#WE GAVE HIM A FIST BUMP......WE HAVE ONLY HAD THAT LEVEL OF PHYSICAL CONTACT BETWEEN OUR WARRIOR OF LIGHT AND A NON PLAYABLE CHARACTER

[allexiaah]

G'raha Tia for the bingo?

AAAA TYSM for the ask Ana!! This was so fun to dooo I didn't expect to get an FFXIV one.

There was so much to fill out. I love him so much. G'raha Tia is my guy <3 I hate to debate whether or not to fill in the "I want to carry them in a handbag like a tiny dog" spot lol. This character is so much deeper than you'd expect when you first meet him. God I love him. He's SOO cool we're adventuring best friends <3

God that reminds me. I need to post photos of my Warrior of Light at some point 👀

[serpentinesarang]

the rest is a secret

pairing: hyunjin (hwang hyunjin) x fem reader

genre: relationship!au, detailed smut

word count: 1983

content warnings: first-time sex (virginity can be implied if desired), unprotected sex (reader on contraception), mild swearing, lil bit of dom-y hyunjin

summary: it’s been three months with your boyfriend hyunjin, and he’s been patiently waiting to spice things up. when he accidentally encounters post-shower reader, he seizes the opportunity to do so.

a/n: requested by anon. thanks for your patience :)

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I can’t believe he’s taking me somewhere special for dinner tonight! you squeal in your mind, wrapping up a hot shower. You wring out the remaining soap from your loofah before turning off the water and drying off.

You think back to the text from Hyunjin you’d woken up to: Dress up for dinner tonight... the rest is a secret. Have a good day, baby. Sighing with delight, you wrap your hair up and go about your body lotion routine, making sure to use the one Hyunjin had gifted you on your two-month anniversary. Might as well go all out... you think.

Just as you’re reaching for your face products, you hear a sharp knock at the door. It’s the middle of the afternoon, and you’ve got nothing on the agenda besides dinner with Hyunjin, so who the hell is trying to bother you?

With an exasperated huff, you throw on the thin robe hanging off the bathroom door and step into the hallway, but your heart nearly drops to your intestines as you hear the electronic beeping of your front door passcode being punched in. The keypad sings its little opening tune, and you’re too frozen with panic to process the door swinging open and showing none other than your sweet boyfriend.

Oblivious, Hyunjin closes the door behind him like business as usual then glances up and locks eyes with you across the way. His mouth falls ajar, his spine shifts up, and he stops himself from getting closer.

“Y-you gave me the code last week... Remember?” he asks in a soft, almost scared tone. 

You let out the breath you’d been holding this whole time, your hands uncontrollably flying up to fist your hair out of sheer relief. “Yes!” you reply breathlessly. “I just... forgot about it, I guess...”

Smiling, Hyunjin pads over, stopping a few feet before you. “You freaked me out with that look on your face, baby.”

You pause for a moment, still trying to piece together why his presence doesn’t quite feel right. What’s he doing here before dinner? He’d disappeared after that text anyway, so you’d figured he was just gonna spend the day working.

“I’m sorrrry,” you chuckle sheepishly, bouncing a heel against the floor. “I wasn’t expecting to see you for, like, another hour or two.”

Hyunjin takes your hands in his, thumbs stroking your knuckles. “This was part of my plan: surprise you before dinner.”

Oh. Shit. He did explicitly allude to that in his text this morning.

“Well, I’m glad you’re here then,” you reply with a sweet smile.

His eyes do that adorable crescent moon thing as he matches your grin while squeezing your fingers in random patterns. “Dork. You smell good, by the way.” 

Then his eyes flick downward to the white robe you’d haphazardly tied around yourself. This is the first time in your relationship that he’s seeing you wearing something more revealing than work or street clothes or pajamas. And he digs it a lot so far.

Resuming eye contact, Hyunjin asks with puppy-dog eyes, “Did I interrupt anything?”

Missing his well-veiled insinuation, you answer, “Not at all. I just got out of the shower, actually.”

Dropping your hands and instead placing his on your waist, Hyunjin says in a hushed voice, “Do you know how sexy you look right now?”

You gently grasp his forearms, feeling a tingle of excitement course through your nerves. “No... Tell me more.” You stare up at him with growing determination, your intuition screaming that this is a make-or-break moment, and god are you ready. Three months of just making out and dry-humping is torture.

“Nah,” he murmurs before craning his neck to plant a long, deep kiss on your lips. He pulls less than an inch away, his lips literally still atop yours. “You already know.”

At that, you cup his cheeks and mash your lips back together. A pang of desperation flashes within your chest as he molds his torso against yours and wraps his arms around your back, so you part your lips to meet tongues.

You’ve wanted this since the one-month mark because you and Hyunjin just click, and the level of physical magnetism between you has always been unbearably high. He’s truly your best friend, more so than your few girlfriends. You don’t need to think this through because now it feels right.

A few moments have passed. Hyunjin has carried and plopped you dead center on your bed. Looming over on all fours, he bores his eyes into yours with a nearly palpable kind of lust.

“Do you want me to undress?” he asks.

You smile. “I don’t care either way, baby. I’m just thrilled this is happening.”

Hyunjin smirks before tugging off his hoodie (no undershirt, that lazybones) and coming back down to tenderly kiss you. You feel the knot around your waist loosening, but he only moves the robe off your chest. Oh so delicately, he palms the underside of one of your breasts while bracing himself with the other hand.

You whimper when he kisses a sensual, painfully slow trail down your neck, stopping near the top of your other breast to gently suck and kiss. Both hands greedily rolling your breasts now, he slithers back to your lips, being a little more careless this time around.

Feeling your hunger exploding, you undo his jeans and slide a hand in, grasping his throbbing, girthy dick. Hyunjin groans into your mouth and thrusts his hips deeper into your touch, begging you wordlessly. So you oblige by slowly pumping his shaft and snaking your free hand in and around to grab a supple butt-cheek.

“Baby,” he whispers between kisses. “Harder―please.”

Trying not to smirk too much, you grant his request, maybe just a liiiittle too much pressure, but you reason that he’s way too turned on at this point. You even pick up the pace to a steady rhythm, occasionally caressing that butt-cheek.

Still feverishly making out with you, Hyunjin emits a deliciously drawn out moan against your lips, and he switches to tenderly pinching your nipples between his fingertips, which causes you to moan too. Now you can feel the precum gathering on your palm.

“Jinnie,” you pull away, “I’m as ready as you are.” Your eyes dart down to his dark pink tip bobbing in and out of view then back to his flushed face.

“Good,” he breathes out. “’Cause I want you bad.” 

With that, he pulls himself upright, forcing you to stop pumping him, as he scoots down your thighs to move aside the rest of your robe, finally giving him what he wants: your nude, freshly showered body all for him.

You can see his eyes actually glazing over with desire as he shamelessly assesses you, his hands trembling over you as if he can’t believe this isn’t his nightly handjob fantasy.

“Hyunjin, why are you shaking? Are you nervous?” you ask, starting to doubt yourself.

“No, I’m so fucking over the moon right now I don’t know what to do,” he replies, a seductive airiness in his voice.

You pause, taking his words into consideration. “That’s okay, babe. Why don’t we take the rest off?”

Within seconds, your robe is chucked to the floor along with his jeans and underwear. You climb on top of Hyunjin and sit on his thighs, his beautiful erection lying like a stone against his flat stomach as he strokes your own thighs with his moistening palms. 

“Can I touch you?” you ask, doing your best to keep your excitement from bubbling over.

“Please touch me,” he murmurs with expectant eyes, bringing his hands to your hips.

With the pad of your index finger, you trace a line up his veiny shaft from the base, and Hyunjin loudly exhales when you graze over the sensitive frenulum. Now, you lightly run your dominant hand up his shaft, pausing to dig his tip in circles against your palm.

“You’re teasing me...” Hyunjin whines, gripping your hips even tighter in his big hands.

You smirk. “What should I do then?”

He simply burns you with a narrow-eyed gaze, either mentally swearing about how ridiculously hot you look on top or carefully choosing his words.

Completely flipping the situation, though, he overpowers you with zero struggle, barreling you both over so he can loom above you again.

“I’ll tell you what you can do,” he responds in a dangerously husky tone while he captures your wrists in one of his hands and roughly pins them against the pillows. “You’re gonna have the best night of your life,” he growls, knocking your legs apart with his knee.

And without skipping a beat, Hyunjin pushes into you with his other hand pressed horizontally against your abdomen to feel his length poking upward from within your flexible, very aroused walls. And it does, causing an uncharacteristically high-pitched yelp to escape your mouth.

Hyunjin freezes, bringing that hand to your cheek, still tightly clutching your wrists in the other. “Tell me when,” he whispers, eyes roving all over your expression of combined surprise and newfound pleasure.

You take this moment to push your chin up and open-mouth kiss him a few times before whispering your permission while he tries to palm one of your breasts: “Go, Hyunnie.”

Off he goes into a decent, far-from-slow pace, rolling his hips effortlessly into your wet core just enough to avoid slamming your cervix. Luckily for him, this is exactly where your G-spot rests.

“HYUNjin,” you huff as he adds more pressure to his thrusts, bumping into your spot every other second.

“What’s wrong, baby?” he asks in a breathy voice.

You can’t control your eyes rolling back in their sockets when he finally increases his speed, full-on hammering into your pussy now. “Nothing—oh fUCk—”

“Ohhh okay, that means ‘don’t stop,’” Hyunjin interrupts, looking at you smugly.

You regain control of your eyes long enough to meet his devilish expression with your own. “You can do better.”

The very millisecond his brain processes those haughty words, his eyes nearly boggle out of his skull before he laces his hands with yours and throws them down parallel to your shoulders. To sweeten the deal even more, he uses the same knee to slide under your thigh and push your leg up as far as he can press with his torso, which—at the marvelous new angle Hyunjin’s even harder dick is kissing your sweet spot now—sends you into your first vaginal orgasm.

Watching your chest uncontrollably convulse with euphoria, Hyunjin open-mouth grins out of both pride and arousal, pushing himself to let up on the speed but max out on pressure, definitely slamming your cervix with each purposeful thrust. At this, your own mouth flies open in a silent scream, and you struggle to keep your eyes open. 

“BabyIneedtocum,” Hyunjin groans in one mashed-together word before conjoining your mouths with messy kisses and tongue-sucking straight out of porn.

“I’m on birth control,” you sigh against his hair as he licks your neck. “Cum in me, Jinnie.”

You hear the most guttural, pussy-throbbing groan from him because that’s all he needs: your sexy, fucked-out voice (as if it wasn’t already naturally sexy to him) telling him to go ahead and paint your tight cave of wonders white. 

All in less than a second, Hyunjin releases your hands, wraps his arms around your body, presses himself against you with all the energy he has left, and digs his already pulsing dick as deep as possible. You’ve been unknowingly clenching on him this whole time in the wake of your heart-stopping orgasm, so he spends a good twenty seconds holding you, taken hostage by his own unbridled pleasure.

Panting as if he’d hiked five miles in the mountains, he pulls himself off of you, cups your flushed face in his warm hands, and says, “And it’s not even close to dinnertime.”

[secondhand-trash]

Work of Art

A/N: Oh boy, here we go again with my tries at getting out of my comfort zone. The only reason why this is happening is because @lady-bakuhoe​ got me thirsting on main feeling things for Hawks after sending out something she wrote a while back and I was suddenly reminded of this idea that lurked behind my head.

Pairing: Takami Keigo x reader

Description: Your boyfriend had a beautiful body hiding beneath those layers, you could not be blamed that you wanted to trascript that sight into actual art.

Warning: nsfw below cut 

Word count: 2932

-

“Can I tie you up?”

“What?” Keigo tensed up from where he was standing, couldn’t quite believe his own ears.

“Can I tie you up?” You repeated with such a casual tone that sounded more like you were asking him what he wanted for dinner than you were with your actual request.

Seeing the stunned look on his face, you realised that perhaps you had worded it too vaguely and not given enough details as to what you actually wanted him to do. “It’s for my sketching class, I need to practice my anatomies. I want to tie you up for...” you thought of what ways you could possibly rephrased it to get your point across, “...aesthetic purpose.”

“A sketch, huh?” He smirked as he walked closer to you, his wings leaning forward to circle around your frame, “You know, normally people have to pay me to model for them.”

You lifted an eyebrow at him, twirling the pencil in your hand. “So you’re saying?”

“Are you planning to pay me back in some sort of way for my contribution to your aesthetic research?” The suggestive look on his face did not falter at all even as you snickered at his teasing.

“That’d depend on how you behave in the process.” You lifted your hand and traced a finger along the sharp line of his jaw, “So what do you say, pretty bird? Are you gonna help me or what?”

You knew you had the answer you wanted when the corner of his lips lifted up.

With the white shirt he was wearing discarded on the floor, he kneeled down in front of the chair as you instructed him to. As you gently twisted his arms to his back and held his wrist together, he chuckled and earned him a playful glare from you. “I’m starting to think that the whole ‘do it for the arts’ thing was an excuse.”

“If I want to have you half naked and kneeled down, all I have to do is ask, isn’t it?.” You retaliated with an amused twinkle in your eye, “Now shush and let me do my thing.”

Pulling out the velvet rope that he didn’t know you own, you carefully wrapped it around his wrist and tied it with a knot. With one hand smoothing the restraint, you tugged at it to make sure that it sat snuggly around his skin as you pulled it to the front of his torso. You were no expert at this but you had done enough reearch to know just where each knot should be in order to get the image you wanted. With the rope travelling around the side of his arms and down his upper body, you tightened each trail and knot with attention, carefully setting the loops right above and below the base of his wings.

Facing him as you leaned back, you admired your handiwork. No matter how many times you had seen that body of his, you would never fail to be amazed at how much beauty there could be to the human body and the position he was in only heightened your admiration. 

You were not lying when you said that this was intended for your venture into the arts, only now you were starting to have doubts on whether your skills could do justice to the view in front of you. 

The red rope was a huge contrast to his skin, the colour an odd resemblance to the feathers behind his back. The way his arms were folded to his back gave his toned arms even more definition, pulling at the muscles of his forearm with a barely visible vein adorning it all the way up. Each breath he took, everything pulsation made him flex unintentionally, only adding to the defined curves of each muscle. It was a shame that his torso was usually hidden from the rest of the world, if only they knew what they were missing out on. You had carefully positioned the rope to hug every dip and dent of his chest, the way it pulled against his skin with each exhale of breath could only be described as utterly tempting. You had to resist the urge to run your hand down his toned pecs and traced the v that dipped all the way down to a much more sensitive parts of his body.

What a sight to witness, really. It was like he was carved out of marble but only there was life to each, his flushed skin under the chilly air together with his beautiful form making every piece of artwork pale in comparison. If art could come to life, you were sure what you were blessed to see in front you right now would be it.

“Is the rope too tight?” You asked, reaching out to touch the edge of the red restraint and fixed the places that were moved.

“No, just alright.” Keigo tried to maintain his usual chirpy tone, ignoring the itch he had started to feel ever since you put one hand on his lower waist to arch his back just a little just when you were about to finish with tying him up. Even with his greatest effort, he could not stop the goose bumps from forming on his skin as your fingertips nearly brushed against his skin when you went to slide it across the rope, every hair on him standing up at the mere contact that only made him sense more alerted. He was pretty sure that he would only get more sensitive as time passed by. 

“How long do you think it’ll take you?” He asked tentatively as you got up to fetch your sketchbook from another room.

You tilted your head. “Not more than an hour, I assume.” You did not catch onto the faint groan your boyfriend let out when you turned around.

Staying still and pushing the discomfort he was feeling to the back of his head appeared to be more difficult than he had expected it to be. With each second passing by, Keigo was only feeling more and more tensed. The rope that was tied around him so snuggly did not help with his shiver as the cold air hit his skin, only tightening with even the slightest of movements. The rough material brushing against his already hardened nipples only made them more sensitive and feeling the friction of the rope to the fullest effect. It did not help that there was pleasure mixed into the pain he felt as nothing came in contact with him but each breeze of the ventilation of the room. 

The rubbing of the velvet against his skin he could stand. The ridiculously low temperature of the air conditioning he could try to ignore. But what truly got to him was the way you studied his figure with such intensity. Keigo had always been aware of the appeal of his own physique and he would never shy away from the appreciative stares you sent his way whenever he undress, but it was nothing compared to how you were looking at him right now. It was like no corner of his body could escape your gaze as you took into each and every feature of him. He felt exposed, like he was completely under your control and one look was enough to put him in his place.

Dear god, was that look doing things to him.

He had to physically restraint the feathers at his back from standing up as he recognized a familiar twitch at his crotch. The desperate attempt at self-control only made the rope rubbed against him even more, sending yet another rush of blood down south.

“Don’t move.” You pursed your brows in disapproval at his movements and bent down to fix his posture. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or cry when the warmth of your palms came in contact will his skin that almost went numb from the chilliness and sensitivity.

“Are you near finish?” He managed to hide the choked whine at the back of his throat and forced the words out of his mouth in the most decent voice he could pull off in his current state.

“Kinda?” You said. If you had bothered to look up, you would be able to see the clear discomfort that was showing on his face. The redness at the tip of his ears was starting to spread to the rest of his face, his jaw clenched as he tried to hold onto the remaining calmness that was there in his mind. “Only the shading left, so just stay still.”

