#this post just keeps getting longer and longer as my spiral deepens

[shriekingseas]

TW/ discussion of r@pe (nothing personal or explicit, just discussion of the nature of sexual violence and r@pe culture)

im really struggling to understand what makes r@pe so bad? not like, morally, but what about the actual act of r@pe makes it to much more traumatizing than other acts of assault or abuse? or is that just the product of r@pe culture, which considers sexual trauma a key element of one’s identity after the fact?

what about those specific body parts has the power to completely obliterate sense of self and ability to function? theres a whole generation system of opression built around rape- that plays a role. Purity culture has also pushed this idea that sex is a private, intimate, act-- and given that r@pe culture has so many people who’ve been raped questioning the line between r@pe and sex, that taboo of purity culture definitely exists. Theres also the element of trust considering most rapists are known entities to the people they rape-- thus there’s a breach of trust and sense of loss... but theres gotta be shit im missing. Perhaps that thing is the all encomassing nature of r@pe culture itself. 

Ex. If you beat the shit out of me unprompted in the street- you’re a piece of shit. If you rape me in the middle of the street- you’re still a piece of shit, but now my sense of self and life-trajectory is likely completely shifted. Why?

I feel like this sounds as though I am trying to gaslight or trivialize, im not saying that rape isnt as bad as we feel it to be, im just baffled by the impact it has in comparison to other acts of violence.... idk im writing an essay on this so we shall see where the research takes me. Any thoughts?

PERHAPS MOST IMPORTANTLY: Is this question even worth posing? Should we just say r@pe is one of the worst experiences a person can have and leave it at that? Who cares what makes it so? Does risk of leaving someone reading this and feeling less valid in their suffering afterwards outweigh the value of wondering why that suffering exists?

im running myself in circles with this one

----- also side note it feels so icky to censor r@pe, but it is unfortunately necessary to not get flagged rip

[elizabebabe]

camp woodshine ໑᱖ matt sturniolo

‘just broken people healing each other.’

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆ at the ripe age of 7 camp: woodshine became the center of y/n ‘s happiness, when she left and inevitably became older the bullying she endured deepened sending her back into a dark hole but what happens when she reconnects with the boy she grew close with at camp in their smaller than they thought town?

follow through the memories spiraling in y/n’s mind and back to reality: her harsh reality.

pairing: depressedf!y/n x quiet!matt

they’re in highschool, around 17.

onlychild!matt universe.

warnings: these will update over time so keep an eye out with this list, every chapter will have it’s own warnings so it’s not too important but if you wanted to read them all at once they will be here:

use of y/n, depression, zoning-out, jumping pov’s from child!y/n to teenage!y/n.

chapter 1 preview:

zoning out at the empty spot of your desk, tear stains and rubbed out eyeliner decorating your face.

it’s hard not to go back to the simpler times, your favorite childhood memories.

woodshine.

your mom, noticing your lack of friends and sudden mood changes blissfully unaware of the bullying you suffered from at only 7 years old, decided it would be best to chuck you to camp: woodshine, settled in your small town and known for helping kids with lack of social interaction.

the memories are scattered but conflictingly fresh in your mind, the mind that jumps between the peaceful thoughts taking you out of that cold classroom and to the cabin‘s tucked into a few trees.

“g’morning campers!” the usual morning call, waking all the small bodies around you, you remember the drowsy feeling in the mornings, the chills crawling your skin as soon as the cool air brushes over you...

the smell of snotty girls cozy in a cabin, as weird as it sounded you missed it.

“hey, y/n.” you felt your arm being tapped, the same sweet, calming and comforting voice edging you awake.

“it’s morning sweetheart!” the voice excited as she continued your little routine that would set a tradition with your resistance to awaken.

a ‘humph’ escaped your throat as you were never really a morning person.

‘tap’ ‘tap’

the sound of your pencil hitting at the wooden desk you sat at momentarily bringing you away from the peaceful sun-rays, you focused back on the same spot of your desk, the teacher's stern voice drowned out as you attempted to relive the distant memory.

🏷️ @fratbrochrisgf @3lizaluvs @lily-strnlo @i-love-ptv @venusjaynie @jetaimevous @lizzysmith110 @firexovni @bagsbyclair0.

🕰️ dividers: @xxbimbobunnyxx, @saradika-graphics, @plutism.

credits: @sirenedeslily has quickly become one of my favorite blogs and she has easily inspired me to put more work into the things i post, so this post is heavily inspired by her, go check out her blog/stories and ‘YOURS TRULY’ profiles as they’re all done!!

thoughts: i haven’t forgot about love island for any of you that are wondering about it, i know it’s been longer than a month since the last installment but i genuinely lost motivation for a bit since it got repetitive, they wake up, get ready:breakfast, chill, maybe do a challenge, get ready for the evening, talk, sleep. but that doesn’t mean it’s not still being worked on just a little slower than everything else i’m doing since i have to be in a certain mood to write it, just be patient with me and maybe enjoy my other work in the time being, anyway super excited about this, love yous.

soon to be on the rack!

© elizabebabe

[sageluvsjoel]

Lost and Found

part two to; a different kind of miracle

jackson!joel miller x reader x autistic! daughter

Requested HERE

masterlist

summary: A couple years after Joel had accepted and learned to adapt to his daughters autism, he loses his temper with her and she disappears

genre: hurt to comfort, post outbreak, fluff at the end

wc: 1.4k

likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!

i do not authorize plagiarism or copying of my work!

It had been an exhausting week, one of those stretches of days where everything seemed to go wrong. Winter was coming early to Jackson, the temperatures already biting through the air, and Joel was on edge. Supplies were running low, and the town was trying to organize runs to gather essentials before the weather turned too harsh. He’d been so focused on making sure everyone was prepared—on doing something—that he hadn’t noticed how much it was weighing on him.

And, of course, his little girl, now ten years old, had her own struggles. Lately, she’d been more withdrawn, more prone to sensory overloads. Jackson was a safe place, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t noisy, chaotic, and unpredictable—three things that sent her into a spiral. Joel knew this. He understood her in a way he hadn’t a few years ago, but that didn’t mean it was always easy.

She had a routine—one she relied on to get through the day. That routine kept her grounded, kept her focused. But life in Jackson didn’t always allow for perfect routines, and today had been a prime example of that. Joel had asked her to do something simple—help him clear a path outside their house so they could prepare for the coming snow. She’d been reluctant, focusing intently on the puzzle she was working on, her mind miles away from the task he wanted her to do.

At first, Joel had been patient. He always tried to be patient now. But with everything else gnawing at him, his frustration had bubbled over.

“I need you to listen, alright?” Joel had snapped, his voice harsher than intended. “I’ve asked you five times now, and you’re just sittin’ there like I’m talkin’ to a wall!”

She had flinched, her small body going rigid as her fingers hovered over the puzzle pieces. Joel immediately regretted his tone. But it was too late—the damage had been done. She closed herself off, retreating into her own world, her face expressionless, her eyes downcast. Before he could soften his words or try to reach her again, she was gone—out the door, moving fast.

“Hey!” Joel called after her, but she didn’t stop.

He’d thought she needed space, so he let her go, figuring she’d come back when she was ready, as she always did. The town wasn’t big, and she often found quiet places to be alone when she felt overwhelmed.

But hours passed, and she didn’t come back.

The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the snow-dusted streets of Jackson. By the time dinner came and went, you and Joel were growing increasingly worried.

"Have you seen her?" you asked, anxiety creeping into your voice as you looked out the window. The sky was bruised with dusk, and there was no sign of her.

Joel shook his head, trying to keep his own fear from showing. “She’ll turn up. She just needs some time. You know how she gets.”

But as the hours stretched on, and the cold deepened, doubt started to gnaw at him. He’d checked the usual spots—the quiet corners of town where she liked to hide when she needed to be alone—but there was no sign of her. And with each empty space he searched, the knot of fear in his chest tightened.

You grabbed his arm, your face pale. “Joel, what if she’s… what if something happened?”

It was the question he had been trying to avoid, but he couldn’t deny the possibility any longer. He had seen too much, lost too much, to take anything for granted in this world.

“I’m gonna get Tommy,” Joel said, his voice strained, the panic rising in his throat. “We’ll start searchin’ in pairs, see if anyone’s seen her.”

Tommy didn’t ask questions when Joel showed up at his door, his face drawn and tight with worry. Within minutes, half the town was mobilized, everyone searching every corner of Jackson, calling her name.

The minutes dragged on, turning into an hour, then two. The cold was biting now, the wind picking up as night settled fully in. Joel’s heart pounded in his chest, each passing minute heightening the terror that something had happened to her.

Had she wandered too far out of town? Had something—or someone—gotten to her?

The questions battered his mind, a relentless barrage of worst-case scenarios, each one more terrible than the last. He tried to keep it together, tried to stay focused on the search, but the weight of it—the thought of losing her—was suffocating. It was his fault. He’d yelled at her. He’d made her run.

You found him pacing near the stables, his breath coming in harsh, ragged bursts. “Joel,” you called softly, your voice trembling, “we’ll find her.”

But Joel barely heard you. His mind was already lost in a sea of guilt and fear. “What if… what if somethin’ happened to her? What if she’s out there, and it’s my fault because I couldn’t keep my temper in check? I should’ve never—”

Before he could spiral any further, a voice crackled over Tommy’s radio. “Hey, we think we found her.”

Joel froze, his heart leaping into his throat as he grabbed the radio. “Where?”

“She’s in the old storage shed behind the library. Looks like she’s just sittin’ there.”

Joel didn’t wait for a response. He was running before Tommy could finish speaking, his boots crunching through the snow as he sprinted toward the shed. You were right behind him, both of you breathless and frantic.

The door to the shed was slightly ajar, and inside, huddled in the corner, was your daughter. She was sitting cross-legged, her arms wrapped around her knees, staring down at the ground, completely still.

She wasn’t crying. She wasn’t panicking. She was just… sitting there, lost in her own world, oblivious to the chaos she had left behind.

Joel fell to his knees beside her, his heart hammering in his chest as he reached out to touch her shoulder. “Baby girl,” he rasped, his voice thick with relief. “Where have you been? We’ve been lookin’ everywhere for you.”

She blinked slowly, as if waking from a dream, and looked up at him with wide eyes. “I didn’t know you were looking for me,” she said quietly. “I just… needed to be alone.”

Joel’s heart ached at the simplicity of her words, at the quiet truth of them. She hadn’t run away because she was scared or in danger. She had run because she was overwhelmed, because the world had gotten too loud, and she needed space to breathe.

And he had panicked because he hadn’t understood that, because he had let his fear take over.

You knelt down beside her, brushing a hand through her hair. “You scared us, sweetheart,” you said gently, your voice shaking. “We were worried something had happened to you.”

Her brow furrowed, her expression soft with confusion. “I was just sitting here. I didn’t mean to scare anyone.”

Joel closed his eyes, the weight of his relief crashing over him like a wave. “It’s alright,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “You’re alright. That’s all that matters.”

You pulled her close, and Joel wrapped his arms around both of you, holding on like he was afraid to let go. For a long time, none of you spoke. The only sound was the soft rustling of the wind outside, the quiet hum of the world moving on.

When you finally stood up, Joel kept a hand on his daughter’s shoulder, his grip gentle but firm. “Next time, you tell me if you need space, alright? I’ll give it to you. Just… don’t disappear on us like that again.”

She nodded, her face still calm, but there was a flicker of understanding in her eyes.

As you led her out of the shed and back toward home, Joel couldn’t shake the lingering fear in his chest. The world was still dangerous, still unpredictable. But as long as they were together—as long as he understood her, truly understood her—he knew they’d be okay.

She was his miracle, and he would never lose her again.

dividers by @kodaswrld

to be added to my tag list click here and comment or comment below

[the-dream-team]

hi dylan! i've seen you around a lot but never interacted with your posts before (a tragic error) so i wanted to remedy that by saying that 'July' was very beautiful and utterly perfect!

P.S. I've heard some mumblings about Shirtless James May 👀👀 here is my formal request for you to participate 😂

Oh my gosh, hi! I’ve definitely seen your username around, so it’s lovely to finally say hello :) That’s so sweet, I’m glad you liked July- it was very fun to write! And you know what else was fun to write? This ridiculous one shot for Shirtless JP May, dedicated you, @sunshine-marauders <3

Three Times Lily Evans Did NOT Want to See James Potter Shirtless and One Time She Most Certainly Did

***

“Mr. Potter, please put your trousers back on, my boy!”

“Sir, I would, but there’s just no way of telling if this potion might be poisonous, and I’d rather play it safe.”

Lily’s eyes narrowed as she shrugged off her own robes, now covered head to toe in acidic slime from the Dungbomb that had just exploded in her and Sev’s cauldron. The purple liquid smelled something foul, but there was nothing poisonous about what was once a perfectly brewed Sleeping Draught. James Potter knew that, but he’d stripped down to his pants regardless. 

“Really, Professor Slughorn, I don’t mind,” Potter continued while he sauntered back to his own workstation, bare chest puffed out as though he wasn’t practically nude in the middle of the damn classroom. His display garnered a collection of giggles from around the dungeons and a wolf whistle from Remus. “And who am I to deny my fellow third years of this view?”

Lily scoffed. She couldn’t speak for her classmates, but she knew her own view consisted of scrawny limbs, knobbly knees, and the most insufferable smirk known to wizardkind. And when he turned to her with fingers running through his hair and an infuriatingly pointed look in her direction, Lily balled her hands into fists, nails digging into her palms to keep herself from reaching out to smack that stupid grin and those lopsided glasses clean off his face.

***

“There’d better be a good explanation for this, Potter.”

“It kills me, Evans, because there is an excellent explanation for our current predicament- one that I think you’d find admirable and impressive- but unfortunately we’re sworn to secrecy, so you’ll just have to assign us detentions and continue on with your rounds for the night.”

Lily turned, exasperated, to Remus, whose Prefect’s badge looked awfully heavy on his robes that night. He didn’t meet her eye, instead focusing on his three naked friends standing before them in the middle of the first floor corridor. Well, mostly naked. Each of the fifth year Gryffindor boys held strategically placed Shrivelfig leaves to cover their most intimate areas, but only Peter looked as though that protection was a matter of life or death. Sirius stood as casually as he always did, completely unphased to find himself caught clothesless in the middle of the night, and James somehow looked more confident than usual (if that was even possible) with his chest on full display. He seemed to be strategically flexing every Quidditch-trained muscle as he grinned down at her with that pointed look she’d become far too familiar with. She spent every last drop of concentration keeping her eyes locked on James’ face to avoid any potential… drifting. 

“Did you have any luck?” said Remus after a moment. Lily whipped around in shocked betrayal. He couldn’t possibly approve of this behaviour?

“Not this time,” Sirius responded, “but I got bloody close. Don’t think having clothes makes a difference, but it was worth trying.”

“I’d say we should be on track to making it work before the end of the month,” added James, his crooked grin turning into a proper smile. 

Remus’ eyes sparkled. “Holy shit, that’s brilliant.”

Lily let out a frustrated grunt before turning on her heel to storm away from the disrobed boys and her fellow Prefect, upset that Remus wouldn’t take their duties seriously, but thankful to be out of sight from James’ sharp gaze, finally able to let the blush she’d been desperately fighting back escape across her cheeks.

***

“I’m sorry, Evans, but I don’t make the rules. You’ve got to lose an article of clothing or else you’ll have to forfeit.”

“That’s bollocks, Black, you literally came up with the idea for Strip Exploding Snap this evening.” 

The sixth years were circled up around the Common Room’s fireplace, loose socks and sweaters littering the floor, a half-empty bottle of stolen Firewhisky passing around from hand to hand. If it weren’t for Mary’s ridiculous crush on Sirius, Lily would never have found herself anywhere near this kind of event, but she’d decided to be a good friend, and now she was down to an undershirt and knickers. It was unclear whether her face burned red from the whiskey or the nerves. 

“Look, Evans,” Sirius continued with an air of indifference, “if you’re not going to participate, you can just put your cards back in the pile-”

“I’ll do it for her!” James nearly shouted as he jumped up from his seat, swaying slightly. His eyes as glossy as the crooked glasses falling down his nose. He reached for the collar of his white t-shirt, grabbing hold to pull it over his head, but a competitive rush propelled Lily to her feet. 

“No!” she protested before the shirt could make its way too far up James’ stomach. He froze in place, peering over the fabric at her in confusion. “You can’t just play for me, Potter, that’s not fair. I want to win on my own.”

“Really, Evans, I don’t mind,” laughed James, finally following through to remove the shirt completely. His glasses came off in the process, stuck in the fabric, and Lily nearly choked as her mouth went dry at the full sight of him, broader and fuller than she’d remembered. Had she ever seen him without his glasses before? His face as naked as his torso? She needed another drink. 

“I’m not going to let you cheat,” she said, actually stomping her foot in the process. And to prove the dedication to her claims, she stripped down to her bra and sent James her most determined, pointed stare. His glasses made their way back to his face so fast, he nearly poked his eye out. “Now, put your shirt back on, Potter, or I’ll come over there and do it myself.”

“That’s not the threat you think it is, Evans,” he breathed, nearly choking on his words. 

Lily thought her leaping heart must be horribly visible through her exposed skin.

“Do you both need the rest of us to leave?” chimed in Sirius, throwing Lily from her rapidly spiraling thoughts. 

She immediately sat back down, throwing James his shirt in the process, desperately trying to contain the butterflies threatening to escape through her throat. His shirt never made it back over his head and the rest of the night no longer passed in minutes, but instead in glances stolen from across the room.

***

“Whatever is the problem, Miss Evans, my dear?”

“Sir, I accidentally spilled an entire vial of Mermaid venom all over Potter. It’s burned straight through his robes and I’m worried it might be serious. Do you mind if I leave to take him to Madam Pomfrey’s?”

Professor Slughorn fumbled out a concerned response, granting his blessing, and Lily spared no time grabbing James by the wrist to drag him out of the classroom and through the dungeons. His eyes were wide as he studied the golden liquid eating through the fabric of his sweater. “Is this poisonous?” he asked, fingers fumbling with his deteriorating uniform. 

Lily spun around with emerald fire behind her eyes. “It is,” she responded, stopping him in his tracks as they turned a corner. “So we ought to play it safe and get these off you.”

She watched his eyes flash with sudden realization before she pulled off his sweater and made quick work of the buttons on his shirt.

The knowing grin that broke out across James’ face sent waves of elation through her heart, radiating out to find him again and pull him down to her. Their mouths met with smiling lips and heavy sighs, eager to reconnect after what felt like ages apart, but in reality, couldn’t have been more than an hour. 

“What did I do to deserve this?” James asked through jagged breaths as he grabbed for the door handle to the nearest broom closet, dragging Lily in after him by the waist. 

“You gave me that look,” she said, laughing slightly as she moved her hands up his warm skin to comb through his tousled hair. “That bloody pointed look you get that drives me crazy.” She kissed him and he deepened it before pausing. 

“Wait. You poisoned me because I looked at you?”

“I spilled poison on you because I wanted to get your shirt off.”

He beamed, his smile brightening the dim, crowded cupboard as he brought his hands up to hold her face. “Well, in that case, who am I to deny you this view?”

She scoffed. Then kissed him again.

[thosewickedlovelies]

AND THEY WERE WALLMATES: The Day Off (a post-series part 7)

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader

Rating: E for so Explicit lmao

Summary: Remember when Javi wondered if you heard him masturbate through the wall? 👀

Tags: SMUT; f masturbation; voyeurism?; fingering; oral (f receiving); dom-ish!Javi but he’s soft at the end

Word Count: 3,309

A/N: I’m so sorry that this is not part 6, but uh have some alternative smut? <3

Also known as the masturbation scene I’ve been talking about, this scene takes place post-series because I just can’t get these two out of my head.

Masterlist

--

It’s a cloudy day in the city and the air is thick, crackling with energy, a slow-building storm borne in on a mischievous breeze. Despite this, you have the windows thrown open to hear the distant rumbles of thunder. The twisting air makes you restless, and you glance at your bed, wishing Javi were here.

You have the day off, but as it’s a weekday, you’re not expecting to see him until well after business hours. A giddy bubble still swells in your chest at the idea that you can indeed now expect to see him, rather than just hope to run into him in the hall. 

You and Javier have been “together” for several months now. He is infuriating and fascinating and above all, careful- so while you’re both prone to wandering over to each other’s apartments when you’re bored, you’re also perfectly content to take things as slowly as he prefers. 

Your gaze wanders over to the bed again. Biting your lip, you think of how Javi often uses ‘slow’ to mean ‘thorough’. When he has the energy, that man can work on you for hours, taking you apart piece by methodological piece. Nothing escapes his attention- not the slightest tremor of interest in something he hasn’t done to you yet.

Your breathing deepens as you stand there in your bedroom, thoughts steadily spiraling around Javier. You didn’t have any serious plans for the day, you’d just been puttering about doing some cleaning- 

You give in.

You set aside what you’d been doing and go to wash your hands. When you return, you strip off your pants and flounce into bed. Warm air wraps around you from the open window. A closer roll of thunder makes you look to the sky, and you feel an electric, taboo shiver wash over you at the idea that you’re about to masturbate in broad daylight, with the window wide open.

But you grin as you nestle into your comforter. And why shouldn’t you? Better to do it now, while everyone nearby is out at work, than force yourself to be quiet at night.

Not that Javier is very helpful in that regard, you reflect wryly. Plus, you’d hardly had need to touch yourself since you’d started sleeping together. But sometimes a little you-time is nice, even if you have a regular partner, so you run your hands up your thighs and belly, intending to take your time…

--

Unbeknownst to you, Javier isn’t at work either. He’s at home, in fact- rifling through his closet, bedroom window flung open at this rare opportunity to air the place out. Rainy days make him edgy, but with things on standby at the office, they’d sent him home.

He’s just considering taking a smoke break when he hears it: muted and soft, but unmistakably a moan. His head whips toward the wall.

He remains frozen in place, ears straining, until the next thing he hears. “Fuck, Javier.” Slightly louder, and his head turns to the window.

Are you…home right now? Thinking of him while you-? Weather forgotten, Javi silently scrambles closer to the window, heart pounding as hard as if he were out on a bust. Now that he’s listening, he hears more: the faint but utterly recognizable creak of your bed frame, the rustle of sheets. The vocal sighs you make that usually tell him he’s successfully seduced you.

Before Javier evens registers what he’s doing he’s crept into the hall and is retrieving your spare key from where you’d mentioned you keep it. He moves as quietly as he can- which, given his DEA training (and the fact that putting on shoes hadn’t even crossed his mind), is damn near silent. Especially to anyone not anticipating visitors.

The way to your bedroom is one he’s traveled countless times now. Drawn by the alluring sounds you’re making, he has to remind himself that you don’t know he’s coming, that he can’t just barge in.

Finally Javi reaches your half-open door- and the breath leaves his lungs at the sight before him.

He almost doesn’t want to stop you. Legs splayed, hips rocking steadily into your own hand, the other clutching the hem of the t-shirt you still wear. Your head is thrown back against the pillow.

“Javi, please,” you pant dreamily, eyes closed, lost in your fantasy.

Well, he can hardly deny such a request. Javier licks his lips. “Yes, Vecinita?”

Your eyes fly open and you squeak in shock at the sight of him, your body instinctively retreating from the unexpected presence in your doorway. Your thighs snap shut, but not before he’s caught a glimpse of what was between them. The evidence of your activities gleams on your fingers where they yank the t-shirt down.

“Javi!” You swallow hard. Your muscles relax as you recognize him, but you maintain your expression of wary confusion. “What are you doing here?”

His own posture is as casual as they come. Hands in his pockets, he strolls just a few steps further into the room.

“Heard you say my name,” Javier murmurs. He runs his gaze over you, languidly, like he’s got all the time in the world. Which he does, he supposes- it’s the middle of the day, and it would appear that neither of you have anywhere to be.

“Thought you might want some help.” When he looks back at your face, a subtle intrigue has joined the surprise there. Your eyes track him up and down in contemplation as he moves closer.

At last you lapse your protective position, stretching yourself out again and parting your legs slightly. You look at him from under your lashes. “I love having your help, Javier.” 

