#hear the tip tap of her claws on tiles!!!

[monty-glasses-roxy]

animalism time: roxy in socks / shoes and hating every second of it

Yeeeeeeess

She always walks really funny when she has to wear them too and she doesn't realise she's doing it. She had to wear both for a full day and by lunchtime, she was so fucking done with them that she vanished for an hour and came back without them. They were later found, ripped to shreds in such a way they were completely unsalvageable so they couldn't be forced on her again.

Fazbear Ent have tried it a few times since but have never gotten her to wear them for very long and eventually gave up because replacing the socks and shoes every time costs too much money.

[mggpleasedontlookhere]

no matter what it takes

summary: y/n is kidnapped, and for once reid can’t think of a solution

inspired by this request: Hiiiii! I absolutely love your writing it’s so amazing! I was wondering could there be a storyline where your all working a case (the reader is dating Spencer) and have a lead and you go to the suspect’s house and while there you get kidnapped when back at the BAU the team is trying to work out how to get you back and they get a ransom vid of you getting beaten (dark I know) so they all have to work faster and they find you but while you're taken can we see it from like Spencer’s POV and his thought process on your being gone. Anyways they find you and you’re like drugged majorly injured you wake up in hospital Spencer’s there and it’s fluffy at the end.I know that’s rough but I really love your writing and hope this is ok x

word count: 2,331                                                                                               reading time aprox: 8 mins

a/n: to whoever requested it, i kinda didn’t follow your format or ending. i’m really sorry to disappoint you, but i was writing the plot one way, then suddenly it took a turn. i hope you still enjoy it!

masterlist

Spencer’s POV

My eyes scanned the words in front of me, Charles Dickens displayed in between my hands. I hoped my thoughts would wander more as I explored the novel, taking my mind off of the case I worked previously.

Out of the blue, two soft hands appeared on my knotted hair, massaging the scalp tenderly. “Are you settling okay, my love? How was the case?”

I exhaled deeply, setting the book down beside me as I guided my best girl to my lap. I cushioned her to my side, nuzzling my nose into her shoulder.

“That bad, huh?” Y/N sympathized, trailing her fingers at the cut of my chin. I nodded into her, taking in her calming scent. She smelled of fresh daisies in the summer and the first layer of snow in the winter.

I lifted my head from hers, bringing my arm around her shoulders to pull her closer to me. I sighed in relief as a wave of calm brushed over me. “We were too late...we couldn’t get to one of the last hostages before the unsub.” I shook my head, taking her hand in mine. I examined the daintiness of her fingers, chuckling softly as I placed kisses upon each of them.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she whispered, nuzzling into me as we enjoyed each other’s presence. “Did you catch the unsub?”

“No...he got away last minute,” I sighed, running my hand over my face. “This unsub likes to make things personal. He only killed the last victim to mess with us.”

Silence infiltrated the conversation before it dived into the dark details of the case. The combined sounds of our breathing created a tranquil environment, lulling us to sleep with every second passed.

“I promise you Y/N...”

-

The shade of grey that covered the walls of the BAU prevented agents’ minds from meandering from their tasks. This proved quite effective in intended circumstances, although the caveat was the consequence of a disconcerted mind.

The film cast over my eyes exacerbated the existing burn from staring into space for too long. Although the sensation was unmatched for the void that consumed me from the inside. My limp fingers twitched beside me in a rhythmic pace, reminding me that this was real. My feet felt heavy against the granite tiles of the office, barely able to hold up the rest of my stature. I felt my muscles sag underneath my weight as the feeling of emptiness flooded from my torso to the knuckles of my hands.

“You be careful, Y/N!” I teased, watching as my lover’s silhouette disappeared into the elevator.

“Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone!”

I shook my head, amused at the incessant Marvel-themed references that had been thrown my way since our last movie night. “How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you.”

I hissed as I felt my nails dig into my palms. I hadn’t realized how hard I’d been clenching my fists until I looked down to see blood trailing around my nail bed. Shaking my head, I cleaned off the evidence against my slacks, watching it seep through the material.

“Guys?”

My head shot up to find Penelope typing away at her computer. Her brows were crossed with worry and her eyes would flicker frantically between her four monitors. The rest of the team seemed to follow me to her station, gazing with anticipation at what she discovered.

“What do you have Garcia?”

“I-um. I’m picking up a satellite feed somewhere in Danbury, Connecticut,” she spilled out, her fingers shaking over her keys. “Ther-there’s a livestream that just went active two minutes ago, an-and it’s...there’s-oh my god.” Penelope pushed herself away from her screens, tearing her eyes away as her face grew hot.

“Reid. Out.” Hotch demanded, not taking his eyes off the feed in front of him. JJ moved beside him, further blocking my view of the monitor. Her face contorted in shock and disgust, similar to the expression Garcia beheld moments ago.

“What...why?” I questioned, taking steps forward to investigate, but was ultimately stopped by Morgan. A coil wrapped around my insides, getting tighter with every breath that I took. The sides of my forehead began to warm up with a disorienting blaze, traveling down my eyelids. The fire followed down to the pit of my stomach, sending an uneasy chill down my spine.

“Kid…” he whispered, shaking his head in caution.

“What…” I breathed, feeling my cheeks swell up. Morgan couldn’t meet my eyes--none of them could. “God, it’s my girlfriend. I deserve to know where the hell she is,” I huffed, pushing past Morgan. Although the words were launched back into my esophagus, turning into bile that burned away at my pride.

A high-pitched ringing echoed and bounced around my head. My ears thumped with a resonating drum, overwhelming my senses. Every sharp intake of air felt like ice shooting up my nostrils, and every exhale felt like fire to my lungs.

Y/N was hunched over in a chair with braces around her wrists and ankles. Her beautiful hair was matted with dirt and blood, sticking to the sides of her face. Her skin was painted with a mixture of sweat and grime, hiding the usual radiant glow of her skin. Fortunately, the blurry pixels of the video saved me from witnessing the large gashes that ran along her flesh.

A man stood next to her with a Cheshire grin, his pervasive eyes scanning every inch of his work before breaking the fourth wall. He stared at the camera with a joyful gleam, tilting his head as he inspected the lenses.

“Spencer.” I imagined her call out. A phantom chant met my ears, remembering the softness in her voice and the soothing gravity she carried within her words.

“Spencer, stop it!” Y/N giggled, burying herself deeper into our duvet.

“Why baby?” I murmured into the crease of her neck. “We should just stay like this all day. Maybe if we stay long enough we can morph into a chrysalis.”

“Spencer,” she giggled. “Spence…”

“Spence?” JJ empathized, searching my eyes. She placed a hand on the outside of my arm, lingering there for a comforting moment. Although when she realized her attempts were futile, she retracted her arm with a tight frown on her lips. “I know that-”

“The feed is displaying audio now,” Garcia announced with a wavering tone. I slid past JJ, standing my ground next to Hotch as we listened to the livestream. Whimpers echoed throughout the concrete compound she was trapped in. Her body flinched as the man inched closer to her with an object out of view from the camera. The fear in her eyes left a sharp pang in my chest as a burning resentment ignited my bloodstream.

“Stop…” she whispered, pulling away from the man. “Stop...please,” she sobbed. Her face was contorted in anticipation, glancing down at the item creeping towards her. It was only then a glint of a metal object bounced off of the camera, a foreign substance leaking from its tip.

“Stop! Please!” Y/N’s voice amplified in volume as the inevitable came. “NO!” she screamed, thrashing in her seat as the needle penetrated the soft layer of her skin. “SPENCER! HELP!” she cried out, desperation seeping through her weeps.

A suffocating poison ran its course throughout my body, entrapping me in the limited reality of my abilities. I felt my inner conscious thrash against the walls of my mind, begging for an answer, a solution. I tore my eyes away from the screen, my hand unconsciously clawing at the base of my neck. Staggered breaths blocked my airway, and the room shrank under my feet.

I needed to get out.

I let my feet sweep me away from the office, as far as it takes. My back hit the cold wall of the eerie hallway, feeling the chill penetrate through my blazer. I closed my eyes as I banged on my forehead, hoping that the gears would start working, but nothing seemed to bring me assurance.

Nothing could assure that she’ll be okay. I failed her. I failed to assure her that I was going to keep her safe. I failed at keeping her safe. I failed her.

My heart was pulled against my spine, attached tethers tearing it apart in opposite directions. Contractions of adrenaline seeped into my nervous system as her anguished screams left the room silent behind me. It was like gravity had ceased to exist, leaving me floating in a mind-numbing state of desolation.

I failed her.  

“I’m always going to love you,” I reassured, tucking in a hair behind her ear as she swung her legs back and forth atop of the counter.

“Really Spence?” she giggled, bringing the spoonful of 3:00 am ice cream out of her mouth, dangling the utensil from the bottom of her plump lips.  “Prove it?”

“Darling, isn’t there a tub of ice cream--that I bought--in your hands?” I teased, tapping at my watch. “And last time I checked it’s the middle of the night.”

“Whatever,” she giggled, nudging at my shoulder. My hands traveled to the sides of her hips, pulling myself closer as I inspected the beautiful glow of the moonlight reflecting off of her visage. “I thought you were going to say something cute.”

“That wasn’t cute?”

“Not even close, Spencer Reid,” she mumbled, tapping on the end of my nose before taking my face into the softness in her hands. She playfully scoffed as we inspected each other’s eyes for what seemed like hours. My arms found their way around her waist, melting into her, as I lessened the gap between us.

“What is it?” I whispered, my eyes flickering from her eyes to the pigment on her lips. Closing in proximity, I nudged her into me. But before our lips could meet, a chuckle filled the air and a hand was placed above my chest.

“I...am out of ice cream.” With that, she scurried away to the fridge with a bounce in her step. I shook my head in amusement, whispering to myself.

“That girl’s damn lucky that I love her.”

Frenzied feet inside the office took me out of my daze, but it was the sound of soft steps approaching me that made my shoulders stiffen in anticipation. I collected my composure the best as I can, maintaining a brave face for whoever would walk into the doorframe.

I didn’t even bother to look up to see who it was. The figure’s footsteps halted beside the door frame, leather shoes in my peripheral. Without a moment of quiet, the figure stooped down with its back pressed lightly against the wall. Although despite the thick tension, the figure remained silent.

“You know I don’t always need company…” I murmured defensively.

“I know kid...I know,” Morgan huffed, bringing his hands to his head. “But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t have any.” He knocked his knee into mine, slinging an arm around my shoulders. “She’s going to be okay Spencer.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know that she’s strong,” Morgan countered. “You just gotta believe in tha-”

“Don’t- Don’t give me hope like I’m one of the victims we interview. I’m- I’m not a victim.” I nudged his large hand off of me, feeling confined in the big desolate hallway.

“I wasn’t saying you were-”

“But you implied it!” I combed through my hair, my lungs still sore from staggered breaths. “I’m...I’m sorry,” I sighed.

“I said I’m sorry!” I yelled, feeling my throat dry up from the venom dripping from my words.

“This is the third time, Spence. The THIRD time you came home late,” Y/N seethed.

“Who are you? My mother?”

“All I want is to know that you’re safe, Spencer! God! I wait here all day for you, knowing that you’re out there on the field, and something could happen. How does that make me feel?”

“This is ridiculous,” I shook my head, dismissing her ignorance. I headed towards my jacket that I strung up on the coat hanger a few minutes ago, not bothering to take my keys with me.

“Where...where are you going?” Y/N whispered.

I made the mistake of looking back and seeing the hurt present on her face. The apples of her cheeks were stained with tears, and her eyes were glistening with fresh ones. Her lips were parted ever so slightly, still looking plump and soft even in her distressed state.

“To work,” I monotonously replied, turning away from her. I shuffled out of the apartment with anger dominating every part of me, blinding me to the point where I guess I forgot to lock the door.

“I did this.”

Morgan’s head shot up at the utterance of my words. “What do you mean, kid?”

“I left her by herself...alone,” I scoffed. “We were fighting, and I just left her there. God, I didn’t even lock the door.” I rammed the back of my head against the plaster wall, squeezing my eyes tightly. “How can I be so stupid? Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

“Hey, stop that!” Morgan intervened, pulling my shoulders off of the wall. “You didn’t know that this was going to happen…”

“Yes, but I should’ve known, Morgan! Don’t you get it!”

“Spenc-”

“I had one job…” I sighed, the inner walls of my chest collapsing into themselves. “God I...I should’ve known.”

My head fell back into the curves of my palms, my tears shamelessly peeking out of the corners of my eyes. My chest heaved reluctantly, as my heart lurched forward. Heat crawled up my cheeks, combining with the coldness of the tears running down my face.

Morgan’s supporting hand felt like a phantom’s upon the skin of my back, knowing that nothing compared to the innocent touch of my Y/N.

-

“What is it, Spence?”

“I promise you that....that I’m always going to keep you safe, no matter what it takes.”

-

taglist: @rexorangecouny​ @howdycharlie @honeymilk-4​ @linthebinbag​ @andreasworlsboring101​ @ssareidbby​ @kyleetheeditor​ @tclaerh​ @jimilogy​ @lulwaxim @jhillio​ @m3ssytrash​ @haylaansmi​ @meowiemari​ @ashwarren32​ @spencerwaltergubler​

[earlgreydream]

florist.

| Zemo x reader | fluff | smut |

anon requested. Zemo is a mob boss and the reader is a cute little florist who is always happy and all and she is a virgin but Zemo is really experienced. The reader wants to try it, and Zemo asks her is she’s sure and then she wiggles a lot and Zemo asks is he can tie her up because we ✨kinky✨ and she agrees and then after they try it the reader loves it and then Zemo sings her bah bah black sheep as a lullaby after wards as he holds her in his arms

The sweet aroma of roses welcomed the dark mob boss with the bloody hands. It surrounded Zemo, delicate and familiar, much like you. The bell chimed as he pushed open the door to your shop, leather boots tapping on swept tile floors.

“I’ll be with you in a second!” You called, bent down behind the counter, looking for white ribbon to tie bouquets.

“No rush, darling,” Zemo spoke evenly.

At the sound of your boyfriend’s Sokovian accent, you stood up. His heart softened when you beamed at him, a bright smile crossing your face. He loved your cheerful demeanor and your sweet personality. You brought the scary criminal so much joy, balancing the darkness with your light.

“Hi,” you breathed, walking around to greet him properly.

“Hello my beautiful darling,” he kissed you deeply, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“What brings you here? I thought you had big important meetings?” You asked, sliding your hands into his blond hair and dragging him back to your lips before he could answer.

“I just wanted to see my girl,” Zemo murmured into your neck, adding to the fading love bites that were already there.

“I’m your girl,” you giggled happily, squealing as he lifted you to sit on the counter.

He squeezed your thighs, his hands resting just below the hem of your sundress. You pressed little kisses to his lips, delighted by him visiting you in your flower shop.

“I was hoping I could come over tonight?” You asked shyly, your fingers toying with the blonde hair at the nape of his neck.

He hummed thoughtfully against his forehead, thinking through the plans for the rest of the day. He supposed that he could send someone else to the deals, already shifting his schedule around in his head. Zemo loved to indulge your every whim and desire, even if it were as simple as being together.

“I’ll be there,” he kissed you, feeling you smile into it. It made his heart swell as he melted at your innocence. Your hands smoothed down over his blazer, feeling his well formed muscles under the fabric.

“I��ll take you home today.”

You smiled, enjoying being carted around in one of Zemo’s many fancy cars. Your scary, dangerous boyfriend was a stark contrast to you, the innocent, sweet florist. He loved to spoil you and treat you like his princess, and he was soft for you. You adored him, and even though he could be intimidating at times, he was always sweet to you.

“I have some people coming in to pick up bouquets. I’ll see you later?” You inquired, and he pecked your lips.

“Later,” Zemo’s voice was low.

You watched him go, returning to your work and finishing up bouquets for happy couples to pick up.

“Thank you!” You called after the last people left.

You flipped the sign on your door to ‘closed’ and started to put away everything that was left out. The sound of a sports car rolling up outside caught your attention, and you grabbed your bag.

You were so excited to be with Zemo that you struggled to lock the finicky door, laughing at yourself.

“Hi, my love,” you smiled, stepping into the car with white leather seats. Zemo took your bag and set it in the backseat, his hand going to rest on your thigh.

You were practically anxious with excitement. Zemo had been caught up in copious amounts of work recently, leaving little time for your relationship. You were far more innocent compared to him, and the two of you had been taking things slower. Now though, with him gone frequently, you wanted more intimacy when he was around.

Zemo carried your bag inside for you, his free hand tightly holding yours. You were pushing your boyfriend up against the wall as soon as he was out of his coat and shoes.

“Y/N?”

“I can’t wait any longer Zemo. I need you,” you informed him, your pupils dilating with lust.

“You have me,” he responded calmly, wanting to hear you say it.

“No, I want you inside me. I want to have sex, I want you to take my virginity!”

The corners of his lips turned up into a smile, but he was hesitant to just give in. You’d gone quite a long time preserving your innocence, and Zemo didn’t think you’d be best off losing it to him.

“Are you sure?” He questioned, entirely serious. He never once pressured you, and he didn’t want you to feel as though you had to give him your body.

“I am.”

You looked him in the eyes with utter certainty. His hand went to your waist, pulling you into a needy, passionate kiss. Your fingers tangled in his hair, and his hand traveled downward, gripping your ass through the thin fabric of a sundress.

Zemo swept you off your feet, carrying you to your bedroom. He couldn’t hold out anymore, you just looked so divine with your dazzling smile and tiny dress.

“I will do my best to be gentle, darling,” Zemo promised as he crawled over your now-nude body. Kisses had been pressed to every inch of your body, Zemo drawing out the foreplay to try to help you relax as much as possible.

“Please, I need you!” You writhed before he’d even touched your core.

He watched you squirm, even as he gently held you still. Zemo dipped down and kissed your collarbone, making you claw at his back.

“My sweet darling, you simply can’t hold still. Do I need to tie your hands up?” Zemo asked, teasingly nipping at your skin.

He was surprised when you nodded, willing to try it. You wanted your dominant boyfriend to exert his power over you, leading you and showing you pleasure.

He retrieved a silk tie, binding your hands to the intricate bedpost.

“Say the word and I’ll free you, darling.”

“Yes, Zemo. Just please fuck me, I want you so bad,” you begged, lightly tugging at the ties on your wrists.

He knelt between your legs, brushing the tip against your soaked folds. You shuddered when he tapped your swollen clit, a choked moan leaving your lips. You were practically throbbing with need, salivating from the sight of your well-endowed boyfriend.

He held your hips and carefully eased into you, studying your face. You gripped the silk that restrained you, startled by how painful it was. You expected it to hurt a bit, but not near as much as it was.

“Zemo!” You gasped with watery eyes.

“I know, darling. I’m so sorry, just try to relax. It’ll feel better in just a moment,” he promised apologetically, his heart aching at the threat of your tears.

Sweet kisses were pressed to your lips, and you were thankful for the security of the ties. Zemo’s fingers danced and stroked your clit, trying to get your body to ease up.

“Want me to untie you?”

“No, no, please, just move—” you gasped, arching your back as he rolled his hips forward.

He built up a steady pace as he fucked you, stretching your tight pussy and drawing pleasure from you. You were better than anyone in the past, taking him and begging for more as he pushed his cock inside of you.

“That’s it, darling, cry out for me,” he groaned, further aroused by the sound of you shouting his name.

“Zemo! Please, faster!”

He obliged you, increasing his pace. He felt himself twitch, getting close to the edge. He was mindful that this was your first time, and he focused on making you come first.

The blonde leaned down and wrapped his lips around your nipple, licking over the hyper-sensitive peak and nipping gently. Mewls escaped your lips and your body trembled at the combination of that, with the tight circles being traced on your swollen clit. Your walls caught on the veins of him, his tip brushing against every invisible, sensitive area inside of you.

You threw your head back and screamed as your body ignited with warmth, pleasure spreading through you like wildfire. Your hands yanked at the silk that kept you from touching him as you grappled for something to ground you.

The sight of your rapture had Zemo spilling into you, coming with a force that made your body shudder around him. Sokovian profanities echoed in your innocent ears, your chest rising and falling under his heady gaze.

“Zemo, I need to touch you,” you breathed, and your hands were freed.

You dragged your fingers through his damp hair, pulling the baron down to you. Your lips were captured in a heavy kiss, arms wrapping around your wrecked body.

After a bit of cleanup and adjustment, you settled into his lap, clad in one of his warm sweaters. Be gently rocked you, singing softly in Sokovian, bringing you down from the aftershocks of the intense sex.

[the-littlest-kojin]

Checking that my linkpearl is still clipped into my ear, I slowly ease myself through the open window, using my claws to cling to the wall, breaths careful and measured, permitting not a sound to escape.

Slowly lowering myself to the floor, I pad over to the one Garlean in the room, occupied with watching the door, and reach around him to cover his mouth with one of my hands, slitting his throat with the other.

Carefully lowering the body to the floor, I tap the linkpearl, signalling Danislav to begin his infiltration now that the last of the guards on the ceruleum storehouse have been dispatched.

Mentally tuning out his response, I exfiltrate through the window, listening for Liteo’s signal to begin the next stage of the attack.

Stowing my daggers in my belt, I grasp the handle of my gunblade and haul myself up to the roof with my free hand, crouching on the gutter, watching the street below.

Hearing my Queen’s go-ahead on the linkpearl, I drop down to the street below with a roar, right in front of a patrol, and lunge immediately at an armour-clad Garlean, cartridge loaded and ready to fire.

Deliberately hesitating to give the other members of the patrol a chance to call for reinforcements, I dispatch the unlucky leader of the group and leap to the ceiling, opposite the ceruleum storehouse, and begin sprinting, hearing the sounds of firearms and noticing sparks on the tiling as I run.

Carefully never fleeing far or fast enough to cause the soldiers to lose my trail, I lead them on a long chase, away from the city center and the rest of my Clan, but always being sure to turn and attack often enough that they consider me a threat.

As I nearly reach the city’s outer wall, only single-story houses around me, the grand Eagle’s Nest ahead, my linkpearl chimes and my Queen informs me that the mission has been completed.

