#the word counts vary wildly

[horsetailcurlers2]

addison montgomery fanfiction recs by pairing

(although i am *relatively* new to the greys fandom, once i finished season three i immediately obsessively scoured the internet for any addison montgomery centric fanfiction i could get my hands on. here are just a few of my favorite ones for each of my addison ships (of which there are many). this is by no means an exhaustive list. my qualifications for this are that i’m cool and have good taste and spend way too much time thinking about fictional people)

ADDEK:

-“The Climbing Way” by winter machine (this is actually probably one of my favorite fanfictions of all time, period. this author is just absolutely brilliant at capturing their dynamic and all of its complexities. the entire thing is actually from derek’s POV which i was surprised how much i enjoyed considering i can sometimes be a derek hater lol but it provides some really good insight into his character without being as forgiving as canon or as bash-y as some fics (if that makes any sort of sense?). it also combines two of my favorite addek tropes: “sad baby backstory” and “traumatic event forces them to actually confront their issues”. it is also a very captivating portrait of derek and mark’s realtionship and has lots and lots of flashbacks. big angst warning especially for the early chapters.)

-“Some Bright Morning” by winter machine (i just can’t get enough of this author. i love any addek fic that heavily features savvy and weiss bc i think they should have made more appearances in canon. or savvy should’ve at least lmao. weiss was kind of a dick. but i like him in this fic! this is a very very interesting AU because it takes place largely outiside of canon settings and features a lot of OCs. it also takes place around early season one so the mark wound is still very fresh. its set entirely on a small island in georgia during savvy’s mother’s funeral so there’s plenty of forced proximity and bed sharing. the original setting and cast of characters are really fleshed out and completely captivating. like, i would read a whole separate story just about this island and its inhabitants. also features lots of background on savvy and addison’s friendship. and plenty of angst of course. you may be sending a pattern with these recommendations)

-“do you think i have forgotten (about you)” by crime_wives (this one legitimately made me sob. like, my body produced actual tears. angsty one shot. not happy-addek. a perfect snapshot of their tragic ending)

- “Unhinged (AddisonandDerekandMark)” by RulerOfAllThatIsEvilChiFlowers (very dark. very twisty. somewhat non linear.)

- “This Hurt Can Teach Us Both” by darlingwrecks (oh my lord this one is so so addek- bittersweet, sexy, nostalgic, painful and delightful all at once. my favorite thing about this writer is the way they write backstory, especially for the Med School Trio. this is also kind of fun because we never got to see how these two dealt with their post divorce logistics. derek was just kind of like “take all the property and fuck off” which is not at all how these things work lol)

MEDDISON:

- “lately she’s undressing for revenge” by emilyprentits (only read this if you want to be driven to tear your own hair out by the emotions this will make you feel. this is one of the fics that fully convinced me to ship meddison. so so so good and it’s like it was written from inside of meredith’s actual brain)

-“i’ll show you every version of yourself tonight” by withpeopleinperson (two words: stripper addison. read it. be forewarned it’s only one chapter and has not been updated in a few years but it’s a GREAT chapter regardless)

-“the seven stages of intoxication” by theprincessdiarist (meredith grey doling out meredith grey levels of emotional dysfunction. featuring loads and loads of delightfully frustrating mutual pining)

-“Sex and Caring in Seattle” by Bluefall (meredith once again having totally normal and regular feeling about her ex boyfriend’s wife. i love this one because they are both just kind of bisexual disasters and derek is just Also There. i love the way this author perfectly captures meredith’s perpetual inability to navigate her own emotions)

*EDIT: i also realized i forgot to add that these last two were recommended to me by @crime-wives !!!

-“open the floodgates up” by SugarsweetRomantic (this has EVERYTHING you could want in a meddison fic: mutual hurt/comfort, bed sharing, friends to lovers, these two being absolute dumbasses about each other. had me crying and also kicking my feet. genuinely)

MADDISON:

-“Make This Go On Forever” by darlingwrecks (i am so in love with this universe. i usually don’t gravitate toward kid/family centric fics but this one is so so much more than that. it’s maddison, if those two had made a real go of things, stayed in new york, and kept the pregnancy. there’s even some background merder eventually (which is not usually my jam but i like in this context). very very fluffy at times, a bit angsty at others, super in character but iirc i think this was written pretty early on in the show so addison and mark’s backgrounds may be a smidge different than in canon. this is the link to the rewritten version (i think?) on ao3. the author had the original up on live journal back in the day and i could have SWORN i read a sequel that i found a link to in the depths of their LJ but i cannot find it anywhere rn)

-“When I Grow Up” by winter machine (another maddison-if-they’d-stayed-in-new-york-and-addison-kept-the-pregnancy, but with a twist that brings them to seattle to see derek, who they haven’t spoken to in seven years. a fantastic plot but also sort of just a brilliant exploration of how mark and addison would be as parents given their own childhoods and how they have pretty much been cut off from the one healthy(ish) family dynamic that either of them have experienced. there’s also background merder in this one and it actually kind of made me like merder which is a major feat)

-“Celery” by winter machine (a fun little one shot featuring Derek Being An Idiot, Drunk Addison, and Mark Crossing Boundaries. a little bit sad and a little bit funny. again, everything by this author is just great)

JADDISON:

- “A Certain Slant of Light” by darlingwrecks (this is for those of us that were weirded out by addison’s convo with amelia in season 18. a more fleshed out exploration of addison’s mental health during the pandemic. it’s a very raw and honest portrayal of depression and anxiety and how someone like addison would navigate it while being a doctor in a global pandemic and raising an 8 year old. it’s not nearly as bleak as it sounds though. lots of fluff, a little smut. also touches on how addison might’ve grieved mark and derek. and archer makes some appearances which i loved (i know he’s an asshole but i really like addison’s brother lol))

-“Diamonds in the Sky” by Ziaaaaa_sdc (there’s so few jaddison fics out there, probably because of how compressed their relationship timeline was as they tried to wrap up the show, but this writer has several and they��re all so good. there definitely aren’t enough fun AUs for them so i was really excited when i first found this. its Ballet School Jaddison and there’s actually only three chapters atm. no idea if it will be updated ever again but it’s still more than worth a read. a smidge angsty so far. also seems to be setting up a little enemies to lovers arc)

CADDISON:

-“Help Me (With The Butterflies)” by BlackRoseMatron (a very sweet one shot. this author is single-handedly keeping the caddison shippers fed and i love it. they also have some really great meddison stuff)

[bougonia]

fav hobby: rereading my fics just for fun and then noticing one typo and ending up editing half the story

[obsessivevoidkitten]

Dear Brother

Kinktober Day 14: Incest Yandere brother x male reader CW: Incest, noncon, memory alteration, mind manipulation, possessive yandere, protective yandere, general yandere behavior, versatile reader, anal sex, drugging, sedatives, aphrodisiacs, collaring, murder, Stockholm syndrome, major character death, reader's own cum as lube, masturbation, discrimination against those without powers, dead dove: DO NOT EAT Word Count: 3.8k (This is dark. Sorry for any errors, I did not have it betaread. I hope there are some who will enjoy this.)

The meteor that crashed to the ground generations ago came with it a particularly invasive pathogen. A virus that infected all of humanity, changing the DNA of everyone on Earth, though a large portion of people remained asymptomatic with recessive changes.

Those with symptoms displayed mutations. They varied wildly from animal traits, elemental powers, enhanced strength, super speed, extra limbs, and many others.

Over many years, the DNA that the virus altered became increasingly prominent as mutations were inherited and compounded. Asymptomatics were rarer and rarer. Currently, they made up only 15 percent of the population.

A small portion of people used their extra human abilities for evil, and others became government sanctioned heroes to fight them.

The people who had mutations become highly sought after and fetishized. More laws came into effect to protect them from villains and criminals who would traffic them.

You were a mutationless nobody living in this society.

A brand new law had established a curfew for all people without strong enough mutations. They couldn't go out unless someone with a strong ability was with them.

Another law was that those with no abilities couldn't live alone.

Because of this, you became wholly dependent on your older brother, Drew.

Your older sibling was entirely fine with this arrangement. He had a love for you that wasn't entirely brotherly, though you didn't suspect anything. It seemed to you that his overprotective behavior was the product of being an older brother to someone without a mutation in a world that conditioned people to think of those like you as defenseless. You thought yourself fairly lucky. You weren't forced into an abusive or restrictive marriage or roommate situation because you had Drew. He was always happy to chaperone and escort you.

When he wasn't too busy with his work as a hero. Drew had moved the two of you to a small town due to a lower crime rate and desire to keep you safe and spend as much time with you as possible. It was also to isolate you from any potential suitors. But... you didn't really need to know about that... You had gotten too chummy with people online through various social media and dating websites who lived a bit too close for comfort in the large city you had lived in previously. It was getting burdensome finding them, intimidating them, burying more than one body when they wouldn't get the hint that you were spoken for. That had been rare, though.

If he really needed to, he could use a power no one knew he possessed. He could remove and replace memories. It was a tedious task, requiring a lot of time and energy, and not all minds were susceptible. Even if they were, it couldn't normally be used multiple times on the same person. Which is why he couldn't just make you forget or hate them. Luckily, most people were easily intimidated by Drew. He was tall and muscular, which was enough in some cases, but he also could move things with his mind and produce a psychic barrier around his skin to make him indestructible.

The quieter smaller town was kinda nice, but you were rather bored. Especially when Drew had to do his patrols. He made sure he worked more in the early morning and afternoon since you always liked to be up at night playing video games and going for walks at night with him. Sometimes, he'd take you out to eat at a 24/7 diner that the town had.

He thought of those outings as dates and considered himself to be courting his defenseless brother.

Your brother always ordered ice cream for you to share. Drew loved to watch you eat it, sometimes biting his lip as you so lewdly licked the cold confection from your spoon. It made his cock twitch in his pants. How he wished you were licking his manhood like that. Eager to get every drop of his cum.

The last time you were at the diner you had caught him staring at you with an odd expression.

"What's with that weird face?"

"Oh, uh... I just had a brain freeze."

You had chuckled at him and went back to eating. How he longed for the day when he could tell you how he really loved you. Hopefully it would be soon, but he just didn't know how to broach the topic.

He had let you walk in on him wanking a few times. But all it achieved was you turning red and scrambling out of the room with an immediate apology followed by you pretending that nothing had occurred. Nothing like the pornos.

The other day, you had been comfortable enough to fall asleep on the couch as the two of you watched a movie. He had been admiring your peacefully sleeping form when you slouched over and leaned on his shoulder. He could hear your breathing and felt your drool as it ran down his arm.

It gave him an instant hard-on that he had to address. You had been a busy bee and cleaned the whole house earlier before cooking dinner. You were totally wiped out. Though even on an easy day, you were known for sleeping deeply. Drew carefully shifted the shorts he had been wearing so his large cock was sticking out through the leg and cautiously jerked himself off while imaging you cuddling and clinging to him after a long day.

He had cum so hard that a bit had landed on your lips. He was worried you would wake up, but you remained out like a light as he gently massaged it into your lip like lip gloss.

After that, he had "accidentally" fallen asleep right beside you. He couldn't very well wake a sleeping angel by moving.

That had been well over a month ago, and his desire for you had only grown. He had taken to stealing your underwear and keeping a pair under his pillows so he could sniff them before bed and dream about you.

He knew one day soon he'd have you in every way.

But there was a setback.

His schedule had shifted temporarily while he was on an assignment to help take down a super villain coalition. For two weeks, he was barely home at all, and a vermin had slipped in.

He came home one day to find you on the porch chatting with some piece of absolute filth who kept brushing his hand against yours.

When he left and you came back inside, Drew was holding back serious rage. You had a look on your face that told him all you needed to know. He didn't even have to question you about who it was. You just kept gushing about him.

"That was Len! He's such a sweetie! He saw me on the porch a few days ago when he was walking by and noticed I was glum."

The way you swooned and gushed made Drew's stomach lurch.

"He's so cool! I'm sure you'll like him. He isn't a hero, but his mutation is awesome. He can spontaneously make fire."

Drew noticed you twiddling your fingers in the way you only did when you were brimming with joy. Would that piece of trash know details like that about you!?

Your brother immediately began planning for Len's demise. This was beyond intimidation, threats, and memory alteration. He lived far too close and touched your perfect weak hands with his disgusting grubby ones. Drew knew exactly how he'd do it. He'd infiltrate Len's home and use his telekinetic abilities to cause him to have a stroke. Then he'd burn the house down. It wasn't unheard of for people's mutations to run out of control.

On the night that Drew planned to end Len, you had been texting Len. Even though it was late, he had invited you over because he was playing a new game that he thought you might enjoy together. If you wanted, he'd leave the door unlocked so you could come in. He knew knocking and waiting made you anxious.

He was such a good listener. He would have come over and walked with you, but it was such a short walk, and you didn't want to wake up Drew. Besides, his house was just a few down from yours. If you ran, you could be there in under a minute. And, honestly, no one took these curfew laws seriously in small towns.

You rushed over as fast as you could and nervously opened the door and stepped inside.

"Dr-Drew? What are you-?"

The question was left unfinished as your gaze lowered to Len laying motionless at your brother's feet. Drew's eyes went wide, and his mouth agape when he noticed you. He obviously had not expected you to walk in on his activities. This was just like when you had just turned 20 and you had caught him killing your parents because they had wanted to convince you to go to an isolated island for the mutationless because they wanted you to feel normal.

He had wiped the events from your brain, made you think they had abandoned you both long ago, and finished by making you think he was the older brother so you'd accept him taking care of you a bit more easily when in reality he was a year younger.

But unlike last time, he couldn't erase Len or what you had witnessed. After doing it once, and so extensively, you were inoculated from it.

Your mind was reeling, struggling to piece together an explanation for what you were seeing. You took a few steps back, planning to just run away and hope you woke up from whatever awful nightmare this night was shaping into. But the door slammed shut before you could finish turning around.

"Y-you have to understand! He was going to steal you away... He didn't deserve you. No one does! Except me."

Drew used his abilities to make you slowly float towards him. The look on his face could only be described as deranged.

"I'm so sorry you had to see this. It was supposed to look like an accident..."

You squirmed in his psychic hold as you began sobbing. Your brain finally registered that your brother killed the man you had started to fall in love with. Nothing made sense.

Once his power brought you to him, he wrapped one arm around you tightly and used his free hand to pull a tiny spray capsule up to your face from his utility belt.

He spritzed you just once, and within a few seconds, you were fast asleep. With you taken care of for the moment, Drew could safely get back to the business at hand.

Your subconscious mind must have still been in denial because you found yourself in a dream pounding Len's muscular ass. He was riding you, and you found yourself bucking into his tight hot hole. In reality, your brother had been watching you sleep and decided to rub your crotch. He figured you needed the stress relief, and if you woke up, maybe the pleasure would prove he was just trying to make you happy.

It made sense in his warped mind.

He was originally just going to jerk you off, but when you got fully hard under his touch... he couldn't resist the urge to ride on it. Drew lubed it up and sank himself down on it. This was perfect, he thought. Your first official act as lovers. It would definitely make you forget about that sack of garbage he just took out.

The look on your face as you drooled in your sleep and let out little lewd gasps went straight to his dick and had him cumming in no time. He briefly lifted off of your cock long enough to smear his semen on it before lowering himself again.

You were fucking his cum into him and it would be mixed with your own once you climaxed. The thought made his stomach flutter as blush crept across his face.

Drew knew you were close, your moans had gotten louder and you had started bucking your hips into him. He was amazed you hadn't woken up yet. Though you had always been a deep sleeper and the stuff he sprayed you with was pretty heavy duty. Your eyes fluttered open as you shot your load inside him and moaned out the name Len.

L e n.

It was exactly the wrong thing to say. Your brother, who had never raised a hand to you, slapped you hard across the face.

"That loser is DEAD!! Len is a fucking corpse smoldering in the ashes of his house!"

You were shaking as you stared up at him, still confused about what was going on. Your brain was full of fog and struggled to piece together the events that transpired last night and the fact that your brother was on your dick and angrily yelling in your face.

When he realized the fear in your eyes, he got off of you and pulled you close.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I know it's not your fault. You're so innocent, and he wormed his way into your mind like the greedy parasite he was."

He kissed your cheek gently where he had struck you.

"Just... try not to say his name, okay? You gotta forget about him. It isn't healthy to linger on toxic people like that."

He got up and made his way to the bathroom connected to his room.

"I bet a bath will make us both feel a little more relaxed."

You were pretty sure that you would never be relaxed again for the rest of your life. Your brother was a villain and you had no idea what he was capable of doing to you. The sibling you had depended on killed Len, forced himself on you while you were sleeping, and slapped you.

Since he was busy making a bath, you thought you'd take the chance to leave. You pulled up your pants and crept past the bedroom door and down the stairs. When you reached the bottom, you stared in dismay at the blockade he had put in front of the door. There was no other choice but to turn around. But as you did so you slammed right into the chest of your sibling, who was staring down at you darkly.

"I just came downstairs for a sn-snack."

You were trembling and hoped he bought it. You knew he had when his face softened.

"Oh, well after our bath I'll make us a late night snack."

He grabbed you by the hand and led you back upstairs.

"This will be our first bath together! I'm really excited."

The last thing you wanted to do was to bathe with this monster. But there was no escaping it.

"Haha I guess I'm excited in more than one way!"

You glanced over and saw what he meant. His cock was fully erect.

"I-I'm too shy to bathe together!"

"Don't be silly! We're lovers now and we both really need this."

He picked you up like you weighed nothing and took you into the tub with him. He sat down and positioned you on his lap facing towards him. His erection jabbed at you from below. It made you cringe and curl in on yourself.

Despite the bubbles and warm water, you had never felt so filthy.

"You're still so tense, but big bro will make everything better~"

He groped and massaged your ass before starting to rub your hole. You flinched.

"You have to relax to make this easier."

Eventually, he pressed a finger into you.

"Please sto-"

You were cut off by involuntarily moaning as he hit a special spot inside you.

"Oh, you liked that, didn't you? Made you sound so needy~"

As he kept attending to that place inside you, working his way up to three fingers, your mind got more clouded and distracted, and your body went limp and relaxed.

"Sto-ahhh AAAHHHH!!"

Your hole clenched tightly as you spilled your load on his chest.

Before you could catch your breath he slowly replaced his fingers with his cock. Careful not to hurt you as he slowly eased you down on his entire length.

You were already hard again despite being so sensitive. His hard cock entered you with a bit of pain despite the previous stretching.

For Drew, it was bliss. Heaven. His cock was wrapped in the warm paradise that was his beloved brother. Finally, he was with you in the way his heart yearned to be. He should have just done this the second the two of you had moved out here.

The slight bit of pain you had initially felt faded at the feeling of him battering your insides. His tip perfectly kissed that spot inside you, your resolve being fucked away with each thrust.

Drew moaned your name as he came in you all too soon.

"My cum is in you. My cum is in you. My cum is in you. Mycumisinyou."

He never lost his hard on and kept right on making love to you, his precious brother, without stopping for a second. As his movements intensified, the lavender scented water splashed against the two of you.

"I-I knew I could make it all better!"

You prattled on incoherently as drool pooled from the corner of your mouth.

"You're right. We should let our actions do the talking"

Drews lips dominated yours as he kissed you deeply, nibbling on your lower lip and licking up your drool as he made out with you. As both of you came once more, he slid his tongue into your mouth and rubbed it against yours.

He pulled away and kissed your forehead. Your brain was foggy, and your body was exhausted after all you had been made to endure.

"I guess I should clean us up before the water goes completely cold. Don't worry, we can do that some more after we've rested up, okay?"

You muttered something, but you didn't know what you were saying or even what you were responding to.

That didn't stop Drew from hearing whatever he wanted to though.

"Yeah, we can still make out in bed before we fall asleep!"

Drew cleaned you off then sat you down on his bed after dressing you. Then he ran downstairs and came back up with some cookies.

"You wanted a snack right?"

You nodded sheepishly and nibbled a few to maintain the lie you told earlier. When you finished you went to brush your teeth before bed.