You still use his full name sometimes. He usually prefers his friends call him ‘Javi' (or ‘Penita’ if they must)- it’s the farthest thing from the curt ‘Peña’ he’s forced to be at work- but he finds himself unwilling to say anything every time he gets a tiny jolt at the affectionate way your mouth curls around ‘Javier’.

“Then why…” he stalks up to you on the bed, his movements decidedly predatory. “…did you start without me? Hmm, preciosa?”

The mattress dips beneath his hand as he leans over you, while the other gently cradles your cheek, stroking it with his thumb. You can’t help but turn your cheek into his palm; but Javi loves the way you shift further onto your back as he approaches, your whole body stilling under his commanding presence. He knows it’s not fear- it’s pure instinct, the way you arrange yourself for him, every muscle quivering in anticipation.

“I didn’t think you were home.” An excuse delivered with honest innocence. But your pupils dilate; your chin tips infinitesimally upward, your body’s every message communicating submission.

“Well then.” Javier leans down further so he can press his lips to yours, teasing them open with his tongue. Your limbs loosen, melting into the mattress the longer he draws out the kiss. You’re both breathless by the time he pulls away.

“Don’t let me interrupt,” he whispers. Turning away from you, Javi grabs your desk chair and perches at the foot of the bed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

“…what?” All he’s done is kiss you and you already look consumed, eyes hazy with desire, lips parted expectantly.

Javi feels a prickle of pride at the effect he has on you, the curve of his lips revealing a hint of smugness. “You heard me.” He jerks his chin to the apex of your thighs, where only a tantalizing peek of what he wants is visible. “I want to know what you were thinking about. What you were begging me to do.” 

Almost of its own accord, his voice deepens to the gravely rumble it takes on during interrogations.

He’s pleased to see the quickening rise and fall of your chest, the not-quite-trepidation in your wide eyes. He reaches out to rest his his palm on your ankle.

Once you’d gotten over the shock of Javi’s unexpected appearance in your bedroom, you’d been excited. Coyly responding to what you thought had been an offer of assistance.

But then.

Then you’d heard that voice- that husky rasp, like his control was already half-gone. Which was also incorrect, you realize now, as you stare at him seated at the foot of your bed. Waiting. Watching you with those dark, penetrating eyes, half-shrouded by the turbulent light coming through the window behind him.

You shift slightly, aligning your body toward him. Still processing, but by no means saying no.

“You alright, Vecinita? Sounded like you were pretty close before I walked in.” Javier tips his head in a taunting smirk.

Your cheeks flame. You had been close, it’s true, and under his scrutiny now your body burns even hotter. It’s mortifying, electrifying, entirely more than you’ve ever experienced all at once.

You’ve never done this with him before. You’d guided his touch, yes, shown him what you liked, but never blatantly put on a show like he’s suggesting.

But you swear the heat of Javi's caress on your ankle crawls all the way up to your core. Possibly you should be embarrassed that such a tiny touch from him can provoke such a reaction, but all you feel is exhilarated, impossibly aroused by what you’re about to do.

Holding his gaze, you part your legs. Javier’s focus immediately drops. His attention is excruciating, but you slide one hand down and then back up your inner thigh, teasing. Your free hand grips your shirt again as you glide your fingers into your folds.

You think both of you might moan. Your head drops back on the pillow. “Javier,” you gasp, circling your clit.

“Tell me, Vecinita.” It sounds like the chair shifts.

“Fuck, Javi, wish it was your fingers.” You can barely get the words out, despite that he’s heard you say far filthier things under his influence. Already you’re even closer than before Javi’s arrival had stopped you, the muscles of your abdomen almost painfully tense.

If Javi responds to your cries, you don’t hear it. But you don’t need to. Even with your eyes squeezed shut, you’re aware of him, a smoldering presence mere feet away from you. Fueling your own fire, an inferno burning brighter and brighter until-

You keen helplessly as the tension implodes, hips bucking, blissful relief rippling through you. You know that just Javier’s presence makes it better than if you’d still been alone, but your own fingers don’t feel nearly as effective after having his taking care of you for so long.

As you come down, you dare to look at him.

“Feel better, preciosa?” Javi is still smirking at you, but there’s something hollow in it now. His eyes rake over you with barely concealed hunger, his hand on your ankle gripping tightly.

When his gaze lands between your spread legs, you feel it as viscerally as any physical touch. Your floor muscles clench.

Abruptly Javi stands. “Take that off,” he orders, jerking his chin toward where your nipples are peaked beneath your stretched taut t-shirt.

Agitated air currents billow over you at his movement, raising shivery goosebumps on your naked flesh. But the feeling of exposure only lasts until the bed dips at your feet, and then Javier is crawling up your body, still fully clothed. The purposeful intent on his face makes your breath catch. He kisses you hard, but when your hands go to the buttons of his shirt he snarls.

He takes your wrists in one broad hand and pins them above your head. His hips crowd into the space between your thighs, and the weight of him settling against your body makes you whine high in your throat.

“I’m not done with you yet, Vecinita.” Javi's voice is deceptively soft. “Now that I know what you imagine me doing to you…” his hand releases your wrists and slides slowly down your skin, over every curve and contour of you. “…I intend to make it a reality.”

Javier shimmies to the side just far enough to slip his fingers between your legs.

Pleasure erupts at the press of his callused fingers, tearing a moan from your chest. 

Javi groans in satisfaction at the slickness he finds, greedily working it from its source up to your clit, following the same path your own fingers had taken mere moments earlier. Sweat prickles your hairline. You shudder as he flaunts his intimate familiarity with your body.

“Vecinita.” Javi’s face is as close to yours as possible for him to still be able to watch your expressions. You look up at his insistent tone- just as he sinks two fingers into you.

The breath punches out of you as your muscles seize. 

“My job now,” Javier tells you.

His fingers curl inside you, beckoning like his bedroom eyes. Brown locks fall over his forehead as he unconsciously ruts into you in time with his ministrations. You tilt your hips into his hand, and only Javi’s mouth on yours muffles your moans as he grinds the heel of his palm against your clit. He murmurs, hushed and awestruck, as you fuck yourself against his hand.

“That’s it, preciosa.” Bliss rolls through you, unwavering as a rising tide. You’re helpless against the force of it, tingling and surging up your legs, pressure expanding between your hips- 

You come. Devastatingly hard, the weight of Javier’s body the only thing keeping you steady as you lose all sense of self to the blinding pleasure wracking your limbs. He works you through it, wringing every last spasm out of you until your cries fade.

But his movements don’t quite stop. His fingers still achingly slowly, his palm remaining an exquisitely careful pressure on your clit. You can’t seem to catch your breath- you’re so acutely aware of it, like you’re an engine left idling and Javi is keeping his hand on the throttle.

He brushes kisses over your face. His lips place softly on your brow, your nose, your cheek- until lingering at the sensitive skin beneath your ear.

“What else do you think of me doing to you?” The words seem to strike sparks along your bones. You inhale sharply at his implications. “Hmm? I can’t give it to you if you don’t tell me.”

God, what has gotten into him today? Simultaneously demanding and acquiescent, Javier’s voice is an insidious echo in your head. He twists his torso back and forth so his shirt scrapes against your nipples. You almost yelp as your reply bursts out of you.

“Your mouth! Your tongue. On my…” you trail off as he drags said tongue down your neck, doubtless tasting the sweat he’s worked you into. 

“On your…?” Javi exhales on the damp streak he leaves, and goosebumps spring up at the cool sensation. 

“You know where.” It’s a near-whisper. The place where you’re still stretched around him. Where the slightest shift of his wrist makes you tense.

You feel his smile as Javi plants a last kiss on your collarbone. He makes a sound somewhere between a sigh and growl as he works his way down your body, pausing only to nuzzle and nip at your breasts.

Thunder rumbles outside, closer and louder than it had been. You close your eyes at the sound, letting it wash over you like your partner's leisurely devotions. You can only relax so much, however, as your anticipation grows the further south Javier travels…until the flat of his tongue envelopes your clit.

You can sense his satisfaction at your choked whimper. Immediately he has to hold your hips in place to prevent them lifting off the bed as everything in you tightens again. Torturous slowly, his tongue moves, tracing every ridge and fold of your heat with meticulous care. Your thighs tremble.

“Fuuuuck.” It’s nearly a sob, your breathing ragged.

You swear Javi laughs, a smug wheeze in the back of his throat, and it’s as his tongue probes your entrance that you remember his fingers are still inside you. He spreads them so his tongue can slip into the gap, and the complementary sensations all in one place have stars wheeling behind your eyes. Javi definitely chuckles then, a vibration you can feel against your sex, and then his mouth returns to your clit. 

His lips, tongue, and fingers move with a single-minded purpose. There’s no holding back any of the sounds you’re making now, salacious moans spilling out of you, an obscene babble of pleas and praise. Javier breathes encouragement between your thighs. You glance down briefly while his eyes are closed in concentration, wholly focused on his task.

Your head spins. Already familiar tremors pull your muscles taut, Javi’s sweet, relentless attention breaking you down more rapidly than you thought possible. You’re going to come again, you know, long before it’s about to occur. You tell him, beg him not to stop, your release bearing down on you from across an endless distance.

This one shatters you. Your spine bows with the contraction of your muscles, pieces of you scattering far and wide as you splay back against the mattress. You surrender to the ecstasy barreling through you, barely noticing Javi’s wide brown eyes watching with rapt attention.

He brings you down properly this time, gradually, until the aftershocks fade and you’re squirming away from him. You remain sprawled how you are, limp and sated, as Javier crawls back up to you.

His lips touch your cheek. “Preciosa? Vecinita. You okay?” He sounds almost worried.

A breathless laugh huffs out of you. You lazily turn your head toward him, finally opening your eyes.

“I’m fine, Javi. More than.” You smile warmly, gratefully at him.

His eyes crinkle in response. “C’mere,” he says, relieved, gathering you into his arms.

You snuggle up to him willingly, humming in contentment. The thought drifts through your mind that now it would be nice for him to be wearing less clothing. But it doesn’t stop you from drowsing into his warmth as he strokes a soothing hand over you hair and back. After several long minutes, you find the energy to speak. 

“So…what was that?”

Javi doesn’t respond for several more moments, pressing his lips to your forehead as he thinks. Or maybe stalls.

“I…don’t know,” he admits, sounding sheepish. “…was it okay?”

“Mmm,” you affirm. You lift your head just enough to plant a kiss between Javi’s rumpled, parted lapels. “Very okay.” You can't help the faint heat in your cheeks, even though it's silly to blush at the admittance given everything you had just let him do.

“Good.” Javier squeezes you tighter. “because I meant it. Your pleasure is my pleasure, Vecinita.” 

Surprised, you look up at him. He returns your gaze steadily, his sincerity clearly visible even as he watches carefully for your reaction.

You may be talking about sex, but this is a declaration of sorts, for Javi. Hauling yourself up onto one elbow, you place your other hand on his cheek and press your lips to his. You let your affection surge forth, kissing him deeply and insistently, trying to convey without words how dearly you regard him.

You think he understands. He cradles the back of your neck, clutching you to him as the urgency of the embrace crests. 

Both of your grips relax naturally after that. He sighs into your mouth as you release him, but doesn’t let you move from where you’re half laying across him. 

“Stay,” Javi murmurs, draping his arms over your back. His eyes drift closed.

Happily, you indulge. You tuck your nose into his neck and breathe him in, already feeling sleep cloud your mind.

Soft as a shush, rain begins to fall.

--

Fic Taglist: @din-damn-djarin, @thirstworldproblemss, @remembertoreadthese, @knightowl247, @pamguini, @piscespussybabe, @chibi-liz05, @dragons-of-the-usa, @bethanysboooks, @layniapetrovnaaa, @1800-fight-me, @finnisrioting (your tag wouldn't work), @sarahjkl82-blog 

[thisisthehardestthing]

Vocal - Ryu Tanaka x fem!Reader NSFW

300 followers, baby! I would just like to thank everyone that follows me from the bottom of my heart. I honestly never thought anyone would. I know 90% of you are from BNHA but please accept this humble offering of Tanaka Haikyuu smut. No plot. Also no checking, just posting lmao.

Warnings: good old fashioned smut, but if you need one, vaginal penetration and creampie. word count: 727

@whats-her-quirk, @spicyness and @present-mel Thank you so much for putting me onto Haikyuu. Best decision of my quarantine life. @joyousandverywarlike i love you wifey. @candychronicles because we share him so here you go ;) ****************

He is always the loudest; at practice, during a match, and it was no different now in the bedroom. The grunts and shouts of victory Tanaka made with each spike, every receive and kill, just a taste of what’s to be heard behind closed doors, in your ears and against your neck.

His caramel skin melts into yours so perfectly, every muscle and tendon hugging you, enveloping you. Tanaka is all you feel, hear and taste. Oh God, his taste. Sweet and salty, earthy and fresh, like smoke from an outdoor barbeque dancing on your tongue. You bite into the soft curve of where his neck meets his shoulders, the bulging trap a perfect muffler for your moans.

“Shit, baby. That hurts so good! You like it like this? Tell me how much you want it.” His voice grates against your neck, each thrust sends you spiraling deeper into him.

He’s so, so vocal. He acts like each thrust is a point earned. He needs to hear you, too, always experimenting with new angles to see which one coaxes the loudest moan from your lips, pounding into you until your voice is hoarse. It’s his personal mission to get you to scream his name louder in bed than when he’s on the court. You let go of his skin between your teeth and fall back, the crown of your head almost bumping the wood of the bed with each powerful thrust.

“Ryu,” his name a mantra from your lips as you’re lost in a wave of pleasure. “Yes, Ryu, just like that. You’re so strong, so big. Fuck me, Ryu, harder.” You know exactly what words to say to spur his ego, how to praise him. He always follows through.

“You got it, babe.”

And then he’s deeper. So, so, so deep. His hips are pounding into you harder than before, strong hands finding themselves on your body, one pressing down between your breasts, the other hooking your right leg onto his shoulder, switching up the angle once again. His veiny cock drags along your walls just right, tip bruising your cervix, winding you up tighter and tighter. You’re pulsing around him now, trying to swallow his entire length.

“You feel so good, Ryu.” You moan, eyes rolling back to see the fireworks in your mind. Your bubble bursts when nimble fingers begin to circle your clit, exploding into the room on a wave of your cries.

“Yeah, baby! Cum all over my cock.” He doesn’t stop his thrusts, just slows them down enough to keep you stimulated and almost on the verge of tears. You fight every urge to push him out of you and instead wrap your arms around his neck, popping your leg back down to make room to bring him close. He’s so deep, and so thick, you feel completely stuffed, full. His forehead is against yours, eyes closed as he’s silent for once, just feeling the way your walls continue to clench around him, pulling him closer to his own release. You kiss him, once, twice, and then longer, deepening it as soon as you calm down. Ryu gladly obliges, fingers tangling into your hair and massaging a breast.

“Ryu, please cum inside me.” You beg. He groans against your lips, almost collapsing onto you at your words.

He picks up his pace again, gripping roughly with his hands, tugging and pinching your nipple. You moan your mantra of praises; so big, so hard, so full, just you, Ryu, only you. His thrusts become erratic, mistimed with each snap of his hips.

“Harder, Ryu, please. Fill me up, I’m yours.” You hang on to his neck, fingers massaging the base of his scalp and his head drops back with a load groan before he dives forward, lips connecting once more to pour all his emotions into you from both ends.

He shudders, releasing inside you deeply, collapsing with his lips against your jaw. You wrap your arms around him tightly, trying to absorb every inch into your skin, the sweat from his forehead tickling your ear. His soft whines escape past his mouth and he presses kisses against your flushed flesh, so vocal.

“I love you, Ryu.” You say, turning your face to swallow his moans of praise, lips connecting to complete the circuit as he’s still inside you.

“I love you more.”

[definitelynotkatesblog]

Gone ∣ Spencer Reid Fic

Summary: Spencer gets a little jealous at a party and pulls Reader aside to sort some things out.

A/N: I’ve loved Spencer since Day 1 but something about PP Spencer just does something to me. 

@ongoingcrisismsc​ requested a possessive Post Prison Spencer and uuuh, I might have gotten a little carried away! But really can you blame me?

And thank you to @imagining-in-the-margins for being my beta! ❤️

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem Reader

Category: Smut

Warnings: Cursing, Unprotected sex/creampie, Oral (Male and Female Receiving), Fingering

Word Count: 2.5k

Spencer’s welcome home party, which thanks to Spencer’s introverted tendencies was cleverly disguised as a “Rossi sold another ten thousand copies of his book” party was in full swing.

We were all excited for him to be home and to just be around him again. He was different, though.

Where he’d usually be spitting facts into conversations, he just nodded and smiled instead. If someone walked up behind him, he was quick to position himself with his back to a wall and do a survey of the room to make note of everyone’s locations. When the glasses clinked together on the toast, he winced.

I suppose it took a lot for him to be here, but at least he came and seemed content to be surrounded by people who loved him. He chatted with everyone politely and kept a hand on the small of my back for the majority of the night.

A few hours in he started to relax a bit and we drifted apart to make conversation with the others. I sat at the bar with Derek, talking about renovations he was doing on his newest home and how I was dreaming of adding a bay window as a reading nook. A glance around the room told me Spencer was with Penelope who was chattering away, but his eyes were watching me intently.

Derek made a joke about the construction drowning out other sounds, which made me chuckle and double over, catching myself against his arm. When I straightened up, I saw Spencer come into my peripherals and tried to catch my breath so that I could share Derek’s one-liner with him.

“You need to come with me right now,” he said through his teeth.

The hair on the back of my neck stood up at his tone, which let the rest of my body know there was no time for hesitation. My brows knit together as I placed my drink down on the bar and shot Morgan a confused look. He shook his head and put his palms up, not willing to get involved.

I started to ask him what was wrong, but his hand formed a vise grip on my upper arm, effectively silencing me. I let out a soft yelp as he dragged me along, forcing my legs to make quick steps to match his longer strides. I tried pulling my arm from away, but it  just made his grip tighter.

He kept his voice low, “Is this what you were doing while I was gone? Hm? Flirting?”

Gone. He always said gone. Never ‘arrested,’ ‘in prison,’ or ‘in jail.’ Just: gone. Like he was away on a business trip or grocery shopping.

Flirting? What in the fresh hell?

“W-what? I was just talking to Derek!”

My attempt at reasoning with him fell on obstinate ears. He pulled me through a door down a dimly lit hallway, tossing me into the room and closing the door behind him quietly. My eyes tried to search the room in the dark, but I couldn’t make out any distinguishing shapes. Before I could feel for a light switch, Spencer grabbed a fistful of my hair and walked us backwards, guiding me by the nape of my neck with our middles pressed together until the back of my legs hit something cool and hard. He reached slightly behind me and turned on a small lamp by our side, causing a small pool of light to form in the room.

Books covered the walls, velvet arm chairs and a leather chaise offered cozy places to wrap up with a piece of literature from the shelves. Rossi’s library. Spencer had told me about how impressive his collection was – he’d laughed about how if he was as rich as Rossi, he’d have all the first editions in his library, too.

The light bouncing off his face cast shadows that illuminated the sharp edges of his jaw and dark hollows under his eyes. When he raked his bottom lip through his teeth, the light bounced off the wetness and left a slight glow on the soft skin. He was a vision.

The hand at the base of my neck pulled my face closer to his and our lips crashed together. I kissed him breathlessly, still trying to figure what came over him, why we were in here – though I was not complaining – and how the hell he thought I would ever flirt with Derek Morgan.

My hands flew to his arms, pulling him closer to me in an attempt to deepen the kiss.

He tore my face away from his and took a step back, leaving me standing against the desk trying to catch my breath. I reached out for him, but his hands made busy unbuckling his belt and pants, his eyes not leaving mine.

“On your knees,” he instructed.

I nodded, immediately dropping to my knees and inching towards him.

Once he freed himself from the restriction of his underwear, he pumped a fist over his cock once, twice before tapping the tip on my waiting tongue.

A soft sigh left his lips as I closed my lips around his cock and swirled my tongue over his head. I wrapped my hand around him at the base and used it to spread the wetness, creating more in my mouth before sitting up higher on my knees, meeting his eyes and letting the pooling saliva drip from my mouth onto his length in my hand.

Pumping his cock in my fist, I varied the pressure of my squeezes from top to bottom, then dragged my tongue slowly from his base upwards, wrapping my lips around his tip before slowly bringing him to the back of my throat. I gagged for a moment, relishing the sound of Spencer struggling to keep his composure. With that, I could feel the heat of my own pleasure forming between my legs.

I swallowed around him in my throat. His hips jerked forward, causing tears to sting the back of my eyes.

Using what little space was between the back of my head and the desk, I pulled back, swirling my tongue, twisting my fist, and bobbing my head in a circular motion around him.

What sounded like a growl left his throat and his hands flew to grip the edge of the desk behind me, caging my head between his hands. I glanced up and saw him staring down at me like I was something to eat.

Before I could bring my other hand up to assist, Spence reached down and grabbed my chin, coaxing me to a standing position before laying a heated, sloppy kiss on my lips.

But again, before I could lock my fingers in his hair to pull him deeper to me, he pulled away.

I opened my mouth to protest, but Spencer had reached down to grip the back of my thighs and pulled me up onto the desk behind me. He worked himself to stand between my thighs, sliding his hands over my shoulders up to cup my face, where he ran his thumbs across my lips to smear the extra saliva over my cheeks. One finger slipped into my mouth, and my cheeks instinctively hollowed around it. He graced me with a half smile before using the hand on my face to push me backwards into a lying position on the desk. His thumb left my mouth with a soft pop.

I propped myself up onto my elbows to watch him. His hands ran down my front, then pushed the edge of my dress up to expose my heated core to the cool air of the room. His thumbs hooked into the fabric resting on my hips and pulled it off in a swift motion, letting them land somewhere in the room.

Spencer just stood there for a moment and cocked his head to the side, taking in the sight of me laid out for him. I blushed for a moment, realizing I was spread open on a very respected man’s desk with drool on my chin from gagging on Spencer’s dick, and I was probably about to be punish-fucked for flirting with someone that I actually hadn’t been flirting with.

I was pulled from the spiralling thoughts when Spencer dropped from my line of sight. I pushed myself up further trying to find him. In a swift movement, hands pushed my knees further apart and pulled me forward so my ass was on the edge of the desk. Before I could object, his tongue laid a long, flat trail up my center, causing my head to fall back against the desk.

The cool wood against my shoulder blades mixed with the expert ministrations of his mouth made my back arch, forcing a gasp from my lungs.

“Quiet,” he mumbled against me.

I focused on trying to control my breathing and moans, pursing my lips together and praying I was actually as quiet as I was trying to be.

Spencer had been quiet and more reserved since he’d been home. I didn’t want to pry or force him to talk about anything until he wanted to. And yet, everything he hadn’t said was on the tip of his tongue, writing a novel in long licks and broad, wet laps against my sex.

My cries were met with content hums against meas he buried his tongue deeper.

He continued, alternating quick licks with lazy ones, using his chin to tease between my folds, and bringing a finger up to start gently fucking me and exploring the wetness he’d created.

He added another finger and sucked gently over my clit, coaxing my orgasm from where it had been slowly brewing. Within moments, the wave of bliss crashed over me and spread all over my body like wildfire over a dry savannah.

His name danced with moans in my mouth, leaving my lips as unintelligible cries. As I shivered and came down to my body again, he stood and pumped a fist over his still hard cock and positioned himself at my entrance.

I lifted my head to look at his face, to gauge where the hell his head was at that moment but saw him preoccupied, watching himself enter me. He started at an agonizing pace, slowly stretching and sinking into me before finding a delicious pace. He would pull his hips away, almost removing himself completely before filling me again.

The sounds of his thighs hitting my ass, our mangled breathing, and whatever was rattling around in the drawers below us filled the room. His pace quickened, replacing the long, languid movements with more urgent thrusts. The sudden change in pace elicited a moan from deep in my chest.

His thumb started drawing torturous circles into my clit as he watched me squirm, a thoughtful look painted on his features.

“Oh, my god. Oh fuck, Spence!” My hands gripped the edge of the desk by my thighs in an attempt to keep myself from sliding across the desk.

“Hmmm? Did you think of someone else fucking this tight little pussy while I was gone?” he hissed. His hips began to piston forward, creating a delicious punishment for my alleged flirtatious crimes. Sobs escaped by chest as he continued, grinding the words out between thrusts.