Turning to finally attack my pursuers all-out, I pause as the linkpearl crackles with interference, before-

BOOM.

Reflexively, I squeeze my eyes shut as a pillar of vast white light swallows the centre of the city, eclipsing everything, a rush of sound and air knocking me off my feet, slamming me into the walls of a house, the masonry cracking with the impact.

I climb to my feet, desperately tapping the linkpearl, trying to reach Liteo, Danislav, anyone in my Clan, receiving only interference for my troubles.

The sound of a blade piercing flesh interrupts my desperate attempts to contact my people, and I look down, to find that a scared-looking Garlean, face knit with desperation, has driven his gunspear nearly a full fulm into my stomach. Dismissively, I break the haft with a twist of my hand and backhand him with the twisted metal shaft, his body colliding with a broken stone wall.

Trying again and again to contact Liteo, I barely notice as my legs give out, my knees folding and my vision starting to swim black.

Blood loss, I think to myself. Perhaps a concussion.

Taking stock of where I am in the city… In the remains of the city… I pull myself back to my feet and walk, slowly, the tip of my gunblade dragging the ground.

Long minutes pass, and I find myself at my house. Most of the walls have been blasted away. The top of the building is partially crystallised and shaped into long spikes, showing the power of the blast even this far from the city centre.

I will lay down. Liteo will know to look here.

Reaching out to unlock and open the door, it crumbles to rubble and ash at my touch. Huffing a laugh, I fall to my knees almost as soon as I cross the broken threshold.

Liteo. She was in the Castrum in the city centre.

My vision is gone. I blink to try to bring it back, but my eyelids feel so heavy.

I will sleep, for a time, and then I will go and find her.

The last thing I hear before blackness is a shocked gasp and my name from the doorway.

[xplrerdolan]

𝐁𝐀𝐃 𝐆𝐔𝐘 [ 𝘊𝘖𝘓𝘉𝘠 𝘉𝘙𝘖𝘊𝘒 ]

⤬ SUMMARY: Colby thinks he may have met the one. Amber is everything he’s ever wanted; he’s never been so in love before, he’s sure of it. And then he meets you—and suddenly, Amber’s once shining colors seem so dull. He knows it’s wrong, but the more he resists you, the more he wants you—and the more he hates himself for it. ➝ NOTE: this fic is written from Colby’s perspective.

⤬ WARNINGS: cisfem!reader, adultery, swearing, consumption of alcohol [reckless; in excess], smut, unprotected sex

⤬ WORD COUNT: 4.5k

⤬ DISCLAIMER: this is a work of fiction. i do not condone the act of cheating, and in no way is this fic meant to glorify or promote adultery.

© xplrer on Tumblr // asteriasyzygy on Wattpad

pinterest aesthetic board // spotify playlist

❋ ❋ ❋

I loved Amber—love her. I swear. Everything from her auburn hair and honey-brown eyes. She dazzled me when we first met, and I want to believe that those feelings are still there. They're just buried... really, really deep.

It was killing me; she was killing me, slowly and torturously. With her claws impaled in my ribs, still sinking, threatening to own every part of me—down to my last breath.

It was getting bad. Or maybe that's just what I'm telling myself to provide me some sense of comfort. "Getting bad" was an understatement; even "getting worse" didn't do it justice. The other night, I did something terrible—so far beyond bad or worse that my stomach clenched every time I thought about it.

For the first time in weeks, Amber and I got intimate. I wanted to remind myself of who I had fallen in love with a year ago. I wanted to pull myself out of the mess I'd made; I wanted to pull Amber right back into my arms and lock her there tight.

We fucked in the dark—my first mistake. My second: I fucked her from behind. Hearing her moans, which normally drove me wild, was making me soft inside her. I didn't give her time to notice. I did the only thing I could do. I twirled her hair around my fingers and pulled her back, lifting her upper body off the mattress toward me. I brought my other hand to her mouth and silenced her. She perceived this as an act of dominance, not of shame.

I screwed my eyes up tight and thought of her. The mere memory of her sent blood coursing through my groin again, making me rock-hard inside of Amber. I focused on the wisps of her image that flashed through my mind as I chased my orgasm so it could all be over.

In the midst of my euphoria, I nearly called out her name—[Y/N]. I felt it teasing the tip of my tongue before I swallowed it forcefully, her name swelling in my throat and choking me. Tears rose to my eyes and I pulled out of Amber quickly, the evidence of my crime mocking me from inside the condom. I pulled it off me in disgust, flinging it towards the trash can and probably missing.

Amber—bless her heart—started to comfort me. "Baby, don't worry," she said softly, pulling my hands away from my face. "Don't be so hard on yourself. It's been a while. I didn't expect you to last long. Besides, I enjoyed myself while it did."

Her smile was so sweet. It took everything in me to not break down right there. I pulled her in for a tight hug to hide my face. I held my breath until the burning feeling in my nose went away and my tears dried. I kissed her cheek, fighting the bile rising in my throat as I did so. It's not that she disgusted me—I disgusted myself.

Without a word I stood from the bed and went to the shower. I turned the tap all the way to the left, the water quickly becoming scalding hot. I forced myself to stand under it, my back arching away from the heat as it assaulted my body. I grimaced as I endured my self-inflicted punishment, grabbing a bar of soap and scrubbing at my skin desperately. I wanted to wash her away. I wanted to remove the layer of skin she corrupted. Twenty minutes and half a bar of soap later, I resigned myself to the fact that it wasn't working. When I stepped out of the shower, my skin was a stark red.

I tried to remember all the pain of that night as I drove to her house for what I promised myself would be the last time.

❋

I didn't tell her that I was going over there to talk. I just told her I was coming over. To be completely honest, I told her instead of asking to feel like I had some control over the situation knowing I didn't. From the moment I'd met her, she had me wrapped around her finger, tucked neatly under that silver and amethyst ring she wore on her left middle finger—the one I'd first complimented her on when we met.

My fingers curled around the steering wheel in response to the flood of memories from that night; her little black dress, shamelessly flaunting her body; her body, the source of my hypnosis, my obsession. Even among a slew of memories I wish I'd never made, I savored the image of her body—covered, uncovered; coated in sweat as we fucked in the backseat of my car, drenched in water as I fucked her against the tile walls in her shower.

That night, she'd walked right up to me and snatched the red-solo cup right out of my hands before taking a long, deep drink from it. In fact, she drained it. The amethyst in her ring glittered as she handed my cup back to me, and since I was already pretty drunk, I didn't pay any mind to the sheer audacity of her careless, crass actions. Looking back on it now made me puff out a dry laugh and shake my head at myself. Our very first interaction was a red flag—[Y/N] took what she wanted when she wanted, and once she got what she wanted, she discarded what she didn't.

If I could go back, I'd say, "Get the fuck away from me." But hindsight is 20/20, and that's not what I said. On my way to incoherence at the hand of alcohol, I slurred at her, "Ni—cool, uh... thingy."

Couldn't decide on an adjective, couldn't remember the noun. Completely helpless in her presence from the first moment. And just like every other time she left me helpless, she just giggled at me for it. She found it funny, the effect she had on everyone around her. Everyone—men, women, nonbinary people, regardless of their sexuality or how attracted they were to her sexually. Every person she touched or talked to or smiled at was instantly inclined to like her. She was the kind of person who made you insecure in your own desirability—not just sexually, but whether people desired to be around you, and if people desired to be your friend. She was the kind of person you craved approval from. You could beg her for it with your eyes, try to get her to say it out loud, but she never budged. She left you hanging, dangling in front of her judiciary stare.

Imagine what happens when a person like that decides she wants more than just the drink in your cup? more than the shirt off your back? more than what you have to give? Here I am, the remnants of an answer.

She informed me that the thingy on her finger was a ring. She held her hand out, fingers sprawled, palm down. Innocently (ignorantly) I held her fingers in mine and gently twisted them, just barely turning them to the left and right, to watch the crystal glitter. Its edges were jagged, the rock as sharp and raw as her sense of humor. I traced the swirls of smoky purple with my eyes, squinting to really focus.

She humored me as I was clearly very drunk. She was feeling the buzz from the drink she'd stolen from me, and she was keen to catch up. When Tara, who had brought her to the party, walked up to her with a cup filled one-third of the way with brown liquor, which I could see from the shadow against the plastic, she was only too happy to take it with her free hand and immediately chug its contents. Rather than cringing from the taste, she stood before me with her eyes closed, humming. I stared at her in awe, my attention ripped away from her shiny ring while my fingers were still wrapped around hers. I only snapped back to reality when she pulled her hand from mine and gently pushed up against my chin to make me close my mouth.

After my mouth was closed, her fingers lingered on my skin, and subtly—quick enough for no one else to notice—she trailed her thumb over my bottom lip. She told me later that she liked the way it always made me look a little pouty, even when I smile. I had a feeling it only did that around her—when I was reduced to a beggar.

Stopped at a red light, I looked into the rear-view mirror and examined my lower lip. I ran my fingers over it, exactly where hers had been, and heaved a sigh through my nose. I could never look at my own lips the same way again.

I remember that I'd tried to tell her I had a girlfriend; I'd giggled it out, sounding like a little boy about to do something his mom had told him not to. Rather than backing off, she only seemed that much more interested. She didn't like being told she couldn't have something. And she'd take it anyway, just to prove she could, just to spite the rules.

She got off on the idea of making a loyal man disloyal. Whether it was to prove there was no such thing as a loyal man or to prove that she could get anyone she wanted no matter the circumstance, I don't even think she could say. It might be a little bit of both.

As I pulled onto her street, I solemnly admitted to myself that she'd done more than prove both, even with me walking away today. Walking away today didn't negate that I'd walked toward her before. The memory of the first time I met her was often revisited with anger; anger directed at her. Until now, I'd blamed her for my actions. But she hadn't been in that bedroom a few nights ago. She hadn't replaced Amber with herself, I did.

I knocked on her door twice. She called back to give her a second, and I could hear her music playing in the background. When she reached the door, she swung it open and posed in the doorway.

An involuntary whine came from the back of my throat, feeling briefly lightheaded as the blood in my body redirected south. I peered down at her over the bridge of my nose as if tipping my head away from her would make her any less irresistible.

She stood before me, dressed only in lingerie. The lacy ensemble was a bright cherry red, the color stark against her beautiful skin. The bralette cupped her breasts as if it were made for her body—and knowing [Y/N]'s tastes, it probably was made for her. The lace detailing continued down over her ribs, and a satin bow rested at the base of her cleavage. The matching panties came up to her waist, and a bow matching the one on her bra sat just under her bellybutton. They were incredibly simple, but her beauty and grace made them seem intricate and complex. What really killed me was the matching sheer boudoir robe, with its satin belt tied around her waist, emphasizing her curves, and its faux-fur trim surrounding her like a demonic aura.

She took my resistance for teasing, giggling at me—or maybe she could see right through me, and she knew I was desperately trying to resist her. And maybe she planned to dress as she had just to ruin me.

But truthfully, that's exactly what it did. And because I'd already accepted that I was a pathetic, weak bastard, I let my resolve crumble. One last time, I thought firmly. One last time and then it's over.

I brought my left hand to her waist, the satin belt feeling like heaven against my fingertips, and pushed her back into her foyer and shut her door, pretending for the moment that she was mine. She was mine and she wanted me as much as I wanted her, and she didn't want anyone else.

My hands moved up to cup her face, my thumbs tracing over her jawline. My eyes roamed her face freely, looking over her features as though I hadn't memorized them already, as if they weren't stained on the backs of my eyelids. Her gaze steadily met mine, a twinkle dancing in her eyes like she knew just how much power she had over me. She knew how weak I was for her.

For fuck's sake, she hadn't even touched me yet and I was already drunk on her. She'd left me breathless with just a look; she'd stolen whatever fragmented sense of control I had left without so much as a "hello."

Somewhere between wallowing in self-hatred and drowning in lust, I pressed my lips against hers, welcoming the sweet torture. Her lips felt softer than the satin draped over her waist. My hands started exploring her body, pushing past her robe to grab at her ass over her panties. While the feeling of it was enough to send a thrill through my lower abdomen, nothing brought me more euphoria than hearing her respond to my touch.

Her moans sent me out of my body; the only thing I cared about was her pleasure and being the source of it. My fingers pushed the red lace to the side before properly gripping the plump flesh, massaging it gently the way I knew she liked. It pleased her enough to earn her fingers raking through my hair, tugging on the little hairs at the base of my neck to make me whine.

It pained me that she had found that sensitive spot of mine in the few weeks we'd been sneaking around while Amber still hadn't found it after a year. My eyebrows knitted together, and I pulled [Y/N] tighter against my body, savoring these last moments of true satisfaction. The friction between our bodies made me harder than Amber had made me in months. Among the embers of my burning lust flared the searing heat of self-hatred; indulging in her made me a masochist to my own sadism.

I guided her backward through her hallways, the route all too familiar. We stumbled into her bedroom, making sure to lock the door—hiding from even the pictures on the wall.

On a less significant day, I'd be ravishing her. But, as I reminded myself sternly, this would be the last day I spent with her—I had to savor it. Despite telling myself that over and over again, the reality of it hit me hard at that moment. I felt myself choke on the emotion, my body betraying me as I felt tears prick at my eyes.

I refused to allow [Y/N] to see it. I turned her around, facing away from me, and gathered myself. While I calmed myself down, I slowly trailed my fingers over her sheer robe from her wrist up to her shoulders, raising goosebumps along her skin. I focused all of my energy on disrobing her, not letting a fraction of my attention slip elsewhere—especially not toward inconvenient, intrusive emotions.

My hands moved to caress the bare skin of her chest, just above her gorgeous breasts. They traveled south over her bust and then settled on the delicate bow holding the garment together. I undid the bow gently, taking my time loosening it. I could tell she wanted me to hurry—she sighed and pressed herself against me—but, just this once, I was going to indulge myself first.

I shushed her softly, drawing the sound out as I brought my mouth next to her ear. I whispered to her, "I'm going to take my sweet time having my way with you today."

She shivered against me, my breath fanning over her sensitive skin tickling it just right. She chuckled softly, an amused smile stretching over her face. She then clicked her tongue and cast a gaze over her shoulder, considering me briefly. Apparently, she decided to play along; her body relaxed against me, allowing me to control the pace.

I carried on with my actions, pulling the garment off at a painstakingly slow pace before draping it over a chair in the corner of her room. Her stillness made her look statuesque; I wouldn't be surprised if she turned to stone right before me, proving to be some artist's rendition of perfection.

"Lay down for me, on your back," I ordered.

She complied. If I didn't know any better, I might feel like I had some control over her, like she was naturally submissive. But the truth was [Y/N] merely allowed others to feel dominant; we both knew it was me who followed her, not the other way around. But for the moment, it was nice that the cat humored her mouse.

I crawled across the bed, pausing to hover over her and steal a kiss. Before I pulled away, she tugged at my shirt by the hem, wordlessly commanding me to remove it. I pulled it over my head by the neck, tossing it haphazardly to the floor. I leaned over her again, my hands on either side of her head, my arms outstretched.

She trailed her nails softly over my arms—always careful to not leave marks—before resting them on the back of my neck, pulling me down toward her again. She kissed me then like I'd never been kissed before: with a gentle passion, a soft intensity. She must have known—somehow, she must've.

When she pulled away from me, I lingered above her with my eyes closed, still processing the complex emotions she stirred in me. As I contemplated this, she pressed another kiss to my lips, this time quick and succinct, a little peck. It was enough to ground me back in reality.

I moved down her body, trailing open-mouthed kisses across her skin. I watched as her chest began to rise and fall faster the closer I got to her core, feeling more pleasure from causing her arousal than I'd felt in my entire relationship with Amber.

I situated myself between her legs, scooping my arms under them so they rested on my shoulders. She shot me a confused glance as I had yet to remove her panties, making me smirk. I blew softly over her covered core, a sensation that would do little more than tease her. She sighed again, a wry smile on her face. I was staying true to my word of taking my time with her.

I closed my mouth over her center, pressing my tongue against it to dampen the lace and taunt her with a feeling just on the cusp of pleasure. I sucked the cloth into my mouth, drenching it further, making sure it just barely grazed her most sensitive spot. She moaned, the sound a mix between pleasure and frustration. She ground her hips toward me, seeking more from me. I felt drunk on her desperation and wanted to feel more of it. I brought my hands to her hips and held them down, continuing her slow torture.

She balled her fists in the sheets, pouty moans falling past her lips. I felt her resist the pressure I placed on her hips, but I wasn't ready to give into her. I delivered a sharp, quick smack to her outer thigh. She gasped, relaxed into me, and let out a low moan.

After another minute of making her endure my teasing, I pushed myself up on my elbows to pull her panties off, earning a sigh of relief from her. I returned to my position and pressed kisses to her skin—along her thighs, in the crevices where her legs met her hips, and all over her mound. Finally, I kissed along her lower lips, starting at the very base and working my way up to the place she needed me most.

I settled my attention on her clit, slowly swirling my tongue around it, earning the tiniest moan from her. I then sucked the bundle of nerves into my mouth to further stimulate her, watching her back arch slightly and pull even harder at the sheets.

I couldn't stop watching her reactions. I felt myself growing impossibly harder at the sound of her moans, the head of my cock starting to throb. I lapped at her ambrosial juices, my tongue roaming the entirety of her pussy. She really started to squirm for me when I slipped my tongue into her, curling it up each time it entered her. After teasing her with my tongue, I brought it back to her clit and moved my left hand to finger her with my middle and ring fingers, sucking on the hardened bundle of nerves while my fingers pumped in and out of her.

At this point, her fingers were in my hair and her legs trembled around my head. She moaned my name in pleasure over and over, seemingly incapable of saying anything else. Her head was tipped back into the pillows, her back arched dramatically. I brought her closer and closer to her orgasm, my eyes trained on her writhing figure, enjoying the view immensely.

It didn't take long for her walls to start clenching around my fingers, a feeling that made my dick twitch in anticipation. I sped my fingers up, curling them up to tease the most sensitive part within her. Her voice broke off as she reached her peak, her hips grinding against my mouth desperately. My fingers worked through her high, slowing down as her body relaxed again. I lapped at her folds for a few moments longer, just enjoying the taste. When she looked down at me again, her eyes were filled with lust and affection.

When I crawled over her again, I pressed my lips against hers in a long, sensual kiss. I felt her push against my chest, wanting me to lay back so she could return the favor, but guilt weighed heavily in my stomach at the thought. As badly as I wanted it, I truly did not deserve it, and I would rather feel regret and longing than even deeper guilt. I chuckled into her mouth softly and shook my head.

"I can't wait any longer," I lied, pulling her bottom lip between my teeth. She moaned softly at my words, her nails scratching lightly over my chest.

I pulled away from her to finish undressing. I kept my eyes on hers, watching her reaction as my cock slapped against my lower abdomen, feeling a rush of lust as she subconsciously bit her lip. I attempted to crawl over her again, but she shook her head, sitting up.

"I wanna ride you," she purred. Another wave of lust washed over me, making me moan softly. I laid back against her pillows and watched her straddle me.

She leaned down to kiss me, grinding her dripping pussy over my shaft as she did so. A strangled moan escaped me; finally getting the attention I'd been craving was enough to make me quiver under her touch. She teased me like that for a while, working me up even more—the sweetest torture.

Finally, she allowed me to slip into her, my eyes rolling back into my skull at the feeling. She let out an erotic moan, the sound mixing with my own gasps of pleasure. I gripped her hips as she worked them over me. My eyes lazily trailed over her body, drinking in the sight of her gorgeous body.

She placed her hand under my chin and lifted my gaze up to meet hers. When our eyes locked, my heart stuttered in my chest. We held eye contact for a long moment, long enough that I felt myself unravel beneath her.

Then, she smirked down at me, a little giggle slipping past her lips. It was incredible how she could do so much to me while doing so little. I flipped our positions, surprising her, making her giggle more. I couldn't hold back a chuckle and a wide smile myself. I swooped down to kiss her before working my hips against hers, the feeling of her pussy around me making my mind go almost completely blank.

In fact, horrible as it was, the only thing on my mind was how much better it felt to be with [Y/N] than Amber.

I dipped my head down, biting marks into her neck—a luxury she could afford. She tugged on my hair, hard; it was the only thing she could do without leaving any evidence behind. I shut my eyes tight, trying to push the image and memory of Amber from my mind at this moment, focusing only on the woman underneath me.

I brought a hand up to grab a fistful of her hair, tugging on it to expose more of her neck to me. I sped up the rhythm of my thrusts, my teeth grazing against her sensitive skin. I felt my orgasm approaching, so I brought my thumb to her clit and rubbed it vigorously, wanting to feel her clench around me one last time.

I knew her body well enough to make it happen. Not even a minute later, the walls of her pussy fluttered around my cock, a stuttering, breathy moan escaping her. The way her legs trembled around me and her hips rolled up to meet mine sent me over the edge, making me cum harder than I'd ever cum before.

I rested inside of her after the fact, my head nestled in the crook of her neck. She played with my hair, humming contentedly as she gave me a moment to collect myself. When I finally did pull out of her, I reached over for the baby wipes she keeps on her nightstand, cleaning myself and her up carefully.

I laid back, opening my arms to her. She curled up next to me, laying her head on my chest. I stayed silent for a few moments, trying to enjoy my last few moments of peace for what they were—the calm before the storm.

When I took a deep breath, [Y/N] already knew what was coming. I explained my feelings to her in as little detail as possible—I was too ashamed to admit to her that I'd been replacing Amber with her in my mind, but I suspected she already knew.

I left her fifty bucks for a Plan B, kissed her once more, and left her house for the last time.

[fragmented-desire]

[ ginger ]

[ Memory Prompts ] - Closed

(( This memory is EXTREMELY long. ))

The flow and ebb of the unending dark and negative energy pulsed and hummed idly in the air, a reminder of that hellish space they called home. The soft click of open heels on obsidian tiles echoed through the dead space, occasionally broken by the sidesteps of lesser devils and dregs of the Dark Area. The hold that cradled and supported the Rookie was gentle and tender, and the smell was reminiscent of floral perfumes and candles. Attached to the beautiful, albeit veiled visage of the woman carrying her, it was comforting as she escorted her like an infant down the halls and through the grand double doors into the meeting chambers.

