#they deserve to be coddled in so many blankets at that point

[nadia-el-mansours]

1x04 | 4x04

[moonstruckme]

Hey so i have a request and you can totally say no if this makes you uncomfortable but would you consider writing a poly marauders x reader where the readers depressed and can’t get anything done im asking cause I’ve been. Going through something and i thought id be okay by now but I’ve kinda regressed idk and now im depressed idk pls don’t write this if its to hard or upsetting

Thank you for your request lovely, I really hope things are getting easier for you or that they do soon <3

cw: depression

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 981 words

You realize the boys must be home when Remus crouches in front of you. You hadn’t heard the car come up the driveway, nor the door opening. You were too deep inside your own head. Or maybe you’d drifted off into another of your light, unsatisfying sleeps. 

“Hi.” He offers you a little smile, putting out his hand. You worm yours out from under your blanket to give it to him, and he rubs his thumb across your knuckles fondly. “How was your day, lovely?” 

“Fine,” you say. Your voice rasps a bit from disuse. 

“I’m opening the curtains,” James warns from somewhere behind you. “Here, take these.” 

Sirius’ grunt sounds surprised. “Since when is carrying in the groceries a relay sport?” he complains. 

True to James’ word, light floods the living room a moment later. It illuminates Remus’ face in front of you, letting you see the gentle concern in his eyes. His gaze moves up above your head just before strong hands grasp you by the shoulders. 

“I missed you,” says James, hugging downwards at you until he gives up and lets his body flop over the back of the couch, “so much, today.” 

You pet down the hair at his nape, love like a bubble in your chest that’s always on the brink of popping. You love the way James hugs; it’s like he really is trying to feel as close to you as he can be, with his face bent towards your neck and one hand splayed behind your heart. You let yourself meld to him. Remus starts collecting your little mess from the coffee table, taking things into the kitchen.

“It was only a few hours,” you say. 

James makes a jokey harrumphing sound. “A few hours too many.” He lets you go to plant a smacking kiss on your cheek. “If you could have one thing for dinner tonight, what would it be?” 

“I thought we agreed to stop playing that game,” says Sirius, coming back in to sit down on the armrest of the couch. He sees where you’re toying with James’ hair and takes a lock between his own fingers. “You need a haircut, Jamie.” 

“You’re one to talk,” James quips, though he leans into the touch, always more than happy to have his hair played with. “And we only agreed to stop playing with you, because your expectations were too high.” 

“They were not.” 

“Why would you think we’d be able to get what we needed for escargot at our corner shop?” 

“If you didn’t want to know what I actually wanted, you shouldn’t have asked.” 

“Anyway,” James turns back to you, “what would you have, lovie?” 

“And before you say,” says Sirius, “the correct answer is tomato basil soup with a cheese toastie.”

James sulks, thwarted, and you stroke your thumb over his nape consolingly. “That sounds really lovely,” you say earnestly. “Was I really supposed to guess that on my own, though?” 

“You might’ve,” he mumbles. “Anyway, I was thinking you could be my soup stirrer. If you’re up for the task.” 

It’s an odd feeling, affection and guilt intertwined so well you can’t fully tell which is which. You know James is making a point of asking you so that you might come to the kitchen, be among them for a bit instead of staying off in your own world, do a task that makes you feel productive even if it’s small. You appreciate that he does it, and you loathe yourself for making him feel the need to. You wish your boyfriends wouldn’t coddle you not because you don’t like it but because you like it too much. You don’t deserve it. 

“Hey.” Sirius’ voice draws you back out from inside your head again. It’s become such a frequent haunt you don’t always realize you’re going anymore. He’s studying you. “You okay?” 

You hum as Remus comes back in, sitting on the now clean coffee table. “Thanks for doing that,” you murmur. His eyebrows lift slightly when he realizes you’re talking to him. “Sorry I left a mess.” 

Remus tsks, reaching forward to brush a piece of hair from your forehead. “It wasn’t really a mess,” he says. “I don’t mind. Are you going to help us with dinner?” 

“Yeah.” It’s not so much a decision as a yielding, but James beams like you’ve made his day. It makes you want to cry. 

Sirius wraps an arm around your waist as you go to the kitchen, squeezing the fat of your hip lovingly. “Think I’ll take up the duty of stirring the soup, too,” he says to you. “Seems like a two-person job.” 

“Probably, yeah.” You let yourself lean into his side. He takes your weight happily, mushing a kiss into your hair. “Sorry I’m so lame lately,” you tell him quietly. “You guys don’t need to coddle me so much.” 

“You’re not lame, who said that?” Sirius jostles you a little bit. When you don’t laugh, he changes his approach, leaning his head against yours. “We’re not coddling you, sweetheart. You’re just in a rut right now, yeah? And we’re meeting you where you’re at.” 

He makes it sound so simple, but your throat clogs with the true difficulty of it all. When you reply your voice is thick. “But I don’t know if I’ll be able to get out.” 

“You will,” he promises surely. “I don’t know how long it might take, but it’ll happen. And if whatever we’re doing isn’t working for you, we can figure something else out, okay? We’re with you.” 

When James says it’s your time to stir, Sirius insists on standing behind you and holding your hand that’s holding the spoon. Remus rolls his eyes at the idea of it being a two-person job, but you don’t know. You think maybe it takes all four of you to make it work.

[itstimetojellyfish]

Visiting you . ( Please just sleep , I’m worried ) ( Jing Yuan x reader)

This is technically my first post so….. yeah! I hope you enjoy this very rocky post! There will be some problems with transitions .

It’s been a while . Hasn’t it?

You can barely remember the warmth he emitted when he was in bed with you , asleep with your arms around you .

He made you feel so safe and warm , loved too . His large arms circling your body as he cuddled you , nuzzling your neck while you drifted off to sleep .

Yet…. The feast can never last forever . More mara - struck have appeared . Jing Yuan can no longer be with you so often . He has to be at the office , day and night , to lead the cloud knights and arrange everything.

( It worries you .)

the man has a very self-destructive habit of overworking himself to the point he downs 3 espressos a day . It’s a pain trying to help him get away from the coffee without having him experience withdrawal symptoms. It’s also a pain trying to get him to stop overworking himself.

Yet.

You do so anyway, you nourish him when he forgets to eat . You remind of his sleep schedule, you even do some of his work for him when he falls asleep at the divine foresight , draping a blanket you brought over him and letting him sleep in your lap .

Today is no different . As you walk down the streets to his office , you can’t help but just wonder , has he not fainted yet ?

(You wouldn’t be surprised if he did .)

Nevertheless, you open the door to see that he’s still miraculously alive and well , but unfortunately, not unscathed from his selfless nature . Deep black eye bags help you understand how sleep deprived he is . Your lover doesn’t even react to your presence , too focused on the slowly growing work load in front of him .

Papers are piled all around him , some even on top of him as his pen vigorously scribbles down information on top of the documents. (You wish you could take him away from this position and let him sleep for as long as he’d like.)

You initiate conversation with him , hoping he’ll get the clues that you will take over the position for him while he sleeps a dreamless slumber .

“ Jing Yuan … how are you ? You must be tired .“ You place down the bags you carry , and walk over to him .

He looks up .

Your heart breaks right then and there .

He looks so tired and worn out . Hair a mess , eyes threatening to close , his skin a pale shade of peach , almost white , barely any color in it .

“ oh ….. my love …. I’m doing fi-“ He attempts to reassure you , knowing your nature . However , his physical condition talks for himself.

“ What do you mean by fine?! Don’t lie to me! “ you rush over to him and cradle his face in your palms , turning his head side to side to inspect him .

( it’s a miracle he’s alive right now )

“ I’m okay , it’s honestly nothing. “It’s an attempt to reassure you , though it fails miserably.

You go to your bags and pull out a blanket and pillow , you always have these items with you whenever you visit him .

“ Aeons…… how many time do I have to tell you to take care of yourself?! You worry me so much! And the people won’t be able to do anything with a sleep deprived general! You’ll probably faint before you even go outside!” You scold him , however , it has an underlying tone of concern.

You walk over to him and attempt to coax his head into your lap so he can get the much deserved rest he needs . However , the attempt fails as he resists the temptation of your soft , plump thighs cushioning his head .

“ No , stopping worrying please , I’m fine …. And even if I do faint, Fu Xuan is there to take my place when I’m resting . “ He raises a hand and turns to look at you , amber eyes softening at your worried expression , eyes watering as you take in the state of him .

He tangles a hand in your hair and pulls you down to his lap , gently coddling you , trying to reassure you . It doesn’t work , you know better . All he’ll do is just work more .

So you struggle , attempting to just get him to relax , “ Jing Yuan! Diviner Fu won’t be there forever you know! “After a while you both give up and try to have a compromise.

Your lover sighs , “ Please dear , just rest your head , I’ll be fine .” He smooths a hand over your side , gently rubbing up and down in an attempt to soothe your frazzled nerves .

“ Jing Yuan ! “ You bat at his arm as you try to get him to rest , “ I should be the one telling you that! You look like you’re about to faint any moment!” The tears in your eyes start to pour .

His eyes soften . Your lover closes his eyes and then shakes his head , making out a compromise . “ How about this . You rest for now , on my chest , so you know I’m alive . “

You glare at him .

He gently kisses your forehead, “ Hold on now , I haven’t finished . “ You raise an eyebrow waiting for the other half .

“ If you let me soothe your nerves for today , then tomorrow, I’ll go home , and rest with you . “

You say yes immediately. It wasn’t a 2 week long break he needed , but it was something better than him staying up .

He smiles sweetly .

It warms your heart .

Soon enough , you’re sleeping in bed , with his warm hands over your stomach and long arms wrapped around you .

( its warm and it helps you finally sleep )

————————————————————————

Thanks for reading! I really hope you enjoyed!

[starscream-is-my-wife]

as someone who enjoys both skystar AND megastar, I agree! let people ship what they want to.

Honestly, I think that the biggest issue when it comes to ships is how the fandom portrays Starscream in general when it comes to Megatron. So many people see him as this "little sad baby that doesn't deserve Megatron's ire and should be coddled and loved" and forget that he's a war criminal. Skybound especially has shown that. He's perfectly capable of defending himself. He's not some weak uwu sad baby.

A big thing a lot of people forget about when they say Megastar is abusive is that it's kinda a mutual thing. everyone focuses on "look megatron's beating Starscream that's so mean!!! that poor uwu sad baby :((((" when they forget their canon relationship is Starscream trying to kill him at every opportunity and that most of megs' behavior that they see as the abuse is him retaliating

And really, the angry skystar fans that say Megastar is abusive bc Megatron tries to kill Starscream forget that Starscream both tried to kill/did kill Jetfire and regularly tries killing Megs too. And a reminder too, this is all only in canon. It doesn't have to apply in AUs.

Sorry for getting texty in your inbox, haha. This is just my two cents on the ship discourse!

Hey thanks for this! I just deleted the other post because I thought it sounded too mean to the skystar fans when my target was mostly towards one person

yeah I think that because he's smaller and prettier it means that they think he's weaker like a helpless wife instead of the second in command to a army, like if someone like soundwave is the 4th in command, wtf did starscream do to be second. His original Tech Specs strength wise were on par with Prowl and higher then Ironhides!

I'm mostly familiar with the Gen 1 cartoons and the Marvel comics so I haven't watched prime, armada, and earthspark. People point to those and I'm like ok?? That's only 3 versions of transformers?? Why should the versions that you cherry pick be a blanket statement for all of the series?! From my viewpoint of the series, anybody else would have killed Starscream after dealing with his shit for a couple of decades, Megatron put up with this for millions of years. The moment Megatron died, Galvatron killed starscream.

And let starscream be a shitty guy! Like the entire reason why he's so memorable is because he was a little brat! I know hes a terrible person in the new skybound comics but people are still being like "aww its not his fault that hes a terrible person its all Megatrons fault!" Like, come on guys this is worse then Logan Pauls level of accountability. I really hope that those fans see Skyfire as someone who has his own story rather then an accessory to "fix starscream". The Starscream I know would hate to see after everything he's done people only see him as a victim.

[sontrini]

✘ MICHAEL AFTON SFW ALPHABET ✘

a/n: !! michael! ik most of the fandom loves him (at least from what I’ve seen?? 😭) and u know what. so do i. i decided this would be a fun first post cuz it has a lot of space for content!

you can imagine him as pre-scooper michael or if u want u can do post too.

p.s I forgot that I could literally just call him Mike until half way through lmao

warnings: mentions of food, angst on some letters, implications and some elaborations of trauma (mike’s), self destructive habits

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Michael isn’t really the best in terms of verbal affection. He leans more toward subtle actions - hooking his pinky with yours and not saying anything about it, giving you snacks with no context and leaning on you whenever you’re near enough for the two of you to press against each other’s sides. 

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Generally, Michael doesn’t...make friends. You’d definitely have to be the first to approach, or both of you would somehow have to be forced to interact. He can come off as a bit rude and cold, but the more you get to know him the more willing he is to really interact and listen to you. Michael doesn’t really know how to care for people (not after spending so many years alone) but he tries. He likes asking you about your day and sending you things he thinks you’d like. 

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Michael likes cuddling to an extent - he has his off days, but for the most part he appreciates feeling soft blankets pressed against his back, and your body heat seeping into his from where you’re curled into his arms and laying against his torso. He finds himself running his hands up and down your back, an action he remembers faintly from his childhood. 

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?) 

Michael doesn’t know how to cook - between a bad home life as a child and no one to teach him once he grew up, he’s spent his life depending on cup ramen and microwave-able foods. Occasionally he’ll have to put something together, but he couldn’t name the last time he had anything made from scratch. He’s also never really been present enough in his own home to make much of a mess - every room beside his bedroom is decorated blandly, dust settling on them. Still, with you in his life he learns to try harder. He cleans his spaces dutifully, and helps you with the dishes when you cook. He’s never imagined having a family, to afraid to be like his father, though with you showing him how to really care for someone, he thinks having more people to care for and coddle wouldn’t be so bad. 

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?) 

Michael coming to terms with your relationship not working out is a brutal and silent inner-fight. You find him growing distant, now and bitter whenever he interacted with you. He became almost uncaring about your feelings, avoiding you at all costs and acting like he couldn’t hear you when he came home. When he finally tells you that you two are over, you’re not surprised. Still, you’re hurt. he could’ve saved you the heart ache. You understand it was his walls coming back up, trying to protect him after he realized he was unhappy, but you can’t help but feel bitter. You didn’t deserve feeling like nothing but dirt because he had a realization. When you finally move out, that’s it. You never hear from him again. It’s like the time you two spent together was gone, insignificant. 

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Given his father and watching his parents when he was smaller, he doesn’t like what marriage means. As he gets older he of course realizes that his family wasn’t exactly healthy, but the point still stands. Marriage does not equal happiness to him, and he can’t help but be skittish about it. He understands that it is an important symbol to most, but he cant bring himself to officially marry you, as much as he loves you. His fear of becoming his father is irrational, he knows, but just thinking about it sends him into a dark place. 

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Mike is as gentle as he can be physically. He’s afraid of hurting you, so his touch is always light and caring, despite his heavily scarred and calloused hands. Emotionally, he has a hard time understanding what boundaries mean at first. You’ll have to be very clear to him on what he can and cant do/ say. He’d hate to hurt you, but emotional vulnerability is something he hasn’t practiced in a very long time. It’s a process, just like every other relationship. 

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?) 

HUGS! Mike at first is super hesitant, barely touching you in fear of you flinching or pushing him away. He quickly learns that your response is just to melt into him, wrapping your own arms around him and shoving your head into the crook of his neck or into his chest. he doesn’t initiate often, but he gladly complies when you open your arms and come closer to him. He likes hugging you close, feeling your heartbeat thrum against his body and letting his hands soak up your warmth.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

He thinks it more than he ever says it. The first time he says it to himself is when you smile nervously down at him, having woken him up while trying to drape a blanket over him from where he had fallen asleep on your couch. He’s too groggy to understand your whispered apologies and explanations, he only pulls you to him gently and hugs you to him, forcing you to meld against him. You still your flustered twitching quickly, and as he sinks back into the couch, eyelids heavy, he registers the unfamiliar warmth in his chest. He really does love you.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Michaels jealousy stems from insecurity. It doesn’t happen often, but sometimes he’ll catch himself grumbling about how much better you must like the friend you’re out with right now. When you get home, he hugs you and pouts silently, moping in your embrace.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Oh he’s an absolute sucker for kisses. He likes pressing soft pecks on the crown of your head or on your forehead, mostly while hugging you. Pecks on the cheek still fluster him, and he likes slow, soft presses against each other’s lips when you two have the time to lounge. He’s very soft for kisses pressed to his shoulder area, relishing in the warm short press of your mouth on his shoulder blades.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Mike hasn’t really been around kids ever since his siblings...passed. He doesn’t trust himself around them, either. He doesn’t want to hurt them, god no, but he also hadn’t meant to hurt others. He learns to indulge them, though. As awkward as he is, he tries his best to make children feel safe around him when he can. 

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Michael, as a result of heavy insomnia, is not a morning person OR a night person. On the nights he does sleep, he wakes up horribly ; it takes him so long to blink the sleep out of his eyes, and even longer to process that he’s alive and has things to do. 

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Michael doesn’t really like night-time. To dark for him to know where everything is, but he can’t afford to keep the lights on all night either. He often does not sleep, but nights with you go differently. While you can’t do much about his Insomnia and night terrors, you can keep him company while he calms down, and bring him his comfort items. 

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?) 

Michael most definitely takes some time to open up. He’s an acquaintance for a VERY long time, until he starts to open up just a bit more. He offers facts about himself easier, lets himself lose tension in his body around you, etc. 

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Mike doesn't get angry easy. He gets peeved, and he doesn't have the LONGEST of fuses, but when he does get angry it's cold. His face goes blank, voice tight and void of any emotion. His room is littered with plaster stains from having to repair holes he'd punched in the walls, but he had never once hurt you. Those were old anyway - results of rages he had when he was newly an adult, hurting and with no way to make it stop.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Mike does not know a single allergy of yours or your blood type but he knows your favorite club penguin puffle.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

Mike often thinks about the first birthday you two celebrated together. You had been late, the clock striking 9 pm and no sign of you. It had worried him, but he consoled himself as best as he could. It was raining; there was probably some traffic, he reasoned. When he finally hears keys jingling from outside of the front door, he swings it open before you could wiggle the key into the slot. Your smile was tight, lips thinned sheepishly. You were absolutely drenched, coat heavy on your shoulders and sneakers glistening with rainwater.