I knew what he was asking. What he wanted to know. Suddenly his reaction to me talking to Morgan made more sense.

I wanted to tell him that I was only ever his, that I couldn’t ever imagine giving myself to anybody else. I wanted to grab his face and yell that he was the only man that could make me lose myself in him.

And truthfully, I couldn’t even bring myself to feel that way with him being gone. Seeing him behind the plexiglass in that jumpsuit with his hair longer and stubble growing was fucking attractive as all hell but... it didn’t make me want to fuck anybody else. Surely he knew that?

But on account of him pounding into me so hard my eyeballs were shaking, all I could muster up the breath support to say was, “N-no, only you, onl-“ before my core seized and shook, the waves of pleasure racking my body. My walls clenched around him like a fist, holding him in place.

He threw his head back on a moan, pulling my hips further down onto him, his own release not far behind mine. One final thrust had him bottomed out, emptying himself inside of me.

Our heavy breaths mingled as he fell forward, catching himself on his forearms above me so our chests were barely touching. He looked into my eyes for a moment before burying his face into my neck, his sweaty curls sticking to my jaw.

We laid there for a moment before he peeled off of me and started redressing himself. He pulled a handkerchief from his chest pocket and cleaned me in silence. I pulled myself up and started searching the dimly lit floor for my panties. I couldn’t find them for the life of me and I’d be damned if one of Rossi’s maids was the one to find my soaked lace fucking panties strewn across the room.

I didn’t have to look much further when I saw them dangling off of Spencer’s index finger. I lifted my eyes slowly to meet his expectant gaze. When I reached forward to grab them, he moved his hand away, clutching them in his fist.

“I think I’ll actually hold on to these,” he said, stuffing them in his breast pocket.

My eyes almost popped out of my god damned head and rolled across the floor. “Wh-I-Spenc-“ I gaped, refusing to believe he was going to make me interact with a party full of coworkers with no fucking panties on.

“Now you’re gonna go back out there and behave yourself.”

I stood still and squinted at him, waiting for a “just kidding”, but one did not come. I cleared my throat and squared my shoulders before exiting the room, making a beeline for the bar to get another drink. My throat was a little sore and I needed something to take the edge off the nerves.

Derek took a sip from his drink and locked eyes with me over the lip of his glass. I blushed and averted my gaze. Surely there was no way he knew what Spencer and I had just done. I took a sip from my own drink to hide the heat rising in my cheeks.

“Not even a demo team could have covered the sounds coming from that room, girl.”

Derek laughed as I choked on my drink, and let out a full bellied laugh as Spencer joined us.  He snaked a hand around my waist, grabbing a cheeky handful before resting on my hip.

His foot rested on the metal railing that skirted the bottom of the bar, creatively positioning himself against my backside.

Without the extra layer of fabric between my dress and my ass, coupled with the cool draft, the heat from his hand and slight bulge in his pants scorched my skin.

Spencer raised his eyebrows at Derek and smiled knowingly, bringing the edge of the glass to his lips.

The perfectly-timed choral laughter from the other room felt like it could be for us, but I couldn’t be sure. I took another sip from my glass and tried to ignore the drumming of Spencer’s fingers against my hip.

——

Tell me all the things!

[funkwhistle]

May the fourth be with you

Pairing: Obi Wan x GN!Reader

Warnings: Smut - but nothing that interesting. Maybe a little of getting caught in the act, a little angst maybe

Notes: Goddamed Rat getting me back into writing Star Wars i stg. this was meant for May 4th but i had exams and life so it's here now. (and this is my 400th post :))

“May the force be with you,” — his parting words and likely the last thing you'd ever hear him say. He'd been away for months now, completing his training of Anakin and probably doing something unnecessarily heroic. At least it would be something to tell the hypothetical grandkids, if he stayed alive long enough that is.

You thought about him almost more than you'd care to admit, and it wasn't like you'd be able to see him as soon as he came back either; the Jedi had forbidden any form of romantic relationship with it's trainees. Not that what you had with him could be considered romantic, hurried sex in the back of his ship or a stolen kiss in a dark hallway. That was one thing he was clear on; neither of you could form any sort of attachment.

For nearly the whole day you'd been sat there, watching as the sky went from a pale blue to a dark red as the evening bled through the city. And now the evening wind had picked up, biting a chill into your skin as your team awaited the promised return of Obi Wan's ship. You worked in ship maintenance, from making sure he had his favourite droid to ensuring the engine ran smoothly. Beside you, your team were shivering, pulling their fleeces tighter around their bodies and huddling close in an effort to protect each other from the weather.

Eventually, just as you were considering turning in for the night, a familiar ship returned to the landing bay, more battered than the last time you'd seen it, but still had the discernable red stripes on it. Blocking your face as the ship landed, you rushed forward to secure it to the ground and to grab a ladder, so he could get down. You were finally warming up a little, the warm fumes from the engine acting as a very effective heating system.

While you were scanning the ship for any major damage (surprisingly, there was very little) Obi Wan had climbed down and was making his way into the temple, without so much as a backwards glance at you. For a moment, a flash of hurt ran through you, which was furthered when he gladly spoke to some of your team on the way inside. You were unaccustomed to the feeling, but you knew it well enough, the pang of jealousy you weren't allowed to feel towards that man.

You didn't see him again for a few days, as usual on his return, he'd be briefing the council, teaching classes and attending senate meetings. While neither of you spoke to each other properly about your work, you could feel his stress after one of the meetings — his growing mistrust of the senate was ageing him faster than he'd like it to. And you were busy too, running diagnostics on the ship and fixing the broken metalwork, although there was minimal work required.

But this was where he found you, in the vehicle hangar, having dismissed your team for the weekend. As usual, you were noting anything which needed ordering in and totalling the costs for the past week; an exciting job of course. However, unlike usual, Obi Wan came up behind you, wrapping his arms around you and pressing a hesitant kiss on your neck. The pair of you never did anything like this, preferring to keep anything between you two to the privacy of your room or the back of his ship.

“What are you doing?” you hissed, although not moving from his embrace, relaxing slightly into him.

“Mmhhmmm,” he hummed, not giving you an answer, preferring to kiss up your neck to your ear.

“Ben-”

“—yes?” he sounded almost weary, like his travels had taken a toll on him. Moving out of his grasp, you spun, so he was facing you, and you were met with his blue eyes staring at you, looking almost duller than the last time you'd seen him.

You just stared at him for a moment, taking him in, relishing in the comfort he provided you. Of course, he was still in his Jedi robes, and his hair was longer than the last time you'd seen him. His smile, however, was the same, and you couldn't keep yourself from doing it any longer, moving to lightly brush your lips on his.

As soon as your lips came in contact with his he moved, pulling you with desperation, so you were pushed against him and deepening the kiss. Sighing a little, you wrapped your arms around the back of his neck, toying with his hair and the plait he wore in it. You hated his current haircut, (not that you'd tell him) but also God, it was so good to run your hands through. And he seemed to like what you were doing, judging by his urgent kisses.

Your lips disconnected for a second to allow him to glance at you, hands feeling their way down your back to the hem of your shirt and pulling it a little.

“This alright?” he asked, teasing his fingers over your lower back, giving you the shivers. Nodding, you jerked your head to a ship behind you, and he fortunately picked up the hint; pulling you, so he could pick you up and carrying you to privacy. While he was lifting you, you peppered kisses and bites over his neck and shoulder, all able to be covered up though — you didn't need Yoda knowing about your sex life.

You were shoved against a wall as Ben's lips bruised onto yours again, yanking your shirt higher and higher until he could remove it entirely. Neither of you had the time to bask in the presence of the other now, fingers fumbling with the clasps on his robes as his shimmied your pants down your legs. The aching desperation between your legs was making itself more evident now, the fantasies you'd concocted over his time away filling your head. He was obviously listening to your thoughts, as he coked his head and grinned a little as he shrugged his clothes off.

Of course, he was hard already, that man was possibly the horniest one you'd ever met, and yet also the one you'd expect the least. Maybe it was all those years of celibacy. You didn't have time to think about this as he was lining his tip up with you, preparing to slide in as he glanced at you for conformation. With a small nod, he entered you, quietening any noise you would've made with his lips.

Even though you both had to rush, he took his time building up speed, his hands finding your shoulders, your hair, anything he could hold. Not that you were complaining either, tangling your hands in the hair at the base of his neck to pull him closer as if he could escape if you didn't hold each other.

The tentative pace did not last long however, as he began to jerk swiftly into you as you wrapped your legs around him to hold him deeper in you. The sound of skin on skin and panting filled the surrounding air, mingled with small grunts from him at the feeling of you digging your nails into his back. It had been a long time since he’d fucked you, and an even longer time since he’d fucked you like this; sharp erratic thrusts which made you almost squeal, if there wasn't a risk of being caught.

Embarrassingly, you felt your stomach coil after only a little while, all this time alone had made it very easy to spiral to bliss. You were about to tell him, but, as if he already knew, his hand went to encourage you closer to your edge. Throwing your head back, you focussed on the feeling of his hand and him inside you, making the top of your head prickle as you felt your orgasm rush over you like cold water. Obi wan was still pounding into you, but his thrusts were shaky, and a moment later he'd pulled out of you and spilled himself over your stomach with a satisfied groan.

The both of you remained there, in a haze, for a while, sharing gentle kisses between each other and cleaning you up. After rummaging in his robes, he pulled a small cloth out from one pocket and cleaned you as gently as he could.

“Were you planning this then?” you said teasingly, nodding at the cloth. Ben just cocked his eyebrow, smirking a little as he continued his meticulous work on you. Once he was done, he moved to place a final kiss on your forehead before helping you stand (your legs still slightly uncertain) and passing you your clothes.

“Chief?” one of your team was just outside the ship, and when he called out you both froze, you only wearing your shirt and Obi Wan still desperately trying to untangle his robes. After a moment you heard the footsteps fade out of the hangar and back into the main building, and you both dared to breathe again. And then the laughter came, from being on the verge of being caught like horny teenagers once more. Moments like this were your favourite, where you were nothing more than two childlike adults.

[kindahoping4forever]

You Were Digging Plants, I Dug You // Ashton Irwin

This concept started a while back as a prompt fill and then I got stuck, used the prompt for a different piece and then that allowed me to get unstuck. (Yay!) Thank you to @cal-puddies​ for cheering me on while I figured it out (no jokes about it being too long, only clown emojis so you KNOW shit’s about to go down tbh) and also to @ashtonangst​ for her rallying when I gave her a sneak preview. 

Warnings: Boyfriend!Ash (back to basics, pals), what I can only describe as Domestic Thirst, Gardening!Ash, Hammock!Ash, literally so much thirst, brief reference to exhibitionism and bondage, unprotected sex in an established relationship, oral sex performed on a male

Word Count: 3707

Masterlist // Taglist // Ko-Fi

Let  me  know  what  you  think!

————-

You walk into the kitchen and sit your breakfast dishes in the sink, smiling to yourself when you see that Ashton has already swooped in and washed the pans you left sitting on the stove “to soak.” It was a rare occurrence for you to be up before him but you were working from home on deadline and had gotten up unreasonably early to finish up a project in time. 

With your responsibilities out of the way earlier than usual, part of you had hoped you’d find your boyfriend still in bed so you could sneak in a few extra zzzs, maybe some cuddle time. But as you survey the kitchen, you spot his keys and sports bottle on the counter, indicating he’d already been out for a run, which is typical. You fill a glass with ice, pour some coffee over it and pad off in search of Ash.

You’re not surprised where you find him: out back, indulging in his newfound favorite pastime: gardening. You’re not sure how or why this hobby started but he absolutely loves it and you've come to appreciate it too: it’s hard not to get swept up when he’s excited about something. He currently appears to be in the middle of a heated confrontation with his green beans so you decide not to bother him just yet and you settle into a chaise lounger with your coffee.

You close your eyes, lean back in your chair and bask in the morning sun for a while until you reach for your glass and feel an empty table. You frown in confusion and open your eyes to see Ashton standing over you, happily taking a sip while checking his phone. 

“Well good morning to you too, THIEF,” you jab. “You know, there’s a whole pot inside if you want coffee.”

He shrugs and takes another sip. “Don’t want coffee, want your coffee.”

Undeterred by the offended look you’re giving him, he sits on the edge of your chair and rubs your thigh. He asks you how your work went and you chat about your mornings, passing the iced drink back and forth between you until it's finished.

Ash sits the glass back down on the table and leans in to give you a quick peck before resuming his work. You attempt to deepen the kiss, throwing your arms around his neck and trying to pull him closer but he chuckles against your lips and breaks free.

“The clouds are starting to move, baby, I need to finish up before it gets too hot,” he explains, gesturing at the sky.

You run your hands over his arm as he gets up to leave. “But I missed not getting my wakeup call this morning,” you whine playfully. Since you started working from home, your favorite part of the day had quickly become seeing which one of you would be the first to suggest the morning start off with a little fooling around.

“Gotta get those stakes in the ground for my tomatoes,” he replies, squeezing your hand as he stands next to your chair, selecting a new playlist to accompany his work.

“You’d rather pound wooden stakes instead of your own girlfriend?” You tease, mockingly striking a sexy pose.

“Well especially now that you’ve referred to my sincere lovemaking as ‘pounding,’ ” he deadpans. You playfully kick at him from your chair but you’re a split second too late and he’s already walking back out to the garden. 

You leave him to his work and return a while later with your laptop and another coffee, planning to get some work done while enjoying the nice day and your boyfriend’s company. But as you sit your things on the table, one glance over to the garden makes you realize you’ve walked into quite the distracting environment. 

Judging from the pair of 8 foot wooden poles that are now protruding from the ground and the amount of sweat soaking through the back of his white t-shirt, Ashton has been hard at work. You're impressed by his progress but as he climbs onto his step stool to place his last stake, you realize it’s the perfect stage for you to drink in all the things you love about the way he’s built and you find your mind and eyes wandering. 

You watch closely as he stretches his body to reach the top of the post and when you see the way his t-shirt is pulling between his shoulder blades, you’re reminded of how you were deprived of dragging your nails down his back that morning. Your eyes travel down and you consider how much you love his ass in light wash denim and how tight the material fits over his thick thighs.

Before you get too far fantasizing about bouncing on his thigh, Ash begins hammering the stick into the soil and your focus is drawn to his arms flexing with each strike; the rolled up sleeves of his t-shirt leave his glistening muscles and tattoos on display. You shift in your seat when you notice his long fingers curling around the rod and you start thinking about how much you wish they were wrapping around something else, like your throat or his own cock.

Your filthy daydream is shattered by the vibration of your phone, alerting you to a text message. You manage to tear yourself away long enough to type out what you hope is a coherent reply and when you look back up, he’s almost done tying the vines of his plant to the newly installed stake. He furrows his brow and you can’t help but recognize it’s the same look of concentration you saw on his face last week when you watched him tie your wrists to the bed frame.  

You zone out until you see he’s on his way to return the toolbox and stool to the garage. You feign interest in what’s on your computer screen and somehow manage not to watch his ass as he walks away.

When Ash returns 10 minutes later you nearly burst out laughing at the absurdity of your situation. He’s traded his jeans for a loose pair of athletic shorts, lost his shirt entirely and is heading towards you with a giant bag of soil effortlessly hoisted over one shoulder and a large ceramic pot on the other.

“Just about finished there, handsome?” You ask, hoping the desperation you were feeling doesn’t come through in your voice.

“Not quite,” he says, oblivious to your need and instead bubbling about his project. “Those lavender seeds you picked out were delivered this morning, I wanna pot a couple of those for you.”

Your body is frustrated knowing you’ll have to wait longer for his attention but your heart sings at how happy this all makes him and how eager he is to share it with you. “Sounds good,” you smile at him. “I have a couple things to finish up and then maybe I'll make us some lunch.” 

He sits in the seat next to you, beaming, setting up his supplies at the table. You both get to work but it takes less than five minutes for you to let your eyes wander over and observe him leaning over his pot, working with his large hands.

You feel a varied wave of emotions watching him. In one moment, seeing his hands firmly pat the soil with an open palm, you feel the urgent need to have him recreate that action on your ass. But in the next, the gentle way he’s handling the seeds reminds you of how his hands tenderly dance over your skin when you’re laying in bed, satisfied and talking softly to each other. 

Ashton feels your gaze on him and looks up, eyes sparkling. “This’ll be so much fun when it blooms, baby, you made a good pick,” he exuberantly chats while you gather up your things. “Soaps and teas and candles… we’re gonna make so much fuckin’ cool shit.”

You smile fondly at his excitement and lean down to hug him from behind as you pass by. “You’re cute, you know that?” You press a kiss to the tattoo on the back of his neck and head inside.

You putter around the house, doing mundane things like plugging in your computer and seeing what's available for lunch but you can't keep your mind from wandering, filling with thoughts both erotic and soft. You thought this started just from disrupting your usual morning routine with him but it’s spiraled into the most distracting thing of all: you're horny but now you're horny with feelings.

You poke your head out the backdoor to ask Ash if he’ll be ready to eat soon but he’s not at the table where you left him; you laugh when you walk further into the yard and see him sprawled out in his hammock with his eyes closed.

“The second I leave, suddenly you’re done working. I’m starting to think that was all just a show for me,” you joke as you get closer.

He smiles at the sound of your voice and opens his arms, swinging one leg out of the hammock, placing it on the ground to stabilize it, indicating for you to get in.

“Ew, you’re all sweaty, though,” you tease as you carefully climb in.

He snorts as if to say “yeah right” as you curl up into his side and rest your head directly on his bare chest. He strokes your hair, you draw designs on his skin with your fingertips and you both lay quietly for a few minutes, enjoying the fresh air and the presence of each other. 

“Everything’s looking great out there, Ash,” you break the silence to compliment him. “You’re really working hard and it shows. I love that you love it so much.” You lean down to press a kiss to the coin tattoo on his side.

You can feel the pride and appreciation radiating from him as he kisses the top of your head. “Thanks, baby. It’s been a lot of fun exploring something new.”

“I can tell... And watching you out there today kinda made me want to have some fun exploring too,” you say with a flirtatious edge to your voice, your hands starting to dance down his chest.

He giggles with delight, “That’s so fucking lame!” He cradles your chin up to him and kisses you sweetly. “You only get that cheesy when you're really worked up; I thought I felt you eyeing me out there but I didn’t know it was that bad, sweetheart.”

“I don’t know how you expect me to react, all sweaty and muscle-y and shit,” you playfully slap his chest and defend yourself. “I’m sitting there hoping you’ll be done so I can shower with you and instead you want to plant something for me? How am I not supposed to be dripping?”

Ashton laughs heartily and it reverberates throughout your entire body as you lay on him. You love the sound but you love the taste of him even more so you press your lips to his again. The two of you lay there, cuddled up together in the hammock, lazily making out for a lot longer than you would’ve expected, given how badly you’ve been wanting him all day.

Eventually, his hand ends up under your t-shirt and your hand finds its way down his shorts. Neither of you are in a hurry to speed things along; he leisurely palms your breasts, occasionally twirling a nipple. You lightly stroke his cock, enough to get him hard but not so much that he’s eager for this part to be over. It’s a comfortable, casual groove you fall into; enjoying the feeling of each other’s bodies and the desire that mounts with each murmur escaping from both your and his lips.

You continue like this for a bit longer until his hand travels down your shorts and he feels how wet you are for him; the groan he lets out against your lips makes your stomach flip.

“Fuck, baby, you do need it, don’t you?” He teases you, fingers dipping in and out of your folds. “Poor thing, have you been soaked like this all morning? Think I’ve spoiled you, can’t even go a few hours without me.”

You moan into his kiss and together, you get yourself out of your shorts and panties. Ash tosses his own shorts to the side and you can tell he’s trying to mentally run the logistics and figure out which position is best suited to hammock sex; you’ve admittedly spent a fair amount of time thinking about this and you spring into action, cautiously rearranging your bodies, aiming to get on top. 

The bed starts swaying as you move and he instinctively puts his leg on the ground to stabilize it like before; you nod your approval and are able to safely straddle him. He rubs your thighs affectionately and offers, “This seems a little ill-advised, let’s go in and I’ll fuck you in the shower like you said.”

You lean down to kiss first his lips and then over his jaw and neck. “You’ve done so much work today, babe,” you reply, already a bit breathy. “Just relax and let me make you feel good.”

You sit up and slip him inside you; you take a moment to close your eyes and savor the sensation of him filling you, stretching you out. He’s right, you must be spoiled. You had him just last night and yet you’ve been craving this feeling and you’re so relieved to finally be experiencing it again.

You tentatively start moving on his cock, trying to test the limitations of your current location; he swings his other leg out the other side, giving you a bit more steadiness to work with but you still pay close attention to your movements. A couple bounces has the hammock making questionable noises so you decide on a kind of slow, rocking motion to start off with.

“This good for you, Ash?” You check, biting your lip to hold in a moan, wanting to get an honest opinion from him.

“Mmm hmm,” he murmurs, hands running all over your ass and thighs. “Don’t kill us, don’t kill my hammock and I’m good with anything, baby.” You roll your eyes at his noncommittal attitude but judging by the way he’s licking his lips and his fingers are digging into your skin, it seems to be working for him just fine. 

You lean back, bracing yourself on his legs to get a different angle; you close your eyes and moan as he hits deeper inside you, causing you to arch your back. You feel his hands trying to pull your shirt up but he can’t quite reach. “Wanna see those pretty tits, baby,” he rasps. 

Ashton holds your hips, helping you balance as you sit up and pull your top off. You look around slightly, considering your surroundings as you throw the clothing to the ground. You lean in and lowly ask, “That wall is high enough that no one can see, right? I’m not trying to give a peep show to the neighbors.”

“Oh sweetheart, they’ve definitely already seen the show when I’ve had you pressed against the upstairs window before,” he jokes, massaging your breasts now that you're close enough.

You shake your head amusedly and resume moving. You circle your hips a few times but the bed shifts a little more than you’d like so you try a slower grind. You discover you’re able to achieve a wonderful friction on your clit if you keep at it while you’re leaned in to him and you can’t help the sounds that begin pouring from your lips.

Ash pinches your nipples, watching with rapt attention as you work yourself up. “Love seeing you like this,” he breathes. “So hot watching you use my cock to get what you need.” 

You scratch your nails over his chest and he hisses; you whimper softly in return and lean in more, capturing his lips in a hungry kiss. “Want you to get what you need too, handsome,” you pant against him, increasing your pace a little.

“What I need is for us to get off before one of us gets so rowdy we end up flying out of this hammock,” he cracks, desire and amusement lighting up his eyes.

His hands roam from your chest to your ass and he grips your cheeks tight. He experimentally rocks up into you, causing you both to gasp. He gently moves against you again and you slowly follow his pleasurable rhythm while remaining careful not to upset the hammock.

The languid pace makes for a torturous buildup to your orgasm but you do feel it building. You can tell that Ashton isn’t nearly as close as you are so you attempt to slow your hips again but he grabs your ass tighter and drives his cock into you deeper. “Go ahead and cum, baby, I know you need it,” he encourages. 

You moan softly and arch your back again, finding that friction you need. He sneaks his hand between your bodies and presses his thumb to your clit and it only takes a few rubs to set you off. Your eyes close and your mouth wordlessly babbles as your body tenses and your pussy throbs around him; his touch both intensifies and soothes your feelings as he quietly intones, “Good girl, baby, yes. Fuck, look at you. Such a good girl.”

You bask in the pleasure you’ve been waiting all day for and eventually your body begins to relax; you brace yourself on his chest, taking a moment to collect yourself. He tenderly rubs up and down your arms and you open your eyes to grin at him warmly, silently thanking him for his patience.

You bend down, kissing along his jaw and you euphorically chirp, “Love your cock… love you.”

He chuckles at both your words and at your kisses tickling his skin. “I won’t take offense to the fact that my cock ranks first on your list.”

You smirk at him and slide gracefully down his body, letting him slip out of you; you promptly use your tongue to begin cleaning the evidence of your release off his cock and he curses under his breath appreciatively. You take him in your mouth and bob as enthusiastically as your location will allow. 

You can immediately tell by the way his breathing has changed that this will be more than enough to finish him off and it’ll be relatively soon. You pull off and rest your head on his hip as you stroke him steadily. “Feeling good, handsome?” You coo, enjoying the way he seems to shudder under your touch on every downstroke.