In the room's center along the outer edges of a lengthy table with a map overlaid, stoic and imposing figures all discussed tactics and plans for battle with a particular Lord at the head of it all, bearing a soft, yet commanding tone that immediately silenced and demanded respect of those in attendance.

"That will not be necessary, Guardian of Greed. Merely continue as necessary in the West until the situation changes. At this crucial stage of the effort, I will not have it all fall apart because someone moves out of line, that includes you, and that Prideful child."

A wizened old man with a golden mask bowed his head, albeit with a scoff, followed by a low, defiant growl of a figure in dark leathers, three crimson eyes staring to the apparent head of this meeting as clawed fingers tapped the table's edge.

"All this meandering and aimless skirmishing feels pointless, Olson. And you know how much I don't care for unfair slaughter of weaklings. How much longer does this need to continue before we can get to the point of all this?"

The Lord of Wrath glanced out from behind his dark helm and sighed, arms behind his back. "Be patient, warrior. You'll have your point. But for us to reach it, a grand cataclysm of sorts must needs be brought about. Thus, we--..."

His words stopped suddenly at the slight clearing of the woman's throat who'd stood patiently near the entryway, the bat Rookie in her arms half-awake following a deal of activity. The room went silent, all eyes falling upon the Lady. Olson locked gazes with his mistress for a lengthy period before waving a dismissive hand to all in attendance. "...You have your orders. Follow them for now. It will all pay off in due time. Go."

With little in the way of complaints, one-by-one, the various Lords departed in puffs of black mist, leaving the three alone in the empty chamber. Silence again filled the air before the woman, without much thought paced around the table with a huff. "You seemed almost too eager to call an end to that meeting...~"

There was another moment of nothing from the imposing, crimson-armored male, then a quiet hum, his heavy footfalls carrying him to the other end of the room to the balcony overlooking his territory beyond the fortress. To see over the fields violet crystal spires that dotted the landscape, or the glass-like sphere that rounded the domain as a whole, the woman falling in a bit behind him with the child in-tow.

"...I'm prepared to bear the burdens of the childish whims and impulses of the other of the Seven and whatever else may come to see our dreams be realized. But this war organizing and politics grows...tiring..." With an amused, sultry chuckle, the womon ran gold-tipped claws over his bicep, presenting the DemiVyremon to him.

"Speaking of, don't you think you spending some time with your actual child is overdue? She's had a long day, I'm sure she'd like to have her father spend at least the last few hours of it with her before bed..."

His obscured gaze peered down at the Rookie, and their large, crimson eyes peeked up at him in turn with a sleepy blink, their little claws rubbing at their tired eyes with a soft yawn. Hesitantly, a large, clawed gauntlet extended a finger to weakly scritch along their fuzzy cheek.

"...Surely your...softer nature and touch is better suited, no? Despite the airs I put on here...all I know how to do is break and damage what I touch. Besides, I've...no time. If left totally unattended, then the others..." He mumbled out, finger ceasing motion as the Rookie's wings lifted in a stretch, then folded their membrane arms around his massive hand, not even coming close to covering it. With a series of chittering squeaks, DemiVyremon's cheek pressed into his palm warmly in a slow rub, and the Demon Lord halted all words to stare. The woman's lips decorated in black lipstick curled into a pleased, soft smile.

"Well, seems she's made up her mind..." Her free hand reached to cup the side of his head, hidden as it was beneath the layer of Digizoid Chrome. The look she gave behind that silver-trimmed black veil was sympathetic and sweet, something uncharacteristic of one bearing her titles. "This war's gone on for decades. You can miss a few hours of it. You should take every moment with her you are able while she's still young."

Olson shook his head slowly, already trying to protest. "But then, who will--"

Once more she halted him with a soft series of shushing sounds, lowering her fingers to his other arm, guiding it to take the bat Digimon from her. "Shhhh-shh-shhhhhh. I can contend with the naughty children and old fools. Spend time with your daughter. She needs you more~." Sliding her claws from him and ensuring the task of holding the Rookie was securely transferred over, she stepped back and pressed back into the marble railing of the balcony, then dispersing in a cloud of bats that flittered and flew into the endless night, leaving them alone.

Silence overtook them once more as now there were two. He found himself staring out into the distance where his partner vanished, only to hear the soft whine of the little one in his arms demand his attention with a gentle pout. "Daddy...helmet scary..."

"My helmet...I see..." He replied softly, letting that statement linger for a short while before at last, with a weary sigh, using his left hand to lift and remove the menacing visage of the crimson helm, resting it on the balcony rail. His softer, albeit dark, shadowed features took time to manifest and adjust to being exposed, piercing, ghostly white eyes without pupils staring down at her. What might be described as 'hair' was but wispy strands of black dust that formed a general, mid-length shape suggesting such. "Is this more suitable then?"

For as conventionally unnatural and unsettling as his features were, this seemed to calm the little one. Enough for her to nod and scramble up his body, climbing her way to settle on his shoulder. "Can you...read for me again...? We never finished our story last time..." This request was almost pleading in tone, emphasized with a few spritely bounces on his pauldron. With little more than a brief blink, he carried them through the room, leading them to the edge where with a snap of his fingers, dark velvet recliner manifested itself in a brief flash. He turned and settled his bulky frame into the cushioned seat, pulling her into his lap while in his off-hand a small, red tome appeared.

"...We left off at...?" He began, his child with an impatient tapping of her talons at his arms excitedly replying, "The princess was sitting in the field with the monster!"

"Ah, yes, how could I forget. Let's see..."

-----------

As his low, nearly-whisper level voice read the tale of a maiden discovering the heart that laid within what seemed to be an angry, lonely beast, minutes passed, and minutes became hours. By the time he'd finished, he'd only just noticed that she'd long since dozed off, curled into a ball against his stomach with the slow rise and fall of her tiny breaths between gentle squeaks. Sighing, he closed the book softly to set it aside, delicately dragging his finger along her cheek in a slow, idle caress.

"Sound asleep...like you don't have a care in the world at all. Right, little one?" His tone, albeit just as calm and soft as ever sounded...somber, even...guilty. He allowed his full palm to rub tenderly over her sleeping head, resulting in her unconscious form smiling softly, nuzzling into his armored form. Something in his dead, cold form...ached at that moment. Made him briefly tense and shudder. Something of a realization came...or rather, he was reminded.

"...That's right. That's why I must succeed. For a world where you will never have to worry...my little Vyre..."

[bunnyprincesshours]

the V word / NCT

TaeyongxFem!Reader

Genre: boyfriend!Taeyong, non-idol!AU, fluff, smut

Word count: 5k

Warning: sexual themes, smut, loss of virginity, and profanities

A/N: reposted from my old blog (that is in the process of being deleted)

Romance isn’t always intense and passionate. Sometimes it’s shy and awkward. 

“Hey Taeyong.”

“Yes cutie?”

“Are you a virgin?”

Halting all movements, your boyfriend looks up from the gaming device in his hands, and you hear descending notes fill the sudden silence as his character dies. It’s a lazy day for you and Taeyong, with him playing games on his Nintendo switch and you just playing around with your phone. You didn’t intend to be so abrupt with the question, but you had been in one of your internet spirals where one search leads you down a rabbit hole of tangents.

You were transfixed on this article about a couple who decided to wait until marriage, which happened to be in their thirties, when it suddenly made you think about your own relationship. Having only dated each other for almost 4 months, sex isn’t something that either of you had brought to the table yet. You’re not trying to rush it, or even hint anything to him, by asking the question. It’s all pure curiosity. You won’t be surprised if he has; he’s very good looking after all. But it didn’t hurt to ask, right?

“I, uhm,” Taeyong clears his throat, suddenly very uncomfortable as he puts his game on pause, “are you?”

You look at him suspiciously, putting your phone aside as you retort, “I asked first.”

“And I asked second.”

“Babe,” you give him a pointed look. Watching something uncomfortable settle into his features,  Taeyong carefully puts his device aside, before sitting up and turning to you. There’s a hesitance shining on his lips, tongue swiping across them like he’s suddenly parched, and you remain leaning against his pillows, waiting for his answer.

“No,” he sighs with a smile, “I’m not.”

“Oh,” you blink, “okay.” Though you claim to be fine either way, you somehow hoped he hasn’t yet - you think you just got carried away by the article you were reading.

“What about you?” he asks quietly, resting a hand on your knee and trying not to be awkward about the conversation.

You aren’t at all embarrassed about still being a virgin, never once feeling as though you’re missing out on something. But sitting in front of Taeyong, and trying to imagine how he’d react, makes you kind of nervous. Which is stupid, because you trust your boyfriend and you know he won’t make a big deal out of it when you tell him.

“I, uhm,” you bite down on your lip as you look away, “Yeah, I am.”

“Oh,” he blinks “Okay.”

There’s a heavy pause, and embarrassment overtakes you when Taeyong does nothing to fill the sudden hole in the conversation. “I’m so sorry,” you chuckle uneasily, “I’ve made it awkward haven’t I?”

“What? No, no way,” Taeyong’s hand travels to hold yours, intertwining your fingers together, “I was just thinking to myself.”

“Look, I’m really not trying to pressure you into anything,” you sit up, scooting next to him to lean your chin on his shoulder, “I was reading this dumb article and I guess I just got curious.”

“It’s fine, honestly,” Taeyong smiles softly, “It’s probably good that we’re open about this stuff.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he pecks the tip of your nose. And you smile warmly at Taeyong, glad he isn’t being weird about this. But as you sink back on his pillows, grabbing your phone to resume your reading, you’re keenly aware of his stillness when Taeyong doesn’t immediately resume his game. You stare at him,  from behind your phone, only to find his eyes already trained on you.

“Can I ask a question?” You nod. “Is there a reason you haven’t yet?”

“Oh, um,” you frown, thinking to yourself.

It’s not as though you’re saving yourself for marriage - that kind of mentality has never been enforced by your family or your friends. But it’s more that you haven’t had the chance. Your first boyfriend was in high school, and that was only because his best friend had been dating your best friend at the time. You simply just weren’t ready yet with your second boyfriend. And your third boyfriend only lasted about 2 months before he had to fly back to Japan.

“I guess I just haven’t had the chance,” you shrug nonchalantly.

“Have you done other stuff before?” Taeyong tilts his head to the side curiously, his hair hanging askew, eyes blinking at you in curiosity.

“Like?”

“You know,” he does a weird gesture with his hands, coiling it into a loose fist, lazily replicating a handjob, “other stuff.”

“If you’re asking if I’ve touched a penis before then yes, I have,” you chuckle, trying not to cringe at his hand gesture. Taeyong blushes to himself, laughing with you as he didn’t anticipate you to be open about this.

“It’s okay, I’m not completely clueless,” you smirk, before looking back down at your phone, only just missing the quirk in Taeyong’s eyes as he resumes his attention to his game.

In your mind, it was nothing but an innocently curious conversation, but it seems that Taeyong understood it as a hint. Day by day, you notice him becoming more and more handsy with you, palms smoothing across the dips and curves of your body that have only ever been explored by past lovers. He always wants to hold you close, always keeping a hand either at your hip, at your waist, in your hand, sometimes even on your butt. You certainly don’t mind, but you can’t help but think about how Taeyong never used to be big on PDA. Something changed in him, and you can only assume, due to the timing of it all, that it started with that conversation.

“Hey Taeyong” you smirk to yourself.

“Yes gorgeous?”

“What’cha doing there bud?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he looks at you innocently, although his hand is comfortably gripping your ass as you cook dinner at Ten’s place. Your mutual friend invited both of you over for a quiet meal, but also to introduce you to his new dog Chichi. Chichi is a Jack Russell Terrier who’s somehow sassier than Ten is; truly a match made in heaven.

But as you stir the sauce for the spaghetti, Taeyong gets into one of his moods again. He ghosts behind you, standing close to your body as his hands wander over your hips, massaging up and down while planting a colony of kisses on your shoulder and neck.

“Taeyong, I’m serious, you can’t do this here,” you bite down on your lip, trying to concentrate on the dish in front of you.

“Do what?” he asks softly, like he isn’t almost pressing his crotch against your ass. Feeling his hands moving over your hips, Taeyong reaches around to your front and barely grazes the zip of your jeans. You’re about to tell him to cut it out when he presses against you, into you, the force pushing you flush against the kitchen counter. A little gasp shoots out of your mouth in surprise, and for a moment you don’t want him to stop.

He kisses your neck softly, teasingly, and your grip around the wooden spatula tightens. You clamp your lips shut as a pleasured sigh attempts to escape. Your lids fall heavy as Taeyong’s hands climb up to the waistband of your jeans, breath hitching as his fingertips dance up and underneath your shirt, making shy contact with your stomach. There’s a feeling of urgency as Taeyong’s other hand toys with the button of your jeans. And when you can’t control the desire anymore, you give in and let the spatula lean against the inside of the pot, before turning in your boyfriend’s arms to face him.

Immediately, your lips are sealed with a kiss. He feels it too, the surge of this sudden, violent, need. If you aren’t so clouded by lust, you wouldn’t be actively making this decision. But there’s a voice in your head convincing you that you need this, and you need it now. You let Taeyong’s hands tug you by the hips, before feeling them slipping up under your shirt, grazing your stomach before cupping your breasts. You gasp as you feel his thumb slipping into your bra, swiping against your hardened nipple. The excitement pools in-between your legs, whining as he renders you into a mess of sighs and moans. 

Ten could come back from the grocery store any minute, but you don’t seem to really care at this moment. Your own hands claw over Taeyong’s chest before resting at the back of his neck, pulling him closer to deepen this heated make out session. Hearing a light tapping noise on the tile floor of the kitchen, you pay it no mind as Taeyong starts to trail kisses down to your neck. Feeling him sucking on your sweet spot, you gasp as he grabs your right knee and lifts it up, pressing himself closer into you, trying to let you know how eager he is for this.

As your head lulls back, mouth choking out a quiet moan, Taeyong begins to slowly grind against your jeans, his kisses making you wetter. You tilt your neck aside to let him access more of your skin. But when you do, you spot, through half-lidded eyes, Chichi staring at you curiously. Her head is titled comically, her eyes looking directly into yours; almost as if she knows what you’re about to do and she’s judging you.

You tap Taeyong’s shoulder, but when you only get a gruff response in return, you shake him off. He lifts his head up to look at you questioningly, and when he does, you just point to the small dog behind him. Looking over his shoulder, Taeyong notices Chichi, but apparently not in the same manner that you did.

“So what?” he chuckles “She’s just the dog.”

“Yeah, and she’s watching us!”

“It’s not like she knows.”

“We don’t know that!” you reason. Taeyong fights back his chuckle, trying to understand your logic. But he fails miserably and ends up laughing against your shoulder, trying to muffle his amusement. You hit him playfully, “It’s not funny! Chichi was like, staring in my soul.”

“She was what?”

“Look at her!”

Looking over his shoulder again, Taeyong just finds Chichi staring cutely with her head titled to the side. He turns back to you with confused smile, finding nothing remotely irksome about the small creature. “Sweetie she’s just staring,” Taeyong tries to coax you back into the moment, pressing his hips into yours, “It’s fine.”

But as he starts to plant soft kisses down to the neckline of your shirt, you can’t help but feel thrown off. Whether it’s because Chichi won’t stop staring, or that you finally realise you’re about to fuck in Ten’s apartment. You’re hit with the reality that you can’t possibly lose your virginity here, just like this - nor could you do anything sexual with Chichi watching you with her dead stare.

“Wait, no, I really can’t,” you press your palms against Taeyong’s chest to halt his movements, “I can’t do this.”

Taeyong gives you a conflicted look, obviously disappointed, but he respects your wishes and plants one last kiss on your lips before disentangling his limbs from yours. As he gently drops you back on the ground, you hear him mutter “I can’t believe I got cock-blocked by a dog.”

Laughing at his comment, Taeyong pouts playfully, poking your side and making you jump. Watching him walk towards the dog, Chichi runs away from him as your hear Taeyong grumble “Come here you little shit, we need to have a talk.”

There’s always something. Now the you’re finally ready, there’s always something. And even though Taeyong has proven himself to be incredibly patient, you can tell that this patience is - understandably - starting to wear thin. He wants you and you want him; badly.

“Hey Taeyong.”

“Yes beautiful?”

“We can do more than just make out.”

“Oh, uhm, okay,” he chuckles to himself, “I’ll get to that part.”

Giggling, you resume kissing on his bed, feeling his weight on top of you as he rests himself between your legs. It was one of those busy weeks, where everything that could prevent you from meeting up with each other just happened, and the only time you get with each other is nothing more than a passing video call. So when your schedules finally line up, and you both finally have a weekend free for each other, it seems clear that you both desperately want to make use of this rare chance to be together.

Grabbing him by the back of his neck, a greediness consumes you as you pull him closer to your body. There’s that urge again, that want that morphs into a need. And you don’t shy away when you feel his crotch resting against yours, as if the only thing stopping the both of you are his sweatpants and your shorts. You massage your fingertips into his hair, and you hear him sigh against your lips at the feeling of your intimacy. He breaks away from your lips, peppering you with soft pecks before hovering over your face.

“What?” you ask impatiently, connecting your lips to the sweet spot on his neck to ease him back into the moment.

He moans before asking, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Do what?” you ask against his skin, too excited to even think about anything else.

“Have sex.”

You finally pause, catching your breath as you really stop to look at Taeyong, finding him staring at you, watching you for any hint that maybe you aren’t ready yet. But if you’re going to be honest with yourself, you were ready weeks ago; you just didn’t have the time. “Taeyong,” you grab his cheeks, forcing him to look you in the eyes as you say “I want to have sex with you.”

His cheeks bunch up against your hands as his lips stretch into a grin, eyes glowing at the very clear verbal confirmation of your intentions. Taeyong just looks too adorable, and you can feel your heart swell. Pulling him down, you plant another kiss on his lips, and this time you start to feel his hands massaging your thighs. Your chest rises in anticipation, feeling his hands inching closer and closer to the hem of your shorts, sighing expressively when his fingertips grip your skin.

As he pulls away once again, you stare at him expectantly, and softly he asks “Can I take your shirt off?”

Blinking in surprise, it seems that in the chaos of sexual desire, you somehow completely forgot that having sex requires you to be somewhat naked in front of your partner. And it’s not as though you’ve ever been self-conscious in front of Taeyong, you know he loves you no matter what; but it’s never easy being naked in front of someone for the first time. 

“Yes,” you nod after a thoughtful pause.

“Okay,” Taeyong smiles, a small one that lifts the corners of his mouth ever so slightly. You prop yourself up and Taeyong’s hands tug on the bottom hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head slowly. The cool air in his bedroom makes you feel acutely aware of being shirtless, goosebumps rising across your chest, and you instinctively close in on yourself. Taeyong throws your shirt aside,  admiring the cute bra you’re wearing today, eyes never leaving you as he whispers, “You’re perfect.”

“Thanks,” you blush, but before you can do anything else, you had to ask for your own ease of mind, “Taeyong?”

“Yes angel?”

“Can you take your shirt off too?”

“Of course,” Taeyong smiles, understanding what you must be feeling. He balances himself on his knees, easily stripping his shirt off. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Taeyong topless, maybe once or twice when he was changing shirts or taking off his hoodie. So you can’t help but linger on his surprisingly toned stomach; you just assumed gamers didn’t like working out.

Leaning down, Taeyong’s lips melt into yours once again, the feeling of his bare skin against your own makes the excitement grow between your legs. The intimacy of the moment has your heart beating incredibly fast, you wonder if Taeyong can feel it against his skin. With your hands exploring their way down his torso, gliding over the defined muscles on his body, you come to a careful stop at the band of his sweatpants. Tracing over the seams of the waistband, your fingertips tease his skin as you tug his pants down inch by inch.

“Do you,” Taeyong mutters between your lips, “want me to take them off?”

“Yes please,” you reply so eagerly, you make yourself chuckle. Taeyong giggles, but he does as he says. Lifting himself off of you, he swiftly removes his sweatpants, leaving him in nothing but his boxers. You blush as you find yourself staring at the tent on his underwear, biting your lip in anticipation as Taeyong leans back down.

“You okay there?” he asks softly, playfully trailing kisses down your neck.

“Yes, yeah, I uh,” you gasp as Taeyong’s lips grazes against your stomach, “I’m just excited I guess.”

Your boyfriend giggles at your response, and you mentally face palm at such an awkward response. “I’m glad,” Taeyong mutters against your skin, “I want to make sure this is as good for you as it is for me.”

Biting down your bashful smile, you’re stunned to find yourself more giddy than sensual in a moment like this. So far, this has been nothing like how the magazine columns or romance novels described your first time to be. It isn’t heated or intense, you’re not in a candle-lit room with too many rose petals scattered everywhere. It’s just you and Taeyong in his bedroom, the early evening casting the first rays of sunset before it slowly sinks in the horizon. It’s so simple, but it feels so utterly perfect. Maybe this is okay too.

Taeyong’s lips nip at the skin of your breasts, his hands reaching around behind you slowly. Glancing up, you give him an encouraging smile before feeling his fingers fiddle with the bra strap. There’s a silent moment of struggle, and as you’re about to offer your help, he manages to unlock the hooks. You feel the bra detach from your skin, and you blush as Taeyong peels the item of clothing off of you. You see him bite down on his bottom lip, his eyes looking up at you through his lashes, quietly asking, “How did I get so lucky?”

“Oh my God stop,” you cringe, hiding your face in your hands, letting your head drop back on his pillows.

Taeyong chuckles at your reaction, and slowly, he starts to kiss his way down your chest. You gasp a little as his thumb pinches your nipples, gently swiping until it hardens. A pleasured sigh escapes you as his tongue flicks your nipple, making you feel a wetness grow between your legs. This isn’t the first time someone’s done this to you, but with Taeyong, it just feels a lot more intense. Like you feel everything on an entirely different level.

His hand rests on your abdomen, making your stomach flinch at the sudden touch of his warm hand. Your chest tightens a little as his fingers toy with the band of your shorts. As he slowly inches his way into your pants, he breaks his lips away from your chest to meet your nervous gaze. There’s reassurance in his stare as he asks, “Is this still okay?”