You couldn't look at yourself in the mirror. You were ashamed you had let your brother violate you in such a manner. You were ashamed you were brushing your teeth like it was a normal night. Maybe you could escape or call for help when he was working. It was already early in the morning. His schedule had returned to normal, and he would be back to work in a few hours. You just had to play along and get into bed with him...

The trembling of your body didn't betray your fear, Drew just assumed you were cold and held you protectively under the blankets. He stroked your side gently. It would have been comforting before you knew he was a murderer. Now, it only made you tense. Though you did manage to grab a few moments of uneasy rest.

Upon waking, you realized you were oddly calm. Tranquil. When you had finally fallen asleep, he had sprayed you with another substance from his utility belt.

This time, it was just something heroes used to calm people down. Villains and sometimes people in shock. It was pretty harmless, so if he had to keep you mildly sedated with it, he could. Though he hoped he could adjust you to your new circumstances with it and then eventually wean you off. It made you a little calmer, happier, and more accepting of your situation.

You also found yourself collared. The inside was a soft fabric and the outside a rough material. It was locked to a long chain that was mounted to the wall. You could reach the restroom and the minifridge he had by his bed. A minifridge stocked with all your favorite snacks and cold meals, a mounted chain, a custom collar in your favorite color... How long had he planned for this possibility?

There was definitely anger and grief, but they felt much more muted than they should have been.

The first year or so as your brother's boyfriend was a bit messy. Despite the calming drug, you still had emotional outbursts and anxiety. But your brother understood. He wasn't going to abandon you just because you were a bit moody or said hurtful things sometimes.

He endured and the two of you got through. It didn't hurt that he had stockpiled illegal aphrodisiacs confiscated from human traffickers. They made a target especially horny for the first person who's DNA they were exposed to. Whenever he used it, you were hard and needy to the point of crying, and only his dick could make it any better.

It was a great breakthrough when your body finally got hard from his touch without the help of any drugs at all.

And then you started kissing him and leaning on your big strong brother whenever you got lonely from your isolation. He was the only person you were allowed to have any contact with, and the craving for touch became too unbearable.

Your broken mind slowly justified it and changed your perspective on how you saw Drew. The only other option was going insane.

He was just looking out for you and keeping you safe from evil people. It was all for your own good. He took care of all of your needs. Cuddled you, kept you safe, provided you with games and food, and he was always happy to give you his cock or hole whenever you needed it, even when he was tired from work. If you had trouble sleeping, he'd even gently slip his dick into you and rock you to sleep with the thrusts.

It had, at long last, gotten to the point where he could take you outside on dates again with no fear at all that you'd try to escape him. In fact, you'd cling to his arm for dear life no matter where you went.

Drew was so happy. Now everyone could see that you two were the perfect couple.

[annwrites24]

I'm working on a WIP right now, getting approximate word counts for chapters, and some of them are twice the length of others... Most are 3- 4k, but one is over 7k, and another is barely 2k, lol!!!!! Do I just need to get better at editing? Who knows.

Pls rb for a larger sample size; I'm looking for general opinions here!

[onekeii]

Wyman the Snowman

Day 1: First snow Game of Thrones: Robb Stark x Fem!Dornish!Reader Warnings/Genre: arranged marriage, fluff, show robb, light hearted game of thrones (god forbid) Word Count: 1,729 Summary: Your first time seeing snow. AN: Been working on a super long Robb fic for a while (10+ chapters in!) so this is a little teaser <3 excited for the rest of this challenge :))

Read on AO3

Weeks have passed since you first moved to the North, but it seemed the cold was something you might never adjust to. Just when you thought you discovered the ideal number of logs for your fireplace, or the minimal number of layers you needed to wear to not shiver while dining in the great hall, the next day would surprise you. The seasons turned; barren tree branches bent to the howling will of the wind and the sun dipped below the horizon faster with each cycle. You, too, had all but retreated, hugging your knees by the desperate fire.

“It’s snowing!” Laughter and footsteps barrel down the corridor outside your room, just as they pass your door the shrill voice rings again, “It’s stuck to the ground, come on- come on Bran, let’s go!” Slower footfalls follow, and they descend the spiral staircase together with varying levels of care.

Snow. The first snow of the winter season, and the first snow you had ever experienced. Dorne was lucky that it ever rained at all; snow was not something to dream about. It didn’t even appear in stories. All you knew was that it was cold and white, it looked soft but would sting your bare skin… Of course, you needed to see it for yourself.

You reluctantly crawl away from the fire and cringe at the draught that pours in through your window. But it pleasantly faces the courtyard, and for a moment you are blinded by how bright it is, like the Dornish summer sun. The courtyard is devoid of its usual drab of greys and muddy browns and darker greens, covered instead by a thick, white blanket. Already, Bran and Arya had ruined the perfectly flat surface, free from any grime or imperfection, in their valiant attempt to wade through. Now two lines streaked from the corner - the great keep’s exit - to the very centre of the courtyard. You’re a married woman, you remind yourself as you look away, you can’t just throw yourself face-first into the snow.

So, of course, you put on your layers and cloak, a warm hat and gloves… You’re still pulling them on your icy fingers when you, too, descend the spiral staircase. The doors at the bottom swing open for you and there it is: a wall of pure, white snow that reaches well past your ankles - the paths carved out by Arya and Bran before you would have to suffice to stop your skirts from getting soaked.

With one hand still bare, you reach out and close your fingers around a chunk, digging your nails in deep and prying a misshapen handful from the low wall. It really does bite, you wince but refuse to let go. It doesn’t slip through your fingers like sand. It just stays. And then it stings.

You drop the ball to the ground, wiping the cold and wet from your red palm on your skirts before finally putting on your glove. I’ll just check on Arya and-, you bravely step into the path they left for you, like trampled wheat in a field, when you notice a third party leaning against the stone wall - your husband.

“Good morning,” you say. Robb dips his head in acknowledgement, his attention still fully on his siblings playing in the snow. You hope that was enough to distract him from your spirited attempt to hold the snow bare-handed. There’s no way you can join the kids now unless your husband might start taking you for a fool. You turn to the door.

“This is your first time in the snow?” he calls out. He’s looking at you now, brown curls scattered with snowflakes and falling wildly about his face. He doesn’t wait for your answer and just holds out his own gloved hand - of course it’s your first time in the snow. “Let’s help Bran and Arya make their snowman.”

Robb leads you through one of the small paths, stopping now and then to push more snow aside with his foot or free hand, widening the path. Your skirts still scraped past it, but at least you didn’t need to push through with so much force. “What exactly is a ‘snowman’?” you ask.

He snaps his head around, “You don’t know?” You shake your head. Robb sighs, his breath turns to mist on its flight into the early winter morning, “It’s, uh, a man made of snow- We usually just roll up two balls of snow and stack them, and give it a face.”

You push your eyebrows together, “Why?”

“Why not?” A fair point. When you finally stop in the centre of the yard, you’re able to stand comfortably without the snow pushing into your dress - Arya and Bran had already cleared out an almost perfect circle in their excitement. “Here, if you push the snow together,” Robb grabs some from the infinite supply, clasping it carefully between cupped hands before holding it out to you, revealing a flawless ball, “It sticks, and we make our snowman like this, but bigger.”

You take the ball from him, watching it roll from one of your palms into the other with awe. “Man-sized?” You say. A laugh sticks to his throat. “Yes, man-sized, my lady,” he smiles.

The two of you spend the morning scraping and pushing snow into the centre of Arya and Bran’s carved-out space. Icy cold seeps through your thick leather gloves, rendering your fingers immobile, but you were desperate to see this snowman. Just when you thought the pile was tall enough, Arya piped up, “Taller! You’ve got to make his body taller!”

Looking at Robb in exasperation, your face twists in pain and horror when he simply nods at his sister and says, “Yes, ma’am.” She huffs in satisfaction and returns to the smaller pile that she and Bran are working on - it is to be the head, according to Robb. Finally, when the snow is piled as tall as you, and Arya gives a nod of approval. You and Robb start shaping it into a ball. He kindly offers to work on the lower half, so you don’t have to crouch and ruin your dress. Part of you wants to retire and just watch from your cosy window above - you swear you’d never forsake that draught again - but shaping really took no time at all. Sometimes he’d get carried away with his handiwork, sliding his hand over yours before you snapped your hand back. It warmed your face up just a little every time, making you thankful the cold had already bruised it red, and each glove-to-glove kiss reminded you of the last time you two actually touched.

Embarrassingly for a woman long-married now, it was when you exchanged vows on your wedding day. Robb’s warm hand, calloused and rough from swordplay, grasped yours gently. At night, you shivered in front of him in just your night shift, and he shook his head. “Only when you’re ready,” he said. You should have stopped him from leaving the room, but you didn’t want to. Weeks of nothing passed since; only polite, awkward conversations and short-lived glances.

“Finally!” Arya says. She was crouching by her perfectly round, smaller ball of snow. Bran smiled sheepishly on the other side as he watched his older sister spring to her feet and wrap her arms around their own masterpiece, lifting it up with ease and waddling over to Robb. He graciously lifts it from her without a word, carefully placing it in the divot the two of you left at the top of your perfect sphere. Robb steps back, and you follow, to admire the fruits of your labour. He leans over your shoulder and whispers in your ear before you can protest his proximity, “He looks like Lord Manderly, does he not?”

You scoff, trying to stifle your laugh, but it takes you by the shoulder and shakes you, “He does.”

Rickon soon comes flying into the clearing, holding out his hands to reveal several black and jagged stones in his palms. He looks up at you and Robb with blue eyes blown wide and mumbles, “I want to give him a face, but he’s too tall.”

“Oh dear,” you crouch down to face him properly. His lower lip is stuck out, pulling the corners of his mouth down, and his lopsided hat is evidence of a struggle to dress him properly. You tug it over his ears before scooping one arm around his shoulders and the other around his backside, pulling him close to your chest and standing up with effort. “How about now?” you bring him closer and he beams when he is perfectly level with the snowman’s soon-to-be face.

One stone is slightly off-centre - the nose, he says - followed by two eyes, one much bigger than the other. Then he presses the remainder into a jagged, upward-curve smile, underneath the nose. “Perfect,” you marvel. Robb smiles at you from the corner of your eye, and you shoot one back.

“Yeah! His name is Wyman,” Rickon exclaims, throwing out his arms in celebration and nearly throwing you off balance.

“Gods,” you whisper in shock.

Unsurprisingly, you were bedridden by the next morning. You weren’t even in the cold for as long as you thought, but your body had yet to adjust to such extreme conditions. The Maester assured you would be better in a few days. You hoped the snow would come again before then, staring fondly at the now lopsided Wyman, who smiled at your window from the courtyard below.

Two knocks at your door pulled you from your thoughts. “May I come in?” Robb’s voice was muffled through the thick wood.

Your hair was unbraided and, instead of the usual shapely dresses, you were just a ball of blankets and furs. You were sick, you could say no. What could he possibly want, anyway? To slide his ungloved hands over yours? To warm your shivering yet feverish touch? Finally, you speak up, “Come in.”

Robb slips into the window nook next to you, but you don’t take your eyes off the men at work in the dwindling snow. Every single one makes an effort to leave the proud snowman uninterrupted. A smile creeps across your face at the sight, at Robb’s presence, and at the way his fingers so naturally slip through yours.

@12daysofchristmas

If you enjoyed, please consider helping out by dropping a reblog or follow ☆

P.S. Thank you for letting me do this according to how I traditionally celebrate Yule !

[paperultra]

THE FIVE NONSENSES

[ SOULMATE!AU ] Pairing: Miya Osamu x Fem!Reader x Miya Atsumu Summary: Like most people, you do not meet the Miya twins so much as they are thrust upon you. Unlike most people, you are thrust upon them as well. read on ao3 | read on quotev

CHAPTER THREE: SMELL Word Count: 8,205 words Warnings: Swearing

“Hey, you! Join the photography club!”

You narrowly dodge the flyer thrust in front of your face, knocking back into someone in the process. Flustered, you move in the opposite direction, only to knock shoulders with another student walking the other way. Both of your apologies get lost in the noise.

“Join the basketball team! Winter Cup finalists two years in a row!”

“Improve your focus in calligraphy club!”

“Join kyudo club!”

“Join marching band!”

With a small huff, you grab the strap of Osamu’s schoolbag and squeeze through the crowd. Osamu looks over his shoulder at you, and you meet his raised eyebrow with a grimace; not long after, a hand presses between your shoulder blades to usher you forward.

“Dammit,” Atsumu grumbles, digging his phone out of his pocket. “Where’s the volleyball club?”

“Hell if I know,” Osamu says. “Call Aran.”

“’S what I’m doin’, dumbass.” Punching a few buttons, the other boy presses his phone against his ear with visible impatience. “Aran!” Your cheeks burn with embarrassment as Atsumu’s voice carries high over the clamor surrounding you, causing several students to swivel their heads. “Where the hell’s the volleyball club? … Class 1-7? Seriously?”

Hanging up without so much as a thank-you, Atsumu quickens his stride down the congested hallway. Osamu follows suit, and you end up seizing the back of his blazer as the three of you head to Class 1-7, evading arms and signs and flyers the entire way.

Having visited the school before to watch Ojiro play, you had known that Inarizaki High School is big; navigating it as a student on the first day of school, however, is a whole different animal. You hadn’t realized it was this big. Or this crowded. After a year of being large fish in a small pond, you now find yourselves in an ocean.

At least you have the twins to rough it with.

(It should be noted that your thankfulness varies wildly from hour to hour.)

Near the entrance to Class 1-7, you spot Ojiro wielding a bright sign advertising the volleyball club. He easily stands head and shoulders above most of the other students, and the sight of a familiar face helps you relax – even though you’d just seen him at graduation a few weeks ago, he somehow looks older here, comfortable and self-assured in the raucous halls of Inarizaki.

“Yo! Aran!” Osamu and Atsumu call out, running up to the second-year. You, still holding onto Osamu’s blazer, are unceremoniously yanked along.

Ojiro perks up and grins widely when you all reach him, freeing one hand to bump fists with the twins. “’Bout time you guys showed up. Thought ya chickened out or somethin’,” he exclaims, then nods at you with a grin. “Good to see you here too, [L/n]-chan.”

You smile back. “Hi, Ojiro-senpai.”

(Of all the people the twins consider friends, which have always been rather scant in number, you like Ojiro Aran the best.)

“Chickened out?” Atsumu scoffs. “No way. You scrubs are gonna need us if ya wanna win nationals this year.”

A laugh bursts out of Ojiro’s chest. “Don’t ya think you’re gettin’ a little ahead of yerself?”

“Yeah, well, what’s new?” Osamu pipes up. He elbows his brother’s side, jabbing a thumb at the doorway when the latter chokes up and glares. “Hurry yer ass up, ‘Tsumu, we haven’t even signed up yet.”

You cough. Ojiro laughs again, leading the three of you into the classroom.

There’s a ton of students already inside when you enter. In one corner of the room is the girls’ volleyball club, and in the other is the boys’, though many are mingling and wandering around to chat. A few are upperclassmen wearing the Inarizaki volleyball team’s jacket – the rest, you assume, are first-years hoping for a chance to join.

It’s not surprising for a school that’s gone to the Spring Tournament almost thirty times. Most of these applicants will be benched for their entire high school career.

Following Ojiro to the desk for the boys’ volleyball club, you encounter the two people sitting behind it.

“Arata-senpai, Kobayashi-senpai,” Ojiro announces, clapping one hand on Osamu’s shoulder and the other on Atsumu’s, “got a package deal for ya.”

The first thing you notice about Arata is how tall he is when he’s sitting down. Then he slowly stands up, and your eyes widen as he keeps going and going, finally stopping about half a head taller than Ojiro.

Arata breathes in, vulpine eyes narrowing, before he slams his hands down on the desk with a loud thwap.

“If it ain’t the Miya twins!” he chirps, voice much peppier than expected, and you choke back a surprised laugh. “I watched yer match last year at nationals. You two think ya have what it takes to be part of a powerhouse?”

“Why talk big when we can just show ya, senpai?” Atsumu says, as if he hadn’t been gassing himself up to Ojiro moments before. He pulls out his signup sheet, already filled out in his usual large, messy print, and slides it over to the captain, leaning over the desk with one hand on his hip. “Got yers, ’Samu?”

“Yup.” Osamu slides his over as well, handwriting slightly neater.

Arata takes the sheets happily. Your gaze falls upon his hands by chance, and then it remains there, taking stock of the scribbles of purple and red decorating his skin.

Ojiro whistles. “Looks like yer soulmate’s havin’ fun with some gel pens,” he comments, pointing at Arata’s hands.

“Hm?” The other boy blinks and takes a moment to inspect the words curving below his knuckles. His brow furrows, and he squints before finally breaking out into a goofy smile. “Ah,” he says, and his voice takes on a distinctly fonder, dreamier tone, “guess they are. They’ve been practicin’ hiragana a lot lately. See? Pretty good, eh?” Arata stretches his hands out face-down, showing them off.

(You can barely read the characters.)

“Neat,” Atsumu says, though his tone has flattened just slightly.

“Right?” Arata doesn’t seem to notice. “We’re gonna finally see each other in person next summer after I graduate. They’re graduating high school this June in Spain …”

“He’s really excited,” Ojiro mutters to the three of you, “in case ya couldn’t tell.”

The volleyball captain’s cheeks turn an endearing shade of pink. “What’s wrong with that, huh, Ojiro? I’m gonna spend the rest of my life with them, so it’s a good sign I’m lookin’ forward to it.”

Next to you, Osamu shifts and shoves his hands into the pockets of his pants. You feel his elbow brush against your arm, bare skin separated by layers of fabric.

The rest of your life.

A strange feeling forms in the pit of your stomach. It’s the same kind you get whenever your parents ask about Osamu, and whenever you see couples wearing matching outfits at the mall – a feeling a little less than longing, and a little more than guilt. Like you ought to be doing more, saying more, expressing more. Feeling more.

You wonder what it is like to be Arata, infatuated, proudly flaunting the colors on his hands.

The girl sitting at the desk finally speaks up.

“I thought we were talkin’ about volleyball, not yer love life, Arata.”

Your gaze moves away from Arata’s wrists and onto the girl.

Still sitting, she and the captain paint a picture of a mouse and an elephant, her tiny form complemented by large, expressionless eyes and a small nose. The maroon jacket hanging off her shoulders looks one size too big.

And yet, when her gaze flicks over and meets yours, you’re overtaken by a sudden chill.

Scary.

Arata jumps and glances down at her. “O-Oh, right! Sorry, Kobayashi-chan, I guess I got carried away.”

“It’s fine.” Kobayashi continues to stare at you, and you start to feel slightly uncomfortable. “’S why I’m here.”

“Yeah!” Coughing, Arata rubs the back of his neck and turns his attention back to the twins. “Gettin’ back on track … if it isn’t obvious already, Kobayashi-chan is our manager. She’s real good. Real detailed.”

“But I’m also in my third year, which means we’re currently lookin’ for a new manager for next year,” Kobayashi supplies. “So if ya happen to know any first-years who’re qualified and willing to apply for the right reasons, please let me know.”

Your brow furrows at that.

“Whaddaya mean, ‘the right reasons’?” Osamu asks.

A sheepish laugh escapes Arata’s throat. “Well … the volleyball team’s pretty popular, so we get a lot of folks wantin’ to be manager just to get closer to the team and see if one of the members is their soulmate.” He sighs. “It’s not that I wanna keep any soulmates apart, but those kinds of applicants slow down the search, and obviously, we want a manager who actually wants to manage.”

Ah. Already, some of your peers already seem like they’re on a time crunch to find their person. Soulmates are getting to be a bigger and bigger deal as you get older, and with that comes certain expectations. It’s not hard to figure out why some would hope to have someone popular and athletic.

“Sorry, don’t know anybody like that,” Atsumu replies at the same time Ojiro says your name.

You look at your senior, surprised.

He directs a finger upwards. “Ya know volleyball pretty well,” he points out. “Wanna apply? You already manage the twins, after all.”

“Oi, what’s that s’posed to mean –”

Arata seems to finally notice you, eyebrows raising. “Oh! Sorry, didn’t see ya there,” he exclaims. “What’s yer name?”

Reluctantly, you step up next to Osamu and introduce yourself.

“[L/n]-chan. So ya know the twins?”