Forcing out a hum in response, his knuckles already turned white from how hard he had been fisting his hands to get more grasp on his own sanity, the pain he felt from his nails digging in wasn’t even that much of a bother to him anymore. Right now, his main focus was to ignore that dull ache in his pants and the shiver on his skin.

“You have been oddly quiet today.” You asked as you glided the lead across the paper one last time, being utterly content with what you had managed to create as you put the finished drawing up to your face. 

It was when you put down your pen and was about to undo the tie on Keigo that you noticed just why your usually talkative lover had been in silence the whole time you were sketching him. You immediately picked up on how his breaths were heavier than usual with his lips pursed tightly together like he was trying to hold back whatever sounds were threatening to escape if he didn’t. His knees were trembling from kneeling for too long and as your eyes travelled upwards, there was no way you could pretend that you didn’t saw the bulge in between his legs.

So that’s what it was.

Keigo knew he was gone for the moment you sank down onto your knees to be eye-levelled with him and smirked. “I was going to untie you but now I’m having second thoughts.” You said, mockingly tilt your head as you pretended to ponder as you ran a finger along the rope, very barely touching the skin underneath.

He did not say anything but you could feel his breath getting more rigid at the contact. You leaned in closer and watched as his body shook once he could feel your warmth against his chest. He was holding back and you were determined to make him break.

“If I knew that you like being tied up so much I would have offered much sooner.” You whispered into his ear, your finger roaming dangerously close to his nipple and the spare hand holding onto his shoulder. The closer you traced to the sensitive, the more his was trying to squirm under your touch.

His back arched the moment you placed the first touch on his nipple and you immediately forced him back onto his previous position with your firm hold on his shoulder blade. Your lips lingered on his ear as you rolled the tip between your fingers, giving it a soft pinch. It only added to your amusement when you heard the heavy swallowing at his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as you did not slow down the movement at your hand for even the slightest.

Just your fingers, you were too cruel to even spare him the touch of your palm.

“You look so pretty all tied up like this, so pretty for me.” You cooed in his ear, sliding your palm down his chest to give some attention to the rest of his body that you had been aching to touch. Feeling each mound under your hand, you could feel your own arousal building up at just how his entire body was begging for you to give him more. But the tensing of his muscles were not enough, the quickening breath was not enough, the bite back whimpers you were only hearing because you had your face pressed to the side of his neck was not enough. 

You would like to think that as an artist, you were naturally attracted to beautiful things. There was nothing more appealing to you than the lovely reactions he was capable of giving and you could never be ashamed of being greedy towards such beautiful things.

Keigo hissed when your hand stopped at the top of the fabric that was covering his bulge, his entire body heated up as you traced circles just above where he craved your touch the most. Peppering kisses up his neck, you grinned as he very eager closed the gap you had painfully left between your lips and his as your face hovered above him. Nothing could compare to the stir at the pit of your stomach as you heard him moan into the kiss when you had slowly undid the fly of his pants. Only pulling the band of his boxers low enough to release his hardened cock from the strain of fabric, his length slapped against his lower stomach and the sensitive skin around the area rubbing against the material of his pants only added to his desire for a relieve.

Running a finger along the vein at the underside of his shaft, you gently yanked at his hair to expose his neck and placed many wet kisses along his chin down to the valley where his neck met his collar bone. While your other hand slowly ghosted over the slit at his tip, the one that just gripped onto his blonde locks now travelled down the back of his neck to where his wings grew out.

Keeping up with the teasing at his length, what you would only consider as whimpers grew louder when your hand smoothed over the red feathers but you were yet to be satisfied. Feeling his uneven breath at your neck, you searched for the one spot that you knew would had him crumbling in an instant.

Where was it, where was it?

Ah, found it.

Your hand found its way to the much softer feathers at the base of his wings and the moment you scratched down, the last but of self-restraint in him snapped as he let out a loud, delicious moan.

Beautiful, exactly what you were looking for.

No longer holding back, you were satisfied with the loud noises that escaped from his flushed lips. A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead as your thumb toyed at his tip, collecting the pre-cum that was oozing out. You collected the droplet at the tip of your tongue when it slide down his jaw, the saltiness that spread in your mouth only elicited your own desire even more.

Slowly pumping his cock with the help of the sticky liquid on your hand, you pressed yourself against his chest as you sped up the movement of your hand. His hip bucked against your hand and you clicked your tongue in disapproval as his cock twitched. A loud whine slipped past his mouth when you suddenly paused whatever you were doing all while pushing him down from moving against you himself.

“I should really just leave you here like this,” you said as you pulled back, you chuckled as you were now looking right at his very flushed face, “my pretty bird that is tied up for me and under my mercy. Perhaps I can even make you sing for me.”

The skin underneath the rope was now much paler comparing to the rest of his body, lines of redness starting to show from how much he was tensed up. The corner of his eyes were tearing up from the stimulation and your denial of his release, the feathers at his back pulsating and the tip of his length in nearly the same shade of red.

Again, what a sight. But no matter how much you liked when you were seeing, you could never be so cruel as to keep your birdie in pain.

“As much as that thought tempts me,” you said as you leaned in close to him once again, "I guess you deserve a reward for being so well-behaved.”

He yelped when your hand circled around his shaft and started jerking him off. The loud sound of skin slapping echoed off the walls and the whiny sounds he was making was erotic to hear. 

You knew he couldn’t last much longer when you felt the twitching in your hand. “Such a good little bird. Are you going to make a mess for me?” The way you licked the piercing at his ear lobe as you said such profanities was what gave him the final push as he reached his high. 

Strings of warmth spurted out, covering your hand and stomach as you pulled away. He was still trying to catch his breath as you looked down at your shirt that was now covered with cum and scrunched your eyebrows together.

“When I said ‘making a mess for me’, I definitely didn’t mean it as ‘on me’.”

“Yeah, yeah, my apologies.” To think that mere seconds ago he was like putty in your hands. As he came down from his high, Keigo’s composure was quick to return as a slight smirk now graced his features.

“Now get me out of this.” He said as your hands went to tug at the knots against his torso, “I feel like you still haven’t fully repay me for all that posing I did for you.”

[reydjarinkenobi]

Love love love your time travel fic! It’s so good!!

Thank you! Here is another chapter.

Here is the link to a03: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25051612/chapters/62477014

Rey's heart leapt to her throat at the question, and her eyes widened.

 "I don't… not much."

 Master Windu frowned and Rey's gut twisted. She lowered her eyes, trying to stamp down the vaguely nauseous feeling the look inspired. She'd known she wouldn't be good enough to be a Jedi, but she didn't think she'd be disappointing her master this early.

 "Do you know their names?"

 Rey jerked, her mind immediately putting it together. "Kenobi is a common name on Stewjon. I didn't assume…"

 Master Kenobi smiled smally. "You are correct. It is common. However, we ran your blood and it seems that you are, in fact, related to me."

 Rey stared at him.

 "What?" Poe asked, glancing incredulously at Rey.

 Rey cringed. She hadn't told either of those two what she'd found on her mission with Jess almost two months ago. She honestly felt like she was still processing all that she'd found on the ship, in the large chest that she'd found hidden in a smuggler's compartment, so well hidden, surrounded by Force dampeners and anti-scanner tech, that the only reason that Rey found it was that D-0 had showed it to her after he'd verified her identity.

 "I discovered much information about my parents… Anaya-Lan Kenobi and Din Djarin."

 "You know their names!" Poe asked, grinning. "That's amazing."

 Rey shrugged, not quite managing to give him a convincing smile. It had been strangely relieving to learn that her parents had died. That they hadn't left her. And then she'd been sickened at her relief. She'd cried and Jess had held her. Now, all she could feel when she thought of them was a mess of sorrow and guilt that no amount of meditating had helped her make peace with.

 She looked between her master and her, she supposed, uncle.

 "They were… There was a recording. What they left me revealed a lot about my history."

 The three Jedi masters glanced at each other whilst Skywalker's scowl deepened.

 "If we go back to the Millenium Falcon, I can show you. I think it will be easier than explaining."

 Master Windu nodded. "That sounds reasonable, Rey. Master Unduli, I am sure that you, Knight Skywalker and your padawans are capable of overseeing the senators' safety and comfort."

 The older Mirialan Jedi bowed. "Of course, Master Windu."

 Skywalker's scowl deepened for a second and Rey set her jaw against the wave of anger and frustration that clashed against her shields.

 However, he turned on his heal and joined the other Jedi in leaving, the two troopers who had followed them in shadowing them, both sporting new scars on the sides of their heads, which they covered with helmets before they went through the doors.

 Master Kenobi inclined his head forward. "Why don't we go?"

 ----

 Obi-Wan stood shoulder to shoulder with Mace, Cody Ponds, Finn, Chewbacca and Poe as Rey knelt in front of them. D-O was sitting in front of, in between them and a chest engraved with a Rancor surrounded  by a long, thin, winged dragon, who's tail was hooked around its head.

 She pressed her hand against D-O's head and the droid went very still, a flickering hologram projecting in front of him.

 A pale woman with deep red hair, pinned around her head in a braided crown, and grey eyes came into focus.

 Obi-Wan stifled his gasp as he realised that she was his niece.

 He was given to the temple too young to remember his family. Some Jedi had contact with their families, and many visited their home planets to stay in touch with their cultures. Obi-Wan had never had the desire; he'd preferred to learn about Stewjon from afar. Seeing the woman's face, her smile warm, even as her brow creased in worry, almost made him regret the decision.

 He could see the connections between her, him and Rey. They had the same small features, the same pale skin, and the same stormy eyes. Rey even had a similar cadence to her voice, the unique Stewjoni accent that was so often mistaken for a refined Coruscanti one.

 "Rey, my dear, if you are watching this, then your farther and I are dead."

 She gave a shaky sigh, blinking her eyes rapidly.

 "I am so sorry," her voice was husky as a tear fell down her cheek. "Your farther and I did not want to leave you there, but it was the only way. There was no other habitable planet within range where we'd be assured of your anonymity."

 Anaya-Lan swallowed. "You are… special, my darling. Your light shines so, so bright. We thought… we thought it would be safer to part you two. We didn't think that we'd be found. Not so soon."

 "I'm so…" her voice broke. "I'm so, so sorry, little one. You don't… you don't deserve any of this."

 She paused, looking down at the ground before she glanced back up. "D-0 will show you all that you need to know of us, of your history and of what you are. Please, please, know that you are wanted. I love you more than I can ever put into words. And I am so sorry for what I have done with you."

 The recording picked up the groan of the ship around her, the familiar sound of a hyperdrive being pushed to its limits rattling around Obi-Wan's head.

 "Goodbye, my lightbringer," Anaya-Lan whispered, before she stood up from the chair she had been sitting on.

 A few moments later, a man with tanned skin and dark hair replaced her.

 He gave a sigh, his deep chocolate eyes filled with a kind of grief that Obi-Wan wished he couldn't relate to.

 "I don't have much time, Rey," he began. "But there are things you need to know."

 He held out his hand, showing a pendant of a horned skull on a black corded necklace. Obi-Wan instantly recognised it as the symbol for the true Mandalorians.

 "This will be in the chest. When… if you find any Mandalorians show this to them, they will take you in."

 The man's eyes lowered. "Wren has the dha'kad now, and I cannot put my helmet on again, but my armour is your legacy. I know you will wear it well."

 He leant his elbows in the table, clenching his fists together as he stared back into the camera.

 "If you can, find Fulcrum… you must find her. She will have a baby with her that has a necklace which matches yours. She will train you."

 He ran a hand through his hair. "Gods, we should have left you with her… We thought you would be safer apart from your brother. She said that you are both so powerful… more bright than she could ever imagine… but we were fools, thinking we could outrun the Empire, and the galaxy was blind to think its terror was over."

 He refocused on the camera, as if he could reach across and touch the viewer. "Rey, you are meant to be a Jedi. And I…"

 A tear fell down his face. "It will forever be my greatest regret, in this life and beyond, that I could not watch you and your brother grow into the fierce protectors you will become."

 He breathed a sigh and the tears flowed more freely. "I'm so sorry Rey'ika. I wanted so much more for you… If you ever find your brother… and I hope to god you do, you may be shocked by his appearance… he's a little, well, green."

 He broke off with a humourless bark of laughter. "If you ever find your brother, tell him that I'm sorry too, and that I wish I could have said goodbye, that I could have told him I loved him one more time."

 The ship shuddered around them and the man, Din Djarin, swallowed. "We should get the chest hidden."

 He a watery smile. "You will do great things, Rey Kenobi of Clan Djarin. I love you, more than I will ever be able to show."

 The last thing that was heard as the man reached forward to turn the recording off, was the blaring sound of an alarm and a whispered. "I wish we could have done better."

 Obi-Wan wasn't the only one who had to blink tears out of his eyes when the projection flickered off.

 Rey was openly crying as she stepped forward and slowly opened the chest before anyone could say anything.

 This time, Obi-Wan could not hold back his slight gasp.

 Stacked in one corner, taking up about a quarter of the space, was full beskar armour, unpainted. The shoulder puldrons and the helmet were laying on the top. One of the shoulders had the same racor as on the front welded onto it.

 The rest of the chest was filled with a motely mix of weapons, datasticks, books and other small bits. One of them was a smaller wooden box that was latched with a Force lock.

 Rey stared unseeingly at the contents, as she slowly stood. As soon as she'd straightened, Finn wrapped her in a tight hug, quickly joined by Poe and Chewbacca, with the two droids bumping into her legs.

 Obi-Wan sent out a thin vine through the Force, suffusing it with a delicate comfort. He was surprised when Rey soon acknowledged it, sending her own thrum of thanks through the Force. He hadn't thought that she would notice it. Anakin still failed to pick up on many of the subtle Force interactions that Jedi shared; or, rather, he refused to. He didn't understand that communicating through the Force rather than in the physical world was more natural and genuine for most Jedi, since they were all often called upon to be the calm mediators. The silent communication was only for them, and ensured a level of truth and earnestness that could not be assured in the physical world.

 Anakin was so powerful, everything around him was so loud, that he often didn't grasp the fact that small interactions in the Force could have a large meaning, and he had always been obstinate about listening to Obi-Wan when he attempted to explain them.

 The group pulled away shortly, Rey rubbing the last tears out of her eyes as they turned to face them.

 "I have read through many of the books and datasticks in there. They were mostly learning modules for history, language, art and battle tactics," she admitted. "But I haven't touched the armour. I… haven't been ready for the memories it holds."

 "Memories?" Obi-Wan asked.

 Rey shifted uncomfortably. "I can see what has happened to an object when I touch it."

 "You have psychometry?" Mace questioned.

 Rey shrugged. "If that is what it is called."

 "It is," Mace confirmed, before he gave a small smile. "I believe we are quite well balanced. Do you have visions?"

 Rey nodded. "We both do."

 Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows. That would be interesting.

 "I believe it is time that we each talk to our padawans, alone," he announced.

 He looked into Rey's eyes and she smiled slightly, sending a thrum of understanding towards him. There would be time for them to talk later. They would be training together more often than not, after all.

 Then he cast a glance at Chewbacca and Poe, who both nodded.

 "We understand that Rey and Finn need to train," Poe explained. "Chewie will probably want to work on the Falcon but I want to try and find someone who can show me around the fighters. I'm not used to the older model."

 Cody stepped forward. "I can do that."

 "I'll join you, vod," Ponds agreed.

 Poe grinned. "Good. Let's go then and leave the Jedi to their Force business."

 They all nodded their goodbyes and the astromech, BB-8 followed them out.

 Chewbacca said goodbye as well before he disappeared into the Falcon and Mace quietly lead Rey off into the ship once they'd exited the freighter.

 Obi-Wan turned to Finn, smiling. "I know a rather lovely garden that nobody aboard this ship visits. Shall we converse there?"

 Finn returned his smile with a slightly uncertain one of his own. "Yes, master."

[travellvogue]

Meant To Be

CHAPTER 8- By Your Side

(was listening to Survivor- Destiny’s Child when writing this and felt like a bad ass bitch lol)

What was he doing here?

-

You weren’t even aware of the fact that he was home from Dubai. Wishing he would just stay there forever so you’d never have to see him again. His smug little grin as he walks in making you want to throw up the bacon you’d just eaten. He was tanned, something you always envied about him, his ability to catch the sun after 20 minutes outside was the polar opposite to your skin, but it was something you no longer admired, you didn’t admire anything about that man anymore. Praying your evil stare would make him turn around and leave the building. Jesse Lingard, even the sound of his voice made you feel physically ill. 

And if you didn’t feel sick enough, your ears pricked at the sound of heels following his footsteps, large chunky black stilettos following him in, who the fuck wears heels to a cafe, the two of their hands interlocked as you watched them strut in together. It hurt the most that he was bringing his blonde bimbo to where the two of you had your first date, only to mirror that day with the person he’d cheated on you with. You examined her intently as Trent’s eye-line followed your own, resting on the fake blonde, black roots in desperate need of a dye, lips plumped up so much they could burst at any second, eyes barely able to stay open from the weight of her excessive lash extensions. “Fuck” Trent whispers under his breath, knowing no part of this could end well, looking back at you as he examines your expression, nostrils flaring as you lips sit in a tight line, and if looks could kill the two of them would be dead.