You nod, but you couldn’t help but let the nerves show. What if you did something wrong? Or weird? Maybe it would have been better if Taeyong was also still a virgin so you could both wade through this together. Or maybe it’s better that he isn’t, so at least you both aren’t completely clueless.

Taeyong can practically hear you overthinking, and he halts all movements of his hands before dipping down to kiss your lips, gentle so as to settle your racing thoughts. Breaking away by a mere inch from your lips, the tips of your noses are touching as he mutters, “If it gets too much, you tell me and we can stop.”

Nodding, you start to feel a lot better, especially after the verbal reassurance. You feel safe with Taeyong. Kissing his lips once again in show of compliance, you feel his hand tug your shorts off. Lifting your legs, he easily slips the item of clothing off of you, flinging it back somewhere behind him. His hands travel down from your knee, closing in on the space between your legs. And as you busy yourself with his lips and his hair, you subconsciously let out a whine as Taeyong’s fingers trace the edges of your underwear.

Taeyong can’t help but chuckle against your lips, more in satisfaction than humour. He likes that you’re needy, and he likes that you’re not afraid to express it. But figuring that you’re starting to tip over towards impatience, he slips your underwear off and discards it in the same direction as your shorts. 

Hovering above you, hands trace your naked body like it’s the first time he’s realising his sense of touch, hands curiously caressing here and there. His palm glazes over your legs, making his way up to the wetness in-between. He’s careful not to rush it, and he tests the waters as he brushes his thumb against your clit. The way you sigh against his lips encourages him, and he slowly builds up a rhythm as he teases the sensitive nub. Taeyong feels your fingers digging into his skin, and when he runs a finger through your folds, he realises exactly just how much you want this.

“You’re so goddamn sexy,” he whispers against your cheek, close enough for you to hear the jerky rhythm of his breath, the desperate attempt at masking his racing heart. He watches you writhe under him with a fascinated glaze in his eyes. You’re always so cute, sweet, angelic, dorky. But in this very moment, he feels nothing but a raw sexual energy emitting from the flutter of your eyelashes and the O shape your mouth makes as he dips a finger into your core.

“Mmm, faster,” you demand. Feeling Taeyong build up speed, his lips pepper your neck and your chest with the odd kiss. You don’t notice him shifting, not until you feel him replace his thumb with his warm tongue. Gasping rather audibly as the tip of tongue starts flicking at your clit, the feeling charges electricity through your body, back arching off the bed. 

Taeyong feels encouraged by your rather violent response, watching you above him with a spellbound gaze. He pumps his fingers at a steady pace while his tongue dances intricate patterns on your clit. Feeling your abdomen tighten, and your chest rising and falling with every laboured breath. You know you’re coming undone at any point, but you had no chance to warn him as your body jolts from the pleasure that releases onto Taeyong’s fingers.

When your body relaxes on the mattress, Taeyong takes his fingers out of you and smirks at the mess you made on his fingers. As he lifts up, he finds you practically glowing, a lazy smile on the corners of your lips as you meet his eyes. “Sorry,” you chuckle shyly, “I should’ve warned you.”

“It’s fine,” he smiles endearingly, “It means you were enjoying it so much that you didn’t even think about it.”

“Wow, okay, someone’s getting cocky,” you joke as Taeyong crawls up to meet your lips.

“Oh, you don’t even know,” he giggles.

“Oh my God, how was that simultaneously gross and lame at the same time?” you tease. Flustered, Taeyong shuts you up as he attaches his lips back to yours. You try to make a move, with your hand trailing down to his clothed cock, massaging him on top of his boxers. You hear a gruff sound erupt from his throat before he breaks away from your lips.

“You don’t have to,” he trails off his sentence, switching instead to, “I mean, I want this to be all about you.”

You blush, feeling shy under his warm and loving gaze. 

“So do you want to uh,” trailing off, you only point to his boxers.

“Are you ready?” he asks softly. And you couldn’t help the joke that rolls off of your tongue.

“You say that like you have a weird penis. Does it have arms? Is it purple? Should I be scared?” you chuckle.

“You’re so stupid,” he giggles endearingly, planting a soft kiss on your lips.

Pulling away, you take the initiative to ask, “So do you have the thing?”

“What thing?”

“You know… the thing.”

“People say that if you can’t say the word ‘condom’, then you’re not mature enough to have sex,” Taeyong points out matter of factly, his fingers tracing hypnotising circles on your exposed skin.

Rolling your eyes, you feign disinterest as you scoff, “Ugh, so annoying.”

Taeyong giggles at your response, and before you can ask again, he reaches over to his bedside table. You hear him fiddling with something before he hovers back on top of you, making a show of waving the small, plastic packet. You smile at his playfulness, leaning forward to kiss him once again.

You start to take a little more initiative, growing more excited when you feel something hard pressing against your leg. You start to palm him on top of his boxers and he groans deliciously into your mouth. When you hook your fingers around the waist of his boxers, Taeyong breaks away the kiss and takes the liberty of removing the last item of clothing left on either of you. There’s a moment’s pause when you both just stare, you more than he, as the moment sinks in for the both of you. You’re about to have sex for the first time; the thought makes you blush.

Balancing on his knees, Taeyong takes a moment to put the condom on, rolling it down his cock carefully, before rubbing himself a few times as he stares down at your naked glory. Perhaps it’s a strange kink, that you suddenly feel like the most attractive woman, watching Taeyong touch himself before you, eyes making sure to study your body. Biting your bottom lip in anticipation, Taeyong leans closer, hovering over you as he positions himself, and you feel the heat from his body closing in on you. 

With his eyes looking right into yours, Taeyong slowly slips his cock into you.

Your breath hitches at the foreign feeling of him inside you, hands instinctively gripping his forearm. Taeyong watches carefully, barely moving so as to let you adjust to the sensation. It’s not that it hurts - in fact it doesn’t hurt at all, contrary to popular belief - but more that it’s completely different from anything you’ve ever done before. And only when you nod, indicating that you’re ready, your boyfriend slowly thrusts his hips into you. 

You feel every movement, every motion, so vividly, fingers tightening their grip on his shoulders. Taeyong can only watch carefully, enchanted by the way your face contorts with every laboured breath the escapes your nose. He plants a careful kiss on your lips as he softly asks, “You okay?”

“Yes,” you reassure him, the ‘s’ dragging out with pleasure. Your lips reach up for his, and he dips his head closer as the sweet kiss becomes more passionate. Taeyong gets so riled up by your lips that he naturally picks up the pace of his thrusts, hips flush against yours before pulling back, only to return with a force. With your bare skin so exposed and to each other’s, you feel every movement of his body, and you moan into his mouth as excitement courses through your bones.

“You feel so good,” Taeyong mutters his praises against your lips, “so perfect.”

A moan rises from your chest, feeling every inch of your skin waking up from the heat of his motion. When Taeyong begins to rut his hips faster, you start to feel that same knot in your abdomen. Your hands grab onto anything, and Taeyong can feel your pleasure from the way your fingernails dig into his back. He builds up his pace, and you can’t contain the noises, gasping and moaning beyond your own comprehension. Taeyong feels himself edging and he grabs your thighs in the midst of his fervour.

“Fuck,” he groans, hearing your soft voice right in the shell of his ear. Your pleasure is so very clear, you don’t even try to contain yourself, and it’s driving him crazy. His thrusts start to become sloppy and desperate, and you start to meet his jagged movements with the rhythmic lift of your hips. There’s just something so primal and real about the moment, like a different kind of intensity that you’ve never even touched before.

“Taeyong, I’m so close,” you gasp, and your boyfriend takes initiative, hand reaching down between your legs. When you feel his thumb swiping at your clit, you almost scream. Between the stimulation at from his rough thumb and the thrusting of his hips, you lose control of everything in your body. It only takes a few more flicks at your sensitive clit, before you feel this wave of pleasure rise up from your core, washing over all of your limbs. And as you feel yourself melting under Taeyong, it’s not long until your boyfriend meets his own end, riding out his orgasm until he’s glowing and all fucked out.

There’s a sweet moment of stillness as you both just melt into each other, limbs tired, skin blushing with a sheen of sweat. You can’t help but smile at how perfect everything feels. You didn’t care that you’re sticky and excessively warm, and your hair probably looks funny. Everything about it feels right. Taeyong catches you smiling to yourself, and he can’t help but smile as well.

“Hey Taeyong.”

“Yes angel?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

[bitterepiphany]

may i request a 😩 a lil 😩 a lil catboy eren 🥺💖💖 the plot can be as dumb as u want

anything for u bby <3<3<3

the catboy phenomena

summary: eren wakes up with a pair of cat ears and a tail. chaos ensues

warnings: none

Eren was basically running on fumes. After their trip to the sea, he, Hange, and Armin had been working day in and day out, figuring out what the latter could do, and how he could do it. It had been exhilarating, seeing Armin, his timid, soft, best friend, transform into such a terrifying creature of mass-destruction.

Though he would never admit it, Eren was secretly glad Hange’s attention was on his friend instead of himself these days; the new Commander could be overwhelming in their demeanour at best. But, when he woke up, he suspected Armin would no longer be the centre of attention anymore.

No, he figured Hange would be all over him once they saw the pair of ears and tail that had just appeared on his body overnight. 

Eren had woken up like normal, but something had just felt off. He lay there for a moment, before he realised. He could hear more. Something shifted above him, and he jumped. It was loud, as if someone was rubbing sheets together right next to his ears. Eren sat up, ran his hand through his hair, and froze. There was something on his head. He carefully reached up again. He flinched back when whatever it was moved, flicking slightly. What spooked him even more, was that he felt his hand from whatever it was when he touched it. Again, his fingers brushed over it, causing it to flick. It was soft and thin, feeling almost furry? Eren got the sense that you usually felt when you were touching your ears; he could hear his fingers running over the things quite closely, and it was loud. 

Thoroughly disturbed and curious, Eren slipped out of bed, determined to find a mirror and see what the hell was on his head. As he stretched and made to leave the room, he was paralysed again. He was sure that he wasn’t touching the bed anymore, but he could feel something dragging along the sheets. Closing his eyes, willing himself to wake up from whatever bizarre dream he had found himself in, Eren took a deep breath, and turned to look back at the bed. What he saw almost made him yell.

Eren had a tail sprouting out of his lower back. There was no other way to describe it. Long and thin, it dragged off the bed - making Eren’s spine tingle with the odd sensation - before hanging at his side, the tip swaying slightly. Eren’s mouth gaped. It looked like a cat’s tail. Hesitantly, he reached out and stroked it, feeling weirded out again by the sensation of the fur under his hand, as well as feeling his hand on the tail. The tail twitched and began to swish as Eren’s discomfort grew. He had to see if what he suspected was on his head was real.

Rushing to the washrooms, Eren determined that he must be having some bizarre fever dream, because that was not a pair of cat ears sitting amongst his hair. Terrified, he watched as they flattened against his head. His tail was swinging angrily around too. Recalling how stray cats acted around Shiganshina, the ears and tail gave off the mood, right? So, as bewildered and scared as he was right now, it made sense the ears and tail were doing what they were doing right?

It’s just a dream. I’ll wake up soon and everything will be back to normal.

“Eren?”

Lost in his thoughts, Eren didn’t hear the washroom door open and saw a blonde head poke into the room. Armin was rubbing his eyes sleepily, and he yawned.

“Is everything alright, I heard you get u -”

A pause. Eren turned slowly, looking at his friend. Armin was staring at him, a dumbstruck look on his face. Slowly, Armin’s hand lowered from his eyes to cover his mouth. He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again. When Eren assumedly didn’t change, he repeated the action. And again. And again. After the fourth time, Armin took a step towards him. 

“Eren,” he started slowly, “What’s going on? Why do you look like… like a cat?”

Eren stared at Armin for a few more seconds. When he spoke, his voice was (thankfully) the same, but shaky. 

“I don’t know? I woke up like this?” he said, sounding as confused as he felt.

“Eren this isn’t a joke, right?” Armin questioned, head tiled, eyes wide. “You haven’t done something with your powers, right?”

“What? No! Why would I do this to myself?”

Armin hummed lowly. “Well, we’d better take you to Hange then. They might have some answers?”

Eren groaned, feeling his ears pull back against his head again. As if being a titan shifter wasn’t enough, I turn into some kind of catboy?

***

The next hours were, possibly, some of the most humiliating of Eren’s life. Hange literally shrieked when they saw him, and began peppering him with questions almost immediately, despite still being in their nightclothes. As he sat in a chair, getting poked and prodded by Hange and stared at suspiciously by Captain Levi, Armin was sent to tell the others about his… condition.

Not too soon afterwards, they heard a commotion down the hall. People were stomping down the hall, and loud voices permeated into the room.

“You’re fucking kidding right, Armin, there’s no way Yeager’s - “

“Jean, stop! He’s with Hange and -”

“Wait, so does he meow now, or -”

The door burst open. Eren had a curious reaction to this. He leapt off the chair, ears flattening against his head, the fur on his tail rising in a weird way as it thrashed violently, and a strange hiss-like noise emerged from his throat. Hange gasped, and Levi pushed himself off the wall as Eren darted to a corner. 

It was a bizarre scene, Eren in the corner, hissing, Hange looking like they were about to explode from excitement, Levi, hand outstretched towards Eren, a concerned look on his face, and the rest of the Levi squad in the doorway, frozen in shock, gaping at their friend. 

Jean spoke up first. “What the fuck?”

Silence. 

Surprisingly, Eren was the one who responded.

“The fuck do you have to be so damn loud for?” he growled. All the yelling and stomping was irritating his overly-sensitive ears, and it was giving him a headache.

Hange stepped in then, more or less explaining the situation to the group, and Levi approached Eren cautiously. 

“C’mon, stop hissing like a beast, you brat. Ears or tail or whatever, you gotta get used to this now.”

He gestured back towards the chair, and Eren calmed a bit. It was weirdly comforting, having Levi just being Levi, like there was still some normality in this world. He made his way back to the chair, tail curling around it as he sat. 

Hange was being peppered by questions but they quietened as Eren returned. Levi glanced around at all of them, then exchanged a look with Hange. 

“You brats want breakfast?” he asked. After a chorus of yes’ he took Hange by the arm and walked out of the room, leaving Eren alone with his friends. Eren looked at them. Armin was staring at his tail as it swayed and twitched around; Mikasa’s eyes were rounder with shock than Eren had ever seen, and her hands clutched her scarf anxiously; Sasha and Connie had identical dumbstruck looks on their faces; and Jean had a weird mix of confusion and anger in his eyes. 

They all approached him cautiously, and they just stared at each other in silence for a moment. Then Sasha crouched down in front of him, her head tilted.

“You-you’re not gonna meow at us, right?”

And just like that, the tension broke. Laughter bubbled from Eren’s lips, and soon the whole group was sinking to the floor, giggling with each other. 

“So Eren,” Connie gasped, “You got claws hidden in those paws too? Is this some weird titan thing too?” 

“No!” Eren exclaimed, “I don’t know how this happened, and I don’t think I have claws?” He glanced at his fingers, flexing them slightly. Thankfully, no claws popped out to potentially scratch people’s eyes out.

“Oh, so this wasn’t some kinky thing you just wanted to try out then?”

Eren glared at Jean, who just cackled, leaning forward and slapping a hand on Eren’s shoulder. Then he whispered in his ear, “Seriously though, this isn’t some freaky titan power? You aren’t going to have little fangs and start eating kibble now?”

“Stop it!” Eren cried out, face flaming, ears flattening in distress for the umpteenth time that morning. 

“Ooh, they move!!”

Eren just buried his face in his hands. He heard Hange and Levi return and a pastry was chucked into his lap.

“Eat, brat.”

As he bit into his food, Hange busied themselves with resuming their examination of him. 

“Can I touch the ears?” they asked.

“Yeah, if you want to.”

He felt their hands gently tap his ears, feeling them flick automatically. Then Hange tried pushing back some of his hair… and screamed.

Eren jumped, falling off the chair as the others flinched, dropping food, cursing. He skittered away from the gaping Commander, ears ringing with the sudden noise.

Hange was pointing at him, hand shaking, eyes wide as saucers. “Y-your ears - the human ones! They’re gone!”

His ears were gone?

Eren’s hand immediately shot to the side of his face, only to discover that Hange was right. Instead of the familiar shape of his human ears, there was only smooth skin. His hair was long enough to have concealed the missing body parts up until now, and it freaked Eren out that he hadn’t noticed until now. 

Hange approached him again, sitting on the floor beside him, and pushed his hair back. Everyone murmured in shock as the lack of human ears was revealed. Hange poked at the skin, muttering under their breath. Eren just sat in mute shock as they investigated him. 

Once the initial shock of the missing ears faded away, Hange had gotten up to discuss something animatedly with an exasperated-looking Levi, and Jean approached him. 

“So, we got ourselves a little kitty-boy now huh?” he teased.

“Jean,” Eren warned, ears flicking in annoyance.

The other boy’s eyes widened as he tracked their movement. “They’re so weird. You’re like a literal cat.”

Startling Eren, Jean’s hand rested on his head and began to pet him.

“You’re a good boy, aren’t you,” Jean mocked, causing Eren’s tail to flick around, “Yeah you are, you’re the best -”

His hand froze. Eren’s chest had begun to vibrate against his will, and a soft, rumbling sound emerged from his throat. 

He was purring.

Jean’s mouth dropped open. “You’re not purring. You are not purring because I pet you.”

Eren was certainly purring because Jean pet him

“You- you weirdo!”

Eren’s face blushed beet red, and he hid his face in his arms, that rumbling purr growing louder and filling the room.

***

Eren had spent the day with Hange, trying to figure out what the hell had happened to him. They figured out nothing. When considering that it might be something titan-shifter related, focus turned to Armin for a bit, who vehemently denied anything similar happening to him. 

Now Eren felt as drained as he did back when he used to do hardening experiments, and he sat on the steps of the common room, enjoying the sun. Ears twitching at the sound of footsteps approaching, he opened his eyes as Mikasa sat down next to him.

“Hey,” he greeted.

“Hi.”

She seemed oddly nervous, and kept glancing over at him. She opened her mouth, hesitating.

“Um, Eren,” she began, not meeting his eyes, hands toying with her scarf. “I was wondering… if- if I could, uh…”

There must be something big bothering her, if she was this stuttery. But Eren suspected what was up; he knew she had a soft spot for cats.

He gestured up at his head. “You wanna touch?”

Mikasa’s eyes widened slightly, and she nodded, a blush colouring her cheeks. Eren shifted so he sat shoulder to shoulder with her, and lowered his head a bit. Her hand reached out hesitantly, hovering over his head, causing the ears to flick when her fingers brushed them lightly. She let out a small ‘oh’ at the movement. Then, she seemed to steel herself, and gently carded her fingers through his hair, brushing over his soft ears. 

Almost immediately, his chest began to vibrate, and a purr rumbled out of his throat. Mikasa seemed to lose herself in petting him, rubbing the ears gently between her fingers and scratching his scalp with just the right firmness. Eren’s purr deepened, and she let out a small giggle when he pushed his head into her hand more when she pulled away slightly.

She must be really happy if she was giggling. 

Eren’s eyes drifted closed, his body betraying him and relaxing so much his head rested on her lap as she stroked him, purr vibrating both their bodies all the same. He was drifting into some kind of pleasure-filled haze of Mikasa’s gentle head scratches.

It was really nice.

Yeah. Eren could probably work with this catboy thing.

[devdevlin]

“Don’t cry. Everything’s going to be okay” I feel like this is more sinister Tom than a sincere Tom...

Ummmm WHY do you ask me to do these things, you KNOW how much I love evil Tom and you KNOW how carried away I get with him ahaha (big warning here for bad Tom being bad and a traumatised, returned timetraveller Hermione)

Hermione pushed the front gate open and hurried up the front path, tackling the porch steps with a spring in her step.

The healers wouldn't give her any more potions? No problem. She could brew a potion for dreamless sleep in her sleep. She'd picked up everything she needed from Diagon Alley—even a shiny new benchtop cauldron—and was ready to start brewing. She had everything she needed: bottles, for preparing enough of the potion to keep her sleep dreamless for at least a month at a time; enough ingredients to ensure she wouldn't need to pester the apothecary for at least three brews; a fresh ladle, because hers had gotten so mangled from her years at school that it was almost in two pieces; and she'd even picked up some treats for Crookshanks that were out on special.

A successful shop, indeed.

She pulled her key from her pocket and let herself into her family home, not bothering to be quiet or careful as she did so.

It was a Thursday, and it was only her Mum home at this time of day, anyway. It wasn't like she'd be interrupting anything.

"Mum?" she called, unwrapping her satchel from around her shoulder and hanging it on her designated hook next to her father's unworn hat he'd bought on their last family trip.

There wasn't a reply, and so, Hermione assumed her mother must've been at work in the kitchen. She could never hear anything over the sound of their kettle.

She sighed and tucked her wand away in her bag, before trekking though the living room toward the kitchen.

"Mum?" Hermione repeated, voice echoing. "Mum, I'm ho—"

Hermione barely made it to the kitchen doorway before she froze.

At the sight before her, her blood instantly ran cold. Her mother was in the kitchen, all right, but she wasn't alone.

And who she was with, was not her father.

No, sitting calmly opposite her mother with his long legs neatly crossed was the face of the man she left behind six months ago after her catastrophic incident with the timeturner at the Ministry. The one she'd barely managed to escape, the one she thought, wished, prayed she'd never see again.

"Hello Hermione."

Her breath hitched. His voice was just as she remembered it, the same smooth, lifeless tone that still haunted her in her sleep, and it was solid. It was clear in a way that her dreams weren’t, and when Hermione blinked, he didn’t go away.

"It's been a while."

Hermione didn’t dare to breathe as her eyes passed between Tom and her mother, over the set table between them, the still-steaming pot of tea.

It wasn’t possible.

It wasn’t possible, and yet—

"M..." She swallowed, and in the quiet kitchen, it sounded oddly loud. "Mum?"

Her mother sipped at her cup of tea and stayed silent, not showing any sign of having heard her.

"Mum?"

Her voice had the beginnings of panic in it, and across from her mother, Tom smiled.

It didn't reach his eyes.