“I’ve lived on the same street as them since elementary school.”

“Really! Ya must know them well, then.”

“More than well,” says Kobayashi.

She points down at your hand. Arata follows her finger, and you resist the urge to curl your pinkie when his mouth drops.

“Oh, damn, you’re soulmates with – er, uh –”

Osamu and Atsumu just stand there, watching the captain flounder. After a few seconds, you reach up and tug Osamu’s earlobe sharply.

“Osamu,” you say, both as an answer and as a scolding, ignoring the muttered ‘ow’ coming from your right.

Clapping his hands, Arata nods. “You’re soulmates with Osamu-kun! Wow, that’s amazing. And you’ve been together since elementary school? He’d think and play better with you just bein’ there.”

You smile, embarrassed.

“That doesn’t make her the right candidate, Arata,” says Kobayashi. “Even if she really wants to manage the team, she might still prioritize Osamu-kun over everybody else. The last thing I want is a manager who picks favorites.”

She says it so bluntly, so seriously. Your smile weakens as her words hit a sore spot you didn’t know you even had.

There must be a good way to disagree. The two truths of the matter are that being a good manager would mean risking being a bad soulmate, and that being a good manager is a risk you can afford. Osamu isn’t the type of person who needs to be worried about. He gets scraped up, but he doesn’t mind it, and he knows his limits. If a player got hurt right as Osamu called you for something, you know you’d check on the other player first. Even if the other player was Atsumu. (Maybe.)

Osamu simply does not need you to take care of him. You don’t know how to express this without seeming like you don’t care as much as you should.

Atsumu cuts in before you can organize your thoughts into words.

“She wouldn’t,” he says, “unless it’s me. But ’Samu and I are soulmates, so we’re already at our best when we’re on the court.”

The upperclassmen before you tilt their heads simultaneously.

“… Wait,” Arata says after a while, slowly. “You’re tellin’ me that Osamu-kun has two soulmates?”

Osamu glances at you, eyes half-lidded, and you can only meet his eyes for a few seconds before you have to look at the ground.

“Guess I’m favored,” Osamu replies.

“Wow.” Huffing out a laugh, Arata crosses his arms. “Two soulmates … huh. I wonder how that works …” Kobayashi grunts and he clears his throat. “S-Sorry. Anyway, [L/n]-chan, if you’re interested in the manager position, just fill this out and give it to Kobayashi-chan. We’re taking applications until July first or until we find someone, whichever comes first.”

He hands you a sheet of paper, and you take it tentatively.

“My phone number’s at the top in case you have any questions,” Kobayashi adds. Her voice lowers, but its monotony remains. “And if ya end up applying, know that I won’t show any favoritism just because of yer soulmate.”

You take in a breath through your nose, fingers curling into the application in your hands. “Yeah, of course.”

She nods once, then leans back in her seat. The set of her mouth relaxes just slightly, and she crosses her arms, morphing from a cutthroat manager to a tired senpai.

“See ya after school. Good luck,” she says. Her eyes bore into yours. “To all of ya.”

There’s a moment of silent surprise between you, Osamu, and Atsumu. Then all three of you bow as Ojiro and Arata chuckle.

“Thank you!”

—

The twins, predictably, become one of three first-year regulars on Inarizaki’s boys’ volleyball team. You place your manager application in the top drawer of your desk, which you pull out frequently over the next three weeks just to stare at the blank form, unsure about the whole thing.

Saturday afternoon rolls around, and you’ve taken the paper out of your binder and set it on top of your desk at home when your phone buzzes.

Osamu: you home

You: yeah

Osamu: ok

And that’s it. You stare at your screen for a few seconds, unblinking, before you shoot up from your seat and scramble to your dresser to get changed.

Five minutes and a bit of haphazard cleaning later, there’s a few firm knocks on the front door, followed by incessant banging. You stalk over to open the door before it’s knocked off its hinges.

“I could hear you,” you tell Atsumu, unimpressed, as the two enter and shuck off their shoes.

“I know.”

He deftly dodges the kick you aim at his ankle. This usually happens nowadays, unfortunately, but it doesn’t stop you from trying.

“’S just you here?” Osamu asks, shuffling into some slippers and walking further into the house. His gym bag hangs from his shoulder, big and bulky, and you look at it curiously.

“… Yeah?”

“Fer someone left home alone all the time, you’re duller than a rock,” Atsumu says. “Folks’re gone and ya don’t even throw a party? Geez.”

You narrow your eyes as he grins. “Maybe I just want peace and quiet after havin’ to sit in class with you all week, Atsumu. Anyways, why are you guys here?”

You receive no answer. After eyeing the kitchen, Osamu turns and heads down the hallway, prompting you to follow. You’re further confused when he enters the bathroom and sets his bag on the countertop.

As he unzips it, Atsumu squeezes past you and reaches into the bag, pulling out a –

A shower cap.

“… Is the shower at yer place broken or something?”

“No,” Osamu says, and he pulls something else out. “Ma’s home.”

You stare at the box in his hands. Then you look back up at the twins.

“She’s gonna kill you.”

—

Watching Osamu and Atsumu bleach each other’s hair is like watching a train wreck in slow motion.

Their dark T-shirts have speckles of orange on them, there are bits of foil littering the sink and the bathroom floor, and the acrid stench of bleach filling the bathroom is starting to creep down the hallway. You can only hope it doesn’t linger past Sunday night when you go back to the dorms.

“If you screw this up, I’m shaving yer giant head in yer sleep.”

“I’m doin’ it better than you did, ya scrub!”

You stand outside, shirt collar pulled up and over your nose, as Atsumu finishes combing through the top part of Osamu’s hair. It’s an incredible thing to witness: Osamu sitting on the shower seat, hunched over and holding a sheet of foil over his undercut while Atsumu hangs over him, wearing one of the shower caps to keep his own hair out of the way. It’s also a disaster.

You lift your phone up to snap a quick picture.

“Oi! What’re ya doin’?”

“Making a present for Ojiro.” Upon viewing the photographic evidence, you realize something. “You’re not gonna tell Auntie that you dyed yer hair at my house, right?”

“Don’t worry about that,” Osamu assures, letting Atsumu hold onto the foil while he pulls on a shower cap. He sets a timer, and the two of them hurry out of the bathroom to escape the fumes. “She won’t be thinkin’ about the details when she finds out.”

“Like she’d ever blame ya, anyway.” Atsumu scoffs. “You’re the favorite and you ain’t even her kid.”

“Well, I don’t wanna take my chances.” You recall the countless number of times the twins had received a whooping for something stupid they did, and the countless number of times you had just barely managed to slip under the radar by keeping your mouth shut. “Y’know, she might make ya dye it black again if the school doesn’t like it.”

“Please. If anything, they’ll thank us fer givin’ them an easy way to tell us apart.”

“Is that why you’re dyein’ yer hair? You’re already in different classes.”

“It ain’t fer class,” Osamu says. “It’s fer volleyball.”

Atsumu presses his back against the wall and slides down to the floor, pulling up a game on his phone. “Some of the scrubs still can’t tell us apart on court,” he sniffs. “’M tired of it.”

That, you think, makes a lot more sense.

Osamu and Atsumu have always taken full advantage of being identical twins. You’ve seen them pull just about every stunt in the book – switching the way they part their hair on random days, pretending to be the other when one of them gets in trouble, making money off classmates who bet on knowing who’s who (and lying on more than one occasion). Looking alike isn’t usually a point of contention between them.

When it does bother them, volleyball is usually involved. They don’t always wear different shirts or numbered jerseys at practice, and you’ve been to enough of them to know that this can cause issues at the beginning of the year. The coach calls out the wrong name, a teammate calls for Osamu when they mean Atsumu, things like that.

They get especially miffed when one gets praised for something the other did. Atsumu, in particular, hates that the most.

“Ya have anythin’ to eat?”

Head snapping up, you look at Osamu and nod halfway through absorbing what he’s just asked. “There’s leftover onigiri in the fridge and snacks in the cupboard,” you reply, stepping over Atsumu’s outstretched legs to lead his brother towards the kitchen.

(“Heat up an onigiri fer me,” Atsumu calls out.)

(“Get it yerself, lazy-ass,” Osamu shoots back.)

In the kitchen, you fish out the last two onigiri the twins’ mom had given you yesterday and present them to Osamu.

“Here. You and Atsumu can each have one.”

“These the ones with salted salmon?”

You nod.

Osamu thinks for a moment. His lips purse, his eyelids droop, and even though he kind of looks like a lunch lady with that shower cap on, it’s cute.

“I’ll make ochazuke and yaki onigiri,” he decides. “What do ya want?”

“I’ll just have some chips or something. I just ate lunch, so I’m not that hungry.”

He stares at you, then accepts the onigiri from your hands. “Okay.”

Putting the rice balls on the counter next to the stove, Osamu retrieves a small plate, a bowl, and a mug from the cupboard. He finds most of everything else pretty quickly – the cast iron skillet under the oven, the spatula in the drawer right next to the fridge, and the soy sauce and oil in the lower corner cabinet. The only thing he asks for you to locate is the green tea, which you get from the depths of the second shelf in the pantry.

While he works, you grab a bag of your favorite chips and pop it open, leaning against the unused counter on the other side of the stove to watch.

You like it whenever Osamu cooks. The click of the stovetop turning on, the curve of oil being poured into the skillet, and you’re rocking gently in a small boat, curled up in an overstuffed chair on a rainy day.

(It’s an extension of how he feels, you’ve learned – for as much as Miya Osamu loves volleyball, he loves food just a teeny bit more.)

When the oil is hot enough, he unwraps one of the onigiri and places it in.

You turn the opening of your chip bag towards him as he wipes his hands on a towel. “Here,” you offer once he notices.

“Thanks.”

Atsumu’s onigiri sizzles in the skillet while the water for Osamu’s tea continues to heat up. Osamu mirrors your posture on his side of the stove, messily crunching down on several chips, and the two of you wait.

“Didja apply for the manager position yet?”

You swallow too early, rough shards of chips cutting down your throat. Fighting the urge to cough, you shake your head and reach for the water you’d left on the table this morning. “No. Still thinkin’ about it.” He hums. “You guys haven’t found one yet?”

“Kobayashi-senpai’s real picky.” He flips the onigiri over with one sharp push of the spatula, brushing soy sauce over the freshly grilled side. The water boiler beeps right after, and he seamlessly transitions over to pour the hot water over the teabag in his mug. “Most of the applicants we saw were annoyin’, anyway.”

“Oh.”

You recall the last practice you’d attended, watching from the balcony with your homework as the team ran laps around the court. The applicant on trial that day had watched them go by a few times, still and proper, before suddenly turning to Kobayashi and excusing themselves from the gym. They never came back.

On the walk back to the dorms that evening, Atsumu explained that the student had a counter for how many times their soulmate would pass by them.

(“Waste of time n’ space,” he’d complained. “Who’d wanna be with someone that desperate?”)

“Ya wouldn’t be half bad at it.”

“… Yeah …”

“If ya don’t wanna apply, just say so.”

“It’s not that. I just don’t know if I’ll wanna do it for the next three years.”

“Whaddaya want to do, then?”

“I dunno.” With a sigh, you set your bag of chips down. “I mean, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to apply.”

Osamu shrugs. “If ya are,” he says, turning off the stove top, “don’t do it just ’cause of me.”

Your teeth sink into your lower lip, sharp and knowing as he flips the yaki onigiri onto the plate he’d pulled out earlier.

After calling Atsumu, who had migrated to the living room couch while he had been waiting, the twins scarf down their afternoon snack in no time at all and raid your cupboard for the complimentary snacks your parents usually bring back from their trips.

Halfway into his fourth wafer, Atsumu’s timer goes off.

“Oh, shit.” Shoving the rest of the wafer into his mouth and silencing the alarm, Atsumu gets up and eagerly makes a beeline to the bathroom.

“… Do ya think it worked?” you mutter as you and Osamu stand up more slowly.

“I dunno.”

A loud swear explodes from the bathroom.

You look at each other sharply. Wiping the crumbs from your lips, the two of you run over to investigate.

As you get closer, you hear the sink running, then Atsumu muttering underneath his breath.

When you peek into the bathroom, your eyebrows shoot up into your hairline.

Holy shit.

“Holy shit,” Osamu says, leaning past you to get a better look. “’Tsumu, ya look like a carrot.”

“Shaddup, ’Samu,” Atsumu moans, rinsing his hair angrily. “I know. Fuck.”

Hair bleach on dark hair, as you find out, works similarly to hair bleach on dark fabric. Contrary to the sandy blond the older twin had desired, the result he had gotten is instead a bright, burnt yellow-orange matching the stains on his T-shirt. Not carrot, necessarily, but definitely not blond.

“Ugh.” Nose and forehead wrinkling, Atsumu leans toward the mirror, pinching a section of hair between his fingers. “It … it ain’t that bad, right?” His pitch rises with the slightest hint of denial. “I’m pullin’ it off.”

“It’s that bad,” Osamu says.

“’Samu!”

“Maybe you can bleach it again?” you suggest.

“And then his hair falls out? Bad idea.”

“Dye it, then, like you are.”

“We don’t have money left to buy a different color.” With a sigh, Osamu puts his hands on his hips. “Damn. Sorry, ’Tsumu.”

Atsumu groans and thunks his forehead against the mirror, dripping water all the way down its surface onto the counter. His frustration is so palpable that you can feel it prickling your skin.

If he hadn’t been so excited before, you’d probably poke fun. You should poke fun, but the disappointed twist of his lips and the droopiness of his sopping wet hair just makes you feel bad. He looks like a wet puppy.

Dammit.

You take your phone out.

Osamu tracks the movement. “Whatcha doin’?”

“Lookin’ something up.” You press on the first link you see, skim the webpage quickly, and put your phone back into your pocket. “I’m headin’ out fer a bit. Stay here.”

“… ’Kay.”

“Whatever,” Atsumu grumbles.

After grabbing your wallet and checking its contents, you head outside to drag your bike out from underneath the vacant carport. And as you hop onto the seat, pedaling down towards the nearest drugstore, you tell yourself that Atsumu better thank you on his hands and knees once you get back.

—

“Blue shampoo?” Atsumu’s tone is suspicious as he slathers the back of Osamu’s hair in grey dye.

“It’s supposed to cancel out the orange.” Turning the bottle to face you, you read the description beneath the brand name. “‘Eliminates brassy, orange undertones.’ See?”

“It ain’t gonna fuck up my hair even more?”

“’Course not,” you retort, all hopes of veneration quickly fading away. “I ain’t an asshole, Atsumu.”

His eyebrow twitches, hands slowing. You take the opportunity to place the bottle sideways in the crook of his neck, forcing him to tilt his head to hold it in place.

“Oi –”

“Go try it. I’ll finish Osamu’s hair.”

“Yer so bossy,” Atsumu grumbles, but he lets you nudge him out the way, peeling his gloves off and grabbing the shampoo.

You snap some gloves on in turn, keeping one eye on Osamu’s hair and the other on Atsumu as he ducks his head beneath the sink faucet. They’d pretty much finished up applying the dye for Osamu, at least from what you can tell, so you start combing through the locks with your fingers to make sure everything is covered.

Miya hair is very thick. Soft, too. You hope all this bleaching and dyeing won’t ruin it too much.

“Hm,” Osamu hums abruptly.

You stop. “What?”

“Nothin’.” You furrow your brow but resume, only to just barely hear him mumble, “… Feels nice.”

Oh.

A smile crawls onto your lips without warning, the space behind your ribcage suddenly cozy and soft.

“Alright, I’m doin’ it,” Atsumu announces. You look up just in time to see him squeeze a dollop of shampoo into his hand. “Euch! It’s so blue!”

“Why do ya sound so surprised?!”

“Shaddup, I just wasn’t expectin’ it to be so dark! … Smells okay, though …”

While the shampoo does its work on Atsumu’s hair, you take a little extra time combing Osamu’s. He remains quiet and still, thumbs tapping idly on the dark screen on his phone. You wait for him to make more snide remarks at Atsumu’s expense or complain about the smell of the dye, but he doesn’t.

You eventually finish up while the water still runs blue and sudsy into the bowl of the sink. Osamu mutters a thank you and ambles off after eyeing his brother for a few seconds. You linger for a while longer.

(God, you hope it works. If not for Atsumu’s sake, then for your pride and your wallet.)

After what seems like forever, he rinses out the last of the shampoo, wrings his hair out a bit, and straightens up to look in the mirror.

You examine his reflection as well. It’s less orange, yes, but still not as light as he had wanted, more gold than sand. Not necessarily good, but certainly less bad.

Atsumu fixates on the more muted shade of his hair for a minute or two. His lips press downwards at the corners, and then they part to say your name.

You blink.

“What?”

“Why’d ya buy the shampoo?”

He sounds almost accusatory, but not quite; there’s an undertone that you very, very rarely hear in his voice. He meets your eyes in the mirror, hair a dripping, tangled mess.

“… ’Cause I felt bad fer ya,” you admit unwillingly. Atsumu makes a face, and you sharpen your tongue, because that is what feels comfortable with him. Normal. “And I didn’t want to hear ya mopin’ and complainin’ about it all week.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” he persists. “I coulda pulled it off.”

You scoff. “Just ’cause you’re taller than most of the school doesn’t mean they wouldn’t’a noticed. And anyways, it’s better now, ain’t it?”

“I didn’t ask ya to buy it.”

“Ya didn’t even know what it was until I told you.”

“An’ if I did, I still wouldn’t’ve asked!”

“Yeah, ’cause yer prideful ass would rather die than ask fer help!” you snap, jabbing his bicep with your finger. “God! I knew ya wouldn’t even say thank you!”

“Well, if ya knew I was gonna be a dick about it, why’d ya waste yer money?!”

“I felt bad fer ya!” you screech. “My mistake!”

“Yeah, yer mistake!” Atsumu shouts back.

Chest heaving for breath, you glare at him. He glares in return. Temper pinks his face and the tips of his ears, flares his nostrils and curls his lip in that fierce and familiar way. In the back of your mind, you know you are doing the same.

Asshole.

You’re angry, yes. And offended, and exasperated, and and and –

And hurt.

“It’s so hard,” you say, your voice deciding to crack at the worst time possible, “to be nice to you sometimes, Atsumu.”

When the words leave your throat, his face grows blank in that way you’ve always hated, his mouth pressing into a fine line.

“So?” he replies.

You roll your eyes. “Forget it.”

Casting one last glance at the bottle of shampoo next to the sink, you clench your fists and turn to leave. What a waste of money. This is the last time you’re ever going to feel bad for him.

A hand wraps around your elbow upon your first step outside the bathroom.

“… Are ya cryin’?”

“No,” you bite, wishing he hadn’t asked because now you do feel like crying, just a little bit.

Atsumu pauses for an excruciating moment. You can practically feel his distaste for whatever words he’s about to say.

“I’ll pay ya back,” he mutters. “Fer the shampoo.”

“No.”

“Whaddaya mean, no?”

“I don’t want yer money.”

“Well, what do ya want, ’cause I ain’t owin’ ya anything.”

“I want a thank you.”

“… Can’t I just –”

“No.”

Atsumu throws his hands up. “Fine!” he says. “Thanks fer buyin’ somethin’ I didn’t ask fer! There, ya happy now?”

“I want ya to mean it,” you say quietly.

“I did mean it.”

You cross your arms.

He groans. Glancing around as if checking for hidden cameras, Atsumu slowly pushes his bangs away from his face and wipes his nose, sniffing.

“… Fine,” he eventually grumbles at the floor tiles. Cheeks puffed, he looks up at you from the corner of his eye and scratches the back of his head. “The shampoo fixed it a little bit,” the words struggle their way out of his mouth, “so … thanks … fer gettin’ it fer me. Ya didn’t have to.”

He looks like he’s just eaten soap, his ears still red, and that’s how you know he’s being sincere. Your shoulders relax a little bit.

“You’re welcome,” you say.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Atsumu’s expression, almost doleful for just that moment, blooms into something more sarcastic once you accept his gratitude. He gestures at the doorway behind you. “Can I go now?”

“Dry the mirror and the counter first.”

“But I said thank you.”

You throw a towel at his face and walk away, more satisfied than not.