“Love your mouth… love you,” he quips, in a voice that is somehow simultaneously amused at his own joke and nearly blissed out from how you’re working him.

You giggle at his wisecrack and lean over to take his balls in your mouth; your tongue dances over the seam and he yelps deliciously, hands rushing to grip your hair. You pull off with a pop. “That’s what you get for being a smartass while I’m trying to make you cum.”

Before he can protest, your tongue is on him again, licking over the drops of precum that have dribbled down his shaft and he’s groaning your name. You brace your hands on his thighs and start to sink down to swallow him into your throat but he’s pulling you back up by your hair before you get very far. “Too close, baby,” he warns.

Heeding his advice, you decide to instead suckle at his tip and jerk him off again; you open your mouth and flit your tongue along the ridges of his head and as you run over his slit, he makes an obscene noise you can’t get enough of.

Ash alerts you of his orgasm with a squeeze to your shoulder and a strained chant of “Baby… baby… fuck…” and it’s enough for you to quickly get your mouth back on him in time to feel his cock twitching against your tongue as he starts to cum. He grunts quietly in time with your head’s movements and you cheer him on with an eager “mmm” for each spurt you swallow down.

His breathing begins to slow and you contentedly hum as you release him from your mouth and peck your way back up his body. You rest your head on his chest again, listening to his heartbeat settle and he plays with your hair, satisfied and lost in thought. 

A minute or so passes before you pop your head up, inquiring, "Ready for lunch now?"

Ash lets out a gleeful cackle. "Got what you wanted, now you're ready to move on, huh?"

You shrug, carefully navigating your way out of the hammock and collecting your clothes, tossing his shorts to him. "Thought you knew by now I'm only here for your body," you smirk as you get dressed.

He stands up and steps into his shorts, pulling you in to him as soon as he's done. "Same," he teases, managing to both smack your ass harshly and also kiss you lovingly.

Ashton swings his arm around you and you turn to walk towards the house together; you've only gotten a few steps away when you hear a cartoonish metallic crash. You both whip around to see the bed of the hammock freely swinging off of the frame that has both collapsed and become uprooted from where it was secured.

Your hand flies to cover your mouth and you bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing, waiting to see how he'll react.

Ashton puckers his lips and shifts them from side to side as if he's contemplating how irritated to be. Finally a devilish look crosses his face and he quips, "Well… I guess the good news is: if just watching me plant things got you this horny, it'll be fun to see what you'll want to do to me after you witness the actual hard work I'll have to do repairing this."

—-

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[5-falsehoods-phonated]

No problem! What if you used Cold Blooded Torture and Trying to Wake Them Up? (I would like it if you used Logan as the victim but you can do whoever!)

(Prompts with boxes have been taken, highlighted have been written.)

Requests for this card are closed for now as I have quite a bit to work on with this and personal projects. An ordered wip post will be made after this one if you’re curious what I’m working on. Also i apologize for this being written so long after you requested it, my hiatus took a little longer than expected. I hope you enjoy this though!

Across The Hall He Waits For You

Summary: Logan wakes up in a confusing environment with an even more confusing man keeping him prisoner. But just when he thinks he's finally free, he only becomes more trapped.

Warnings: psychological torture, physical violence, crying, minor character death, blood, broken bones. If there are more you need added please let me know!

Prompt: Cold Blooded Torture, Trying to Wake Them Up

Ships: Analogical, Logan x Virgil

WC: 4, 805

AO3 Link

Logan's breath caught as the faint screaming finally cut off, the final echoes bouncing around in his cell until they faded out completely. His was a soundproof room, as he expected the other's had to be since it seemed as if under any other circumstances this would be a regular house. The walls were lined with acoustic panels from floor to ceiling, the latter covered with them save for the light source and the former having plush deep green carpeting that was covered with a plastic tarp around where his chair sat. Logan shivered involuntarily as he thought for the umpteenth time what that could mean for him.

The chair was simple and wooden, his bare legs sticking to it uncomfortably with his ankles and knees strapped down tightly with creaking leather strips. The fact that they seemed to be little more than modified belts gave him the barest hint of hope that maybe whoever was keeping him here for whatever reason wasn't experienced in...whatever it was they were doing that Logan carefully pushed to the back of his mind. The window was shut and boarded up with more panelling from what he could see over his shoulder but dim light still filtered through to him from the slightly open door.

He smiled thinly as it reminded him of his son, always needing the door open just a bit with some form of light coming through to scare away the monsters he was sure were lurking in the darkest corners of his room, imagination that was so bright in the sun turned menacing fangs towards him in the dark, making him cry and run down the hall to their room most nights to crawl safely between him and his husband. Something that he now very much understood as slow tears tracked down his cheeks, wrists straining against more creaking bonds that held his hands securely behind the back of the chair. He hung his head low as he once again wracked his brain for any reason he could possibly be here.

A prank? Much too cruel of one to pull on anyone, especially for this long. It had been at least a day from what Logan could assess, maybe longer as he didn't know how long he had been unconcious in the room. Everything was placed just a bit too dilerberatly for this to be a prank as well, his bonds just a bit too tight, the fact that he was naked except for his boxers and the people who knew him certainly knew how uncomfortable he would be with it. So that left more malicious reasons. He was held like he was going to be tortured, that much he could gathe from the screams. The tarp made it seem like it would be heavily physical, though no tools were present in the room from what he could see to give a sense of how. Had a serial killer taken him? He hadn't heard of any cases. Assasination? He wasn't that important to his knowledge, a lowly lab tech for a blood lab hardly jumped out as being anyone with important enough knowledge to warrant whatever he was in for. That left just a random person taking another random person in to do with what they would, which also made very little sense since the room was so well prepared.

All the thinking did was deepen the pit of anxiety curling his stomach muscles tight and making him shake slightly with fear and anticipation, thoughts bouncing from one point in his skull to the next making him even more disoriented than he was before. He craved for something, anything to happen, just so long as he wasn't isolated with his spiraling thoughts anymore, on a chair his clammy skin stuck to with little relief from shifting and creaking leather binding him to it in a way that had most of his extremities falling asleep. His fingers flexed with maddening numbness as he once again tried to shift stiffly in his confines, really only succeeding in making everything worse. Huffing out a breath before holding it in sudden fear he strained his ears to listen.

Boots squeaked on what was either hardwood or linoleum outside his door and as the door creaked open he was mildly surprised that if he hadn't been tied down the man who entered wouldn't be intimidating at all. Wispy brown hair hung messily around bright green eyes that held no expression at all. A mask covered his mouth and nose while a plain rumpled tshirt, jeans and work boots dressed the rest of him. The door creaked as he shut it and he swung a small backpack down to the floor almost casually, making no effort to even look at the helpless man in the center of the room. Logan watched with baited breath as the man rummaged around, gathering his courage and opening his mouth.

"Where-"

The other mans reflexes were quick, a small pocket knife clattering to the ground between his feet before his mouth even registered the pain. It had thankfully been closed when it was thrown, leaving what he assessed to be little more than a swollen lip but his anxiety only climbed to new heights with the split second interaction.

The man continued to rummage in his pack, seemingly pushing around fabric and tools Logan couldn't see until he pulled out a water bottle. He tensed as the man stood and walked up to him, holding the open bottle to his lips patiently. Carefully Logan took a few sips before it was taken away. A folding chair was brought over from against a wall Logan couldn't see and the man sat down heavily on it, drinking from the same bottle lazily as he settled. Logan let out a tiny sigh of relief. At least the water hadn't been poisoned...unless poison could sit on top and he got the most potent dose and the man was leading him into a false sense of security and was just waiting-

Inwardly he shook himself from his thoughts. He couldn't afford to panic, that would be his husband's job, which he winced to think about. He was probably frantic, already suffering from anxiety and now Logan missing...did the man take him too? Is that who the other screams belonged to? His chest constricted as he looked back up.

"Where is-" Again he was cut off with the blunt end to the knife in his face, picked up when he wasn't paying attention and cracking his lower lip this time, falling in the same place between his feet. Leaning forward the other man grabbed the knife back, dragging it slowly against the carpet as he sat up.

"Speak when spoken to." He said simply.

Under any other circumstances Logan would say fuck it and yell and scream until he had no voice, but he needed more information and couldn't risk getting him upset. If he was able to escape he needed to be in the best shape possible and taking the chance the man was throwing randomly and risking getting an eye poked out certainly wasn't in his best interest. So he tried his best to relax, swiping his tongue over the well of blood on his lip and staring ahead expectantly.

The man settled back and regarded him with interest, the only clue into any emotion a slightly quirked eyebrow. He capped the water bottle and set it between his legs on the chair, bringing his hands up to rest on top of his head while twirling the knife expertly between his fingers.

"Logan Brian Croft. Interesting name."

Confused, Logan only nodded, swallowing hard as he tried to dismiss the fact that this man knew his full name.

"And your son, Roman, he's what...four? Five?"

"If you have done anything to my son, rest assured I'll-" He cried out as his lip split further, the knife once again between his feet.

"Speak when spoken to. Answer the questions given. You're smart this shouldn't be too hard." The wiry man picked up the knife again and twirled it aimlessly as he watched Logan squirm under his gaze, a glare fixed upon his swelling face. "So, four? Five?"

"He's seven." Logan spat, blood spattering on his knee.

The man smirked as he settled in more. "Seven then. Young enough to get fairy tales read to him still?"

What in the world was this person getting at? "Of course."

"What's his favorite?"

"...I- he likes so many. I suppose he's been partial to The Twelve Dancing Princesses lately."

"Mm. Bit of a less popular one." The knife was set down to Logan's immediate relief, the man's arms crossing over his chest. "Tell me about it. What's the plot?"

"What?" Thoroughly confused but quick to realize his mistake he hastily amended. "Yes right! It tells the story of twelve princesses being locked in their room each night but in the morning their shoes being worn down as though they were out all night. The king, not receiving any explanation from them, implores any man to discover their secret within three days or be sentenced to death." Here he paused and looked at the other for confirmation to continue, to which he nodded. Perplexed Logan pressed on.

'Just play the game right.' He thought. 'Just survive.'

"Many men try and fail to stay awake to discover their secret as the princesses give them sleeping potions each night. An old soldier on his way to the castle receives a magic cloak and a warning against the wine from an old woman. As might falls he pretends to sleep then dons the cloak to spy, following them through a trap door leading to a grove then a lake then a castle where they all dance the night away. Taking branches and a goblet as evidence to the king, the princess's finally confess. The king makes the soldier his heir and gives him the eldest daughters hand in marriage as a reward."

The man nods thoughtfully. "Odd he likes it so much but I guess that's kids for you. But wasn't it an old man who gave the soldier the warning?"

Logan furrowed his brow as he thought. He was certain it had been a woman but it was such a small detail, and with no means to look it up...he eyes the knife fearfully, his lip still throbbing. "Yes I- suppose it might have been."

Smirking, the man stands not before pocketing the knife and holds up the water bottle again. Getting a few sips before it was taken away the man refolded the chair, grabbed his bag, and left.

Logan blinked. That...couldn't be it. He was expecting an interrogation, more violence, personal questions; though he was thankful it hadn't gone that way it left him no less cofused. He tugged a bit more at his bonds and his heart leapt in his chest at the realization that maybe they felt just the slightest bit looser. Straining his ears for any signs the man would return soon and hearing none he settled back as much as he could and grit his teeth. Flexing his muscles he stretched the belt section as much as he could by pulling his wrists apart, the edges digging even more painfully at the already tender flesh. He didn't get very far but held it there for as long as he could before laxing and stretching his tingling fingers. Rolling his head back to stare at the ceiling he took a breath and tensed again.

-------

Waking up again had Logan flinching back from green eyes violently seeing his captor sat not one foot away from him. The door was slightly open behind him and he could just make out the sound of muffled crying coming from somewhere nearby.

"Who is-" A crack sounded shortly in the altered room, Logan's cheek throbbing and neck bending sideways with the force of the blow. Tears threatened to spill as he glared stubbornly back at the man, who looked on as impassively as ever.

"Forgotten the rules already? Figured you'd be smarter than that."

He shifted to sit straighter as the other leaned back, wrists aching from the strain he had put on them the day prior. He could feel the dull throb of his heartbeat in his fingertips and he tried in vain to flex his fingers, only earning painful spasms in return. A water bottle was again shoved in his face and with it came the realization that he needed a bathroom. Thankfully it wasn't yet uncomfortable but it was enough to make him hesitate taking the offer. Deciding staying hydrated was ultimately more important he earned a few sips against his cracked lip before it was taken away entirely too soon, making him want to whine at the loss but not wanting to give anything away.

Logan noticed the knife in the man's front pocket and cringed involuntarily while his abuser downed half the bottle himself, smacking his lips and laying a hand on the handle as a warning. Through nerves making his chest tighten once again Logan tried his best to concentrate on what the other might want today.

"Your son, you said he's six right?"

"Seven." Logan answered automatically.

"Hm. So that would mean he's in first grade."

"Yes." Llgan nearly smiled at the thought of how much Roman enjoyed school. He did very well, always getting straight A's and B's and making new friends. He was such an outgoing child, so much unlike his fathers and Logan honestly didn't know where he got it from. He supposed someone had to be the personable one in their small family.

"Does he talk about his friends a lot?" This sent Logan immediately on edge. If this person expected Logan to talk about his sons friends and possibly put them in danger- he would gladly take whatever punishment there was to keep them safe. Seeing the look on his face the other shook his head. "You can abbreviate their names, no harm is coming to them. Just making some friendly conversation. It's not as if I don't already have their information."

"I-"

"There's Patton right? Little curly haired boy, rather skittish. And Janus, odd name but he goes by Dee anyway...he's the one with eczema right?" Alarm bells ringing Logan began shaking his head.

"N-no, you have that wrong. Janus is someone entirely diff-" His desperate attempt to throw him off was met with another back-handed slap to the same cheek, making his vision wink with blackness temporarily.

"Don't lie. I have the information already and all playing hero will get you is more than you could handle."

Thoroughly fed up, Logan sat up and spat blood in the other man's face, earning slight satisfaction in the brief look of shock that crossed over it. Cringing slightly at the look he recieved but staring up with defiance none the less he watched as the man wiped his cheek in mild disgust.

"I wouldn't have done that."

"Fuck you." The words felt strange falling from his mouth, he rarely ever swore especially directed at others, but the fear was rapidly being replaced by adrenaline as his body braced itself for punishment, drowning out any and all rational thought. When the man stood however, he turned and left the room, leaving the door open enough that he could just catch sight of the beige hallways walls beyond.

When the screaming started, the adrenaline high he'd been riding left him so quickly it left him gasping for breath, the previous defiance replaced with a cold pit of dread as the persons pitch went up to a painful octave. Both doors must have been left open for how clearly their voice came through now. Shutting his eyes tightly against it he could only listen as wave after wave of guilt washed over him as whatever was happening seemed to go on endlessly.

The screams turned desperate as the other captive began pleading brokenly. "Please stop, please! I'll do whatever you want! I'll stay quiet, I'll talk, I'll die just PLEASE!"

The last word came out more like a pained shriek that made him flinch back violently in his chair. Something was thrown hard and clattered against something solid making the sound echo briefly over the gasping sobs coming from whoever was in the other room. A door was slammed shut cutting off the sounds before footsteps could be heard coming closer. Logan refused to look up as their torturer entered the room, earning a scoff as he hoisted up his pack to leave.

"I think I've given you enough to think about for today." The door was shut firmly as the rest of the fight drained from Logan and he slumped forward, not noticing the bonds pulling painfully at his joints. Screams echoed in his skull on a constant loop that try as he might would not be expelled from his mind.

Enough to think about indeed.

----------

"Tell me a fact."

Logan lifted his head tiredly from his chest, blinking slowly at the blurring man. It had been five or six days by his estimate, sleeping slumped in his chair for who knows how long, waking up to recieve sips of water and once a sandwitch crammed down his throat, using the alotted down time to stretch at the bonds around his wrists. Always with the out of the blue questions that he would get a detail wrong about. Lack of proper nutrition and hydration was leaving him feel slow and dimwitted.

What was his son's favorite fairy tale again? The Twelve Dancing Princess'....or was it The Frog Prince? He had a frog plush he really liked so maybe...but no, he knew his son. That had to be it, but the plot was fuzzy and out of focus, details from too many stories mushing together. Did his son have two friends he talked about or was it three? There was another boy who bullied him often but kids would be kids and perhaps it was more friendly competition...at least that's what the man had suggested. He couldn't verify the information and was too tired to care anymore. He got hurt when he asked questions so maybe questions weren't necessary. His captor knew a lot about them and seemed to be in much better health than he was at this point so maybe he did know better.

His thoughts were interupted with a harsh pinch to the frail skin of his thigh. Both of his thighs were covered in bruises from the days prior, and his face was a constant throbbing ache that made his head pound and thoughts slur even more. He was tired and cold and hungry. His mouth tasted like sour blood and he never got enough water to rinse it out properly. Above everything else he really had to pee, but he hadn't been taken out of the chair since he arrived. He wanted nothing more than to be at home, in bed with his husband and son under a mound of blankets with Roman's stuffed bunny pressed into his face and his love's arms securely wrapped around his waist. All he had instead were screams and a hard chair.

A punch to his other thigh made him yelp and look up. "Focus. Tell me a fact. Come on you're full of them."

He didn't understand the game they were playing. What was the point of talking if he'd be told he was wrong anyway? His memories were failing and just yesterday he had forgotten blood was red because it had no oxygen. That seemed so absurd to him at the time but he supposed in his deteriorated state mistakes were bound to happen. Even mistakes regarding a job he had held for years. What was it he had wanted? A fact, right.

"According to all known laws of aviation-" he slurred, giggling a bit to himself as his captive sat back with a carefully neutral expression. His heart leapt in his throat as he stood up and left the room, weakly calling out that he could do better. Before the door was shut he caught sight of a phone in the others hands, making his brain have a semi coherent thought if he ever escaped where to get to a phone.

The door failed to shut all the way and Logan strained his ears to be able to hear the muttering the other side, faintly catching a bit before he moved further down the hall.

"He's getting more and more delirious I think I'll be able to get it out of him soon. ......husb............breaking...." Logan's ears perked at the nearly incoherent sentence. Husband? His husband? Was he here? Was he okay? What about Roman??

With the door open he could hear faint moaning from the other room, and with it came a burst of numb resolve. He was weak but so were his bonds as he had steadily been working them loose over the last few days. Testing their strength he pulled as hard as he could, feeling the rough edge slice against his rubbed raw wrist until with a dull snap the leather fell to the floor. Eyes widening in surprise he wasted no time in bending over to unbuckle his legs and ankles , nearly face planting in his haste to stand. Taking a steadying breath he shuffled slowly to the door and squeezed through the crack, seeing his captor with his back towards him. Easy then, get whoever was in the other room, overtake the wiry man and steal his phone, call the police and get rescued.

Nodding through his doubt and fear he made his way slowly to another door, inching it open and slipping inside. Letting out a breath he turned around and froze, recognizing his husband's thin frame under the mess he had become. His purple hair was matted and plastered to his forehead with sweat and blood alike, his nose an indecipherable blood clot splattered against his face. His whole frame shook with pain as Logan took in the numerous open wounds dripping with blood and pus alike, fingers twisted at odd angles and twitching uselessly against the arms of the chair he was tied to. Haunted eyes darted to his fearfully as he drew a ragged breath through his ruined mouth, moaning with an urgency Logan barely understood.

"Virgil?"

"Lo-"

He didn't even hear his full name before the floor creaked behind him, bladder releasing in fear and adrenaline making him stumble with the intensity. He was seized by the throat before he could make a sound, vision swimming as the man's intense gaze filled his vision.

"And just where did you think you were going?"

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

The thick chains ground into his wrist bones painfully while his head lolled from side to side. Wrong. Everything was wrong. He didn't know anything, he didn't feel anything. Virgil's screams had gone quiet hours ago leaving a dull ache in his tired chest. His feet had lost feeling ages ago as his broken ankles swelled beyond his bonds. At least he didn't have to pee anymore. He didn't feel like he had to do much of anything anymore.

He barely twitched as the door opened. He was so, so tired. He had fallen asleep and woken up so many times since his escape attempt he couldn't guess how long he had been here if his brain wasn't already mush. All the facts he felt so accomplished in knowing and studying were wrong. All wrong. Details mixed up and spit out with enough inaccuracies to make him cry if he wasn't so dehydrated. Memories of Virgil and Roman skewed and rotted with the last of his concious thoughts. His husband's smile had forever been replaced by the bloodied face he had seen desperately trying to warn him of his stupidity, and now he had ruined their one chance at escape.

Moaning softly as his chin was pulled down he locked eyes with his captor, who smirked and nodded, holding out his phone. He noticed the call screen running and figured he must be on speaker. What was he meant to do now? Spout off more things that would be proven false with a backhanded slap or a hard punch to the gut?

"The password to your family safe. What is it?"

Somewhere, deep in Logan's subconscious his alarm bells were ringing. He had been beaten, starved and manipulated for days for just this moment, when all his walls were down and he doubted every word that left his mouth. Something wasn't right, the family safe where all their papers were, all their shared stocks and living wills and something else. Something important that he was sure he was forgetting. The thought was gone as soon as it entered as he groggily slurred out some combination of numbers towards the microphone.

His chin was freed as some form of confirmation was given on the other end. His cheek was patted softly, the gentlest he had been touched in so long it made tears prick his eyes. The man hung up and turned to dig through his bag, pulling out a full syringe and uncapping it as Logan watched in confusion, flicking out the air bubbles and turning back towards him.

"Shame my client didn't just recieve the inheritance in the first place, would've been much less painful for you." It clicked then that that was the important thing. The trust fund and pooled inheritance from Virgil's family they had stored away for Roman's future. The last thing that would be left to him if they didn't make it out alive. And he had just given it over to God only knows who.

"Wha-"

"Lethal injection. A mercy really, I have no more need of you and neither does my client. It'll be quick I promise. Just like ripping off a bandaid."

Logans mind connected the dots slowly as the man came towards him, and adrenaline shot through him one last time as he began to panic. Nonononononono! He had to get out! He had to get Virgil, find Roman; he needed them safe! The syringe came closer and closer as if in slow motion and in one last desperate attempt to survive he bucked up violently with everything he had. His ankles protested heavily making him scream in pain and tip his chair back, knocking the needle away and making him fall heavily to the side. As he blinked back the tears he heard a gasp and looked over at the man's shocked expression, moving his eyes down to his thigh where the syringe was now fully dispensed and sticking out of. Too late his abuser snatched it out, breathing heavily as he turned towards Logan.

"What have you done?" He turned and stumbled slightly, falling to his knees and crawling to the door clawing desperately at the handle as his strength seemed to leave him, breathing growing more and more labored until he slumped over limply, the erratic rise and fall of his chest stilling completely after only a minute.

For a moment Logan allowed himself to feel triumphant. He had survived! He had won and now he could- he jingled the thick chains uselessly around his wrists, ankles screaming in pain and head pounding from his fall. Looking over frantically at the body by the door his mouth opened and shut several times, low croaks the only sound working past dry lips. He couldn't get free and Virgil- he was trapped across the hall dying slowly, alone, all because of him. His captor was dead and Virgil was dying and Logan was dying and all he could do was bang his head against the floor uselessly as sobs wracked his frail body.

"Wake up!" He whispered uselessly. "WAKE UP!"

His dry vocal chords felt as if they were ripping apart as he screamed and cried to no avail in his sound proofed prison. They were all dead. And no one was coming.

As he grew weaker his sobs quieted enough for him to faintly hear the sound of someone crying in the other room. His heart broke as he thought of Virgil alone and terrified and hurting, thoughts mixing up and blurring the body in front of him until it more resembled his husband's. He missed him so much. He missed his home. He missed his son. He wished, above all else he could hear their voices one last time. As his eyes slowly shut the crying grew more familiar, sinking him into a dream of what once was, monsters no more real than the ones children ran from under beds. He smiled faintly as he thought back to the simple time, hearing Roman's shout of fear and knowing he'd be able to fix it with a kiss and a cuddle.

"Daddy!"

[motherofoliver]

Lost on You (Chapter 1)

(AO3)

Summary: After over a year on a roller coaster ride, Kaneki leaves prison and attempts to make amends for his mistakes.