"Why don't you join us?" He gestured to the pot of tea, to the empty chair beside him. "Jean was kind enough to make some tea and some scones. There's plenty left for another cup."

Hermione stayed where she was, eyes trained on her mother. "What... what have you done to her?"

He didn't answer her. Instead, he tapped his fingers impatiently against the tabletop, and said, "I think we have quite a bit to catch up on, don’t you? Sit down, and we'll talk."

Hermione remained in the doorway, muscles refusing to shift.

Tom sighed impatiently through his nose and turned to her mother. "Jean, darling," he said softly, and her mother glanced up, hummed receptively. "Would you mind taking my cup over to the sink for me?"

"Of course," her mother said brightly, and still without showing any sign that she'd noticed Hermione in the doorway, she sprung up and began to clear the table.

"Mum?" Hermione tried when she passed her. "Mum, can you hear me?"

As if she were invisible, her mother passed her as if she weren't there at all.

"Mum?!"

Hermione's accusatory eyes turned back to find Tom watching her.

He raised his eyebrows suggestively before giving his attention back to her mother. "Oh, and while you're over there, Jean, I'd quite like it if you were to open your cutlery draw and fish out the sharpest knife you own."

Hermione’s pulse thrummed loudly in her ears. "Stop it. Whatever you're doing to her, stop it."

Tom didn't respond, and her mother obediently clawed through the top draw under the kitchen island.

"Tom." Her mother didn't stop, and Tom stayed silent. "Tom, stop it. I mean it, stop."

The corner of Tom's lips quirked. "Do you have it, Jean?" Tom asked after a moment, still ignoring Hermione.

"Yes," her mother chimed happily before she turned back toward Tom to show him a long knife with a white hilt that she'd found. "I've had this one since John and I were married. It was a gift from his grandmother. We were very lucky she made it, really. She passed away only two months after..."

“Tom.”

Tom continued to ignore Hermione and when he smiled at her mother, it was almost warm. "Yes, that is most fortunate. Family is… so important." he said, and then without turning his head, his eyes met Hermione's. "Now Jean, I'd like it if you would use the knife to remove one of your fingernails."

"No, no, Mum—"

"Which one?" her mother asked, speaking over Hermione.

"Oh, whichever one you'd like, it doesn't bother me which," Tom answered pleasantly.

"Mum!" To hell with it. Hermione forced herself to move, to step past Tom and toward her mother to take the knife from her herself. "Mum, don—"

"Take another step, Hermione, and I'll have her cut her own throat."

At once, Hermione halted.

And then, without anyone to stop her, her mother started on her own index finger.

Her mother was under the Imperius curse—she had to be—and though she obeyed Tom’s will obediently, she still screamed at the pain of it, and she still clutched her bleeding hand to her chest when she was finished.

Hermione felt like she was going to vomit.

When she turned back to Tom and found that he was smiling at her, the feeling only grew stronger.

"Oh." Tom cocked his head to the side. "Don't look at me like that, like I've just skinned a kitten before you. Sit down, and your mother will be perfectly fine."

Her mother whimpered and sniffed from behind her, and Hermione glanced back to see her blood dripping down onto the tile.

"But... her hand—"

"She's hardly going to bleed out, Hermione," Tom said in mock amusement as though she'd just said something he thought was very stupid. "Now sit."

Hermione was shaking now, but she did as he said, and with each inch that vanished between them, her stomach twisted.

She took the seat he’d gestured to, and that close up, she could see the lighter flecks of brown in his eyes, the individual hairs of his eyebrows, the faint, but present light freckling on his nose—all of the things that she’d once been drawn to, all of the things that had once convinced her that he was human.

But she’d been wrong—so, so wrong—and now, they were the same things she’d been trying so desperately to forget.

When she was settled, Tom scooted closer, close enough that his knee brushed against hers, and leaned toward her with his elbows on the table.

"Hey. Come on, don't cry." He reached out and wiped the tear from her cheek with the pad of his thumb. His touch was warm and pleasant, but like everything else he ever did, it was lie. "Everything's going to be okay. I'll be more than happy to leave your mother be if you help me."

She blinked back the building water in her eyes and forced herself not to give in to the urge to get up and run. "What… what do you want?"

His eyes searched her, drifting back and forth between her own, and he tightened his lips in a way that almost seemed melancholic. "Do you remember Abraxas’ wedding night, at the reception at the manor?”

She gave him a single, stiff nod.

“You were beautiful that night.” He whispered the words softly, as if to a lover, and Hermione tasted bile. “And I don’t mean because of the dress, or the makeup, or even the way you wore your hair up, though it did suit you.”

The tip of his finger trailed along the skin of the back of her hand, and she wanted to cut it off of him.

“It was… you were so open. You were so angry with me, and you were just… magnificent. It was the first time I saw you, and to be completely honest with you, Hermione, I haven’t been able to get you out my head ever since. Not you… or what you said to me.”

Hermione tightened her jaw, his reference to that night in the fifties—the one she wanted to forget more than any other—cutting her like her mother’s knife. “Get to the point.”

Tom smiled and glanced at her lips. “You told me I would die. You accused me of being short-sighted, and foolish, and that I would induce my own demise." His whisper was so quiet now that she almost had to lean in closer to hear him. "What I want from you, Hermione… I want you to help me make sure that that does not come to pass, this time."

“No,” she said at once. “No. I won’t. I’ll never—”

“Jean?”

The sudden increase in volume of his voice made Hermione flinch, and from over by the sink, her mother’s whimpers quietened. “Y-yes?”

“Do you still have that knife?” asked Tom.

“Stop it. Tom, please. Your problem is with me, not her, please, don’t—”

“Yes, I-I do.”

“Pick it back up for me, would you, Jean?”

“Okay. Okay, fine!” Hermione snapped. “I’ll do whatever you want, just let her go!”

While her mother did as she was told, Tom’s eyes flicked back between them. Then, after a long moment, he eventually said, “actually… go and clean your hand instead, would you?”

Hermione let out the breath she was holding.

“I… yes. Yes, th-thank you,” her mother stammered before stepping over to the sink.

They sat in silence, and it wasn’t until her mother had her hand fully underneath the stream of water from the tap that Tom turned back to Hermione.

And then he grinned. “I just knew we’d come to an agreement.”

(lmao yes yes I know this is essentially a diet version of trap forty four. What can I say, I liked the premise of him following her back to her time so much I wanted to write it twice haha)

[gerudospiriit]

One of the Lucky Ones

A Chrimbus Prezzie for @royallunatiic that I adored writing for her! <3

Basically a thing about Vegeta I’ve been entertaining in the back of my mind for several months. It’s a lot of things and very centralized in Vegeta’s head and feelings and oof. It focuses on canon and non-canon moments and kinda explores themes with Vegeta’s character I feel get overlooked inside and outside of canon material. It is also based on a mix Lau’s (royallunatiic’s) hcs and my own. I wouldn’t call it a retelling but more of a change in perspective that delves into darker themes surrounding Vegeta.

As a fair warning for others that might choose to read: this fic includes violence, gore, abuse, harsh language, some sexual content, mentions of depression, and probably things that people who hold canon as the Holy Grail will not like. It is a very rose colored glasses off kind of read. There is probably something in this that everyone won’t like but that’s the beauty of things, isn’t it? And this IS about Vegeta so :3

Also, side note, some of the formatting got lost between here and google docs and im too lazy to go through and try to fix that, so unfortunately some italic emphasis within the bulk of it will be lost, rip.

Most importantly, I hope this lives up to the hype, Lau! <3

Vegeta raised a white-gloved hand to his scouter, options flashing across red glass until he settled on the general’s name and scouter number. “Nappa, what is our estimated time of arrival?”

Several seconds of silence passed, the prince’s temper flaring a centigrade more with each impatient tap of his foot on the pod’s floor. Just as he clenched his jaw and prepared to snap at the other Saiyan and more forcefully request the information he sought, his scouter beeped followed by the unmistakable grumble of the man who served to raise him in lieu of a biological parent. 

“Let’s see…” Vegeta rolled his eyes when he heard Nappa yawn. How the large Saiyan stayed comfortable crammed into the tiny space pods even with the help of the pod’s assisted stasis setting baffled him. Less than half the other man’s size, Vegeta struggled to rest for any proper amount of time no matter his level of exhaustion or the length of the trip. Nothing a usual plague of similarly themed nightmares helped. Years of getting used to it was the usual spiel the general gave when the prince cared enough to question him. “Twelve hours, give or take. Twelve hours before we get to take revenge for Raditz and destroy that damn mud ball.”

Vegeta grunted in response. He could have laughed at their cover to keep anyone listening in on their conversations from knowing their true objective. Neither Saiyan cared to avenge their fallen comrade, Saiyan or not. Raditz foolishly set off to find his weakling of a brother and got himself killed. If such lowly warriors could best him, he was a waste of space and resources. Good riddance; Vegeta had no time for coddling the third class fool, anyway. They had Dragonballs to secure and immortality only suited the strong. To overthrow and kill an all-powerful tyrant, he would only suffer the company of the very greatest warriors.

“Very well. Rest up, Nappa. We can’t afford any mistakes.”

“Don’t tell me these Earthling’s got you scared,” the general scoffed, the creak of leather sounding as he shifted in his seat. “Raditz’s power level didn’t hold a candle to ours. We’ll blow ‘em all away, no trouble, a year of training or not. And without Kakarot, it will be a cinch. In and out, just like we planned.”

Vegeta snarled. “Watch your tongue, Nappa. I’d sooner fear Cui than a lowly Earthling.” He hoped the bastard heard that. Or that Frieza did and would relay the message to amuse himself with the soldier’s rage. “They are at least clever enough to gang up on Raditz. I would hate to see you meet your end over stupidity.”

“Fat chance.”

If Nappa had anything else to say, Vegeta missed it. He had switched his scouter off to take his own advice. Or try. His anticipation to achieve immortality, to finally avenge his people and end Frieza once and for all. Kept his mind from shutting down. To take back what was promised to him, what was rightfully his. For his own, personal revenge for the abuse and embarrassment he endured under his rule. As little more than a slave. Jaw tense at the memories, he closed his eyes. 

His nerves went into overdrive as the door slid shut behind him, the fur of his tail standing on end at his waist. A request for an audience with Frieza never bode well in past experiences. It usually meant a beating or other form of degradation in front of his cronies or for his own sick amusement. And with the weight of his planet and his race perishing still heavy on his heart and mind...what more could Frieza say or do to him?

Before he could kneel or greet the tyrant, Frieza turned from his locked view of the passing stars to the young Saiyan rooted a few feet in front of the door, trying his best to keep the hollowness he felt in his chest from his gaze. In front of Nappa and Raditz, he had tried to remain aloof. Stunned by the suddenness with a hint of anger at cruel fate and be the strong leader he now had no choice but to be to them. They answered to him, not his father. Not any more.

“Ah, Vegeta! Such shocking news!” Frieza threw his free hand in the air to complement the dramatic flare in his voice. He set the glass of wine he clutched in the other on the nearest surface and floated toward him, reptilian feet meeting tile before the Saiyan. “My condolences, of course. An asteroid of all things wipes out the Saiyan race!”

Vegeta swallowed, gloved fingers curling into his palms and his tail tightening around his waist. He did not need to be aware of Frieza’s general distaste for his people to hear the mocking undertone dripping from every word. The misfortune of his race was a cause for celebration to the tyrant.

“We will move forward,” he responded robotically, straightening his posture and meeting Frieza’s wicked, crimson eyes. His mouth went dry when he saw the humor dancing in them. “We will continue to serve as we always have.”

The emperor of the universe placed his hands behind his back, contemplating. Searching for ways to toy with the boy like a predator who had cornered its prey. “Spoken like a true prince with so much responsibility suddenly on his shoulders.” He sighed, the latter portion of his tail idly striking the tiled floor. “Such a shame to lose so many monk--I mean, soldiers. Their lives are irreplaceable.”

Rage burned hotter in his hollowed out body. It danced on his tongue and clawed at his jaw, desperately trying to pry his mouth open to retort or spit in his face or simply scream. Anything but the fear-soaked silence that pervaded. What did he have to lose? Everything he had been promised--his kingdom, his people, his planet--had all been obliterated. Dying now would grant him mercy. But the fighter in him, the angry, scorned warrior, screamed louder. He screamed for blood. For vengeance. He was young, but he didn’t believe that asteroid story. It stank worse than Nappa after a long day of training in the wastes back home. And this performance, this farcical show of compassion, only fueled such suspicions.

“Come now. Don’t look so glum, Vegeta. After all...” Frieza rested a clawed hand on his shoulder and squeezed. Tight. “You’re one of the lucky ones.”

No, no, no.

This had to be another nightmare.

Vegeta clung to the last dregs of consciousness his weakened state would allow in order to type the coordinates--any coordinates--to what he hoped would land him at a base to get patched up. His hand shook over the buttons, and his vision doubled and tripled while trying to make sense of the screen. Blood trickled down his forehead and off the tip of his nose. Every inch of him screamed in agony. A few more seconds of focus...that's all he needed….

He fell back once he thought he counted enough characters punched in, gritting his teeth as the careless motion jolted a new bolt of pain through his body. Obsidian eyes hooded, he watched the stars, asteroids, and planets whizz by in a blur through slitted gaze. He felt his consciousness fading, his mind replaying the bad dream Earth had turned to in a jumbled chronology of events. The fight with Kakarot, how the third class stood up to his every attack. That damn brat and his bald friend and the fat one interfering. Cutting off his damn tail. Squeezing the life out of that clown in his Oozaru form. Saibamen and the joy of watching those worms struggle against them and Nappa when they wouldn't give them the Dragonballs. The brat transforming. Nappa's blood on his hands for his failure. The bald one sparing him.

Spared. Not victorious. Not immortal. Broken. Beaten. Bloody. And spared by a worthless third rate warrior and his weakling friends. The great Prince Vegeta bested by a troupe of circus performers. He could have laughed at the absurdity of it all if he had the breath and fortitude for it. Pride damaged, a small part of him hoped his battered brain had typed the coordinates in wrong. Dump him off on some random planet to die alone with what little dignity he had left. Let his race perish once and for all with him. Kakarot was no Saiyan. He did not deserve the warrior blood that roared in his veins. He was an Earthling. He barely knew what it meant to be a Saiyan. The hardships he had faced. How it felt to lose everything.

Kakarot. His bloody fingers twitched as the name of that fool spun around his mind in a taunting sing-song like some sick nursery rhyme. Yet. He didn't know that feeling yet. Sparing him was the biggest mistake those Earthlings could make. He would make Kakarot suffer. He would kill each of his friends one by one in front of him. Slow. Grueling. Starting with the fat one that robbed him of his tail. Then, he would kill Kakarot. No. He would spare Kakarot. Beat him to a gurgling mess of blood and broken bones and destroy his planet with him on it. Yes, that would do nicely.

First things first: immortality. Namek. Frieza. Then, Kakarot. 

Quaking hand rose to his scouter. He sent out a distress signal. Just in case.

He convinced Nappa to let him out of his sight with relative ease and bored Raditz with some excuse about checking out the moons of the planet for vegetation types to keep him from tagging along to leave the planet they were ordered to recon alone and undisturbed. The assignment was close to the coordinates of his home planet, committed to memory in his youth. After nearly a decade, the close proximity tugged at an emotion he couldn't place. Deeper than curiosity but darker than nostalgia. A need to put to rest his doubt and disbelief, and affirm it had not all been a cruel joke Frieza played on him all these years. 

Though, as his pod flew ever closer to his destination, a dim hope flickered in the buried part of him that still mourned and despaired over the fall of his race. For that reason, he kept his eyes closed, the vision of his home planet painted on the inside of his eyelids. Until the pod slowed, and the change in motion coerced the Saiyan Prince's eyes open to see…

To see nothing. Nothing but stars and space dust.

He didn't know how long he stared, or how many times he cancelled his pod's attempts to reroute him to a place for a proper landing when the current coordinates yielded nothing solid. His chest tightened, his throat and eyes burned as he rested a gloved hand on the red glass of the pod. Tears poured from his obsidian eyes as his fingers curled into his palm and he banged his fist against the window. Gone. All gone. He had known it all along, hadn't he? What did he really expect to find out here? 

He buried his face in his hands with a shuddering breath, sliding them back into his hair before letting them fall limply at his side. He couldn't deny it now; Planet Vegeta had been obliterated along with everyone on it. Reduced to no more than space matter idly drifting among the stars. In that moment, even his memories of his youth seemed to join them as any attempt to recall them left him numb.

Another request to reroute to the nearest planet echoed too loudly in his ears. Vegeta spared the empty vacuum where his home once lay one last glance before inputting the coordinates to the planet he and the others had been assigned.

Vegeta switched off the ship’s gravity controls soon after touchdown on the long forgotten planet he had chosen for training. The gradual shift from 450 times the Earth’s gravity back to normal levels welcome after hours of pushing through the training drills. He gripped the console to steady himself and hunched over as he caught his breath, sweat dripping from his visage and pooling between switches and buttons. Every muscle, every fiber of his body ached from the strain of training at the high level of gravity. So much so that just a twitch of his fingers depleted far more energy than anything should. He slammed his fist down on the control panel and straightened up. He had no time to rest. He had to push himself, push through the pain and strain and keep going. He was running out of time. He needed to become a Super Saiyan no matter the cost.

Measured steps carried him to the bag he had packed. He rummaged around and pulled out a fresh set of armor. He tore off the sweat drenched rags his training reduced the current set to and tossed it aside, replacing it with the clean suit and chest armor. He ignored the toll the simple action took on him and yanked his boots and gloves on. He punched the button and released the door hatch to descend onto the planet’s surface. Away from the distractions of Earth, the planet that had become his chosen prison. He had to stay close to his prey, keep his enemies close. Make this unexpected resurrection count.

His second chance at life had begun with sucking in dirt before rising out of a shallow grave. Followed by witnessing a third-class warrior fill the slot in his race's history meant for him. Vegeta had stared up into a tumultuous sky as the very planet beneath his boots breathed its last breaths, erupting and quaking as a greater power threatened its very core. Awestruck, the Saiyan prince watched legend become reality. Kakarot had achieved what most wrote off as legend, aglow in gold, hair and eyes changed from dark hues to light: a Super Saiyan in the flesh. And he faced off with Frieza. Would soon kill Frieza. Both milestones he promised himself and only fit for the last living Saiyan royal. The clown snatched his birthright and vengeance for all he and his people suffered under Frieza from him in the span of hours.

The realization only settled after the whirlwind of astonishment, initial pride in the irony of a Saiyan ending Frieza, and momentary swell of invincibility with the idea of being back on top with Kakarot and Frieza both dead suddenly switched direction and whipped him into the nearest wall. The damned fool survived after all, according to those bumbling Earthlings. His mood tanked, and something akin to panic intertwined with his rage: what now? Where did he go from here?

Immortality didn't strike his fancy anymore when living forever seemed worse than death, the easy way of winning. He could cross Frieza off; he couldn't kill a dead man. That left Kakarot and his friends. He could kill the latter whenever he chose, the only one posing a possible challenge being the Namekian. But what use was that when he could not stand up to Kakarot's retaliation? The fool had thrown his whole plan off kilter! Stole everything promised to him and made him look like a fool! The Saiyan Prince would not--could not--be bested by this low class a third time. Kakarot would die by his hand, that would not change. But he needed to train first, achieve Super Saiyan and do it better. 

And so he trained. Day and night until he flirted with death. Haunted by the image of Super Saiyan Kakarot battling Frieza on a dying planet. The memory of sensing that power for the first time seemed stamped on his ki perception, a power that threatened to bring him to his knees. Bitterness, vengeance, and rage surged him onward, a man possessed. Driven by an ever present need to take his place as the most powerful being in the universe. 

And yet, despite all that, he remained unchanged. Stronger, certainly. But he still lacked the key to transformation, and that only ignited his fury further. What did that buffoon have that he lacked? How? The singular word bounced around his brain like the simulated ki blasts of his training program. What was the secret? Time ticked down until these androids meant to doom them all arrived. He refused to die to some mechanical monstrosities, not before he got his chance to prove once and for all that he was the superior warrior. 

They would serve as a testament to his strength. His ascension to legendary status. But he had to get there first.

The sky above him raged in a violent storm, lightning streaking the dark at intervals of mere milliseconds. The air around him surged with power, a reflection of the intense wrath that blazed within him. The ground shook from the force of the accompanying thunder, rattled his very being to the core. He felt awakened, his previous exhaustion forgotten as a new wave of invigoration overpowered it. 

So his training began. Unencumbered. Uninhibited. Free of the petty distractions that interrupted him on Earth. Until the meteors threatened his ship. Fine. A new training exercise. He zipped through the shower, punching and blasting his way through the chunks of space rock with precision and finesse. The warm up, he found, when a meteor half the size of the planet entered the atmosphere, parting the clouds in a fiery cascade. The Saiyan prince soared upward, confident when his previous employment required him to destroy entire planets on a whim. He pulled his arm back, energy building in his palm before he shot it toward the meteor. Though, instead of resulting in an explosion, the behemoth swallowed the light, only spraying a few chunks of matter from its surface. Another blast. A barrage of them. Still it inched closer to his only means to escape this planet. His training had left him too drained. This damn rock was going to strand him there on that empty planet. No! He wouldn’t let that happen!

Mustering every last ounce of energy he could, he pulled both hands up to his head, the back of his right hand pressed into his left palm. Purple energy built around him and in his hands. “Galick Gun, fire!” With all he had left, he shot the violet energy through his hands toward the encroaching meteor, energy bursting from his palms and striking it at near point blank range. The explosion shot him straight toward the planets surface, his used up body crashing through rock formation after rock formation before slamming into the ground.

Immense pain and the ringing in his ears were all he could register as he lay prostrate in the wide crater for countless minutes. He cracked his eyes open, squinting at the lightning streaked sky above him. He needed to move, to ensure his efforts yielded success. He pushed up with his elbows, snarling as pain ripped through him, and he shifted to his knees and dragged himself to the edge of the crater. He stretched his hand out on level ground and hoisted his upper half from the hole; it was all he could manage. The Prince of all Saiyan’s reduced to crawling, clawing his way out of a crater. Too weak to best a meteor and stay on his feet. How fucking pathetic.