“Why the fuck is he here?” you hiss, another sip of your orange juice swallowed as you push your plate forward, not being able to eat anything since the wicked witch of Manchester decided to swoop in with his new toy to play with. “Don’t let it get to you” Trent whispers softly, in all honestly he had no clue what to say, when he invited you out to get some food the last thing he expected to happen is for Jesse and his whore to come waltzing in. He wished he could turn back time and change what restaurant you ate at, or even spin the clock hands backwards so he could actually tell you he loves you on that sunny Thursday when you bumped into him on your way to pick Jesse up from National Team Training. He revised that day as if it was a diary entry, he remembered what you were wearing, the smile you gave him, the light was still in your eyes back then, a light that flickered away with the reduced amount of contact between the two of you. He knew it was Jesse getting jealous, he’d made sly comments towards him about “stealing my missus” which he and Marcus found hilarious. Maybe if you never fell for Jesse’s charm this would be a regular occurrence, eating together at your favourite cafe as a date, he’d treat you like a princess, and secretly he was aware of the fact that you knew that as well. 

“Fuck he’s seen us” his day dream is interrupted by your rushed tone as you fiddle with a strand of hair around your pointer finger, acting as if you weren’t sending daggers with your eyes towards Jesse and Miss No-Name. A slight panic running through Trent’s body, Jesse had always been possessive of you, especially when it came to the two of you hanging out, so this situation isn’t one he particularly wanted to get caught up in. “It’ll be alright, you’ll be alright, I’m here for ya- right by your side” he smiles, a simple smile settling your nerves as you realise you could deal with any shit that Jesse brought your way. And talking about shit coming your way, along came Jesse. Feet dragging along the floor until he reached the end of your booth, a dominant stance as he placed his hands on the table, distance between the two of them as his shoulders hunched over- covering his neck when he leaned forward.

“Y/N” he nods at you, charming, ignoring Trent through the process of looking you up and down, you never knew a look could be manipulative, but he proved you wrong. “Jesse” you reply back with a matching cold tone, not letting his greeting have an effect on your confidence. “And this is?” you continued, nodding towards his little friend that had followed him to your table like a lost puppy. There’s an awkward silence before Jesse clears his throat and introduces you to his new lady-friend. “Uh, this is Lola“  his smug, powerful tone had left, now a nervous state as his fingers tapped against the wooden table, a habit he picked up when he was nervous, you’d learnt that over the past two years. “Thought you’d be with me eating your favourite” you almost laugh in disbelief at his comment, eyebrows raising in complete shock. How could someone be so blind to the heartbreak they’ve caused. “We’re not together Jesse”. Simple, yet effective. A statement that was only true but left him somehow confused, expecting you to crawl back to him after he treated you? Absolutely not. “Since when did we finish baby?” What the actual fuck?! Is he actually serious? You look to Trent, only to be greeted with an equally confused expression. “Since you met that” you point to Lola, she goes to defend herself but Jesse holds up his hand to silence her, an action he’d done to you before, which you had tolerated, now seeing it from an outsiders point of view made you want to cry for the person you once were.  “A real man ends a relationship before he starts looking for another one” Trent spoke his first words, shocking Jesse a little, not expecting him to take your side. A scoff coming from Jesse’s mouth as he mastered up a poor comeback. “A real man doesn’t take someone else’s girlfriend for a date to where they first met” “Good job she’s not your girlfriend then” you smile at Trent’s reply, a small smile from him directed towards you as Jesse grows more and more angry. “Listen here Trent” Jesse’s fists slammed against the table making your cutlery shake, body jolting at the sudden intrusion. Trent stands from his seat at the threat of Jesse’s voice, heart rate increasing as you watch the anger grow in Jesse’s eyes, taking a threatening stance, trying to make himself a level height with Trent but failing to do so. “Enjoy her whilst it lasts… she’s shit in bed anyway” Jesse’s voice was loud enough to draw the attention of the other people in the cafe, his finger poking at Trent’s chest. Studying Trent’s reaction, his eyebrows knitting together as he breathed heavily out his nose, licking his teeth, feet in a position that suggested he was ready to launch himself at Jesse.

“Not here” you interrupt, quickly trying to calm the two of them, desperately not wanting to do this in public, the paparazzi already gathering outside the small cafe. “Then where Y/N? I don’t want you to talk to this cunt ever again” Trent speaks, voice angry but his anger not aimed at you, he could control his emotions and aim them towards the deserving person, unlike Jesse. The two men stood face to face, your arm reaching between their bodies as you pushed Trent away, giving him a soft look, silently begging him to remove himself from the situation, “don’t lower yourself to him” you whisper to him quietly making him nod. The two of you backing up away from Jesse and Lola, feet only taking you a few steps away from him as you jolt to a stop, Jesse’s tight grip on your wrist stopping you in your movements as you spin to face him, inspecting his face as you follow to where he’s looking. Fingers tracing the bracelet he’d gifted you. You don’t know why you still had it on, a good part of you wanted to burn it and post him the ashes. “Still wearing it, knew you still loved me” his self-approving grin was repulsive, power surging through your body as you ripped your wrist from his grip, yanking the bracelet off your body- shattering the clasp- and throwing it towards Lola, something that was clearly meant for her in the first place. It didn’t take an idiot to realise that the ‘L’ charm stood for ‘Lola’. “Here, you have that” you spat, bracelet hitting her chest and then falling down to the ground. “And you-” you pointed at Jesse, “have that” your sentence was finished with a splash of orange juice, unfinished glass of liquid flung across his Gucci jumper, drenching his poor excuse of a beard. Bewildered expression on both of their faces as he stares in dismay. And for once you thought he was left speechless, but once more he proves to be more of a twat then you thought he ever was. “Run off with that cunt that loves you” Jesse spits, index finger pointing at Trent, “at least one of us loves her” Trent replies back, you’re anger now ignored, a proud smirk growing on your face as you look at Trent and wink, the two of you strutting out of the cafe hand-in-hand, leaving Jesse and his whore behind.

[marmolady]

Things That Go Bump in the Night

Book/Series: Endless Summer

Main Pairings: Estela x MC/Taylor (f)

Summary: Post-ending (Rourke ending). Set after my previous Rourke ending fics, but probably easy enough to follow without reading them first. Haunted by nightmares, vivid flashbacks of horrors of a life she once knew, Estela fears she is losing control, and Taylor may be powerless to help.

Word Count: 2563

Warnings: Bit of coarse language.

Reviews and reblogs are hugely appreciated!

Tagging: @brightpinkpeppercorn @sceptilemasterr @bbaba-yagaa@edgydepressedchoicesthot@blightarts@princessstellaris@acidsugar0@taramitch96 @sapphovonchat@strangerofbraidwood @noeschoices @kennaxval@queerchoicesblog @mrsmontoya

A heavy thump and an almost simultaneous squall of sudden and intense pain shattered the late-night stillness. The whole room leapt awake, with Taylor clutching her face, eyes watering, and yelping piteously.

“Oh god!” Estela was alert with the sudden shock, horrified in the instant realisation of what had happened. Of what she’d done. “Taylor!”

“It’s okay… it was an accident…”

“I can’t believe I… I’m sorry… god, Taylor, I’m so sorry- are you okay?”

Diego was bolt upright on the other side of the room, having almost fallen out of bed. “Wha- wha- what?” he stammered dopily.

Even as she felt herself trembling, Taylor tried to recover quickly. “It’s nothing; I’m sorry for waking you up so early.”

“Taylor, it’s not nothing!” Estela felt sick with guilt, that awful scream re-playing in her head. She flicked on the light. The side of her lover’s face was already glowing pink where she’d struck her, her eye streaming and squinting in pain. “Wait- do you have ice? Or frozen peas or… something?”

“Estela, you’re hilarious,” said Diego, slowly waking up, but still not quite sure what had happened. “What kind of students eat vegetables?”

Ignoring him, she had eyes only for Taylor. “I’ll… I’ll find something. Just s-sit down, okay?”

Once Estela had hurried away, Taylor let out a long groan.

Coming to, Diego looked at her with wide eyes, noticing the state of her face. “So… reading between the lines, and going by the way your cheek is swelling, I’m guessing your face got in the way when she was having a nightmare. For real- are you hurt?”

She winced. “It wasn’t her fault…”

“Taylor, are you hurt?”

“Of course, I’m fucking hurt! Estela’s flying fists and one’s face are not a happy combination. But it’s okay. Once I’ve stopped seeing stars, I’ll make sure she’s all right… god, the look on her face…”

The nights they’d spent together had been somewhat restless, but Estela had been finding that the closeness to Taylor had eased the memories, the flashbacks, the dreams that had her tossing and turning through the night. It would just take time to settle completely. The same had been the case for Diego when his realities collided and he accepted the truth of what the echoes were telling him. His period of transition, however emotionally turbulent, had at least presented Taylor with less of a physical hazard. And there was nothing more she could do… just to be there, steadfast and loving.

Estela returned quickly, a bundle of powdery snow wrapped in a towel in her shaking hands. She passed it to Diego as she entered the room, avoiding eye contact with both of them. Her own eyes were red and raw from furiously wiping away tears.

“Keep that over it. Should stop it from swelling too much. I’ll… I’ll go…”

“Don’t you even think about it! Come here… please. I need you.” Taylor scooted over to make the message clearer. She reached out her hand. “It hurts, but I swear, I swear I’m fine. That must have been a really bad one… are you all right, love?”

Estela couldn’t look at her. “You’ve got Diego. He’ll take care of you. I’ve gotta go… I…I’m sorry.”

“Estela, please!”

And then she was gone, leaving Taylor crying out plaintively for her to come back. “…Estela…”

 _________________________________

 Feeling nauseous from the heavy blow to her head, Taylor stumbled around the apartment. “Diego, please, just go after her!”

He caught her as she almost fell, dazed. “She said to keep this over your eye, I’m gonna go out on a limb and say you should listen…”

“We can’t just let her go-“

“Taylor, I dunno. I don’t think I should leave you on your own, and to be honest, it looked like she needed some space.” Diego held onto her stubbornly and guided her down into the couch. “Besides, you could have concussion; lie down. Actually… maybe we should get it checked out…”

“I’m fine! I don’t need to see a doctor- I need to know that Estela’s okay.”

“Okay, okay. But we stay here. Estela will come back in her own time, but I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t want you risking your health to find her. And she wouldn’t want me to leave you knowing that you could take a bad turn. Just trust me, okay?”

Dammit, he’s right. Taylor leant back into the couch cushions, and her dizziness eased a little. She reached for Diego’s hand as tears formed in her eyes. “…Diego…”

“I’m here…” he murmured, and squeezed her hand. To his relief, she seemed to settle, even though worry remained evident in her face.

Taylor felt sleepy… immensely sleepy. Her head throbbed. When she cried, the tears stung her battered face. But worse than that, she was isolated from Estela. She couldn’t stand it. The woman she loved was hurting, and vulnerable, and out of reach. “I’m scared for her. I can’t even reach her -she didn’t even take her phone with her.” She breathed out, but she couldn’t stop herself from crying. “What Rourke’s done… it’s different for Estela. Most of us have had little details in our lives changed, nothing major on a personal level. But she’s had so much of her life twisted or erased; he rewrote it to get a hold over her mom. Now she can remember both lifetimes… and sometimes I think it’s tearing her apart. I just wanna make it all better… make her stop hurting… but if she’s away from me it’s worse. She said so. She needs me, Diego… but I don’t even know where she is…”

Diego could only gently hold his beloved friend, rubbing her arm until her whimpering cries slowed, then faded to silence as exhaustion finally sent her to sleep.

Awakened by daylight streaming through the blinds, Taylor sat bolt upright, dizzying herself in an instant.

Ouch.

Once she’d stopped seeing stars, she glanced around the room. Estela hadn’t returned- where the fuck was she?

Zahra spoke from the kitchen, coffee in hand. “So, uh, I’ve been given instructions to keep you lying down and out of trouble or whatever…”

“Did Estela come back?” Taylor asked, holding her aching head in her hand.

“If she did, it was next-level ninja even by her standards.”

More carefully, Taylor got to her feet. This had been too long. “I’m going to find her- she was so upset. I can’t just stay here.”

“Eh, go ahead. I’m pretty sure Diego’s not paying me for this babysitting gig.”

The Hartfeld campus was white with snow, and the busyness of springtime had given way to small groups huddled together in doorways, sheltering from the bitter chill. Even rugged up as she was, Taylor felt the cold. Surely, she thought -she hoped-, Estela, dressed only in a shirt and track pants, would have found somewhere warm to hide away. And so, Taylor made the rounds of every lecture theatre, every coffee house, the library, the bars, the study halls…

“Taylor?”

It was Grace. Even preoccupied by studying, she couldn’t help but notice the frantic searching of a… not really a friend, more of a casual acquaintance. Taylor had paced the length of the study hall some five times, with each visit looking increasingly distressed… and wobbly on her feet. Instinctively, Grace pulled out a chair.

“Are you feeling ill? Come here and sit down.”

Taylor pulled away. To be perfectly honest, she was feeling extremely nauseous, her head was spinning, and she was on the very brink of bursting into tears.  “I can’t, I… Grace, you haven’t… you haven’t seen Estela, have you? You know, my girlfriend…”

“Sorry, I haven’t,” Grace said, her brow furrowed. She reached out, seeing the rising bruise on Taylor’s eye. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” she replied, too quickly. “Just… don’t let me distract you. I know you’re under a lot of pressure.”

“Tayl-“

“I’ve gotta go.”

Taylor retreated back into the frigid air, tears hot against her cheeks. It had been a long time now; worry was steadily growing into panic. She began to hyperventilate, and had to run to a trashcan to throw up. Shaking and afraid, she didn’t know where else to turn. Then, she turned a corner and there, shivering in the sparse shelter provided by a bare tree…

“Estela!”

Taylor bolted forwards and flung her arms around her wife. God, she was freezing cold. Relief became anger, and she gave Estela a forceful shove. “What. The Hell?”

Estela hunched into herself, looking smaller than Taylor could remember ever seeing her. It only made Taylor more furious.

“Where have you been? I’ve been looking everywhere for you…”

“Taylor, I’m sorry…”

Taking a fistful of Estela’s shirt, Taylor pushed into her chest, trying to ignore the tears that were streaming down her face. “I know you’re fucking scared, but I’m scared too! I need you, I…” And she could no longer hold back the sobs.

Estela held her, feeling the sting of her own tears. She’d sworn she’d never hurt her Taylor… her Taylor… Jesus, this was all like a waking nightmare…

“Taylor… I’ve got you now…” Her voice became muffled as she pressed desperate kisses to her wife’s forehead. “I’m here… I’m so fucking sorry. For everything…”

They fell down together into the snow. Huddled almost impossibly close, they cried into one another’s heaving bodies, until no more tears would come.

“You shouldn’t be walking around with that head injury. You shouldn’t be alone.”

“You didn’t leave me much choice! I’m not going back to the apartment without you.”

Taylor hiccoughed and wiped her face with a sleeve, wincing as she did so. Once more, she saw shame flash across Estela’s stricken face, and it hurt more than the injury itself.

“Hey…” she whispered, as she draped her scarf around her wife’s shivering shoulders. “None of this is your fault. And it’s just, it’s just a little bump. It’s nothing. We’ll laugh about this. Not, like, right now, because smiling hurts, but we will.”

Her shoulders slumped, Estela looked down. How could she ever laugh about this? The last person she’d ever want to hurt…

“Estela… please don’t pull away from me over this. Compared to how it feels to be apart from you…” Taylor shuddered and found herself crying again. “I just… I can’t do this without you. I just can’t.”

Estela finally met her eye, her hands reaching to cradle Taylor’s poor bruised face, to delicately stroke away those tears. She traced the trail of her fingertips with the lightest of kisses, until her wife’s ragged breathing soothed.

“It was Lila,” she said, simply. “Really fun flashback.”

“Oh.” Even as it physically hurt her to do so, Taylor kissed Estela again and again; her cheeks, her nose, her forehead, letting the action speak for itself. It was small wonder she’d been tossing and turning so violently.

“I’m scared.” Estela spoke shakily. “It’s all just so, so… Fuck! This could all fall apart any goddamn moment. I don’t know if there’s a way out of this. We could win, we could take Rourke down, and I could still lose everything. Lose you. I’ve almost got my head around the fact that I can’t save my mom- the mom who’s real to me was murdered when I was fifteen. But you? I won’t let you be collateral damage, Taylor. When I heard you scream like that… god, it just scared the shit out of me. I can’t bear to be someone who’s capable of hurting you.”  

Taylor delicately tipped Estela’s face towards hers, exchanging a look of tenderness and caring, and then their lips met, soft and sweet. She savoured the taste, the feel of that caress… otherworldly in its euphoric beauty. It was just… love.

“And I can’t bear to be apart from you. It’s… hard to put into words. How much I need you. I know you don’t want me to suffer with you, but it’s what I’m here for. Any burden on your shoulders is mine to carry too. I wouldn’t want it any other way. My love…” She kissed her again, urging her to feel that they were safe in their togetherness. “I believe in us. You’re better with me, I’m better with you. That’s all there is to it.”

 ___________________________________

The apartment, toasty and warm, felt heavenly as Taylor and Estela came through the door in one another’s arms. Taylor let herself be eased down into the couch, propped up against the pillows with gentle, freezing cold hands.