“Hey, Mikey. I know i'm late, I'm sorry. There was so much left at work and then I got a notification on my phone so i had to go to the store and then there were like four car crashes so i took the longest route home in the rain," You huffed, clearly annoyed. Mike listened, relief flooding through him. You were shivering, but over-all safe and that's all he really wanted.

"But, anyway,"You continued, shrugging off your soaking backpack and letting it slump against the wall beside the front door. You stuck your arms out, and Michael realized you were holding something. “Happy Birthday, Michael!" You cheer lightly, mimicking a victory horn in place of a party horn. Michael stared blankly, hands finally coming up to grip at the offered package.

It took him a second longer to realize what it was. He felt himself grin...when was the last time he had a birthday cake? He couldn't remember...

He mouthed thank you, though he wasn't sure the movement was pronounced enough for you to recognize it. You stripped off your coat and shook off your shoes, Mike doing little but watching.

“Give me a second to shower and then we'll give you a birthday song alright?" You grinned, looking back up at him. He blinked, nodding gently. You cock your head curiously, smile dimming.

“You okay, Mike?" You asked, stepping closer to him. He nodded again, shifting the cake to one hand so he could yank you into a hug. You yelped, crashing into his frame. He whispered a thank you into your neck, nuzzling into your hold. You pat him gently, a hand coming up to comb through his hair.

"Michael, you're all wet now,"

He only held you tighter.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

hahah security guard Michael's lived with the people his father has screwed over trying to get to him his entire life, so he's quite paranoid. There's a total of four locks on his front door, and he doesn't think he's ever cracked open a window (who knows what who could crawl in at night).

Admittedly he's a little over protective of you. He likes knowing where you are, though its not something he requires of you. Letting him know when you're going out and having an idea of when you'd be back is enough.

Sometimes Mike gets a weird sense of fear, and he despises having you home. The pure thought of someone being able to hear everywhere he goes, every movement he makes freaks him out so much that he lays in bed, curled in a ball and tries not to breathe. You learn to find something to go buy, or to find a friend to randomly catch up with when you hear his presence in the house practically vanish.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Mike's horrible at remembering dates, so there's definitely been a few anniversaries he's missed over time. He tries his hardest to remember birthdays though. he gets you little trinkets, nothing huge but something to "remember him by", as he says. Everyday tasks get hard sometimes, regardless of him insisting that he's fine. Helping him out with tiny things, like putting stuff back where it goes or closing the cabinets he leaves open by accident is something you take up to make him feel just a bit better.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Michael picks at his skin a lot. It's been a habit he's carried for years, and it's not uncommon to see his face or fingers littered in bandages to hide the ache-y bleeding spots where he picked too deep.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Concerned...wouldn’t be the right term for it I think. Mike's only real concept of self-care for a very long time was showering and that was it. He wore dark colors to avoid any real effort that comes with style and occasionally he shaved his scraggly beard. His hair got quite long sometimes, and when he could bring himself to look in the mirror he'd hack at it until the strands at the back of his head were short enough to tickle at his fingers when he ran his hand over his hair.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Yes. You’re a very big part of who he is — he loves totally, relishes in the affection he feels for you. He can handle being apart, of course, but the thought of you leaving him (whether by choice or not) hurts. He doesn’t like thinking about it.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Michael likes origami. There I said it. You find random fortune tellers/cootie catchers around the house, and paper planes are all over your kitchen counters. It helps him with how stiff his hands are after work, it’s a nice, almost mind numbing activity after a long day.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

He doesn’t like being lied to. No one does, of course, but it’s a genuine deal breaker. Trust is a big thing to Mike and the thought of you not caring to tel him the truth or believing that he doesn’t deserve the truth hurts him.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

Michael hums. I don’t make the rules. It’s almost creepy at first, cuz you think he’s awake at three a.m., but eventually it’s just another fun thing you know about him. (No, you never tell him. You don’t think he knows.)

buy me a kofi? :-)

copyright @sontrini . do not repost.

[needs-to-stop-looking-at-valves]

You remember that soft heat rut ask you got a while ago? I’td be SO great to see you write something like that with the construction boys, love me sum good soft smut

Oooh good point there anon, good point. Let's see what I can whip up 👍

Scrapper and Mix had been together for a long, long time. In that amount of time, Scrapper had come to notice how stuff changed. Sari got older, Arcee and Ratchet tied the knot, Bumblebee became a member of the elite guard, etc. One thing that didn't change? His Mixie.

"Aaand...done!"

Scrapper had just finished setting everything up. Their bed was nice and cozy, full of Mix's favorite pillows and blankets. Freshly washed and still warm from the dryer. Pair that with new, fresh towels, and even a basket full of his favorite snacks. Mix and Scrapper grew as bots, but heat cycles were something that never changed. Mix's was bound to hit at sometime today (Scrapper always marked it on the calender), so Scrapper was ready. He took today off from work, and had only JUST started to finish cleaning.

"I think I still have time."

Scrapper hopped into their showers, helping himself to a cleaning. He wasn’t sure if he had time for a nice hot wax like he wanted, but at least he got that soap Mix loved so much. He always liked cinnamon apple. He finished quickly, and was in the middle of drying himself off, when the doorbell rang. Scrapper put the towel on his head, and dashed for the door.

"Mixie! You're home! You were runnin' late, thought I had more time!"

Mix chuckled, lifting up the bag in his hand for Scrapper to see.

"I needed a drive to clear my head, then I decided to pick up somethin' for tonight."

Scrapper peeked into the bag, damn near giddy. Mix got not only oil, but the GOOD oil, stuff that wasn't at all cheap.

"Aw! Well don't you make me feel all special. Come here."

He held onto his cheeks, and smooched his lips. Mix's body couldn't help itself. He was already getting the heat symptoms; a bit more frisky than usual, a bit foggy in the head. It was why Scrapper didn't give him too hard of a time as he grabbed his aft, despite the fact that it made him jump.

"Scrappy-"

"Ah ah ah. You know the rules. Shower. I JUST cleaned, and ya still got cement on your servos."

"Thought you liked that."

"Not enough to wash everything, especially before we get started. Shower time, Mixie cakes."

He swiped the bag from his hand, winking at him ad he made his way into the kitchen. Mix looked at him longily, before he forced himself to hit the showers. Scrapper grabbed a bucket, poured some ice into it, and after grabbing some cups, walked back upstairs. He set the bucket down next to all the snacks, and he wasn't gonna lie, he was impressed with the set up.

"I think I outdid myself this time around. He better like it."

He double checked that he had everything, when Mix walked into the room, towel at his waist. He looked at the set up, lightly shaking his head.

"Ya maroon. You way overdid this shit again. I don't need all of dis."

"You hush. Come on you, get comfy."

Mix rolled his optics, before obeying, laying back and getting comfortable. Scrapper hopped into berth, and sat on top of him, holding onto one of his hands and looking it over.

"You were trying to do it in the shower again, weren't you?"

"...no."

Mix always hated the idea of needing someone to 'coddle' him. Its why every heat cycle, he tried to touch himself beforehand, and everytime it failed.

"Is that why you look so grumpy?"

"I ain't grumpy, I'm pissed."

Mix hated his heat cycle, he really did. Not just because he was super horny, that wasn't new. What was new, was the fact that he didn't want to throw Scrapper around or be choked. He wanted Scrapper to make his valve happy. And when Scrapper opened him up, seeing that soaked, puffy valve of his, he realized he had so much work to do. Scrapper pouted, slowly running his servo in between the folds. Mix wanted to talk, but he was reduced to whimpers when Scrapper covered his mouth. The pheromones from a bot in heat could make anyone horny, even the bot in question.

"Shh. It's okay. It's okay. I got you. I always got you. I'm gonna take care of you, all night long. Your poor little valve."

Scrapper peeled his hand away, and leaned in to kiss him. Mix's lips were hungry, sinking into his kiss ravenously. Then Scrapper introduced a finger to his valve. Mix's hands gripped onto his shoulders, already putty in his hands. He kept his lips locked onto his, letting Mix swear against him as he continued to finger and massage his wet walls.

Then he overloaded. It was a quick one, one that made Mix's valve leak all over his hand. He pulled away from the kiss, grinning at Mix's flushed face. The first one was always quick, and not enough.

"You ready, Mixie cakes?"

"You act like this is the first time I've taken ya before."

"Well no, but I like making sure. You're SUPER sensitive right now, I'd hate to overwhelm you. You remember our first heat."

"You stuck your dick in my unlubed aft, rather than my valve. Yeah, I remember, you dumbshit."

Scrapper chuckled, rubbing the back of his head.

"Yeah...sorry about that. It's just why I'm careful now. I don't wanna hurt my big, precious mech again."

"Don't...say it like that."

"Aw, are you embarrassed? Is it because I talk to you in that voice? The one where I make you feel like a big baby? A big ol' baby who gets lots of kissy wissys?"

He held onto his face, decorating it in smooches, and Mix loved it. He squirmed in his arms, and his breath quickened considerably. Mix in heat was aroused by affection, and Scrapper was VERY equipped to handle his little kink. The little kisses to his face, the stupid baby talk, it left Mix shaking, whimpering on the spot.

"Scrappy, c-come on, been dealin' with this slag for like, a week. Stop teasin', PLEASE."

"Aw...you begging is cute, I don't wanna. But fine, I'm not mean, and I love you so so so much."

Scrapper gave his forehead a kiss, before opening his spike panel, and rubbing his spike against him. Mix ACTUALLY jumped up a bit, grip desperate as he held onto his arms. Scrapper chuckled, trying to not push himself in just yet, despite how tempted he was. His valve was hot, damn near steaming, and his spike wanted to make him feel better.

"Scraps-"

"You okay? You jumped on me, was that too fast?"

"No. N-no, I'm. I'm fine. I just. Fucking shit Scrappy just slide it in, PLEASE!"

There was no proper way to slide in, ultimately. Every single way was overstimulating. So long as it didn't hurt, Scrapper had to just settle for going on in. So, he did just that. He pushed himself inside his big, tight valve, and sat there. Mix's pedes thrashed under them, messing up the blankets below them. He didn't move. He was waiting for the sign, waiting for Mix to silently tell him it was okay.

Then Mix dig his servos into his back, and that was all he needed. He started to thrust into him. It wasn’t slow and soft like how he personally enjoyed, but quick, rough, enough to make the room filled with the sounds of metal and metal, and wet slams of a lengthy spike fucking a big valve. Mix was moaning under him, whining and swearing and begging for more and more. In between the soft, hungry kisses, Scrapper was just as putty in Mix's hands and vise versa.

"You're already close, Mixie."

"Shut...up. No I'm fucking not."

He was such a prideful liar. He nudged his face up, and peppered his neck in kisses, letting Mix whine in his arms.

"You don't gotta act all macho on me, bro. I'm here for you. I wanna make all that itch go away. I don't judge you for how quickly you overload. You're my big, manly mech, no matter what. Come on. Overload around me. I'll fill you up. You like it when you get filled. Go ahead. I'll give you as many many as you need after. Promise."

Mix still clung on to his overload, for just a moment, before he raked his servos down his hack, and overloading. Scrapper was forced to stay put as his valve tightened around him, squeezing the overload right out of him. They sat in each other's embrace, steam rolling out of their frames and condensation staining the sheets below them. Scrapper gave Mix a minute, before he pulled out of him, and sat down right next to his poor, exhausted Mixie.

"I hate you."

"You're just embarrassed. Here."

He smacked his face with his towel, helping himself to one as well. Mix grumbled like the sourpuss he was as he wiped himself down.

"Alright, alright. I am. Just...a bit. But you did good, and I mean that."

Scrapper grinned, reaching over to the basket of snacks. Little oil cakes, Mix's favorite, and peanut butter flavored, just how he liked them.

"I try. You deserve it."

"I...thank you. It means a lot to me."

"Oh its no problem, they're getting to be a pretty common flavors nowadays-"

"No. I mean...for this. All of this. You know this sucks, and you make it suck a little less."

Scrapper leaned in to kiss his forehead, before snuggling into him.

"Anythin' for you, bro."

They sat there, stuffing their faces full of shitty snacks, wrappers thrown onto the floor, to be dealt with later.

"Scraps?"

"Yeah?"

"We should totally fuck again."

"Its been five minutes."

"Your point?"

Scrapper rolled his eyes, trying to hide his smile.

Things were going to get much more heated between them.

[problematicfavesareproblematic]

I Pity the Grave That Tries to Keep Me From You

Bull Randleman x Reader One-shot

Summary: it’s just fluffy angst about Bull coming back from Market Garden bc I’m a soft squishy sad little tall person who is dealing with some major feels

Warnings: shitty writing (mostly cuz I don’t feel like editing WHOOPSIE), angst, fluff, rushed ending, bleh, idk man it is what it is....

Ya’ll know I listened to Hozier’s Work Song for part of this, I didn’t even try to be subtle about it.

~

~

~

You don’t react when Hoobler tells you about Bull.  

Martin can’t look at you, but you hug him just the same.

I’m sorry he’d blurted after he returned your embrace, voice breaking painfully. I’m so fucking sorry.

But you’d just shook your head from side to side and given him the closest thing to a reassuring smile you could muster.

Don’t be sorry. It’s not your fault. I’m glad you’re here.

You weren’t sure how many times you’d said those three sentences since D-Day, but it was the only thing you could think of to say to your broken friends telling you through tearful apologies the names of the soldiers you all had loved and lost. As if it was their fault... as if they’d failed in keeping them safe for you.

Don’t be sorry. It’s not your fault. I’m glad you’re here.

Martin had let out one quiet sob against your neck before stepping back and turning and leaving. Everyone let him go. 

You understood- everyone grieved differently. Your grief had to wait a bit longer- you still had things to do.

No one made to stop you when you excused yourself, Webster having the presence of mind to give you a nod when you mumbled something about checking in with Nixon.

You and Bull had always known the risk of one or both of you dying- hell, you’d even discussed the likelihood of one of you dying in front of the other. You’d mentally prepared yourself as much as you could for that inevitability.

Missing, though? Missing wasn’t sitting well with you.

Becoming an intelligence officer hadn’t been a career path you’d stumbled across by mistake- you liked information, found comfort in details and strategy. 

You hated being blindsided, and since you’d been small you’d gone to great lengths to ensure you never entered a situation without being fully aware of any and all potential outcomes that could occur. 

Surprises aren’t always good, my darling. Remember that. 

Your mother’s words had echoed in your head the first time you’d met Bull, when he’d caught you off guard by introducing himself to you in the same manner he had introduced himself to all of the other men in Easy- with solid eye contact, a firm handshake, and a gentle drawl of “Randleman, nice to meet you.” 

The idea that you wouldn’t hear his voice again, in either friendly introduction or intimate devotion, made you feel achingly hollow.

“If you think something as silly as a grave can keep me from coming home to you, you got another thing coming, Little Lady”. 

“That sounds like you’re saying you’re going to haunt me, Den—”

“You should be so lucky….plus, I’d make it fun, so don’t even worry about it.”

You start to walk in earnest towards the officer’s area now, biting the insides of your cheeks in an effort not to cry. 

You had to keep going. 

You’d promised him you would, just as you’d made him promise in kind.

When you finally found Nixon, you instantly frowned at the bruise blossoming on his forehead.

“What happened to you?” you ask, ignoring the man’s glare and walking over to get a closer look. “Looks like you tangoed with Joe Toye’s brass knuckles and lost.”

“Got shot in the helmet.” Nix grumbles at the same time Richard perks up and squints at you while asking “Toye’s got brass knuckles?”.

You wince, both in response to Nix’s injury and your accidental snitching on Joe. “Whoops.”

Lewis’s eyes catch yours and his brow softens. 

You instantly know what he’s about to bring up, and shake your head preemptively.

“Lew,” you begin with a heavy sigh, only to be shushed like a child before he spoke over you.

“They don’t know anything for sure yet.” he insisted, and you knew that he knew you saw through his bullshit. 

He sometimes tried to be less pessimistic when he knew you were already way ahead of him in that department, but the two of you knew each other well enough by now for you to see it for what it was- him trying to make you feel better, coddling you to make you feel better.

Lying to make you feel better.

Information is truth, everything else is probably a lie.

Your mother was a bitter cynic, but you’d also never once known her to have her heart broken.

Maybe she’d been on to something.

“Yeah,” you’d offered, quickly brushing past him to look at the map on the table. “Maybe. Anyway, when exactly did Market Garden start going to shit? Do you think we were undermanned? Were our maps wrong? Did they have unexpected weaponry….?”

Distract the sad voice in your head offered as you threw yourself into work, using the churning pain in your belly to fuel your motivation to reclaim the town. 

No one gets to hurt you and get away with it. No one gets to take Bull from you and remain unpunished.

You decided then and there that you were going to make the SS bleed for what they’d done, and you knew that if Bull were there he’d tell you to rein it in.

Got murder in your eyes, darling. What’s got you so cross?

But Bull wasn’t here. And you? You had to get over it.

It’s what he would want.

~

~

You had barely slept that night, throwing yourself into rereading all of the intelligence reports until Dick finally ordered you out of the CP tent.

At first you’d fought him on it, still too afraid of being let alone with your own thoughts. But he’d been firm, literally snatching the paperwork from your trembling hands and hovering over you until you relented.

“I don’t want to see you until morning, is that understood?”

With more patience than you deserved he’d held your coat up and helped you slip into it, making a point to pull your knit hat down over your ears before turning you in the direction of where all the soldiers were sleeping.

Even though Bull had promised to be the one to haunt you, it was you who felt like the ghost.

But, like the obedient soldier you were, you walked to the spot where you and Bull had set up camp with Perconte and Luz. Neither man happened to be there at that moment, which was a small blessing because when you saw Bull’s unattended duffel bag in the same spot he’d left it that morning you’d been unable to stop the sob that slipped past your lips.

Like a child, you’d curled around his rucksack and held it close, your fingers tracing over the airborne patches that denoted it as his. 

Had it truly been this morning that you’d woken up in his embrace, groaning in sleepy protest when he refused to let you out of his arms?

“Jus’ a bit longer,” he’d mumbled, bringing a leg up and over your hip to pin you beside him. “Let the boys start fightin’ without us, we’ll catch up later…”

You wish that had been possible. You wished it could have been that simple.

 ~

~

Tears had leaked out of your eyes as you squeezed them shut and the next time you opened them it was morning. At some point in the night either George or Frank had tossed a wool blanket over you.

For a few glorious moments, you had thought Bull’s furnace-like chest had been what was keeping you warm. The blanket was a kindness, but an unintentionally cruel one.

After rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you’d gotten yourself ready and packed up to head out.

Bull’s duffle bag seemed to be filled with bricks as you hefted it over your shoulder with your own, and with each stride you took it only became heavier. You knew the protocol- take the deceased’s belongings to CP for redistribution and personal effects collection. 