Vegeta beat his bruised and bloody fist on the stone ground, the guttural growl growing in volume with each pound to echo the thunder rolling around him. How many more times did he have to fail? He failed his own race, and then couldn’t even take proper revenge for their murder. He failed Nappa and Raditz, no matter how damn weak they were. At this point, what made him any better? Kakarot bested him, too. Isn’t that why he killed Nappa? Because the bumbling idiot couldn’t even kill an Earth-raised, third rate Saiyan? Even a damn kid from the future had surpassed him! The Prince of all Saiyans! He who had been promised the universe and then some by his damnable father! What did he have to show for it? For all the pain and abuse and training? Nothing. Absolutely fucking nothing. He had been reduced to buying his time on a planet he should have just destroyed upon landing, surrounded by the very idiots that began his streak of shitty luck!

What had Frieza told him? “You’re one of the lucky ones.” Ha! At that moment, he would bet the universe got off on shooting him down and kicking him in the ribs.

He bowed his head as tears of rage and shame filled his eyes, though his gut boiled fiercely. He forced himself onto his feet, stumbling a step before regaining his balance. Nothing. The word echoed in his ears, roaring in the thunder as it answered the lightning. He had nothing left. Had lost it all long ago, but he refused to admit it to himself. And suddenly...everything that had driven him the past three years meant nothing. He didn’t care about Kakarot or killing him or surpassing him. He didn’t care if he left this planet. He didn’t even care if he lived. How long had he walked on borrowed time? His second chance at life was a damn joke, a literal accident, extra time for the universe to taunt him for his failings. 

Vegeta’s heart pounded in his ears, beating on his sternum like a war drum. The rest of the world fell silent around him as his rage exploded. Pure power rushed through his body and he tilted his head back to bellow his fury into the void of space above. Blinding light flared from his form and burst with a planet-quaking boom. 

Consciousness flooded back like a sea’s tide, the area around him now illuminated in a golden glow. A glow that originated from him. He raised his hands and flexed them before balling them into fists. Such power. It felt incredible. Endless. Roiling throughout every ounce of his being. His shoulders shook as laughter rumbled in his chest and finally burst from his mouth. He took to the air and shot through the angry sky, admiring his speed. He destroyed mountains as he whizzed by them, each target bigger than the last. If he didn’t need the ship, he would have destroyed the planet itself just to see how easy his new power made it.

Landing near the ship (still intact, surprisingly), he powered down, acutely aware of the toll it took on him. He would have to fix that, master the form and improve upon it. It felt surreal, like he would wake up at any moment. But he knew better. He knew he only had nightmares.

He had truly done it. He had become a Super Saiyan.

“Well, I guess there really is a first time for everything.”

Vegeta didn’t care if the bartender’s comment was meant for him or merely the young woman musing aloud; he kept his attention on the drink sitting in the open space within his crossed arms on the polished wood. He could still hear the vapid giggling of the two women as they trotted to the elevator at the back of the room, clinging on the arms of his charmed comrades. It was nothing new to the prince, especially on obvious busy work like this meant to keep them out of Frieza’s line of sight for a little while. Until he needed them again. Everyone knew years of mining and drilling by the Cold’s forces had sucked this planet dry of any valuable resources. The inhabitants ranged from an occasional surprising street fighter to abysmally weak, and very few even knew how to control Ki. The bulk of Frieza’s force there had already evacuated, sent on more fruitful endeavors for the empire. At best, this planet would be made a base, and the inhabitants would have to continue to live with Frieza’s soldiers. But, this far out, Vegeta wasn’t that optimistic.

A misstep had earned them this pointless assignment on the edges of Frieza’s claim to the universe, and they were given three days to complete a full recon and report, not counting travel time. Peeved and annoyed with the gall Frieza had to assign them busy work, even Vegeta agreed that, after finishing up the assignment in just over a day, they could use the remainder of their second day to use as they saw fit and send the report in on the morning of their third day. For Raditz and Nappa, that typically meant booze, food, and fucking whoever would have them. For Vegeta, he would likely find a space to train at his leisure. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a group of three or more men not break out into a fight over my sisters’ company. Unless you’re just not into women...I suppose I shouldn’t assume…”

Obsidian eyes finally slid over to the woman, and, in comparison to her siblings, he understood why she would not appeal to the masses as easily as her sisters. Shorter and more plainly dressed in a shabby-looking, moss green jacket (the bar blocked the rest of his view of her outfit), she appeared to prefer avoiding attention rather than grabbing it. Two, beaded braids framed her face while the rest of her tawny hair was pulled back in a high ponytail, the same braids appearing intermittently throughout. She lacked the nearing gaudy makeup her sisters donned, and freckles dotted her lightly sun-kissed cheeks and the bridge of her slightly misshapen nose. A preference for the outdoors, perhaps, if not natural. The long ears inherent of her race jutted out from the side of her face, and he noticed the rose color dusting their tips.

“Your sisters aren’t my type,” he said finally, in hopes of shutting her up. She seemed to be the type to talk more when nervous. If she didn’t continue to ramble, he could at least take some solace in the fact that her voice held a more mellow timbre than the near screech of her sisters’.  He picked up his drink and took a hearty gulp. Supposedly the strongest they had, but he knew he would need to drink these all day to even earn a buzz. 

He heard her hum and he thought she might take the hint and busy herself with cleaning the counter or glasses. Something other than making small talk with him. Wishful thinking.

“I would ask what your type is, then, but I’m going to assume you won’t answer that.” He offered her a grunt in response, though he couldn’t stop himself from casting her another glance, as if her unasked question reflexively piqued his curiosity to check if she fit such a bill (not that he really knew his type, anyway; he didn’t care to figure it out, but he always knew what wasn’t). The only features he would consider striking in her face were her eyes, an unusual shade of shimmering silver he could not recall ever witnessing. “You’re Frieza’s soldiers, right? You and your friends?”

He fixed her with a glare, insulted, but unsure of how to correct her first: the Prince of all Saiyans answered to no one unless he wanted to and he would never refer to Nappa or Raditz as a friend. However, in an attempt to avoid more pointless conversation and seem interested in talking to her, he replied with a growled, “Yes,” and drained his glass.

“So, you can fight, then?”

Vegeta slid the glass across the bar toward her--which she expertly caught, much to his surprise considering the suddenness and speed--and rose to his feet. A stupid question, and he was sure she knew it. He pulled the neck of his armor out to fish out his pay chip, intent on paying for his drink and making a hasty exit, and slapped it down on the bar.

The woman retrieved his chip, but made no immediate move to run it. “Um, this is going to sound like an odd question but would you spar with me? I need the practice…” Silver eyes darted to the tapping of his fingers on the wood, and she rushed to the terminal behind her. She returned and offered the chip back to him. However, when he reached out for it, she snatched it out of his reach. She didn’t flinch when he growled; she expected an answer.

The Saiyan prince lifted a hand to his scouter, but it hung in midair. A habit to check a prospective opponent’s power level. He lowered it again. His tongue wrapped around a haughty rejection, but held it firmly in his mouth. Such a strange request when none that he surveyed on the planet could touch even the lowliest of Frieza’s men, and most showed no signs of any fighting prowess besides. He doubted she was much different, but his boredom and curiosity convinced him to humor her. If she had the guts to challenge him, he could grant her the satisfaction of understanding just how grave her mistake was.

“Fine. Let’s go.”

Her eyes widened; she obviously expected him to refuse. A show of sharp canines in an annoyed snarl reanimated her. She slapped the chip back into his waiting palm and darted toward a door off the bar, tearing the apron from her waist and shrugging out of her jacket as she went. Vegeta tucked his pay chip away as she shouted into the next room that she was going out. She slammed the door before whoever was behind it could protest and joined him on the other side of the bar. Unencumbered by the bar and her jacket, he saw that she wore a baggy pair of pants that matched her jacket in color and a pair of boots common in style on the planet. The white shirt turned out to be a tank top that clung to her body and bore a strip of her midriff, accentuating toned arms and abdomen. Heat rose in his cheeks when his mind registered that she was...shaplier in the chest area than the jacket allowed onlookers to guess. He turned on his heel quickly to preserve his pride and class.

“Great! I know a place not far from here. Nice and open and people don’t usually hang around there.” The woman followed him outside and, before he could ask if she could fly, her feet left the dust-riddled street and she took off. He huffed and flew after her, catching up with ease. She could use ki. That at least meant this spar might scratch the surface of interesting, at least. 

“I am surprised you can leave your bar unattended on a whim, even in a backwater town like that one. Is business truly that slow?”

“My parents will handle it,” she responded shortly, her attention set in front of her. “They own the place, anyway. They’re lucky I give enough of a shit about my sisters to stick around, help out, and protect them, and they know that. They sure as hell never do it. Besides, they probably think I’m off to earn money, anyway, so of course they’re not going to question it.”

Vegeta had his suspicions about the two women when they fluttered over to the trio upon entering. His icy demeanor spurned them immediately, but Nappa and Raditz welcomed their flirtations without qualm. He heard their whispers and the exchange of terms through their giggles; he had tagged along to enough brothels to understand their inner workings, no matter how low key and whether he participated or not. However, he could not recall any where parents pimped out their children. Such vile beings this universe hosted…

They touched down in an open field, the patches of green within the nearly dried up landscape the most he had seen in miles. “Do you plan to charge me for this spar then, woman?” he asked, folding his arms over his chest. A slight smirk curled his lips. “Do you charge per punch landed? Extra for using ki?”

Her brows lowered and corners of her lips dipped downward as she stretched an arm over her chest. “You like to hear yourself talk after all, don’t you?” She snorted and switched limbs. “Obviously, I knock out or kill those who agree to spar with me and rob them blind. Requires much less calculation.”

He might have believed her if he hadn’t caught the quiver of her lips in a flash of a smile. “Ha! Well, I think you’ll find I’m much more difficult to take down. But, if you can, I’ll give you every bit of currency I have to my name.”

“Great, I’ve been eyeing a new pair of boots.” 

She sprang forward before the last word could register meaning in the Saiyan’s mind, punches and kicks flying in a flurry of speed he did not expect. He dodged them without issue, his arms remaining folded, and allowed his focus to gauge her skill level. Quick. Unpolished but confident and strong swings, suggesting she taught herself to some degree and had enough success. The ever lessening presence of her smirk further suggested the latter; she was not used to having this much trouble.

Finally, Vegeta allowed an easily dodged uppercut to connect with the underside of his chin, a test of her strength, how hard she could hit. His head snapped back, the point of contact smarting and his teeth ringing from the impact. He expected her to celebrate her small victory, but she proved him wrong. A sweep of her leg sent him skidding several feet from where he stood. He only just recovered before she attacked again. Fine, she proved clever enough. Though a piss poor strategy like wearing her opponent out wouldn’t work on him.

He ducked beneath a fist aimed for his face and caught her ankle as she attempted to follow up with a kick. He responded to her surprised gasp with a rumbling chuckle of his own. “Not bad. But I’m not just some urchin you picked a fight with off the street.”

Vegeta tugged the woman forward, taking advantage of her lack of balance, and sidestepped. He shoved and elbow hard into her spine and sent her sprawling face first into the dust. “Hmph, if that’s all you have to offer, fly home. I don’t waste time with weaklings.”

She pushed off her hands and twisted at the waist to shoot a wave of lavender ki straight for his face. He bent back to avoid it, the heat brushing past his face before he heard it explode in the cliff face behind them. His smirk widened when he found her back on her feet and charging him again. He dodged and blocked her blows once more, but he noted the significant boost in her speed and strength. Good, she was taking this seriously now. He had given her an immediate understanding of what kind of opponent she dealt with, and she rose with that challenge. Respectable, even if her power level only ranked among the middle levels of Frieza’s ranks.

Their spar continued on much the same way: Vegeta allowed her to punch, kick, and toss ki blasts his way to her heart’s content, then he would return a few blows and knock her away. Each time, she came back stronger, faster, more determined to level the playing field no matter how wide the gap between them or the blood and bruises on her body from his strikes. An admirable warrior in her own right. She impressed him, as far as the denizens of this doomed planet went.

As the daylight began to fade, the sky dyed various hues of burning orange, he noticed each time she fell, she took a few seconds longer to rise up again. Finally, a kick to her side sent her sailing sideways and skidding along the ground. Her body slammed into the bottom of the cliff, and she laid motionless for several seconds. Just when he thought he had knocked her unconscious or her body had finally given out, he heard her groan and flip over from her side to her back, a grin on her face.

“Alright, that’s it. I give in.” She forced herself to a sitting position, expression contorting in pain with every miniscule motion. “You win. But you knew you would this whole time, didn’t you?”

“Of course I did.” He cocked his head to either side, stretching the tendons in his neck. Their spar hadn’t been the most productive for him, but it hadn’t bored him either. A rarity, even with those meant to be on his skill level. “You surprised me. I would have never guessed anyone on this planet could even come close to the level you’ve achieved.”

She shifted to face him and swept her forearm over her face to rid it of sweat, blood, and grime. “It was actually a Saiyan that inspired me to learn to fight, even if I had to teach myself. I was little, but I watched a Saiyan woman fight off another of Frieza’s soldiers when he wouldn’t leave her alone. It was eye-opening when I was taught all along that women didn’t fight. Not respectable ones at least.” She shrugged a shoulder and rolled it for a stretch and Vegeta grunted; too many societies he had come into contact with believed similarly. He found it pathetic and ridiculous. “I couldn’t turn down the chance to fight one, to test myself. It’s been ages since I’ve seen another Saiyan…”

“That’s because we’re the last three.” The admission tumbled from his lips before he could stop them, and he scowled. He usually did not correct anyone ignorant of his people’s fate, kept his comments to himself when some merchant or whore wondered aloud about the last time they did business with a Saiyan. And yet, this woman had him yapping about something so personal without even trying. Must be the lack of food. When had he eaten last? That morning?

The woman’s face fell. “O-oh...I-I’m--”

“Save it.” Vegeta stomped over to her and stuck out his hand, the suddenness causing her to flinch back. She took it and he pulled her to her feet, a little rougher than he initially intended, though, if it bothered her, she said nothing. He released her hand. “Where is the best place for food here? Everything I’ve tried here tastes like molten garbage.”

“Well, there’s really not much left, as I’m sure you noticed.” She dusted herself off and pulled the strap of her tank top back into its proper place. “But...you’re welcome to stay at my place for the night. If you want. It’s quieter than the hotel, that’s for sure, more comfortable, too. Many of the rooms there haven’t been cleaned in quite a while, if you want the honest truth. My parents have yet to hire new help after skimping on paying the last batch of employees, my sisters refuse to help with that sort of work, and…”

She trailed off when she noticed his pointed look, how she hadn’t answered his question. She swallowed. “And I can cook. So you’ll get food, peace, and comfort. The offer’s open so take it if you want.”

Vegeta watched her take to the sky and mulled over the offer. With how she seemed determined to chat with him, he questioned the validity of her claim to quiet. The growl of his stomach voted in favor, proposing that almost anything could beat the trash he and his cohorts had wolfed down the day before. Comfort...his mind lingered on that word, twisting it into a more lewd definition. Images of her toned, nude body beneath him among a tangle of sheets, glistening in sweat as her moans filled the air…

White energy surrounded him and he shot into the sky after her. Fine. What did he have to lose anyway? Unless Frieza felt some sort of sentimental value toward this planet and those who roamed on it, she would likely be killed in the near future anyway. A shame, considering her potential. It was too bad there weren’t more like her. Enough to make her planet a worthwhile gem among the tyrant’s endless trove…

He wondered if she knew that...understood what his and his lackeys’ stay here likely meant for her and her home…

"We're getting married, Vegeta. That's final."

He swore the damn woman had an alarm on every door he frequented, from his bedroom in the guest wing to the gravity room. Perhaps on his bed, too, as he had just convinced himself to roll out of it, dress, and hole himself up in the gravity chamber to train until his body begged him to stop. He had just pulled the door open and there she stood, scowling and balancing her brat on her hip. The kid seemed unfazed by the aggravation in her voice, more intent on sucking his thumb.

Vegeta gripped the doorframe, the only thing to keep him from shoving her out of the way and continuing on his way. He had spent months away after Cell's defeat, once more a man lost and unsure of his purpose. His pride in tatters when even Kakarot's brat had surpassed him. Those days remained a blur in his memory as he worked through his rage until it fizzled out and he had nothing left to fuel him. Hollowed out, unfeeling, unmotivated. One moment he wanted to steal the woman's father's ship, blast off into space and challenge every powerful warrior he could find to validate his own strength. Take over the Cold empire as he was meant to. In the end, that all felt pointless. A set up for another string of unfortunate failures. Thus, he settled on the only thing that felt familiar, the only thing that brought even the remotest sense of contentment for him: training. Even if it meant suffering the woman and her worthless friends.

"Hello! Earth to Vegeta! Did you hear a word I said?" Bulma swapped the half asleep child to her other hip. "I know you decided to disappear on me and your child for months, but surely that didn't affect your hearing!"

He wished it had, her shrill shrieks unfriendly to sensitive ears and already threatening a pounding headache. "I heard you, woman," he growled, making to shove forward only for her to shift in front of him. Marriage to a weak Earth woman who could not even fight...he could hear his ancestors laughing in Hell. The only attributes she possessed he would consider remotely worthwhile were her decent looks and intellect when it came to technology. Nothing marriageable about her to a true Saiyan. Not to mention her obvious desire for Kakarot no matter how she tried to hide it. In his time there, he found Earth's ideals, especially those surrounding marriage and mating, starkly differed from those of Saiyans. And not for the better. They craved companionship and what they called love as the highest goals in their lives. They would set aside everything for it, change themselves for it, no matter how long or hard they worked to achieve whatever goals they had before. Saiyans rarely married, even his parents married as a mere show of power, the Saiyan King with their most powerful, accomplished, and terrifying general. They mated when they chose, and if a brat resulted from it, it didn't always mean they stuck around as a pair. Here he found, that was taboo. Unacceptable and improper.

"And just why do you think I would want to marry the likes of you?" he asked, hoping a thinly veiled insult would upset her and send her crying to her parents or that beta male she still fucked around with.

His words only deepened her glare and she stood her ground. "Are you kidding me?" She pointed at the brat, now babbling and tugging on the neckline of her shirt. "You knocked me up, you creep! It's the right thing to do, and you owe me and Trunks at least that!"

"Because you weren't throwing yourself at me the moment the damn Namek dragon sent us all back to Earth." He could insult her, belittle her, nearly kill her friends, treat her like utter trash and order her around like a damn servant day in and day out and she still flirted and tried to bed him. The meaner he was, the hornier it made her. Of course he caved eventually; he had needs, too. He hadn't even thought of impregnating her, his bestial instincts begging him for release in more carnal avenues and blinding him to the possibility in the moment. He stupidly forgot their races were even genetically compatible. She wanted to fuck, he needed release; the answer was simple at the time. "I don't owe you shit, woman, now get the hell out of my way before I force you out of the way."

"After I let you live, eat, and train here for free, you really think you don't owe me anything? I don't think you've ever even said thank you!" 

Vegeta rolled his eyes. He had had enough of her shit for another few months. He shoved forward only to be blocked again. His temper flared, hackles rising in warning. 

Bulma merely scoffed. "You need to man up, Vegeta. Own up to your 'mistakes'," she huffed and yanked a strand of her hair out of the child's clutches before he could stick it in his mouth. "I'm going to be straight with you since no one else--not even yourself--will. Your entitled, cocky prince act was cute at first, but it got old real quick. Your outbursts and temper tantrums are childish. Newsflash, Vegeta! You're not even a prince anymore! Your planet and people are gone, and the few left would never bow to you! You're not royalty, and no one will ever treat you like it! Get over it and stop acting like a baby. You have a child now, I'm going to be your wife, and you're going to learn to live here like a responsible, normal person!"

Had she spewed this drivel a few months, a few years ago, he might have blasted her where she stood for her disrespect. The emptiness inside him kept him from caring about her stupid opinions, her expectations of him, the grains of truth in her prattle. He did not care if she thought him a "real man." He did not even care that she insulted his title, his bloodline, or attacked a sensitive subject she could not begin to understand the gravity of. But the attack on his pride as a Saiyan, to order him to conform to her idealistic model of normalcy and perform the part of the happy husband and father, roles he didn't care to fill with the likes of her...that threatened to put her through the wall she stood in front of.

"That's rich coming from a spoiled brat like you," he snarled. She didn't know shit about him and she didn't try either. Why the hell would he want to bond himself with a woman like her? His dark eyes found her blue ones, the darkness in him bubbling to the surface. "Say one more word to me today and I'll rip your voice box from your throat."

This time, Bulma stepped back, her spine meeting the wall as she swallowed. He could smell her fear, no matter how little her stubborn frown wavered. He huffed and moved past her, stomping toward the glass doors at the end of the hall that would lead him onto the manicured lawn still drenched in the morning dew. 

"How typical! Hear something you don't like and you throw a fit! Solve all your problems with violence like the ape you are!"

Vegeta halted halfway to the door. Every muscle in his body tensed as a war for control raged inside him. His mind had converted Bulma's voice to Frieza's, the slur and similar ones echoing in his skull joined by the cruel laughter that often accompanied it. One fist slammed into the wall beside him while the other clutched his head. He had to move. Get out of that damn hallway and away from the damn woman. He could hear the brat screaming from somewhere far away, his mother trying to hush him and throwing another insult his way.

He willed his feet to walk. Once outside, he shot into the sky. Away from Capsule Corp. Away from the city. He would not suffer her shit another second that day.

Glass and bone crunched beneath his boot, fresh blood further staining once ivory leather. The screams and groans of pain had subsided, the only sounds around him the crackle of flames and the occasional whistle of the wind. The scent of death and burning flesh filled his nostrils, fueling the adrenaline still pumping through his veins. 

He kicked a corpse aside--a soldier, if the armor meant anything--and tapped the button on his scouter with bloodied fingertips to perform a scan of the area. See if any unlucky fools escaped his initial razing of the planet. He had the whole assignment to himself. Nappa had protested; the planet had been in rebellion for quite some time and housed unexpectedly powerful warriors in great numbers. How even the strongest warriors could fall when outnumbered. Vegeta ignored him and threatened to toss him out an airlock if he tried to follow without his say so. It would be a worthy test of his strength, an uninhibited and untethered display of his power, if the reports had any merit.