—

“How’s Osamu-kun doing?”

You prop your phone up against the wall behind your desk, tilting your pen between your fingers. “He’s fine, Ma.”

“Did ya tell him how good his curry is? He makes it better than me.”

“Yeah, he says he’s glad you guys like it.”

After resolving the blue shampoo issue with Atsumu on Saturday, you’d gone back to the kitchen and found Osamu chopping vegetables and tofu next to the sink. At first, you figured he was hungry again, but upon your questioning, he’d only denied it.

(“’S fer you.”

“… Fer me? No, you don’t have to –”

“Yeah, I know. Ya don’t like the curry at the cafeteria, so bring mine back to the dorm and save it in the fridge fer later. If ya don’t want it, leave it fer yer folks to eat when they get back.”)

He didn’t leave much room for debate. And since he was using your family’s food to make it anyway, you accepted, a bit perplexed but happy nonetheless. You hadn’t expected him to remember your complaint about the cafeteria’s bland curry.

The amount he made was enough to fill two Tupperware containers, one of which you left for your parents when they returned two days later. Needless to say, they were delighted.

“What a thoughtful boy. He’s so good to you, honey.”

You smile, walking back to your desk. “Yeah.”

(“Ya like dark chocolate in it, right?”)

Your mom sighs. It’s a familiar sigh, and you click your pen, knowing what she is about to say before she even takes a breath.

“I just don’t know why he hasn’t asked ya out yet.”

You can hear your dad speak up between chews in the background. “It ain’t like how it was back when we were young, dear. Soulmates these days don’t like makin’ things so formal and official.”

“Oh, I know, but wouldn’t it be sweet? I was so happy when we went on our first official date.”

“The one at the konbini ’cause I couldn’t afford anythin’ nicer?”

“Yes. I loved it.”

“I know. You were smilin’ the whole time.”

“Glad you’re still in love,” you say dryly when they giggle over the phone, your nose wrinkling when your dad comes into view to give your mom a loud smooch. During these moments, you wish you’d called instead. “I’m still here.”

“Oh, I know, I know. Honey, you should bring Osamu-kun somethin’ fer his next game! A snack fer afterwards. He’ll like that.”

“Okay.” You’ve done that before. The first time you gave him an orange in your first year of junior high, he and Atsumu squabbled over dividing it for five minutes. Now you get double portions whenever you have the compulsion to bring something after games, just to keep the peace.

“Speaking of games …”

Here we go.

“… Have ya applied to be the manager for the volleyball team yet?”

“Um.” Glancing at the wall to your right, you click your pen some more, taking your time to answer. “I filled the form out …”

“[Y/n]! If ya dawdle, someone else’ll snatch it up. When’s it due?”

“July first or until they find someone.”

“Turn it in tomorrow!”

“Okay, okay.”

Your mom sighs again, and she places a bowl down onto the table. “… Otherwise, are ya okay? I’m sorry we missed ya at home.”

“It’s fine. I hung out with Kokomi and the twins. How was yer anniversary?”

“We’ll make sure we’re home next time you’re on weekend leave. And it was lovely! Oh, honey, ya should’ve seen the fish yer pa caught …”

You talk with your parents until they finish their dinner, hanging up once they’ve started cleaning up. As soon as the video cuts out, you release a breath and turn your phone face-down.

You don’t know why you’re so nervous about applying for the manager position. It’s the natural thing to do, because it’s natural to want to be involved with something Osamu is interested in, his own opinion on the matter notwithstanding. You think you might like being a manager. It’s not like you want to do something else more.

Getting rejected by Kobayashi would be horrible, though.

Maybe you’ll wait a little longer to turn your application in. Polish it up some more, and such.

—

After volleyball practice ends, and after everyone who had lingered behind to practice some more is ready to call it a night, Atsumu tells you and Osamu that he’s staying a little longer to practice his jump float serves.

“Are ya sure? Cafeteria’s servin’ all-you-can-eat pasta for dinner.”

“I’ll be done before it closes.”

Osamu doesn’t look convinced. To be fair, neither are you; Atsumu often loses track of time when he stays behind, resulting in an extra hungry, extra irritable Atsumu.

“Atsumu,” you say.

He huffs at you. “Seriously, I will!” he insists, before turning to walk back to the end line. You, Osamu, Ginjima, Akagi, and Ojiro all look on helplessly as he throws a volleyball into the air and gives himself a running start.

“Don’t worry,” Kobayashi says, grabbing your attention just as he jumps. She holds up the key to the gymnasium. “I’ll kick him out before he misses dinner.”

Ojiro, ever the responsible one, lets out a noise of protest. “Senpai, I can lock up. You should go.”

“No, it’s fine.” Though her tone is impassive, she makes it clear that her mind is set as she waves him off. “I’m goin’ out to eat with my boyfriend later, anyway.”

You blink.

Though Ojiro is visibly reluctant, he acquiesces. “… Okay. Thank you, Kobayashi-senpai.”

“Mmhm,” Kobayashi hums, and her gaze falls upon you. “Make sure they get to the cafeteria in one piece, [L/n]-chan.”

“I will, senpai.”

You wait outside while the guys change out of their gym clothes and gather their things. Once they exit the building, you join them, listening idly to their chatter about today’s practice as the five of you trek towards the cafeteria.

“Hey, Ojiro-senpai, Akagi-senpai,” Ginjima speaks up during a lull in the conversation. “What Kobayashi-senpai said earlier …”

Attention piqued, you look at your upperclassmen for their reactions to Ginjima’s question. Next to you, Osamu does little to hide his curiosity as well.

Ojiro and Akagi, in turn, share a glance, and Ojiro raises an eyebrow at Ginjima.

“Yeah?” Ojiro replies.

“Well, y’know …” Ginjima presses expectantly, “when she said that she has a boyfriend, did she mean …?”

“That’s somethin’ you can ask Kobayashi-senpai about, ain’t it?”

You imagine doing just that and cringe.

Ginjima’s eyes widen, and he clears his throat. “Well –!” he replies, a bit too loudly. “I would, but I don’t want her to think I’m bein’ judgmental or somethin’. Plus, I’m just a first-year …”

“Aw, I think it’s fine if they know, Aran. It ain’t like she’s hidin’ it or anythin’,” Akagi says. Ojiro looks up for a moment in thought, then shrugs tentatively, and Akagi smiles at you and the two boys. “Kobayashi-senpai’s not datin’ her soulmate. They’re pretty serious, too.”

Ojiro rests his hands behind his head. “He’s a nice guy. Comes to games sometimes.”

“Oh, I see …”

You nod slowly, absorbing this new piece of information. Kobayashi has a boyfriend. A boyfriend that she goes on dates with, one she really likes. You wonder how long they’ve been together.

You wonder if Kobayashi’s met her soulmate yet.

“E-Excuse me! Hello!”

The quick patter of footsteps interrupts your train of thought. Glancing behind you, you stop short when you see one of your classmates running up to your group, waving one hand and holding a camera in the other. The golden orange of the sky burnishes her red hair.

“Naruko-san,” you and Ginjima greet at the same time. Ginjima laughs.

“Sorry to bother ya!” Naruko bows and quickly straightens, holding her camera up and smiling nervously. “I-I was just takin’ some pictures for photography club, and I was wonderin’ if you guys would mind me takin’ a picture?”

“How long’s it gonna take?” Osamu asks.

“Not too long. Five minutes? U-Unless y’all are in a hurry to get somewhere …”

“Not too much of a hurry. Just wanna make it to dinner.” Ojiro smiles, patting Osamu and Akagi’s backs. “Where do ya want us?”

Naruko brightens, her cheeks going red. “J-Just keep walkin’! The lighting’s perfect right now, and I wanna take a picture of yer backs with yer volleyball jackets on.” She glances at you, and her expression grows more nervous. “Er …”

You lock eyes with her for a few seconds before catching on. Nodding, you take a step towards Naruko to join her.

Osamu’s hand grasps your shoulder.

His hold is loose, but you bite back the urge to slump over at the sudden warmth of it, pausing instead to look back at him.

“Where’re ya goin’?”

You answer tentatively. “I don’t have a team jacket.”

“That’s fine. You’re walkin’ with us too.”

“Yeah, but …” You wet your lips. “Like, visually, it’ll look weird if one person doesn’t have one on …”

The corner of Osamu’s mouth twitches, and he frowns. You watch as his gaze moves past your shoulder. A sudden, brief twinge of irritation, not belonging to you, zings through your ribcage.

“Why’s that matter?”

“Yeah. C’mon, it’ll be fine,” Ojiro says.

“It’s okay!” Naruko suddenly blurts, and you jolt slightly, looking back at her. She bounces on her feet, voice even higher pitched. “I can do a more candid shot, now that I think about it! A-Actually, Miya-san, could ya give [L/n]-san yer jacket? And Ginjima-san, you can keep yers around yer waist …”

Her sudden change in idea perplexes you a bit. But Osamu seems to be satisfied, and he shrugs his jacket off, placing it over your shoulders.

After a bit of hesitation, you slide your arms through the sleeves.

(It’s just as warm.)

“Ooh, [L/n]-chan’s wearin’ Osamu’s jacket,” Ginjima teases behind his hand, and your face heats up.

“Okay.” Behind you, Naruko lets out a wistful-sounding sigh. “I’m ready. Y’all can start walkin’ now, just like ya were before.”

With only a bit of self-consciousness, the five of you follow her instructions. There are only a few clicks of the camera before Naruko calls out her thanks and goes off without another word, leaving you and the boys to speculate whether you’ll ever see the results.

“How cute,” Akagi comments. “She looked like she was gonna throw up, though.”

“I hope those were conflicting statements.”

“Okay, Aran, I wasn’t implying …”

While the two upperclassmen start to banter, you move to take Osamu’s jacket off, only for him to stop you.

“’S fine,” he says. “You can wear it if ya want.”

“Oh. Okay.”

And so you do.

—

The boys’ first practice game in July is brutal.

Many of your peers have come to watch. It’s a favorite after-school pastime of Inarizaki’s student populace, you’ve quickly discovered, to hop from one athletic club to the other simply to spectate and speculate. People pack the balcony and peek around the doorway, catching the scent of blood and sweat.

Between the crowd’s cheering and jeering, the squeak of sneakers on the gym floor, and the sound of palms ramming into volleyballs, the atmosphere is sharp, almost electric – something that you feel tingling on your skin as you stand on the sidelines, Kobayashi right by your side.

Atsumu delivers another devastating service ace. It ricochets off the corner of the other side of the court with a thunderous boom.

“Did you catch that, [L/n]-chan?” Kobayashi asks, arms crossed. “That was one of his better ones.”

“Ah, sorry, I didn’t.”

“Hm.”

You watch the slow, satisfied stretch of Atsumu’s smile, and wait patiently. “It’s okay. He ain’t done yet.”

Indeed, Atsumu is just getting started. You spare an amused glance at Osamu in front of the net, his hands locked protectively behind his head, before turning back to Atsumu as the volleyball is thrown back to him.

Raising your camera, you adjust the focus, finger ready on the shutter button.

Toss. Run. Jump.

Click.

On your other side, a girl pumps her fists and cheers.

“Wow! Another one!” she gushes.

You smile behind your lens. “Ya always sound so impressed, Tsubaki-chan.”

“I’m just excited! We’re crushin’ them in the last set!”

“’Course we are,” says Kobayashi. “Our offense is that much better. I’m a little disappointed.”

As your upperclassman patiently points out each player’s strengths and weaknesses, you keep an eye on the team and crouch low. You’ve got plenty of photos now that the game’s nearing its end – lots of sets, a few spikes and digs, some flashy jump serves. Hopefully, some of them have turned out halfway decent. Even though you’d widened the aperture to make up for the gym’s crappy lighting and adjusted the shutter speed for blurring, you still worry about your timing.

By the time Inarizaki scores the winning point, you’ve moved to the opposite end of the court and have to race back to capture their reactions.

One thing you like about the volleyball team is how expressive they are. Joy, passion, pride – off the high of a victory, they bare everything, whether it’s through their expressions or the way they move or both.

Tsubaki says your name excitedly as soon as the teams have finished thanking each other, tugging on your arm. “Can I see the action shots, [Y/n]-chan?” she requests.

“Ah, sure.”

You turn the camera towards her, and she leans in as you scroll through the photos, her grin widening.

“Wow! Yer timin’s amazin’. They look so cool!”

The praise brings summer to your cheeks. “Thanks,” you reply genuinely. After a moment of hesitation, you lift the camera again. “Smile, Manager-san?”

Tsubaki doesn’t hesitate to broaden her already present grin, throwing up a peace sign for good measure. Kobayashi looks your way as well, and you take one shot, knowing it will be kept.

“Cute!” Tsubaki exclaims.

Two shadows loom over your shoulders as the girl bestows you with another compliment. When you turn your head to the right, your nose nearly brushes Osamu’s cheek.

“Ya got any good shots of us, [Y/n]?” Atsumu asks expectantly.

“Yes, actually, I did,” you reply, going back through the camera roll with a particular image in mind. You’re only vaguely aware of the warmth they exude as they budge into your personal space, the smell of sweat lingering on their skin. “Here.”

You’re particularly proud of this one. It had been a split second of pure luck, standing on the sidelines when a window of opportunity opened for a fast-tempo set. You had felt it – you knew Atsumu would set to Osamu, and as Osamu jumped, arm reared back as Atsumu sent the ball to him, you had captured it.

Somehow, you always get the timing right with them.

“Cool,” the twins approve proudly.

“Email that one to us, will ya?” Atsumu says. “I ain’t lettin’ you photography nerds hoard it away.”

“She’s sendin’ all these to Arata-senpai, ya dolt.”

“Hey, I wanna see!” Gintama breaks into your little group, trying to sneak a peek in. “Did ya get one of my spikes?”

“Yeah, how about my jump serve?”

“That super cool block me and Ren did in the second set!”

“Didja get one of Coach?”

One by one, the team gathers around you, eager for a glimpse of their successes. The crowding is uncomfortable, but you try your best to show them what you can anyway, feeling a rare sense of pride about your own accomplishments.

You’re happy with your choice.

Tsubaki will be a great manager. Even when you first met her, you knew she had everything she'd need for the job – a passion for the sport, a desire to help others succeed, and an endless amount of perseverance. Inarizaki couldn’t ask for a better person to replace Kobayashi next year. She’ll do well in what she’s decided to do.

And so will you.

—

prev

[spnbabe67]

Til I'm Drunk Loved Up In Your Kiss

Kinktober Day 31: Mask Kink

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem Original Character

Warnings: Smut, PiV, Rough sex (Dean gets smacked like, 2 times), clothed sex

Summary: Dean reaps the reward when Tori gets a little too close to a certain demonic friend who spills some secrets

Word Count: 2221

Authors Note: Title is a lyric from the song You Belong to Me by Cat Pierce and the fic is inspired by this post from @cheynovak

Happy Halloween! Stay creepy, lovelies!

Tag List: @zepskies @king-of-milf-lovers @nightxcreature

All Hallows Eve. A holiday enjoyed by kids and adults alike, albeit with different activities. Adult Halloween activities varied wildly from going door to door begging for candy while dressed in costumes in the likeness of Disney characters, superheros or animals. Well, technically they still wore costumes, but they didn’t beg for candy from strangers anymore, they bought it with their own hard earned cash. It wasn’t like kids were trick or treating at the big, decrepit warehouse that sat above the Men of Letters bunker, so there was no need to decorate the outside. Inside was a different story. Tori and Sam had ganged up on him, insisting they throw a Halloween party for them and their other friends from out of state (And from beyond the Earthly plane). He’d been primed to say no, but damn Tori for giving him those eyes of hers that instantly had him caving, reluctantly agreeing to the plan. 

All month the three of them had accumulated enough decorations to put Spirit Halloween to shame. He was half convinced Tori had raided every one in a 10 mile radius with the amount of decor and themed crap she’d brought back with her. The night before, once their friends had started to arrive, Tori and his brother practically never left the kitchen, brewing up delicious smelling desserts and finger foods (literally, Tori had concocted a snack made of mini sausages that looked like gnarled fingers). All of them had carved out pumpkins and decorated the Bunker from floor to ceiling in decor until it could have passed as a haunted house, garnering compliments from friends and family as they started trickling in, all dressed in various costumes. 

Dean had a couple issues with the guest list. Two to be exact. He’d shot Tori a look as Rowena and Crowley poofed into existence, the King of Hell needing no costume outside a pair of tacky devil’s horns on his head, his mother aptly dressed like Jessica Rabbit. His lover had simply shrugged, greeting them with a smile and an offer of candy out of a large plastic cauldron bowl. Dean crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes at Crowley as the demon walked past him, a smug grin on his face. The flaps of his gauntlets flapped against his chest, reminding Dean of something peculiar. 

While everyone else was dressed up, Tori had yet to reveal her costume, greeting their people in a pair of jeans and a tank top. Sam had gone the funny route, dressing up as Bob Ross, even letting Tori perm his hair into picture perfect curls. Dean had gone with the classic superhero, donning a department store quality Batman suit complete with the gloves, belt and a mask. He knew she had one, he’d seen the extra bag from Spirit and had picked up the packages from the front stoop, ones she’d secretly squirreled away to places unknown to him. Once the mother-son duo from Hell migrated further into the Bunker, Dean walked over to Tori.

“Really?” Dean asked, giving her a look

“What?” She shrugged again. “We’re on good terms, at least for now. Friends close enemies closer right? ‘Sides, I like Rowena. She has fun stories” Tori checked the slim banded watch on her wrist. “Do you mind watching the door while I go change? Everyone came in at once and I haven’t gotten a chance to slip away yet.”

Dean nodded, taking the cauldron-bowl from her.

“Thank you, My love.” Tori shot him a grin and Dean forgot how he could even be irritated with her. She leaned up on her tippy toes, pressing a kiss to his cheek below the edge of the mask. “Lookin’ good, Bats.” Tori winked at him as she walked away.

After nobody came through the doors for a good 15 minutes, Dean placed the cauldron on the table Tori had set up. Risking the wrath of his girl for leaving his assigned station, Dean wandered off further into the Bunker. Faces of friends and family greeted him as he moved through the halls, some participating in the games they’d set up, others had cozied up in the Bunker’s home theatre where Tori had figured out how to preprogram a set schedule of Halloween movies to run throughout the night for those who were feeling a little less ‘peopley’ as she’d put it.

Dean followed the sound of raucous laughter into the kitchen where the site of Tori stopped him in his tracks. She always stopped him in his tracks, sending his heart aflutter, but this. Fuck-she’d outdone herself tonight, and Dean wasn’t sure how to feel about it. She had slipped into a black long sleeve dress so tight it might as well have been painted on, the hem stopping mid thigh where a pair of over-the-knee boots continued down her legs. A wide black ribbon was tied around her waist, a make-shift scabbard for the sword that was tucked against her body. A black mask obscured her face above the slightly crooked bridge of her nose, broken in her youth and never set right, and a wide and flat brimmed hat placed atop her freely flowing hair. Tori tipped her head back, laughing at some joke Charlie and Claire made, Dean’s eyes tracking the exposed column of her throat as she did.

His mouth went dry at the sight of her, dressed to the nines, a physical embodiment of one of his oldest fantasies. A fantasy he’d only mentioned to one person they both had regular contact with him. Dean found Crowley’s eyes already on him, smirking behind the rim of a tumbler filled with dark liquid. Oh it is so on, asshole. Dean walked up to Tori, wrapping his arm around her waist, making her look up at him, pressing her darkly painted lips together trying to suppress a knowing smirk. 

“Hey, Babe.” She said, her greeting laced with cheeky pride, and Dean knew damn well she could see past the mask obscuring his features. “What do you think of my costume? Pretty cool, huh?”

“Yeah! Tori was just telling us how Crowley gave her the sword.” Charlie chirped from where she sat at the table, dressed in one of her LARPing costumes. “I was just trying to convince her to lend it to me for Moondor.”

“I love it.” Dean stammered out, so many emotions and feelings coursing through his body he swore he was vibrating. “Can I-can I talk to you real quick? There’s an issue with the theatre.”