“Love, you’re so cold; you shouldn’t have been out in the snow without more layers on…” She kissed Estela some more, until her wife pulled away.

“Take it easy…” Estela grumbled. Even through her frown, affection was clear in her eyes. “I’m trying to keep it iced and you’re moving all over the place. Rest. No laughing. No kissing.”

“All right, now you’re being mean. If you won’t let me do it, can you at least kiss me?”

She hmphed, but moved in to delicately place a kiss on Taylor’s lips. “Now lie down. You get some more sleep, and I’ll just… uh…” Estela felt her cheeks flush as the feeling of guilt came rushing back.

“You’ll sleep with me. If it happens again, we’ll… I dunno, cover my head in bubble wrap or something. We’re in this together.”

With Taylor comfortable on the couch, Estela brought over a pile of blankets and hooked up the TV screen to her laptop so they could watch the day’s lectures after their nap. She twiddled with her phone for a moment before cuddling up to her wife.

“I sent Diego a message,” she said, “see if he wants to join us for a duvet day. Actually, I sent one to Zahra as well… but she’ll reply when hell freezes over.” Cautiously, she put an arm around Taylor, painfully aware that it was those very hands that had battered her so. But Taylor purred with delight at her touch, making quite sure that Estela knew that she needed her. Right there. Holding her… loving her. Slowly, the tension left Estela’s muscles, and she melted into her wife’s tender embrace. All at once, her lack of sleep caught up with her, tiredness crashing down upon her like a wave.

Taylor poked Estela in the ribs. “One more kiss? Pretty please?” She puckered her lips a little. “Don’t make me chase you for it; I might hurt myself.”

“So pushy…” came the low, growling reply. Estela pushed herself up, and slowly, delicately, she caressed Taylor’s lips with her own. When she came away, the look on her love’s face was painfully beautiful… sheer devotion. That wonderful, brave person who adored her so… Estela couldn’t promise her that she’d never hurt her again. The storm raging inside her, the one Rourke had inflicted, it might just consume them both. Taylor must have seen the shadows of fear and doubt cross her dark eyes, for she whispered-

“No matter what anyone or anything throws at us, you belong right here in my arms. I love you, Estela.”

And it was just enough. Estela sank back so that her head was nuzzled against her beloved’s chest, their arms wrapped around one another once more. She closed her eyes. This was one thing she’d never let Rourke burn.

“I love you, Taylor.”

[kumkaniudaku]

Bump in the Road

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: None

A/N: This just kinda came out of nowhere. I hope you enjoy.

“Hi, Micah. It’s me, your mommy. Today you are hitting five months inside of my belly,” CoCo smiled to the camera. “We don’t know if you’re a boy or girl yet, but we’re gonna find out soon. Daddy wants you to be a boy, but I know you’re a girl. I know it!”

For weeks Chadwick and CoCo had gathered bets from friends and family on who was expected to enter the world in six months. Everyone from both sets of grandparents to Tasha’s closest friends was expecting a boy. Tasha was the lone member on team girl, and she was fine with that. She had faith that she’d be holding her princess when all was said and done.

“It doesn’t matter what you are though, sweetheart. You’ll either be Micah Noelle or Micah Noel, and me and Dad will love you just the same. Speaking of Dad, I bet you’re wondering where he is for this one.”

After the initial shock of expecting a child, it was Chadwick’s idea to start a video series for the new addition. Every month, the two would film some aspect of their day for an update. Sometimes, they would sit and share how excited they were to meet Micah. Other times, they would show the progress of the baby room or answer a few questions that might come up in the future.

“Daddy is working, so it’s just been me and you for the last few weeks. I miss him, but I know he’s doing what he can now so he can be with us later. The good news is, he’s coming to visit us this weekend and I can finally show him this!”

Panning the camera down, CoCo caught the image of her slightly round belly protruding underneath her t-shirt. The sight was a new development she noticed days earlier when trying to wear one of her favorite dresses. From that moment, the notion of birthing a human was made real.

“I know it only looks like I had too much pizza, but I promise you’re in there. I can’t believe it some days either.” Tasha’s fingers rubbed gently at the top of her baby bump as she admired her body in the full-length mirror. “Anyway, no one knows about this except me and you. I’ve been keeping it a secret from Daddy and the people outside that like to take pictures of us.”

Only family and close friends knew about Micah’s existence. During the first trimester, it was impossible to determine if the newlyweds were expecting. With this recent development, careful planning in the form of oversized sweaters kept things confidential for the moment.

“Between you and me, I’m nervous to show Daddy. He’s never seen my body change like this,” she chuckled to let go of her nervous energy. “I’m gonna show you to him tonight. Hopefully, he’s excited. We love you, baby. See you in five months.”

——

The soft pitter patter of water hitting the shower wall on the other side of the bathroom door became background noise to Tasha’s racing thoughts.

Her body twisted from side to side as she held her shirt over the swell of her belly for what had to be the 100th time that day. Because of Chadwick’s desire for a nap and a little alone time upon arrival, she’d been able to remain undetected. Now that he was up and ready to venture into the Los Angeles night scene for dinner, Tasha knew she couldn’t hide for much longer.

The click of the door handle being turned snapped her out of her thoughts as she let the oversized nightshirt fall to her waist before her husband could emerge from the mist.

“Damn it feels good to shower in my own bathroom,” he laughed as he maneuvered around the bedroom to his set of drawers. A quick glance to his left made him smile. Tasha continued to stare in the mirror, adjusting her bun atop her head while trying to determine if the shade of red on her full lips was one she wanted to commit to for the night.

“You wearin’ that tonight?”

She whipped her head around to face him and smirked, “No, crazy. I’m still not sure what I want to put on.”

“That’s insane. With all those clothes you’d think you can walk in there and find something new every day.”

Chadwick smiled at his wife’s eye roll before plopping down on his side of the bed to lotion up.

“Well, I would know what I’m going to wear if I didn’t have a little problem.”

“And what problem is that,” he asked while slipping his t-shirt over his head.

“I might have a problem hiding...this.”

Lifting the shirt over her head gave Tasha a split second of time to compose herself and brace for Chadwick’s reaction. When she was finally able to see again, she was met with a glassy stare.

“Is that…”

Though he couldn’t finish his question, she knew exactly what she was asking.

Tasha answered with a rapid head nod and eyes full of tears. “Micah is ready to be seen. You wanna come say hi?”  

A quick crawl across the bed brought Chadwick eye level with Tasha’s stomach as he positioned her body between his legs and gently pressed his palms on either side of her stomach.

Like so many times before, he was in awe of her. Except this wasn’t like every other time before. This intense and overwhelming feeling of absolute adoration made him feel like he was floating in the presence of a goddess. The moment that seemed so far off years ago was staring right back at him. All he could do was stare at the first physical indication of what he always knew to be real.

They were having a baby.

“I think I felt some movement the other day,” she whispered to fill the silence. “It could’ve been gas though. I had some jalapeños.”

That comment got Chadwick’s attention, making him chuckle and look up. “I couldn’t pay you to eat a jalapeño five months ago and now you’re going through jars every week. Was it worth heartburn?”

“So worth it.”

He shook his head and placed a kiss on her belly button before nuzzling his nose against the spot. “I hope your mommy didn’t disturb you with that bad food, little man. I’ll be home soon to stop her.”

“But, until then, we’re eating all the jalapeño and cheese I can find!”

“Oh, no you won’t!” The room became filled to the brim with childish giggles and shrieks as Chadwick used his slender fingers to tickle Tasha’s waist until she heaving for breath in his lap.

Watching her eyes close and cheeks rise to their peak in laughter was bittersweet. This weekend would be the only time they would be able to physically touch each other for at least four weeks. He’d already missed key changes in her body, holding her through morning sickness, and helping her through the emotional changes that she occasionally displayed during their daily conversations. She needed him though the wouldn’t say it, and he needed her just the same.

Trailing his fingers up her thigh, past the waistband of her shorts, and over the swell of what he hoped to be the home of a healthy baby boy while maintaining eye contact with the one person capable of changing his world with little more than a smile.

Chadwick’s hand rested on her stomach as his lips connected with Tasha’s. She used her thumb to wipe away tears he didn’t know sat on his cheeks before they pulled apart to look at each other.

“Have I told you how beautiful you are today?”

“Whaaat? Even with all this extra belly,” Tasha smiled.

“Especially with all this extra belly.” Chadwick watched his wife turn away with a bashful smile before he gripped her chin to turn her back to him. “Wear the black dress. The one that ties above your stomach.”

Tasha titled back with a look of skepticism that wasn’t lost on Chadwick by the way he smiled back at her.

“Are you sure Mr. Privacy? You ready for that type of attention?”

“Micah is obviously ready to be seen,” he declared, echoing Tasha’s earlier sentiments. Both of their eyes traveled to her stomach as they rested their hands at the highest point. “If Micah is ready, let’s make sure he’s-”

“She,” Tasha corrected.

“Or she,” he laughed. “If they’re ready to be seen, then let’s do it on our terms. Together.”

Chad’s fist extended towards CoCo, waiting for her to return the gesture with a light tap of her knuckles against hers which she returned with no hesitation.

“Alright, Captain. Let’s do this together.”

Though the thought of exposing his growing family to the world’s eyes terrified him, Chadwick remembered the promise he made over a year ago in the room not too far from where he sat. Privacy was different from a secret and, for the first time, he felt comfortable sharing a small part of the biggest piece of himself with the world.

Micah was ready, and finally, so was he.

____________

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[ghostiesfiles]

Thantophobia — The Fear if Losing Someone You Love (Shyan)

A Mob/Lawyers au. Night Night Bergara and Legs Madej will exist in this. If you’d rather read it on archive of our own feel free. Hope you all enjoy 💛

CHAPTER 9 (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9)

It was like playing a video game, that dissociative haze that tells the body and mind everything is just a figment of the imagination… Except it wasn’t. Not this time.

This time it was real. This time the blood pumping through his veins, the sound of it in his ears, the shakiness of his fingers… It was all because his friend was a bloody mess in his living room.

Shane’s hands worked on auto-pilot, placing the first aid supplies back in his bathroom. His shoes tapping on the dark mahogany floor seemed so distant, the memory of a sound once familiar.

Ryan lay, now shirtless, across the couch. His face contorted in pain, hands clutching the couch cushions. Dark, syrupy blood had dried down the contour of his Adonis belt as fresher, redder blood trickled down the curves of his abs. The worst part of all, though, was just beneath his left set of ribs, a bright pink, muscly streak of skin was just gone, framed with clotted blood and torn flesh.

“S-Shane–”

“Don’t talk,” Shane demanded. His voice was bitter, it was betrayed and angry and confused. A part of him reasoned that he was being selfish, but… God dammit he hadn't wanted his hunch to be right!

Shane glanced at his open laptop, wiki-how articles on cleaning bullet wounds and tending to serious cuts still illuminating the screen. He picked up a cloth, it was damp with hydrogen-peroxide and smelled like a hospital.

“Gah! Shit!” Ryan hissed, a hand instinctively gripping Shane’s arm as the taller man pressed the rag against his skin. The other hand was curled around a black piece of material…

Shane knew it all too well. He knew his suspicions were dead on–maybe the wrong choice of words in this situation… or perhaps just the right ones. He knew the chills dragging down his back weren’t from the whistling wind but from some unexplainable gut feeling. A sense too strong to ignore.

Shane set the cloth down, trading it for a wet paper-towel and cleaning off the crimson stains.

Ryan writhed under his touch, agonized whimpers trailing off his tongue. He grit his teeth, turning his neck away as if to escape his friend’s touch.

Shane pulled back, tossing the used napkin into the nearby bin. He picked up a large piece of gauze and gently, tenderly, taped it into place. He moved to pull his hand away, but his movement stuttered.

Ryan was cover in exhausted shock-induced sweat, his cheeks flushed, and lips parted daintily. His eyes rested closed, hands limp at his sides.

Shane’s gaze went back to that damn black fabric. He hesitated, arm extended in midair, before placing a gentle hand atop Ryan’s. He waited, just a few seconds, just long enough to seem comforting before tearing it from his friend’s grasp, another item tumbling to the ground.

Ryan bolted upright, wincing at the sudden shift, “Shane, wait!”

“Dammit, Ryan!”

He was right. Of course, he was right. The black ski mask that he had worn when they killed Keith… It was still discolored from the blood.

Shane’s eyeline darted to the ground, a dark blue USB lay between the couch and the coffee table he was currently sitting atop. He looked back to Ryan, back to the drive, and back to Ryan, who, now also seemed aware of the USB’s presence.

“…Shane.” It was a warning. An unheeded warning, because despite Ryan’s closeness, Shane was well bodied.

The taller man swiped it from the ground, Ryan’s touch grazing the back of his hand.

“Is this what you’re killing for? Hm?” He pushed himself off the table, towering over his injured friend.

Ryan’s shoulders gave out, the rise and fall of his well-sculpted chest faltering. “What?” He seemed almost dejected. Almost betrayed.

“You know what! You’re fucking ‘Night, Night,’ aren’t you?” Shane glowered, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “You with all your, ‘we’re gonna be alright’ and ‘till death do us part’ bullshit, huh?”

Ryan’s brows knitted together and he backed himself into the indent of the couch.

“The question is why? What’s on here that you need so desperately?” Shane turned his attention to the laptop and slid the device in.

“Shane–I don’t fucking–I don’t know what’s on the drive!” He ran a hand through his hair, the gelled ends sticking up oddly. “I just! Shane, listen to me!” He barked.

The taller man stiffened, an expression that he only ever used to mask his emotions. It was the same look he’d use when he thought they were losing a court case. It was the same look from Keith’s house. The same look from when Ryan said Norris was on to them.

“Where... Where did you get these? Did you know? Were you in on it?”

Ryan shook his head, “Shane, I don’t–”

He turned the computer screen towards Ryan.

Staring back at the pair, in grainy black and white was—

“You piece of shit.” Ryan glowered.

Shane scoffed, placing a hand over his chest, “Excuse me?”

“You hypocritical piece of shit! You’re over here preaching to me about the blood on my hands when you’re working with the same crooks that got us into this mess?” Ryan threw his arms out, mockingly.

“You’ve fucking killed people! Plural! I wasn’t working with anyone! And besides, me breaking into a crime scene to make sure we hadn’t left anything behind doesn’t fucking compare to your heartlessness!” Shane glared, disdain dancing in his fiery, amber eyes.

Ryan’s shoulders went weak, his body collapsing in on himself, head shaking pitifully. “You… You… You went on your own? You went to… to… I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I just-I,” He covered his mouth with a gloved hand, to keep the sobs from escaping. “The mob made me, Shane. They made me do it, and now they’re trying to get me caught!”

The brunet’s eyes softened. They had been threatening Ryan, too? The snakes had both of them pinned to the wall? But what about this drive? Didn’t Ryan know that he was apart of their scheme?

“I didn’t want to! I didn’t! I– fuck. I… God, I didn’t mean to… I’ve fucked up, Shane! And now that I’ve refused to kill Fulmer the-they’re trying to get me caught!” His breathing became frantic as if just out of his reach, “They called the cops on me, Shane! They called the fucking police!”

Shane was frozen in place, he wanted to comfort his friend, but… Was this all an act? Was the mob trying to play him further? The paranoia clawed down his back, and he rolled his shoulders to fight the feeling.

Ryan blubbered incoherently, shaking his head, and gritting his teeth together. “I just…”

“Ry, hey! Hey…” The taller man gave in, sliding onto the couch with his partner, his friend, before pulling him into a tight embrace.

They had never been big on platonic physical contact. They would fist bump and high five but, save from that, they rarely touched.

Shane had always been a touchy person, he always liked to drape an arm over his friends’ shoulders, to hug, to place his hands on someone’s lower back while guiding them, to cuddle for warmth, etc. It was just the way he had been brought up.

Ryan, however, was the Mega Bro™ and that meant NO to all of Shane’s platonic advances. Of course, Shane never had a problem with that, he respected his friend's boundaries and if anything it helped him hide his feeling when they first met, but… It was odd to not be able to express something with more than a nod of the head or clap on the back.

So, when Shane pulled his weeping, shaking friend into his arms he was fully prepared to be pushed away, instead, he was pulled closer.

Ryan tugged at his shirt, burying his face into the creamy fabric. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He mumbled, over and over on loop. “They… Shane, they have a video of you confessing to killing Keith.”

“What?” No. No, that couldn’t be! He would never do anything so rash, nothing that could tie him or, God forbid, Ryan to this whole mess.

“You were on the phone with Andrew, and he coerced it out of you…”

“Fuck…” A somber silence fell over the pair.

Ryan wiped the tears from his eyes, head still nestled into the crook of Shane’s neck.

Shane rubbed delicate circles over his back. “They’ve been blackmailing me with those photos,” Shane nodded towards the laptop, “the ones on the drive.”

Ryan choked on his spit, pushing himself to be at eye-level with Shane–or as eye-level as he could be. “W-what?”