It felt like defeat, as if you were giving up on him.

Defeat and reality were seeming to become one and the same, these days.

Your throat was so tight by the time you made it to CP you were barely able to explain what you were doing to Lewis, your arm trembling as you held out the pack to him.

The moment Nix had taken it from your hands, tears began to spill from your eyes and for once you did nothing to stop them.

Nixon had been about to say something to you when Perconte rushed in breathlessly with a call of your name, almost forgetting to salute Lewis when he saw him.

“Oh! Sir. Uh, Y/N- there’s, um,  something you should see—”

You glared at him, trying and failing to hide the fact that you’d been crying from your friend.

“I’m in the middle of something, Perco. Can it wait?”

In the distance you could hear the sound of truck engines, and a new anxiety began to blossom in your chest at the idea of leaving Bull behind.

“But, Y/N…” he protested, clearly tongue-tied and overexcited.

“Oh my God, what?!”

“It’s Bull!”

Your blood froze in your veins, sucking in a breath that felt too big for your body.

You could feel your heartbeat behind your eyes as your lungs screamed for more air, but your body was refusing to blink or breathe or move…..

“That’s….no. W-what’re you—?”

The sight of a truck driving toward a group of Easy and Dog soldiers came to a halt, and you swore you say a familiar glimmer of sandy curls standing at least a foot above the group.

 No. There’s no fucking way….

With wide eyes you turn back to Lewis, seeing an equally confused look on his face. 

You barely wait for his nod of dismissal before looking to Frank again.

“C’mon, I’ll—”

You don’t wait for him to finish, sprinting away from them with a single-minded focus on reaching the horribly familiar silhouette of the man you[d begun to mourn.

Bull Bull Bull BULL DENVER BULL!?!?

With no care for decorum or professionalism, you shove people aside and rush through the throng until you violently skid to a halt before Johnny and Hoob.

And Dever fucking Randleman.

A silent sob twists your face, vision doubling as more tears well in your eyes.

It was him. It was him.

When your eyes find his, you force yourself to take a breath.

He’s dirty and scraped and a little bloody but he’s alive and he’s here and—

You throw yourself at him, arms latching around his neck and legs locking around his hips as he catches you easily in his arms.

“Oh my God,” you whisper shakily, shaking like a leaf and clutching at him as if he were the last lifeboat in a storming sea. “Oh my GOD, Den—!”

Bull’s got one arm across your backside and the other is pressing your torso to his as if he means to fuse the two of you together, his heartbeat loud and strong and powerful against your chest as he twists his cold face into your neck and just breathes you in.

You know that Martin is trying to talk to you, that someone else is telling you to take it easy but you can barely hear them through the roaring sound of life returning to your body.

When he sighs your name you swear that you’ve never heard a sound so sweet.

As you turn your head to press a kiss to his temple, you open your eyes and blink your tears away.

Of course, once you clear your eyes, you see the mess of blood staining his shoulder.

“Jesus Christ!” you gasp, untangling yourself from him in an instant and trying to get out of his arms. “Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt, you idiot?!”

Bull allows you to unwrap your legs from his waist but refuses to let you go, the arm that had been under your bottom coming up to hold the back of your head lovingly.

A pained yet playful grin breaks across his lips as he eyes you. “Oh, am I?”

You smile stupidly, sniffling at his ridiculous attempt at nonchalance. 

Using his hold on the back of your neck he ducks down and presses a long, meaningful kiss to your lips. You sigh into it, and just as you cup his face in your hands someone clears their throat and you’re reminded that the two of you have an audience.

When you break apart he makes sure to wrap his good arm around your shoulders, and you wince when you catch the looks of surprise being sent your way by the replacements.

Whoops, that was certainly unprofessional….

Bill Guarnere barks a laugh as you shift uncomfortably, slinging his own bag back over his shoulder.

“Shit, if that’s the hello you give to someone who’s been MIA- I’m definitely getting lost more often!”

Martin rolls his eyes, and enough people laugh that some of the tension is broken. 

You turn back to Bull and try to get him to let him show you his shoulder. But Bull has never been an easy man to physically move, especially when moving is something he doesn’t want to do.

This time is no exception.

“Let me see it,” you huff, only to have him smirk and shake his head. “Denver, I could’ve made it worse, I need to make sure—”

“Nah,” he says with a shrug he immediately regrets doing. “How about you kiss it better after Roe gets a look at it, hmm?”

As you open your mouth to reply there is a cry from above that it’s time to get moving, the reminder that there are more pressing matters to attend to shaking you from your anxious worrying.

Because it’s Bull, he hollers for his men to get on the truck as if he had been with them the whole time. 

“I need to go get your stuff, our stuff from CP….”

Bull shakes his head before you’ve finished talking.

“Perco’s got it,” he says with a nod in the man’s direction. “Don’tcha buddy.”

Without waiting for a reply, Bull pulls you along with him towards the trucks, refusing to let you leave his side despite your insistence that Roe needed to take care of him.

Getting into the truck, you help unbutton his shirt so Doc can start cleaning the ragged wound on his shoulder.

Bull brings your knuckles to his lips as the truck begins to move, eyes never leaving your face as he answers Gene’s rapid-fire questions about what had happened in the time Bull had been separated from the group.

“...you lost some blood, how’d you manage not to pass out?”

With a wink in your direction Bull chuckles.

“Considered it, Doc. But then I remembered my missus here was waitn’ and thought better of it.”

You shake your head admonishingly at his explanation.

“You’re really something else, you know that Bull?”

In a move that surprised both you and the Doc, Bull used his grip on your hand to pull you so you were straddling his lap.

“Course I do, Little Lady. I’m yours.”

Well, goddamn.

“Damn right, now shut up and stop flirting.”

The smile he gave you only widened at the command.

“We’ll see, darlin’. We’ll see.”

~ ~ ~ (is it trash? Yes. But is it garbage? Also yes. Love you all and thanks for reading the feels)

taglist: @mrseasycompany​ @itswormtrain​ @mrsalwayswrite​ @happyveday​ @sunsetmando​

[kanri-tea]

De-aged Rei

Rei gets de-aged by an illegal mic.

“Rei? …Rei?!”

It’s… bright. You don’t understand. Just moments ago, you were curled up in the closet again, locked away because you were bad, but now you were outside, along with these two unfamiliar men peering down at you.

You curl into yourself, hugging Sen as tight as you can. You don’t know them, but you really, really hope that they’re not the bad men your father always threatens that he’d sell you to.

“I-is that little kid Rei?!”

They know your name, and that sends chills down your spine. You’re scared. You probably should answer them, but even as you grip Sen even tighter than before, you stay silent.

"Oi, oi, oi, there's no way that little kid is Rei!"

Sasara felt like screaming, or maybe just shaking the little kid that was standing where their third member was standing less than a minute ago. To the side, Rosho is panicking and working himself into a frenzy, not that Sasara could blame him. Why did those weird guys even have an illegal microphone that changed people into little kids?! Or maybe it’s time travel since Sasara was 110% sure that Rei wasn’t wearing a tiny hoodie before.

In front of the duo was a tiny little kid, maybe 5 or 6, Sasara guessed, with a worn out red-and-grey hoodie and hugging the most worn out stuffed toy – a blue cat, he thinks – that Sasara had ever seen. It’s missing a button eye and one of its ears is torn and the stuffing was spilling out.

In fact, if it weren’t for the fact that not only did little Rei look terrified of them, but the scar that Sasara had originally assumed came from the old man messing up or something was also present.

He’s like 5, Sasara thinks to himself, frowning.

Turning to Rosho, the little frown and creased eyebrows tells Sasara that he’s thinking the same thing. Baby Rei is still scared, but everyone likes jokes, right?

“Heya, kiddo,” he grins, “want to hear something funny?”

Rei stares back solemnly.

“Why did the picture go to jail?”

Silence.

“Because he was framed! Get it?”

In the background, Sasara swore he could hear the crickets chirping and Rosho facepal– wait, Rosho actually was facepalming, the meanie!

Rei hasn’t moved an inch, and ouch, tough crowd. Okay, so maybe jokes weren’t the best idea.

“There’s something wrong with his head, I swear,” Rosho is kneeling down in front of tiny Rei, pushing Sasara away, which fair enough, “do you know where you are?”

For a good minute, Sasara thought that Rosho would be answered in silence like they’d both been for the last couple of minutes, before a tiny shake of the kid’s head, indicating no, was presented.

“Okay… okay…” Sasara hears Rosho muttering to himself, “I- I’m Rosho and this is Sasara. And you are…?”

Little Rei gives them an odd look, before mumbling something into the plushie.

“Oh. Um. Sorry, could – could you repeat that, we couldn’t hear you.”

“… Don’t you already know my name?”

“Uh, er… I mean, that is…”

Sasara butts in again, covering for a now stuttering Rosho, “We do, but it’s only polite to introduce yourself, y’know!”

“… Rei.”

“Nice t’meetcha, Rei!”

He’s met with a blank stare.

“So, I bet you’re wondering why you’re here! So, uh, your parents left you with us for a while, but I swear they’ll be back soon!”

Sasara could practically hear the skepticism on Rei, but the tiny child doesn’t say anything.

“C’mon,” he mumbles to Rosho, “let’s go to your apartment…”

You don’t understand these two men, Sasara and Rosho. They’re so bad at lying that it’s almost painful.

Sasara says that your parents left you with them, but that’s such a big fat lie. There’s no way that they’d leave you with other people, not when the evidence of their abuse is so obvious. But… they’re nice. They give you food and water and try to coddle you.

You don’t understand what’s going on, not really, but you guess that they’re okay-ish since they haven’t hit you or locked you into a closet or something.

You stay quiet though, because adults are fickle, fickle beings, and you don’t want them to suddenly decide that you’re a bad child that deserves to be punished. You know that they’ve been looking at you weirdly, but you can’t distinguish what those glances mean. You’re usually better than this, but its hard to struggle when Sasara is so weird and nice and Rosho feeds you and lets you sleep on a bed with blankets and pillows.

You sleep well for the first time in ages with Sen curled up by your side while waiting for the other shoe to drop, for nothing is ever freely given, especially not kindness.

Rosho paces back and forth and from the corners of his eyes, he can see that even Sasara has a troubled expression on his face. It was now close to midnight and nearly 10 hours since Rei had been turned into a child.

And what a worrying child he was. If the bruises and handprints hadn’t been enough proof, the way that the 10-year-old (he was 10, apparently, but god, he was so small that he looked 6 or something) flinched or looked warily at them, like an enemy, was more than enough to paint an unpleasant story.

Everything felt so... wrong. Rei was supposed to be a hulking figure, confidence and sleaziness oozing off with every step, not some meek child with solemn eyes.

"So..." He hears Sasara awkwardly start, "Apparently, according to some of my contacts, its supposed to wear off on its own."

Rosho breathes a sigh of relief, "When?"

"Uh, in like a day, but some cases took longer," Sasara pauses, hesitantly adding, "and the old man won't remember anything either."

That's good, in a way, Rosho thinks, but he doubts that Rei would be happy about not knowing what Sasara and Rosho had learned about the man, as secretive as he was.

"I guess we... wait it out then?"

"Not like we have much of a choice," he hears Sasara agreeing, and with how distant his voice sounds, Rosho wondered if Sasara was thinking the same things he was, eyes drawn to the bruises and scar.

You wake up in the morning and for once, your body does not ache from sleeping on the ground nor does your stomach growl in hunger. It's an odd feeling.

Sasara and Rosho are already awake and about by the time you wake up, but they don't yell at you for being lazy. They tell you to sit down a place a plate of food in front of you. You recognize the eggs, but you think the strips oily things are bacon, but you aren't sure.

You do your best to eat as much as possible, but you've never eaten so much in the span of 24 hours in your life. You don't want them to think of you as ungrateful, whether they're your kidnappers or not. You clutch Sen tightly even as Rosho bustles around the apartment and Sasara starts telling what you assume are jokes, but you don't understand most of them.

...You know that you aren't supposed to be here. You heard them talking about microphones and deaging and other weird things that sound like magic last night. You'll probably only be here for another couple hours, a day at most, but you want to savor it. You want hold onto the warmth of Rosho patting your head, human contact that didn't end in pain. You want to hold onto the memory of Sasara's grin when he told jokes that you don't really understand. It's warm. They're warm.

This hopeful dream, you don't want it to end.

Stretching, Rei yawned before pausing.

This... was not his apartment. Actually, wasn't this Rosho's apartment? What was he doing here?

He doesn't remember drinking with the other two division members, so there weren't many possible reasons Rei could think of for why he was here.

"Yo," he greets them in the living room. They're staring at him wide-eyed and... is that pity? The hell?

"R-Rei!"

"Welcome back to the land of the living, old man!"

"Haha, pretty sure I was neither dead nor drunk, you brat."

"Rei," Rosho begins tentatively, "what's the last thing you remember?"

The last thing he remembers, huh... Hmmm... It's fuzzy, but they were in a rap battle, weren't they, Rei thinks, and the opponents had illegal mics with unknown effects. He says as much.

"Yeah, we figured," Rei hears Sasara mutter, but what exactly did that mean? Obviously he was hit by the unknown effect, but from what he could tell, something had happened and no one was fessing up.

"So," Rei leans down, "what exactly happened?"

He looks them in the eye even as they try to look away. None of them were going to leave this conversation without confessing, but if they weren't going to fess up now, Rei was going to make them fess up, and it certainly wasn't going to as nice of an experience as it would be if they confessed now.

"... We, uh," Rosho starts stuttering, doing his best not to maintain eye-contact, "you, uh. Got hit by the illegal microphones..."

"Yeah, I figured, sensei," Rei replies impatiently. Geez, what were they skirting around the topic for?

"Yougotturnedintoatenyearold."

Rei stills and turns towards Sasara. "Repeat that for me one more time, except actually comprehensible. I'm an old man y'know, these ears of mine aren't working as well as they used to."

"You... got turned into a little kid, like you were ten and had this cutest little plushie that you said was called Sen and you were super small and-"

Sasara is rambling, but only static silence filled Rei's ears. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck. Amayado Rei did not do vulnerability. Amayado Rei was a man with confidence, money, and strength. He was not small child who's only knew pain and misery, who equated himself as a useless existence. Amayado Rei was not that child.

"Okay, hold up," he holds his hands up to distract Sasara, to distract himself, "So you're saying that somehow I, as a 10-year-old, showed up with a toy I haven't seen in over thirty years, and was just chilling here for a bit?"

"For like a day, yeah."

Rei ignores the pitying and questioning stares from Rosho, ignores the questions that are on the tip of Sasara's tongue. He doesn't ask what happened, doesn't ask what they saw. After all, once Dotsuitare Honpo played its part in Tohoten's games, he would vanish. There was no point for attachments, even as he ignored the aching in his chest, ignored the fondness that was undoubtedly growing.

"Whelp, I've got places to be, things to do, and money to make," he grins at them, "Y'know how things are. Thanks for watching over little me, but I don't think he's going to show up again."

He walks out of the apartment even with Rosho stuttering and yelling at him, even with Sasara's suspicious stares, and oh boy, Rei really hoped he wasn't going to be nosy about this.

Amayado Rei would live his life with his head held high and unafraid for the future, unafraid of the consequences of his actions, and no one could tell him otherwise, not even the regrets that piled high at his feet or a trio of siblings that despised him.

He would survive.

[fragileizywriting]

blanket

AO3 | Start Here | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

The sun is so bright.

The sun is bright, he is warm and content, and he is happy enough to stay exactly where he is for the rest of time. It takes him a couple of blinks to register that he can see the beautiful blue sky above him, instead of a ceiling, and he shoots up into a sitting position before he can even realize he’s doing it. The sky is blue enough to match the ocean that Luka is from— almost as blue as Marinette’s eyes when she’s casting spells— almost as blue is his mom’s eyes.

There are no clouds. Just a beating, bright, beautiful sun. It’s bright— and relenting— but he doesn’t sweat underneath its gaze. The heat caresses his skin so softly like a warm hug— he’s tempted to purr just on sheer instinct, feeling coddled under the nice warmth.

His gaze moves down to his surroundings.

He’s in an open field that stretches for kilometers in all directions— coated in a sea of orange and red. There’s a sweetened honey scent in the air, something that he can’t place— but so familiar that it tickles the back of his mind. His ears twitch at the light breeze that carries through the field, listening to the way it whistles through his hair and the field.

When did he get here? He has no memory of this. He remembers holding Marinette tight as she cried, tucking her cheek against his chest, letting the seal at his chest burn and singe as his witch cried for a wish he couldn’t immediately satisfy. He remembers watching the flames at the fireplace as she cried— and coincidentally, fall asleep— before he’d closed his eyes as well.

He looks down to his sleep clothes— stained with dirt, of course, because it’s just his luck to be wearing white while laying down in a patch of… in a patch… of…

“Fire lilies.” He breathes out.

Of course, of course.

It’s been a long time since he’s been here, but now that he remembers— how could he have forgotten in the first place? He pulls his hands up from the earth, making sure his claws are as far away from any of the flowers as much as possible. He’s certain that he’s crushed however many are currently underneath him, but he doesn’t have the capability to feel upset at it, focusing on something else.

Where is she? She’s always close by whenever he shows up here.

He scans the horizon, finally recognizing where he is, no longer disoriented. She’s around here somewhere. Somewhere. It just sucks that her hair practically blends in with the flowers— red upon a fiery red always made it nearly impossible to discern between flower and curl whenever she wore thick crowns of them— and with the amount of the lily scent in the air, it’ll be impossible to scent her.

“Mom?” He turns in his seat to look behind him. There she is. His heart aches to see her after so much time.

Beautiful blonde and golden hair, just like his— braided to the side with a thick straw hat to keep her pale shoulders from burning. Sweet Emilie. She’s so susceptible to burning always— he remembers her laughter during the times where she would somehow get burned through her clothes when they’d go out to the fields together, when he was just a child.

He was so happy then— simply just spending time with his mother. Every moment with his mother was his favorite thing— the most important thing to him as a young boy. Nothing else mattered. The simplicity of his life was always so refreshing.

He knows that when he approaches her, she’ll turn and smile with her glittering green eyes up at him, maybe even pull back her hat just a bit so she can see him well. He’s tall now. Much taller than the last time she saw him. She’ll ask him if his nap was good, squeeze his hand in that familiar way she always did— if he wants a fruit that she no doubt has in the basket that rests at her side.

He stands up, tries to dust himself off from the dirt and pollen that’s caked onto his backside, and carefully makes his way over to her, wading through the flowers that go up to his knees. He doesn’t want to disturb the fire lilies— beautiful as they are, and dangerous as he is, they don’t deserve him trampling over them. He’s better than that.