As it turned out, they didn’t. Not that he could see.

His scouter beeped three times as it picked up a reading, the yellow characters flashing on the red glass indicating it originated behind him. Close, weakened if ever strong. Attuned ears picked up the slow approach with one foot landing heavier on the pavement than the other, a poor attempt at stealth. One left. And here he thought he had been thorough…

“You damn monster,” the lone survivor croaked behind him. Vegeta opened his eyes enough to note the surge in his power level on his scouter, a light behind him lengthening his shadow. So, he would fight to his last breath.

The Saiyan turned on his heel to face his heckler, tongue lashing out to lick gore--his or someone else’s, he didn’t know or care--from his face. The local had definitely been caught in the crossfire, armor cracked and broken, his body littered with bruises and painted with blood. He put all his weight on his right leg, the left hanging limply beside it. He held a ball of ki in his hand, though the light guttered with the fading of his energy.

“How very original,” Vegeta drawled. Terrifying speed placed him directly in front of the dying soldier. He gripped his wrist and snapped it back in a sickening crack, sending the attack meant for him jetting into space. The man howled in pain, widening the smirk the Saiyan wore.

“Y-you’re no better than him...than Frieza!”

His smirk fell into a tight frown, and his grip tightened. “You’re right.” Vegeta raised his hand level with the soldier’s face. “I’m much, much worse.”

Vegeta fired the blast at Kakarot. Point-blank range and putting him on guard with no chance for immediate retaliation. He had to be if he wanted to protect all those people spectating in the stands behind him. He watched as the force behind the energy forced him back, back, back. Until he finally had to relent and fly out of its path. Yellow light soared into the crowd and exploded through the cement structure, a path of ruin left in its wake through the city beyond. Screams of terror and anguish filled the air, a symphony to the Saiyan’s ears.

Finally. Finally he would get what he wanted, what he craved for all these years: revenge. To best Kakarot and once and for all reclaim his rightful place as the most powerful Saiyan in existence. Babadi’s magic did no more than reach into the depths of his mind, his soul, and resurrect Vegeta. Tearing the man once feared the universe over, the savage and ruthless destroyer, from the shallow, unmarked grave he himself had shoved him into. For comfort. For ease. For conformity on this wretched planet. The fingers of the wizard’s black magic plucked the pesky attachments he developed from his mind like overzealous weeds. Vegeta, the Prince of all Saiyans was whole once more, beaten down pride and burning rage reignited and flaring hotter than any star.

They called his decision to succumb to Babidi’s mind control weakness. Slavery. No. The wizard had no more control of him than anyone else should have these past years. He felt more powerful than he ever had. He raised his hand again and shot another blast into the crowd. This. This was what he wanted. He would not let anyone or anything stand in the way of his battle with Kakarot. Not the Kai. Not Gohan. Not this Buu creature or Babidi. They settled this today. He would reclaim his honor, his destiny. 

He would stand in Kakarot’s shadow no longer.

Vegeta struggled against the powerful arms that restrained him, tail lashing in fury as he fought with fists, feet, and teeth against Frieza’s goons. He could hear Nappa bringing up the rear, pleading the young Saiyan’s case with Frieza: he was young and hadn’t learned to respect his betters, his mourning made him mouthier, that he would handle punishment himself and ensure it never happened again, anything other than locking him away like that, to lock him up in there instead. They both knew his words fell flat in the tyrant’s ears; Vegeta had finally crossed the line and told the emperor just what he thought of him and Frieza did not tolerate insubordination.

The soldiers tossed the young Saiyan to the back of the dark room. He roared and darted forward, only to collide with the cold metal of the door slamming in his face. He only just registered the pain it caused, already launching himself for the door again, intent on busting it open. He screamed and rammed into the door, bellowed for Nappa to let him out this instant. Deep down he knew his protests were swallowed by the darkness that encompassed him in the small space, but it didn’t stop him from yelling until his throat was raw. From bashing his full weight into the door until his small frame went numb.

Furious, he bounded back. Ki built in his palms and he shot every ounce of energy he had toward the door. The blast rebounded straight back and struck him in the chest. The force knocked the wind from his lungs and smashed him into the wall behind him. His body slid to the ground and he laid still. Limp, too weak to move.

It was too easy to lose track of time in that pitch black cell, and he did not know how long he lay there. Light filtered into the room as the door cracked open. Freedom! He willed himself to fly toward it as a tray with a paltry sum of food was set on the cold floor along with a glass of water. Vegeta nearly grasped the edge of the door but, once more, it slammed in his face and nearly took his fingers with it. He growled, his throat screeching in protest at the guttural sound. He felt along the edges of the door--or what he thought were the edges of the door--for any kind of hand hold. A way to grip it and force it open. Sealed tight, as expected. He kicked the tray into the wall in his stubborn frustration.

He counted six meals. Six failed attempts at escaping. Sometimes, he woke up from his slumber, and when he felt around the cell, he found the food waiting for him. Missed opportunities. The meals barely kept him alive and awarded him no energy. He slept more often than not, plagued by dreams of spending the rest of his life there. The deaths of his parents and people burning up in the wake of an exploding planet. Nappa and Raditz being tortured in his absence...He always woke up in a tighter ball after such nightmares, tail squeezing him in makeshift protection…

Light flared and burned his eyes, causing him to hiss and tuck his face into his chest and arms. Large hands slipped beneath him and scooped him up. His tail bristled in warning and his body stiffened, all senses on high alert. The restraints held fast, the familiar scent of the Saiyan general filling his nose and calming him. Nappa carried him out of the cell, and Vegeta buried his face in his armor, fighting the tears of anguish that threatened to fall.

Before long, he was deposited onto his bed. The young Saiyan prince squirmed beneath the blanket and faced the wall in his bunk, knees tucked to his chest. He heard Raditz shift above him but his light snoring remained uninterrupted. He held his blankets tight around him, clutching them like a lifeline and laid perfectly still. He still felt tired, drained, but his eyes remained wide open and set on the wall. He never knew he could miss a bed or a pillow so much. Or the sound of Raditz snoring. Or light.

After a long while, hours perhaps, he heard Nappa sigh; he had forgotten the general remained in the room at all. “I’m sorry, kiddo...so damn sorry.” He spoke in nearly a whisper, his typically strong and boisterous voice close to shaking. “I wish I could protect you like your parents wanted...like you deserve.”

Vegeta’s grip tightened on the blanket that failed to warm him. He felt cold. Always so cold. “Feeling sorry for yourself won’t do you any good, Nappa,” he mumbled, a half-hearted reprimand in comparison to his usual temper. He turned to face Nappa, staring him down with a blank expression and hollow eyes. “Mother, father...everyone else is dead. We survived, and we’ll keep doing it...no matter what it takes.”

He paused, swallowing the lump in his throat. “We’re the lucky ones.”

Upbeat dance music filtered up to the balcony on a light summer breeze to the balcony on the other side of Capsule Corp. where Vegeta had taken refuge from the ongoing celebration. No one noticed his exit, and he had no qualms with that. While most left him to his own devices, he tired of the idle conversation, the laughter and music. Thus, he snatched up a cooler of beer and took off to the other side of the building, settling in at a table on one of the balconies.

He tipped the bottle back and drained the rest of its contents. He threw it into the air, toward the setting sun, and blasted it into nothing. Since Majin Buu’s defeat, he felt as if he floated through space and time, a phantom going through the motions of a routine that felt more pointless by the day. Not even training held his interest long and, more often than not, he found himself flying around the planet aimlessly but pretending to have a purpose.

Kakarot had once more proven himself the better warrior and killed Buu. He swallowed his pride and accepted it, accepted the fact that he would forever be second place. In the moment, he thought acceptance would free him and perhaps it had at the time. But as time passed and he returned to life on Earth playing the role of husband for show and father and took up his training regimen...a weight bore down on him, growing heavier each day. He grew restless and craved direction, purpose. How long had he chased that dream of revenge? Of surpassing Kakarot and anyone else who challenged his birthright as the most powerful Saiyan--no, being--in existence? After losing Raditz and Nappa, being humiliated on Earth and Namek...he had clung to the only things he truly understood: rage, pride, and vengeance.

Vegeta reached down to fish out another beer from the icy confines of the cooler. He flicked the cap off with his thumb and pressed it to his lips, draining half the bottle in a single gulp. He considered the idea of taking the spaceship and wandering the universe that always lingered at the back of his mind. Search for warriors to train with, test his limits and break them and the monotony. The desire to conquer and claim what his father promised him had faded to a fever dream. He lacked the patience it required these days. As usual, he squashed the idea before it could spur him into action. 

Maybe someday he would find something that sparked the fire in him again, gave him purpose. Or he would spend the rest of his days in inanity, performing a part in a play he neither tried out for or wanted. Waiting for the next tragedy to befall the Earth or universe so he could feel alive for a day or two or until the threat was exterminated, likely by Kakarot. And then the cycle would repeat: he would train to get stronger, a new threat arises, Kakarot proves he’s more powerful. Maddening. Unfulfilling. Reality.

He let his head fall back and watched the whisps of clouds lazily sail through the darkening sky. What had Frieza told him when he found out about the destruction of his planet and people? That he was one of the lucky ones. Lucky...by Earthling standards, many had told him that for one reason or another: you have a hot, rich “wife” and don’t need to work, a place to live and food to eat, a healthy son, the fact that he was alive to live the next day. Nothing that truly mattered to him; an ideal Earth life did not appeal to his Saiyan warrior mentality. In fact, he could not think of a single moment in his life where he would consider himself lucky, even with Frieza dead and unable to be the source of his despair. 

Raised voices and laughter from inside shifted his attention to the glass doors. Kakarot had finally showed up. His friends surrounded him like flies on shit, grinning and laughing with the buffoon like he had been there all day. Even his shrew of a wife who had complained about his absence all afternoon to anyone who would listen smiled in welcome. Kakarot...the damn bastard. He drank the last of his beer and stood up. 

Vegeta had lost everything else--his title, his race, his birthright--but, as he stared down his longtime rival from behind a pane of glass, he knew he could cling to one, single truth: he was a warrior. Always would be. And he would never stop pushing and breaking his limits his way. 

[emospritelet]

Prompt for a later chapter in Sparks: Does Ember smell/sense pregnancy and how do baby dragons respond to another pregnancy? Especially if Papa is being more obtuse than normal and Mama is just figuring out what is happening to her?

Sorry it took me so long to pick this up again, but better late than never.

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

AO3 link

By Midwinter, the Dark Castle was warm and surprisingly snug, insulated by magic to keep out the bitter mountain winds and the sharp bite of frost.  Belle hummed as she decorated the Great Hall with holly and ivy, feathery crowns of mistletoe hung from doorways and chandeliers.  Rumple had even brought a tree inside again, and it stood near one of the large windows that looked out over the snow-covered grounds, awaiting the boxes of trinkets that would decorate its branches.  A few of the ornaments appeared to have gone missing, and Belle suspected that Ember had taken them, attracted by glittering gold and coloured glass beads.

Rumple himself was out, away on a deal far to the east, and while Belle enjoyed accompanying him on his travels, he had insisted she stay behind this time.  She hadn’t minded too much; it was likely he wanted to buy presents, and she was more than happy to be surprised on the day of the festival with what he would give her.

Belle tucked the last of the holly sprigs onto the mantelpiece, and sighed, knuckling the small of her back where a twinge caught.  She had been on her feet all day, and they ached, but she had insisted on decorating the Hall by hand rather than with magic.  It was an enjoyable task, but she had been up since dawn baking cookies and collecting the greenery. It was now almost suppertime, and she was desperately tired.  She had not seen Ember since lunchtime, the castle suspiciously quiet, and she was dreading what she might find when she finally tracked down the little dragon.  Ember had recently started catching and eating small rodents that found their way into the castle, and Belle had stepped in the eviscerated remains of more than one victim, much to her despair.  Rumple had said that she would soon learn to eat the things whole, but in the meantime it was a case of watching where one stepped.  Being the adoptive parent of a dragon wasn’t the easiest job in the world, especially when one’s young charge had a tendency to set things on fire when she sneezed.  

Ember was now around nine months old, too large to ride on Rumple’s shoulders (not that it stopped her trying to clamber up there when something had spooked her) and should be learning to fly soon.  Rumple had been coaxing her to spend a little more time in the East Wing, where he had cleared out one of the towers for her.  He was hoping that if she were to see the outside world from high up, she would start trying to flap her wings, but so far Ember had flatly refused to go any higher than the door outside their bedroom.

Turning on her toes, Belle called to the little dragon, but there was no response.  Frowning, she walked out of the Hall and down to the kitchens, wincing a little on her sore feet.  Ember was not curled by the stove, another favourite place of hers, and so Belle sighed and made her way wearily up the stairs, heading for the library.  It was empty too, and Belle sank onto one of the couches with a sigh of relief.  She called again, and heard a faint shriek from somewhere in the castle, but Ember did not appear, and Belle frowned, wondering what she was up to.

Since Rumple had left the castle, she had been acting strangely, sniffing suspiciously at Belle’s outstretched hand, then scampering away with a rattle of claws and swishing of her tail.  Belle had initially assumed it was the changes that had been introduced, bringing the greenery into the house and installing the tree in the Hall, but when she thought about it, Ember had been skittish for a week or two, wanting to snuggle with Rumple at his spinning wheel rather than curl up at Belle’s feet as she read.  When she did approach Belle, she would croon a little, blinking her amber eyes and flattening her body against the floor as though she wanted to make herself smaller.  It was almost as though she thought that Belle was angry at her, when nothing could be further from the truth.

Belle tapped her foot, teeth tugging at her lower lip as she pondered Ember’s strange behaviour.  She called again, more sharply, and there was another answering shriek.  It was a little louder, and Belle whistled, hearing the tapping of claws against stone tiles, changing to a rattle as Ember clambered up the wooden stairs to the library.  A red-scaled snout, gleaming with gold tints, poked around the corner.

“There you are!” said Belle gently.  “Come here, sweetheart!”

The snout moved, revealing large golden eyes and ears laid flat against her head.  Belle had seen that look before, and it usually meant that Ember had done something she knew she shouldn’t.

“Please tell me you didn’t eat all the cookies I made.”

A huff and a ring of bluish smoke indicated the negative.

“Good.  Then why are you cowering?  Come here.”

Ember slunk into the room, belly low to the ground, approaching Belle by an indirect, circular route that ended with her just out of reach.  Belle shook her head.

“Don’t you want to be petted?” she asked.  “What’s wrong?”

Ember shuffled forwards a little further, gently nuzzling Belle’s hand and then flattening herself against the floor, as though she was afraid she had overstepped her welcome.  It was very strange.

Pushing to her feet, Belle walked over to the shelf that housed their small but expanding collection of books on the care of dragons.  Selecting one that focused on behaviour, she slumped onto the couch again and opened it up. There had to be answers there somewhere.

x

“Nose in a book as usual, I see.”

Rumple’s voice made Belle start, and she looked up with a smile.  He was grinning at her, snow speckling his hair and the shoulders of his coat, the candlelight picking out the golden flecks on his skin as he tossed a leather sack onto one of the chairs.  A grating squeal made them both jump, and Ember tackled him in a blur of red and gold, tail swishing excitedly as she knocked him on his back.  Rumple let out a grunt of surprise, head thumping against the floor, and Belle giggled as Ember nuzzled him over and over, crooning as she rubbed her head under his chin.

“Someone missed me, it seems,” he remarked, scratching her neck and making her back foot twitch rapidly, eyes closed in pleasure.

“She’s been acting oddly,” said Belle.  “I’m glad you’re back, I wasn’t sure what to make of what I’ve been reading.”

Rumple lifted his head, eyes narrowing as he read the book title.

“Dragons: a Behavioural Study,” he said.  “What does it say?  Is she ill?”

“I don’t think so,” said Belle slowly, glancing down at the book again.  “She’s all over you, same as ever, but she’s been acting strangely towards me. Staying out of my way, crawling on her belly whenever I call her to me… It’s almost as though she thinks I’m angry with her, as though she’s trying to show deference, but she’s never been like that before.”

“Hence the book.”  He gave Ember a final scratch, pushing her off him gently and getting to his feet.  “What does it say?”

He sat beside her on the couch, and Belle handed him the book.  Ember crawled slowly around to Rumple’s end of the couch, where she settled against his legs, head on one knee.  Rumple scratched her ears absently as his eyes scanned the page.  He frowned, and read it again.

“‘Adult dragons prefer solitude and mark out their own territories, which they will defend aggressively’,” he read.  “‘Males have little involvement in the lives of their young past conception, and will be chased out of the territory of any female with a clutch of eggs or a growing brood.  Female dragons are devoted to their young, and are excellent mothers, but once the young dragons are grown sufficiently to enable them to care for themselves, it has been observed that the mother will often chase them away from her nest, so that she can prepare to breed again.  Young dragons will try to appease their mother by submissive behaviours in order to delay the process’.”

He looked puzzled.

“Does she think we’re going to throw her out, is that it?”

“Well, she’s certainly been exhibiting the behaviours mentioned,” said Belle.  “I don’t understand.  Does she think we’re going to find another baby?  It was spring when we got her, and she certainly isn’t full-grown.”

Rumple snapped the book shut, staring at her.  His breathing seemed to have quickened a little, his eyes as wide and golden as Ember’s own.

“Not a dragon, perhaps,” he said, almost to himself.  “Sweetheart, how do you feel in yourself?”

“A little tired,” admitted Belle.  “Exhausted, actually.  I’m sure it’s just the Midwinter preparations.”

“And - and is there anything else you’ve noticed?” he pressed.  “Anything at all?”

“I - oh!”  She put a hand to her mouth.  “The new moon came and went, and I didn’t bleed.  In all the excitement I’d forgotten!”

Rumple’s eyes had widened further, his breathing shallow.  The tip of his tongue wet his lips nervously, and he patted Ember’s head, getting to his feet and striding from the room.  Belle heard his feet thundering on the stairs as he went up to his workroom.  There was a crashing of glass and loud swearing, and then rapid footsteps descending once more, and he burst into the library, breathing heavily and waving a tiny vial of a potion as clear as water, if far thicker.

“Here!” he said breathlessly.

“Why didn’t you just poof yourself up there and back down, if it was so urgent?” she asked, and he paused.

“I don’t know,” he said, looking stumped, and shoved the potion at her.  “Spit in this.”

“Ew, Rumple…”

“Please!” he said desperately.  “It’s the fastest way to tell if you’re - if we’re—”

He snapped his mouth shut, as though to say the word would curse the result. Belle stood up, reaching out to squeeze his arm with what she hoped was a reassuring smile.  Inwardly her heart was thumping just as fast as his, but she took the vial from his hands, tugging out the cork stopper and putting it to her lips as she worked some saliva into her mouth.  She spat as daintily as she could, and Rumple took the vial from her, re-corking it and shaking it vigorously.  He held it up to the light, and the clear fluid inside turned a vibrant, sparkling purple.  His lower lip trembled as his eyes met hers.

“A child,” he whispered.  “A child born of true love.”

Belle felt her breath catch in her throat, tears stinging her eyes.

“Really?” she breathed.  “We’re - we’re going to have a baby?”

He tucked the vial into the pocket of his coat, opening his arms so that she could hurl herself into them with a sob of joy.  He held her close, kissing her hair, her forehead, her damp cheeks.

“Thank you, Belle,” he said softly.  “Thank you, my love.”

“I think you had something to do with it too,” she pointed out, and felt a low chuckle rumble through him.

She pulled back a little, looking up at him, and he kissed her gently before pressing his brow to hers affectionately.  Their heads turned as one towards Ember, who was curled by the end of the couch, watching them with a downcast expression.

“She must have sensed it,” said Belle.  “She must think I’m going to chase her away to make room for the new little one.  She must think I’m going to chase you away, too, which is why she’s been so eager to be near you all the time.  Poor thing!”

“Well, let’s reassure her.”

Rumple let his arms slip from around her, and they both approached Ember slowly, stopping when she began to shuffle backwards.

“Ember darling, no one’s going to chase you away,” said Belle gently, squatting on her heels.  “I love you and I love Papa.  Very, very much.  We’re a family, and we’re going to stay that way.  And when the new baby arrives, you can help look after it.”

Ember’s ears pricked up.

“You’ll have a very special job as big sister,” added Rumple seriously.  “When the baby gets big enough to walk around on its own, you can protect it from anyone that might try to harm it.”

Ember pushed up off her belly, raising her head, and edged closer.

“If anyone really threatens our baby, you may have to chase them off,” he added, making her eyes brighten further.  “Or set them on fire, I don’t care which.”

“Rumple!”

“Don’t tell me you won’t be every bit as protective of our child,” he said, and Belle smiled, letting a hand drop to her still-flat belly.

“No immolation unless it’s absolutely necessary,” she said firmly, and Rumple tutted, sharing a look with Ember.

“Mama never lets us have any fun.”

[missnmikaelson-main]

Careful Elena, Someone Might Start to Think You Care - Part 1

I do not own TVD or TO

She yanked the wood from her thigh and allowed herself approximately thirty seconds to heal before flashing into the kitchen. An inhuman shriek escaped her lips, and echoed off the stainless steel appliances; her baby brother was sprawled on the floor at the feet of Kol.

She didn’t stop to think before rushing him. It was likely the element of surprise that allowed her to knock him flat on his back; what new vampire in their right mind would attack an Original?

Elena wasn’t in her right mind though. She could think of nothing but the prone body of her baby brother and taking vengeance for his demise.

Kol allowed her to get a couple of blows in before flipping her over. His hands grasped her wrists and pinned them above her head. He slotted his knee between her legs and used his body to trap her against the cold tile of the kitchen.

“You can continue to struggle, darling,” his breath fanned across her cheek, “or we could have a civilized conversation.”

“You just killed my brother,” Elena spat. Her flesh tingled under his touch.

“Do you take me for a fool, love?” He scoffed. “I’ve no intention of suffering the hunter’s curse.” He shifted and pinned her leg when she moved to bring up her knee; “listen, Elena.”