Tori quickly wrapped up her conversation with Charlie and Claire before following Dean out of the kitchen. She knew damn well there was nothing wrong with the theatre, she saw the way he reacted when he saw her in her costume; the cheap mask did absolutely nothing to disguise the blush painting his cheeks as he stammered out his excuse to get her out of the kitchen. But she wanted to see how long he’d keep this up.

“So, what’s wrong?” She asked, adjusting the sword that Crowley had given her specifically for this purpose. Sure, the King of Hell could be a backstabbing asshole sometimes, but he was good for some things too. “Is the film reel fucked again. I can go back and fix it.”

Dean didn’t respond, simply, opening the door to their bedroom and shoving her into the room, slamming it behind her. 

“You’ve been talking to Crowley.” Dean accused, and Tori watched him scan her body for the third time in the last five minutes. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She played dumb, and it took everything in her not to burst out laughing. 

“I’m gonna kill him.” Dean grunted, dropping down onto the bed

“Okay okay, calm down.” Tori giggled, unable to keep the charade up any longer, walking up to him, placing her hands on his shoulders. “Yes," Crowley told me. I think he was trying to make fun of you but little does he know how much we like to experiment.”

Dean examined her costume, running his finger under the ribbon tied around her waist. “It’s a good costume. I mean, you’re always hot as hell, but fuck Tor.” 

Tori huffed a laugh, plucking the mask from Dean’s head, tossing it off onto the desk. “Yeah? I’m glad you like it, Babe.”

“I do.” Dean slid his hand up her side. “I really do.”

Tori leaned down in the same moment Dean stretched up, their mouths meeting in the middle, noses bumping. Both of them laughed at the blunder before reattaching their lips, more coordinated this time. Tori tucked her hair behind her ears, snatching the sword from her waist and tossing it on the bed. Dean’s hands roamed up and down her sides and back, coming down to cup her ass, guiding her down to straddle his lap. Her hands carded through his hair as she settled on his lap, feeling his hardness poke against the inside of her thigh, the pants of his costume doing nothing to hinder his erection. 

Dean’s hands on her hips guided her as Tori rolled forward on his lap. He squeezed her hips in time with her movements, moaning into her mouth. That was one thing of many she loved about him. He was so damn vocal and every time, without a doubt, it got her going almost more reliably than his wandering hands. Tori trailed kisses down his jaw, her teeth grazing the skin as she made it to his neck, pulling a low sound from it as she found that one spot below his ear, sucking a dark mark on it. 

Her hand glided down his chest, bumping along the soft contours of his muscles through the skin tight shirt, gripping the yellow plastic buckle engraved with the Bat Signal insignia. Dean’s hand fumbled with her’s as they worked the finicky buckle undone, pushing it to the sides, hanging by the belt loops. He hissed a breath as Tori’s hand slid under his pants, under his boxers, to wrap around his length. Dean shifted enough to push his bottoms far enough down his thighs to free his cock and sit further back on the bed. Tori shoved him back on the bed, matching the grin he sported as she readjusted her position above him. Her dress had already hiked up far enough on her thighs for Dean to catch a glimpse of the black lace panties covering her core, matching the overall vibe of the outfit. 

He watched with bated breath as she slid a hand between her thighs, sliding her panties to the side, positioning herself over him before sinking down. Both their heads tipped back as the fat head of his cock pressed against her entrance as she sunk down, his length splitting her open. Tori steadied herself with her hands on his chest as she adjusted to him seated fully inside her, her walls fluttering around him. Once the initial sting had given way to the pleasurable full feeling, Tori began to move. She bounced up and down on his cock, thighs lifting her almost all the way off him before dropping back down. Tori set a quick pace, roughly fucking herself on his cock. 

She looked down at Dean, his hands having found their way to her breasts, kneading them through her dress. She bit her lip, as the curve of him brushed against that tender spot inside her inner walls. 

“Do you, uh,” Tori stuttered. “Do you want me to, um-”

“Yes.” Dean finished, the single syllable a raw plea. 

Tori nodded, leaning down to kiss him sloppily, the exchange dripping with passion before she pulled back. Before she had a chance to to think too much about it, Tori pulled her hand back before letting it crack across his face. The ragged moan the action pulled from Dean had her nearly cumming on the spot. Tori snapped her hips down hard on him, his grip on her hips helping her maintain her pace. She let herself just feel the moment, feel the heat and the tension crackling between them, slapping him once more

That was enough for Dean to let out a strangled moan, his cum spurting inside her as Tori chased her own high. It came when Dean slipped his hand between her legs, rubbing her clit until she shuddered and clamped down on him, throbbing around his cock. 

“Was that okay?” Tori asked, lifting herself off of him, grabbing a tissue from the nightstand to clean herself up. 

“Fuck, Tor, that was so much more than okay.” Dean reassured her, helping her off his body before pulling his pants back up, resecuring his belt. “That was fucking hot as hell. Mostly because it was you doing it.”

She grinned up at him as she readjusted her panties, pulling her dress back down her legs, looking more civil than she had seconds ago. Tori grabbed her makeup wipes from her desk, beckoning Dean over as she cleaned up the traces of her lipstick staining his face and neck before removing the stains from her own face. She met his gaze in the mirror as she reapplied her lipstick. 

“Everything you ever hoped and dreamed?” Tori laughed.

“Even better.” Dean agreed, kissing her shoulder.

[senditcolton]

So Tragic and Rare

"It's Almost Frightening" (pt. 23)

word count: 3.2k warnings: none! previous part 🧡 next part masterlist

Andrei’s eyes are fixed to his left, looking out the back window of Keely’s large Escalade with one of her security guards – Issac, he believes – sitting next to him. The city of New York passes by as the car turns left and right, eventually coming to a halt in front of Electric Lady Recording Studio.

And Andrei sighs when he sees a large crowd standing outside, their cameras trained on the car.

There is, of course, a large number of paparazzi but the mass of people includes other fans, both Keely’s and – dishearteningly – his own. He can see the bright red of a few Canes jerseys scattered throughout the crowd. When the news first broke, Andrei had been hoping that not much would change his sphere of their lives; that his fans would still give him the space they always had.

He shakes his head briefly, to knock the negative thought of the people that supported him turning so quickly. There was an equally likely chance that the few Canes jerseys he saw were being worn by newer fans who were unfamiliar with the unwritten rules of sports fandom.

The new garnered attention towards him and the Carolina Hurricanes was one of the many things that had changed after the news that he was dating Keely broke. In the month since that first headline, supported by paparazzi shots of him and Keely in one of her cars, so much had changed in his life.

Security at every arena the Canes had gone to had been beefed up because people were now desperate to see Keely Halloran’s boyfriend. He had to ignore fans holding posters with her face pressed against the glass during warmups. Not to mention the normally incessant updates on Keely’s life were now also focused on him. And the newfound attention directed his way was both extremely positive and wildly negative – just like Keely said it would be.

One of the hardest and most complicated parts of all this change were the talks that Andrei was forced to have with the entire organization: Coach Brind’Amour, his teammates, the social media team, etc.

The talks had been as varied as the reaction to the revelation that Keely and him were dating.

The people inside the locker room were chill about it, somehow implicitly understanding that this was not the way Andrei or Keely wanted their relationship to be revealed. They kept their questions to a minimum – even Seth Jarvis, who Andrei had to slightly thank for the knowledge of Keely’s very existence – instead focusing on their goal as a hockey team. The media team conversations had been less successful. Although Andrei made it clear that he didn’t want his relationship to be front-line news, the crew and employees were anxious to capitalize on the hype now surrounding the team. They wanted to play into it, not to mention that it was hard to hold off and ignore the sheer number of comments they received begging for Andrei and Keely content.

Andrei had to scoff when that point was brought up in these meetings. How did they think that he and Keely felt?

Andrei had managed to put his foot down – at least for a brief time. Since every one worked under the organization, the powers that be allowed Andrei the time to talk to Keely and figure out the next steps. They did, however, make it clear that he had only a short window of time and if he didn’t give them an answer or game-plan soon, they would start making decisions themselves.

That’s when he texted Keely asking to meet. And it was she who once again suggested he come to the recording studio in New York City. The same place of their very first ‘official’ date.

Crazy how much could change in seven months.

Back then, Andrei did not have to clear this brief trip after practice with Rod. He was able to walk down the New York streets himself, refusing Keely’s offer of her town-car. He didn’t need security guards by his side, just a hat and sunglasses. He could enter the studio unnoticed and uncaptured by cameras.

None of those facts were true anymore.

“Ready for your first pap walk?” Issac asks from beside him, Andrei’s attention fliting to him briefly before turning back to the crowd awaiting him outside the door.

Andrei doesn’t think he is but if this is what he had to endure to get to Keely, he would. He knows that he would move heaven and earth just to be in her presence, so he gives a small sharp nod of confirmation. He watches as Issac and one of Keely’s other security guards – Jason – step out and make sure the path is clear. With another deep breath, steeling himself for one final time, he pushes open the car door, stepping out onto the New York street.

The instant he appears, the shouts and screams start. Andrei can’t even piece together the questions being hurled his way, just the sound of his name being yelled over and over again. He keeps his head down, focusing on his white tennis-shoes, only glancing up to make sure that Issac is holding the door open. The last thing he needed to do was make a fool of himself in front of all these people in this wildly unfamiliar and frankly uncomfortable situation.

A small sigh of relief falls through him when the studio door closes behind them all, the raucous muffled. Andrei can still hear it leaking through the cracks into the lobby but the worst of it was over. His nerves are eased more by Jason clapping him on the back and Darcy, the receptionist – the same one from back in March – shooting him a gentle smile.

“She’s in Studio C,” Darcy tells him, her voice gentle and he responds with an equally soft ‘thank you.’

The winding hallways are familiar now, Andrei having been here multiple times. It was a comfortable almost domestic aspect of their shared summer, a few quieter moments outside of the travel and adventures. That wasn’t to say he didn’t love exploring the world with Keely. But he knew he enjoyed watching Keely work more. Sitting in the recording studio, listening to her singing, brainstorming, and creating – it was something magical. He was sure she felt the same way about him when she tagged along to practice rinks and gyms to watch him in skate and train.

The summer allowed them to find their footing and fall into each other’s lives and worlds so seamlessly. Then… this.

Part of him that wishes they could go back, return to a moment when it was just him and Keely existing peacefully in the world without the pressure of outsider’s perspectives.

But when he pushes open the room of Studio C, Keely’s arms wrap around him in an instant and the feeling of her warmth, the scent of her perfume, the sensation of her body pressed against his… that was all the peace he would ever need.

There is no stopping the way he melts into her touch, wrapping his arms around her in kind and burying his face in her soft curls. Andrei steps forward, never letting go of Keely – simply guiding her further into the room. Behind him, he can hear the click of the door closing, leaving him and Keely alone in the small studio.

It takes every part of his strength to even slightly pull away from Keely, just so he can see her face. His brown eyes connect to her beautiful blues and he can feel his heart ache behind his ribcage at the look of concern and sadness in those crystalline pools.

“I’m sorry,” she says, her head going to rest on his chest, the words still falling from her mouth. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

“Hey, hey,” comes his gentle reply, his hands gently running over her hair, soothing her. “It’s okay. We’re going to be okay.”

Andrei gently directs her to the leather couch pressed against one of the wood paneled walls, the two of them sitting down, their bodies now separate but still close; knees touching, his hands holding hers.

“It’s not okay, Andrei. None of this is okay. I’m – I’m just… I’m so sorry. We should’ve been more careful, we should’ve… I – I never wanted you to get mixed up in this. Not like this.”

Andrei’s hands tighten around hers in an attempt to quiet her racing thoughts. He can so clearly see that her mind is spinning and, in that moment, he realizes that he didn’t know how she had been doing since the news broke: if she was forced to have tough conversations she had to have, how much she was confronted by people about their romance.

He was new to this lifestyle, to the amount of attention that was now directed at him. But he was an idiot to think that Keely was unaffected by this simply because she had been living with it for longer.

The revelation sent shockwaves through her life as well, not just his. And yes, while she was able to put on a mask of apathy and bravado, he knew that underneath that was someone who was just as scared and overwhelmed as he was.

Especially how stark of a contrast this was to their rekindled romance over the summer. Those months they had spent together were beautiful and private – reminiscent of the beginning of their relationship but with more trust, more communication.

Now they were exposed, out in the open for everyone to see and comment on. Now they had to reckon with this.

“We’re going to be okay,” Andrei repeats, looking Keely deep in the eyes, willing her to understand. Hoping that his words seep through her skin, giving her some semblance of peace. He can see Keely only partially relax, her teeth still worrying the dry skin on her lips, her eyes directed to some point in the room, thoughts and attention clearly directed to the outside world. Andrei can almost see the scenes flashing through her head – thoughts of everything that has happened and everything that could happen.

“But…” she begins, trying to piece together her thoughts. “What people are saying – about us, about you. This isn’t how this was supposed to go. This wasn’t part of the plan.”

A soft smile appears on Andrei’s lips, silently laughing at Keely’s insistence of a plan. A plan that had never existed. Sure, they had talks about when and how to reveal their relationship to the world – mentions of Instagram posts or statements to trusted magazines. Nothing was ever set in stone though.

But he didn’t point that out to Keely, at least not now. Instead, he just nods his head in agreement, letting her find comfort in what she could.

“It wasn’t.”

“I – I never wanted this to happen. I know how much the tabloids bother you – what they’re writing about, how critical they can be…”

Keely’s voice trails off, her gaze still not directed towards him. Andrei can feel the jolt of panic rush through him at the sight: her eyes growing even more distant, her hold on his hands loosening.

She was pulling away. And that fear was confirmed when her next words echo around the room.

“I know that you never wanted this. I understand if you… if you want to take a break. Not see each other for a while. Let things calm down.”

“Keely,” Andrei says, his voice tight. “Keely, look at me. Please.”

Something in his tone – the concern, the worry, something – finally causes Keely to look in his direction, her eyes connecting to his again.

“I am not going anywhere.”

He says those word with every ounce of conviction that he can muster, puts in as much gentle force into his tone as he can, begging her to understand. Andrei watches as her shoulders relax, that distance in her eyes shifting, disappearing slightly as she focuses her attention onto him.

“But…” she starts, her voice still a little hesitant. “Before… it bothered you. A lot and it – it’s awful what they’re saying about you. And it’s worse than it was back in April.”

“April? Keely, that’s in the past.”

“But…”

“Sweetheart, we’re different people. I’m a different person. Now I know. When you walked into my house that day in June, I knew exactly what I was signing up for. All this – all this noise – is part of your life. And if I want to be with you, it’s just something we’ll have to face. Together.”

Andrei can see Keely soften more with every word, her body language relaxing almost completely. A small part of him thrums with joy at the comfort he can provide her. It was a testament to the life they had created together – a testament to their strength.

“And yeah,” Andrei continues, his voice becoming lighter, bringing the humor that always painted their interactions into this conversation. “This definitely wasn’t the best way for our relationship to be announced to the world. But, hey: when has our relationship ever been normal?”

The sound of Keely’s gentle laughter hitting his eardrums has always been beautiful but now, in this moment, it was one of the most relieving noises, cutting through the chaos that existed outside of this private room. They fall silent, the quiet enveloping them as they sit and digest everything that has happened.

“I’m sorry,” Keely says, her blue irises darting up to meet him. “For freaking out like that. That was… that was the past talking. I shouldn’t have listened to it.”

“You have nothing to be sorry about. It’s a hell of a situation. And a break is a possible solution. But…” Andrei says, gripping her hands tightly within his, a smirk on his lips. “I’m not letting you go that easily.”

It is Keely that now makes the first move. She adjusts her body, moving herself closer to him, curling her legs underneath her body. Andrei’s body allows her to find space next to him, his own body relaxing as Keely rests her head against his chest. His arm circles her as they lean back against the leather cushions, Andrei’s hand drawing deft circles on her side, the fabric of her t-shirt sliding against her skin.

“So,” Keely says, her voice breaking the silence. Andrei’s eyes dart down to her to find her already looking up at him. “What are you going to do?”

“What are we going to do?”

“What are we going to do?” she corrects.

“I don’t know,” Andrei sighs, “but we’ll figure this out. Just like we have with everything else.”

The silence falls again and Andrei lifts his eyes up to survey the room, wracking his brain, sorting through every possible option of how to move forward from here.

They could go release a statement to one of Keely’s trusted publications, their words filtered through her publicist and his agent. They could try to remain as private as possible, avoiding the cameras and ignoring the tabloids as best they could. They could go to their social medias and try to control the narrative as much as they could. There was also the option of distancing themselves – not a permanent severance but only existing together in places that were safe and secure: their homes, the recording studio, the tunnels of the Lenovo Center. Or they could –

Andrei quietly scoffs as the idea dances through his head. No. That was insane. Even in the early talks of going public, this option was never even mentioned. But…

“I have an idea,” he gently begins, the sound of his voice pulling Keely’s attention to him. “It’s a little weird so I don’t know if you’d be up for it.”

“Tell me any way,” Keely replies, her body scooting closer to him. “Besides, I can’t say whether or not I’d be up for it if I don’t know what it is.”

Andrei laughs, shaking his head in agreement to her logic.

“Well, I have the Rangers game tonight. And you, you wanted to attend your friend Abby’s album party here later tonight as well, right?”

Andrei watches as Keely nods her head, seeing her eyes swim and her brows furrow as she tried to figure out why he was bringing up their itinerary, trying to guess the idea that popped into his head.

“Well, what if we both go to each event?” he proposes, the words still painted with uncertainty at the insanity of the entire idea. He can see the proposal hit Keely, practically watches it filter through her brain and the realization seep into her bones.

“You mean?”

“Yeah,” he affirms before continuing. “You come to the Rangers game as my girlfriend. I come with you to the album party afterwards as your boyfriend.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Just because people know about us doesn’t mean that we can’t live our lives.”

“You know what that means though,” Keely asks, her voice strong as she lifts her body away from him to face him completely. “You understand that the more we go out, the more we’re seen together… we’ll just be giving them more to write about, our names the subject of more headlines.”

Andrei keeps his gaze locked on her, watching every expression that crosses her face, analyzing every single detail. He can see the concern in her eyes, the hesitancy, but he also understands that beneath that fear is her desire for certainty. Her need for confirmation that he isn’t just saying this to be funny or that he would take it back after some time has passed. That he means every word, that he understands what would happen if this is the decision they make, the route they choose.

He lifts his body upright, his hands coming to find hers again.

“I know. But I also know that we’ll be able to handle it, yeah?”

Andrei watches a soft smile tug at the corner of her lips. The two of them sit there, letting the silence fall over them again. Andrei just keeps his eyes glued to Keely, letting her sit and digest everything that was said: his crazy proposal, what it would mean for them if they went through with it, if she even wanted to go through with it.

He is ready for any possible outcome, any words to fall from her lips, be they affirmative or dismissive. But he didn’t need for her to say anything when he sees another smile appear on Keely’s face, her eyes jumping to connect to his.

Because her smile coupled with the light in her eyes… it was mischievous, devilish, bright, joyful. It was the smile that she had directed him so many times. It was a look that he had seen for the first time up in that hotel bar in Toronto.

There she is. There’s the woman he knew, the woman he fell in love with all those months ago.

“Well,” she says, elongating the word, that smirk still painted across her face. “If they want to write about us… let’s give them something to write about.”

a/n: and oh boy, are they about to give them all something to write about! and you all something to read about... later today!! that's right, it's another double drop day!

taglist: @fallinallincurls @laureniray @comphy-and-cozy@smileysvech@pyotrkochetkov@thewintersoldierdisaster@svexhenthusiast

let me know if you want to be tagged in this story or if you want to add yourself to my general taglist, click here!!

[mrfancyfoot]

Plots & Prosody: Prompts

Raphael x Evie (f!OC)

.

- Bite of Cold -

"Just because Raphael must dispose of the many enemies standing between him and his rule of the Hells doesn’t mean he needs to be wasteful.

Or: Raphael presents Evie with some nice, new hides of his enemies furs to fight off the chill of winter that has come to Baldur’s Gate."

Prompt: Warming the Chill

Happy Solstice! I’ve been ill (again) and wanted to write something warm and seasonal between some other stuff.  This installment swings kinda wildly from dark power fantasy to cute fluff to dark/very suggestive romance. :)

.

