward, a clawed black mass grabbed onto her hand, causing her fright.

Jaxx grumbled from her shadow. “Don’t touch that.” His hand released, and the darkness on the ground thickened as red eyes opened up. “It sucks the life out of the stones. I don’t want to imagine how it would affect you.”

The pipes above them shook, and a second drop landed, rolled down and fused with the first. As they met, they reacted violently by extending in tumultuous fervor in all directions before condensing and hardening. Lexi frowned. “But it’s pretty and I want some. Can I put it in a jar? I have a jar.” She reached into a small satchel on her hip and pulled out the glass jar. It had a metal cap screwed on.

“Don’t seem too smart. Maybe leave it alone?”

Lexi smiled at her shadow and shook her head. “Silly, you said it could be dangerous! We can’t leave it here.”

Lexi leaned down and grabbed the small piece of wood, cracking bits off to make a spoon shape. Jaxx watched very carefully at her movements, his eyes narrowing as she readied the jar.

RUMBLE. The entire area above them shook like something heavy had fallen. Jaxx reflexively lurched onto the wall, his form extending several sharp spikes toward Lexi as the pipes shook overhead. A shower of the black drops fell, sizzling as they hit the stones. The jar dropped, bounced off of Lexi's flats and rolled onto the ground between them. Lexi had been pinned to the wall by the looser regions of her clothing, beneath a small wooden awning. There was a crack in the ceiling and part of Jaxx's body rose beneath the Jar, the cap slipping off as a large thud of the fluid landed inside. It spasmed like the others before shrinking and hardening. “Where is this shit coming from?”

Jaxx extended from the shadow to reach his head around the corner, his amorphous form very stretched out at this point. An odd look for him, to be sure.

That’s when it happened. Another loud crash above them, followed by a brief silence. Then a louder bang, and another, and another, each louder, closer, and stronger than the last. This floor was one of the bottom ones, with the thickest base. As the ceiling separated in the hallway around the corner, a wave of gaseous darkness flooded down, followed by a slamming sound of something crashing to the ground. The gas sucked in and with a scream it ignited. Jaxx leapt from his wall to the opposite, forming a soft shell around Lexi that held her to the wall. Behind him, the entire hallway was enveloped in fierce golden flames that scorched every surface nearby black. The force pressed his form to Lexi like a tight hug, released a moment later.

Jaxx then slid down, forming a puddle on the ground. His dark form blended to the floor, which had been stained as dark as night. Thudding footsteps behind her caught her attention and she turned to see a form in heavy black armor. He gazed down at her with red eyes, knelt down and placed the cap on her jar, and his hand spun on his wrist to seal it tight. He then squeezed the metal cap to crimp the edges before stepping over Jaxx and then rounding the corner. Lexi tried to gather Jaxx up, but he oozed through her fingers. He appeared entirely debilitated.

Duske, the dark armored form, approached the cause of the explosion. Through the dust a pair of firece golden eyes burned. “You… go away!” The ground cracked, bent forward, sharp sheets of metal extending like swords toward Duske. He turned, but several still impaled him in the side of the chest. He staggered, grunted, and then with a sigh he evaporated, the black gas hardening again into his shape once it floated beyond the wall of swords.

The figure with golden eyes was Azure. His hair was wild, small stones floating around him in the daylight he had brought crashing down with him. He was hunched, breathing heavily, his teeth bared. He placed his hand on the wall and whipped it forward to Duske, the wall warping and extending into large columns designed to crush him. Duske held strong, putting his shoulder forth and stopping the extending mass.

Azure screamed “Leave me alone!”

“You are… hurting people.” Duske’s voice sounded strained, mechanical, like words were difficult for him. “This panic, it breaks our accord.” He dodged to the left as the pillar from the right crunched by him, taking fragments of the armor shoulder with it. Duske reached onto his hip and grabbed a metal ring, rose it up, and then forced it down over Azure's head. He quickly screamed again and reached to his neck as the new cuff extended, covering his neck and then his shoulders. The plates of armor cascaded down Azure’s chest and he roared like a beast.

Duske rose a foot and forced it forward, kicking Azure through a window and then the opposite wall. Following through, the two were now in a round room at the base of the city. A glowing ring in the center of this began to glow, and Techtonica rose from it after a second.

Azure grabbed the armor as it slid down his arms and tore it off, metal plates dinging off of the ground and then falling away, only to reform on his arms again. As he took a deep breath, the air around Azure grew dark and heavy. The armor grew down to his knees and he fell to them, partially immobile. This next scream caused the growths on his arms and legs to shatter, a wave of force flying off of him and shattering the windows, the doors, and damaging the walls of every building in the square. The entire city groaned around them.

Azure watched Duske advance through the hole in the wall and then drew two swords, running forward toward Duske at full speed. Duske reached out a hand and ignored the first stab into his mechanical chest, instead firmly grasping Azure’s neck. He dropped the swords and struggled, but the armor was regrowing already and sealing him in. Techtonica appeared behind him and grabbed Azure in a chokehold. The three of them all moved together toward the glowing ring.

Techtonica groaned as he struggled against Azure. “Good job Duske. Now, the bottom button?”

Duske looked to the floor, where several buttons were carved into the floor. A tower, a globe, and then a channel under that went to an island, and beneath that a dark void. Duske stepped on the button for the void, the ring lit up beneath Tech and Azure, and then they were both gone.

Lexi climbed through the wall then, a jar tucked into her satchel and a black mass with red eyes discombobulated in her arms. “What just happened?”

Duske stared at the lift for a moment before turning toward Lexi. “He had a panic attack. I just sent Azure to the Chronos Bin, with Techtonica.”

Several days later, a meeting was called to gather everyone. Damien delivered the bad news to everyone else, but didn’t know how to tell the world. This took a while to put into words.

I’m sorry..