Shane looked away, a pathetic smile on his lips, “I just wanted to make sure I, er, we hadn’t left anything behind but… Andrew called… He said he had these photos and if I wanted them hidden I had to, uh, to press people for information.” He risked a glance at Ryan, his eyes big and doe-like. Their glassiness sparkling in the dim lamplight. “They’d catch ‘em, keep ‘em in holding until I could meet at some abandoned location. It–the location, I mean–it’d change each time so I wouldn’t be able to say anything to the cops, or whoever.” He licked his lips anxiously, “Uh… And then I’d have to get information out of them…”

“Holy… Holy shit.” Ryan slid himself out of Shane’s grasp, not far but just enough to signify his disgust. “You-you tortured people?”

He didn’t answer, instead keeping his eyes on his hands.

“You really are a hypocritical piece of shit.”

“You killed 7 people, Ryan!” Shane glowered, pushing his own person away.

“… 8… now.” Ryan didn’t move, too scared to look at the expression on his best friend’s face. A grim glaze casting over his complexion.

“But they… they made you? …The mob?” Shane didn’t even have to ask, not when the regret and trauma were so blatantly written across Ryan’s face.

“Yes.” He nodded solemnly, “…You were just so scared Tuesday, and I couldn’t live knowing you had any uncertainty, especially if I had left something. So, I decided to make a deal–a dumbass deal, but a deal nonetheless–that if they tidied up the crime scene I’d… do something for them in return.”  Ryan pushed himself off the couch, a gasp escaping him, and a hand falling to his gash. “They really held me to it.”

“… You sent the mob to the sight? For me?”

Ryan shrugged, “For you, for us, it doesn’t matter! I didn’t want either of us getting caught!”

Shane smiled, the sincerity and joy contrasting heavily from this situation. He shook his head, chuckles floating from his lopsided grin.

Ryan raised a brow, “What?”

“We both… We both checked the crime scene? Both risked our asses for this fucking criminal empire because we decided to, in some way or another, check the god damn crime scene!” The last laugh far more contemptuous. A bitter irony.

Ryan collapsed back into the couch, “Shane, I’m so–”

“No. I should’ve trusted you… I should’ve… I should've trusted you when you said not to take Bennett’s fucking case!”

Ryan placed a hand on Shane’s knee, his eyes staring up at him adoringly and apologetically.

Shane frowned, taken aback by the affection.

The shorter man noticed the flash of surprise and moved to pull away, but Shane placed his hand atop Ryan’s, smiling.

“Shane,” Ryan spoke somberly, “We’re in this together.”

“Till death do us part, baby.”

Ryan hesitated, eyeing the small plastic device that was jammed into the USB port.

Wordlessly, Shane picked up the laptop and closed out of the photos. There was one other item on the device, a document.

Ryan reached his free hand out and clicked on the mouse.

A document with three lines popped up.

“It’s gibberish? Literal gibberish.” Shane mumbled.

“No… That-that can’t be,” Ryan took the laptop from Shane, his hands hot to the touch and the brunet shuddered involuntarily.

Ryan’s dark, almond eyes flickered across the screen. His lips were pursed, brow scrunched together, thoughtfully. “Ha, I… I can’t believe it. They really did want me to get killed over nothing!” His eyes were wide and frightened, desperate.

Shane’s heart beat a bit faster at that look, “No… Ry, they wanted you to get you killed with photos of me. The other one is probably supposed to look like a corrupted file.”

Ryan’s eyes, dilated in the dim light, flickered with fear, and something else Shane couldn’t quite identify. “Fuck.” He pushed the laptop aside, letting his elbows collapse onto his knees.

“They’d get two birds with one stone.” He placed a hand on the younger man’s bicep, running it up and down, mindlessly. “They’d make the whole thing look like you were trying to keep me out of trouble.”

Ryan’s mouth was held in a small ‘o,’ a sinking feeling nagging away in the pit of his stomach.

“But it’s okay now! You’re safe! You’re safe with me!”

He was right. Obviously, he was right, but something about the whole set up made even Shane think otherwise. They weren’t safe. Ryan wasn’t safe anymore. The very men who were using him had turned their knight into a pawn, which, quite frankly, was against the rules of chess.

Shane couldn’t stop staring at his friend, couldn’t stop thinking about how he hadn’t answered his calls, couldn’t stop thinking about what would’ve happened if he had stayed at the bar longer or if the gunman’s aim had been a little better.

A silent tear escaped Shane’s blinking eyes and he wiped it away with the back of his hand. This was SO STUPID! Everything was fine now! Everything was fine! Everything was fine! But it wasn’t! This wasn’t just about Ryan, the mob found him disposable, too! He was just as at risk. They were throwing around those photos and… Oh God, they could be sending them off to the cops at this moment!

“Shane?”

He didn’t respond, he just placed his forehead against Ryan’s, closing his eyes. He listened to the soft breaths escaping the shorter man, trying to ignore the anxiety sinking into his lungs.

Ryan didn’t dare move, his hand floating in midair unsure whether or not to touch Shane.

The taller inhaled deeply, taking in Ryan’s scent. Taking in his warm usual smell of teakwood and basil, but, now, it was tainted with gunpowder, soil, and blood. His hands drifted to Ryan’s thighs, tentative and unimposing. Just a way to steady his weight, or at least that’s what he told himself.

He could hear Ryan gasp faintly, his hand coming to rest on Shane’s shoulder.

“I’m so sorry for dragging you into this. I’m so sorry for worrying you. I’m so sorry for not being able to help.”

Ryan shook his head as much as the situation at hand would allow, “Shane, don’t apologize. You couldn’t have known this would happen.” He paused, “This all Satan’s fault, anyway.”

Shane chuckled, “This is beyond the devil, Ry.”

“Ha, no, no, I mean…” Ryan smiled halfheartedly, “The other mobster, the nameless one, it’s his fault.”

Shane pulled away, his eyes fixing on Ryan’s. “What did you say?”

“You know, the one in charge? Andrew’s superior?” His breaths were warm and gentle against Shane’s cheeks. Eyes watching for any sign of remembrance.

“You’ve spoken to him?”

Ryan pulled fully away, “You… haven’t?”

“No. I’ve been dealing strictly with Andrew.”

Ryan ran a hand across his mouth, “Okay… Okay…” He picked the laptop back up, eyes skimming the words over and over. It still was nonsensical. Still, just a jumble of symbols reading:

5†59,  36¶8  ;‡   );8¶8*.   -  5*†(8]

Shane knew that look, the glowing-eyed look Ryan held when he thought he cracked a code, “It’s not–”

“Isn’t it? It has to be! Why else include the document? Why fill it with nonsense unless they knew it would be near impossible to crack?!”

“Exactly! Impossible!” Shane exclaimed.

“No, near impossible.” Ryan corrected, the corners of his mouth quirking up a bit, “What if we do it, Shane? What if we nail ‘em to the wall?”

He tried to hide it, he really did, but the vengeful smirk playing at his lips, “Revenge is a dish best served cold.”

Ryan hummed, caught up in his malicious thoughts, “If we crack this, if we play up this part of obedient servant…”

“Then we’ll have them like sitting ducks.” Shane nodded, “We just need to figure this out… But how?”

Ryan rubbed his hands together, eyes retracing the characters on the dim screen, “See that series,” he pointed to the );8¶8*, “I’ve seen it before.”

“Where?”

Ryan laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck, “When I… When I first tried to get in touch with the mob, to try and have them wipe down the house I may or may not have broken into Norris’ office and snooped through her files.”

“You did what?!” Shane gawked, wide-eyed.

“I know, I know, but I didn’t want you to be concerned with anything. So, I figured that was the fastest way I could get contacts.” Ryan smiled bashfully, guiltily.

“Okay… So, where did you see that?” He nodded at the word, if you could call it that.

“I read one of Keith’s statements,” Ryan toyed with his fingers as he spoke, “It had a list of potential involvements… That symbol was next to a crossed out name.”

“Do you think… that crossed out name could be this set of symbols?”

“It’s a start,” Ryan shrugged.

“And let’s say it is. Then what?” Shane inquired.

“Then we can backtrack. We can google what codes use these symbols for those letters. It’ll also help us figure out what eights and asterixis translate to.”

“You’re brilliant, Bergara,” Shane admitted, his eyes slipping from Ryan’s.

See, that was the thing with them. Shane was physically affectionate, all bite and no bark while Ryan, on the other hand, was all words. All compliments and loving comments. Shane never really commented on his affections for Ryan because… Well, if he did in any way tried to articulate how great he believed his friend to truly be, it would fall out in sarcastic tones and snide remarks.

But here, here in the dim light of his living room, his friend and business partner badly wounded, the two of them trying to escape the powers that held their lives on a string… Here he felt vulnerable in every sense of the word, and he wanted to be honest.

Ryan blushed, a deep rosy shade, his eyes danced with disbelief, and… Was he getting closer?

Shane’s breath caught in his throat and his heart drummed, for the first time in what seemed like forever, out of something other than fear. Shane’s eyes flickered over the dewiness of Ryan’s skin, the soft shadow of stubble across his chin, the warm almost purple tones in his deep mocha eyes. He inched closer. His fingers crawled forward cautiously, his index finger brushing against the shorter’s knee.

Ryan batted his eyes, slowly, his movements languid.

Shane could almost feel Ryan’s breath on him again, could almost inhale his intoxicating scent, could almost–

Three heavy knocks rang out from the front door.

Both men turned, silently, towards the sound, their contact now protective, hands tightening as if to guard the other from harm.

“Shane Madej, this is the police!”

[upsetapplecart]

Day 3- Hey you, dick bag!

Fandom: All Out!! Prompt: Angst Words: 4903 Rating: PG again? There is a fair bit of swearing, and teenage boys try to beat each other up? Warnings: Swearing. Fist fights near some lockers. More swearing. Another fist fight in a park. Relationships: Matsuo Toshinosuke/ Ebumi Masaru (pre anything more than blushing and crushing.) Characters: Matsuo Toshinosuke, Ebumi Masaru, Ise Natsuki,  Sekizan Takuya,  Hachiōji Mutsumi.

“Hey, you! Yeah, you! Don’t ignore me, you potato faced dick bag!”

It was more screech then shout, and had the voice a physical form, it would have been shoving its way to front of a crowd in an attempt to start a posturing competition with you.

In this it was a summary of it's owner.  

“Ebumi. Dude-“

“Shove off, Ise. You’re a fucking coward, Matsuo!”

Matsuo didn't turn around. He was tired, and well, maybe Ebumi would burn himself out and lay off. Stranger things had happened, Takku’s hair for one.

Logically, he was doing what was best for the team. Subbing himself out so that he wouldn’t be holding them back on the field. No matter how much they postured, talked, trained, it did not change the facts, and the facts were that Mastuo could not give them 110%.

Oh how he wanted to. How he wanted to fling himself into the training with frantic intent. The feeling of actual improvement was addictive as the taste of victory.

But he couldn't. Not with the sound of that cough echoing in his ears. Not with his so fake smile.

He was stepping down so they could step up.

At least the third years had accepted that. Or seemed to have accepted that. Knowing Hachi, he was just biding his time.

“Oi! Come on! You just gonna ignore me? Lame!”

As always, Ebumi had decided to make himself a very loud expectation.

One of his class mates bumped his shoulder, “I’m pretty sure he's talking to you, dude.”

The classmate seemed to be trying to hint to Matsuo, that maybe, if he, Matsuo, had the power, he should put a stop to the ranting lunatic in the school corridor who was following them like a dog behind a suburban house fence, yapping the whole time.

Matsuo would be damned before he gave Ebumi the satisfaction. Matsuo could be sensible and mature about many things in his life, but apparently, Ebumi was not one of them.

“Why would a second-year thug want to talk to me?”

The classmate did his best to look at Ebumi without actually turning his head to look at him, as if eye contact might draw his wrath. To be honest , it probably would.

“Dunno, dude. Isn’t he on your rugby team, or something?” he whispered, hunching in towards Matsuo.

“Maybe he is. There are so many faces, I forget who's who sometimes.” Matsuo said, loud enough that Ebumi was sure to hear.

The screech of rage in response made his heart warm a little.

Smiling now, riding his tiny wave of smug satisfaction at an Ebumi well annoyed, he decided to get going while he had still won this little skirmish.

“Come on, we’ll be late for class.” He said.

A swift glance at a phone screen proved him right. “Oh shit! Dude, hurry!”

The unfortunate classmate ran off down the hall, not loyal enough to stroll with him, but stopping to wave him forward occasionally before running on. Matsuo chuckled and strolled after. You didn't run from a victory. You especially didn't run from Ebumi, because like any speed hunter, he'd run you down.

“That’s right! You run away you-you great big bag of dicks! Fucking coward-“

Matsuo cut of the end of that sentence pretty effectively with the witty comeback of stepping into his class room and shutting the door.

Ebumi retaliated by kicking the door on the other side, making the handle rattle under Matsuo’s hand.

“Dick.” Said Ebumi.

Matsuo nodded, because, yeah, probably.

Then he took a deep breath, and ventured into the classroom, ready to have his young mind moulded, because you can't run a successful business if you can't do math.

***

“What do lame arses even eat for lunch? What you gotta eat to be this weak?”

Leaning through the open lunch room window Ebumi had taken it as an opportunity to resume his verbal barrage from the morning. Not much one for variety, was Ebumi, but he did have an aggressive amount of enthusiasm to level at his few interests.

“Fucking rice balls! Lame!” he said, leaning so far in through the window he was at risk of falling through.

Aggressive being the key word there.

“You have rice balls.” Said Ise from somewhere in the corridor, a sullen voice of reason.

“We’re not talking about me, you dick.” Ebumi’s fist pounded on the window sill, the other swinging out at the end of his arm, ending in an accusing finger. “We’re talking about that arsehole.”

Matsuo kept chewing, his mouth full of lame rice ball, content to let Ebumi wash over him.

The finger drooped a little at the lack of reaction.

Shinshi, who was sitting across from him, opened his mouth, and Matsuo cut him off with a shake of his head and a smile.

You didn't fight rip tides, you let them take you for a ride and then you climbed out at the other end, or so Matsuo had read. That or you drowned, but fighting back did nothing either way.

Shinshi shut his mouth. He didn't look happy about it, but he shut it.

Matsuo smiled vaguely in Ebumi’s direction and put his next lame rice ball into his mouth.

Going by the twitch developing in one of Ebumi’s eyes, this was not how he had intended the interaction to go.

Seeming to decide he wasn’t going to get what he wanted out of Matsuo, he switched tactics and went for the weaker link in the chain. The kinder link.

“Oh? You got something to say? Come on, I wanna hear it! Defend that potato faced fucker. Come on! I dare you!” Ebumi said, leering at Shinshi now instead, all teeth, eyes sidelong to keep watching Matsuo. Gaging.

Matsuo kept on chewing.  

Ebumi huffed. “You gonna let everyone else talk for you, smarty pants? Cat got your fucking tongue?”

“Oh, that’s it.” Shinshi rose like mountains do, slowly and with volcanic violence.

“Shinshi. Don't .” Matsuo warned.

“Yeah come out here! Come on! Have a go at me! Potato face ain’t goanna do it, so come on! Defend him. He’s too much of a coward to do it himself!”

Ise's face became visible in the window. It had the look of someone who was torn between loyalty, and just letting nature take its course. If that meant the end of his friend’s gene pool, well, natural selection wasn't a kind mistress. It was the face of someone who was chewing on their lip in indecision, deep inside their soul.

“Ebumi” he said, “teacher.”

“Oi, You! Get down from that window.” The voice was already tired, and was more than ready to make somebody suffer for making them more so.

“Aw, fuck. Don’t think you’ve won, you potato faced bastard. This isn’t over.”

Pointing at Matsuo the entire time, Ebumi walked backwards from the window, and then, spotting the teacher, bolted down the corridor in the opposite direction. Ise following cold on his heels.

Matsuo could hear shouts of annoyance and anger out in the corridor as they fled the teacher at the peril of anyone in their way.

Shinshi sat back down, graceful for such mass.

“And here I thought he’d been getting politer, more reasonable.”

Matsuo couldn't help laughing at that. “Well, he’s a bit upset.”

“We’re all upset, Matsuo. We want to help, you know that right?”

“Maybe Ebumi thinks he's helping too.”

“Matsuo-“ Shinshi sounded strained, like being unable to fix Matsuo’s problem was hurting him, and Matsuo couldn't take it. There was nothing to fix. He'd said his piece, said as much as he could bare too, and he couldn't take their pity, their well-meant kindnesses. It hurt too damn much. He didn't deserve them.

“Have you finished that assignment we got the other day? That Japanese lit one?” he asked.

Shinshi suddenly looked like he wanted to throw up.  

“Oh no! Aw no. I haven’t. Oh blast.” He shoved a rice ball into his mouth, as if it could stave off his panic, and the potential vomit.

“Do you have notes on it?” he asked, mouth full of rice, meaning it came out more as a panicked, “o yow half nots on it?”

Matsuo smiled and reached for his bag.

“Of course, but a moment.”

“Oh, thank you! Thanks a bunch!”

“No problem.”

He appreciated the efforts they made to talk, but telling would only make them want to help, and well, there was nothing to help. Nothing wrong but his selfish desire to keep playing. To win again and again.

Better to stay quite. Better to keep it all bottled up, with the cap screwed on, oh so tight.

***

“Lame! Lame! Lame! That’s what you are! Don’t even have the dignity to stick around and lose! Laaaame!”

Leaning against the row of windows opposite the third year lockers, hands in pockets, and shouting dramatically, Ebumi looked every inch the delinquent he dressed himself to be.