Rating: M / NSFW

Word Count: ~2k

Timeline: Plots & Prosody, Part II - Canon

Tags: POV Raphael; Evie (She/Her Pronouns Used; Has Fox Features); Hellhounds; Dark Romance; Fluff; Indulgent Schmoop; Date Night; Story Time; ❄️ Seasonal Gift Giving 🎁; Raphael’s Theatrics; Raphael Has a Praise Kink if You Look Close; Raphael's Thinly Disguised Size Kink; Devil is Smitten; Only Soft For Her; Devil Courtship

Warnings: Violence & Gore (Skinning an Animal); Murder; Possessive Raphael; Voyeurism; Highly Suggestive Sexual Content (Referenced PiV and Oral - No Sex "On Screen," but Raphael's gratuitous in his language)

Main Fic (Rated E/Varied): AO3 + Tumblr | Master List (contains related prompts)

[Quick Context: After being isekai'd by the nautiloid, Evie spends most of Plots & Prosody Part I (Game Events) “befriending the devil,” yet denying him her soul.  Once things settle after game events, Evie goes about her new life kick-starting her business and re-inventing modern-day things. As somewhat of a demi-ro cinnamon bun, she remains oblivious to Raphael's attempts at courting her and chalks many of his more questionable behaviors up to cultural differences.]

Part of my devil courtship series.

❤️ Thanks for reading! :3 ❤️

It wasn’t often that he fouled his own claws with the mind-numbing task of dispatching pitiful devils but a pair in particular had caught his eye as they skulked about through the shadows, searching for weaknesses and information among his forces to take back to their master.

Winter was blanketing the City of Baldur’s Gate and through the strife and ruinnous magics, a brutal cold had descended upon it.  He recalled the frequent shivers and complaints of the chill from his little fox. Until it was safe to do so with Avernus fully under his reign, he could not move her more permanently into the heat of his home and embrace.

But…

Being a provider of warmth in another manner was the next best option as he continued to woo her.

“You should feel honored.  Your pathetic hide shall now grace another - a gift for the future Archduchess!”

Snapping jaws and sharp claws were no match for him.

He admired the dense, rippling fur of the hellhound within his grip, its toothy maw wide and long tongue lolling about in a manner belying more life than its owner.  Its brethren lie broken and motionless at his feet.

With a surgically careful claw, he sliced and rent the hides from pungent, bloody flesh, uncaring of what became of the mass of slaughtered carcasses dropped to the dirt.  Thrilling, though, it may have been, to skin them alive and shrieking, he decided against chancing anything less than perfect for his gift through their struggles.  Raphael now thought only of how best he should present them to her.

The only challenge due him in this battle had been in avoiding unduly marring the hounds as he struck them down.  A successful endeavor for the hunter!

He had his spoils delivered to a skilled furrier.  After three days' time, he paid them a visit to inspect and collect the final products.

What awaited him were two glossy, soft pelts of midnight black fashioned into a pair of blankets and a scarf that retained their hellish heat and would repel even the harshest of winter chills.

He ran a hand over the finished furs.

Magnificent.

.

.

Wishing to bypass the tedium of being made to wait in her receiving room by her housekeeper, yet still invoke that mystique of a courtly suitor, he arrived, instead, just beyond her balcony doors.  With the curtains drawn open, he was able to silently spy inside her bedroom.

Evie was seated at her vanity readying herself with her back to him.  For their evening out, she had donned a conservative, green, velvet dress and blackened, sheer stockings.  The sash around her slender waist was bowed above the dense fur of her tail, the tip of which swayed just above the floor.  Her fingers worked quickly to thread strands of curling auburn hair into a braid, pinning it behind her ear with a matching bow.  

She did like her pretty collection of hair bows and clips and combs.  

They lent to the air of flirtatiously chaste innocence that he knew merely guised the seductive vixen beneath.  He would look forward to peeling away the layers like gift wrap to reveal the pale flesh beneath later.

Now, as practiced…

He rapped sharply on the glass causing her to whip around in surprise.  The fox lept from her stool and rounded her bed, unlocking the bolt and twisting one of the knobs to push open the door.

She looked up at him with a bright smile and waggle of her tail.  “Hi, there!  Come in, come in.”

“Good evening, my dear,” he returned as he took the door from her and closed out the chill behind himself as he entered her room.  

“A bit early today, yeah?” she teased as she returned to her vanity and prised open a small tin.  “I was just finishing up, though.”  Her finger rubbed a balm into her lips.

A quiet sound directed his attention to an odd contraption sat upon her bedside table that hadn’t been there when he visited the prior tenday.  A large glass container was filled with gently gurgling water and misting it into the room at intervals.  “A new apparatus of yours?”

“A humidifier!” she exclaimed with pride.  “My skin’s gotten so dry with the cold, and I picked up a bit of a morning cough from the dry night air.  It’s helped quite a bit!  Keeps the plants happy, too.  Since I don’t have a giant pool in my bedroom and all.”

He smiled at the ribbing but frowned as another thought occurred to him.  Avernus was inhospitably dry and his pool of restoration served multiple purposes to create comfort within his home, but her bedroom provided there was isolated from it.  His hospitality could not be found wanting by his intended.

“It is a clever thing.  Next you visit my House, let us devise a solution for your quarters.”  Though he could merely provide himself, he did love listening to the unique ways her mind worked.  And allowing her to aid in such decisions bonded her closer to all that would soon be hers.

“It is pretty dry there, too.  I can just make another,” she shrugged.

“I believe we can do better for a more permanent fixture.”  He regathered himself and straightened.  “But that is a distraction for another time - I did arrive early for a reason.”

“Oh?”  Evie canted her head, curiosity piqued.

With a grin, Raphael strode to stand in front of her fireplace, closing her curtains with a snap to set the desired atmosphere.

He heard her quiet gasp, “Story time!”  She picked up her vanity stool and moved it closer to watch raptly.

“As the Avernal sun cast shadows about the desolate land, sneaking from between the depths of ruddy mountain and cliffside, I did spy a pair that moved,” he began his captivating tale.  “Hellhounds!  Intelligence gatherers working fleet on their feet for Archdevil Zariel.  Monstrous canid devils with coats of blackest pitch and glowing maws that spit and drool fire.”  The fire behind him sparked forth embers with his words and she jumped, her eyes wide.

“I, of course, could not allow such beasts to cross the line of battle and weasel their way around my forces!  Away, I lured them, to an outlying crag, whereupon I descended in ambush from the very shadows through which they moved.”  He dimmed the fire and drew forth a clutch of flaming embers into his fist held up in mimicry of one of the hounds’ flaming mouths.

“Though they howled and thrashed their claws about, neither was any match for my might.  But!  As I fought, I took the utmost care to preserve them whole.”  He dropped the embers from his hand and they fell glowing to the floor as they extinguished.  “My enemies were soon crumpled - dead at my feet with nary a scratch upon them thanks to my diligence.”  Arms spread wide, he dipped into a brief bow to signify the end of his short performance and heard her begin to clap.  He then held a finger aloft to pose his question that halted her applause, “And whyever should I have bothered to expend such effort, you may ask?”

He approached Evie, falling to one knee as he brought forth one of the furs with a flourish.  Her lips parted in shock as he draped it about her shoulders.

Dainty hands rose to clutch and pet along the fur in wonder.

“For you, my dear, to chase away the bite of the harsh winter chill that has befallen this city.”

She looked from him to it, appearing unsure.  “For me?  This is…them?”  Torn on the gift?

Smirking at her form swallowed within the dark fur, he replied, “It is, indeed!  Hellhound hides retain their magical properties to produce heat.”  His hand rose again and the rest appeared neatly folded upon her bed.

“Better than letting them go to waste, I suppose,” Evie reasoned to herself as she eyed them, a means to justify acceptance of the gift.  Silly woman, were animals not routinely hunted for their furs and hides and any other parts deemed of use?  These curs should be honored to be repurposed thusly! She brought the fur to her nose and inhaled contentedly.  “It smells like you.”

Inwardly, he thrilled at her obvious approval.

With the fur cloaked around herself, she stood and walked to the bed.  Standing in front of the other furs, Raphael watched as she pitched forward and planted her face into them.  “So warm!” she crooned happily as she rubbed her cheeks against the furs.  “We should go before I fall asleep like this,” Evie warned.

With reluctance, she stood and shook her head.  Pivoting on her heel, she marched to him and threw her arms wide.

Though he was becoming used to her affectionate mannerisms, her sudden embrace was still unexpected.  But not unwelcome.

“Thank-you for the gift and thinking of me, Raphael,” she said into his chest.

“But seriously, we need to go before I doze off.”

He pushed the pelt down from her head. “Mm, should you look closer, there is a scarf atop that pile, so you may still enjoy it when we step out.”

“A scarf!”  Evie pulled away and bounded back to her bed to properly inspect the others.  She unfurled the hound fur from herself and laid it out on the bed.  Picking up the scarf, it was quickly wound around her neck.  “You thought of everything!”

Brimming over with fiery pride and ego, his eyes followed her as she flitted about her room adding rings to her fingers, a bracelet to her wrist, grabbing this and that to shove into her purse - all the while continuing to be very vocal with her praise.  If they did not soon depart, there would be another reason they would not be leaving this room.

.

.

Raphael tipped his head back and closed his eyes, enjoying the crackle of the fire and the quiet of a city blanketed by snow.

Beneath the warmth of pillowy covers and new furs, the softness of her bared body pressed against his.  He yet felt the phantom touches of her lips upon his neck and the scrape of her claws across his scalp; heard the echoes of her whimpers and cries; tasted her essence on his tongue.

Impatient was he for her to rouse once more.  His hunger and thirst for her had not yet been sated.

This had been an eventful night of dining, music, and coaxing the fox into the lively steps of a dance.  How he had revelled in the surreptitious glances of envy, lustful stares, and covetous glowers that his date drew.  He commanded her attentions; those bright, glittering eyes ever upon him.  Did she know the desires and appetites she stirred within others?  That every giddy shake of her tail, twirl of her skirts, and murmured moan of delight around the fork passing her lips hardened another member, wetted another sheath?

He could hardly restrain himself to wait until they had returned to this room to lay his claim to her body.

Evie slept soundly at his side, ignorant to the growing number that approached him for her favor, for her access - to use and abuse.  Ah, the wicked and craven fantasies that deluged their tiny minds!

His fingers slid absently through the mussed curls of her hair as he mused personally acting on some of the inspiration gleaned.

They would never know the aroused blush of her heaving bosom, the prick of her fangs, nor the pulsing squeeze of her quim. It was his name she called as she writhed impaled.  It was his seed that now painted the walls of her sacred vault and soaked the sheets beneath them.  None but he would know her softness.

For he was a possessive devil.

[the-hilda-librarians-wife]

Relationship: Kaisa/Johanna

Category: Teen and up audiences

Word count: 8.4k

Chapters: 1/1

Tags: wait.. is this the fic with the drums?; Alternate Universe - Modern Setting; Meet-Cute; Wingman; Romantic Comedy

Written for @sketchbookweek Day 4 - Wingman

🚈 Read it on ao3 💔

Preview:

Objectively, there were worst places to be than the tube at 7am, but that was a terribly easy thing to forget when you’re sleep deprived, crammed in with strangers with wildly varying levels of politeness, and having to deal with a lot of bullshit.

Kaisa groaned as Manuel’s icon popped up with unread messages on her discord app, no doubt explaining his rationale behind taking back the guy he’d just broken with for disrespecting his boundaries. This was an old song and dance. Kaisa knew nothing she said could dissuade her best friend, not when he was so certain that he was never going to be this in love again.

And honestly, Kaisa kind of hoped he was right. You had to be arse over teakettle to keep coming back after so many fights. She only wished she didn’t have to be the one to pick up the pieces every time it happened.

Knowing that if she didn’t give him any attention soon, he might think twice and delete all the messages with the juicy details, Kaisa’s thumb hovered over the icon (which was currently a Cedar tree, for some reason). The only thing that stopped her was realizing, with some surprise, that she was being talked to.

“Rough day already, huh?” The woman sitting beside her asked with more genuine sympathy in her voice than a complete stranger should be able to showcase. She seemed to be about her age, with messy brown curls and a kind smile, and had earned Kaisa’s respect in the previous half an hour they’d been sitting together by giving her a polite good morning and remaining otherwise silent.

Uncharacteristically, Kaisa found she for once didn’t mind being talked to during her detestable commute. This time she had something she had to tell someone lest she blow up like a party balloon from sheer stress.

“My friend is taking his ex back!” She snapped, not caring if she sounded insane because that’s how she felt, at that point.

[yuurei20]

Hello! It's me again. Thank you for answering my last ask.

I went and found some more voice lines. Sadly, I cannot screenshot the audio, but here's the English translations of the lines from Jack's dorm uniform, Rook's Halloween costume, Malleus' GloMas outfit, Kalim's New Year getup, Silver's Halloween costume, and Silver's Birthday Boy clothes. It's worth noting that Deuce calls Kalim "Asim-senpai" in the New Year's duo.

Hope this helps! (I only have the Jack, Malleus, and Rook shown here, the rest I got via the helper cards in Crafter's Gauntlet battles. lol.)

Hello hello, thank you so much!! I checked the audio on all of the above cards and with the exception of the usual removal of honorifics, the official translations on EN are all perfect! :>

Have put together an original dialogue/literal translation comparison just for fun, but they're all great as they are!

Jack's phrasing here is probably meant to be a wolf-based pun, as the word he is using (かます) both means to defeat a person/win a challenge in one go, and is also pronounced the same as the word 嚙ます, for "to bite."

So technically he is saying both "let's bite them" and "let's finish them off" simultaneously, which isn't really something that can be portrayed in English.

Ruggie's response of "熱くなっちゃって" is kind of Ruggie saying, "You always get so heated!" or "passionate" or "worked up."

The word "hade" (派手) comes up a lot with Kalim, but can be so difficult to express in English. It can be said as "flashy," "gaudy," etc. Basically, to go very big!

Deuce's response is the same on EN and is a word of encouragement (it is actually かます again, from Jack's Duo, as Deuce is encouraging Kalim to take out their opponent), but Deuce is also saying "please."

And then there is Deuce's use of last-name-senpai being changed to a first name without an honorific which, as you say, is worthy of note!

Deuce's way of expressing himself connects directly to his past violence and his present-day efforts to reform himself; an important part of the character that might just be impossible to translate into english. (More here!)

Malleus and Sebek's lines are both perfectly accurate on EN, although "-sama" has been removed from Sebek's dialogue.

The game has an interesting relationship with the "-sama" honorific. Sebek's "Malleus-sama" gets rewritten into "Housewarden Malleus" or dropped, while it is localized as "Mr.," "Master," "O Great," "O mighty" or "Count" with other characters.

Rook's Halloween Duo dialogue is perfectly accurate! Interestingly, while Trey and Riddle both have "roses" in their nicknames, Riddle's is pronounced as the English/French word "rose," while Trey's is pronounced as the Japanese word "bara" (薔薇).

(All of Rook's nicknames (including changes made between servers) can be found here!)

Silver's Halloween Duo is also perfectly accurate, with just the loss of "-senpai" from Silver.

Leona's line is a great example of how flexible the Japanese language is, depending so heavily on context as it does: technically all Leona is saying is the word "show," in a command form. He isn't specifying what it is that he wants Silver to show to him, so while we can infer that this would probably be "show me what you've got" or "show me how it's done," etc, in English, he could technically also be saying "show me what's in your hands" or "show me what you're hiding," etc.

(If you've ever wondered how some translations can vary so wildly between sources, this is part of why!)

Silver's Birthday Duo is also perfectly accurate, missing only the "-kun" from Ruggie.

Unlike Cater, who also uses honorifics in 100% of his dialogue (except with Trey in important situations), when Leona overblots Ruggie doesn't shift to calling him by name: he calls him a casual form of "you," which is equally fascinating. (More here)

Also, combined the above screenshots with their corresponding audio for reference, here!

[homestuckreplay]

EOA2 - Statistics!

I’ve run the numbers on Act 2 cause I have a secret and deep love for stats. The data is collected here in the Homestuck GameFAQ and I collect it all myself, so it’s limited by what I can reasonably record.

Act 2 is 67.4% of Homestuck so far by page count. It ran for 511 pages across 125 days (June 9, 2009 to October 11, 2009), 104 of which had an update (83%). This averages 4.1 pages per day (4.9 on update days). September 24, 2009 (Homestuck Day 138) had the most pages in a single day with 15.

This is slightly lower than Act 1’s 4.4 pages per day (5.3 on update days), and still does not beat April 13, 2009’s (Homestuck Day 1) 16 total pages.

377 pages contained narrative text (73.7%) while 134 pages were image or animation only. There were 639 images and animations in total (panels), with 69 pages containing two images (13.5%; nice) and 15 containing three or more (2.9%). Page 510 had the most panels, with 17. Of these 639 panels, 250 were still images (39.2%), 371 were GIFs (58.2% - defined not as filetype, but as a short, simple animated panel), 11 were complex, non-interactive animations (1.7%) and 7 were interactive panels (1.1%).

18 pages contained sound [S] (3.5%), including 31 distinct music tracks worked on by 16 artists, 25 of which were new for act 2. This includes two versions of Showtime by Kevin Regamey & Malcolm Brown and three of Harlequin byMark Hadley.

The distribution of panel types (still image, GIF, animation and interactive) was very similar between Acts 1 and 2, but the amount of new music was significantly higher in Act 2. This was entirely due to Dave’s MIDI samples on p.338, which contained 20 tracks, 19 of which were new.

333 pages contained a command in the title (65.2%). Of these, 120 commands were to John (36.0%), 55 were to Rose (16.5%), 82 were to Dave (24.6%), 64 were to WV (19.2%), and 12 were to miscellaneous characters (3.6%), including the game engine (3), narrator (1), Spades Slick (2), Nannasprite (1), John’s piano (1), John’s fridge (1), John’s bathtub (1), Dad’s safe (1), and Colonel Sassacre (1).

262 commands came from the player (78.7%) and 71 came from WV, with all of WV’s commands directed to John or the narrator except for p.277 (DO THE POTTED VEGETABLE NEXT. IT LOOKS DELICIOUS.), which was directed to Rose. There were 99 additional commands from WV within p.253, directed to a mix of John and the narrator.

I imperfectly track ‘point of view character’ based on who the ‘you’ in narrative text is directed to, or without that, whose experiences we are seeing in the image. If we are seeing something the character wouldn’t be able to see, the point of view is the player’s. Based on these metrics, John is the point of view character for 139 pages (27.2%), Rose for 102 (20.0%), Dave for 122 (23.9%), WV for 104 (20.4%), the player for 42 (8.2%), and a different character for 8 pages (1.6%), including the narrator (4), Spades Slick (3) and Nannasprite (1). Six pages contain multiple POVs, accounting for the small discrepancy in the total number.

Act 1 only contained three command recipients and four point of view characters, while Act 2 contained 13 command recipients and eight point of view characters. By both metrics, John is the main character in both Acts 1 and 2, although Act 2 is really more of an ensemble cast.

There were 39 pesterlogs on 38 pages (7.4% of pages) and 9 spritelogs (1.8% of pages). Combining all chatlogs, John appears in 31 (plus 10 where he’s the recipient but doesn’t answer), Rose in 29 (plus one where she doesn’t answer), Dave in 12, GG in 4, and Nannasprite in 9. The chatlogs vary wildly in length, but average 172.6 words. The longest chatlog is between Rose and GG on p.442, which totals 587 words.

In total, Act 2 contained 14,386 words of narrative text, 2815 words in page titles (commands plus ‘==>’, which counts as one word as it has a distinct meaning), and 8286 words in chatlogs. This includes commands and narrative text within p.253 ([S] YOU THERE. BOY) but does not include other types of words within images, as these are hard to track without extensive time or better computer skills than mine.

This gives Act 2 a total word count of 25,487, or an average of 49.9 words per page – slightly higher than Act 1’s 42.5 average. Page 253 is by far the longest page in Act 2, with 2103 total words including 1579 of narrative text; p.448 is the second longest based on narrative text alone, with 218 words.