Word Count: 2,118

*****

“Here are your things. You may exit through that door.” The guard slid Kaneki his things through a small opening in the glass and pointed towards the metal door leading to the outside world. He put on his jacket, bloodstains still on it.

That’s gonna be a bitch to dry clean.

After checking his wallet, Kaneki pushed the metal door open and walked outside to find a vintage red Mustang with a familiar face standing besides it.

“Where’s Touka?”

“I missed you too, buddy. Please try to contain your excitement at seeing me.” Hide chuckled as he came up closer and embraced the dark-haired man. It took a while for Kaneki to hug him back. He wasn’t sure when the last time he was held by anyone was. Definitely over a month. Maybe over three months. Not since T…

“You smell like shit.” Hide wrinkled his nose and stepped back while comically waving his hand.

“Yeah, prison can do that to you.” Kaneki made his way to the front seat of the car and leaned it back.

“Did they make you shower with expired chicken stock?” Hide got into the driver’s seat and turned on the ignition. Pop music blared from the radio as he reversed the car and sped onto the main street. “My place is closer than yours, we’ll stop there so you can shower and have a change of clothes.”

“Just take me home.” Kaneki sounded exhausted. He slid down his seat and placed his arm over his eyes.

“No can do. Akira wants to see you.”

Kaneki groaned. “I just got out. I can’t attend a work meeting right now.”

“Hey man, it’s the least you could do. She busted her ass to get you out.” Hide sounded playful but Kaneki knew him well enough to know there was a tinge of reproach in his voice. Akira must have pulled a lot of strings she did not want to pull. The familiar wave of guilt washed over him and his throat tightened.

“Will Touka be there?” And would she speak to me if she was?

“I don’t know, I think she’s been busy with a new client.”  Hide was tapping his fingers against the wheel with the music but Kaneki could feel his eyes glancing at him with concern. “I thought guys got buff in jail, how did you manage to get thinner?” Hide tried to cheer up the atmosphere by teasing him but his mind was already elsewhere.

“Yeah, well, prison food tastes like shit.” Kaneki replied absentmindedly. He couldn’t actually remember what prison food tasted like or if he even ate it. He couldn’t remember much of anything besides the thoughts that kept a watchful rotation in his head like a music worm you can’t hum your way out of.

“Don’t worry about that. Tonight I’ll take you out for the best meal of your life. It’ll be a mukbang of all your favorite foods. Gotta celebrate you surviving prison.”

Kaneki didn’t react. He was already humming his tune.

***

Breaking news! Our favorite hot mess, Ken Kaneki, is out of prison after only serving one month of his prison sentence! Insider sources tell us a deal was mediated with the prosecution and the actor was released on parole this morning! We contacted his agency for a statement on the release of the famous one eyed dragon but they have yet to reach out. Do you think he got off easy? Share your thoughts with us on our social media at…

Akira closed her browser tab and took a deep sigh. She could already feel a headache forming behind her eyes and she was positive it will get worse within the next few hours. She pressed her intercom button “Hairu, could you please get me some water and Paracetamol before Kaneki gets here?”

“Yes, ma’am” The reply was quick and Akira immediately heard the sound of Hairu leaving her desk to the communal office area.

How will we spin this one?

Throughout the last year, working as Kaneki’s publicist meant she has had to bend over backwards and use every trick up her sleeve to maintain a modicum of a career for him. Paying exuberant amounts of money to cover up his drug use, settlements, bribes, killing stories and videos of his repeated arrests, convincing prostitutes not to post photos of him snorting cocaine off them on their Instagram, negotiating with producers and directors to keep him on their movies even though he’s consistently 6 hours late to set and doesn’t even know his lines.

It’s just a phase; he’s going through a difficult time.

Or so she kept telling herself as he punched and kicked and snorted his way through the five stages of grief. It took less than 3 months to change his reputation from the ‘wholesome child star who made it’ into a violent drug addict who couldn’t stay sober for a five minutes morning statement of apology. His childhood portraits turned into snarky memes on social media mocking his downward spiral. Tabloids competed to come up with the most outrageous story of the day about him, and they didn’t have to work too hard to find them.

Hairu knocked at the door. Akira nodded for her to enter. She placed a sheet of pills and a water bottle on her desk then moved out. Akira interrupted her at the door “Is Touka in the office today?”

“No, ma’am. She went to Italy yesterday for the photoshoot.”

Thank God. “Thank you, Hairu.” At least that will be one less outburst to deal with today. Hairu nodded and closed the door behind her.

Kaneki would definitely make a scene if Touka was around. He has managed to botch every interaction they had ever since they broke up and Touka has been through enough last few months. There was no need to add the burden of handling Kaneki just yet.

Speak of the devil.

Akira’s phone lit up with a message from Hide: “Just dropped Kaneki off. He’s all yours.”

Akira took a deep breath and reached for the pills.

***

Kaneki felt every eye in the hall on him. He had hoped his entry would be inconspicuous but looking at his reflection in the elevator, he realized he may have overdone it a bit with the black. He looked like a modern day rendition of the grim reaper if he wanted to start a goth band. Kaneki clicked the 14th floor button, Creative Celebrity Globe.

What a dumb fucking name.

Unconsciously, Kaneki started tapping his foot. He wasn’t sure what to expect with Akira but he doubted it will be anything good. But that wasn’t the thing making him nervous.

What if Touka is in her office? I should go say hi. Right? She wouldn’t mind that. It’s only being civil.

The elevator doors opened and Kaneki instinctually went to the right, room 1407. The door was locked and the lights were out. He looked inside and Touka’s bag wasn’t on the table by the window. Music wasn’t playing on her computer. His eyes searched for the bunny calendar he got her but it wasn’t on the wall next to the desk. Kaneki felt a pit in his stomach at the thought she might have thrown it away.

“Kaneki! Glad to have you back.” Akira’s voice snapped Kaneki out of his thoughts. Akira gestured towards her office with a formal smile on her face. The dark circles around her eyes had deepened since the last time she visited him in prison. She followed him as he made his way into her office and closed the door behind them.

“I’m sure you didn’t want to come here today but we need to discuss our plan from now on.” Akira said matter-of-factly as she pulled a few folders from her drawer. “There will be a shit storm next couple of weeks so it’s best if you lay low. That means no social media, no going out, no smoking, no alcohol, no drugs, no midnight visits from attentive women, alright?”

Kaneki rolled his eyes. “Why not just tie me to a chair and be done with it?”

“Will that be necessary?” Akira’s glare was hard. Kaneki wanted to glare back but he felt too ashamed to try it.

Akira continued. “After that, I have set some volunteer activities for you to join. We’ll leak photos after you prove your presence with the other volunteers. If we feel the time is right, Hairu will start posting on your social media to begin rehabilitating your image and …”

“Isn’t it best if Touka does that?” Kaneki interrupted. “She is more familiar with my personal brand.”

Akira’s look would have been almost condescending if not for the pity. “You don’t have a personal brand left, and Touka no longer works on your team.” Akira said slowly, as if she was talking to a child. “Hairu is more than competent enough for this task.”

Kaneki’s foot started tapping aggressively but he didn’t say anything.

“If all goes right, we might be able to get you a role on a Netflix show set to start production in 6 months. I’m personal friends with the director and he would be willing to hire you as a favor for me.” Akira placed her fists beneath her chin. “That is if you get your act together.”

“What if I don’t want to do that?” Kaneki asked defiantly. He had been feeling like a puppet steered by the people around him for the last month and he wasn’t looking forward to being that puppet for the next six months.

“Don’t want what? To get your act together?” Akira’s eyebrow rose. “I’m afraid that’s implied in your parole.” She leaned back in her chair with crossed hands.

“No, I mean acting. I mean this whole life. Can’t I just retire now? I’ve done my time.” Kaneki was getting antsy in his seat. The room felt as it was getting smaller. Akira’s voice was becoming distant. His foot was basically shaking now instead of tapping. He wanted to go back to Touka’s office and look for the calendar. She wouldn’t have thrown it away.

“With whose money do you plan to do that?” Akira’s question was like a jolt of electricity.

“What do you mean whose money? Mine of course!” Kaneki’s voice rose on the last word.

“Would that be the money you spent on drugs? Or travels? Or lawyers? Or settlements?” Akira dropped one of the folders in front of him. “You still have fees and settlements worth millions to pay. You can’t afford to retire unless you’re willing to go back to jail for much longer than you were sentenced.” Akira opened the folder and pointed to a signature line. “That’s why I need you to sign here. We’re selling your apartment.”

Akira’s voice grew distant again. Kaneki’s choices for the last year fell crashing on him and his breath stopped in his chest. “I can’t do that.” He managed to croak out.

He really couldn’t. That apartment was the first thing he ever bought with his money. He bought it for himself and Touka. He decorated it with Touka. That apartment was where they spent their first night together. Even after they broke up, he didn’t let any other woman in there. That place was his and Touka’s, together. Selling it would mean letting go of that final thread holding them together.

“You have to, Kaneki.” Akira’s tone was sympathetic but firm. “You could be sued if you don’t pay some of those fees and your royalties right now won’t cut it. People are still mad at you and won’t show your movies or buy them.”

“Isn’t there any work I can do right now? I’ll do anything.” Kaneki was quietly pleading. “Can’t I take money from the trust fund?”

“No, Arima was very clear in his will that you cannot access that till you’re 30. I already asked the lawyers.” Akira felt a hitch in her throat at the mention of Arima, and looking at Kaneki, she could tell he felt the same.

Kaneki’s tone became stern “I’ll have to think about this before I sign.” He stood up. “Where are my keys?” He extended his hand.

“You won’t be staying at your place. Too many photographers.” She handed him the folder. “You’ll stay at Hide’s place till you finish the Netflix production.”

Kaneki snatched the folder from Akira’s hand and walked outside. He couldn’t hide the anger in his step. He pressed the elevator’s button as if it offended him personally. He took another look at the document inside the folder before throwing the whole thing in the trash.

[talpup]

Chaos: 47

I want to give a special thanks upfront to those who responded to my interest check.  I had been feeling a bit overwhelmed with three fics on the burner, and your response gave me just spark I needed to focus on this story and see it finished.  While this chapter does finish the story, there will be a coming little epilogue that contains a post script from Dabi.

***Memories in this fic are always in italic.

Summary: The day Aizawa Shouta betrayed his Love was the day the Daimon lost everything that mattered in his life. Now, with her awake from her slumber and memory wiped, he has another chance at having her and being happy. There’s only the small problem of heaven wanting his Love dead, and hell wanting control of her. And her promise to protect and help another. Oh! And her remembering what he did.

But Shouta has waited so long to have her back. Has planned and taken measures to see his Love protected. He won’t loose her this time. He’ll do anything to keep her safe, and stop her from remembering his betrayal. Cost and consequences be damned.

Though it really is a shame that the cost just might bring about Chaos.

Please remember, this fic is rated explicit and has warnings of violence, sex, questionable con, and non-con (though we’re thankfully done with that), and other possible triggers.

***If you prefer reading off AO3 here’s the link for that: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20155333/chapters/57154492

46.1

Reyanna groaned in pain.  Her ribs creaked and cracked, then broke.  She cried out but all that did was waste air she couldn’t get back. Body crushed between the floor and the Nenu’s punishing foot, she couldn’t breath.

Her watery eyes darted around the room looking for something. Anything to help her.  But there was nothing.  This couldn’t be where it ended.  She had died once and been brought back by her and Shouta's love. With the small bit of her life force that had been housed within his Vim ring, Shouta had seen her safe and out of the clutches of death.  Death.  She had been more than just dead.  She had seen Death.  How could she have forgotten?

Death stood in front of her within her mind. ”Why are you so upset, Child?”

“He betrayed me!”  Reyanna yelled of Shouta's deal with Lucifer.

She might’ve being dying but that meant nothing in light of what she had just remembered.  How could he have done such a thing?  How could Shouta have taken and twisted...

“He did as he always promised he would and saw you protected.”

Reyanna glared at Death.  She didn’t care if she offended this ancient being.  She had just remembered her Love had betrayed her.  There was nothing Death could do that would hurt worse than that.

Her lips curled in a sneer.  “He was selfish.  The Llaes and Tamaki died because of what Shouta did.”

“Are you not just as selfish, if not more so?”

“Why? Because I want nothing more in the world than to be left alone and live in peace with him?  True as that is, I didn’t make a deal with Lucifer that ended with the Llaes and Tamaki’s deaths.”

“No.” Death agreed.  “You didn’t.  What you did has seen far more than merely two young ones dead.”

“What?”

“You are such a hypocrite, Reyanna.”  Death stepped toward her, the walls of her mind darkening and closing in.  “What you have done is by far worse than this perceived betrayal of Aizawa’s.  What you have done has caused so much more trouble and heartache.  Your deeds have cost countless of lives.”

Reyanna stepped back from the looming figure, suddenly caring very much if she offended Death.  “I—I don’t know--”

“Exactly. You don’t know.  And it’s about time that you do.  Open your senses and see what you have done.  Accept who and what you are.  Your goal.  What you so desperately want.  Your very life and that of Aizawa’s.  It all depends on it, Anna. If you truly want nothing more in the world than to be left alone and live in peace with your Love, then open your eyes and see the truth of what you’ve done.”

Todoroki had said something similar, telling her to ‘open her senses and understand’.  That he wouldn’t be able to enter the room of sealed Leviathans till she did.  But understand what?  What had she done?

“You’re weak little Sister.  To think I had had hope for you.”  The Nenu spat, foot baring down on her splayed body.  “You had shown so much promise in the beginning.  Stirred up so much chaos for the sake of your foolish love.  But you don’t even know what you did.  The power of Chaos that you tapped into and let run a muck.  And now it has led you here.  You and the first Golem you created sealed away our kin.  My closest brothers and sisters forever locked in static existence.  They were foolish.  Tempted away from our place of power and into the world of man.  But you’re in my world now, Anna.  Even with this latest Golem of yours being a Nephilim true, you will not win against me.  There is nothing but death for you and your Love here.”

Reyanna gritted her teeth, fingers raking at the stone floor.  How dare he call her love for Shouta foolish.  It was her love for Shouta that had saved her from her Father’s plans and Kai’s clutches.  Her love for him that had kept her sane and going after Kai’s rape. She had been so afraid Shouta would find out.  That he would rage and kill Kai, and Lucifer would kill Shouta in return.

It had been shortly after Kai’s rape that Hawks had found and taken her.  If it wasn’t for Shouta and their love she would have given up.  Given in and submitted to Hawks’ plan to kill her.  Instead she and Shouta did had each other, and her Love had come to save her. Shouta had taken Abril and…

’Why did you decide to protect me from Aizawa's blade?” Abril’s question from long ago echoed in her darkening mind.

It had been a silly question.  She had saved Abril because she had been the Llaes. ...Hadn’t she?  Why then had Abril responded saying ‘I had no knowledge or power before then.  I certainly wasn’t the one who would or could seal away great monsters.’

Her action had caused the tear to Oblvi to widen.  Why would surpassing her power to save Abril cause the tear to the land of Third’s to widen?

“Because you are power.  You are might.  You are the end.  The true death.  Daughter.  Open your eyes and your senses.  See me and accept the full truth of who you are.”

Reyanna’s minds eye opened at the sound of a voice more ancient than time.  She didn’t startle at the sight of the twin orbs staring back at her. Though she’d never seen them before, she somehow knew those infinite voids.  Eyes that were both darker than the blackness that surrounded them and filled with bright spiraling galaxy's, burning quasars, and dying suns.

Chaos. The Being that had ordained her.  Her Father.

As Reyanna stared into those fathomless eyes she saw the truth of her beginning.  How Chaos had long ago gotten the idea to take God’s ordered creations and use them to make a creation of his own.  How Chaos had chosen Lucifer, God’s fallen favorite, to subvert his Brother’s order.  How Chaos had watched over the coupling between Lucifer and a human woman.  His power mixing and adding to the power of their carnal union to create a link between two creations that had never been meant to bare fruit together.

This new understanding allowed her to see what she had unwittingly done all those years ago.

Reyanna’s heart lifted and lurched at the sight of Shouta flinting into the field with his human prisoner.  Her Love had come to save her from Heaven's Assassin.  But at what cost? If freeing her meant putting him in danger, than she would rather die at Hawks’ hand.

It wasn’t as if her and Shouta's troubles would be over after this exchange.  They would still be left trying to figure out a way to get her out of hell's clutches.  She would still be left fearing for Shouta's life if their love were to be discovered.  Left fearing what Shouta would do if he found out what Kai had done.

Would it always like this?  With some threat hanging over them.  Why couldn’t she and Shouta just be left in peace?  All she wanted was to live alone in safety with her Love.

Shouta moved, blade thrusting to kill the woman Hawks had called Abril, and for a moment her every sense focused on him.  Their love was an impossible one.  They would never be left alone.  There would never be any peace or safety for them.  Hell would never stop wanting her. And heaven would never stop wanting her dead.  So long as those two realms could reach her, she and Shouta would never be able to live happy and secure with each other.

Focused on her Love, her power flared.

It happened like Shouta had said when he first taught her how to use her power.  That all she had to do was will it to be done and the thing would obey, sorting itself out.  Only this time it was an indirect desire that her heart and soul had unconsciously willed.  And the thing she wanted was far more complex than simply telling a house to seal itself or a fire to warm a place.

Despite it far surpassing her natural ability, her power sought for a way to obey the unrealized demand.  The tear to Oblvi widened and her connection to Chaos deepened, drawing on her father's might.

In that fraction of an instant reality changed as her power sought to bring about her deepest desire.  Abril was no longer just a human but the Llaes.  Someone who could seal away the escaped Leviathan’s.

There had been no intelligence behind her released powers doings, only a will to reach its command of seeing her and Shouta living in peace. Still, Reyanna could understand what the original will behind making Abril the Llaes had been.

If she helped Abril seal away the escaped Leviathan’s maybe heaven would be grateful and give up its hunt for her.  But heaven hadn’t relented.  Instead Toshinori had sent a garrison of angels to kill her friend.

As Abril lay dying, the purpose once again took matters into its own hands.  It created a different task and more Llaes’ to reach it. Like a domino having been knocked over, the purpose twisted and affected events around both Shouta and Reyanna.  Ever searching for a way to reach its end goal.

The revelation left her drowning in a storm of emotion.  The entire thing was downright lunacy.  The amount of times she and Shouta had almost died helping this Llaes alone.  She actually had died! More than that, her and Shouta's Bond had been broken because of it.

All that strife, and pain, and death.  It had all been because of her.  Because she had unknowingly tapped in to her connection to Chaos.  Had unknowingly used her power to do this thing.  And with no harness to guide or rein it in, the purpose had run rampant.  In its effort to obey, chaos had been created. All so she could live in peace with the man that she loved.

Though the eyes of Chaos were gone, his voice echoed in her mind.  “Take your rightful place and make them bow.  Make all of them bow.”

A distant part of her dimming mind knew that she could.  She was a child of Chaos.  The daughter of Lucifer.  She had the freewill and creativity of her mother’s humanity.  And thanks to Lucifer’s past, had a connection to heaven.  She was a child of the four realms.  She could more than make them bow.  She could rule and destroy them all.  And a part of her wanted to.

She wanted to rage and kill for the pain that others had caused.  All those years fighting and hiding.  It was Lucifer's fault that she had done what she did. Lucifer’s lust for power, and desire to see her bound to Kai.  And Toshinori... If only he had given up his cause to see her dead.  But instead the Archangel sent out assassin after assassin.  Both Archangel and Daimon deserved to die.  They all deserved to die.

“Anna!” Shouta's voiced called from the distance.

Reyanna’s eyes flashed open.  For the first time since being brought here, she saw passed the walls of the room.  Like she had with the Nenu, she could see both the darkened space and bright open sky they were hovering in.  Her eyes searched, finding Shouta at the edge of a cliff.

Her consuming rage diminished in a swell of love at the sight of him. She and Shouta had been through so much and had come so far.  There was no way in hell that she was going to succumb and give Chaos what he wanted.  She was done letting others take, and threaten, and demand. It was time to finally get what she wanted and finish what she had unwittingly started all those years ago.

Her eyes burned; not with her power, but with that of Shouta's.  She turned.  Red eyes locking on the Nenu that stood above her.  She saw both his forms, but unlike before it no longer made her head want to split open.  A black tendril sprung to life and wrapped around the Nenu’s leg, throwing him across the room.

Her hand stretched out toward the castle and unlocked the sealed chamber for Todoroki.

Ribs knitting together, she sucked in a breath and called out to the Archangel fighting a beast below.  “Enji!  Throw me the heaven fire!”

Kai ignored her cry, stabbing the beast with his blade.

Enji paused and looked up.  “Wha— Hey!”

Shigaraki grabbed the bottle and threw it up, hissing as layers of flesh were burned away at the brief contact.

Reyanna caught it, her connection to heaven allowing her to hold the bottle with minimal burns.  Jar of heaven fire in hand, she got to her feet and stared down the Nenu.

“Don’t worry brother. I won’t leave you in eternal static like our kin.”  

46.2

“The doors!”  Hitoshi pointed watching them open.

Todoroki took his pointing hand and rushed forward. “Let’s go.”

Their feet echoed loudly in the large, mostly empty room. Hitoshi’s eyes immediately landed on the single thing in the space, an ornate pedestal standing in the center of the room with a vessel on top.

At first the vessel was a sphere filled with swirling wisps of light.  Then Hitoshi blinked and found it to be a cube brimming with a dark, writhing mass.

He swallowed, lavender eyes darting to Todoroki.  The Llaes wasn’t even looking at the vessel of sealed Leviathan’s. If anything Todoroki was purposefully avoiding looking at it.

Hitoshi’s thumb brushed against the back of the others hand.  “Hey.  You alright?”

“It’s time for me to finish the task I was meant for.”

“So… What do we do?”

“You don’t do anything.  This is the end.”

Hitoshi’s eyes narrowed not liking the phrasing of those words.  “What does that mean?”

“Nothing. Just… Stand back against the wall. Please.”

Hitoshi nodded and reluctantly released Todoroki’s hand.  Something wasn’t right.  His Were senses could feel it.  But now wasn’t the time to question.

Todoroki took in a fortifying breath and looked at the vessel of Leviathan’s Abril had sealed away.  While the steps to get here had been far more difficult, his task was far easier than Abril’s.  He was meant to seal the tear to Oblvi.

His life.  His sole purpose for being was to complete the task his predecessors had failed at doing.  He had told his Father, ‘I will close the gate that will see all of this come to an end…’ But it had become so much more than something he was simply meant to do.  This purpose he was made for had become much more than just some blind inner drive put into the core of his being.

While it was entirely possible that circumstance had brought him and Hitoshi together.  That the will of this cause had turned Aizawa’s path toward a mauled Witch and bent his heart so Hitoshi wouldn’t be left to die.  That didn’t make what he felt any less real.  It didn’t make this desire any less his own.

The reason for all of this might’ve been to see Shouta and Reyanna safe and without threat; but his reason was different.  Closing the tear would only rectify part of the problem he wanted to fix.  It would assure that no other Third’s crossed over to earth.  But what about the Third’s already there?

He had meant what he said when he told his Father that he would ‘put to right a wrong that begun back during the dawn of man.’

That was his purpose.  The purpose he had chosen for himself.

He looked at Hitoshi.  Would he understand? Would he hate him for the sacrifice he was about to make?

To call back the Third’s in earth would take everything he had, but he was doing it for him.  So that no other child would lose their family and suffer at the hands of Third’s. So that no one else would go through the pain and sorrow Hitoshi had went through.

Heaven had turned a blind eye to the pain and suffering the children of Chaos caused.  They did it for the sake of a faulty peace that served no one but heavens own self interests.  They had left the humans they were meant to protect to be brutalized and preyed upon. But he could end that suffering.

Todoroki turned back to the vessel of sealed Leviathan’s.  The children of Chaos had caused enough strife and pain in pursuit of their aims.  It was time for that to end.

46.3

There was a whoosh of outward air from the heart of the castle.

Reyanna flinted to the Nenu bottle of heaven fire raised.

The Nenu could clearly see both the burning red eyes of the fallen Seraphim’s power and the spiraling space of galaxy's of Reyanna’s own.  But beyond that he saw the fathomless black void of Chaos in the young Nephilim’s eyes.