Matsuo grimaced and continued jamming his text books into his bag. So much for hoping that Ebumi had gotten bored with his little crusade, and that Matsuo would be able to escape home in peace.  

“Lame! I mean, if you aren’t tough enough you could have tried to get better, but no,” his voice became higher pitched, and highly sarcastic, “You’re taking the easy way out, subbing in a first-year. Wah. Wah.” Ebumi punctuated each ‘wah' with an aggressive foot stamp.

Matsuo smiled so hard his cheeks hurt. Choosing not to play, to not torment himself by going all out, when there was no future in it. To not make an embarrassment and a liar of himself, was the hardest thing he'd ever done.

Matsuo, very carefully, did not slam his locker closed.

Ebumi was so close now that Matsuo nearly elbowed him as he turned. When Matsuo meet Ebumi’s eyes, he was still smiling.

“I’m sorry.” He said, aggressively polite to the point where, if he had been a housewife, Matsuo would have been offering Ebumi his worst cups of tea. “Were you talking to me?”

“Oh! Oh!” Ebumi crowed, “The coward speaks! Did you hear that Ise? He can talk.”

Ise’s smile was all nervous and non-committal teeth. He was still over by the window, and looked intent on staying there for the foreseeable future.

“Yes, he can.” Matsuo said, dry as the dessert and feeling about as friendly.

“Yes he can.” Ebumi imitated, leaning in towards Matsuo, hands in his pockets and chest brushing Matsuo’s.

A paper thin gap.

Something about the just contact made Matsuo stand a little straighter, loom a little higher. Lean forward into Ebumis space, just a little more.

Matsuo said, “Now that you have my attention, did you actually have something to say? Or was that all you wanted? My attention?”

“Of course I wanted your fucking attention!” Now Ebumi sounded like the house wife, and desperate.

Matsuo smiled. He couldn't help himself. The opening was just too easy. The jab too petty to leave unsaid.

He leant down closer. “Of course you wanted my attention.” He laughed in Ebumi’s face. All pity. “Oh, Ebumi.” He shook his head in that sad way that disappointed authority figures have, when they had known, just known, you weren't going to do any better.

Ebumi slammed into him and Matsuo crashed against the lockers, still smiling. He laughed a little at the pain in his back.

“Don’t you fucking ‘oh Ebumi’ me!”

Ebumi pulled Matsuo forward by his shirt front and then slammed him against the lockers again. “What happened to all the wanting to win shit? Huh!? Why’d you just fucking give up?!”

“I haven’t given up. We’re still going to Hanazono. I think even you’d remember, what with Gion shouting about it all the time.”

“What the fuck? I’m not talking about the team, shithead.” Ebumi dropped the fistful of uniform and stepped back, hands back in his pockets, pouting for the Olympics.

“I’m not talking about the fucking team! I’m talking about you! Why the hell have you given up?! Oharano, please save me, I can’t catch the ball properly. Oh, your plans are so much better than mine. The fuck they are, Matsuo!”

“Look, Ebumi. I know you mean well-“

Ebumi’s hyena cackle was more unstable than normal. Close to the edge. Desperate in a way that Matsuo didn't understand.

“Fine. You’re a loser. I get it.” He threw his arms in the air, cackled again. “Silly me for thinking you actually wanted to win as much as I do.” He said. And then he turned away.

Turned his back on Matsuo.

“I do.” Matsuo said, an involuntary defence against Ebumis scorn.

Ebumi’s waved hand said, ‘yeah, yeah’ better than words ever could.

It was the dismissal that did it. It held no pity and no understanding, nor did it seek to find them.

It was the fact that Ebumi, Ebumi of all people, was disappointed in him.

Matsuo’s fist was swinging before the more rational side of his brain had time to catch up and put a stop to it.

The fist clipped Ebumi on the side of the head, and never having tried to punch anyone in his life, Matsuo felt a small thrill when Ebumi staggered under the admittedly poorly aimed blow.

He'd been working on his arms.

Ebumi clutched the side of his head, “What the fuck Matsuo? You wanna go?!”

Matsuo laughed. His knuckles stung already, but there was a satisfaction behind the pain. A satisfaction he normally associated with hard training and those fleeting moments when he could taste victory in the air, on the tip of his tongue.

When Ebumi said rugby was like a fight, he'd been right. Matsuo felt almost giddy, the lurking guilt suspended on the thrill of spontaneous action.

With a screech that sounded more like a hyena’s battle cry, Ebumi head butted Matsuo, which, since height difference was a thing, meant he landed a solid crack against the bridge of Matsuo’s nose.

Matsuo staggered, blinking back involuntary tears. He didn't have long to come to terms with this new pain, when thumbs began pushing into the corner of his eye sockets.

Matsuo grabbed at Ebumi’s wrists, and tried to force them backwards, away from his face and his easily damaged eyeballs.

“Ebumi! What the hell!?” Ise shouted.

What little space there had been between them was gone now. Matsuo could feel Ebumi’s breath on his face, heavy and frantic.

The rest of the world had become unfocused, like when a camera in a movie only wants you to watch this character. This one here. All others irrelevant.

Ebumi’s mascara was smudged, and his eyes were red.

Running over Ise locked his arms under Ebumi’s elbows, and tried to drag him away from Matsuo. Ebumi struggled against him, still trying to hook his thumbs into Matsuo’s eye sockets.

The sensible thing, Matsuo thought, would be to let Ise pull him away.

He was so fucking sick of being sensible.

He head butted Ebumi. Not being all that experienced in what needed to be done to deliver a truly devastating head-butt, he went for the biggest, most obvious target, and smacked his forehead against Ebumi’s.

It hurt more than he thought it would.

Ebumi hyena laughed, and spat in his face. Matsuo laughed back, still trying to push Ebumis arms away.

He was bigger than Ebumi. Heavier too. He could feel the strain of Ebumi’s muscles as they pushed up against him.

“Ise!” Hachioji shouted, somewhere in the distance. “I've been- What the?! Matsuo? Sekizan, help me!”

Hachioji arrived several heavy footsteps later, and grabbing Matsuo by the shoulders, put his considerable strength to work, and heaved him away. Ebumi taking pot-swipes for his eyes the entire time, and well, that must mean the maniac laughter was him.

“What the hell, Matsuo!” Hachioji shouted. “If you two get caught fighting you'll be off the team! What the hell were you thinking?”

Matsuo snapped his mouth closed, sealing away the laughter, as all the not thinking that he had just done slammed home with all the gentleness of a well delivered tackle.

The freeing giddiness fled as well, an unreliable teammate.

Experiencing one of those truly depressing existential moments where one really is not sure where to put ones face, Matsuo yanked his arms free and tried his best not to look at anyone.

He hadn't been thinking, and he had no way of explaining that without bringing their concern down on him once more. Concern he was really starting to think he didn't deserve.

His own breathing was too loud in his own ears.

“I wasn't. Obviously.”

“Matsuo-“ Sekizan said.

Matsuo wiped his mouth, and took a steadying breath.

“I’m going home. I’m late to help with the watering.” He said, maintaining eye contact with his shoes, unable to bear the thought, let alone the action, of meeting Taku’s eyes.

He could just tell Taku, but, no- that would just make it harder on Taku, and that wouldn't be fair.

He walked past Ebumi, who was still struggling in Ise’s arm lock. Some of the savagery seemed to have gone out of his movements. Whether that was from fear of hurting his friend, or fear of drawing the Captain's wrath, Matsuo was too tired to guess at.

He didn’t look Ebumi in the eye either.

“Yeah! Well fuck you too, Matsuo-san! Fuck you too!”

“Ebumi!” Ise hissed. “Quit it.”

“Not until he does!” Ebumi shouted, sounding hilariously indignant for someone who had been brawling moments before.

Matsuo went home.

***

“How’d your watering go, fuck face?” Ebumi’s voice said from somewhere above Matsuo’s head, sounding far friendlier than it had four and a bit hours ago.

Matsuo was sitting at the top of a grass mound. Gloriously green, it rolled down into the rest of the park, offering a wonderful view of trees and walking  paths, all of it faded yellow in the glow of the surrounding street lights.

Watering had been a disaster.

His parents had both been paragons of parental concern. Fussing over the fact that he was late, and then, when they got a better look at his face, by the fact that he was late, and had two blackening eyes.

By the time that he had managed to convince them, that, no really, everything was fine, he'd tell them if it wasn't, yes he knew he could talk to them, the watering schedule had been thoroughly disrupted and everyone was just standing about, having their own guilt decorated pity parties.

It was at that point he'd said he might go take a walk, and they'd nodded solemnly at him, as if it was they that were failing him, and not the other way around.

“Fine.” Matsuo said, and kept staring down the hill.

Ebumi shoved at one of Matsuo’s knees with his foot, almost gentle. “Liar.”

“Why would I lie, Ebumi?”

“Cause you’re a liar, Mr. ‘I don’t take the game seriously’.”

“But I don’t.”

Ebumi kicked his knee again, this time with more force.  

“Liar.”

“Would you quit that.” Matsuo shoved the foot away. “What are you doing out here anyway? Running?”

“Do I look dressed for fucking running? No, cause I’m not. I’m fucking out here trying to find out why the fuck you decided to just roll over to that fucking pretty boy.” Ebumi said, huffy as a house cat whose had it's furniture moved about.

“I already told you. He’s better. And I just can’t take this as seriously as the rest of you.” Matsuo said. Lying to Ebumi of all people shouldn't be making him feel this guilty. It wasn't the same guilt as he with Taku either. Taku, like his parents, Matsuo couldn’t bear let down.

Ebumi- Ebumi it was like, it was like lying to-

“Bullshit.” Ebumi shoved his face into Matsuo so fast he nearly head butted him. “Your just scared of a little competition. Got performance anxiety, or some shit. Well listen the fuck up, Matsuo-san, your better than that twerp any day.”

Matsuo laughed. “That’s not the issue, but I thank you for the vote of confidence.”

“Then what the fuck is the problem?” Ebumi said, throwing himself to the ground beside Matsuo.

Matsuo squeezed his own hands together. Why couldn’t Ebumi just leave well alone? Leave him in peace to work through his disappointment and guilt.

“As I said, I don’t take it-“

“And I said I didn’t fucking believe you! Now tell me your real fucking problem so we can get you back out there and win some games!”

“It’s not that simple, Ebumi.” Matsuo said, his smile made his cheeks ache, and he could fell his bones under his hands he was gripping them that tightly.

Ebumi lent back on his elbows so he could kick at Matsuo’s knee again. “In my experience, it usually is. Now talk.”

“And you are, oh so experienced in these matters, Ebumi.” Matsuo said.  

Ebumi ignored him, and pushed onwards.

“The other third years would let you back into the game in a heartbeat, so stop holding everyone back and say yes.”

Matsuo laughed, “I’m not holding anyone back.”

“Sure are. Why do you think we lost against Ryoin?” Ebumi sounded indignant.

“We’re inexperienced, and need to improve?”

“No. Because you weren’t fucking there!” When Ebumi kicked him this time it was hard. It hurt.

Matuso felt his eyes water, and for the second time that day, it was all too much.

Thinking fuck no, he wasn’t going to cry, and not in front of Ebumi of all people, but mostly not thinking at all, he grabbed Ebumi’s foot, and using it as a sling, sent him skidding down the hill.

Ebumi yowled indignantly as he slid across the grass. Scrabbling for purchase he recovered, and lunched himself back up the hill, grabbing the front of Matuso’s shirt with both fists.

“You know what? Fuck you, Matsuo.” He hissed into his face.

Tipping himself backwards, Ebumi dragged at Matsuo’s shirt, so that Matsuo toppled over top of him, and between Matsuo’s weight and the laws of gravity, he rolled them both down the hill.

Bracing his feet against the grass, Matsuo swung a fist up, and managed to slam it into Ebumi’s stomach as he was trying to stand, sending Ebumi straight back to the ground.

Gasping for breath, Ebumi swung his foot out and connected with Matsuo’s jaw, snapping his head back and causing him to skid further down the hill. A desperate grab at Ebumi’s ankle, and Matsuo dragged him down the hill with him.

This time there was no one to stop them. Matsuo was bigger, had more weight to throw around, so theoretically, he felt, he should have an advantage. But Ebumi had that psychotic drive to win known only to small dogs and used car sales men, and so while Matsuo went with the traditional elbows and punching, Ebumi hissed and spat, and generally made himself hard to hold onto, all-the-while, trying to claw Matsuo’s eyes out.

Ebumi eventually struggled to the top of their little brawl. Straddling Matsuo, he braced his knees against the ground, pushing down with his full body weight, and raised his fist to come down like an insomniac’s dream.

And Matsuo- Matsuo started to laugh. Big belly laughs that he hadn’t felt capable of since the coach walked onto their field and everything changed.

Ebumi’s fist froze. He cocked his head. “What the hell, Matsuo?”

“Sorry, sorry. Carry on. Carry on.” Matsuo gasped between laughs, lungs aching.

Ebumi’s smiled crookedly down at Matsuo, and then with a giggle, he brought his fist down to bump gently against Matsuo’s nose.

Matsuo screamed with laughter on impact.

“Fuck, you’re weird. Way to ruin a good fight.”

Matsuo waved an apology, still gasping for air.

Months of being responsible, doing what was right and proper, and here he was, brawling in a public  park with Ebumi at night, when any sensible person should be putting on their pjamas.  

And as far as he could tell, it would be fine, he could blow off this steam with Ebumi, and no one would get hurt. No one would feel bad for him. There was a magic in that.

Ebumi thumped him once on the chest and rolled off to sit beside him, which only set Matsuo off again. Giggling and laughing alternately, until he was almost hyperventilating.

When he finally managed to regain control of his sense of humour, Matsuo blinked away tears, staring up at the sky and feeling lighter than he had in some time, although that could just be the oxygen deprivation.  

The stars twinkle back at him, some peeking out from behind scattered clouds.

“I can’t go to college.” He said eventually.

It was shocking how much less concerned he felt about telling Ebumi that, then his fellow third years.

“So?” Ebumi said. “What’s so good about college?”

Matsuo laughed again. Ebumi would fight anything.

“I promised Taku and the others I would go with them and play. But I can’t. My- my dad's not well, and he needs me to stay and-"

“What’s that got to do with playing now?” Ebumi asked, dog at a bone.

Matsuo waved his hands at the stars as if that could, and would, explain everything.

“Fuck. That would just make me want to play more than ever. I’m not going to college neither, and these two years, they’re all I got left.”  Ebumi looked down at him, and Matsuo made the mistake of meeting his eyes.

There was a challenge in that look, and as always Matsuo wanted to throw himself into it. Knock it down, shove against it, until it caved. Show Ebumi that he wasn't the only one that wanted to win so badly it hurt, and knowing he couldn't felt like rubbing sand paper on his pride.

Matsuo looked away quickly, back to the stars and their more distant gaze.

Ebumi huffed, “Well I’m gonna play the fuck out of what I’ve got left, whether you’re with me or not, and you, you’ve got even less. Would think you’d wanna play while you had the chance.”

Wouldn’t be sensible, Matsuo reminded himself. Would only be prolonging the inevitable.

“We’ll probably lose if I play.” He said instead.

Ebumi’s ‘bah’ was loud in the quite park, “Just pass me the ball. I’ll get us points.”

He elbowed Matsuo in the ribs, “Plus, the other third years are such saps they probably wouldn’t consider it worth winning if you didn’t play.”

Matsuo couldn't help his fond smile. They were saps, the lot of them.

“You can be rather disrespectful at times, Ebumi.” He said.

Ebumi threw back his head and cackled up at the stars.

As the sound faded into the night, Ebumi stared back over at Matsuo, and he looked less sure this time. A little more nervous.

“I'm sorry about, you know.” He made a gesture that suggested it explained the ‘you know'.

Matsuo raised his eyebrows.

“Not about hitting you! About your dad, you idiot! If you need hitting again, I'll do it.” Ebumi said, nervousness blown away by indignant rage.

Matsuo felt the dopy smile on his face again, and he was certain that rage filled rants should not be this endearing.

“Thanks, Ebumi.” Matsuo said, “And, I'll try not to be such a lame loser.”

“Urgh. Whatever.” Ebumi said, and stood up. He offered Matsuo a hand, wiggling his fingers.

Matsuo sighed, took it, and let Ebumi pull him up.

They stood like that for a moment, hands joined. Matsuo looked down and looked back up at Ebumi, he had that glazed look he had going on sometimes when Matsuo came over to congratulate him on  particularly good try he'd just managed.

Matsuo smirked and tipped his head down at the joined hands.

Ebumi meet his eyes, blushed red as the team colours and yanked his hand back, wiping it on the front of his shirt.

Ebumi said. “Er, so, your parents gonna approve of you going home looking like that?”

Matsuo stopped smirking at Ebumi’s blush and looked down at his dirty hands and grass stained shirt. “They won’t be too hard on me about it, but I'd really prefer not to come home looking like I'd been in a fight twice in one day.” He rubbed his hands on his pants and then inspected them, no luck. “I might be able to sneak in the back door?”

Ebumi dug the tip of his shoe into the grass. “There’s a corner store not far from here. We could get some baby wipes or something? Try and clean you up a little?”

Matsuo couldn’t help himself, he ruffled Ebumi’s hair. “That’s not a bad idea.”