In Act 1, the total time elapsed in the narrative was around an hour and a half (0.11% of the real, out of universe time). Act 2 is much harder to estimate, but from earliest to latest point, the elapsed time in the narrative is around 4 billion years (1.17trillion% of the real, out of universe time).

[morelikeravenbore]

✨Don't Tell Ominis

I wrote this fun oneshot for my dear friend @sleepywitchlory, whose MC Lory is as sweet, kind and loyal as she is, and whose friendship in this fandom I will always treasure and keep close to my heart.

Content warnings: none, unless you're triggered by offensive footwear. SFW.

Word count: 1.9k

Lory and Alistair belong to @sleepywitchlory.

[my hogwarts legacy masterlist]

Accidentally conjuring a dragon with Ancient Magic wasn't exactly what most would consider a stroke of luck, but as the secret entrance to the Undercroft slammed shut behind her, Aurélie thought herself very lucky on several accounts: first, that the dragon had been small, as far as dragons go; second, that Sebastian hadn't been there to witness her embarrassing blunder (because, as enthusiastic as he was about her practising her magic, she felt certain even he would draw the line at conjuring fire-breathing demon-lizards in a school; and third, that she'd managed to escape said demon-lizard without so much as a singed hair (hers, not the dragons.)

Luck — if one ignored the extremely unlucky circumstances that directly proceeded it — was on her side.

Read on 👇

Or so she thought, until the sound of approaching footsteps broke the still silence of the empty Defence tower, announcing the swift arrival of unidentified others.

Merde.

Fearing her luck had already run out, Aurélie raised her wand, intending to conceal herself under a hasty disillusionment, when a familiar voice gave her pause.

'Ouch!' hissed the voice from somewhere close by. 'Sebastian, that's my foot!'

'Bloody hell, Lory,' replied a second, much louder voice, 'if you'd stop clutching my arm so hard -'

'Will you both shut up before somebody hears us?'

Moments later, Aurélie breathed a sigh of relief as three slightly disheveled and out-of-breath figures appeared from beneath the guise of magical concealment. Luck had come to her aid again, but this time in the form of three of her four best friends, who each stared back at her with wildly varying expressions on their faces: surprise (Lory, pleasant), skepticism (Sebastian, shrewd), and indifferent (Alistair, cold.)

'Aura!' said Lory cheerfully, her strawberry-blonde hair gilded under the warm the torchlight.

'Aura?' echoed Sebastian, less cheerfully, his wild brown curls standing up in disarray.

Alistair, standing slightly away from the others, said nothing.

'What are you doing here?' Lorraine Jones, ever the sweet-natured Hufflepuff, saw nothing nefarious in her best friend being out past curfew and was simply happy to be united again. 'Were you in the Undercroft?' she asked, linking their arms together. 'You smell different. Like... charcoal?'

'She's right,' agreed Sebastian, leaning in to take an exaggerated a whiff of Aurélie's vivid red hair, 'you stink.'

'Hey!'

'Why were you in the Undercroft?' he went on, his brown eyes narrowed on her suspiciously. Where Lory's natural kindness saw only the best in every situation, Sebastian's Slytherin nature meant he was predisposed to believe the exact opposite. 'Were you alone? How long have you been down there? Why didn't you ask me to come?'

'Who cares why she was in the Undercroft,' muttered Alistair, who, generally speaking, didn't care much what anyone did so long as it didn't encroach on him. 'Why aren't we going into the Undercroft?'

Aurélie threw her arms out wide.

'No!' she cried as the dark-haired Slytherin made for the concealed entrance. 'You can't go in there!'

Alistair Cushing, distant descendant of Salazar Slytherin, inarguably the most intimidating student in the entire school, and - thanks to Lory's innate ability to befriend quite literally anyone or any thing - the newest addition to their friend group, fixed her with a piercing blue-eyed stare, clearly affronted

'And why not?' he asked, his calm tone thick with a disdain only those borne of Slytherin blood could afford; Alistair, like his cousin Ominis, did not take kindly to being told what to do.

'Yeah!' agreed Sebastian, elbowing him out of the way. 'Why not?'

'Because I said so!' snapped back Aurélie, who was not descended from ancient, all-powerful Parselmouths, but from a very long line of equally-formidable French women.

Alistair raised his eyes to the ceiling, silently praying for patience, while beside her, still clinging to Aurélie's arm, Lory bounced on the balls of her feet.

'Oooh,' she giggled, pinching her best friends elbow, 'did you sneak a boy down there, Aura?'

'What?' Aurélie's spluttered cry of indignation was rivalled only by that of Sebastian's.

'What boy?' they said in unison.

'What boy?' repeated Sebastian. 'Did you show someone the Undercroft? The Undercroft is supposed to be a secret! You're not allowed to do that!'

'Why not? You showed it to me!' Aurélie retorted.

'And me!' added Lory.

'Me, too,' came from Alistair.

Sebastian pulled a face. 'Yeah, well...' he muttered, scratching the back of his neck. 'You lot are different. That doesn't count. Only I'm allowed to share the knowledge of the Undercroft.'

'Excuse me?' Alistair rounded on him, standing taller in his indignation. 'The Undercroft has been known by my descendants for a thousand years, I do not need your permission to -'

'Oh, please,' Sebastian interrupted, rolling his eyes as Alistair bared down on him. 'You're like Ominis' third cousin, it's hardly a connection to boast about.'

'Right, and you're the third cousin of nobody, so why do you get to set the rules -'

'Because I've been using the Undercroft since first year!'

'So what? My family's been using it since the school was founded!'

Aura and Lory exchanged a silent, long-suffering look.

'Now, now, you two,' Lory intervened, stepping between the arguing boys with her palms raised. 'Play nice, or Aura won't tell us about her romantic rendezvous in the Undercroft.'

'Lory, I did not sneak a boy into the Undercroft! The only boys I know are...' she gestured vaguely at the two Slytherins before them, the taller of which groaned aloud and rolled his eyes.

'For the love of Salazar,' muttered Alistair, 'has there ever in the entire thousand-year history of Hogwarts been a Ravenclaw who gave a straight answer? Because I've certainly never met one.' He turned to fix Aurélie with his signature ice-prince glare. 'Why,' he said very deliberately, 'are we not allowed in the Undercroft?'

Aurélie gulped.

'Because I -' She shot a panicked look between each of her friends, wondering how much longer her luck was going to hold out. So far, beyond her narrow escape from her little magical mishap, luck had kept away any meddling prefects, professors or ghosts, and ensured that the roaring of the accidental dragon couldn't be heard several floors above it. At any rate, it was no good trying to hide a bloody dragon; someone was bound to notice eventually, so she might as well just admit to her mistake and hope that somehow luck would, well... fix it.

'Because, I - well, because I accidentally conjured a dragon down there.'

The silence that followed was so dense Aurélie had to wiggle her finger in her ear. Three stunned faces gaped back at her, and then, all at once -

'You conjured a what?'

'You conjured a dragon where?'

'Ooh, can we name it Nugget?'

'Lory, please,' Sebastian pinched the bridge of his nose. 'We've been over this, you cannot keep a dragon as a pet.'

Lory pouted. 'But why?'

'I don't understand,' Alistair cut in, one brow arched so high Aurélie was sure it would never come down again. 'If you conjured it, why can't you just... un-conjure it?'

'No!' cried the two girls in unison, their combined outrage echoing through the tower with enough force to wake the entire school.

'Are you mad? You can't just un-conjure an animal!'

'It's a living creature, Alistair!'

'How would you like it if I un-conjured you?'

'How could you be so unfeeling?'

'Bad move, Cushing,' Sebastian chuckled, clapping the tall bewildered Slytherin on the shoulder. 'I know you're only new to the group, but there are two rules you need to observe if you want to stay on the girls' good sides: never threaten Lory's Beasts, and never question Aura's fashion advice.'

'Yes, speaking of!' said Aurélie sharply, eyeing Sebastian's feet with disdain. 'I thought we agreed against those shoes!'

'Uh... t-these shoes? Are you sure? I don't recall, I think you're confused with my other shoes...'

'They are pretty ugly, Sebby,' Lory agreed, wrinkling her nose at the offending monstrosities that Sebastian considered appropriate footwear.

Aurélie threw her hands up, exasperated. 'They're hideous! We talked about this, you promised you were going to get rid of them!'

'Aw, bad move, Sallow,' smirked Alistair. 'Perhaps you need a refresher on those rules, hm?'

'Never mind my shoes!' Sebastian scowled, dodging away from a very condescending shoulder pat. 'Id say the more pressing matter is the literal dragon -'

'Nugget,' Lory interjected.

' - a literal unnamed dragon,' he continued, raising his voice, 'that someone decided to conjure in our Undercroft.'

Aurélie bristled. 'I didn't decide to -'

' — just seems a very unlikely thing to do by accident —'

'— on earth would I want to purposely conjure a —'

'— what goes on in your head half the time —'

'Enough!'

It wasn't often that Lorraine Jones lost her temper. She was, after all, the temperate voice of reason among the chaos; the gentle Hufflepuff influence who took all sides into consideration and mediated the best outcome for everyone. She was the temperate warmth to Alistair's coldness; the voice of reason to Sebastian's impulsivity; and a true friend to Aurélie, who'd shown up at Hogwarts two years prior, alone, overwhelmed, and grieving the untimely death of her parents. Without Lory, their unlikely friend group would be nothing but a fractured band of orphans, misfits and outcasts; Aurelie in her Ravenclaw tower, the three snakes in the dungeons, each of them separated by grief, isolated by trauma.

Lory was undoubtedly the glue that kept them all together - but, Merlin, when she was angry...

'Sebastian!' she snapped, jabbing a small but mighty finger at his face. 'For once in your life, shut up! And Aurélie!' she went on, interrupting the face she was pulling at Sebastian. 'Stop arguing with him!' Finally, she turned her wrath to the dark-haired boy, but when he only raised an unconcerned brow, she opened her mouth, closed it, then turned away, shrugging.

'Now,' she said, planting her hands firmly on her hips. 'Aura made a mistake, but bickering about it isn't going to get banish a dragon now, is it? Really, we should consider ourselves lucky that the situation isn't much worse!'

'Lucky?' Alistair echoed, laughing for quite possibly the first time in his entire life. 'Oh, my dear friends, facing a dragon is the least of your worries now.'

Sebastian frowned, clearly as confused as the rest of them. But then a slow-dawning horror broke across his face. 'Oh,' he said.

Aurélie paled, envisioning a dragon loose in the school, Hogwarts destroyed by fire, or worse - expulsion.

'What?' she demanded, palms sweaty. 'Sebastian Sallow, don't "oh" me! What is Alistair talking about?'

'Oh ho ho,' he said again, but this time with laughter in his voice. He turned to Alistair. 'You know, it isn't really my Undercroft, is it, Cushing?'

'For once in your life, Sallow, you are correct. Nor is it mine, really, being, as you mentioned, only a very distant relative to the Gaunt's. Hardly a connection at all, when you think about it.'

Aurélie turned, panic-stricken, to face her best friend.

'Oh, no,' she said.

'Oh, no,' Lory agreed.

Alistair cracked a rare smile. 'There's only one true owner of the Undercroft, after all...'

'And you, my favourite little Ancient Magic weilder,' Sebastian said, throwing an arm around Aurélie's shoulders, 'just stuck a great dirty dragon in the middle of the Heir of Slytherin's most treasured room.'

Luck fleed before her, leaving cold dread in its wake as a new set of echoing footsteps moved slowly toward them, accompanied by the unmistakeable red glow of a semi-sentient wand.

Ominis' sharp voice reached them first, slicing through the heavy silence like severing charm.

'You did what in my Undercroft?'

[demonvampire180writes]

Groundhog Day Chapter 2

BuckTommy Fix-it Fic Rated: T

4,353 words

Find Whole Work on Ao3

Chapter 1 on Tumblr

No editor/editing

His eyes move rapidly beneath his closed eyelids. Bright, searing, light cuts right through them, turning the insides bright pink, red along the seam between his eyelashes and his cheeks. Groaning, he attempts to peel his eyes open, having to quickly close them again as sunlight from the sheer curtains suffuse the room, coloring it in a blinding hazy overlay. He lifts a heavy hand to scrub at his face, waiting for his vision to adjust before attempting to open his eyes once again.

He looks in confusion at his left hand as his vision comes into more clear focus, feeling like something is off. A feeling that keeps slipping through the tendrils of his mind niggles at the back of his brain, telling him that he shouldn’t have movement. He’d hurt it somehow. Badly. Bad enough that he likely needs surgery. Frowning, his eyebrows knit together as he flops back against the bed, arm dropping, and finally taking in the room. He doesn’t recognize it. The furniture is real red oak. He counts two full sized dressers. From his spot he sees the open closet door and notes that the entire walk-in is packed, front to back. The shoes lining the floor are neat, and clearly there’s two different sizes. The styles vary wildly. Some are obviously his, but he can’t recall where or when he bought them. There’s a few sweatshirts hanging off an over the door coat rack hanging on the front of the bathroom door, which shows a flawless white countertop and a gold finished faucet. A worn grey towel lays bunched up next to the toothbrush holder.

One side of his mouth quirks up in a confused expression and he throws his arm across his eyes, head pounding worse than it ever has before. Everything feels… Strange. He can’t draw on any memories. It’s like his memory bank is a blank slate, except that someone hadn’t bothered to wipe away all the chalk debris, leaving his mind spiraling. There’s something that his consciousness is trying desperately to cling to, to bring into focus, but the more he tries the more it floats away; the more the pounding in his temples grows to excruciating levels.

A click draws his attention, but before he can register where it came from, he’s pinned to the bed by a flailing set of limbs followed by an ear piercing giggle. “Daddy!” A little girl cries, straddling his stomach and bouncing up and down, causing him to wheeze. She isn’t exactly heavy but his diaphragm had already been compressed from breathing in. Her little hands slap at his chest as she continues giggling like someone has told the world’s funniest joke. “Daddy, daddy, daddy, wake up! Papa made breakfast! He made French toast!” Every sentence is exclaimed rather than explained.

Grabbing her wrists, he can wrap his long fingers around them twice if he really tries, he brings them to a halt and takes in her appearance. The moment he does the air feels like it’s taken from the room and the room is then vacuum sealed. She looks identical to Ev… to Buck. She’s got those light brown curls that could be argued in either direction of being blonde or brunette. Her eyes are a shocking blue that glitter in the early morning light, and make it look like she’s perpetually squinting. Her tiny little nose is long, and straight with nostrils that flare at the base just the smallest bit. Her skin is fair, but not pale. The only word Tommy can possibly use to sum her up is absolutely stunning. Does he have kids? The question has a sharp nail drilling into his temple, taking root, and he flinches. The young girl doesn’t seem to notice.

“Pipa, leave daddy alone. You’re going to hurt him.” A gently chiding voice trails after the bundle of sunshine. A voice that squeezes Tommy’s heart and makes the lump in his throat impassable. A familiar face trails in after it, large hands carrying a beautiful wooden breakfast tray with iron legs. The most heavenly smell wafts from the plate, and a tiny little vase with a single lilac decorates it.

“Nu-uh, cause daddy is a superhero and superheroes can’t get hurt.” She argues, sitting back as Tommy releases her hands. She looks up at E… Buck… with a pout. She’s adorable.

Buck sagely nods as he approaches, balancing the tray in one hand so he can brush her hair back from her face. “Okay, okay, you’re right. But you know what superheroes can get?”

“What?” She asks with excitement, bouncing on Tommy’s stomach yet again.

“Hungry.” He laughs, pinching her nose. She shrieks with laughter as she scuttles away, kicking Tommy in the kidney in her rush to get off the bed. “Now. Go down and start gathering your things for school. Jonah is almost ready.” Pipa sticks her tongue out, leaning forward with her hands on her hips before turning to flee out the door, calling the name that Tommy assumes belongs to another child.

Once alone, Tommy opens his mouth to comment about how cute she is, and to congratulate Buck on his kids, but what comes out instead is a choked, “Buck,” that borders on a downright sob. Wait. Why am I congratulating him? She called me ‘daddy’ so… She must be mine. Ours? The younger man stops in his tracks, brows furrowing and hands clenching hard onto the breakfast tray.

“T-Tommy?” He sounds hurt. Confused. “I… Did I do something wrong?”

He pushes himself into a sitting position, leaning against the headboard, noting that he is… incredibly naked. He pulls the top sheet up just a little more as if seeking a modicum of privacy from a man who’s seen more of him than his doctor. “No?” He answers, just as confused.

Taking the few steps left to cover the distance to the head of the bed, Buck sets the tray down across Tommy’s lap and he’s immediately salivating. There’s freshly made thick cut brioche French toast stacked two high, covered in what is most definitely homemade lemon whipped cream, blueberries and sliced strawberries, and absolutely drenched in real maple syrup. Tommy’s blood sugar skyrockets through the heavenly smell alone.

The smallest whine escapes from Buck’s lips. “Okay then, why did you call me Buck? You only call me that when you’re mad at me.”

The simple sentence triggers yet another reaction and Tommy grabs his head, gritting his teeth. “Gah, shit. You’re right. I’m sorry, Evan. I guess it just slipped out.” He’s glad Buck didn’t say anything about the way Tommy had spoken his name, like a broken plea of a dying man. Reaching out he grabs Evan’s forearm and pulls him down until he kisses him softly on the lips, lingering for just a second to bask in the feeling of them. 

When he pulls away, Evan asks, “Are you feeling okay? You look like you’re in pain.”

“I’m fine, babe. Thanks. I just need some food.” The lie comes so easily.

Evan beams, panic forgotten. “Okay. Take your time eating, we’re up pretty early. I’ll get the kids mostly ready for school. Love you.”

“Love you, too.” It wasn’t his head this time but his heart that felt like it was being speared. How could two little words cause him to experience so many different emotions at once?

That was a question for another time.

Watching the other man leave, swaying his hips just to mess with Tommy, he picks up his fork and digs into what has to be the most amazing breakfast he’s ever put in his mouth. Every piece is cooked to perfection. No notes to be had. As soon as he finishes, he swings his legs over the bed and stretches. He’s still confused but there’s not much he can do at this point except to roll with the punches.

Moving at a snail’s pace, he goes through the motions of getting ready; he picks out jeans and a loose fitting henley, throwing his beige Carhartt over top. In the bathroom he does a cursory brushing of his teeth and takes the electric razor to the scruff that’s getting just a little bit out of control. He runs some water through his hair to try and tame the curls though it’s to no real avail. Taking a moment to contemplate shoes, he decides to take his chances that there’s some downstairs.

As he navigates what he can only assume is a house, he realizes that there’s nothing he recognizes. There’s four doors on this landing; two of them are covered in giant bubble letters, one spelling out Pipa and the other Jonah, along with a handful of poorly done crayon drawings. No artists in this house it seems. One leads into what has to be his and Evan’s room, and the final one appears to be the kids bathroom. He peers in as he goes to descend the stairs, grinning at the matching pink and green child sized step stools, and the giant frog shaped bath mat. The counter is a disaster, but an organized one. Definitely Evan’s doing.

From downstairs he hears the sound of two young kids trying their best to talk dad out of going to school. Evan’s voice guides them patiently, pointing out that going to school means getting to see all of their friends and that seems to settle them. Tommy rounds the corner and comes face to face with a little boy that could have been Evan thirty years ago, right down to the small port wine birthmark above his eyebrow. Seeing him, the boy shows him a gap tooth grin as he wraps himself like a koala around Tommy’s leg. “Daddy!” Evan shakes his head, exasperated but fond.

“Morning Jonah.” Tommy leans down and scoops the boy effortlessly into his arms, settling him onto one cocked hip as he leans in and begins to scrub his scruff along the little boy's flawless cheek. Jonah giggles and squeals in protest, feet kicking as he pushes at Tommy’s shoulders, trying to get away. Giving himself another thirty seconds of torture by scruff, Tommy pulls back and plants a kiss on his left eyebrow. “Are you giving papa trouble?” He raises his own eyebrow in question, looking stern.

Looking a little guilty, Jonah replies, “I’m not daddy, promise.”