It was in that moment that he realized Chaos stood with her.  His reign was over.  No one could stand against Chaos.  It was futile to even try.  He didn’t understand why his Father was for this weakling, but he wouldn’t fight it.

Submitting to his Father’s will, the Nenu stretched out his arms and threw back his head.

Acting without thought, Reyanna’s hand phased.  The bottle of heaven fire passed  deep into the Nenu’s chest.

Rather than explode the bottle sucked in on itself, taking the Nenu with it.

She barely had time to blink when the wind picked up.  Shouta, her mind raced at the thought of him.

“Shouta! Hold on!”  She looked about frantically for her Love.

The wind had quickly passed hurricane force.

“Shouta!”

She saw him out in the open field, feet skidding across the ground.  As the tear to Oblvi closed the land sought to rid itself of its foreign inhabitants.

Reyanna flinted, grabbing a hold of Shouta just as his feet left the ground.

Their bodies slammed together.

Shouta wrapped his arms around his Love, holding her tight.

“I got you.”  Reyanna held him all the tighter, burying her face against him.  “I got you, my Love. You’re not going anywhere.  You’re mine.”

“Mine.” Shouta echoed.

She stood solid in the whirlwind as if it were nothing more than a gentle breeze.

Trusting her to anchor him, Shouta cupped and lifted her face.  Long black hair whipped wildly around his head as he kissed her.

The wind died down, not that Shouta noticed.

Dabi let go of the tree he had anchored himself and Hizashi to, flexing his hands to bring life back into them. The first thing he saw was Shouta and Reyanna.  He rolled his eyes. Really!  There was a time and place.

Dabi cleared his throat loudly.

One of Shouta's hands left Reyanna.  A black tendril lashed out and wrapped around Dabi’s mouth silencing him.

Shouta didn’t care who was there or how long they were made to wait.  He was kissing his Love to his hearts content.

For the first time, Reyanna didn’t care who saw her and Shouta display of ravenous affection.  This man was hers, and she would claim him in front of any and all to see.

Enji dusted himself off scowling.

When Reyanna had realized who she was and what she’d done, the veil had been lifted for everyone effected by the changed reality.  Toshinori had been right to call the Nephilim whore an abomination, and want her dead.  More than that, the First Chief of heaven had been right about the Child of Hope.

“Why would Chaos create such a thing as you?”  Enji demanded the still kissing Nephilim.  Had the woman’s sole purpose been to make a fool of him?

Still laying in the trench he had made, Shigaraki looked up at the Archangel. “Do you really need to ask?”

Enji blinked thinking of the years he had spent striving to see the gates of hell closed all because one woman had wanted some alone time with her damned lover. The entire thing was so absurd in its insanity that it suddenly made perfect sense why Chaos would create and unleash Reyanna upon the world.

“Help! Aizawa!  Somebody!  Help!”  Hitoshi’s distant voice called.

Dabi instantly flinted at the sound of the panicked plea. He returned with a barely conscious Todoroki in his arms, and Hitoshi at his side.

Enji crowded his son and the Demon as Dabi knelt laying the Llaes out on the ground. “What happened to him?”

Hitoshi hovered over Todoroki.  “I—I don’t know.”

Reyanna pulled away from Shouta.

Shouta reluctantly released her.

She rushed to the fellow Nephilim’s side, brow pinched in worry.  “He should be fine.”

“Stand aside.”  Enji shoved Dabi and Hitoshi away, getting to a knee; but even his angelic healing wasn’t helping.

“Shou.” Hizashi croaked still weak from his near death.

“You have to do something!  He’s dying!  Please! Do something!  He can’t die!”

At the sound of his manic boyfriend’s plea, Todoroki’s eyes creaked open.  He tried to reach out to him, but his fingers barely lifted off his chest.  He wanted to tell Hitoshi that it was alright.  That he had done it for him.

Enji glared at Reyanna.  “You did this!  My son put everything he had into your damned purpose and now he’s dying.”

Reyanna swallowed.  It was true.  Todoroki had put everything he had into calling back the Third’s.  But Enji was wrong.  It wasn’t her fault.  The task had been to close one of the gates.  While everyone had assumed that would mean that all from the sealed realm would be forced back, that hadn’t been her purposes goal.

Todoroki must’ve decided to pull the Third’s back on his own.  But why?  The boy had to have known what such a thing would cost.

“Shouta.” Hizashi called again.  “The… Phoenix potion.”

All heads turned to Shouta.

Reyanna got to her feet.  “You have a Phoenix potion?”

“Give it here!”  Enji barked, hand outstretched.

Shouta looked at Reyanna.  They might've been locked away from heaven and hell but that didn’t mean she was safe.  What about the Third’s?  She had just killed their leader and had the tear sealed for her cause.  Surely they would seek retribution.

Everything in his vaults, found and accumulated to help and protect her, it was all back on earth.  He couldn’t even call upon Hizashi's connections to heaven for supplies.  Aside from his blade and his power he had nothing else to see her safe.  He had failed to protect her once before and seen her die…

“Shouta.”

Shouta stared into her eyes shook his head.  “I can’t.  I need it for you.  To see you safe.  I have to make sure you’re protected.  I can’t lose you.  Not again.  Never again.”

Reyanna stepped to him.  “It’s okay, Shouta.”

“Like hell it is!  Give me the damned potion.  Now!”  Enji fumed, smoke and tiny flames of fire uncontrollably licking up from his shoulders.

Reyanna’s hands moved up Shouta's chest. “It’s okay, my Love.  We’re safe here.  No one will hunt or try to harm me.  I assure you.  It’s why I did this.”

“I’ll do more than hurt you if you don’t hand that vial over!”  Enji snapped.

Shouta's eyes flicked to the Archangel, lip curling in a snarl.  His blade dropped into his hand, prepared to protect his Love if Enji attempted to make good on the treat.

“Shouta, look at me.”  Reyanna cupped his face, seeking his attention. “Would I lie to you?”

“No.” Shouta answered, softly.

“Then trust me.  Trust that we’re safe here.  That I’m safe here. Please, Shou.  Trust that everything is finally alright.  That you and I can be together with no more threats hanging over our heads.  We can have that cabin we always wanted.  Not the one we had in earth that was more of bunker hideaway than a home.  But the one we always imagined.  Hand the potion over, Shouta. Let them save Todoroki.  I don’t want to start our life here with the death of the boy who gave us this peace.  Do you?”

Shouta’s grip on the vial tightened. “You promise.  You’re not just saying this to save him?”

“I promise.  I did this for us.  For you.  So we could live in peace alone together.  It’s over, Shouta.  We’re safe.  I’m safe.”

Shouta opened his hand to her.

Reyanna took the small glass bottle.  She reached back passing it to Dabi.  Her other arm hugged around Shouta’s neck, holding him close.

“Thank you.”  She peppered her Love with kisses.  “Thank you, Shou.  I love you.  I love you so much.”

Dabi tossed the potion to Enji.

The Archangel fumbled the small vial afraid to crush the bottle in his hands.

“Don’t break it!”  Dabi scolded.

Hitoshi’s heart jumped into his throat.  But neither Were nor Archangel stop to glare at the Demon.

Enji poured the potion into Todoroki’s mouth

Dabi watched saw the Llaes swallow. He turned to find Shouta and Reyanna kissing again.  Seriously? Those two needed to get a room.

The Demon’s own urges stirred and he looked around. “So, are we done?  Cause I would like to find me a hot meal and warm body and--”

“It’s not finished yet.”  Enji interrupted.  “Kai’s still here.”

At that Shouta pulled his lips away from Reyanna.  “He’s mine.”

“Sakamata was my friend.”

Shouta scoffed at the Archangel’s words.  “You’re the reason he was cast out of heaven.”

“I swore to him--”

“I don’t care what you swore.  Kai is mine to end.” Shouta cut over Enji’s words.

“Seems like everyone wants a pound of that Daimon's flesh.”  Dabi grinned wickedly.

The idea of Dabi’s words appealed to Shigaraki who lifted Kai’s severed hand.  “I’ll lead you to him if you let me take a turn.”

46.4

Kai flinted and raced through the never ending forest.  He didn’t know why he had anchored himself and held on when the tear was closing. Actually he did.  Being locked in a world filled with filthy Thirds, an a group of enemies that wanted him dead was more preferable than whatever Lucifer would have in store for him.  At least here he had a chance of survival.  Maybe he could still built that empire he wanted.  With the Nenu dead the Third’s would need a new ruler...

Enji appeared in front of him.

Kai cursed and flinted.

Dabi appeared at Kai’s new location.

Again the Daimon flinted.

Even quicker than Dabi’s appearance, Shouta was there.

Shouta placed a heavy hand on the other Kai’s shoulder.  “Where do you think you’re running?”

Kai’s blade dropped into his hand.  He spun around breaking the contact, swinging his weapon.  “I’m not running!”

Shouta bent back, easily avoiding the wild swipe. He’s exhausted.  His teeth bared in predatory revelry at the thought, barely feeling his own exhaustion.

Kai tried to flint again but found that he couldn’t.  Eyes wide and frenetic, he spun around to find Reyanna closing in behind. To think that he had wanted a filthy Third.  Just the thought of having been with her made him break out in hives.  It was disgusting. She was disgusting.  Sick.  Filthy.  Abomination.

“Let me go.” Kai demanded of her.

Hizashi's bright golden blade glinted in her hand. “I’m not the one tethering you.”

“You are.”  Shigaraki said, patting the small mound where he had buried Kai’s hand.

Kai growled and rushed the Demon.  Before Kai reached him, white flames lashed out too quick for him to fully avoid.  He cried out.  The overwhelming pain dulled every sense he needed to defend and live.

Dabi smiled wickedly at the empty space where Kai’s arm and part of his side had been.  It had burned more of his own flesh to use the white flames again. But to incinerate some of the General, it had been worth it.

Dabi ignored the smoke that billowed from seams of burnt and unburnt flesh.  “Who gets next turn?”

“Me.” Shouta growled, eyes glowing red with his power.

Still dazed, Kai turned.  He lifted his blade to meet the attacking Daimon's; but Shouta flinted as he drew near.

Appearing behind him, Shouta struck.

Reyanna and Enji joined in. The three hacked and slashed slicing piece after piece away.

Shigaraki tapped his foot against the ground, lips curling in an ever growing smile as the line of decaying earth closed in on Kai.

The world spun.  Kai fell to the ground, dropping his blade. At first he thought he had lost his balance, but then a new pain racked his body.  His feet!  The damned Demon had disintegrated his feet.

A shadow passed overhead and Kai raised his arm, hand outstretched to grab and disassemble.

Shouta's blade sliced through Kai’s hand without resistance.  It would've kept going and killed the Daimon if he hadn’t pulled up short.

Enji stepped forward, blade raised and ready.

“No.” Shouta blocked the Archangel’s path.  “His life isn’t ours to take.  It belongs to Anna. If she wants it.”

Shouta turned his head look to her.  Bile burned his squeezing chest.  He had failed her.  Failed to do as he had promised and protect her. The mere though of Kai touching his precious Beloved made him want to end more than just Kai.  It made him want to end worlds.

Cold radiated off Shouta dropping the surrounding temperature by several degrees.  He should've known.  He should've killed Kai long before the Daimon had ever touched her.  He should've ended him for merely thinking about Reyanna, and going along with Lucifer's plan to see her bonded to him.

Kai’s death belonged to so many people; but Shouta would see that Reyanna got the final blow.  It was the least he could do for not being there to stop Kai’s horrid act or ending the Daimon sooner for what he had done.

Enji glared. He would've argued; but he was fatigued and out numbered.  It would suffice that Kai was dead and he got to watch it happen.  His arm lowered, blade disappearing.

Suddenly flames sprung out from the ground a few paces away.

Shouta pulled Reyanna to his side ready to defend.

Shigaraki stumbled back from the fire.

Dabi smiled.  He had seen coveting red eyed Demon stalk toward Kai’s severed hand while the others were focused on the kill.  Creepy already had one of the Daimon's hands.  As far as Dabi was concerned Shigaraki didn’t need more.

Shigaraki scowled at the burnt earth where Kai’s hand had been.  The power he could’ve had… His eyes lifted to meet Dabi’s still glowing turquoise.  If the other Demon kept on meddling in his affairs he would have to do something about him.

Shouta’s dark gaze turn on Kai.  The Daimon General had managed to crawl a couple feet away.  He left Reyanna’s side, flinting.

Kai’s ragged breath was knocked out by a heavy boot to the back.

“Where do you think you’re going?”  Shouta’s foot pressed down.

The cracks and pops of his breaking ribs sounded loud to Kai’s own ears.  He was covered in filth and tainted from having fucked that Abomination. His hands and feet were gone.  He was missing chucks of flesh and an entire arm.  The pain was excruciating.  But the thing that burned the most was that Aizawa and Reyanna had won.

Shouta roughly rolled him over and dragged him to his knees.

Kai swayed in position but managed to hold himself up on his own power. He was a Prince of hell.  First General under Lucifer.  Leader of countless legions.  He wouldn’t beg or try to bargain.  It would be a futile endeavor if he tried.  Instead, he would meet death without fear and stare his killer in the eye.

Standing behind Kai, Shouta found himself torn between wanting the Daimon General to look Reyanna in the eye as she ended him, and wanting to force the despicable creatures head down in submitted reverence. In the end he didn’t touch the kneeling Daimon; knowing that if he did, he would end him.

“Finish it, Anna.”

Shouta’s encouragement was all Reyanna needed.  She stepped forward, eyes shining with her power.  “I can’t believe I ever feared you.”

The ground beneath them trembled at her words.

Kai’s eyes lifted and meet hers.  For a moment he felt complete and overwhelming fear.

Reyanna’s hand stretched out and pulled.

Kai’s mouth opened to plead and bargain, but it was too late.  He was dead.

The newly arrived Hizashi, looked away, covering both Todoroki and Hitoshi’s eyes.

Dabi shivered.

Shigaraki fidgeted with Kai’s unearth hand.

Even Enji felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle at the might Reyanna had shown.

While others might have been uneasy or trembled at Reyanna’s display of power, Shouta felt a swell of pride. He shoved Kai’s corpse to the ground and stepped over him, to Reyanna.

Reyanna stepped back.

She had caused so much heartache and strife, never mind the loss of life.  If it weren’t for her, Abril might’ve lived a long full life.  All those poor kids, designated as Llaes’ wouldn’t have died so young. Tamaki might’ve still been alive.  And Shouta…

She looked at him, eyes welling with tears.  It was all her fault.  All of it.  All because of her selfish desire to be happy and left alone with her Love.

“I’m sorry--”

Shouta grabbed her and pulled her against him.

“Don’t.” He rumbled, gaze and arms holding her tight. “Don’t you ever step away from me again.” Her hands clutched his arms.  She was so afraid that he would walk away and leave her for what she’d done.

As if sensing her thoughts, Shouta lips curled ever so slightly upward. “And don’t apologize, Kitten. You’re mine and I’m not going anywhere. If anything I--” He thought about Kai’s rape of her.  About his doubts and how he had foolishly felt second ever since her promise to Abril. “I’m sorry.”  He swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing. “I should've known.  Should’ve--”

Reyanna silenced him with hot, hungry lips.

Shouta returned the kiss with equal, if not more fervor.  His loved this woman with all his being.  And finally, he had absolutely no doubts that she felt the same.

After all, how many people loved someone so much that they changed reality just live in peace and be left alone with them?

I write for my own enjoyment, but edit and post for yours.  If you enjoyed reading this at all please comment and let me know.  It’s the only thing that encourages me to keep editing and posting.

Again a BIG thank you to those who responded to my interest check.  It really did help in seeing this fic get done sooner rather than whenever.

As always, an extra special thank you to @inorganicone2230 for their encouragement and friendship, and help brainstorming.  Your thoughts and our chats mean a lot.

[thingr1]

oh well, i guess we’re gonna pretend

Rating: T

Warnings: Blood and Injury, Torture (non-graphic, mostly implied)

Characters: Tim Drake, Jason Todd

Summary: Robin!Tim gets caught and help comes from an unlikely source.

Cross posted: FFN and AO3. (A/N found on both sites)

For: @lurkinglurkerwholurks for the prompt: A character flipping into hardcore MINE mode over another when the latter is in danger or threatened (bonus points if the two characters are currently on the outs but nevertheless go totally Ride Or Die)

~o~

This was bad.

This was the kind of bad that Tim had managed to avoid so far since taking up the role of Robin.  He’d only hit the streets officially for the first time three months ago, post-many months of intense physical and mental training.  This was exactly the second time Batman and he were apart for longer than a couple of hours at a time.

It was almost funny, actually, how fast Tim managed to screw everything up.  After all, he took on Robin in order to stop Batman from spiraling into a hole he would likely never escape from alone after the death of his partner.  The death of his son.

As far as Tim was concerned, he had one job: Don’t die.  He would also be the first to admit that that was harder than he’d thought it would be.

He’d made a mistake.  He’d gotten caught.  He’d been—was being beaten.  And he wasn’t sure if Batman even realized he was gone.  They’d separated earlier in the night, exactly according to plan.  Tim on recon on one end of town, Batman on the other, chasing two different leads on the location of a major arms deal that was supposed to go down the next night.  They would then continue on their normal patrol routes, Tim flying truly solo for the first time, and meet back in the Cave afterwards.  It was a first flight.  A test of trust on the Bat’s end and independence on Tim’s.

Problem was, the empty warehouse Tim was supposed to investigate hadn’t been empty when he’d arrived.  Either someone tipped the mooks off that the Dynamic Duo was onto them and they’d moved up the date, or Batman’s information had been faulty.  Tim was leaning towards the former.  However, before he could comm the Bat and warn him of the change, someone had clubbed him from behind.

Tim wasn’t supposed to check in for…maybe another hour?  Two?  He wasn’t sure.  Time seemed to be dragging by unnaturally slow, and there wasn’t exactly a clock he could check himself on.  He’d passed out a few times, too, which didn’t really lend itself to accurate time keeping.

His only frame of reference?

The bruise count.  Turned out, baseball bats hurt when they were swung into flesh and bone rather than rawhide.  His ribs could attest to that.  The more time passed, the more aches and pains he accrued.

The other hint that he’d overstayed his welcome: He could no longer feel his hands.  They were strung up somewhere above his head, metal cuffs digging into exposed wrists and holding him up so his bare toes barely grazed the ground.  Come to think of it, he couldn’t feel those either.  Which was…concerning.

But on the plus side, if he couldn’t feel them, they couldn’t hurt.  Unlike his rib cage, twinging and protesting at his current position and every subsequent movement.  Actually, his cheek hurt now, too.  Which…ow.  Ow.

Tim’s head snapped to the side with the force of the next blow, and he groaned as that set his whole body rocking, reigniting the pain signals through to his brain.

“—listening, brat?”

Tim blinked his eyes open—when had they closed?—squinting under the pale yellow glare of the stereotypical bare bulb abandoned warehouse lighting and into the leering face of his captor.

Miles Bandini’s gold tooth glinted a tad too bright in the dim light.  A greasy combover made his forehead appear entirely too large, and a domineering sneer that could put Two-Face to shame completed the mob boss look.

The best part was, there really wasn’t anything special about this guy.  He wasn’t a psychopath, didn’t have a PhD in some random field, and hadn’t assigned a colorful, inappropriate persona to theme his wrongdoings.  He was just another crime lord who’d taken a shine to Gotham and the ease of criminal activity therein.

And Tim, like an idiot, ran straight into his trap.

Noticing Tim’s attention, Bandini’s sneer somehow deepened.  “I guess you’re still alive, then.  For now.”

Tim remained silent, mustering what energy he had left to raise his head and glare.

This seemed to amuse the crook.  He patted Tim’s cheek, right on the bruise one of his goons had left behind.  “Wonder where your big friend is, hmm?  It’s a shame he’s left you alone for so long.”

The henchmen chortled behind him.

“Look, Robin,” Bandini drawled.  “You seem like a nice kid.  So I’m going to give you one last chance to walk out of this building alive.  Answer two questions for me, would you?  Just two, and you get to see the sunrise.”  He leaned forward, hook nose only centimeters from Tim’s.  “Where is the Batman?  And how much does he know about us?”

Tim licked his cracked, bloody lips.  Tongue working in an effort to muster up what moisture he had left.  He opened his mouth.

Bandini leaned forward eagerly.

Tim spat in his face.

The man recoiled with a cry, hand flying up to where a mixture of Tim’s blood and spit now coated his cheek.  Beady black eyes met his, a murderous expression twisting the man’s features.

Tim barely had time to think “uh oh” before the crook pitched a roundhouse into his stomach.  Something in his chest shifted.

Pain exploded as every broken bone, every abused muscle, every organ screamed in protest, even as his voice choked out nothing more than a strangled unf.

Tim couldn’t breathe.  Tim couldn’t breathe.  What air he managed to pull through his mouth came in short gasps and wheezes, not remaining long enough or deep enough in his lungs to perform the appropriate gas exchange.  Spots danced before his vision, fuzzy black creeping in on the edges.

Bandini was yelling, the words distant and muffled as if through fabric, gesticulating wildly with something suspiciously shiny, silver, and gun-shaped at Tim.

With a detached sort of panic, Tim realized he was going to die.  Either from his injuries, or from the bullet the crime lord was prepped to gift him, didn’t matter.

Only a year into the job and he’d already failed his main objective.

Something cold and achingly familiar pressed into his forehead.  The barrel of a gun.

Tears prickled in Tim’s eyes.  I’m so sorry, Bruce.

The gunshot echoed through the warehouse.  Tim flinched.  The gun barrel slid away from his forehead.

Wait…Tim shouldn’t have been able to flinch.  He was…not dead?  For sure, everything hurt too much for him to be dead.

A low, ominous chuckle burst through the ensuing silence, echoing through the warehouse and sending a shiver down Tim’s spine.  The sound of something heavy landing on concrete slammed into his eardrums.

Welp.  Only one way to find out.  Reluctantly, Tim pried his eyes open, blinking in an attempt to bring the world back into focus.

The first thing he noticed was Miles Bandini collapsed on the ground at his feet, blood pooling around him from the hole in his chest.  The second thing was the bright red helmeted figure standing in the center of the room, back towards Tim.

“Well, well, well,” the Red Hood drawled.  “What do we have here?”

Whatever shock Bandini’s mooks seemed to be in began to wear off, half pulling their weapons, the other half taking an uncertain step back.

“Get him!” a voice—ah, the second in command accountant in the tweed jacket—screamed.

Quick as lightning, the Red Hood swung in Tim’s direction, gun hefted in one hand, knife in the other, and Tim flinched.   If he wasn’t dead before, he was definitely screwed now.  Hood pitched the knife in his direction.  But instead of slicing into Tim’s chest, it collided with the cable holding him up, cutting through the metallic fiber like butter.

Tim hit the ground with an oof, what little air he had managed to suck in abandoning him in one pained puff.

Ow ow owowowowow.

Fire lanced up his arms and shoulders as they were released from the strain of holding his weight, joining the steady inferno of what had to be at least two or three broken ribs in his chest.  His vision whited out as agony encompassed every inch of him, making him uncomfortably aware of every little hurt he’d received since being strung up.

Okay, Tim.  Breathe.  Breathing was good.  Breathing was life.

It really shouldn’t have been this difficult to pull in air.

Around him, gunshots rang off the walls and old shelving as round after round was shot off at the lone figure devastating their ranks.  Despite everything, Tim’s inner fanboy lit up.  This was as cool as it was dangerous—for the crooks and Tim alike.

It had been years since he’d last seen Jason fight.  Rather, fight in a way that didn’t involve Tim actively defending himself.  Jason was all muscle, visible beneath even the thick leather jacket, and yet he had the deadly precision of an expert marksman and the grace of a martial artist.  He used all of those things to his advantage as he tore through the mob, laying waste to everyone within his rather large range.  After all, how many people could claim to have been trained by Batman and the League of Assassins?  These amateurs didn’t stand a chance.

Tim just wished he had his camera.

And then, as quickly as the bloody battle started, it ended.  The Red Hood loomed in front of him, hovering almost protectively, gun pressed against the forehead of the last perp standing.

“The only one who gets to take a potshot at my replacement,” Hood hissed, “is me.”

Tim shivered.  From Hood’s tone, or the blood loss, he wasn’t sure.