“Mom— where’s dad—” He blinks.

“Oh! Chat Noir!” Beautiful blue eyes blink up at him from under the hat.

What?

Was he making a thought somewhere? Had he imagined someone? His brain feels fuzzy, trying to piece together the thought he’d made about his mother.

No… that’s right— his mother has blue eyes, not green. Where had the confusion come from? His mom has always had blue eyes.

She’s freckled all over her face and shoulders— she’s a peach tone, warm instead of that cool and unblemished skin he’d first imagined— with an absolute mane of red locks so dense and so thick that it is a crown of curls that goes down her back and shoulders when she doesn’t pin it in place.

Never in his lifetime would he ever imagine his mother having blonde hair. It doesn’t suit her.

His mother doesn’t burn in the sun, either— his mother lives under it. Fiery, beautiful, appreciative of the sky and all they give and have provided to humans— it’s no wonder that a Chat Noir stole fire from it. He doesn’t blame that past Chat Noir in the slightest.

Who… was the blonde woman? Her name’s dissolved on his tongue entirely.

Did she even have one?

Or did he make it up?

Why had his heart ached at the chance to see her turn around?

“Dearest?” Tikki tilts her head.

“Hey, mom.” He smiles down at her, trying to blink the memories away.

“Is everything alright?”

“I’m— I’m a little disoriented.” He sighs. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been here. I thought for a second I saw someone else.”

“Someone else, dearest?” There’s a frown on her face. It makes her look older. “Other than the flowers, and the charms, I’m the only one that is ever here. Who did you think you saw?”

“A woman?” He sounds weak with argument. “A— a blonde woman? For a second I thought— I thought this woman was my mother.”

“How peculiar,” Tikki looks him over, flitting her blue eyes over him in a way that’s reminiscent of Marinette. No doubt she’s checking for signs of fatigue— why else would he be hallucinating? “You’re not having migraines again, are you?”

He blinks slowly in the beating sun. “What does— my migraines? What does that have to do with what I saw?”

“Well, when you’d first shown up with signs of your head hurting, and those days when you could do nothing but cry, terrified of portals opening up and of that man that hurt you,” She lowers her gaze down enough so that he can’t see her face anymore because of the brim of her hat. “You also would ask for someone to show hold you. I don’t remember her name— but you kept saying she was your mother.”

“Why would I—”

“I suppose you’d have to ask your father on that one, my dear,” There’s nothing short of a smile on her smile when she looks back up. “He’ll have better answers for you. Afterall, he is the one who mostly took care of the migraines since I was so busy.”

He deflates. Well, there’s no point in worrying about it if he can just ask his dad about it later. “Oh, mom. I’m so disoriented— I didn’t even recognize where I was.”

“I’ll say. You almost gave me a fright when I heard your voice, it’s just been so long since you’ve shown up— but I’m so glad you’re here. How I’ve missed my little star.” She looks to him with awe, the lines on the sides of her eyes so familiar and so comforting. He doesn’t feel as confused as he did a few moments ago, thank goodness. She looks down at his clothes— to the white linen night shirt and pants— taking in the darkened smudges with a quirk of her expressive lips. “My dearest, you are covered in dirt.”

He probably looks like he’s been wrestling in gold-colored mud. And lost. “Marinette says I’m a magnet to it.”

“She may have a point.” Her laugh is short and sweet.

“Oh— I— also, I think I crushed some of your flowers when I showed up,” He gestures behind him. He can somewhat make out a small divet in the swaying field of lilies as the wind combs through them— he feels apologetic enough to flatten his ears at the sight. “I’m sorry.”

He always does this. Why does he always do this? He sags his shoulders on sheer instinct, flattening his ears harder against his head.

“Oh, dear, don’t apologize! I know you’re always upset when it happens, but remember, a flower can simply just grow back— besides, I’d much rather have you here, dearest, even if you’re only here via a dream.” She reaches for him in order to pull him closer and sit with her. He sits down with her, more comfortable and at ease being able to look at his mom at the correct height. He’s not used to looking down at her— she’s taller than him when she stands up. His mom will always and forever be taller than him. “You’ve always been our greatest gift, after all— you know I would trade all of the fire lilies in the world if it means to see you one more time.”

“Don’t call me a gift like that,” He laughs as his face steams red. His ears flick at the wind, breathing in heavy at the honey scent, watching his mother coddle and care for the thousands of flowers she cultivates each year. She snips a fire lily’s stem— the bulb is swollen with a blossom so large that it has the same diameter as the size of his whole head. It’s huge. Absolutely beautiful.

“I speak the truth, my dear.”

“Mom,” He rolls his eyes.

Her laughter is always sweet, but especially so when she places the flower into his hair. It’ll never sit well, given that he doesn’t have human ears like her— he has cat ears, just like his dad— but the flower stays as well as it can. “Your father would agree.”

“That doesn’t count. Dad will agree with anything you say.”

“It’s only because I’m right.”

“‘Greatest gift’,” He huffs, “Come on, mom. You can’t say things like that and expect me to keep a straight face.”

“You used to love to be told that,” There is so much humor in her smile that he can’t maintain eye contact with her. She snips another flower stem, letting her cutter rest in her lap so she can inhale the sweet honey scent of the petals. “What changed? Now that you’re twenty one, you’re acting so much more of an adult, my dear— where is my little star that couldn’t bear to see me leave without crying into his father’s robes?”

Only nine years of his memory intact. He is twenty one, but only nine of those years are real and unblemished. Sure, they’re full of headaches and dizzy spells and days where he’d lock himself in his room in the pitch dark trying to get the pain to go away, but they’re all he remembers of his younger teen years. He doesn’t know how to feel.

“Still here, don’t worry. You know I hate seeing you leave— I don’t feel comfortable with it. I have such an attachment to you.”

“I know, my dearest. You’ve always been a momma’s boy,” Tikki laughs, petting his softly on the cheek with a freckled thumb. “Ever since the first day we met, a crying and squirming little thing, only wrapped in bedsheets— always asking for your mother.”

He wishes he remembered even just a smidge of his childhood. All his memories start at the age of twelve. All his memories start with him curling into his mother’s arms, begging to be comforted from pain and fear of a man strangling him like something out of a nightmare. All his memories start with his mother looking at him like he’s her greatest miracle she’s ever performed.

“Hey, what does ‘greatest gift’ even mean, anyway?” He snorts, trying to focus on their conversation. “How am I a gift? All I am is a Chat Noir. You both have known Chat Noir’s for thousands of years— how am I any different?”

Her hands are just slightly bigger than his. Even with her giant height— he knows that it’s because they’re gods, and only because she is a goddess, she is taller than average— her fingers are proportionately small for her size. Delicate, slim— but her hands are definitely smaller than normal. She pauses with her fingers running against the petals of the lily she’s cut, her thick brows pinching closer in a way that her freckles shift on her skin in a mesmerizing way.

“It’s true that we’ve known many iterations of our champions,” She starts, “countless Ladybugs. Countless different species of earthen creatures— sometimes demons, too. Each more selfless than the last— always willing to give up so much of themselves for others.”

He tries not to think of Marinette, willing to give up her entire soul, just to bring back the one boy she couldn’t save.

“Plagg has had many Chat Noirs in the past, too— not all of them were demons. Many humans, like my Ladybugs— or many other creatures on earth. Nagas, for example— we’ve each had champions from all sorts. I’ve seen Plagg pick prodigies in the most unlikely of places— it makes sense, of course. Chat Noir is as Chaos personified— it wouldn’t do for it to be the same every time. While I always pick the most selfless, Plagg has always picked the most— uhm— impulsive.”

Impulsive? Or does she mean selfish?

How selfish is he really, for wanting to save Marinette’s soul from himself? He flattens his ears on his head with a simple: “Oh.”

She gestures to the field around them. “If we were to condense every Chat Noir into a flower for just an analogy, I’m sure in your eyes it would look much like this field. All the flowers look the same in the end, don’t they? A sea of orange?”

He shrugs, agreeing easily. “Sad but true.”

“But you haven’t been here to see how much care I put into each individual flower. Combined, it is a sea of mirrored and identical petals, but each flower I have cared for individually. I know the personalities of each and every flower— and I do actually mean Ladybug, in this analogy, just so that we’re clear. I listened to their prayers, nurtured them in all the ways I could. I watched them blossom under my care and protection— I watched each individual petal open up to reveal a gorgeous fire lily anyone would be proud of.”

“But we’re all the same in the end. We’re just a collection of fire lilies for you.”

“Our champions are never just a collection, my sweet.” She turns to him, holding the cut fire lily in her hand, cradling it like it’s the most precious one out of all. “They are reflections of ourselves. Extensions of us, in a way. It is just like a knight that works for a king and queen— it is commendable that they all wear the same crest— but not every knight is an equal. Each have wants, wishes, gains and conquests that they themselves did. We call you champions and prodigies because you are someone that we think of always. Every Ladybug has had a trait that I’ve prioritized— each Chat Noir has had something that Plagg has admired.”

“But what does—”

“You’re the first Chat Noir we’ve ever had as ours.” Tikki smoothes out her stola— a browned fabric over her tunic that keeps her from getting dirt while she works. “That in and of itself is a gift, my dear. You will never know how much work and attention Plagg gave to every one, that is true— and it may feel like you are just the same as all the others— but you will always be our son. No other Chat Noir can claim that title— never will be able to, either. You were a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. The chance, afterall, quite literally had deposited itself onto our lap.”

He tilts his head, feeling a smile starting to spread on his face at her words. “Does that mean I’m your Chat Noir, too?”

“You always have been,” She smiles back— so reminiscent of Marinette, she really is a perfect fit for his mother— and reaches over to give him a combover with her hands in his hair. He purrs at her touch, even if she ends up pushing the fire lily off where she’d placed it in between his wild mane. She laughs softly when he tilts his head so she prioritizes petting at his ears, squeezing lightly with a thumb and a forefinger against the cup of his ear. “The moment you popped into our world, you were ours to take care of. You know I wouldn’t let Plagg have you by himself— I’d become much too smitten with you the moment we met. Beautiful and bright like a little star— somehow the fire that burned in the sun that had been stolen from me by a previous Chat Noir had come back to become my own child. Funny how luck works out in the end, no?”

“I guess so.” Chat agrees, picking a stray petal off of her basket. His blackened fingers stain orange from contact with the pollen that sticks to the petal like glue. “I’m sorry for feeling self conscious, mom.”

“It’s natural to ask questions about your place in everything. I would find it more concerning if you hadn’t questioned it at some point. I’m just glad I got to you before Plagg did— your father would no doubt try to convince you to burn something to feel better.” She turns her head slightly away to snip at another stem, placing the first into the basket. Each flower glistens with a dew so thin that Chat’s sure he’s imagining it. He groans when he realizes his tail is stained with pollen, too. “You know, my sweet, it’s good fortune to be blemished by a lily.”

“I don’t think it’s good fortune to have it stain your butt. I’m glad I’m not actually here— Marinette would kill me if I woke up to all these stains in my clothes.”

Tikki laughs. “It’s a shame you can only visit my realm through dreams, but I know it’s for the best. Your hellfire would be burned to the quick of your nails if you were actually here. It’s a shame your father can never see my land— though it’s not like he’d ever leave his throne, the spoiled king he is. Speaking of, how is my darling Ladybug?”

His mom is making conversation— she doesn’t need to ask about Marinette. She’s always checking up on her little worker, making sure that she’s okay. Marinette has absolutely no idea that every prayer she whispers under her breath is absolutely heard by his mother— he just wishes he could say that about all the prayers he gives to his father. Rude.

“She’s okay. Hardworking.” He feels a little silly answering a question about her own champion. “Preparing spells for the town for spring and summer. And for the town next over. And for anyone she comes across.”

“Oh, sweet and darling Marinette. She works too hard. She’ll miss all the festivities if she works herself this brutishly.”

“I’ve told her that already. She just works harder to spite me. She keeps telling me that she needs to counteract everything she knows I’m going to end up accidentally doing during the festivals, so she’s trying to make good luck charms for the entire village so that they can negate me.”

“Splitting image of me and your father,” His mother’s lips widen to the point where he can see the dimples pressing into her cheeks. “How adorable.”

He steams red. “Don’t— don’t you dare.”

“Dare what, dearest?”

“I’ve known you my whole life, mom, don’t try to pretend that I can’t read what you’re thinking. You’re trying to get your hopes up to a daughter-in-law, or whatever, but it’s not going to happen.” He huffs, attempting to hide his face in his hands but ending up having to sneeze from the pollen on his claws.

“Why not? It’s not uncommon for a Ladybug and a Chat Noir to fall in love. It’s happened countless of times already— Marinette is a perfect Ladybug for our Chat Noir.”

He burns redder. “Mom— I— how does that even work, anyway? Isn’t Chat Noir known to be a rogue?”

“Not always. You’re already proof enough of that, aren’t you? You’ve spent only a year with her and my little star has become smitten. Sometimes all it takes is a gentle guidance in the right direction and you two end up meeting and falling in love.”

Chat startles, crossing his arms, trying to keep a pout off of his face. “Wait a minute. This has nothing to do with my dad shoving me through the portal when she opened it on accident in the throne room, does it?”

“I know of nothing about this,” Her smile tells him all he needs to know. “Perhaps you should bring it up to your father instead.”

“It won’t work. I’m telling you, both of you are wasting your time— there’s no need to play matchmaker. She’s in love with someone else, you know.”

Tikki raises a brow in his direction, snipping another fire lily. “Oh, is she? No doubt the same boy she’s trying to save with the miraculous cure?”

“I’m going to be honest, you don’t sound that impressed. Isn’t this spell supposed to be the hardest one? Needing a Ladybug and a Chat Noir?”

“That’s true. And not to worry, I am most definitely impressed,” She’s full of humor as she runs her hands along the petals. “But I suppose you’re old enough to know that your father is a helpless romantic, although I’m sure you’ve already realized. He’s the one who created that spell, you know. I’m credited with a lot of things— but I’m not the one who started with spells. Your father is a genius when it comes to magic— the miraculous cure was unsurprisingly a spell he’d created, not me.”

“Okay. Sure. I know you’re right about my dad being lovesick. But what does helpless romantic have to do with—”

She tips her head down enough so that he isn’t able to see her face from the brim of her hat. “Well, you need a Ladybug and a Chat Noir together in the same place and at the same time in order to perform it. Having neither, or just one, and trying to perform it never gets you the results you need.”

“You’re joking. Please, tell me you’re joking.” He whines into his hands, ignorant to the pollen that sticks to his fingers and stains his eyelids as he wipes. Of course. Of course. “The most powerful spell in the world was made just for you two to continue trying to match-make Chat Noirs and Ladybugs together.”

Tikki snorts out a laugh so youthful and clean— so reminiscent of Marinette— he can barely stand it, blushing into his hands. “We’re only gods, my dear. There is only so much entertainment in our lives before the mundane gets mundaner. While we do not force any connection between any one of our champions, we do give them the opportunity to meet sometimes. If your father had his way, however, we would be giving opportunities to every single one of our champions.”

Chat sits there, absolutely steaming into his hands, letting his thoughts wander. She doesn’t like him that way. She doesn’t.

After all, even if there’s a chance that she does, there’s still Adrien.

He tries changing the topic just a smidge. “You know, I told her that you know that we’re going to try the miraculous cure—”

“—Let me guess, she didn’t take it well, I assume?”

“She took is as well as you can when you get told that a divine being knows your every move,” He quirks his lips, feeling exasperated, pulling his hands away from his face. “I’m just worried about the results. And her. And the boy we’re saving.”

And me, he wants to add. My heart.

“Everything will work out correctly and properly in the end, my dear.” Tikki’s eyes sparkle with stars. “After all, you’ve brought me and your father nothing but happiness. You’ll never bring me pain in any sense of the word.”

“I’m not going to lie, that’s really cryptic— what does that mean, mom?”

“It means that I don’t have any time to explain, unfortunately. It’s time to wake up, dearest little star.”

“What? Already? But I just got here—”

“You slept a little too late last night, it seems like.”

“I was keeping Marinette company,” He argues. “She cried herself to sleep in my arms tonight.”

This startles Tikki enough that she turns to face him completely. “Whatever for?”

“She’s been having nightmares,” His ears flatten, remembering the fear in her eyes. “Really bad nightmares about not being able to save this boy we’re performing the spell for.”

“Interesting. I hadn’t picked up on that— I don’t think she’s been praying to me about those.” Tikki makes a humming noise. “I’ll make sure to pay extra attention on her for the following nights to see if I can do anything.”

“Just don’t mention it to her that I told you. She’ll probably freak.”

“Of course.” She wraps an arm around his shoulder, pressing his ear to her heart. She hands him the fire lily, never afraid of his blackened claws, kissing him so softly against his hair and ears he barely feels it. He is warm, and loved, and comforted— all wonderful things that Tikki does best. “I love you so dearly, my little star. Give this to Marinette, won’t you? I’m sure she’ll love to see it. Until we cross paths, my sweet.”

“I love you too.” The scent of honey consumes him, his eyes slipping shut, sagging against her as if he’s falling asleep— gripping her tight on her robes, never wanting to let go. “Until… we cross paths… Mom.”

- * -

His eyes snap open to look at the ceiling. There’s a headache in the back of his mind as his vision tries to right itself, but it’s a familiar headache. Going to his mother’s dream world always makes him dehydrated— most likely his body’s attempt to warn him not to do it often. She wasn’t lying when she said that his body wouldn’t be able to handle it if he went there in real life— the hellfire that burns around his soul like a protective shield would absolutely extinguish.

There’s a weight on his chest.

Not just his chest, his entire body— he glances down to see it. It’s not an extremely heavy weight— it’s definitely doable.

Marinette.

He stiffens when he registers the black inkspill of her hair— long, coating the two of them like a sheet of ribbon. She’s plastered onto him, still fisting his shirt, her hips slotted against his. Even through their clothes, he can feel her warmth up against him— her arms around him, her chest against his, her calves up against his knees— he really does his best not to panic.

He tries to take a small moment to memorize how she feels up against him, knowing that he won’t have this forever. It’s unlikely that he’ll have this ever again— knowing that if Marinette were to wake up now, she’d never want him anywhere near her during sleep from how embarrassed she’d get. He cherishes her slow and gradual breathing— her cheek pressed into his chest where the seal is.

He cherishes her warmth with a lazy turn of his head to look at her long eyelashes that peek from underneath her bangs. She’s a beautiful little witch, with her excess of freckles that dot below her eyes and cross her nose bridge. A beautiful, lovely, selfless witch.