“So you’re getting ready like he’s asked you to?” Jonah’s eyes drift to the side, clearly trying to come up with a plausible lie. “You know we have to go to school to learn, so we can be smart, right?” He nods sullenly. “And like he said, you’ll get to see all your friends, and you want to play with your friends, right?” Once again he nods. Smiling Tommy gives him a hard squeeze and another kiss, this one to the forehead before letting him slide to the floor, landing on his feet. “Well then, let’s finish getting ready so you can see them sooner.” Jonah clings to his shirt for just a second before nodding and running to where Pipa is throwing shoes every which direction.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” Evan’s voice comes from behind him and he turns, just in time for him to wrap his arms around Tommy’s neck, playing with a loose curl at the nape of his neck. Flustered, he blushes and remains silent. Chuckling, Evan sighs, “Well, I’ve got to get to work so you’re on drop off duty and pick up duty the next few days. I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you, too.” The words come so easily. The earlier headache has completely faded, though the sense of offness still pulls at his senses. “Have a good shift.”

“Thanks. Have a great day.” Leaning in, Evan smacks a kiss to his lips before turning and trundling away towards a door Tommy doesn’t see from where he is. There’s the sound of a garage door lifting, and a few moments later closing shut. The man’s departure is followed by the disgruntled voices of their children, whining about ewwwwwwww, daddy and papa kissed! And then a brief argument about cooties and how, because both of them were boys, they can’t pass cooties because only girls have them. Pipa is quite offended by this, but she heartily agrees that her daddy and papa don’t have cooties so it’s all fine. Child logic.

The next thirty minutes are pure chaos. At one point Pipa begins to sob and scream, having the kind of melt down only a six year old can have. Kneeling, Tommy cups her face in his hands, quietly shushing her as he thumbs away her tears. “Pipa, it’s okay to feel your big emotions, but we should try not to feel them quite so loud, okay?” She whimpers and nods. “Okay so, can you tell daddy what’s wrong?”

“I-I-I c-can-n-’t find my s-shoe!” She wails, sniffling as snot dribbles down over her quivering lip.

He nods in understanding. “Okay. Does it have to be those shoes today?” She nods emphatically as bigger, fatter, tears start to build in her eyes. “Well then, since you’ve searched all by yourself and can’t find it, what do you think your next step should be?” She turns away with that lethal Buckley pout in place and shrugs. Using his pointer and index finger, he turns her head back to him. “When we’re in trouble, we should ask for help, isn’t that right?” She shrugs again, bottom lips trembling even more as she sniffs her mucus back up. Tommy suppresses a shudder. “Have you asked Jonah to help you find it?” She shakes her head. “Did you try asking me to help you find it?” Pausing, she reluctantly shakes her head yet again. “So, what do you think we should do?”

Chest heaving, she takes her time answering. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Tommy knows they’re running late. The receptionist will probably yell at him, but that’s okay. Being late one day doesn’t make them bad. When she still doesn’t answer, he gently prompts her again. Eyes downcast she eventually whispers, “Daddy?”

“Yes baby?” He tucks a wayward curl behind her ear.

“Can you help me look for my shoe? Please?” His heart melts at her remembered manners, even in her time of distress.

“Absolutely baby girl. Now. If we can’t find it in the next few minutes, do you think we can maybe find a compromise?” She looks like she desperately wants to start throwing another tantrum but she tamps it down, clearly wanting to behave like a big girl, and nods. “Good girl. Now, I’ll go look in the front closet, and you can keep going through your pile over here. How does that sound?” A nod. “I want you to go through it very carefully, alright? Make sure you’re looking at each shoe and not just throwing it aside. I’ll give us three minutes.” He pulls her in and nuzzles the crown of her head with his nose which elicits the desired result of the smallest, most infinitesimal, giggle. Letting her go, he makes a show of setting a timer on his phone. Jonah wanders over and places a hand on his sister's shoulder, frowning. He clearly isn’t happy that she’s unhappy.

“Alright, are you ready?” He makes his voice as jovial as possible, attempting to make it seem like a competition and not a chore. She nods and he counts down from three before shouting, “Go!” He turns and stutters when it takes his mind a second to remember where the front closet even is. He’s beginning to think something is wrong with his head. He’s not even fifty yet and he’s experiencing memory problems. That’s not normal.

Jonah crouches next to Pipa and holds up the shoe she’s trying to match as Pipa picks up each shoe and carefully examines it, taking way more time than she probably should to ensure it’s not the right shoe. Tommy’s gone through about ten different shoes when the timer eventually goes off and he hears a frustrated huff over his shoulder. “I didn’t find it, daddy.” She stomps her foot as Jonah wraps her in a hug, trying to console her. “I don’t want to wear different shoes.” She’s on the verge of another breakdown.

Making a split second decision, Tommy studies the shoe and dives back into the closet, exclaiming, “Ah ha!” when he finds what he’s looking for. Pulling the pair of shoes from the closet, he approaches his daughter and crouches, dangling them in front of her. “Now. I know these aren’t your unicorn shoes. And I know that you’re upset that they’re not what you want to wear today, but how about this. Today, you can wear your princess shoes, they look really similar, right? And then when we’re all home tonight, the whole family can go on a safari hunt for the mighty missing shoe. How does that sound?”

Her pout gets more pronounced and she softly stamps her foot, knees bouncing up and down as she gets further riled up. She wants to argue, to make a scene, but after a very long moment she nods and pitifully sniffles. “Okay, daddy.”

“Good girl.” Tommy pulls her into a very quick hug before bending down the rest of the way to help her slip the shoes on. “Jonah.” He says, as he’s strapping the velcro on the second shoe, “let’s start heading to the car. We’re already running late.”

“Okay!” He chirps, throwing a backpack the length of his torso over one shoulder and bolting from the room, taking the the corner like a Tokyo drifter, squealing as his sockless feet slip a bit on the hardwood floors, The practically empty bag bounces against his back so loudly Tommy hears it all the way out the door.

The two of them meet him out by the car a minute later, Tommy having found a pair of white “dad” shoes on a mat by the exit. Jonah has already crawled into his booster seat in the back, kicking his feet as he waits for Tommy to clip him in. Pipa goes around the back and gets in on the other side, skillfully buckling herself in, beaming at Tommy with pride at a job well done. The shoe debacle seems to be long forgotten. Another shiver of unease inches down his spine as he gets behind the wheel of a vehicle that doesn’t seem quite right.

They arrive at the school, Tommy truly believes that he drove there on instinct because he doesn’t think he’s ever seen this place before in his life, with about three minutes before the first bell. Hustling them out of the still running vehicle, he puts his one hand between each set of shoulder blades and speed walks them into the building. As soon as they’re in the doors he leans in and kisses each of them on their heads before ushering them off. He can’t help the smile on his face as he watches their teacher herd them into the room just as the bell rings. Sighing, he lifts his hand to wave at the receptionist before trudging back to the car.

Then, on instinct, he navigates his way through the atrocious downtown LA traffic to Harbor. Pulling up to the building, he parks his SUV in a spot marked “Employee Only” and hops out. The weather is comfortably warm and the sun that attempted eviscerating his eyes this morning still shone brightly overhead. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he walks around to the front of the building where all the bay doors are open wide, pilots streaming in and out; he doesn’t recognize any of them. Maybe they’re new hires.

But they seem to know what they’re doing, and where they’re going.

His head pulses again.

As he’s walking through a field of choppers likely out on the tarmac for cleaning, he stops at the sound of his name from an unfamiliar female voice. “Tommy?” Turning, he spots a somewhat younger brunette woman with a tattered towel, that was probably once white now turned cream colored, in hand. The door of the helicopter she’s working on is swung wide, and he scents glass cleaner on the air. The window has a sudsy diagonal streak across it. “What are you doing here?” She doesn’t seem upset, sounding pleasantly surprised in fact, and she gives him a smile wide enough to show off all her teeth.

“Oh, you know.” He replies, face scrunching into a familiar grin with the crows feet that made everyone's tongue wag. “Something made me feel like I had a shift today.” She chuckles as she drops her rag into the bucket at her feet and mirrors his casual stance, hands in her pockets.

The grin fades when she realizes that Tommy is serious. “Um.” Her brows knit. “Are you feeling okay?”

He cocks his head to the side like a curious crow, smile fading a smidge. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

She shrugs. “Well, because… Did you just forget that you retired six years ago? You know, since your husband took over as captain at the 118?”

Buck is captain? That doesn’t sound right. The nail in his temple again. Wincing, he feigns being alright and says, “Oh. Yeah.” He forces a chuckle. “It was chaotic getting the kids ready for school this morning, so it must’ve just skipped my mind.”

Her hunched shoulders relax. “Oh I bet. Twins are hard. It’s a good thing that Captain Buckley is able to support y’all. I imagine the pay raise he got once he got the promotion probably helps a whole lot.”  Tommy notices the southern twang; not Texas or the like but from the Carolina’s maybe, or the Virginia's. East coast southern.

“Absolutely. Anyway, I guess I’ll just head out then and let you get back to work.” He lifts a hand in a wave, turning.

“Don’t be a stranger, now. And don’t forget to say hi to the guys! We miss you.” She says, voice muffling as she dips behind the chopper door. He doesn’t turn around as he jauntily waves goodbye, sauntering back to the car in a daze.

On the way back, he opens the windows and drives in contemplative silence. There’s something off. So off. But every time he tries to pin down just what it is his head cries out like it’s stuck in a Jigsaw level trap. At the house that he once more drove back to on instinct, the neighborhood is different than any area he remembers living in, he pulls into the garage, closes the door, shuts the vehicle off, and simply slips into what can only be described as a dissociative state. Tommy stays that way, staring at the dingy garage wall in a trance for no less than forty minutes, the engine clicking as it cools, tires whining as they settle.

When he manages to snap out of it, he exits the vehicle and enters the house. With something else taking over his movements, he slips his shoes off, leaving them on a rug by the garage door, and goes into the kitchen to make a snack. Afterwards, he makes his way into the living room where the kids' toys are scattered haphazardly around the space. It’s only then that he notices a fat blob of fur curled up on one end of the couch, the end with the deepest divet that must mean it’s someone's favorite spot. Against the far wall is a rusty colored blob shape with large, greying floppy ears, the animal's chest rising and falling with each of its snuffles and snorts. The sight brings a smile to his face; Tommy always wanted animals but never had the time to take care of them. Something in his chest eases at the sight. Setting his snack down, he proceeds to pick up his kids' toys, placing them where they belong, before settling into the couch. As soon as he sits, the black blob of fur morphs into the shape of a sleek cat who languidly stretches before crawling into his lap as though he’s doing Tommy a favor.

Tommy sets his plate on the arm rest, picks up the remote to find a game, before settling his hand on the cat's head and mentally preparing for what’s likely going to be a very boring day. Tommy’s never done well with downtime, and considering he can’t even remember how he got in bed last night, he questions how he’s managing to survive retirement.

The rest of the day flies by in an absolute blur; before he knows it it’s just after three and he’s off to pick up the kids. Two hours later he’s feeding them dinner before he wrestles them into the tub for a bath. Then he’s tucking Jonah into bed, kissing him on the forehead and wishing him a goodnight, followed by Pipa and her insisting that Tommy read her no fewer than two storybooks to which he greedily obliges. This house can use another reader and Pipa is showing signs of books being her favorite thing in the whole wide world.

When the house is quiet once again, Tommy crawls into his own bed, picking up the book on the side table, his reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. He only makes it about ten pages before he finds himself distracted by the framed photo of their wedding day; Evan is decked out in the most beautiful ocean blue suit Tommy’s ever laid eyes on. Their lips are pressed together with Evan pulling Tommy in by the face.

Tommy sinks into the bed, shimmying out of his sweats to grab himself, whimpering as he wraps his fingers around the sensitive member. Reaching over, he turns off the light before things go too far, draping the room in darkness.

Tommy falls asleep after burying two fingers deep inside himself as he jerks off, thoughts of blonde eyed brunette the only thing on his mind.

Chapter 3 on Tumblr

[rahkshirock]

Hypognosis RPG

Hey yall, Name’s Lynn and this is the start of a series of posts I’m going to be writing about the game I’ve been making for a while now. The current draft is one that I’ve been doodling around with for 2 years, and now that it’s looking like it might be playable in some capacity in the next few months, I figured I’d do my best to spread the word and see if I can’t get some eyes on this.

So what is Hypognosis? It’s a game about character's limitations, blind spots and frustrations. it's a role-playing game born out of my love for and frustration at a lot of other fantasy rpgs that I’ve seen and played. It’s a project to try to replicate the sorts of tense situations and decisions I see in other kinds of fiction, that I really want to bring to the table and play out with my friends, but just haven’t been able to.

Put another way, when I see a great sword fight in a show or movie, it rarely looks like one that I play in an rpg. The points at which tension is built are different, the stakes are different. I can’t play out the tension of fencer’s footwork, of the sting of sweat dripping into my eyes as I attempt to gauge when my foe’s attention wavers. Now I could *role-play* those things for sure. After all, it's collaborative storytelling! You can *say* whatever you want and it’ll be the case! However the *games* themselves rarely have rules that support those sorts of things. And I needed to try my hand at it to see if I could.

Now let me quickly say that I’m not putting down the thousands of excellent games that’ve been made over the last decades, both by big publishers and by small-time hobbyists like myself. I’m under no illusions that I’m putting forward something revolutionary or that any one piece of this project hasn’t been done before and perhaps better in a multitude of games. But there is a creative spark within me that If I don’t exercise, it will burn me up from within. I adore role-playing games! And when I love something I inevitably want to try making my own, whether it be painting, music, video game or tabletop rpg. What I want most of all is to create, and to let other folks have fun with what I create in turn.

So, let's ask that question again: what is Hypognosis? It’s a game set in a dangerous and fractious world where people have very recently been given access to miracles and elemental magics. Players pick from a wide array of heritages and motivations born out of the history of the world and the conflicts that arise from it. Factions within the setting move to unearth ancient secrets, expand their power, or to invent new technologies. The world is moving, and the players will drive it and be driven by it, forced to act on their limited perspectives and ability.

On a more immediate level, this is a game about rolling dice. The GM sets the stakes and situation, and the players assemble a pool of dice of various shapes to try to affect it. Their characters’ skills and the circumstances of the action determine the size of the dice used, from the D4s used as penalties to D20s used for wildly powerful but unpredictable forces. Once the dice are cast, the players barter for re-rolls and trigger abilities until the effect resolves. Some players might add two dice together to count as one larger number, others tally up the numbers of doubles and triples to contribute to the number of successful dice. The act of rolling dice is shared among all players no matter the role they play, but the outcome of the same roll can vary dramatically depending on who rolls it according to their Fate, the closest thing in this game to a character class. 

Teamwork is not just encouraged with a simple bonus to rolls, but with the overlap of abilities between characters applying to the same roll, letting them debate and cooperate exactly how to finesse a bad roll into a narrow success. Simultaneously, drama between characters in the group intentionally drives wedges in carefully laid plans, causing strife in crucial moments… or in what should be simple tasks.

This brings us to combat, a (very fun and engaging) tragedy when groups clash over failed communication or clashing goals, and tension is at maximum. Movement and Positioning plays a crucial role, with characters dancing in and out of each other’s range. But this game doesn’t ask for a carefully drawn grid or measuring tape. Instead distance is measured in whether characters are Pressed against each other, Close within each other’s reach, circling each other’s Orbit, or Far enough that they aren’t concerned with each other at the moment. Moving away from an opponent is the most sure-fire way to protect yourself from harm, but also removes your ability to harm them in turn.

Focus is the main resource a character tracks, a measure of their all-too-finite attention in battle. Trying to get a grip on the flow of the battle farther than one’s own hands is a herculean task when you see a big guy in heavy armor bearing down with a hammer. Rather than simply bludgeoning your way past the opponent’s defense to drain their Life Force, instead leverage the time available to force the opponent to react to your tempo, wearing them down through a brutal flurry of well-practiced and efficient swings to deliver a mortal blow when their focus wavers and they’re too dazed to stop you.

Whether attacking one opponent or an absolute horde, whether working alone or as an entire group, dice rolls are quick and singular. The same roll that determines if a character’s blade strikes true will also determine the amount of strain it inflicts on the enemy and the wounds which may result. In the same way, a GM will make one collective roll for an entire army of opponent units attacking, assuming they’re all in the same group. Hopefully this will help to pare down on the length of combat in what is objectively a pretty complicated system.

All in all, this is a massive project with a broad scope and a broader fictional world that i want to breathe life into. It’s going to be a long time before it’s done, but I want to play it sooner than later, and maybe make enough money to feed myself while doing so. As such, while I’m writing more posts like this in the next few days, I’ll be working on my main focus this last year: a playable dungeon crawl in the universe with a prototype of my game’s engine. If you’d like to help me make this a reality, please donate even a tiny bit to my Ko-fi at https://ko-fi.com/rocketdog96. every little bit helps!

[yama-does-art]

Magic on the Lost Light - Part 6

Lost Light x (gn)reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | [Here]

Content: mtmte human oc insert, discontinued

Warnings: None

Word Count: 779

Ultra Magnus

Ultra Magnus paced his office, feeling a nasty helm ache coming on. Ever since the launch of the Lost Light, there has been one disaster after another. First, there was a critical failure to the ship engines that caused them to jump to a remote quadrant of the galaxy. Not only was it wildly off course from their original destination, they were nowhere near any Cybertronian colonies. The closest being a remote outpost on Delphi, and that trip alone will take another few weeks.

Then to add to that debacle, nearly a quarter of the crew fell out of the airlock and suffered major damages due to planet-side impact and atmospheric burnout. Thank primus that the gravity was so low, otherwise they would have suffered far greater losses. Following the retrieval of all missing crew members, Red Alert notified command that a Spark Eater was on board. Of course the captain had to recklessly endanger both himself and the life of their resident psychiatrist to exterminate the beast. Losing both his servos in the process.

Within 24 hours from launch, five crew members were lost and five more gained.  The latter of which he was dealing with the repercussions now. Somehow, within the chaos, a human was transported onto their ship. No small part due to the failure of the quantum engines, but beyond that he really could not be bothered. What was he going to do with the human?

Rodimus was adamant on making them a part of the crew. Magnus was not. Upon meeting the human, he was outvoted. While they were not unreasonable, they seemed to take their physiological differences as an added challenge to get their point across as they had no issue staring him in the optics at point blank range.

First, he suggested relocating them to the next intergalactic trading hub. He could think of some that would be a few galaxies over. He reasoned they would be safer amongst other organics than on the Lost Light. A ship full of ex-combatants with varying degrees of tolerance towards the organic races. They argued against it.

‘With all due respect sir, leaving me on another planet will only be a detriment to my well being, I have no money, I have no knowledge of the norms and customs of any space faring species, let alone speak the language. I will be a lone human wherever I go, at least here, I know I  have a few allies.’

He hated to admit it, but from that perspective leaving them would be negligence on his part. He had a responsibility to care for this being, especially due to the fact it was the failure of their technology that brought them here.

‘I understand that you can’t send me back. All I ask is some time to get my footing. I just need to learn how to survive in this environment. Who speaks what language? What is the political climate between the different species? What organizations can I go to for aid, and what organizations should I avoid? How do I navigate space? Help me answer these questions and then you may drop me at any station of your convenience.’

Once again, he had to agree with the human. Cybertronians were rather isolationist as a species, and when at war, organic relations were temperamental at the best of times. Those were all excellent questions, and it made him uncomfortable that he could not answer all of them immediately. From the perspective of a complete outsider, this was absolutely necessary for survival.

‘I know that my presence is a strain on resources, so let me make it up to you: Make me a part of your crew and put me to work. Before this I was a drifter, I made my living by doing odd jobs whatever it may be. Those eclectic skills may or may not be of use, regardless, I am willing to learn.’

He had been a commander for far too long to not recognize the signs of a determined individual. He would have to agree to Rungs assessment, this one was adaptable. While he doubted the capacity for a vagabond to integrate into the hierarchy of ship life, their boldness and initiative would allow them to fit in the Lost Light. He conceded the point.

And now Rodimus had to throw a wrench into his meticulous planning by making them the official Interspecies Liaison. Without consulting him no less.

He ex-vented. No matter, he will assess the human soon enough - right after their consultation with Brainstorm. At the very least, he could rely on Drift on keeping to a time table.

END