Then Hood leveled a kick into the man’s rib cage, an audible crack sounding through the warehouse as the man fell to the ground with a howl.

“Tell your friends,” Hood said lightly.  Then, when the man gaped up at him: “Unless you’d rather join them…?”  He gestured at the limp forms of the bullet-riddled, definitely dead crooks scattered around them.

The guy was gone next time Tim opened his eyes.  Huh.  That was fast.

A brief thrill of panic shivered up his spine as Hood’s blank lenses suddenly leveled down at him.  Tim silently cursed himself.  He should’ve used the distraction to escape, should have unpicked the cuffs and scooted out of here before Jason turned on him.  Problem was, he didn’t think he could move even if he tried.

Jason cocked his head—almost considering.  He sighed, the sound echoing strangely through the filter and voice modulator.  “Guess if you bled out now, there would be no point, hm?”

Tim stared.  Not quite comprehending as the former Robin crouched beside him, rolling him over onto his back.  Which actually helped the breathing issue, but….

“I’m going to move you, Pretender,” Jason warned.  “This building’s rigged to blow, and that perp’s got the trigger.  Try to stay loose.”

One arm tucked under Tim’s neck, the other under his legs, and wow, okay, apparently they broke his tibia.

Tim blacked out.

He came to blinking up at the stars through a fire escape in an alley he recognized to be near the docks.  His body instantly protested his very existence, screaming as though he’d been dropped into a compactor and then thrashed in a woodchipper.  Dimly, he became aware of a shadowy figure over him, of gloved hands tightening a pressure bandage around his thigh.

It all came back in a rush—his capture, the fight, Red Hood—and Tim instinctively scrambled back from the man looming over him, heart pounding out of his chest.  He regretted the movement instantly as it jarred his broken body, his wrist apparently some degree of broken as it caved under his weight so he flopped gracelessly back against the pavement.

“Oi, hold still,” Jason snapped, “you’re making yourself worse.”

Tim froze at the command, staring wide-eyed at the crook who had himself beaten Tim to a bloody pulp only a few months ago.

This image didn’t fit.  It didn’t make sense.  There had to be some ulterior motive to saving him, perhaps some mind game to mess with Bruce.  What else would motivate Hood to help him out of the blue?

Resolve flared, hot and fast.  Tim wouldn’t allow himself to be used against the Bat again.

But Jason just continued twirling the fabric around Tim’s leg until he was apparently satisfied, snipping off the end and tying it off.  He snagged another pressure bandage and began work on Tim’s shoulder.  Not speaking.  Not even looking at him.

Slowly, Tim allowed himself to relax, mind spinning in confusion.

“W—Why?” Tim wheezed.  Wishing he could muster something a little more intimidating than the dry, barely audible croak that squeezed out of his throat.

Jason continued wrapping the bandages, quiet for long enough Tim figured he hadn’t heard him.

But then, “No one deserves to die without having a chance at fighting back.”  Quiet.  Angry.  And…if Tim didn’t know better, a hint of the growl Batman always got when he was feeling particularly protective.

Jason tied off the last bandage with a couple quick motions and stood.  He unslung Tim’s utility belt from over his shoulder, pressing the emergency tracker embedded in the side.  How did he know where—?

“Bats should be here soon,” Jason said, voice flat, which didn’t match the gentle pat he gave Tim’s uninjured leg.  “Don’t wait up.”

The older teen stood, his combat boots retreating down the alleyway the last thing Tim saw before his eyes closed against his will.

“Oh, and Replacement?” Tim heard, almost as if through a tunnel.  “Don’t expect a repeat performance.  This doesn’t change anything.”

Despite his swollen cheeks, Tim grinned against the pavement.  Of course not, he thought.  Inexplicably giddy.  Why would it?

Tim passed out to the sound of a grapple fun firing off into the distance and the rumble of a familiar engine echoing into the alleyway.

[cptn-stvngrntrgrs]

can you do a post- endgame romanogers fic? Steve and Natasha are married for 2 years now and suddenly she becomes sick. She panics because it might be a late effect of the soul stone which Steve very much disagreed. They went to the doctors and found out she's carrying a child! Steve tells her that the soul stone might've probably healed her

hi anon! thank you for this - i had fun with it!!!

Title: I guess we got the better end of the bargain

Relationship: Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanoff

Steve got Natasha back - soul for a soul indeed. But what they didn’t know was that Natasha got something back as well.

set post-Endgame and Nat and Tony are very much alive

Also posted on AO3!

Natasha woke up just as the sun started peeking in through the blinds. She blinked, feeling a bit too warm in Steve’s arms. He was still fast asleep, probably worn out from the mission he just came back from the night before. She terribly missed him - he was gone for two whole weeks, longer than he expected. It was the longest he’s been gone since the whole Thanos fiasco, and she has to admit that they were both pretty shaken up from it.

She wanted to stay in bed longer, to stay wrapped in his arms, but she wanted this morning to be a bit more special so she decided to just get up and make Steve some breakfast. She carefully wiggled herself out of his arms to not wake him up and made her way to the kitchen.

About half an hour later, just as Natasha was frying bacon, she felt his arms hug her from behind and his lips attach to her neck. “Good morning Mrs. Rogers,” he greeted, his voice husky and muffled by her skin.

“Good morning Mr. Rogers,” Natasha retorted, grinning and tilting her head to give him a swift kiss before turning back to flip the bacon.

“I missed you,” he whispered, still pressing kisses all over her neck.

“Mhm, I know - you made a pretty good point of showing me that last night,” she smirked.

Steve chuckled. “Want me to show you again?”

Natasha rolled her eyes, pushing him off her as she put the bacon on the plate. “It’s time for breakfast,” she walked towards the table and Steve followed her, pouting.

“Can we skip to dessert already?” he added, sweetly.

“Nope, breakfast is the most important meal of the day,” she teased, winking at him.

Steve filled her in about his mission over breakfast, with Natasha making occasional comments. They’re slowly rebuilding SHIELD up, with Maria Hill as the new Director. The Avengers are helping her with it; completing missions, training new agents and recruits, as well as keeping tabs on everyone else. Well, the rest of the Avengers anyways - those who are either permanently living in the Compound, or like Steve and Natasha, live near it.

Steve’s mission was with Sam and Wanda - it was just a standard mission of gathering intel from an underground nuclear weapons dealer and to possibly take down the operation. It should’ve been five days max, but they were compromised and had to stay longer than necessary.

“Well I’m just saying, you guys could’ve called me for backup,” Natasha said, frowning at Steve’s story as she at her toast.

“Nat, I couldn’t put you in danger like that,” Steve quietly reasoned.

“Oh, but it’s okay if you were the one in danger?” she snapped back. She doesn’t want to get pissed, she really doesn’t, but Steve can be a tad bit overprotective sometimes. And her emotions are all over the place lately, probably from the lack of Steve, she figured.

Steve sighed, drinking his orange juice. “Nat-”

He didn’t finish what would’ve been his plea for her to drop the issue because Natasha was suddenly on her feet and running to the bathroom. Steve, alarmed, ran after her.

Natasha was crouching down by the toilet, throwing up. Steve crouched right behind her, holding her hair up and rubbing her back as she continued to puke. She coughed once it was over and Steve pulled a towel from where it was hanging behind him and handed it to her. They were now sitting on the toilet floor, and Natasha all but collapsed weakly into Steve as she wiped at her lips.

“Nat, what happened? How long have you been sick?” he asked, once she has stood up and brushed her teeth.

Natasha didn’t answer but instead, made her way to the living room and sat on the couch. Steve followed her and sat next to her, grabbing her hands to hold. He rubbed his thumb at her knuckles as an attempt to soothe her.

“Nat, please talk to me,” Steve encouraged after a while of silence. She’s staring straight ahead, looking a bit pale, and Steve can’t help but to feel scared.

Natasha still has a lingering fear in the back of her mind. Vormir must have done something to her. She was the only one who had to… well, basically die to get the stone, and surely, that has to have taken some toll on her, right?

But then again, that was two years ago. A lot has happened since then.

They got married shortly after - a small ceremony at the newly rebuilt Compound’s training field that was transformed into a magnificent garden for a day. Well, it wasn’t really a “small” event since all the Avengers were there, and there’s quite a lot of them. Still, they were all Natasha and Steve’s family, and of course, everyone wants to see them finally tie the knot after so many years of “bad timing” as Steve called it.

Morgan and Lila were the cutest flower girls, and Nate was an adorable ring-bearer. Sam and Bucky were both Steve’s best man since he just won’t choose one between them. Wanda was Natasha’s maid-of-honor, and the girl was smiling brightly the whole day, even through her tears as Steve and Natasha said their vows.

It was easily the best day of Natasha and Steve’s lives.

All was well after that - Natasha and Steve moved to a house about thirty minutes away from the Compound. As hard as it was, they tried to put the whole snap and undoing of it, the Time Heist, and such in the past. They moved on with their lives.

Steve gave her hand a little squeeze and Natasha’s eyes snapped to him. She cleared her throat.

“This is the fourth day in a row.” she said in a low voice. She ignored the first two days she’s thrown up, thinking she just ate something bad. When she was sick again yesterday, she started to become a bit more concerned.

Steve’s eyes widened a bit, but he stayed silent. “Do you think…” she trailed off, but he knew what she was thinking.

“That this has something to do with the soul stone?” Steve finished for her. “Nat, I don’t know…” he said, shaking his head. “It’s been two years since then. Why would the effects show up this late?”

Natasha shrugged. “We don’t know what it really did to me. Yes, you brought me back. But is that the end? We don’t know that!” she threw her hands up.

Steve nodded, letting one of her hands go to rake his hand through his hair. “Do you want me to call Bruce?”

“Yes please.”

Steve stood up, leaned down to kiss her forehead, and went to their room to get his phone and call Bruce.

Natasha lied down on the couch, her mind racing with ideas on why she might be suddenly sick. She keeps telling herself that she just caught the bug, but it’s been four days. And she’s not too sick , but she just… feels like something is off. Her thoughts lingered on the soul stone. That must be it, she thought.

She gotta admit, she hasn’t fully ruled out “brain tumor” just yet. She looked it up on WebMD a couple of days ago - which okay, was a bad idea - and it turns out, nausea and vomiting are some of the symptoms of brain tumor.

“Bruce said he can meet us in the Compound in three hours,” Steve’s voice broke her out of her reverie, which she was glad for because her thoughts were about to spiral down on the idea of having a brain tumor.

Steve cleaned up the table and soon joined her in the couch. She curled up on his lap, and he kissed her as he reassured her she’ll be okay. Natasha nodded and rested her head on his chest as Steve turned the TV on and flipped the channels until he landed on a movie. Natasha dozed off after a while.

–

Steve was standing off to the side as Bruce checked Natasha’s vitals. It’s odd at first - Bruce fusioned with the Hulk as a doctor. Natasha looked so tiny next to him. Bruce had trouble adjusting at first too, with medical supplies being too small. Good thing Tony made some “modified” tools specifically for Bruce.

“Well, everything looks normal,” Bruce announced, taking off his stethoscope. Natasha sat up and looked at Steve then to Bruce.

“Should we run some other tests?” Steve asked.

“Yes, I say we definitely should. This could be a prolonged effect of the soul stone, or not,” he added, seeing Natasha’s frown deepened, “but we just have to be sure. I’ll call in Strange to help me operate the machines and diagnosis.”

An hour later, Dr. Strange arrived at the Compound. After Bruce briefed him about Natasha’s current condition, he suggested they do an ultrasound exam first.

“An ultrasound? What for?” Natasha asked.

“Yes, abdominal and pelvic ultrasounds. These are just to rule a few things out, like pregnancy.” Stephen answered.

Natasha nearly scoffed, while Steve stiffened. “Strange, I can’t get pregnant. You know that,” she reminded him.

Strange nodded. “Yes, I know. But it’s just routine, Natasha. And we can also see if maybe the vomiting is caused by something else, like gallbladder stones and whatnot.”

Natasha agreed and after changing to a gown, lied down on the seat next to the ultrasound machine. Steve stood right next to her, holding her hand.

“I’m going to start with your upper abdomen and I’m going to work my way down,” Strange explained. He spread the gel over her abdomen and moved the wand around. They were watching the screen intently, although Natasha and Steve has no clue on what’s happening. Occasionally, Strange would pause to zoom in, and Bruce would throw comments here and there.

After a while of scanning, Strange squinted at the screen and he and Bruce exchanged a look. He shook his head and rotated the wand for a different angle until he stopped and zoomed in on the image.

“No way…” Bruce whispered, taking a closer look at the screen, glancing at Strange and seemingly having a mute conversation with him.

“What is it?” Natasha asked, a little alarmed.

“Natasha, you’re… you’re pregnant,” Strange answered, turning to look right at her.

Natasha’s mouth dropped, not being able to comprehend what she just heard. There’s no way she’s pregnant - the Red Room made sure of that! No, no, this was some sort of mistake.

“But Natasha can’t get pregnant,” Steve spoke out for her. He too, looked thoroughly confused.

“There has to be some sort of mistake,” Natasha reasoned out, but her mind was spinning. Her grip on Steve’s hand hardened and she could swear she saw him flinch.

“I understand that, but here, look,” Strange zoomed in on the image and used the controls to highlight the screen. “This over here is the sac. And that,” he moved right at the screen to touch it, “is your baby. You really are pregnant, Natasha.”

Natasha and Steve stayed silent, both seemingly trying to process this information. They looked at each other then at the screen, then at the doctors.

“Congratulations…?” Bruce said, smiling at them, trying to gauge their reactions from the look on their faces.

The men still didn’t say a word until Natasha let out a sound that sounded like a choked laugh.

“I’m pregnant.” Natasha declared, more to herself than anyone. As if she’s testing the words and saying them out loud as a confirmation. She looked up at Steve, “Steve, I’m pregnant!” she let out, her eyes starting to fill with tears.

Steve nodded and smiled brightly at her, his eyes mirroring hers and leaned down to kiss her. “We’re having a baby,” he whispered at her lips.

Natasha nodded and giggled, feeling giddy. Pregnant. Wow. She’s actually carrying her and Steve’s baby. She never thought this was possible, but what surprised her the most was that she wasn’t even… scared or anything like that. All that she was feeling was pure joy and excitement. Sure, she’s still very much confused on how she was able to get pregnant, which reminds her…

“But how am I pregnant?” she asked, looking back at Bruce and Stephen.

“What, you’re telling me you and Cap don’t use protection?” a voice piped up, and Tony suddenly showed up, a big grin on his face.

Bruce and Stephen chuckled while Steve’s face reddened. Natasha just rolled her eyes fondly. “Well to be fair, we never really needed one,” she told him.

Tony laughed and approached the screen. “I just dropped by to talk to Bruce and I was told he’s here. Congratulations! You’ll love parenthood,” and he left the room with a wink.

Bruce cleared his throat. “Well, to answer your question, we honestly don’t know.”

“Do you think it’s the soul stone? I mean, it might have healed her when she was… there,” Steve suggested.

Strange hummed and nodded. “I think that makes sense. Maybe in a way, she was fixed? Replenished?”

“We could talk to Gamora and the rest of the Guardians to get some more insight, if you want.” Bruce said, looking at Natasha.

She nodded. “We can. But can we go back to the baby now?” she smiled. “Strange, do you know how far along am I yet?”

Strange picked up the wand and put it on her belly again. “Hmm, around 6 to 7 weeks, it seems. Oh, hold on,” he pressed some buttons and they all heard a thumping sound. “That’s the baby’s heartbeat,” he said with a smile, glancing at Steve and Natasha.

Natasha put one hand over her mouth, astonished. Steve squeezed her hand that he was holding and let out a soft laugh. “We’re going to have a baby,” he whispered, looking at Natasha then around the room with a wide smile.

—

An hour later, Natasha and Steve were at the common room with Strange, Bruce, Tony, and Pepper to talk about the pregnancy. Pepper was on the couch, very excitedly holding onto Natasha’s hand.

“Now, Natasha, we don’t want to scare you but,” Strange and Bruce shared a look, “be careful. We still have to run some tests and we have to monitor the baby carefully.”

“We’ll get my doctor from when I was pregnant with Morgan,” Pepper said, squeezing Natasha’s hand when she tensed up for a bit. “She’s one of the best in the nation and she’ll take good care of you.” Natasha nodded and smiled at her.

“For now, please don’t take any missions or do anything too physical.” Bruce piped up, handing Steve and Tony mugs with coffee. The two took it gratefully and gave him a pat on the back.

“How do you feel, though, Romanoff?” Tony asked, taking a seat across from her.

Natasha and Steve exchanged a look and he gave her a smile while sipping his coffee next to Tony. “I have to say, I was really glad it wasn’t a brain tumor,” she answered with a laugh. Tony almost spit his coffee up and raised an eyebrow at her. “I may have looked at WebMD for a minute.”

“But to answer your question,” Natasha continued, “I’m happy. Really happy.”

Pepper practically melted at her answer and gave her a hug, while Steve stood up and stood behind her, his hands giving her shoulders a squeeze, and kissing the top of her head. She looked up at him and felt her eyes water again. Wow, they are right - pregnancy does make her more emotional. But she just couldn’t believe it - she knew Steve wanted kids and although he perfectly accepts that she can’t have any, she still sees the way he is with Morgan or Clint’s kids. Natasha smiled even though she can feel a drop of tear fall - he’s going to be the perfect dad. “We’ll be a family.”

Notes: 

thanks for reading!

--and i hope i did the whole ultrasound thing correct? i have no medical background lol (im a business student, im so bad at science huhu sorry mom) but i did watch a couple of ultrasound videos and read up on it. i didn't think there were so many types of ultrasounds!!!!! i only ever had one to check for pcos (tmi, sorry) and i kinda used my experience to help write that scene lol

--ngl i might add to this - i kinda like the idea of James post-endgame!!!

[everlarkficexchange]

To be Her O.A.O. (one-and-only)

written by: @noneyabidnes

Rating: Mature (in future chapters)

Prompt 73: Katniss marries Gale before he’s sent to fight WWII. Gale sends home his buddy Peeta to break the news to his wife and family that he’s fallen in love with someone else in Europe and is staying there after the war… Peeta is under the impression Katniss is a cold woman that only married his friend out of obligation but finds out the other side of the story soon enough. [submitted by @alliswell21]

Tags: era-appropriate derogatory terms for Axis powers, amputation, angst

A/N: I got permission from @alliswell21 to shift from Europe to the Pacific Theater of Operations, since I geek out over that side of WWII history (my Pop was in some of the places mentioned in this story.) This was intended as a one-shot. I didn’t want to commit to chapters, but it’s spiraled out of control and now I can’t stop myself.  I’ll cross-post it on ffnet (ryebrewster) and hopefully will find some closure.  If you find some of the language awkward or somewhat un-PC, I was attempting to be era and region appropriate, but it’s hard to write an Appalachian and a Philly accent without both coming across pretty hick.  Guess I never listened to myself talk before.  -rye

–//–//–//–//–//–//–//–

Chapter 1

At the moment, I can’t believe this road ever ends.  It rolls away from me, ever higher, ever rockier, taunting me with each uneven step I take.  Foolish me had thought I would just hitch a ride.  I should have guessed from the name that it would be a ‘road less traveled by.’  Rocky Ridge doesn’t exactly sound welcoming, but Gale had always made it sound like the closest a man could get to heaven.  At least, until he met a certain honey-tongued Polynesian girl whose hips swayed like the island breezes.  Then heaven made a quick detour to places on her that we best not discuss in public and I definitely won’t be discussing whenever I find the end of this infernal road.

I pause, resting on a particularly large boulder off the side of the narrow road.  Hard to believe any car could make it up the path.  Certainly not my Dad’s old Tudor, scraping its fenders on each slight turn to avoid the next large rock too heavy to move, and barely jeepable given how narrow.  Briefly my inability to drive doesn’t seem like such a bad thing, but then the throbbing in my left leg reminds me that walking isn’t a great alternative either.  I’m still getting the hang of my prosthetic, despite all the weeks (oh God, it’s been months, hasn’t it) spent in rehab in San Diego.

Gazing around me, I can begin to see what Gale always beat his gums about.  These forests are beautiful, and so peaceful.  Such a shift from the tropical forests in which we stewed.  The proximity of my memory is enough to shake me from enjoying the moment.  The color green took on such an ugly connotation during the war.  Sitting on this boulder, I feel like I want to reclaim the hue and give it back its fresh and lovely place in my mental palate, but I do wonder if there will ever be a time when I won’t associate lush forests with machine-gun fire and jungle rot.

As the leaves flutter in the breeze, I catch a brief glimpse of metal roof in the distance.  Finally, I may be making progress.  Once more I pull the wrinkled and cracked photo from my pocket.  Katniss.  Her scowl hasn’t changed since he first handed me the image three years ago.  At the time, it was to boast about the girl waiting back home.  When he handed it to me again five months ago, it was to beg me to explain to her.  To get her forgiveness, if not her blessing, for him not coming home.  I hope the lump of cash in my rucksack would help to secure it, but her scowl challenges me each time I look at it.  He’d said she was an easy woman to love, but an impossible one to live with.  I can only imagine how she’ll feel about a crippled stranger appearing on her doorstep.

Righting myself again, I’ve renewed hope that the distance isn’t much farther.  It’s as I round another bend that I hear the arrow whizzing past and striking a tree several feet to my left.  My gaze slides to my right as I’m reminded that I’ve no firearm.

“I don’t miss twice,” the voice growls from the foliage.  It’s feminine and angry, a combination I’ve been warned about but didn’t think I would confront quite so soon.

“I don’t intend to be aimed at twice.”

“Could hear you coming from a mile away.  What business you got up Rocky Ridge?”

“Gale sent me.”

I can hear the air sucked out of her lungs despite the distance.  The silence stretches on before she quietly emerges, her bow lowered at her side.  Immediately I know it’s her.  I’ve stared at her picture long enough that I would know those high cheekbones and quicksilver eyes anywhere.  Her braid is loose with fly-aways and her neck shows the proof of a battle with some clawed creature.  For a moment my memory jumps back to Philadelphia and the unfortunate circumstances of my own childhood, but I think these scratches aren’t human.  Katniss clearly is of the forest, part dryad, part fairy, Artemis herself standing before me, at home in nature in a way I’ve never been.

“Gale?  Is he…?” she breathes out, fear seeping into the short syllables.

“He’s alive.”  It’s all she needs to hear for now.  Her head drops and she lets out another long breath.

“I guess you’ll be wanting something to drink.  Doesn’t look like you packed for the hike.”

“I am a bit parched.  My canteen dried up two clicks ago. You’d think I’d be better at rationing, but I had no idea the road was this long.”

“Clicks?  You talk funny.  Where you from?”

“Philadelphia, ma’am, but clicks is how we measure distance in the Marines.  Kilometers.  Gale never mentioned you guys live so far out of town.”

She just nods, turning her back to me and heading off through the greenery, on a path only she sees.  I follow her on the assumption that it must be a short-cut to the house, not because I’m keen to test my prosthetic out over the exposed roots and downed branches. 

“I can’t walk as fast as you, ma’am.  The Japs took my leg along with a bunch of my friends.”

She stops and slowly turns back to face me.  “And you walked all this way?  Why didn’t you catch a ride in town?”

“I didn’t realize no one would be coming out this way.  Like I said, I grew up in Philadelphia.  There’s always traffic everywhere you look.  Never occurred to me that I might walk out of town and never pass another car.”

“I can walk slower.  I’m not getting any hunting done with you making all that racket.  My sister’ll check your leg when we get up there, then I can give you a ride back.”

“I did come to speak to you.”

She nods again, turning away from whatever I might have to say.  Silence descends upon us.  Normally I would fill it, but I’m struggling enough just to stay upright, that I don’t bother to engage her, and I figure her for the quiet type anyway.  She’s alert, taking in the sounds of the forest around us, and I find myself remembering following Gale in much the same way through the mountains of Okinawa, the resemblance both eerie and comforting. 

After longer than my leg would prefer, a clearing opens up before us with a handful of houses and barns dotted across the ridge.  Sheep and goats graze below me in a field while a couple horses stand in the shadow of the closest barn.  It appears to have seen better days, needing a fresh coat of paint, but it’s obvious that someone has been attempting repairs on it from the ladder propped against the side leading to relatively fresh boards.  She catches me staring at it as she turns around to check my progress.