He reaches with one of his hands over to one of her shoulders so he can try slipping out from underneath her, knowing that she’ll be incredibly uncomfortable if she woke up to find herself on top of him like a blanket.

There’s a fire lily in his hand.

Right. Right. He’d seen his mother in a dream.

He’s apprehensive to continue holding the flower— the red petals never look redder than when they do when they’re in his blackened hands and claws— but he can’t place it down because the low table with his plate from last night is too far away.

But if he tries to get out from underneath her, he’ll most definitely crush the flower in his hands.

His mother has cursed him to stay here, the conniving goddess.

“Stop playing matchmaker, it won’t work.” He whispers softly to the flower, as if she can hear him through it. He frowns at the flower for good measure, narrowing his eyes towards the offending lily. She doesn’t like him that way. She doesn’t.

“What?” Marinette startles awake. “What is— what are you—”

Her face is so close to his— they’re almost knocking foreheads with each other— all he can do is look at her eyes and offer a weak: “Oh. I’m—”

“—I,” She looks down to where her hands are on his chest. The seal burns a warm and comforting temperature underneath her palm, he tries not to let his heart rate speed up just in case she feels it. Her face flames red as her hair finally falls over her shoulders, obscuring the sides of their vision with a black curtain. “Oh, Tikki!”

Tikki indeed. Oh boy.

“Marinette—”

“I am so sorry!”

“It’s okay—”

“How embarrassing— did we sleep the entire night like this? Oh my goodness, how improper of me— how could I—” She pulls away from him, almost launching herself off the couch entirely.

The only way to get out of this is to just push through, so, he smiles as wide as he can and brings his hand with the flower closer to her. “Here. This is for you.”

“A— a fire lily?” She stops her internal raving just to blink at his hand with confusion. “That’s my favorite flower, but I’ve never seen one so large and so— oh, heavens, it’s beautiful. How did you get this, Chat?”

“I thought maybe you’d want it,” He’s only half lying by not exactly answering her question, and tries not to blush when her small hands come to clasp his larger one. “It reminds me of you.”

AO3 | Start Here | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[littlekatleaf]

Be still my indelible friend (Overwatch)

So this is inspired by the “Love Triangle” scenario @lovely-starry-universe​ shared. (sorry it’s not TMA, @beaugtifuw​ but maybe consider it as an alternative to death?) This is also separate from my other fics.

Be still my indelible friend, you are unbreaking Though quaking, though crazy That’s just wasteland, baby ~ Hozier, “Wasteland, Baby!” Roadhog wanted to rub his eyes, aching behind his mask. He felt like he was going to sneeze, but his head throbbed and sneezing would make it worse. He really wanted to disappear into his quarters and sleep whatever this was off, without the mask so he could sneeze as necessary and blow his nose. Unfortunately he was stuck here, trying to keep Junkrat from noticing he was getting sick. 

Junkrat always noticed, even if he was in the middle of working something up for Torbjörn, or messing with one of Lena’s pulse bombs. Could be completely immersed in his work, muttering about whatever crossed his mind as he pieced things together, but the minute Roadhog started feeling off, sometimes before he actually registered the sensation in his own body, Junkrat would be there with tea or Kleenex or cough drops. Whatever Roadhog might need. Or want. No matter how many times Roadhog told him to stop - didn’t need coddling - Junkrat just shrugged and kept on. Irritating. Not a sook and rankled that Junkrat thought he was. 

Reckoned the Rat had a point, though. Hard to intimidate when one was constantly sniffling. Like he was doing right now. Just about to get up and find his own tissues when footsteps clanked down the passage outside the door and Junkrat finally looked up from his wires. Not at him, though. At the man currently leaning in the doorway.

“Oi, Lucio! Welcome back, mate. How’d it go,” Junkrat asked.

Lucio gusted a sigh. “Horrible. She’s gonna be gone for months, and as a goodbye gift she gave me her cold.”

Junkrat laughed, but not meanly. “Now that ain’t fair.” He crossed the room and pressed his hand to Lucio’s forehead. “Might be warm.”

“Eh, no big. Just feel a little under… the… weather.” His voice wavered up on the word and suddenly he pitched forward. “Hitchoo! I’tchoo!” 

“Bless ya, mate.” Junkrat tossed him a box of tissues from under a pile of detritus.

“Oh, thanks, man.” Lucio shook his head at himself. “Could’ve been a disaster.” 

“Who takes care of the medic when the medic’s feelin’ crook?”

 Lucio pulled a tragic face, but was clearly trying not to grin.  “No one, now that Hana’s away.”

“That ain’t right. Patched me up often enough, right Roadie? Only fair if I do the same. C’mere; sit.” He steered Lucio to the other side of the couch, put a blanket around his shoulders. Then he began to fill, not the kettle for tea, but the coffee pot. Lucio liked coffee. Roadhog didn’t.

 As the coffee brewed, Junkrat asked Lucio about the trip to Busan. 

Lucio made a so-so gesture. “Meeting the parents was okay - they didn’t hate me. Maybe. But Dae-hyun’s another story. I’m surprised he didn’t try to poison my soda.”

“But you’re the dead nicest person I ever met. Can’t imagine you were rude. What’d ya do?”

“He thinks it’s my fault Hana won’t be more than his friend.”

“An’ it ain’t?”

“Nah, she sees him like a brother. Anyway, we’re open. If she wanted to be with him, it’d be fine with me.”

“Huh,” Junkrat made a considering noise and Roadhog caught him looking at Lucio with an unreadable expression. Which was weird - Junkrat usually had the opposite of a poker face. Made playing cards against him profitable.

When Lucio’s voice went hoarse, Junkrat took over the conversation, making his usual terrible jokes. Going into far too much detail about the modification to Torb’s turret he was working on. Nattering. 

And Roadhog realized he was going to sneeze. Hated doing it with the mask; small as the sneezes were, still felt fucking gross. Hated more doing it with an audience. Too many comments over the years about ‘big guy, tiny sneeze’ ha ha ha fucking hilarious. Ducked his head, tried holding his breath and kept it tightly contained to just a shudder.

No one responded. Thank fuck.

Felt odd, though. Unsettled. Maybe he was getting a fever? But he didn’t have that bone deep ache yet. Just felt… not right.

The day wore on. At some point Lucio switched from coffee to orange juice. His voice was barely more than a croak. Junkrat teased him about sounding like a frog and instead of biting his head off, like Roadhog would have - well deserved, in his opinion - Lucio just laughed and pretended to eat a fly. Roadhog rolled his eyes. Immature. Both of them. 

Lucio shivered, just once, and Junkrat dug his own scarf out of another pile of random crap and wrapped it carefully around Lucio’s neck, the orange and yellow stripes shining bright against his dark skin.

“Thanks, man,” Lucio said, sincerely, a flush rising up his neck. Fever? Or something else? He put his hand on Junkrat’s arm, and Rat covered it with his own. Roadhog looked away.

Every single time Lucio sneezed, Junkrat blessed him. And at each blessing, Lucio said thanks. He didn’t get irritated, he didn’t snap or growl. He just kept Junkrat cheerful company, laughing at Rat’s jokes (even, or maybe especially, the terrible ones), making listening noises in response to his endless stories, face nuzzled down in Junkrat’s scarf. 

Finally, Junkrat noticed his head nodding forward, eyes drooping closed. “Why’nt you head to bed, mate? Ain’t gotta keep us entertained.”

Lucio yawned, stretched. “Sorry. Just exhausted suddenly. I was going to stop by the mess hall for some food first, but…” He sneezed suddenly, ducking into the scarf. “Oops! Shit. I’ll wash it before I give it back, I promise.”

“Bless ya. No worries.” Junkrat shrugged. “Saw Mei cooking some of her chicken noodle soup earlier. I’ll bring you a bowl.”

“You’re a lifesaver, Junkrat. If Mercy caught me anywhere near the mess with this cold I wouldn't have to worry about being sick for very long.”

Junkrat mimed a shudder. “Too right. Sheila only looks sweet and innocent.”

“Thanks again.” Lucio tossed a wave over his shoulder as he sauntered out. “See ya, Roadhog.”

Junkrat whistled tunelessly as he cleaned up his workbench. Roadhog struggled against another sneeze. He tried to ignore it, to think of something else, but the tickle was insistent. Fuck it. He ducked his head, sneezed once, then again. Junkrat’s whistle didn’t falter. Was focused, maybe, on what he was doing. Roadhog tried to breathe carefully, but his nose wanted to drip so he sniffed, and then he needed to sneeze again.  An annoying as shit self-perpetuating cycle. 

He glanced around the room for the box of tissues. Apparently Lucio’d taken it with him. Of fucking course. “Junkrat. Gonna head up to my quarters for a bit.” Maybe he’d be focused enough not to ask…

“Ya ain’t hungry? ‘S well past lunch. Don’t think I’ve ever heard ya turn down a meal, ‘specially when Mei’s cooking.”

Roadhog wanted to groan, but kept it to a sigh. “No, yeah. Let’s go.” He was a little hungry. He’d pick up a bowl of soup in the mess hall and when Junkrat made his delivery to Lucio he could slip off. Soup would help, and maybe then he could get sleep. Or at least a little peace and quiet.

Luckily no one was in the mess hall when they stopped by, so it was a shorter trip than if Junkrat’d had someone to talk at. Just filled their bowls and, balancing his own and Lucio’s because sometimes Rat’s mech hand had trouble with the porcelain, followed Rat to Lucio’s quarters. Shit - his nose wanted to drip. Sniffed against it, which triggered an urge to sneeze. With his hands full of soup. Balls. Couldn’t even get Junkrat’s attention, any attempt to talk and he’d lose the tenuous control he clung to. 

A breath, another breath… only a few more steps until he could hand off the bowl… and he realized he wasn’t going to make it. Stopped and braced for it and “Ht’nxxt!  Ngxxt! …. Ht’nxxt!” Let his breath out carefully. It felt like he’d exploded his sinuses, but at least he didn’t spill scalding liquid over his hands. Small mercy. Junkrat was already knocking at Lucio’s door, a rhythmic tapping that wasn’t like his usual fist at Roadhog’s door.

Lucio opened the door and a soft tune wafted out like smoke. He’d clearly been working on some new music. A pair of headphones was around his neck. He’d changed from his travel clothes into a pair of sweatpants, and an oversized sweatshirt with two laughing gingerbread men that said, “Let’s get baked.” 

“Thanks, guys. Appreciate it.” He seemed to notice Roadhog staring and glanced down, then chuckled. “It’s from Hana,” he said, as if that explained everything.  “I’d invite you in, but I’m probably contagious.”

“Ah, no need to sit around all by your lonesome, sick an’ miserable. I never get sick. And Roadie’s already got it. He’s been sneezing all day.” Junkrat waved a hand at Roadhog dismissively. 

“Oh, sorry Roadhog! I didn’t know you were sick.”

“Ain’t nothing,” he mumbled. So Junkrat knew? And hadn’t said anything? Hadn’t even blessed him once? What the hell? 

Lucio stepped back to let them in and, with no idea how to bow out gracefully, Roadhog followed. The room was dark, lit only by a few strings of colorful fairy lights. Lucio’d made himself a nest on the couch, pillows and blankets and his laptop. His sound system sent out a low bass beat, overlaid with electronic melody and a voice that sounded almost like Hana, singing something he couldn't make out. In the corner of the room was an altar with a buddha statue and a candle lit in front. He let Junkrat take the spot next to Lucio on the couch, and sat on an arm chair across from them. It was a surprisingly welcoming space and Roadhog found himself relaxing, almost against his will. 

Junkrat made himself useful, cleaning up the dishes when they’d finished eating. Making sure Lucio was comfortable, that he had a glass of water and tissues in easy reach. When Lucio yawned, Junkrat pulled him close, to lean against his shoulder. He launched into some ridiculous, and likely embellished, story about a heist he’d pulled on the Queen of Junkertown sometime in the years before he and Roadhog started working together. Lucio made impressed noises, egging him on, and each story got less likely than the last. 

And then Lucio turned away from Junkrat, sneezing again. “Hitchoo! I’tchoo! Ugh, excuse me. I’m so gross.” He blew his nose.

“Bless ya. And no ya ain’t. Least ya got a normal sneeze, not like me. I sneeze like a bomb going off.” Junkrat tugged him close again and Lucio relaxed against his side, laughing.

“It’s true, though. An’ apparently size don’t matter in these things ‘cause Roadie sneezes like a kitten.”

Roadhog felt himself going red under the mask. He really, really did not want to be having this conversation. Not with Lucio, and not with the tickle that was building again. “Could you not make fun of me for five fucking minutes? Damn, Junkrat.”

“Don’t be such a touchy bastard. Ya know I don’t mean nothing by it.”

He wanted to keep arguing, to cuss Junkrat out for being such an asshole, especially while he was just as sick as Lucio, but part of him wondered whether he might, actually, be overreacting. Worse, he was pretty sure he was going to sneeze. He raised a wrist to the nose of his mask, like that was somehow going to help, but the tickle was too strong to  be contained. “Huh… chu! Chu! Chu!” Kept his head down when he finished because Junkrat was right, he did sneeze like a fucking kitten and he hated it. Hated that Junkrat teased him about it, hated that Lucio was there to hear it, hated that he hadn’t just gone to his quarters before Lucio ever got back from Busan.

“Bless you, Roadhog,” Lucio said after a couple beats of silence. And that just made it worse. Lucio blessing him, not Junkrat. 

The cold must be fucking him up more than he thought, because everything just felt like shit suddenly. His head hurt and his body hurt and his eyes hurt. He needed to blow his nose but then he’d have to take off his mask and Lucio would see all the fucking scars and he’d ask too many questions because he wouldn’t know not to and what could he possibly say? And Junkrat was ignoring him and paying attention to Lucio and he fucking hated that and he didn’t know why it bothered him so much and he didn’t want it to bother him, but it did, bothered him like a blister his boot kept rubbing over and over. Irritating and painful and it was just one more thing on top of everything and he hated it. Because Junkrat was his friend first. Was his first… but Lucio was so much nicer about everything. So much kinder and softer and not at all an asshole.

Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder and he realized he’d been shaking, just a little. “Ya okay, Hoggie?” Junkrat’s voice was unusually soft, almost gentle.

“Fine,” he said, but the attempted sharpness was blunted with congestion and he coughed. And he didn’t push away Rat’s hand.

“No, ya ain’t.” Junkrat stood between Roadhog and Lucio, and carefully loosened the mask then lifted it away from his face, slow enough to be stopped. Roadhog didn’t. Then, just as carefully, Junkrat took a Kleenex and wiped Roadie’s eyes. Then his nose. Roadhog sighed and rested his forehead on Junkrat’s belly. “Hey, hey. What’s this, then? Thought ya didn’t want any attention when you’re sick.”

“Thought not, too,” he mumbled without moving. 

“Ya jealous.” There was the lilt of laughter in the words.

Roadhog shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Ya are!  Ain’t no reason for it! Might be mean as cat’s piss when yer sick, but it don’t matter. You’re my Hog, an’ that’s the way of it.”

 “But Lucio…”

“Reckon I can take care of ya both. Yeah?”

Roadhog nodded, and when Junkrat stepped aside, Roadhog kept the mask off and Lucio didn’t ask about the scars, or make any comment at all. He just smiled and offered a movie night and that was how they ended up sprawled across Lucio’s bed, Roadhog on one side, Lucio on the other and Junkrat between them, arms around them both. Sometime in the middle of the movie, they dozed off, warm and comfortable.

[loveafterthefact]

Love After the Fact Chapter 56: Sex Education Part 1

In which Thace is medically certified to run a sex ed program and Keith is an unwilling pupil with a splash of Galran societal norms and pressures

Warning: Discussions of sex, but like, from a health perspective

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“Mnh?” Keith’s eyes flutter open, heart sinking at the empty space beside him. Straining his ears, he can’t hear his chosen mate. He’s alone. It’s an awful feeling, sudden, sharp. Before he even realizes it, he’s chirping, calling for Lance to come back.

Startled by the intensity of his reaction, Keith cliches his jaw, keening softly in his throat. He doesn’t want anyone thinking he’s in trouble. He feels like he's in trouble; he knows he's not. Curling tight into a ball, a purr starts thrumming deep in his throat, his body's attempt to soothe his distress.

“Keith?” A mercifully familiar scent reaches Keith’s nose. “Was that you, kitten?”

“Momma?” Hunkered down in the bed, Keith peeks his head from beneath the blankets. He’s behaving like a very young kit, he knows, but he can’t help it. He feels lost, alone, abandoned.

“Hey, kitten.” Krolia sinks down on the bed, running a hand over the top of his head. She’s wearing a shirt and pants instead of armor, accentuating her slight frame. Keith looks so much like his mother. He doesn't mind. “Lance asked me to come check on you. Said you had a hard night.”

He had had a hard night. He woke up twice with growing pains, an indication that he’s actually starting to grow. Still, there’s only one thing on his mind right now. “Where’s Lance?”

“The compound. Allura called for him. Something happened this morning; we don’t know what.”

“Is she okay?”

“All I know is that she spent the night with Romelle, then sequestered herself to her own room, asking for her brother.”

“I hope she’s alright.” Keith closes his eyes, allows his mother to continue petting his head. “Momma?”

“Yes, kitten?”

“What- What’s happening to me?” Krolia’s presence isn’t helping soothe his distress.

“If I had to guess?” She shifts her kit’s head into her lap, doing the best a mother can do. “You’re bonding to Lance. I know you haven’t mated, but you’re very close to maturity, and your attachment to him is strong.”

Keith gulps, detecting the edge in his mother’s voice. “Please don’t be mad.”

“No, kitten. I’m not mad. But you’re my baby, and the idea of you having no other choice than this hurts me.” A sigh. “Accepting any less than the best for you is hard.”

“I do have a choice. Lance has given me every choice he possibly can.” Keith knows his mother’s doubts. “I chose him because- because he cares. He cared about me before he even knew me. And he cares for our people and wants to learn more about them. You don’t even know him, Mom. Please give him a chance.”

“Alright, kitten. For you, I’ll give him a chance.” Krolia goes easily, not wanting to cause her kit any undue distress. He’s experiencing more than most thanks to his abnormal childhood and growth, and a barb of guilt creeps ever deeper into her chest. “We should take you back to Thace. I want to make sure your bonding process isn’t due to any developmental problems. Besides, you need an exam anyway. It’ll just be a bit earlier than usual.”

“Okay.”

At the clinic, Thace is only just getting his materials together to start the day. “Oh, hey guys. How are we doing this morning?”

“I’d like you to give him an examination,” Krolia murmurs. “His development appears abnormal.”