Ebumi knocked the hand away, blush still proudly red.

“Fuck off. Come on, it’s this way.”

“I'm getting mixed signals here, Ebumi.”

Ebumi gave him the one fingered salute and stomped off across the park, grumbling to himself, with his hands shoved deep in his pockets.  

Maybe, maybe it wouldn't be so bad to tell his friends. He'd been worried that they would take pity on him, or try to talk him out of his decision, but Ebumi hadn't-

“Matsuo, are you coming or what?”

“Coming. Coming.”

He jogged to catch up with Ebumi.

[acavatica]

Animorphs October

Prompt 1: Group Bonding

Set shortly after book five, Cassie tries to figure out how to better integrate Ax into the team. Featuring Cassie & Ax friendship for my dear @lilacsolanum and thanks to @miraculoussparrow for the prompts and idea!

“Okay, so, last time didn’t go… perfectly.” Cassie parted the branches to follow Ax along what could barely be called a path. He preferred to stick to the densest parts of the forest. That was totally understandable. If he was easy for Cassie to find, he’d be easy for the Yeerks to find, too.

But something told Cassie Ax was hiding from more than the Yeerks. The Animorphs were the only people he knew on the whole planet. He’d just found out his brother was dead. He needed to spend time with people. He needed to talk. He needed to get out of the forest.

‹Human instincts are very difficult to control,› Ax said curtly. He weaved through the forest with the natural grace of something that belonged there. Usually, Cassie thought she was pretty good at hiking. Better than most kids her age. But she was panting, trying to keep up with Ax.

“Yeah,” Cassie agreed between huffs. “I’m sure it was really scary demorphing in front of all those people. But we’ve all panicked in morph. We get it.”

Ax stopped suddenly. Cassie had to grab a tree branch to keep herself from bumping into him. He pointed a stalk eye at her. Even though she wasn’t great at interpreting Andalite expressions, especially the stalk eyes, Cassie thought she picked up something in it. Like the fact that she almost fell proved his point about two legs being inferior or something.

Or maybe his look meant something else.

She approached him carefully, like she would a hurt coyote or a skittish horse. She was careful not to touch him or even look like she was about to. If he were Rachel or Jake, she would have touched his arm to attempt to comfort him. But she had only seen Andalites make physical contact with a purpose. She couldn’t assume he’d be okay with that.

“I didn’t mean that we get what you’re going through,” she said gently. “I can’t even imagine what it must be like, being the only one of your species stranded on an alien planet.”

Ax turned toward her, enough to make eye contact, and she almost wished he hadn’t. He looked at her with eyes she couldn’t comprehend. She didn’t know if she was imagining it or not but it was almost like she could feel the deep, drowning sorrow. They thought they had rescued him from the bottom of the ocean, but to Ax, he might as well still be down there.

“I know… I know that we can’t get everything you’re going through. But we’re the only people you know. Humans are social animals. We have to spend time with each other to be okay.”

Ax hesitated. Then he acquiesced, ‹Andalites are, as well.›

Cassie gave him a slow smile. She still moved slowly, like he might just bolt any second. He definitely could, but Cassie chided herself for thinking of him like an animal. What she knew about animals couldn’t help her. Ax wasn’t just an alien, he was a person. She would have to figure him out on two levels -- the level that she would have for any new species she’d never worked with before, and the level of someone she wanted to understand and hopefully become friends with.

“You should hang out with us again. We’ll take it slow this time. Get to know each other.”

‹This is not how Andalites get to know each other.› Ax looked stiff. He sounded skeptical. Or maybe disdainful. Cassie wasn’t really sure. The only “tone” she could read into his thought-speak was accompanied by the vague impressions of his feelings, and she had no way of knowing if his alien feelings even corresponded to human ones.

“Okay,” Cassie said, hoping at least Ax could recognize that she was being conciliatory. “What do Andalites do to get to know each other?”

‹We are all arisths. At least, we are all fighting together.› He looked away again. ‹Arisths get to know each other through sparring.›

Cassie felt her eyebrows shoot up. She tried not to, but she glanced at Ax’s tail anyway. They’d all had a chance to see him in action. Even in battle morph, probably everyone but Rachel would be toast.

“Uh,” Cassie said, her mouth dry. “I guess I can ask the others if that’s something they’d be… interested in. If that’ll make you more comfortable with us.”

Ax didn’t say anything more, so Cassie picked her way through the forest back to her farm.

“I mean I guess we can morph away injuries, but don’t you think this idea is a little nuts?” Marco said, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. “And we don’t even know if Space Man here is really cool. What if he just wants to cut us down, one by one?”

‹I already could have,› Ax said with no hint of humor or affection. Everyone looked at him for a few more seconds than he seemed to be comfortable with. ‹The fact that I have not was supposed to be a sign that I do not see the benefit of such action.›

“Oh, I feel so much better,” Marco said. “Thanks for easing my worries, Spock.”

‹You are welcome.›

Marco turned to Jake and gestured at Ax like what do you expect me to do with this? Jake shrugged. They had all gathered in a clearing about a mile from the farm. They had only worn their morphing outfits. Marco had griped the whole way. Cassie had hoped he would at least be cool when they got to Ax, but of course she had no such luck.

Cassie stepped forward, holding out a hand to Ax. He just looked down at it and then back up at her. She shoved her hand in her pocket. “So, um, I talked to Ax. As you know. Ax, you said you wanted to uh, spar with us? What were you expecting? Did you want us to morph, or just…”

Ax snorted. Was that how Andalites laughed? ‹Do not worry, I did not expect you to attempt to fight me in your human bodies.›

Rachel scoffed. “Okay, what are the rules?”

‹In the Academy the rules are that you must not use the sharp edge of your blade --›

“Animorphs, no teeth or claws,” Jake said

‹And you must fight honorably in accordance with the standard rules of combat.›

“No hitting below the belt,” Jake said.

Marco sputtered. “What belt? He has two waists!”

“I’m up first,” Rachel said eagerly. She was stretching out like she was preparing for a gymnastics meet.

‹Uh, how about you do this tournament-style? Pair up and the winners of the first match face each other in the second?› Tobias suggested.

“I pick bird-boy,” Marco said immediately.

‹If the rule is no claws, I can’t do much,› Tobias said.

“Exactly,” Marco said. “No offense, Ax, but I was never down with trust falls either. You’ll have to get to know me the old-fashioned way.” He walked over to the edge of the clearing, brushed off a big rock, and sat down on it. “Come on, Tobias, we can be the crazy fans on the sidelines. You cheer for Jake. I’ll cheer for Rachel.”

‹Uh.›

Marco laughed in a less-than-kind way. “Or we can do it the other way around if you prefer. I’m not picky. Wooo! Go Jake! Home team!” He pumped his fist in the air. Was it possible to pump a fist sarcastically? If it was, Marco was doing it.

Rachel rolled her eyes and took Cassie’s wrist, pulling her aside. That left Jake paired up with Ax for the first match. Cassie looked up at Rachel. Rachel smiled that sparkling, Teen Vogue smile.

“You ready?” she asked. She dropped into some kind of fighting stance, her long muscles suddenly wound taught.

Cassie felt a nervous giggle escape her throat. She trusted that her best friend wouldn’t do anything to hurt her, but the thought of fighting Rachel was still kind of terrifying. “Not even a little.”

Jake was facing Ax, who gave him a small bow by inclining his head toward him and lowering his stalk eyes. Jake did his best to return the gesture. He nodded back at Rachel and Cassie and then orange fur rippled over his skin. Rachel grinned back at Cassie until her face exploded out, long and grey and leathery. Cassie began to grow, her bones shifting and grinding inside her. Powerful muscles replaced her own, but even those were dwarfed by Rachel’s enormity.

‹Horse, Cassie? Really?› Rachel said.

Cassie pawed at the ground with her hoof, her morph finished before anyone else’s. ‹What else should I have done, Rachel? One wolf against an elephant isn’t exactly a fair fight either.›

What had been a spacious clearing was suddenly laughably tiny for an elephant, a horse, a tiger, and an alien who looked like he should never have been there in the first place. Cassie didn’t really have a strategy, but any strategy she could have had would be limited by the space available. Rachel wouldn’t like it if she just let her win, though.

“Now I wish I’d brought popcorn,” Marco said.

‹Okay, go,› Jake said.

With horse eyes, it was hard for Cassie to see very well. The horse felt nervous, though, with the huge elephant just a few feet away. With her limited color vision, Jake’s striped fur was almost impossible to distinguish from the forest behind him. That is, until he sprang at Ax. Then the horse could see him. And it was terrified. Fortunately, that fit perfectly with the only idea Cassie had. The horse took off. Cassie fought her instincts only so far as to keep herself in the clearing.

‹Hey!› Rachel yelled, struggling to turn sharply enough to keep Cassie in her sights. ‹Come back here!›

Even though she could feel her heart racing, Cassie had experienced the horse’s fear enough times at this point that she was able to stay in control. She kept running circles around Rachel. Rachel stomped around, occasionally turning back around to try to catch Cassie as she passed.

‹I don’t think this is what Ax had in mind!› Rachel shouted. She was laughing, but Cassie could hear genuine frustration too. Rachel had thought this was going to be easy. ‹Ugh!›

Cassie braced herself. Rachel made that sound when she couldn’t get a store to take her coupon and she had to pay full price. She made that sound when older guys whistled at her from across the street. She made that sound when she was surrounded by Hork-Bajir and there was no way out but through.

Rachel’s brick wall of a body slammed into Cassie. She was thrown off her feet, falling onto her side. Panicked, the horse kicked her legs like a beetle turned onto its back, trying to get back on her feet. Cassie started demorphing, and quickly stopped struggling.

She stood up and brushed off her bike shorts just as Jake was also finishing demorphing. She hadn’t been able to pay attention to his match, but inevitably, Ax had won. Without teeth and claws, a tiger was still ridiculously powerful, but Ax was a trained fighter and his tail was lightning fast.

Jake and Cassie joined Marco on his rock, sitting on either side of him. Marco elbowed Jake in the ribs. “You know I wouldn’t have bet on Cassie’s Mr. Ed being more entertaining than your Tony the Tiger, but here we are.” Jake lightly shoved Marco, who pitched himself over toward Cassie and laid his head on her shoulder. He looked up at her with puppy dog eyes. “He’s cruel to me, you know.”

“And you’ve never done anything to deserve it,” Cassie said. Even though it was just Marco and he was just joking around, her face and neck were warm. She pointedly didn’t look over at Jake.

“I know!” Marco straightened up and turned back to Rachel and Ax.

Rachel was still an elephant. They were facing each other, pacing circles like some kind of cowboy movie. Ax’s haunches were coiled and his front half was low to the ground. His tail was held in striking position. Rachel lowered her head.

“Go, Rachel!” Marco whooped. “Show him the biggest thing on Earth! Your credit card balance!”

Rachel whipped her trunk out toward Ax, who parried it with his tail blade. He dodged left, but that was just a distraction, and darted out to Rachel’s right instead. Again, she was slow to turn back around and Ax whacked at her with a few blows from the blunt edge of his blade. They just bounced off her thick hide, though. She didn’t even seem to feel it.

Ax continued to have the upper hand, strategically. It was easy to see that if he’d been able to use his blade, the fight would have been over. As it was, he continued to weave back and forth around Rachel. Was he hoping to outlast her? Cassie knew elephants had massive endurance. If Ax was going to try to tire her out, he’d just exhaust her morph time. That didn’t seem like much of a win.

Rachel was getting obviously impatient, though. Cassie had already made her tired of this game. Overtaken by her anger when Ax feinted one way and leapt the other for what seemed the thousandth time, Rachel growled then trumpeted loudly. Ax stopped, seemingly shocked and shook his head at the loud sound. In his moment of hesitation, Rachel whipped her trunk around his lower body and lifted him up off the ground.

Ax flailed in her grip, beating Rachel about the face with the flat of his blade but she only lifted him up higher. ‹Hah!› she laughed, drunk on adrenaline and anger and victory in that glorious way that only Rachel could pull off.

‹Please, let me down! You are the victor!› Ax said.

‹You bet your fluffy alien ass I am,› Rachel said, setting him down with the elephant’s surprising delicacy.

While Rachel demorphed, Ax used his tail blade to brush his fur back into place. When Rachel was back in her own body, she held her hand out to Ax for a handshake. Ax looked down at it, then back up at her. Instead of taking her hand, he bowed his head instead. ‹Thank you for the sparring match. I will not underestimate Earth creatures again.›

Rachel planted her hands on her hips. “Yeah, Andalites are pretty cool too.”

Cassie stood and went back over to the two of them. “How was that, Ax? You feel more comfortable with us?”

‹I am not sure,› Ax admitted. ‹But I do think I am ready to attempt to learn more about human culture again. Can we go back to the shopping and eating facility you called ‘the mall’?›

“Yeah, definitely,” Cassie said, smiling. “Who else is up for it?”

Marco and Jake stood and brushed themselves off, making agreeable noises. They made their way back toward the barn where they’d stashed their clothes.

“Hey Ax,” Rachel said. “When we get to the mall, let’s do a traditional human test of strength.”

‹I am intrigued,› Ax said.

“It’s called arm wrestling.”

[forgedobsidian]

Aphelion

A MHA fanfiction. Chapter 5.

Chapter 1     Chapter 2     Chapter 3    Chapter 4

AO3

Summary:

Izuku has been kidnapped by All For One, for reasons the young boy doesn’t understand. He is forced to stay at a rundown facility, surrounded by villains and, for all he knows, completely without help. In-between his attempts to escape or learn why he has been stolen, the young boy spends his time with a near-comatose man who seems strangely familiar.

Trigger Warnings for: kidnapping, body horror, medical torture, needles, and pain

All For One sighed around the tube in his throat, his chin resting on a fisted hand.

Really, this is beyond tedious. 

He was seated in a familiar chair, nodes and drips connected to the remains of his head. Medical machines and IV bags hung from the metal stands surrounding his seat. His legs were stretched out in front of him, a familiar monitor resting on a nearby desk. The screen was blank - Kurogiri had just given his report. Everything was quiet.

“I’m back,” his companion said.

Eihei was a short and stout man, a full brown beard not seeming to match his bald head. The tips of his fingers were covered in organic circuits, sparks of electricity zapping between the joints. He was surrounded by electrical cables, all of them plugged into the wall. They gave off a faint heat, their previous use wearing through the protective shielding that surrounded the wire.

“Any more resources for me, Eihei?”

“None of any particular interest, at least as of yet. How’s the boy I found for you?”

“Useful.”

Eihei snorted. “That’s all well and good, but how soon are we gonna see the fruits of our efforts, so to say?”

“Before long. Murata and I have been working on a special project of mine. The boy is helping us move along at a much greater pace that we originally anticipated.”

Eihei looked him over, eyes flicking over the chair, before he shrugged and nodded. “Sounds alright.”

“How about that one we’ve been watching?”

“The girl from the Eight Precepts? The kid isn’t old enough quite yet, but before long we’ll see if that investment Chisaki made pays off. He’ll have to work a while, though, to get the right amount of trigger he needs. We have time.”

“Good.” I can’t allow the playing field to get too level. That makes things messy. “If need be, we’ll organize a raid and get our hands on the girl ourselves. But only if she turns out to be promising.”

Eihei nodded. “I’ll keep an eye on it.”

“Good.”

They both quieted down when Ito opened the door and walked into the room, an angry twist to her mouth. She stalked over to the pair, carefully stepping around all the medical equipment and Eihei’s cables.

“Damn kid made another escape attempt.” Ito had a fading snarl on her face, and her eyes were angry. “Murata left the door unlocked. I’ll have to have a word with him.” Red flared up her fingers and lingered around her wrists. She came to a stop in front of All For One, an angry twitch to her shoulders.

While he would prefer to keep the true nature of his physical state under wraps, there were a few people All For One allowed into this innermost sanctum. Shigaraki was one, Eihei was another. Ito was relatively new, but she had proved herself and it was easier for his commandments to be understood if he gave them to her directly. He could always kill her if the need arose.

“He left the boy’s door unlocked? That’s a little unfocused, even for him,” Eihei muttered.

“He left the boy with that . . . that thing, you know? That we used on the raid? That’s the door he forgot to lock.”

All For One shifted. “He left the boy there? I wonder why.”

Ito shrugged. “I have no idea.”

All For One steepled his fingers as he thought. A moment later and he gestured at Ito. “Your report, then.”

She nodded. “I’ve reestablished contact with some of our inner city dealers. Told them we’ll have a good product for them in a little while, and that it’d be in their best interest to leave some room for us unless they want trouble. I’m having trouble tracking down our people on the coast, though.”

“We need them, Ito, if we plan to get back to a global level.”

“Understood, sir.”

He nodded, ignoring the pain as the tube shifted in his trachea. “Well, then. To work.”

Ito nodded and left the room, pulling the door closed behind her. 

“Eihei. When will the first test batch be ready?”

Eihei harrumphed. “A day or two more, I think. It’s taking a bit to work out the obvious kinks, like time and the cooldown period.”

“That is acceptable. When you deem it ready, I know where to find our first test subject. It’d be best to get as much use out of that particular resource before it becomes obsolete.”

Izuku walked after Murata with a satisfied feeling in his chest.

Yagi. Toshinori Yagi. That’s his name.