“We had a bit of a storm a couple weeks back.  Some branches took out an old window.  Took forever to clean up all the glass, but at least none of the goats ate any.”

I take it that she performed the repair herself, a fact that would surprise me if she were any of the women I grew up around, but seems perfectly normal given what I’ve already learned of her.  I search the hillside for any sign of a man, young or old, and come up empty.

“Do Gale’s brothers help you out at all?”

Her eyes narrow at me, clearly not suspecting I had knowledge of the younger boys.  Her scowl settles as she explains, “Rory’s taken up working for the lumber yard in town and he takes Vick down with him.  Vick runs deliveries for the grocery.  They both pull their weight around here.  We all do.”

She’s offended, that much is clear.  “I would never doubt that you do, ma’am.  From everything Gale told me, you’re all a well-oiled machine up here.  I just don’t think he knew the boys had taken up jobs while he was gone.  I think he hoped his pay was enough to keep you all afloat, along with your hunting of course.”

Her scowl deepens as she steps closer to me.  “You say he’s alive but you keep talkin’ bout him in the past tense.  You gonna tell me what you’re doin here, soldier?  You seem to know an awful lot about my business.”

I can’t help but stumble back at the intensity of her ire.  It draws her attention to my leg, still unstable on the steep ground.  Her face softens briefly before the scowl returns. “Let’s get you inside and off that leg.”

The house is just a handful of rooms lumped together with a porch across the front.  It’s clear at a glance that as space was needed, they just built on with whatever materials were available, but there’s a pride that’s been taken in the appearance nonetheless.  Flowers bloom along the front of the porch and herbs hang drying from the rafters.  Two rockers with flowered cushions are tucked against the house, sheltered equally from the sun and any rain that might roll through.

As we step through the door the only light filtering through comes from a handful of windows of varying sizes.  Gauze curtains blow gently at the open panes, reminding me of mosquito nets.  I shake the memory off before it drags me down, instead turning my attention to the closest chair quickly being vacated by a young woman with delicate features similar to Katniss’s.

“Prim, let him sit.  He’s a bad leg.  Might need you to look at it.  Walked all the way up here.”

“Why didn’t he ask Haymitch for a ride?  Not like the man has anything better to do.”  The young woman I’m guessing is Prim glances at me with equal parts scowl and concern as she makes room for me to sit.

“Not from around ‘ere, so he doesn’t know Haymitch from Adam,” Katniss offers. “Says he knows Gale.”

Prim halts in her movements as she takes me in.  I’m dressed in my civvies and my hair has grown out a bit from my time in San Diego, but the duffle on my shoulder gives me away. 

“You were with him?  Is he okay?  Where is he?”

It strikes me this is the first time the question has been asked and the unspoken one that follows.  Why isn’t he here instead? 

Katniss slams a tea kettle down on the fire box in the corner, breaking the tension with the clatter. “Prim, can you grab some of the tea from over there?  I’m steep up some sweet tea quick while you check him out.  Then I can give Mister—” she cuts off, realizing she still hasn’t asked my name.

“Mellark,” I supply, rising out of my seat to stand at attention.  “Corporal Peeta Mellark, 3rd Battalion, 14th Marines. Pleased to make your acquaintance Mrs. Hawthorne, Miss Everdeen.”  I nod to each in turn.  “I’m sorry I didn’t offer it up sooner. I was with Gale for a good chunk of my tour.  We made it through Guam and Okinawa together.  Even ended up side-by-side on the USS Hope being ferried back to Tongatapu after our artillery backfired.  I promise you, he’s alive Mrs. Hawthorne.”

She had turned back to face the kettle, but with my final announcement, I can see her shoulders have risen to her ears.

“Please don’t call me that,” she mumbles quietly, and I strain forward to hear her.

“Katniss,” Prim begins to scold.

“No, Miss Everdeen, it’s okay.  Actually, it makes the rest of what I have to say easier.”

Katniss turns and I can see for the first time that tears line her eyes, just waiting to fall.

“He’s not coming back, is he Corporal?” she whispers, as though saying it too loud will make it true.

I shake my head slowly, wishing all of this had gone differently.  “He doesn’t want a divorce.  He figured you’d prefer it that way.  But no, he’s not going to coming back to Virginia.”

“So there’s not another woman?”

I glance at Prim, unsure of how much Katniss wants me to reveal in front of the younger woman, but it’s clear the two are close.

“Um, I’m afraid to say, there is.  She’s from the islands, Tongan, a sweet girl.  He…” I stumble, unsure of whether I should finish the thought, knowing it might cause her more pain. “He said what was between the two of you was a partnership.  That you had always said he deserved someone who loves him.  She loves him plenty.  He’s going to go back there, to Tongatapu, as soon as the clean-up is done in Japan and his tour is over.  So, whether you get divorced or not doesn’t really change things for him.  He still wants most of his pay to come here. He knows you’re looking out for his family.”

She nods at what I say and sinks into a chair by the stove.  “He had stopped sending letters after Guam.  I didn’t…I didn’t even know he’d been injured.  Did he…?  Is he okay?”

“He didn’t lose anything important, if that’s what you mean.  Lost a little chunk of his ear.  His hearing’s not so great, not that it ever was.”  She chuckles lightly at my jab.  “I’d still be out there helping with the clean-up if it wasn’t for my leg.  They had to send me stateside to learn to walk again.  I last saw him in Tonga when he was shipping back out.”

“And he asked you to find me.”

I nod though I know she’s not looking at me.  Her gaze is out the window, toward the houses down the ridge, where I presume the rest of his family lives.

“Said he couldn’t write you a Dear Jane letter.  He wants me to write him when I know you’re okay.”

She stiffens at the sentiment.  “Okay?  As though I’ll be perfectly fine with a complete stranger just showing up and telling me my husband has abandoned me for another woman?”

I can’t help the lump that forms in my throat, but I cough to try to dislodge it.  “Pardon my forwardness ma’am, but was he ever really your husband?”

At that her eyes snap back to me.  The pot behind her is obviously boiling so she stands to move it off to the side of the stove and sets about putting tea into cheesecloth.  “What Gale was to me is really none your business.  Seems like he must’a told you an awful lot though, you coming here like this.  What’s in it for you?”

I sigh, knowing this was coming.  “He saved my life on Okinawa.  He realized the ordinance was about to backfire and tackled me out of the way.  If he hadn’t, I would have lost a lot more than just my leg.  I don’t really have a home to rush back to.  I promised I’d check in on you and his family.  Make sure that you understood it wasn’t anything you’d done wrong.”

The pot slams again and before I know it Katniss is out the front door.  Prim watches her stomp out, but makes no move to follow her.  I take my cue from the younger woman.  I’m in no shape to chase Katniss across the hillside anyway.  Prim shifts her gaze to me and tentatively starts asking me questions.  Where am I from?  Where did I fight?  What was it like?  Some I can answer easily, others leave me speechless.  For all the rehabilitation they did for my leg in San Diego, no one ever really talked to me about how to deal with coming back home.  No one talked about the nightmares we all wake from at night—or the ones that haunt us throughout the day.  I fall silent eventually, when it gets to be too much, but in my focus on all her questions I haven’t noticed how she’s lifted my leg and been examining the spot where my prosthetic rubs against the stump, just below my knee.

“I’ve had miners who’ve lost hands and arms come through here.  Mining means workin’ with TNT and it doesn’t always turn out s’good.  I haven’t had any legs though.  You’ve got your stump mighty irritated.  I’m gonna clean it up and wrap it for you.  You need to stay off it a coupla days to keep it from gettin’ infected.  You can take my cot here in the living room.  I’ve been sleepin’ in Katniss’s room most nights anyways s’as we don’t have to heat the whole house.”

She bites her bottom lip as though she’s said too much.  I can’t fight the questions swirling around in my own brain.

“Did Gale ever live here?”

Her eyes widen as she takes me in.

“What did he tell you about the two of them?”

“That she’s easy to love but hard to live with.”

Prim lets out a soundless laugh.  “He would say that.  He thought it was love but she always knew better.  They were great together—as hunting partners, as friends.  When our Pa’s passed away, it was just us and two other families up here on the mountain.  We had to band together to get through it all.  My ma, well, she just couldn’t handle it.  She was a nurse down at the clinic in town, but after…we couldn’t get her to leave the house.  Gale’s Ma, she’s tougher.  She buckled down and started taking care o’all us kids, but there were six o’us and only one of her.  Wasn’t long before Gale and Katniss stepped up.  They already knew how to hunt, had been going out in the woods together for years.  Ma and I used to go out and pick herbs—we use them down at the clinic to help out people who can’t afford the expensive medicines.  But I knew there were others that were edible, that we could live off of.  I took Rory with me.  We sold the goat and sheep’s milk down in town, though ain’t many people got a taste for it since they can get cow’s milk at the grocery for cheap.  We make cheese out of it too.”

She peters out, unsure where her train of thought was going, and focuses to gently wrap my stump having already cleaned it.  In a moment, the thought returns to her.

“He asked her to marry as a matter of convenience.  He was shippin’ out and knew that if they were married it would be easier on his ma—and frankly I think he trusted Katniss to take care of all of us more than his ma.  The woman is amazing, but she’s got a bit of a weakness for the drink, but then, most of the folks ‘round here do. They never stopped moonshinin’ ‘round these parts.”

She glances at the pot on the stove.  “She never finished makin’ the tea, did she?  You want something stronger?  We have a little ‘shine around.  Ma and I use it for our patients, but I’d say you fit the bill.”

I consider the offer before shrugging her off.  I’ve never had moonshine, but there was some camp swill that would get passed around whenever we stayed too long at one post.  Didn’t take much to get things to ferment in the jungle.  Would rot your gut, but took the edge off the misery of sitting in a swamp day and night.  And then there was the hooch at the clubs.  Enough to make every Jane look like a pinup but all it took was one tale of Cupid’s Itch to scare us young GIs away from the women who hung around.  Well, most of us anyway. 

“I should stay sober.  I don’t know what state she’s gonna be in when she gets back here and I can’t imagine she’s gonna be too pleased with you telling her I’m staying the night.  I’m about the last person she wants to see.”

I find the thought makes me sad.  I’ve been carrying her picture so long, there’s a part of me that feels like I know her.  I’ve traced her scowl with my finger.  I’ve practiced what I would say, though it didn’t come out that way.  I’ve tried to imagine her smiling.  Gale made it sound like an impossible feat, but I have a feeling there has to be a way to bring out that side of her—not that it’s my job to do that.

Prim’s voice cuts through my silent misery.  “She’s not angry at you.  She’s not even angry at him.  And you seem like a nice guy.  I mean, if Gale trusted you enough to send you all this way, you have to be a good guy.  Usta be he’d kill anyone that came close to Katniss.”  She pauses for a moment before looking me straight in the eye.  “You don’t think he’ll ever come back?”

I shake my head. “I honestly can’t be sure.  I don’t know that he’s thought it all through, but this girl of his is pregnant and his tour’s up in another month.  He’s already gotten approval to stay in Tongatapu.  They can’t live together on the base since they aren’t married, but he’ll be part of a skeleton outfit that maintains the place until the Navy decides it doesn’t need it anymore.  By then, he’ll be through his commitment so he could go anywhere, but after all the things he said about him and Katniss fighting about having kids, I can’t imagine he would just take off if there’s a little one in the mix.”

“He’s like a big brother to me, y’know?  After Pa died, Gale did a big part of raising us. I’m gonna miss him.”

“He talks about you guys all the time.  He didn’t just carry Katniss’s picture, he carried all of yours.”  I pull the well-worn photo of Katniss out of my pocket and her eyes widen in recognition.

“Why do you have that?”  She snags it out of my hands.

“He gave it to me.  Has your address on the back, or at least you used to be able to read it.  It’s been through some things.  He wanted to make sure I found her.”

“’Easy to love but hard to live with.’ That’s what he says?”

“Yep.”

“Well, she’s not going to get any easier now.”

With that, Prim straightens up and tosses the photo on the table, and begins re-organizing her supplies from cleaning my leg.  My fingers itch to reach out and reclaim the picture.  I’ll never admit it aloud, but that photo means something to me.  The stories Gale told and the ones I’ve created in my own mind, the happy world they’ve built on this mountain despite all the hardship.  I’m not ready to let that go.  The door slams behind me before I find the courage to grab for it though.

“We need to go tell Hazelle,” she tosses the words at Prim, ignoring my presence completely.  Prim acknowledges her but continues putting away her supplies.

“Peeta’s gonna sleep out here for a coupla nights while his leg heals up.  He can’t be walkin’ on it til it’s calmed down some.”

I can feel Katniss’s glare on my cheek but can’t peel my own eyes away from my hands, still fighting to resist the urge to grab the photo.

“I could give him a ride into town so he could find a room to lay up meantime.  Why’s he gotta stay here?”

Prim’s tone allows for no discussion.  “He’s Gale’s best friend and he’s my patient.  He ain’t gonna hurt us.  You wanna kick him out on one good leg?  God have mercy on your soul, big sis.  It’s my bed I’m offerin’ up. He’s stayin’.”

I can feel the blush building up my neck at the insinuation that I might want anything untoward from them.  Prim’s right.  I would never want to take advantage.  After all Gale has told me about these women, I could never, but another part of me is happy at the thought of being here—in a place that sounds more like a home than anywhere I’ve lived.

Katniss takes a step in front of me, forcing my attention up to her cold stare.  “Don’t know what Gale was thinkin’ sendin’ you instead of a letter, but you best be on your Sunday behavior.  I know how to skin a stag.  You ain’t much of a challenge, Marine or no.”

Instinctively I know I shouldn’t smile, but I can’t fight it no matter how hard I try.  “Mrs. Hawthorne, I’ll be a choir boy just for you.”

She smirks slightly before returning her attention to the forgotten tea.  “I don’t need no choir boys ‘round here.  Gale certainly ain’t one.  But if you can carry a tune better’an him, that would be much appreciated.”

Prim’s smiling at me from across the room, so I know the awkwardness has passed, at least for the moment. 

“And please, stop calling me Mrs. Hawthorne.  Ain’t nobody ever called me that.  No point in startin’ now when we all know what Gale is up to.”  She pauses in her work before turning back to me. “There’s a baby.” 

She states it as fact.  She’s not looking for confirmation, but I nod nonetheless and watch as she swallows a lump in her throat before continuing.

“Yeah, he would never abandon a kid.  Posy’s the only one on this mountain that we still have to worry about and he knows Hazelle and I won’t let that little girl down.”  She shakes her head, as though to remove the thought.  “ So, do you sing, Corporal Mellark?”

“Peeta, it’s Peeta.  And to be honest, not very well, but I can play the guitar and the harmonica okay.  My talents lie more with wrestling, baking…and painting.”

“Seems like an odd combination for a Marine.”

“If any of those islands had been a giant cake, I coulda taken out the Japs with some fancy frosting tricks.  Instead I was just the guy everyone came to for their camouflage.  Guess I’m good at making people look like mud.”

“Don’t think that would take much talent, no offense.”

She’s poured me a glass of sweet tea and I lean forward to claim it.  “No, I s’pose not when you’re surrounded by mud and can just smear it all over yourself, but the guys seemed to prefer when I did it.”

“You must have a gentle touch.”  As soon as the words are out her mouth, the blush begins.  “Not that…oh hell, nevermind.  I didn’t mean nothin’ by it.”

I let the chuckle rumble out of my chest.  The hospital in San Diego wasn’t exactly a cheerful place with most of us still fighting phantom limbs and shell-shocked from being sent home.  And it’s as I’m enjoying the first laugh I’ve had in months that I finally see it.  She cracks a smile, small, secretive, and the single most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.  It takes my breath away so quickly I feel light-headed.  And now I can see why Gale found her so easy to love.

[toloveawarlord]

Behind the Times (Ch.1)

You can find my Masterlist in my bio!

“Where is it? Come on!” Aspen muttered, checking under yet another rosebush for her lost item. Her day had ended on a strange and painful note, all because she took a detour through St. James Park instead of her usual route home. A night patrolman had spooked her, and she strayed off the beaten path to avoid detection. Jail time was not on her agenda.

One moment, Aspen had been snaking around a large Oak tree, and the next, the ground bathed in moonlight had fallen out from under her, sending her spiraling down a seemingly endless void. A rosebush broke her not so graceful fall. Even after crawling out, thorns still stuck into her skin, in places she could not reach on her own.

There!

The item she desired rested safely beneath the twisted branches of the bush. Her sigh of relief caught in her throat as the glint of metal next to her neck caught her eye. Aspen craned her head around and followed the length of the sword up to its owner.

The man’s intense gaze nearly stopped her heart. “Citizens are not permitted in the garden. State your name and intention,” he demanded. His crisp white uniform had to be a military one, but none like she had ever seen. Narrowing his amber eyes at her hesitation, he pressed the cold blade against her neck, a silent warning.

Aspen gulped. He definitely meant business. “Aspen Lancaster, and currently trying to reach my cell phone.” Was he a cosplayer? Just messing with her? The sword looks real. So real that she couldn’t bring herself to ask him on the off chance that he decided to murder her for talking back.

“Your what? How did you get in here? This is for military officers only, and high-ranking ones at that.”

Aspen tilted her head to the side, away from the blade. “I have no idea where here is so—”

“Is this what you’ve lost?” A second man interrupted, wearing a slightly different, but ultimately from the same group, uniform. In his hand was her phone, no cracks in the screen.

“Yeah, actually.” She hadn’t even heard him approach, let alone dig it out from under the bush. The only thing left to find was the satchel that she’d lost in the fall as well.

“Edgar. We have more important matters. I’ll only ask once more. How did you get in here?” He asked, straightening the sword in her direction once again. It was unheard of for anyone to enter the garden, especially when the two armies had only concluded their meeting a mere half hour ago.

Aspen glanced down at the blade. “I took a thousand-meter fall into a rosebush. It’s a wonder I’m not dead. Can you stop pointing that at me?” She asked. Real or not, it was sharp and threatening enough to keep her immobile.

“You expect us to believe that?”

Edgar raised his gaze from the device back to her. “Now, Jonah, let’s be civil about this. I don’t know many who would throw themselves into an actual rosebush for a simple lie.” He took her hand to help her stand, steadying her before asking, “What is this device?”

Aspen glanced between the two officers. “You don’t know what a cell phone is?” She started to laugh, softly and forced, but their confusion cut it off. They had to be cosplayers, and damn good ones at that, not breaking character even once.

“You’re very strange,” Jonah said, returning his sword to its sheath. He had no intentions of letting her leave but deemed her unthreatening enough to put his weapon away.

“You’re the one carrying swords,” she retorted. Staring at them a moment longer, Aspen decided to play along, explaining the phone as best she could. “It does a lot of things. Smartphones are crazy cool. It has thousands of apps you can download. It can play music, take pictures…” She trailed off, watching the confusion spread deep across their features. “You really don’t know, do you? Are you some kind of anti-tech groupies?” Heathens. Who doesn’t like technology? It’s so convenient. Jokingly, she muttered, “What century is it?”

Jonah answered with his scowl deepening, “The 19th.”

“Huh?” Aspen blinked. He wasn’t actually supposed to answer… or answer with an absurd century that wasn’t her own. He sure looked serious though. “What the fuck is going on?”

“A lady shouldn’t use such language if she wants to find a suitor,” Jonah chastised. His eyes raked over her, a hint of blush on his cheeks. He hadn’t noticed her strange attire until now. The amount of skin that she was showing made him quite uncomfortable. Her top must have shrunk, covering only half of her torso, and he couldn’t figure out what kind of undergarment she wore that loosely hung around her hips and fell to the tops of her thighs.

Aspen nearly stumbled back when Jonah thrust his jacket at her, demanding her to wear it. “But why-”

“How indecent,” Jonah muttered, the heat still present on his cheeks. “Have some self-respect.”

“How about you throw out your outdated opinions?” Aspen replied but slid her arms into the jacket none the less. The temperature had dropped, and a cool breeze drew goosebumps across her skin. On her small frame, the jacket was much too large, but very warm. “Though, I guess I’m the outdated one… postdated? Ugh.” She rubbed her stomach, a soft grumble at her words. “What I wouldn’t give for postmate.”

Edgar propositioned her with a tempting offer. “Why don’t you come along with us back to our headquarters, and we’ll treat you to a warm meal. You can tell me more about this smartphone. I’m very interested to learn more.”

“How do I know you two aren’t psychopaths who want to murder me?”

“You have our word, as the Queen and Jack of Hearts. That is plenty reason enough,” Jonah said, an almost crazy amount of pride in his voice.

Aspen tilted her head slightly. “Those titles mean nothing to me.” She couldn’t find any ill-will behind the invitation, and if they were murderers, then they probably would have killed her already. This is a secluded spot. Though, the odds of coming back from a secondary location were slim.

Edgar chuckled lightly, finding her to be the most interesting thing to come to Cradle. “You’ll only get your item returned to you after we’ve had a longer chat. So, I believe it’s in your best interest to cooperate.” His kind tone didn’t match the clear threat underneath.

She couldn’t very well just take the phone back. Her strength equaled that of a toddler. Plus, swords. “Fine, but only because getting a new phone is damn expensive.” Her head turned to scan the garden. “But I also lost my bag-”

“We’ll have someone search for your other things. This way,” He motioned for her to follow after him, leading her out of the building with Jonah close behind.

Aspen stopped so abruptly that Jonah narrowly missed running into her. The streets were lively, even this late at night. Many things had caused her to freeze. Their clothes were old fashioned. Horses were being ridden. Horses were hooked to carriages. The fountain looked to be the only normal piece, save for the large glowing crystal that by all accounts was floating. What fresh hell is this place?

“What’s the matter now?” Jonah asked, drawing all the attention of those around them.

All eyes were on her, whispering and pointing.

This didn’t make any sense. The entire town couldn’t be cosplayers. “What century did you say it was again?” Aspen asked hesitantly, taking a step back only to smack into Jonah. This is impossible. Insane. She had completely lost her mind.

“The 19th. We should have Kyle examine you. You’re beginning to look hysterical, not to mention the cuts and thorns from your self-proclaimed fall,” Jonah said, putting his hands on her shoulders to guide her forward. Only a few paces away, two horses were tied, beautiful saddles adorning their backs.

“Oh hell no,” Aspen muttered. Her escape was effectively blocked with Jonah’s fingers digging into her shoulders to keep her from moving. Edgar had his watchful eye on her as well, as if daring her to try and run. And where would she go? This most certainly wasn’t the London she knew. “Nope. I am not getting on a moving animal. Human kind didn’t destroy the environment and create manual automobiles for me to have to ride a horse.”

“You don’t have a choice. You’ll be riding with me,” Jonah announced. He’d already hoisted her up into the air and placed her on the saddle before she could attempt to get away.

The horse shifted its weight. Aspen clung onto the horn of the saddle, her body slipping backwards. It’s not even moving yet! Her squeal of terror cut short as Edgar steadied her from behind. Saddles are slick.

Edgar couldn’t help the laughter that broke out as he gently pushed her back up. “The more you move, the easier it is to fall off.”

“I didn’t move! The barn animal did!” Aspen shot him a glare over her shoulder.

Jonah mounted the horse behind her, caging her in with his arms as he gripped the reigns. “I’m not going to let you fall, so calm down,” he said. The cool tone of reassurance had her racing heart calming in seconds. “My title may not have meaning for you, but I promise that no harm is going to come to you while you’re a guest at our headquarters.”

Each step the horse took, made her body more tense. “Why do you care?” She asked, casting a suspicious glance up at him. Her hands were tightly gripping the material of his sleeve, afraid to let go.

“I could see how frightened you were when we exited the Garden. However you got there, whatever your intentions might have been, it’s clear that you aren’t familiar with this area.” Jonah stared straight ahead as he spoke softly enough that no one else could hear. “But don’t expect any special treatment from me,” He added swiftly at the end.

He’s very contrary. “You’re actually really nice, aren’t you?”

Jonah turned his nose up, but the hint of pink on his cheeks gave away the truth. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Aspen bit back a laugh. Though still filled with fear and worry, she felt at ease for the first moment since she collided with a rosebush.

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I am in love with Aspen. I wanted to try a less serious fic series with a more humorous element to it. I didn’t have a suitor in mind for her when I started but I’m leaning toward Jonah now.