Thace frowns, normally cheerful face creasing with worry. “Abnormal? How so?”

“He-”

“I seem to be bonding to Lance,” Keith grits out, displeased at everyone making fuss and speaking for him. He really needs to learn how to advocate for himself. “Which would be totally fine, were I anyone else except myself.”

“No, it wouldn’t be,” Thace argues, scurrying around to gather a few supplies, wash his hands. “You’re at an extremely delicate point in your growth. Anyone experiencing early bonding should at least be interviewed, and anyone with a growth disorder should be examined. It might indicate abnormal physical or hormonal development.” He turns back to Krolia. “You are still his parent. How many chirps before I release him?”

“Twice, and you’re done. More than that, and I’ll-”

“Whatever you’re about to do, I’ll be fine. Advisor Krolia will go and inform Crown Prince Lancel of where I am.” Keith draws himself up, poised and formal. Pulling the prince card isn't something he enjoys, but it's the only thing that might possibly help him wriggle out from under his mother's coddling thumb. He loves her, looks up to her, but her coddling is damaging to his image.

He hates that he even has to think of such a thing.

The two both nod, even though his mother’s eyes narrow. He’ll take it. Only one person is allowed to coddle him, and he’s not here right now. Krolia heads off reluctantly, leaving Keith alone with Thace.

“What are you going to do?”

“Scans, blood, and then a visual and manual examination.”

“Examination of what?” Keith can guess, but he wants confirmation.

“Your genitalia. This examination is to assess your reproductive health.”

“... This is going to su-u-u-u-ck.”

“Yes, but it is important. For anyone, not just a prince.” Thace guides him into a dimly lit room with another scanner. There’s a reclined chair in the middle with footrests at the bottom and a spotlight above. Totally not ominous at all. “Before I was offered the emergency medic position here, I specialized in sexual health, with an emphasis on final growth development.

“If so many are going to push themselves to the limits of their reproductive capabilities, I might as well make sure there’s someone competent to look after them. For you, for our futures and the futures of our children, it would be an honor to make sure you are healthy and well.”

Thace helps him into the chair, types settings into a panel on the scanner. This one has an arm that hangs down, instead of rising from the floor. Keith bites his lip, staring at a probe on the counter. “But do you have to-”

“In your case, yes. Premature bonding isn’t rare exactly, but we still want to make sure there’s no underlying cause. It could just be that you really are that fond of Lance, or you could be having some kind of hormonal or anatomical complication.”

Awesome.

“Will it hurt?”

“I’ll have to stimulate certain nerves, so it will cause discomfort-” The scanner hums, the curved arm spinning around Keith. “That discomfort will be fleeting, and the very last part of the exam. After that, you’ll be all done… I will not harm you, Keith, nor do anything to damage you.”

Keith nods, trusting Thace to mean it. He’s a kind, gentle soul, one held in fond regard by all who meet him. Plus, Thace is a bearer with a mate and kits. This won’t be enjoyable for him either.

“How can you do this?” Keith asks, genuinely curious to know as he watches his friend clean a patch of skin at the crook of his elbow and tie a thick elastic band around his arm. He winces at the snap. “How do you conquer your instincts so you can touch me?”

“It was something I struggled with, to be sure, but having a defined purpose helps.” Thace pulls out a needle with a thin tube attached, and a few vials. “I'm one of fifteen siblings. When I was growing up, my parents taught me that it was my duty to find a mate and have as many kits as possible, starting with my first season. And that’s what I knew. It was fact. An incontrovertible truth. That was how I could serve the empire: ten years of service, and a kit every season until my body gave out.”

“So when I went to school to be a medic, and I learned how much strain our culture puts on bearers, and sires to a lesser extent, I was… horrified. Frightened. I didn’t want to waste away, or be left with no quality of life. I wanted my life. I wanted to have something for myself. I realized that, because I too am a person, I deserve the same as anyone else, regardless of my sex.”

Keith stares at the blood pouring into the vial. He can empathize with Thace. He feels the same pressure, has felt it ever since Shiro brought him to the mountain, felt it more and more since moving to Altea. It keeps him up at night, weighs heavy on his thoughts. The burden of other peoples’ expectations.

What if he can’t bear enough kits? Will Lance be disappointed in him? Will he still want him? Alteans don’t necessarily mate for life. He's well on his way to belonging to Lance forever. What if Lance can't give him the same? He sighs, stares at his blood pooling in another vial.

“I chose to deviate from my original plans. I left my chosen mate right before my first season, deciding she was too forceful and domineering given what I wanted for myself. I spent that first season alone at a friend’s den. Ulaz’ den, actually. He was unmated, but I trusted him to keep me safe, since I wasn’t his. He looked after me while I recovered my strength, and… I ended up staying.”

Thace removes the last vial and needle, rubs Keith’s skin with alcohol, wraps some gauze around his arm. He places the vials into a machine, typing in a series of commands. “I made the decision to study reproductive and sexual health. I wanted to do whatever I could to keep people healthy, even if they were putting so much strain on their bodies. Later, when Ulaz was stationed here as part of the Imperial guard, I elected to come with him. I put my life’s work on pause so our family could stay together and so we could complete our required service concurrently. When our service is completed, he will likely stay with the Blades, and I will go back to my work.

“While your tests are being done, we can do the rest. Then we’ll talk about the results… Prince Lancel should be here for that part. It will pertain to him as well.” The medic slips his hands under Keith’s shirt, prodding at his soft tissue. The younger Galra winces, discovering sensitivity he hadn’t realized he had.

“How?”

“Because he has absolutely no fucking clue what he’s doing, like most sires… Now, a common issue seen in Galra with growth disorders is that their mammaries don’t develop. I’m seeing that here. You've clearly got some sensitivity, but I'm not feeling anything as well-developed as I would expect... It’s not surprising, or concerning, but you won’t be able to nurse.”

“Oh.” Keith’s ears wilt. “Okay.”

“I know it’s disappointing for you, but from my perspective, it’s a good thing.” Thace smiles. “Your body does not have the resources to fully complete your final growth spurt. That’s just the facts. So what your body is doing instead is allocating resources where they’re needed most. It’s prioritizing child-bearing over nursing. That’s actually what I want to see in your case.”

“It’s not like Galra milk would be enough for my kits anyway. They’ll need formula to get the proper nutrition.” Hybrids nearly always do.

“They almost certainly will, since your biology and Lance’s are so very different. Your rather unsettling attendant has already tasked me with coming up with a few suggestions for formulas that might be suitable... Can you remove your pants, please?”

Keith removes his pants, reluctant and anxious, but knowing that this is something every kit endures during their final growth spurt. Thace gently nudges his knees apart, makes a soothing noise in the back of his throat as every muscle in Keith’s body instantly tenses.

“If I bite you-”

“I’m asking you to defy the basic instincts of our species. If you bite me, I’ll take no offense. I wouldn’t even call it even.”

For that, Keith clenches his jaw, muscles jittering beneath his skin, claws digging into the arms of the chair. He knows he doesn’t want to hurt Thace, even if his body wants it very, very badly. The medic touches him with a probe three times, once slipping inside, deftly reaching clusters of nerves Keith's always known he had, but never had use for. The probe vibrates, only for a tick, but it’s enough to have him yelping, hissing, ears pinned tight against his head. It hurts, has him baring his teeth at his friend.

“That’s it. We’re done.” Thace pulls a thin blanket over him, rubs his ear. “I’m so sorry, little one.”

Closing his legs, Keith hisses at the adult Galra again, painfully aware that he’s still not quite grown. Said adult Galra only persists in his ministrations, working at that ear until Keith’s settled. “I know, I know. I suck. I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t say you were sticking that thing inside me,” Keith grumbles.

“Would you still be sitting there if I had?” Thace raises an eyebrow at Keith’s scowl. “That’s why we don’t say it. Be lucky I didn’t have to check your prostate.”

“Not comforting, dude.” Keith snuggles under the blanket. “It’s gonna make it weird when we come over for dinner.”

“Only if you make it weird. For me, this is just work.”

"What do people normally say when they find out that you look at sex organs for a living?"

"Well, they never say thank you, that's for fucking sure. Ingrates." Thace goes back to the blood testing machine, scans the results. “Yes, I definitely need to speak to both of you. But while we wait for Prince Lancel to get here, there are some things we can talk about just us… Have you experienced any arousal? Erection? Vaginal secretions?”

“Not… exactly.” Keith shifts in the chair, remembering that kiss in the rain. “Maybe… a little?”

“What did you feel?”

“Like a tingle? Or maybe an ache?”

“Vaginal?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. So that’s also good. What that means is that your body is priming itself for the bearer role. Since your mate is male, we would expect the female parts of your reproductive system to respond automatically. If both, or your male parts responded, it might cause some concern.”

“This is… so much.”

“Yes, it is. You are a very complicated person, Keith. Inside and out.”

Keith nods, preoccupied. Teasing the end of his braid, he finds the courage to ask, “Why do you need to speak to Lance? Is something wrong?”

“No, not at all. But from your test results, I can tell that you are in the process of bonding, which is premature. There’s nothing wrong with your bloodwork or your scans, so I’m not worried, but it’s time to have those uncomfortable conversations.”

“This is already an ‘uncomfortable conversation’,” Keith bites, feeling a little petty. Okay, maybe more than a little. But he's more than earned it, so there.

“We need to have a serious discussion with him, make sure he understands all of this from a medical perspective.” Thace makes a few notes on a datapad. “So since you are priming for female reproductive behaviors, you may need to stimulate yourself manually if you wish to achieve an erection. You should be able to, and perform like any other male should you wish to. I’d like you to attempt that before leaving Daibazaal, even if not during coitus.”

“Seriously?” Keith rolls his eyes. That's just unnecessary.

“Seriously. To completion. Reproduction is complex, yours more so than most. It’s important to make sure everything is functioning properly. Besides, Lance might like it.”

“This is the worst conversation I’ve ever had. I just want you to know that.” Stupid Thace and his progressive attitude toward sex talks.

“Yes, I imagine it is. But important for your body and mind. And it’s important for Lance to learn, too, since he is already instrumental to your health and well-being.”

"I hate that you're right."

"That poor boy is in so far over his head. Wait until you have to explain gender identity to him."

"He needs to explain gender identity to me! Alteans are so. weird. You have no idea!" Keith curls up in the chair. "Apparently there's this thing where 'normal' people are either female women or male men, and then anyone who doesn't adhere to that is 'abnormal'."

Thace frowns, utterly baffled. "That's so... primitive. What's the correlation?"

"Not sure. Apparently, on Altea, there is one."

The adult Galra shakes his head. "His brain is going to short-circuit. Oh! I forgot to tell you!" Thace's face breaks into a grin. "My oldest, Mashan? A girl!"

"Hey, that's great!" Keith shares his friend's excitement. It's always a joy when a kit determines their gender.

"Yeah... Gods, I'm so proud of her. Fuck, Keith, before long, I'm gonna be chasing people away from her!"

"That's what you get for making cute kits. What's the phrase? Reap what you plant?"

"Reap what you sow. And that's so unfair, blaming me for passing on my hotness to my kits."

"They certainly don't get it from Ulaz."

Thace gasps, ready to rise to Keith's playful tease, when Lance arrives. He looks tired and sad. Eyes red, scales dull, pale-faced... It seems they're both having a difficult morning. Krolia stands just behind him, face studiously passive.

The Altean surveys the scene before him, eyes travelling about the room, lingering on Keith's pants rumpled on the floor.

"What, the fuck, is going on in here?"

It's going to be a long morning.

[voltage-scenarios-and-hcs]

I've been following your blog since way back when, I almost forgot about you for a minute! XD My request: The Love Letter From Thief X Gang Sleeping HCs. Who is a nightowl/early riser, who steals the blankets, what's their favorite position to sleep in, etc. Whatever strikes you. Please and thanks! And welcome back!

Aww, thank you for all of your support over the years!! I really appreciate it, and I’m glad to be back and writing again! @panfanwithaplan

Love Letter from Thief X (LLFTX) Sleeping HCs

Takuto Hirukawa

Definitely a night owl due to his working style

Has honestly no semblance of a structured sleeping schedule at all

Really the type of guy to just go to sleep when he’s tired and wake up whenever he wakes up

When the two of you start dating though, he’s surprisingly clinging and will cuddle up to you whenever you’re in bed

Definitely the type to demand cuddles (he’ll never say it out loud, but when he starts getting pouty and whiny and asking why you aren’t in bed yet, you’ll know) and clings to you like a koala

Favorite position to sleep in is cuddling you from behind, arms wrapped around you and face tucked into the crook of your neck

Although he’ll never admit to it, he’ll probably just make up some excuse about being cold and you were just a comfortable body pillow

You know this isn’t the case since you gave him a body pillow once that he promptly threw out the window

He claimed that it got destroyed in the washing machine

And when you joke about getting him another one he’ll get all tsundere-y and come up with all sorts of absurd reasons why you shouldn’t

Even when you try to online shop for anything, for whatever curious reason whenever you try adding body pillows to your cart they just magically disappear

Isn’t a big blanket stealer cause he just clings to you and you’re all he needs

Kenshi Inagaki

The epitome of early to bed, early to rise

Probably the guy that wakes up at four in the morning, prepares a protein shake and is trying to wake you up to go jogging with him

He stopped doing this after you threatened him when he dared to wake you up from your beauty sleep

Kenshi’s just so peppy in the mornings and full of energy, so it’s rare that you’d ever wake up before him

The two of you usually sleep face to face

And he’s more than happy to offer up his arm as a pillow (cause he’s got those nice, toned biceps)

But it’s easy for him to give you lots of kisses, especially when he’s still feeling energetic at night

So sometimes, you have to sleep with your face turned away from him so you can resist the temptation of kissing him

And to avoid having to look at his puppy dog eyes

Probably doesn’t steal the blankets that much since he seems like someone that would radiate heat

Hiro Sarashina

Likes to sleep in, and will whine if you try to pull him out of bed any earlier than needs be

He’ll use all of his charms to lure you back into bed with him, and usually it works

Sometimes he’s the big spoon, sometimes you’re the big spoon

He likes to pamper you, but sometimes he doesn’t mind if you spoil him

Especially when you play with his hair and run your fingers through his locks

It’s really relaxing to him and that easily makes him fall asleep

Steals the blankets because he thinks it’s cute how you whine and reach out for them to steal them back

Sometimes you’ll reach out to try and grab the blankets back and instead you accidentally grab his hand

(He positions his hand there on purpose)

Then he’ll tease you for trying to get his attention, and I can totally see the two of you getting into tickle fights

Which usually ends with Hiro pinning you down from above as he attacks your face with kisses

Riki Yanase

Early riser, due to always needing to be at his job early in the morning

Often the one that cooks breakfast and has it waiting for you when you get up in the morning

On days when you’re trying to sleep in or avoiding getting up, he’ll come in and literally drag you out of the bed as you whine

So he tells you he’ll give you kisses if you get out of bed

He pretends that he doesn’t know that you intentionally do that just for the kisses since he thinks it’s cute how you’re trying to trick him

Tends to be the big spoon and hold you tightly from behind, he also does it because sometimes he’ll tease you by poking and touching you in different places and it’s easier for him to dodge your attempts at retaliation

If he’s drunk one night though, he turns into a big baby and wants to be coddled

He wants you to snuggle with him and play with his hair and kiss his cheeks and forehead and-

And complains if you try to even move a bit away from him

I see him stealing the blankets from you just to mess with you before he throws the blankets over you and wraps you in a cocoon, holding you tight in his arms and not letting you escape until you kiss him

Atsumu Kashiwabara

Wakes up early due to running the bar and having to get things prepared in the morning

Always super sweet, kisses your forehead before he gets out of bed

Lets you sleep in and will get you to wake up with kisses

If you still try to stay in bed after that he’ll rub his beard against your face to tickle you

He knows you hate it when he does that, so he’ll run away afterwards cause he knows you’ll start a tickle fight with him for payback

Prefers to sleep so that the two of you are face to face

I see him as someone who likes having deep conversations into the night

Hugs you close when you sleep

Definitely not a blanket stealer, he’s super caring so he’s more likely to be the one that wraps the blankets tighter around you and fusses over you in case you might be feeling chilly or cold

Tatsuro Togoshi

You’d think he’d be an early riser due to his job

But since he tends to stay up late a lot, he’s usually super sleepy in the morning

Many times you’ll be the one that wakes up early and you intentionally turn his alarm off so he can catch some extra bits of sleep while you get breakfast ready

You’ll hear him running into the kitchen as you finish setting everything out, and he’s always super appreciative of you making sure he eats in the morning and has something for lunch

Thanks you with lots and lots of cuddles, definitely someone who likes to snuggle up to you

Prefers being the big spoon since he likes having you in his arms

Probably doesn’t like to be face to face with you cause he feels shy and he thinks you’re so pretty and cute and admits that sometimes he can’t fall asleep if you’re looking at him cause he’s too nervous

Will get super embarrassed if you suddenly hug him and tell him to rest his head against your chest

Yuki Arisugawa

I see him as someone who may stay up for long periods of time due to work

Then he just absolutely crashes and is out like a rock for a long time

King of sleepy eyes that blink up at you as he’s trying to wake up

Also probably has the best sounding just-woke-up voice

Especially if it’s been a while since the two of you have spent time together, he’ll likely tug you into bed with him and force you to cuddle with him while he gets some more sleep

I can see him being a blanket stealer and forming a cocoon cause he’s sensitive to cold

It’s too cute for you to really get mad at him cause he looks like he’s a giant puffball when he’s got all the blankets wrapped around him

Likes going to sleep with his head resting against your chest/shoulder, especially when you run your fingers through his hair

He’s very blunt and will comment on if you smell good (especially after you’ve just taken a shower) or that you feel super soft and nice to rest his head against

Hyosuke Kujo

Likes to wake up earlier than you so he can mess with you

He’ll start attacking you with tickles to get you to wake up

Or he’ll wake up and just keep poking your nose or cheeks to wake you up

Gets jealous easily, so if you did something that day that made him upset he’ll sleep face turned away from you cause he’s being stubborn

Will also at that point steal all the blankets to be a brat

When you fall asleep though, he makes sure you’re still asleep before he turns back around and cuddles up next to you

But you know exactly what he’s doing since you’ve woken up in the middle of the night to him wrapped around your arm

You pretend that you don’t know though since you think it’s adorable and he always makes up for it in the morning with apologies and lots of kisses to say sorry

Taiga Kujo

Night owl, definitely dedicated to his work since he’ll stay up late perusing scientific journals or any new research that he’s interested in

But since he’s a doctor, he’s often waking up early in the mornings

You’re definitely on top of things and you know exactly when it looks like he’s starting to get worn out

And at that point you threaten to literally sit on top of him so he’ll stay in bed and rest

Likes to hear you sing, so he’ll ask you to hum a lullaby to help him fall asleep

It’s a bit embarrassing, but you do so since he’s worked hard every day and deserves to get rest

Likes to have you in his arms so prefers to be the big spoon, arms wrapped around your waist as the two of you are face to face

Gives you the blankets cause he worries about you, and one day you wake up with a small mountain of blankets on top of you

[hadestownmodern]

Disowned

I’m in my young Demeter feelings again WHOOPS

-Danielle

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

            Demeter wakes with a start, her body shooting up out of bed. Her wild, untamed curls frame her pretty round face in disarray, and she shivers as her sweat-laden body hits the fresh air. It’s early, she can tell by the angle of the moon through her curtains, the times she’d woken in the same sort of state so many times before. Her rounded belly brings her comfort, but not enough; in the silence of her home she’s suddenly aware of just how big she is, how soon she’ll be welcoming a new life into the world.