“Sorry for dragging you all this way. I’m a little tempted to just not bother with bringing you to the room, but I like having my tools nearby.”

Izuku shook his head, breaking out of his thoughts. “It’s alright. I don’t mind the walk.”

“That’s decent of you.” Murata seemed subdued, and he kept rubbing at the bandage that was wound around his right forearm.

Izuku’s brows furrowed. “What happened?”

“My mistake, my mistake. Won’t happen again.” He sighed and smiled. “Left your door unlocked. I’m not supposed to.”

“You got hurt . . . because of me? Because I tried to get out?”

“From a certain point of view, sure. But Ito was very specific, and it won’t happen again, so don’t worry about it.” Murata opened the door into Yagi’s room and stepped inside. “You know the drill. Sit down and stay still so I can get more samples.”

Izuku nodded, even though Murata couldn’t see him. The chair was where he had left it, the arm straps hanging over the edge of the seat. Izuku fell into the chair with a sigh, trying to find something to occupy his mind. He didn’t want to think about his situation.

Yagi was sleeping in his chair, which was normal. The oxygen mask had been fastened back around his head. There was a thick bandage stuck across his back, and Izuku could see the edges of the burn around the lip of the covering.

He’s not looking much better, but at least he’s resting, Izuku thought. 

He sighed again, almost not noticing when Murata tied the rubber strip around his arm. He did notice the sting of the needle, and he forced himself to not watch as Murata drew his blood. It was over quickly.

Izuku made to press his fingers at the needle mark to stop the bleeding after the syringe was removed, but Murata’s hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“Wait there for a second. I think I might try something out really quick.” Murata walked over to his desk, muttering under his breath. 

Izuku shifted in his chair, shooting another glance at Yagi. The man hadn’t shifted, hadn’t even twitched since Izuku and Murata had entered the room.

“Maybe just a little . . . just to see . . .” Murata placed a piece of cloth over the top of a small bottle, the orange contents splashing as the doctor quickly turned it upside down. A blot grew on the cloth, and he quickly righted the bottle and replaced the cap. Then he walked towards Izuku.

The boy felt his heart beat faster, and his vision tunneled to the cloth held in Murata’s hand. He could feel his muscle freezing in place, keeping him from moving. He wanted to jump from his seat and run, but he couldn’t force his body into leaving the chair. He could only watch as Murata pulled out Izuku’s arm, baring the new needle mark to the open air.

Then Murata pressed the wet cloth against Izuku’s skin, centering the wet blot on the puncture where he had drawn Izuku’s blood. Izuku yelped when Murata pressed the cloth harder, the pain from his bruise and the recent shot worsening. Then, the pressure was gone, and Izuku stopped squirming.

“Well, now, this is interesting.”

Izuku took a shaky look at his arm. There were bumps raising along his skin, and even as he watched the bumps seemed to fold in on themselves and harden. Except for a vague itching, it hadn’t hurt. There was a faint green color spreading along the bumps, though, and Izuku started to feel nauseous. 

The bumps and color faded a moment later, leaving his arm looking like it had before. The bruise throbbed, though, and Izuku wanted to scratch at his arm.

“W-what was that!?”

“Don’t worry, don’t worry,” Murata said, waving his hand. “It wasn’t permanent, and I just wanted to see how a little of it reacted to a quirkless body.”

“What . . .” Izuku swayed in his seat, stiffened, and took a desperate dive for the trashcan. 

Murata watched as Izuku gave a dry heave. “Well, that was interesting.”

Izuku was breathing heavily. “That . . . what . . .”

Murata gave a chuckle. “Just a little experiment. No worries. You’ll feel better soon. Out of curiosity, did it hurt?”

The boy shook his head and rested the back of his hand on the cold tile floor. Eventually the nausea passed and he was able to stand, only to collapse back in his chair when he realized how shaky his legs were.

Izuku didn’t try to ask Murata anything. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know, and he doubted Murata would be as talkative now as he had been in the past. He swallowed and cradled his arm close, trying not to scratch at his skin.

Eventually Murata sighed and walked to the door. “Come on. I’m taking you back. And no, you can’t stay here to take a nap or whatever. I have to get you back to your room.”

Izuku blinked.

Murata sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “Why do you like talking to him anyway? He’s a terrible conversationalist, from my experience.”

Izuku started. “You . . .”

“I know that you like talking to him. It’s not that hard to figure out.”

The boy swallowed, trying to push down the panic in his chest. “I-I just, I don’t know. He . . . um.” Izuku’s mind scrabbled for an answer. “He reminds me of someone. I’m trying to figure out who, is all.”

“Oh, now that’s interesting!” Murata suddenly seemed very happy. “Conducting your own experiment, are you?”

“I . . . I guess, sort of.” Izuku tried not to squirm in his seat, uncomfortable with the attention. He’s in the same boat as me. Neither of us wants to be here. He’s the closest thing I have to an ally, right now. And he needs help.

Izuku knew that his drive to help others might not help him in his current situation, when he needed to focus completely on keeping himself safe. But he couldn’t just let someone else hurt and suffer when there was something he could do about it. If Yagi knowing he wasn’t alone helped ease his situation, then Izuku wanted to help.

“Well, that’s very interesting, kid.” Murata was pinching at the skin on his hand. “As much as I support what you’re trying to do, let it never be said I don’t support the scientific method, I can’t let you have free range just yet. Besides, Ito’s scarier than you. So, maybe some other time.”

“. . . okay.” Izuku got up from his chair, making his way to where Murata had swung the door open. He gave Yagi’s limp hand a consoling pat as he walked by. 

Murata kept talking as he walked Izuku around the compound, taking the long way back to the cell.“I mean, besides, he’s only been so aware recently because of everything that’s going on. You, the raid, et cetera. He’ll quiet back down before too long.”

Izuku spoke before he could think. “Raid?”

“Oh, no. I don’t want to get in trouble with Ito again. You’re not getting anything out of me.” Murata snorted and ran his fingers along the wall. 

“Oh. Okay.” The curiosity in Izuku’s chest was squashed. 

Murata peered around the hallway, a mischievous twist to his mouth. “Though, I do like you. You help my work. Maybe I’ll tell you a bit, just to get that expression off your face.”

Izuku nodded, trying to control his expression. The more information I have, the better. 

“Boss sent some folks out on a raid, along with your friend in the chair. That’s where he got that nasty burn.”

“He wanted to go?”

“Doubt it. He’s stubborn when it comes to stuff like this. Ito had to get a little persuasive, apparently. Anyway, we got our hands on some really important data. It’s changing the entire game.”

“Game?”

Murata just grinned. “Now, now, don’t worry about it. It won’t hurt you. I think.”

“Oh.”

Izuku didn’t get a chance to ask any more questions. Murata opened the door to his room, Izuku stepped in, and Murata closed it. There was the distinctive click of a lock.

Izuku sighed, kicked at the door, and fell backwards onto his bed. A moment later, and he dug his notebook and the salvaged pen out from his backpack.

He wrote down everything that had happened that day, from seeing Yagi to what Murata had told him. A determined expression fell across his face. He turned the page, and kept writing. 

Four years ago . . .

There was something wrong with his chest. 

He couldn’t breathe past something in his side, he couldn’t move his arms. Blurry light filtered through his closed lids, painfully drilling into his head. When he tried to say anything his dry throat tore and something warm dribbled out of the corner of his mouth. His feet were cold.

His hand twitched, and he dimly registered the click of his nails against something metallic. A wave of chilled air trickled over his arms.

Why can’t . . . I breathe . . . 

Toshinori tried to blink his eyes open, but they felt gummed shut. He wheezed and tried to throw his shoulders up. All he managed was a feeble twitch before he fell back, winded. His left side felt numb and crinkly. 

It took everything he had to reach up and rub at his eyes. His fingers met his eyelashes, and he could feel something thick and globulous holding them closed. His nails scratched away the substance, and before long he blinked his eyes open.

The bright light spiked into his head and he twitched with a groan, clenching his eyes shut against the pain. The next time he slid his eyes open carefully, giving himself time to adjust.

His vision was blurry and unfocused, but the sight that met his eyes managed to send a jolt down his spine even through the thick haze over his senses.

His hands were bandaged, but he could still see the way the joints were twisted and warped under the wrappings. He turned his head, looking down at his torso, the flicker of a dark memory licking at the edge of his mind.

He found the edge of the bandaging first, his hand slowly tracing the edge the off-white fabric. His head turned further. The bandages bulged suddenly at his sternum, and he could feel sweat beading on the back of his neck as he turned further.

His side was mangled. He could tell even through the thick padding that was stuffed around what was left of his ribcage. He could feel now that he was turned slightly on his side, bandaging on the left half of his back pushing him up. Clarity spiked his mind even as he wondered where the pain was.

A groggy tendril of determination went through his brain, and he managed to sit up and swing one leg to the floor. He dimly took note of the loose pants he wore, and the fact that he had been lying on a thin gurney. A twinge ran up his side, but the discomfort didn’t increase.His toes scraped against the cold tile floor, but he couldn’t feel it. His feet were numb. 

He swung his other leg over to the floor, legs dangling off the edge of the narrow gurney. Only then did he see the various IV lines stuck in his left arm, tendrils of thin plastic tubing attached to several fluid bags that hung from a metal stand. 

“Wh-” 

His voice rasped and caught in his throat. The taste of iron filled his mouth, and it took all he had not to throw up. Instead, he coughed roughly into a bandaged fist, his eyes widening at the blood that gathered on the white wrappings. 

What happened?

The door across from the gurney opened, a person of middling height walking through with a tray held in his hands. Their eyes widened when they saw Toshinori sitting up.

“Woah, didn’t expect you to be up and around quite yet,” the person quipped. They set the tray to the side and walked to the side of the gurney, one hand reaching out to rest on Toshinori’s forearm. “And how are we today?”

Toshinori cleared his throat, hunching in on himself as a painful cough built in his chest. “W-where am I? Who’re you?”

“Easy, easy, fella. I’m Masumi Murata,” the man said, gently turning Toshinori’s wrist over to check the IV’s. “You’re in a safe place. No worries.”

Toshinori knew he was a mess, that his face was pale and sweat was tracking its way down his cheek. His hand shook where he gripped the edge of the gurney. Something in him felt broken and out of place, but that didn’t stop him from trying to figure out the feeling of warning at the back of his head.

“Well,” Murata said, giving Toshinori’s shoulder a friendly slap. “Looks like you’re knitting together just fine. Just don’t squirm around too much, and don’t try to leave the room. Too much movement and we’ll be back to square one.”

“S-square one?”

“You were heading down a tunnel towards a bright light when I got my hands on you. It was touch and go for a while.”

“How . . . how long?”

“Long enough. Anyway, let me run a few tests, and I’ll let you get back to sleep, yeah?”

Toshinori swallowed, but gave a hesitant nod. 

Murata smiled and turned back to the tray, picking up a stethoscope. “I’m just gonna listen to your chest real quick.”

Toshinori felt his back twitch when the cold metal of the stethoscope roamed around his back. The faint feeling of unease had increased, and Toshinori tried to keep the worry from his face as he gave Murata sidelong glances.

He couldn’t find any official identification, and Murata’s clothing beneath the lab coat wasn’t anywhere near regulation. His surroundings didn’t look the slightest like a hospital room, either. It felt more like a modified storage closet, crammed with medical tools.

A chilling thought grew in the back of his mind.

Well, there’s one way to find out . . . 

“Gran Torino? W-where is he?”

“Who? Oh, him! He’s fine! Not a scratch on ‘em. Don’t worry about that.”

Toshinori grappled with his memories, and his mouth turned sour. 

Torino had broken his knee in the fight, and landed on a shattered window. There had been glass shards sticking out of his elbow when Toshinori had last seen him.

And with that Toshinori knew what had happened. 

He wasn’t safe, wasn’t in a hospital. He didn’t know what had happened to Torino, or if Sir had ever shown up. He didn’t even know what day it was or how debilitating his injuries really were. 

All For One’s people had gotten there first. It was as simple as that.

Toshinori swallowed, and steeled himself for movement.

He made his move when Murata had his back turned, his bare feet slapping against the tile. When he stood he felt something twist in his side, and pain flared along his sternum. He moved quickly, despite the discomfort. There was a painful jerk in his arm as the IV’s pulled free.

Before Murata could react, Toshinori had opened the door and skidded out into the hallway beyond.

His side hurt, but not as much as he had expected. It was hard to keep his balance, but not so hard as to keep him from staggering down the hallway.He heard Murata running up behind him, and without much thought he turned and grabbed Murata’s outstretched hand, pulling him in close, twisting his wrist. Then he pushed Murata away, trying to tangle the fake doctor’s legs as Murata staggered.

Pain flared up his side, forcing Toshinori to take a couple steps back and sag against the wall.

Murata was swearing under his breath and holding his twisted hand, slowly massaging the fingers. 

“The hell was that for?!”

“You’re lying,” Toshinori snarled, feeling his hands shake. “Where am I?”

Murata glared at him, cradling his twisted hand. “Geeze, was it something I said?”

“Answer me!”

“Okay, okay, just calm down.” Murata raised his good hand in a placating gesture. “No need to get riled up.”

Toshinori felt his hands curl into fists at his sides and he took a threatening, though wavering, step towards the doctor. 

“Woah, okay, chill! You’re gonna be fine, but just let me give you this, okay?” Murata pulled a loaded syringe from his pocket. “This’ll help you relax, nice ‘n easy.”

Toshinori snarled, but his voice cut out as something warm and tasting of copper surged up his throat and out his mouth. He looked down, and saw blood dribble from his chin onto the floor. 

“Well, that’s not a good sign,” Murata said, his voice surprised.

Toshinori coughed and felt something give in his side. His vision started to blur. The ground moved up to meet his knees, and he dimly felt himself slip sideways. There was a dull thump when his head connected with the ground.

There was a tremor going up and down his spine, and he couldn’t control his limbs. His jaw spasmed and he bit the inside of his cheek.

He could dimly hear Murata’s footsteps coming closer. “That’s quite the seizure you’re having there, buddy.”

Toshinori felt his shoulder relax, and he tried to take a swing at where he thought Murata was.

“Now now, none of that.”

There was a prickle in his neck, and everything faded away. 

Time lost all meaning for him after that. He was occasionally aware of something happening around him. His ears constantly felt like they were stuffed full of cotton, so he couldn’t pick out the voices that danced around his head. There was a smell of antiseptic and iron, and sometimes the sticky scent of something rotting. 

He floated in an out of consciousness, sometimes held in a drugged sleep, other times forced to undergo more painful procedures under Murata’s supervision while awake. The few times he managed to shake himself to awareness he was quickly put back under, only able to get a quick, blurry image of his surroundings before falling back into the jagged feeling of unconsciousness. 

He could feel himself losing weight, the proud muscle along his shoulders and arms fading the longer he was captive. He was growing weaker, unable to move for more than a few minutes at a time. He never got another chance to try and escape. 

In his more lucid moments he wondered what was happening outside his cell, how his friends and companions were handling his absence, how the world was responding to the disappearance of All Might. Guilt at not being strong enough to get back to them ate at him just as much as the injury to his side. 

He couldn’t remember when he was moved to the chair, or when the ports were surgically implanted in his torso and arms. It took him a while to figure out that there were ports winding up his spine, as well. Sometimes he managed to get a look at his arms, and could track the passage of time by the number of old and new needle scars. 

One time he woke up feeling light-headed and chilled, and he realized that his hair had been shaved.

He didn’t get many visitors that he could remember, his waking interactions usually limited to Murata and his needles. Sometimes, though, All For One was there.

“I intend to make your failure complete, All Might.”

He jolted, pulling out of the drugged sleep and giving a wet cough. 

“For how strong you were, you were weakest when it most mattered. You’ve failed so many people.”

Toshinori groaned, trying to stifle his voice. His eyes roamed over the room in a blurred haze until they fell to focus on All For One, sitting across from him in a chair.

“You know, it’s astonishing just how quickly everything fell apart. Even I was surprised, in truth.” All For One seemed whole, only the black helmet left as a testimony to Toshinori’s efforts. 

He swallowed, clenched his eyes, and tried to school himself into resistance. 

“You won’t be a problem any more, All Might. In fact, you’re going to help me rebuild from the ground up.”

Toshinori tried to snarl, to fight back, but his willpower was tattered. He had nothing left to fight with. Still, he pulled his lips back and bared his teeth, mentally scrabbling to put a more coherent form of resistance together. 

“I always knew you were a brute, but I hardly dared hope for such an animalistic response.” 

Toshinori felt a clammy hand rest on the back of his neck. He shivered and tried to duck away, but he was stopped by the weight of the tubes along his spine. 

“Eventually, I’ll take back the quirk that I made. I’ll take you apart piece by piece until I get my hands on what I want. And until then, you’re another tool of mine, to use and discard at my whim.”

The hand tightened and Toshinori choked. His head was pulled back until he was staring up into All For One’s mask, his drawn features reflected in the dark material. Spots swam in front of his eyes.

“And there’s nothing you can do about it, hero.”

Something dug into his side, and his vision went white.

Author’s Note: All For One is a really interesting character to write!

I’m pretty surprised at how many people seem to enjoy Murata’s character. It’s a nice feeling; it took a while and A LOT of development to get his character down. I’m so glad that people are responding to him!! He’s a blast to write, honestly.

Thanks for reading!!