            Alone.

            The word is unforgiving, relentlessly taunts her. It hangs over her head as she fights off the guilt of it all, the memory of slamming doors and shouting, of her mother’s tirade as she’d thrown the last of her things out the door of the quaint brownstone she’d grown up in. In these lonely nighttime hours it’s all she can hear; whore, useless, stupid…they’re the last words her mother had spoken before the click of the lock. Nineteen year-old Demeter had collapsed on the stone steps, looking around the neighborhood where she’d faced her life head-on. She and her mother had cried over her father there after he’d left them. She’d had her first kiss here, her first heartbreak. Her best friend had carried her here after a different kind of grief when she’d been betrayed by a clique of girls who’d been jealous of her big, bright eyes and infectious smile.

            This porch had been full of heartbreak. That rainy day hadn’t been much different.

            “Get out-get out of my house right now!” Her mother screamed, slammed her hand on the kitchen counter. Demeter flinched, one hand over her flat stomach, and flew from her seat. “What made you think that this was a good idea…before marriage? Before love?”

            “I do love him, mom, just not in that way. He’s a good guy. I think you’d like him.”

            “A good guy. Is he going to support you?!” She scoffs, whirling around the kitchen and tossing things onto the counter; a school photograph, a postcard from a school trip…all things that belonged to Demeter. The young girl does not move, watches as the pile grows larger. Her mother flies around the house as she shouts, tossing things into the kitchen with resounding thuds. “A good guy wouldn’t do this, Demeter. He wouldn’t. A good guy would marry you. A nice big ring…”

            “Marriage isn’t all there is, and,”

            “-Marriage is all there is when you’re nineteen and decide it’s a good idea to get pregnant. I should have never let you move out to that damn farm, your nana’s been filling your head with ideas since you were born.”

            “Nana had nothing to do with this.” Her voice is fierce. Even in her lithe stature Demeter is intimidating, fire coursing through her veins and searing her dainty features. Her mother stops then, stands the room’s length away from her and stares. The silence between them is palpable, mother and daughter, and Demeter holds her gaze steady and proud as her mother lingers over her unchanged stomach. “You know that nana loves us both, and even with dad,”

            “-Your father has no right to be mentioned in this conversation. And neither does his mother. She’s not alive anymore, Demeter, I don’t think you understand that. She can’t coddle you anymore. She can’t protect you.”

            “I’ll protect myself.”

“You’re not ready.”

“She left me the house!”

“That doesn’t mean you’re ready.”

“I’ll protect myself-and my baby.”

            “There’s still time, we can find a nice family who deserves this baby.”

            “And I don’t?!” This time it’s Demeter who loses her patience, irritation seeping into the usual smooth, evened tone of her voice. She throws her hands in the air, shaking her head at her mother as she simply nods back, a silent agreement. It’s all she needs to see to bring tears to her eyes, to break down the last wall blocking her vulnerability. She’d worked herself up in the car, had made up speeches and wordings that had brought along happiness she truly could only dream about. A relentless optimist; that’s what her mother had called her.

            A relentless optimist had sunken on the concrete steps, cried as the rain soaked through the old duffel bag her mother had shoved her entire childhood in. She had let herself take one last look; the quiet street amongst a busy city, the way each sidewalk paved its way to landmark locations she’d no longer see. By the time she got on the bus home, watched the city pass her by, Demeter looked like a new woman, all red eyes and sunken posture. She’d lugged her past with her, thrown it on the floor of the little farmhouse. She’d fallen asleep with both hands cradling her little baby bump in defiance-protection.

            She’s alone.

            The dream-living through her own harsh reality again-sends her into a state of rapid breathing and sudden panic. Seeing her mother again, the opulent house and the jewels around her neck, the trust fund money she liked to throw around to try and make Demeter happy…she squeezes her eyes shut tight in frustration, hoping to blink the image away. The days of the city are over; the ritzy private school, girls in matching uniforms who treated friendship like the stock market. Here, Demeter is happy. Here, she is able to breathe.

            Here, Demeter is alone.

            She runs ragged lines of footsteps around the tiny main room; living room, kitchen, rocking chair by the window and back again. She puts a kettle on with shaking hands and watches the fire of the stove for a minute, transfixed. Her dream had set a sort of numbness into her bones, leaving herself to feel like a child again, young and naïve. Too optimistic, too relentless, too impulsive, too kind; Demeter shakes the words away, runs her hair through long curls and attempts to jostle away the pit in her heart.

            Leaning against the wall, she holds her phone in shaking hands, slowly dialing the number that had been written on a messily torn strip of a paper bag. The voice on the other end is confused, groggy as he answers. It takes Demeter a moment to collect her own thoughts, to deliver them without choking on nerves or tears.

            “I don’t know why I’m calling.” She sounds young through her deepened alto, weaving her fingers in and out of the telephone cord. She lets out a dry, throaty sort of laughter. “I guess…I don’t have a clue what I’m doing, T. I don’t. I’m a baby, and I’m alone out here,”

            “Alone?” She can hear his trademark expression through the lift in his voice, his widened eyes and sideways smile. “You’ve got me.”

            It’s not presented as an offer, but as a fact. Theo lets her linger in the silence, listens to her unsteady breathing and the whirring of a kettle in the background. When the whistling grows louder, the phone drops and her footsteps are quick, clattering and brushing and her voice as she speaks to herself. The ragged nature of her voice has only increased when she comes back to the phone.

            “I know that I have you.” She chokes the words out, taps her fingers against the wall. “I have to go-uh-thank you, Theo.”

            Demeter sits in her big chair by the window, feet curled up as close as she can muster with the changed nature of her body. Her big nightshirt catches as her belly, which she cradles between her hands. Sleep is nothing short of a fantasy at this point, where her thoughts are filled with her mother’s stern eyes, her disappointment. The city had been kind to her for brief flashes of time; walking through the park as a child, hands in her mother and father’s. She liked sharing milkshakes with her friends, the freedom of public transit. But she hated the crowds, the people, the incessant talk of buying things that weren’t needed, spending unearned money on useless trinkets and fast fashion.

            She’d always followed her heart. She’d followed her heart to this house, with its old construction and its need for several paint jobs, the big, weedy garden her nana had tried so hard to keep up with her old age. She’d learned everything, sucked up all the knowledge she could before she’d had to say goodbye to the one person who’d supported her unwaveringly. Now, in her place of sanctuary, in the chair her nana had occupied every night, Demeter feels betrayed by her own memories.

            A knock on the door pulls her from her thoughts, and she turns her gaze toward the door to see Theo standing there, the nighttime darkness a backlight to his tall frame. He’s dressed in mismatched clothes, a pair of moss colored cargo shorts and a mustard yellow shirt,  one white sock and one yellow. He lets himself in, kicks his shoes off at the door and moves to stand in front of her. He takes her in; big shirt and curled up posture dwarfing her appearance, long hair a shield around her face. She looks up at him, the slightest quirk of her eyebrow as she takes a breath.

            “You were crying.” He says it simply, matter-of-fact. Demeter knows that she can’t hide from him, not when he can see the puffiness of her eyes, the forgotten cup of now lukewarm water and lemon on the side-table. New tears prick at the edge of her eyes, sting at the skin that has been rubbed raw from her sleeve, the back of her hand. She nods, looking out the window at the falling moon. “Do you…want to talk about it?”

            “It’s my mother.” She spits out the last word with disdain, frustration. “Did you know that you can just…throw your child out when they do something you don’t like? Because apparently, you can. And you can do it without feeling a damn thing.”

            Theo opens his mouth, hovers on a thought and then closes it again. She’s stiff in her chair, biting her lip and weaving her fingers through the holes on the chunkily knit blanket in her lap. These are mannerisms he hasn’t seen before, quirks so unfitting on this walking embodiment of sunshine and mischievous fun. It’s eerie, in a way, and he has to take pause to let her sink in her own feelings, to linger in the silence while her eyes search past the landscape outside, glossed over with an expression she attempts so desperately to hide.

            He lowers himself onto the low table in front of the sofa, one large hand on her knee. He keeps himself silent, runs his thumb along her knee, watches her hand trace careful, protective circles over her baby bump. Theo wonders in an instant how one person can look so vulnerable and yet so mature, so hardened by protectiveness.

            “She really threw me out.” Demeter’s voice is near a whisper, a whimper. She pulls the blanket closer to her chin. When she turns her head to face him, Theo’s breath catches in his throat. The depths of her sadness are written across every inch of her face-the wrinkle at the corners of her chapped lips, the redness of her eyes, the little strands of hair falling over her cheeks without the usual flustered brushing away. “She took all my stuff-threw all my stuff…put it in this big bag and locked the door behind me. Can you believe that? Said I was stupid. Talked about money, houses, rings…” She scoffs, shakes her head and uses the corner of her blanket to wiper her tears away. Then her voice dips again, quiets. It’s eerie, the even tone of it, and Theo has to lean forward to hear her as her face hardens.

            “She told me I don’t deserve this baby.”

            “You deserve this baby.”

            “But what if I don’t?” It’s not a retaliation to the stern tone of his voice, the way she answers him so suddenly. Demeter can barely think straight, her mother’s eyes still fresh in her dream’s memory, the disappointment behind them. It’s worse than being caught in her wild ways in high school, worse than her father leaving, worse than her own mounting fear of giving birth. Disappointment weighs heavy on her heart having grown up in a household where guilt was used as a bargaining tool. Now, it consumes her.

            “You have more passion for this baby than I’ve ever seen-more passion for everything. If you come across a problem you don’t just sit, you solve it. And it’s not the kind of fix that’s temporary. When  you go to do something, everyone knows you won’t stop until it’s done right, and it’s done proud.”

            He squeezes her knee as she relaxes a bit, sinking into the couch. The thin line of her lips has softened just slightly, just enough for Theo to take it as a cue to continue.

            “Demeter, you know this is how it was meant to be. When you believe in something, the world believes in it too. You mom….she’s in a different world. She doesn’t see you the way the rest of the world gets to see you. She wants you to be something you’re not and she can’t handle the fact that money couldn’t buy you the way it bought her.”

            He grabs her hands then, holds them over the blanket.

            “You asked me to help you have this baby weeks after we met. Not months, not years, weeks. And I agreed. Do you know why?” She shakes her head, and he lets out a laugh. “Maybe because I’m crazy-that thought crossed my mind a few times. But that’s just one thing. I agreed to do this because I couldn’t say no. I knew you-your energy, your light, your heart. I knew that you believed in this, and I knew in my heart that you could do it-I still know. I believe in you without a question.”

            “Theo…” She shapes his name but can not get her voice to come out, softened by his hands in hers, the way he leans his long body over and captures her with his honesty. She scoots over then, attempts to make room for him on the armchair. Although it is big it barely fits his tall, muscular frame. Demeter sacrifices her piece of the couch to curl herself into his lap instead, resting her weary body against his chest. With this comfort her eyes begin to drift shut, her breathing evening as she revels in the warmth of her blanket and his body against hers. Before she falls asleep, he can hear her soft whisper. “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had.”

[cheetahsprints]

Blood and Bone

Prompt: Winter Date

Summary: Peridot’s peace is shattered by a welcome interruption.

Words: 1574

Peridot straps on her skates. Verdant eyes scan the frozen lake. Being undead has its downsides - such as always being cold and not gaining muscle mass - but there were perks. It meant she couldn't be colder than she already was. It meant she could skate on thin ice. Even if the ice breaks, it's not a threat, barely an inconvenience.

There was a time when Peridot longed for the sweet release of a stake to her arrested heart.

She takes this time to appreciate her second existence on Earth, as well as the serenity and beauty of winter. She takes slow spins on the ice, pristine snow banks and trees weighed down by twinkling white twirling around in her vision. She pauses at the sound of rustling, followed by a light growl. She casts her senses, but they hit a hastily thrown up barrier - one that somehow feels lazy and sarcastic. She knows it doesn't belong to the nearby pack's Alpha, all sharp and intimidating. She fights a smile, her suspicions already cemented.

Not a minute later, a large, white and furry mass slams into Peridot, and she is barely able to shriek before she's plowed into the snow.

Peridot surfaces, sputtering, to be greeted with the mischievous smile and bright violet eyes of her mate, her forbidden lover. Amethyst still wears her ears and tail, the latter of which wags fiercely, spraying snow everywhere. She licks Peridot's face just to be annoying, from her nose to the triangular tattoo on her forehead.

Peridot's eyes flick to Amethyst's Marrowbind - an uneven cluster of bone shards embedded in her chest that seal her fate as a Lycanthrope - where it's exposed by her loose purple top. Its purpose is similar to the Bloodmark above Peridot's eyes. Since she's a Bloodsworn - known by humans as a Vampire - Amethyst and her kind should be her sworn enemy.

Still Peridot questions, "What are you doing here?! This is clan land!"

"Aw, aren't you glad to see me Ankle Biter?"

Rolling her eyes at the nickname, Peridot scoffs, "Of course. It's just any Bloodsworn with a quarter of a wit could sense your fuzz bucket a mile away!"

"Only a mile huh? Man, I'm trying too hard."

"Trying to get us slain for treason, you mean."

Contradicting her sour tone, Peridot cups her cheeks and kisses her. She's bathed in warmth. Where the radiation of the sun fails to soak into her skin, and a candle no longer burns her flesh at a touch, Amethyst's supernatural heat blankets her.

Peridot isn't so arrogant to assume they're the first pair, but there's nothing on record. Discretion is the better part of valor. Peridot sags with relief when Amethyst nuzzles her neck. She gathers Peridot in her strong arms. Peridot is a bit of a sucker for being handled, especially since the disappointing discovery that no Bloodsworn were muscular eye candy. Any who were muscular when they Turned were soon to atrophy.

"I just missed you so much," Amethyst murmurs. "Not just 'cause it's moon week."

Peridot hums. Amethyst urges, "Come on, give me that nerd monologue."

"It's not a monologue!"

"Whatever you call it, my sensitive ears need that sweet music."

Despite the current ceasefire between their 'sides', Peridot is hesitant to encourage her. Swallowing her fears, Peridot obliges, beginning to idly chat about recent events and discussing her job and hobbies. During this, Amethyst hoists Peridot on her shoulders. She probably feels like a feather. Amethyst is no powerhouse compared to others in her pack, especially her Alpha. She's considered a runt, but that doesn't stop Peridot from enjoying the ripple of her muscles. Amethyst carries her through the woods and on a hike up the cliffside. All the while, Peridot has her sense out like a net.

As a young Vampire, Peridot never fought a Werewolf before Amethyst, and she was led to believe that her kind was superior and more indestructible. She was, in a word, cocky. One injury, a broken shin that threw her into war flashbacks, and she was down. Amethyst was wounded six ways to Sunday, bleeding and spitting blood, yet she fought like a storm of maternal ursine.

Until Peridot had started screaming and crying like Amethyst had ripped her legs clean off. Somehow recognizing the panic attack, Amethyst had approached cautiously, eventually getting permission to haul Peridot to a secluded area. She nursed her back to health. Peridot fled right after, fearing favors being extracted. When Amethyst asked nothing of her, they sat by a river in neutral territory over red meat and blood bags. For hours on any days that could be spared, they talked.

How she had been humbled. Humility became appreciation, they formed a friendship and… undying love. Peridot felt she could search ten thousand lifetimes and never forge a bond like this again. Overcoming her preconceived notions to give Amethyst a chance was the greatest decision she ever made. Love is worth the suffering, Peridot tells herself day to day, when the worries get the best of her.

Distantly, Peridot hears Amethyst ask if she's alright and the sound of snow crunching under bare feet. She must have lapsed into silence. She dives in where she's left off, more to distract herself from dark musings than anything.

As they reach the apex, Amethyst remarks, "It's so nice to hear the sound of your voice, chatting my ear off. My pack are all monosyllabic with the occasional grunt y'know?"

Peridot sinks her fingers into Amethyst's hair, broadcasting happiness that her mate can probably scent. She scratches her scalp, earning a low rumble that Peridot recognizes as the Lycan equivalent of a purr. Peridot says, "For my part, it's a liberating experience to actually have someone listen and care about what comes out of my mouth."

Her mind darts to her roommate. She's about the only Bloodsworn in Peridot's faction that she can stand, and they're friendly intellectual rivals at best.

She goes on, "Pearl is engaging, she doesn't talk down on me or outright ignore me like my superiors… but she's also an expert at turning the conversation to herself, and damned if she ever heeds anything important I'll tell her. She'll claim she misheard, when really she couldn't pull her head out of her self-important ass."

Peridot has the utmost respect for Pearl, though her words shadow it. Pearl is well aware Peridot trash talks her - it happens face to face, and Pearl gives as good as she gets. It's hard to believe the brazen rebel was once a human bloodslave surviving on the edge of desperation. Many of their kind consider her lesser - less capable, less intelligent, less powerful, less valuable. Between each other, they have trust and admiration enough to tease in good spirits.

Amethyst chuckles.

"Moon Goddess light my path! I hear that. Wish I had a sirloin for every time I spoke and my Alpha replied with 'no one cares'. Those stuck up butt-munches deserve each other." Amethyst mutters, "Copying us and acting like they invented the notion, pah."

Peridot chortles along. They stop. Peridot examines the hill, spotting a two person sled. Her eyes widen. She scrambles from Amethyst's back and attempts to escape, but Amethyst is too quick even for Vampiric speed. Of all species, Bloodsworn and Lycanthropes are the most well matched. It's unfathomable that they should use their compatibility for murder and misery.

Peridot protests, "I'll fall off, or you'll crash!"

"So hang on tight, ya dip. It's not like we'll die. We won't crash again anyway, I've got the hang of this thing. Promise."

Peridot shoots her a deadpan expression before she's dragged across the snow. It's the optimal consistency for sledding, and Peridot focuses on frozen water flakes instead of her terror frozen inside her, unable to evoke a proper response. Amethyst marches to the sled. Peridot has little choice but to clasp the lip while Amethyst settles behind her. Peridot takes to lecturing her in order to stay sane.

"My body, held up by the strings of dark magic, no longer produces adrenaline. Therefore, it lacks a fight or flight response, resulting in Bloodsworn being either overly reckless or overly cautious with no gauge or filter." Peridot continues, "Harrowing yet not life threatening situations are sensationally overwhelming and impossible to process."

"Yeah, and it's funny," Amethyst responds. “Like when I’m giving you hickeys and you just go limp.”

As her lungs no longer have to trifle with the mortal requirement of breathing, Peridot screams without pause the whole way down. Amethyst laughs like a maniac behind her. Lycanthropy causes her to constantly be high on adrenaline, seeking thrills. She at least shows she cares by having a firm grip of Peridot's small waist. Amethyst has added several ramps, and she yells out points for herself throughout the ride. She guides the sled by throwing her body weight alone, and there's numerous near misses. Amethyst shifts her hand into a paw and digs it into the ground to bring the sled to a gradual halt.

Peridot stumbles off on shaky legs and collapses face first into the snow. The tremble spreads to her body, which is immediately wrung out as though she ran ten thousand miles without replenishing on blood. Amethyst turns her over and rests her in the crook of her arm, stroking her forehead. Amethyst always coddles her after these experiences, so it's not lacking in benefits.

[iamalivenow]

[i can’t tag it right but its horny]      

He lets them take.

It's long since become a pattern, slipping into their room and watching them whisper and sign at the air and once they are still he becomes corporeal before them. The first time he had elicited a yelp, which he had laughed at, called undignified, and had not received anything since. It had been daunting at first, just his usual business of sewing doubt, it's so rare that his seeds do not bloom, but of course the Ascian killer doesn't bite.

No, he thinks now, as he lets himself solidify in the cold room, he would have been disappointed if they did.

“Who are you talking to, before I grace you with my presence?” They shrug, and reach out for him from their spot on the bed. “I'll start to feel jealous, mind you.”

“You'll move on.”

“Ha.” But he goes anyway, straddling their lap, the heavy warm fabric of his gown spilling between the two of them. “You wound me, Hero.”

“Are your feelings so fragile?”

“More shocked that our fair Hero is so rude behind locked doors.” The wind picks up from the balcony, the night sky alight with stars so bright he can see them from the corner of his eyes even here.

“So I'm yours now?”

“Hm.” He looks back at them in truth now, before leaning forward and stealing a kiss. “Who else dares lay claim?” They smile and it's soft and just the same as it's always been. This body is so different, but still, the smile stays the same.

It hurts just as much every time.

“A great many people.” They kiss him back, hands slipping under his coat to grip at his shoulders gently. They're still very delicate with him, even when it's become evident he doesn't need to coddling. This body isn't even real for Zodiark's sake, if he wanted to be coddled he- he doesn't even know what he would do because the thought never crossed his mind- him- their enemy in every feasible way. And them, being gentle.

It's laughable.

“Public commodity.” He says like an insult and they nod, pressing their lips against his neck. “Even here.”

“Can't seem to stay out of the spotlight.”

Their mouth is warm, their breath more so, as if the cold night can't leech the heat from them. Whatever ghost they spend time with can't steal it either.

“How many of them wish they could take my place?” Here, he means, in their lap. An enemy to the universe and an immortal is their first choice in intimate relations, for whatever reason. Or maybe not even their first. Maybe in those few moments when he diverts his attention else where they shack up with everything that moves.

Still, then, he alone gets the luxury of their bed.

It's the least he deserves.

He wants to be more selfish, to ask, to demand exclusivity he knows they couldn't grant him even they wanted to. He should be able to have it.

He doesn't though, so busy derailing his plans, so busy trying to save the world, they barely even acknowledge him.

“A few, mayhap.”

“Come now hero.” Their hands are on his sides, rubbing up and down, sharing their warmth wether he wants it or not. “Humble doesn't suit you.” He cups their face, forces their attention on him, just him.

“Funny.” They mutter. Their eyes search his, for what he doesn't begin to assume. He prays for recognition but he knows he won't receive it. “That's always the highest selling point.”

They don't deserve you, he wants to say.

He settles for another kiss instead, longer, deeper, with tongue so that they have no choice but to dig their fingers into his sides. Not hard enough to bruise, perish the thought of them just doing what he wants, but hard enough to at least give him the suggestion of power.

“Find better buyers.”

He can feel them smile against his mouth before another kiss, and this one finally leaves him as close to breathless as he can be, considering he doesn't have to breath.

The aether travels between them, two willing conduits, until any individuality is erased and the two of them are just an extension of one connection. Punch drunk off of it, he stares at their hands where they slip below the gown and rub against his bare skin, fingers fanning out on his hips. Their eyes are bright, practically glowing, wet with tears from the sensation and he can barely stop his own hands, where they yearn to cup their face and wipe those tears away.

He shouldn't. It's too soft, to full of longing for a quick tryst that even someone as dense as they would have too notice. It's one thing to do it after the affair, but before they've even stripped down their plate? No. No, his hands instead go rigid on their shoulders, digging into the quilted fabric of their armor.

“Like you?” They whisper, their mouth on his, teeth on his lips.

Their aether dances between the two of them, bouncing back and forth. He tastes salt, their tears dripping into their mouth. Maybe even his own. Does he cry- can this body cry? It's not as if he's had much reason to experiment with it.

Where better to start.

“Yes.”

They hum against his neck, sucking a nasty bruise that would be a much larger problem if he was worried about trivial things like scandal or reputation.

They get his robe off the fastest way they've found to which is dragging it from the bottom over his head. It's an oddly childish solution, and their excitement to see him bare is more like teenage desperation than anything actually alluring. This body is nice, sure, but it's not the nicest he's ever worn. From what little he bothers to learn from their usual partners, he's the outlier.

Thin, old, bent over the way he is, he can't begin to imagine what they actually want, what they get out of these little trysts. Or maybe they're just into sickly. Mind, he doesn't actually have to look like this. He's sure if they ever actually asked for a different form, he could accommodate them. All they had to do was ask.

They lay him down onto their bed, the blanket scratches against his back as they settle between his legs. They seem to like his legs, if the licking is anything to go by. It does feel rather endless, their tongue dragging along his thighs, pausing only to kiss or bite in turn. Their fingers rest on his knees, massaging the muscle there.

vHe's loathe to tell them that he doesn't actually bother walking all that much, but then he would give them an excuse to not drown him in this bottomless sea of kindness. We're they this kind before, did they spend centuries waiting to see him just so that they could rub his joints warm? It seems that way, some how. Battle worn palms rub along his knees, his thighs, the juncture of his hips before he finally gets impatient enough to grab their hand and move it between his legs with a sound of frustration.

Now it's their turn to smirk at him, to settle. They're never so cruel as to actually lord his desire over his head, but they're not so kind that they can keep the satisfaction off of their face.

He lets them take.

They don't ask for much, maybe that's why he's so generous, so eager to grant them access to all of him.

Or maybe it's because he gets as high off of the memories as he does off of their aether. The phantom touches he's been chasing for eons finally real, finally warm, finally solid, that he can glut himself on the quiet moments that transports him so very very far back.

Hythlodaeus is practically whispering in his ear.

“Ghost.” They say and snap him out of his reverie. “I was talking to a ghost.”

He makes eye contact for just long enough for them to be satisfied before they take him in their mouth.

“A ghost.” He echos, one hand tangling in their hair.

“Mmhm.” The humming feels nice, all the way up his spine. Their mouth is warm and their tongue is talented. There's little more he could ask for. A comfortable bed with a person who trusts him much too much. A nice view of the stars.

“Ghost of who?” He asks, gripping their hair a little tighter and letting his hips jolt up to meet their lips, to feel the roof of their mouth, the back of their throat.

“Hm.” They resettle, pulling one of his legs over their shoulder, as if he could be bothered to be flexible enough. “A very judgmental person.” They sign, to lazy to actually stop sucking on his cock. He blinks- that's an odd thing to complain about. “He thinks I should sooner die then let you into my bed.”

Their fingers are fast, almost a blur when it's getting harder to concentrate. And when their teeth just barely graze him,

“And you let me into your bed anyway.”

They shrug.

“They always hound me.” They sign slower now, incapable of multitasking when they're bobbing their head up and down.

It's odd.

Not really what you expect a hero to say. But then, this is no ordinary hero. He should learn to stop being surprised by them. I He tries to search their eyes again, but they're squeezed shut, tears pricking at the corners. They're so dramatic sometimes. But they're still gorgeous, and the sight of them like that makes him hot- hotter.

The aether between them is bouncing insanely, he feels it clump in his arm before it breaks through itself and settles into their calf before moving again, to just in his lower back. They suck harder and when he comes the aether might as well erupt out of him too.

His chest is raising quickly, and he can feel the distant rush of blood in his ears.

They keep his slowly softening cock in their mouth, content to just lay there for a while, head resting on his hip. They kick their boots off somehow, more impressive then anything they've done so far, in his opinion and kick of their leggings after. They remove clothes while barely moving, an occasional hum of satisfaction when Emet-Selch pats or rubs their head.

“Where do you go to pick up ghosts?”

“A cemetery.” They're finally bare and pulling a blanket over their lower half. He wonders how much time he has before their jaw starts cramping.

“Spend a lot of time in cemeteries?” They're still for a long time, long enough that he closes his eyes and allows himself to start drifting off, wondering when he had become so comfortable with them, when they tap his hip.

“Not enough.”

So dramatic.

[thewritewolf]

Inseparable Chapter 27: Comfort

We getting close to the end now, as we see the aftermath of the last battle against Hawkmoth.

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@ladynoirjuly2019

Enjoy!

Read on Ao3

Sensation came back slowly. As she stirred into consciousness, she could feel the warmth of sunlight on her face, the light hiding beyond her closed eyes. Her brow furrowed in confusion. She wasn’t entirely sure why, but sunlight felt out of place. Memories flowed slowly, as if moving through water. Her eyes opened and Marinette found herself staring up at her skylight. She grimaced against the sudden light and squinted.

An attempt to raise her arm to shield her arms ended with her sucking in a breath when lances of pain shot through her. She gritted her teeth and tried to sit up. It took a few moments of focus to get her limbs to obey, but she finally managed it… only to regret it as another shockwave of pain wracked her body.

Suddenly, there was a sound of someone moving down below, bare footsteps climbing her ladder. A mop of blonde hair crested the side and her eyes met wide green ones. Upon seeing her, the worry in his eyes was replaced with relief. He crawled over the bed, carefully avoiding touching her as he got close.

With the lightest, most tender touch, he put a hand on her cheek. “Are you alright? How are you feeling? What’s hurting? Is there anything I can do for you? Can-”

She put her hand over his mouth. “One thing at a time, please.” She grimaced at the pain of the action.

“Hang on.” He pulled pillows together behind her, and gently lowered her to them. She sighed in relief. The pain was manageable and she was still sitting up. “Okay… how do you feel?”

“I…” She considered lying and saying she was fine, but one look at his earnest expression made her feel too guilty to do so. “Pretty much everything hurts. My head feels fuzzy. I’m having trouble remembering how I got here.”

A faint smile played at his lips. “Well, the last one makes sense at least. I brought you here after the fight.”

“Fight…?” Shock poured down her spine as memories started flooding back to her. Finding Chat Noir in tears. Hawkmoth’s identity. The fight beneath the mansion. “Oh God. Hawkmoth! Did he-”

His took her hand in his and whispered, “We beat him, m’lady. You were amazing.”

She bit her lower lip. There were so many questions that she wanted to ask, but she wasn’t sure where to start. While he seemed happy to see her awake-

“Wait, how long was I out for?”

“Just over two days,” came a voice at her shoulder. Tikki smiled softly as she turned to look at her. “Adrien hasn’t left your side for more than a few minutes at a time. He’s been keeping a close eye on you.”

Her jaw dropped. Two days…? No wonder everything felt so stiff. “Is that why everything hurts so much?”

She watched Adrien and Tikki exchange a look. Adrien cleared his throat. “You channeled a lot of energy, bugaboo. You’ll feel better. Eventually. Master Fu said so himself.”

“You talked with him already?”

“Yeah, I- Well, let’s start at the beginning, okay?” At her nod, Adrien took a deep breath. “So, after you used your cure to… well, destroy the corruption that my- that Hawkmoth was using, you collapsed and your transformation dropped.”

Her heart skipped a beat and her eyes widened. “Did he-”

Adrien shook his head. “Same thing happened to Hawkmoth. He was out cold too. Anyway, when your transformation dropped, I wasn’t tied up any more-”

“Sorry,” she said with a wince. She remembered looking up at his eyes as they parted, seeing the fear and panic there. If she could stop him from ever looking like that again, she would.

Running a hand through his hair, he replied, “Don’t worry about it. I know you were just trying to save me. And you finally woke up, so I’m feeling in a forgiving mood.” There was a flicker of a smile before he continued with his story. “Anyway… I went over to you and- you were… so still. So cold.” He choked up and she wrapped her hand around his and gave it a squeeze. Once he regained his composure, he continued. “I picked you up and was about to leave before Tikki reminded me to grab the butterfly miraculous and take you to Fu’s. Then she passed out.”

Her thumb began tracing circles on the back of his hand as he took a few breaths. While she waited for him to collect himself, she let her eyes wander over him. When she thought of his hair as a mop earlier, she wasn’t far off. It was definitely more like the messy Chat hair than the perfectly styled hairdo she was used to seeing in his civilian form. There were unmodel-like bags under his eyes, his entire body seemed to sag and bend under some great weight. And yet… here he was. Asking about her. Filling her in. Keeping her company. Her heart swelled with affection for him just as he continued.

“Master Fu got to work right away. I don’t know exactly what he did, but he said something about burnout and life force. I was… kind of panicking, so I don’t remember much. After a couple hours he said I could take you home. I left the miraculous with him and did just that.” His eyes glanced toward the clock. “It’s getting close to time for him to show up, actually. I’m sure he’ll be glad to see the treatment is holding. We can ask him more when he gets here.”

She tried to sit up straight and regretted it immediately. “WHAT?! He’s coming here?! What about my parents, how are we going to explain-” At that moment, the door to her room opened and she heard her parents enter.

“Adrien? Are you talking with-” With how tall her papa was, he saw her first. “Marinette! You’re finally awake!” His eyes were already misting over as he covered his mouth with his hands.

“H-hey, papa, mom!” Out of the corner of her mouth, she whispered, “Tikki, hide!”

To her surprise, Adrien shook his head. “Don’t worry, they know. Fu said it was fine and even if he didn’t… They deserved to know after all that.”

Then she was facing a barrage of questions and coddling from her parents. More blankets were fetched for her, pillows were fluffed, soup was made. All the while, she kept glancing at Adrien out of the corner of her eyes. He stayed sitting at her side, a faint smile at his lips, but pain in his eyes. Once her parents were satisfied that she was feeling better, they stepped out and Marinette tapped at Adrien’s forehead.

“What’s going on up here, kitty? You’ve been awfully quiet about how you’re feeling.” He looked away, but Marinette tugged him closer. She glanced at Tikki. “So it was two days I missed, right?” Tikki gave her a quizzical look but nodded. She looked back to Adrien and suddenly pulled him towards her, giving him three pecks on the cheek, murmuring ‘I love you’ after each one. She let him go and she was pleased to see a blush spread across his face and reached his ears. “I think that catches us up. Are you ready to talk now?”

“Y-yeah.” Deep breath. “After I explained everything to your parents, I went to get my- to get Gabriel. He hadn’t moved since I left, hours earlier. I brought him to Fu too, but… he’s not sure. He got it a lot worse than you did and there has been no change since he was admitted to the hospital. Fu still needs to check on-” He choked on the words, but she understood who he meant. Who they saw down below.

She held his hand while he stared off into the distance. “They got the Gorilla and held him for a few days, but couldn’t find anything to pin on him. Squeaky clean, let him out of jail this morning. Nathalie… she’s missing. People think she might have fled the country, but there’s no sign of her.”

“...What about you?”

An amused smile warmed his features. “Chat Noir vouched for his innocence, claimed that it was Adrien who let him and Ladybug know.”

She pushed an errant lock of hair out of his face. “That was sweet of him. I always said Chat was a stand up kind of guy.”

He laughed honestly and it was music to her ears. “I’ll pass along the message.”

After waiting for a few minutes, it became clear that he wasn’t going to continue. “What else?”

Shrugging, he replied, “Nothing, really. Bad guys got justice, good guys won. What else is there to say?”

“You! How do you feel, you stupid boy?!” He looked startled by the concern dripping from her voice.

“I…” His lips pressed into thin lines. “I think I’m past sadness at this point. The shock has worn off. It wasn’t much of a family but… me, Gabriel, Nathalie, the Gorilla… it was kind of all I had for a long time, you know? And now it’s gone.”

“For what it’s worth, I’m still here - and my parents, and our kwamis, not to mention our friends. We might not be your family by blood, but we love you, Adrien.” Her hand stroked his cheek. “I love you.”

“I know.” He placed a kiss against her palm. His eyes were watery as he looked at her. “I love you too.”

There was a knock at her trapdoor, startling both of them. “Marinette? Adrien? May I enter?”

“Come in!”

There was a pause. “Ah, good. You have awoken. Your resilience continues to impress, young one.” Master Fu’s head crested the edge of her bed. “I am sure you have questions. Feel free to ask.”

“What… happened, exactly?”

“To put it succinctly? Your usage of the most powerful tool at your disposal, combined with the energies of the black cat, flooded your body.” He spoke matter-of-factly, stroking his beard. “That power was too much for you and for a moment, it extinguished your life force.”

“That- What? That sounds fatal.” Marinette felt Adrien gripping her hand almost painfully as he struggled to keep a brave face on. She chose not to comment for his sake - she needed the comfort about as much as he did.

“Normally, it would be. But Chat Noir’s life force acted as a sort of pilot light, keeping you in the realm of the living.” His eyes glanced between them. “Do you understand now? The power is too much for one person to survive, and a strong bond allows the burden to be shared.”

Stunned, they both nodded.

“Good. I have brought some tonic for you, Marinette. Your recovery will be slow, but between this tonic and the vitality the miraculous affords you, it will be assured.”

He seemed about to continue when there was a loud yawn from below. Plagg floated up to where they were seated. “Oh hey, Pigtails. What’d I miss?”