She struggled against his much stronger grip before following his instructions. Focusing her senses she picked up the dripping water from the tap, the gentle humming of the fridge, and the steady beating of three hearts: two vampires and one human.

“I did not kill him,” Kol met her confused gaze, “and I’ve no intention of killing him… at least not myself. He did try to kill me and I can’t allow that to go unpunished.”

“Leave him alone, Kol,” Elena inhaled a shaky breath, “it wasn’t his idea.”

“So you’re the mastermind behind this plot,” his eyes flickered over her pale face. “Tell me darling is the cure really worth it? Do you even know how many vampires would have died if your brother had succeeded?”

“No,” Elena shook her head.

“No you don’t know, or no it is not worth it?” A line appeared between his brows; he had not been expecting her to see her own insanity.

“Both,” Elena exhaled. The fight went out of her limbs as she succumbed to her fate. “If you’re going to kill me just do it.”

“I'm not going to kill you, Elena,” he sighed. “I want to know what you were thinking. What led you to this bloody decision?”

Her insides trembled as her head swam with confusion. Damon had been the one to bring up the cure; he had suggested that killing an Original would be the fastest way to complete Jeremy's tattoo, and the easiest Original to kill would be the one in possession of the stake. Finding the cure would be the fastest way to fix her.

She told all of this to Kol in a rush. If he hadn’t been an Original vampire he likely wouldn’t have understood a single word that escaped her lips, but with his enhanced hearing he caught it all.

“Fix you,” he gave her a disbelieving look. “Darling, aside from your clearly poor taste in men there is nothing wrong with you.”

He could see it in her glistening eyes; she hadn’t wanted to do it.

“Yes there is,” she blinked back her tears. “The hunter was right: I’m a monster.”

Kol sighed and made a mental note to review his life choices later because surely he should have been torturing her for the failed murder plot before ripping out her heart. Instead he was sitting back up and rubbing her shoulder gently.

“You are not a monster, Elena,” he tipped up her chin to meet her dark eyes, “and you definitely shouldn’t listen to anything the hallucinations might have told you.”

“Everyone around me dies, Kol,” she shook her head sadly, “and it’s always my fault. I was going to kill you tonight.”

“Technically your brother was going to do it,” he looked at the unconscious body of Jeremy Gilbert.

“Because I told him to.”

“And who told you?” Kol cocked an eyebrow.

“Damon,” she frowned, “but what does that have to do with anything?”

Kol nodded slowly and turned to stare at a family photo on the fridge. It depicted a happy group all crowded together in the frame; he wondered where her carefree smile had gone.

“Would I be correct in assuming it was Damon Salvatore’s blood that turned you?” He watched her nod from the corner of his eye and fingered the stake tucked safely in his pocket. “How familiar are you with sire bonds Elena? Because I don’t believe you’re a killer.”

++++

Elena sat on her sofa with her knees curled beneath her and watched the fire crackle and pop in the hearth. Kol had left the house shortly before Jeremy had woken up, and he had made sure to take the stake with him.

++++

“Where is he?” Jeremy looked around frantically as if expecting the Original to pop up from behind the counter and finish what he had started.

“Gone,” Elena hugged her knees to her chest. Her gaze was focused on the smooth tile of the floor.

“Gone to compel somebody to kill me?” Jeremy got to his feet and pulled a bottle of water from the fridge. “What's the plan now?” He paused mid-sip and turned to stare at his sister. “He left you alive.”

Elena moved her head to nod but ended up shaking it halfway through so it appeared that she was bobbing from side to side, moving in circles; not unlike her scattered thoughts.

“Elena,” Jeremy knelt beside her on the floor, “what do you want to do?”

++++

What did she want to do? She felt confident that if Kol had not taken the stake she would have formulated another plan, but was that what she wanted? The thought of taking his life made her feel physically ill; it always had, but she had pushed through that feeling and swallowed her rising bile.

Was it what she wanted, or was it what Damon had suggested?

“She needs blood: from the vein.”

She hadn’t been able to keep any form of blood down. When she had turned she had wanted to stick to a vegetarian diet in order to avoid hurting humans, but everything she tried to drink kept coming back up: animal blood, vampire blood, and blood bags.

“If I’m not worried you shouldn’t be worried.”

She had been worried sick about Jeremy's whereabouts during the Miss Mystic Falls pageant, but Damon had put her at ease. He had told her to let it go and she had; not even Caroline had been able to calm her down.

“Then you need to be smart. He doesn’t know you’re a vampire; you get as close as you can and kill him.”

For as long as she could remember she had always held life in the highest of regards. She wasn’t a killer. She had never been capable of seeing a true reason why anyone should have their life stolen away from them. She had never contemplated murder and yet she had done it. She had killed the hunter after Damon had told her to; it had made perfect sense at the time. She hadn’t even thought about it until she was standing over Connor's corpse; that was when she had fallen apart. That was when guilt had clawed at her intestines and her scalp had pricked with shame. That was the moment she had seen herself as a monster.

And she had been prepared to do it again. She had been ready to kill Kol; part of her still wanted to while the rest of her screamed no.

She wasn’t a killer; she didn’t want to be a killer. Even feeding from Matt made her heart ache.

Had Kol been right?

++++

“It happens with hybrids…” She tilted her head and swiped at her traitorous eyes.

“It can occur with vampires, darling,” he bent his knee and propped his elbow on it. “It’s extremely rare but it can happen provided the right conditions are met. One vampire can be sired to another; they follow every order given to them rather it’s direct or indirect.”

“What are the conditions?” Elena swallowed and met his dark eyes. Surely they should have been murderous after what she had planned to do, but try as she might she could see no malicious intent.

He heaved a sigh that almost sounded disappointed and frowned.

“With hybrids the bond is brought on by gratitude,” his fingers tapped his shin, “but with vampires it’s tied to emotions. A bond will form when feelings exist in the human prior to turning.”

“So If Stefan's blood had turned me…”

“You’d likely be in the same position,” he shook his head, “but towards the other brother. Any vampire you had romantic feelings for could have turned you and you’d be in this exact same position.”

++++

Sired. Sired. Sired.

It repeated in her head like a mantra all the way to the boarding house. She was sired to Damon.

At first she hadn’t wanted to believe it, but the more she had considered the possibility the more sense it had made. Did Damon know? Did Damon suspect? Was that why he was so intent on ‘fixing’ her? Was that why he wanted the cure?

She couldn’t be sired to him if she wasn’t a vampire.

She slammed on her brakes. Gravel flew up and scattered across the green lawn; a few pieces dinged the blue car a few inches in front of her vehicle.

She jumped out of the Jeep and stomped across the yard. Her sneakers made hollow thumps over the deck.

She didn’t bother knocking; she hadn’t knocked on this particular door in months.

Stefan and Caroline spun around when she stormed into the living room and up the stairs. She ignored their surprised cries and made her way down the hall.

The heavy door banged against the wall and succeeded in making Damon jump away from his dresser.

“Elena,” his shirt fell open on either side of his chest. “This is an unexpected surprise,” he smirked and stepped towards her.

She took a step back, held up a hand and collided with the wall. She bit down on her lip to keep it from trembling, but he saw the emotions flashing in her eyes.

“What’s wrong?” He tilted his head and looked her over.

“Am… am I…” Elena took a deep breath and tried again. “Am I sired to you?”

Damon didn’t answer, but the admission was in his eyes. Suddenly it wasn’t fear or sadness making her body quiver.

“How long have you known?” She crossed her arms.

“I didn’t know, Elena,” he shook his head.

“Alright, fine,” she snapped, “how long have you suspected?”

Damon hesitated. She could hear his heart pounding in his chest and the audible gulp when he swallowed.

“I thought maybe… maybe when you couldn’t keep the blood down…”

“Before you told me to kill Connor,” her pulse slammed in her neck, “before I broke his neck; before you made me a murderer.”

Her voice had grown louder with each syllable and drawn Stefan and Caroline to the door.

Caroline would be the first to admit that seeing Elena go off the rails and slap Damon was extremely amusing, and satisfying. She couldn’t count the number of times that she had wanted to haul off and hit the elder Salvatore.

“I told you so,” Caroline turned to Stefan.

“You knew?” Elena spun on her heel and began advancing towards her friend. Her eyes grew round; she forced back the onslaught of tears. “You knew about this?”

Caroline straightened up and shook her head.

“I suspected, I didn’t know,” the blonde swallowed. “That’s what I came over here to talk to Stefan about.”

“You’ll talk to him, but not me,” Elena shook her head. She could feel herself growing hysterical.

“I thought something was wrong,” Caroline crossed her arms. “I wanted to make sure before I brought it up with you. I wanted to find a solution first.”

“She just wanted to help, Elena,” Stefan interjected. “We both do.”

“No,” she shook her head, “you don’t want to help me, Stefan. You want to fix me. You want me to be that sweet little, helpless human. You all do, and I’m sick of it.”

“Elena, calm down,” Damon finished buttoning his shirt.

Against her will she felt her heart rate begin to slow; her descent down the stairs was silent. She made no move to listen to Stefan or Caroline’s pleas that she stay put in the boarding house; luckily Damon kept his mouth shut until she was gone.

If he had asked her to stay she didn’t hear him over the crunch of gravel beneath her tires.

++++

She knew she should want to scream and pitch a fit, but she was calm. She knew it was because of Damon; because he had told her to calm down, but she decided to think of it as the calm before the storm.

She wanted to know what her true feelings were, but how could she know for sure. The presence of Damon’s blood in her system had amplified her emotions during the transition, so understanding how she felt seemed impossible.

It could have easily been Stefan. Would she have noticed if it was?

Why couldn’t it have been Klaus’ blood? She definitely wouldn’t have been in this position then.

She contemplated her options as she drove through the empty streets of Mystic Falls. She could only come up with one viable solution.

Elena brought her car to a gentle stop and stepped out of the vehicle. She closed the door with a little more force than was strictly necessary and climbed the stairs to knock; she might have walked straight in had it not been for her lack of an invitation.

She knocked again when there was no answer. She knocked hard enough to temporarily bruise her knuckles.

She crossed her arms over her chest and listened to the shuffling footsteps as they drew closer and closer to the door.

“Elena?” Bonnie blinked tiredly and pulled her sweater closed against the winter chill. “What are you doing here? It’s the middle of the night.”

“I need your help,” she sighed. “I need a witch.”

“Come on in,” Bonnie stepped back to let her friend enter the house. “What’s wrong?”

Elena settled on the couch with Bonnie. She wrung her hands together told the young witch everything that she had found out in the last twenty-four hours.

“You want me to break it,” Bonnie searched the new vampire’s gaze.

Elena swallowed and nodded.

“I want you to try, please,” she let out a shaky breath. “I don’t know what I feel anymore, Bon. I want to know that what I feel is real, or if it’s just been heightened in the transition. Do I love him, or is it a result of my conflicted emotions before I turned? He said I could have just as easily been bonded to Stefan.”

“I’m gonna be honest ‘Lena,” Bonnie pushed her hair back from her face, “I’ve never heard of something like this happening before. I’ve never seen anything like it in my grimoire, but I’ll look into it for you.”

“Thank you, Bon,” Elena nodded. A line appeared between her brows when Bonnie opened her mouth as if to say something more and closed it. “What is it?”

“It’s just…” Bonnie pressed her lips together and drew in a deep breath. “It seems like the person to really ask about this is a vampire… a vampire who knows about this sort of thing.” She tilted her head. “Kol gave you some answers; maybe he could give you more.”

“I think I pretty much exhausted him,” Elena shrugged, “and I don’t think I should be around him until this is sorted out. I tried to kill him… I tried to get Jeremy to kill him, and until I can know for sure that I’m not going to do that again I don’t want to be near him or any other Original who could finish the mark without killing everyone I care about. I don’t want anyone to die.”

++++

Three weeks; it had been three weeks since she had seen either of the Salvatores. She hadn’t spoken to them or Caroline. She’d been rushing out of every class she shared with Stefan or Caroline and walked away when they approached.

Her constant battle with her emotions kept her confined to her home for the most part. The only immortal she ever saw was Klaus when he would inevitably show up with a vampire for Jeremy to kill.

Elena turned her gaze from the ceiling and the gentle turning of her ceiling fan. Her phone was buzzing incessantly on the nightstand; she reached for it and held it to her ear.

“Hey Bon.”

“Hey,” Bonnie’s voice sounded tired. “I’ve searched everywhere and finally came up with an answer. The only way to break a sire bond is for the vampire to be commanded to forget about the sire and move on with their life.”

“I don’t want to forget him, Bonnie,” she rubbed the back of her neck, “and even if I did he’d never do that.”

“I agree,” Bonnie sighed. “Damon is essentially obsessed with you; he’d never tell you to forget about him.”

“So that leaves me sired,” Elena closed her eyes.

“I’m sorry, ‘Lena. I know you really wanted to break the bond, but… there’s no other way. Not that I could find.”

“Thanks Bonnie,” she shook her head and opened her eyes. “I got to go.”

She hung up the phone and released a shaky breath. Her emotions were truly getting on her nerves. She could blame everything that had happened since turning on them.

She was starting to see the appeal of turning it off.

Elena shot up in bed.

++++

“So what you’re telling me is that: you’ve lost your mind,” Jeremy took a drink of his water. “You can’t turn off your humanity, ‘Lena. That’s what makes you… well you.”

Elena blinked slowly and leaned back in her chair.

“There’s no other way, Jeremy.” She ran her tongue over her teeth; the telltale ache had started in her gums. She would have to feed soon. “The bond was created by my supposed feelings for Damon when I was human, and his blood. I can’t do a thing about his blood, but I can do something about my feelings.”

She ran her fingertip along the kitchen counter.

“Vampirism comes with a few perks,” she hummed, “like that handy little switch. No more emotions, no more bond.”

“So what?” Jeremy held the counter and leaned over the island to meet her eyes. “You’re going to turn it off and then turn it back on?”

“That was the plan,” Elena tilted her head.

“Was?” Jeremy’s brows shot up. He leaned back and searched her almost bored expression. “You already did it, didn’t you?”

“I even tested my theory,” Elena nodded and lifted a half-drunk blood bag from her pocket. The veins under her eyes pulsed as she drank down the rest. It quenched her thirst, but she found herself craving something a little warmer.

“Then turn it back on,” Jeremy fought down his sick feeling. He hadn’t gotten used to seeing her feed yet, and the fact that he could actually see the entire act was making him nauseous. “You can drink from a blood bag; that means it worked.”

“Yes it did,” Elena tossed the empty plastic in the trash and licked her lips, “but I think I’m going to leave them off.”

Jeremy felt his heart drop into his stomach. The sick feeling only grew with each word she said.

“You know I used to feel guilty,” she leaned back against the counter, “because I survived the crash and mom and dad didn’t. I hated myself. It’s been a never-ending cycle of death ever since; all I ever did was grieve. I grieved for mom and dad, I grieved for Jenna and John, I grieved for Ric, and my own lost life. I was practically torn in two by Stefan and Damon because I thought I loved them, and I couldn’t figure out which one I loved more, but the truth is I don’t care for either of them.”

“That’s because you don’t care about anything right now,” Jeremy shook his head.

“Do you remember what I was like before the car crash… the first one,” she clarified. “I used to be way more fun; I was into everything: very busy. I want to get back to that girl again. I spent all my time caring for everyone else; it’s time I started caring about me. I’m going to do what I want, when I want, and right now I want something to eat.”

She flashed out of the kitchen and into her bedroom to change before leaving the house. She was in her car before Jeremy could stop her and steering the vehicle out of town in search of a vervain free food supply.

“Shit,” Jeremy ran his hand back through his hair and watched her tail lights vanish into the distance. He pulled his phone from his pocket and scrolled through his contacts. The call connected on the third ring. “It’s me… I need your help… Elena flipped the switch… I’m scared she’s going to do something she’ll wind up regretting.”

Tags: @rissyrapp20 @elejah-wonderland @elejahforever @eternityunicorn

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Equinox: Spring [1]

Chapter 1 (here) | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

The snow began to melt towards the end of February. The nights were still bitterly cold and the trees were still barren. Icicles hung from the edges of the roof. Sakura could hear Kiba knocking them down outside as she stirred the soup in a lazy figure eight. There was a knock on the window. Sakura looked up in time to see Kiba waving at her before he went back to work. 

She rubbed her ankle with her foot. Leaned her hip against the counter. When the soup began to bubble, she turned the heat down. 

A few minutes later, she heard Kiba stamping on the steps out back. He huffed and puffed as he stamped over the threshold. 

“Alright. I checked the gutters too. Unless you decide to blow up your house, you should be good for a while,” Kiba declared. He stepped out of his boots before he walked over to her. He had been on the receiving end of more than one scolding for tracking mud into the house. Leaning over her shoulder, he took a few sniffs of the soup simmering on the burner. 

“Smells good,” he commented. 

“If you can sit still for like… ten minutes, you’re welcome to have some,” Sakura offered. 

Kiba turned his head and nuzzled against the top of her head. She let him. For about three seconds. Before she whacked his arm with the ladle.

“Hey. Wolf brain,” she reminded him.

“The deal was no licking. I’m being good,” Kiba replied, his voice bordering on a whine. He rubbed his cheek against her for another moment before he pulled away. He reached past her to snatch a stray piece of chicken breast off the cutting board. He grinned as he gobbled it down. 

“Besides, I can’t stay. Gotta hit the road before it gets too dark,” Kiba reminded her. 

Sakura turned around to look over the poster next to the refrigerator. It had been Kiba’s yuletide gift to her. It laid out all the lunar cycles of the new year, along with the flowers that came into season during each month. It was nice that she didn’t have to pull out her phone every time she tried to figure out when the weres would be busy. 

“So, basically, this is like some kind of werewolf playdate?” Sakura asked.

Kiba wrinkled his nose as he thought. He had explained to her that he was driving his nephews out to meet up with some of the other packs in the area. It was good opportunity for the pups to learn how to socialize with their kind. And it was nice to rub elbows with the other weres. There was less fighting if the different packs already knew each other.

“…. kinda. I guess,” Kiba relented. He rubbed the back of his neck. And he stood there, shuffling his feet and avoiding her gaze. It couldn’t have been more obvious that he wanted something.

“What?” 

Kiba stretched his arms out to the sides. “Can I get a hug for good luck?” 

Sakura stared at him. 

“Please?”

She set the ladle down. “Alright, you goof.” 

Kiba swept her up into his arms, hugging her against his chest. Her feet left the floor, which she had grown to accept as sort of inevitable. He nuzzled her cheeks and temples, snuffling so hard that he sounded a little like Pakkun. Sakura tolerated this for a few seconds. When her patience ran out, she bit the tip of his nose. Kiba laughed.

“Alright. You’ve got all the luck you need. Put me down,” she told him. 

Kiba did. Because he had learned that after biting was one of her pinches. And those were surprisingly painful. 

“We’ll be back in a week,” he said.

“Be good,” she responded.

She stood in the doorway, watching him as he got into his truck. His shoulders rose to his ears as he gave an exaggerated shiver. And then he rubbed his hands up and down his arms before pointing at the house. Sakura leaned against the doorway. Stuck her tongue out at him in defiance. Kiba made a face at her. He hurried to shift the truck into gear to back out of the driveway. He raised his hand in greeting before he headed down the street. 

Sakura drove up to Empire City about once a week. Kakuzu always remarked on how much money she was spending on gas and tolls. 

“You offering to pay?” Sakura demanded, holding out her hand. Kakuzu looked from her hand to her face. And then responded by slowly giving her the middle finger. They snorted together.

“You can’t be this cranky. Not when I’ve got this for you,” Sakura then said, hitting the spacebar. A syncopated synth began beeping out of the speakers. Followed by an electric piano. And then came her signature sound: D-J Bunny in an echoing voice. 

Despite his glare, Kakuzu began bobbing his head along to the beat. 

The door opened. Temari’s head popped in, also bouncing up and down in time to the music. She flashed Sakura a thumb’s up. Sakura blew her a kiss in response.

When she visited Madara to play the track, his head remained quite still. He sat in his chair, one leg crossed over the other, arms folded across his chest. But when the second verse hit, the bass thrummed low. Madara gave a couple nods. He made an ‘ok’ sign with his right hand before recrossing his arms. 

“I like this. Can I have it?” Madara asked once the song ended. 

“Give me 6%,” Sakura requested.

“4.”

“6.”

“….5% and your usual up front,” Madara negotiated. He held his hand out. Sakura clucked her tongue, pointing at his gloves. Heaving a sigh, Madara peeled his right glove off to reveal his clawed fingers. His skin darkened toward the tips, almost like he had dipped them into ink. 

Sakura reached across the desk to shake his hand. His palm was hot. Madara flashed a smile, eyes glowing bright red for a second before they faded back to black. 

“For a demon, you’re pretty shitty at making deals, boss,” Sakura teased as their hands pulled apart. Madara ignored the jab as he hit the spacebar to replay the song. His foot tapped along to the beat. Polished Italian leather against polished tile. He pulled his glove back on. 

Sakura tilted her head as she looked him over. Madara was handsome. Anyone with eyes could see that. It baffled her why he wasn’t modeling or acting. A face like that would get him far. So she asked him. Madara was always an open book.

“Why am I doing this? Think carefully, darling,” answered Madara. He pointed above him, at the lines of gold and platinum records that hung in black frames. 

“Think of how many songs we’ve released. Think of all the concerts. Think of all the desire that generates. I’m feasting every day,” he pointed out. And then he patted his flat stomach. 

“Yeah, but people go crazy over movie stars too,” Sakura protested. Madara wagged his gloved finger. 

“Something about music drives people insane. The lust it generates…. well… you don’t look this good after 1000 without a healthy supply of sexual energy. I’m bathing in it every day, Bunny,” Madara spelled out. And he patted his smooth cheek as he spoke. 

“Swimming in that good, good incubus botox?” 

“If you want to be inelegant about it, yes,” replied Madara, head still bobbing. 

“Plus, you’ve got a bunch of half-sirens making all those songs for you,” Sakura mused, mostly to herself. Madara winked at her. His tail curled over his shoulder, smooth and pointed at the tip. 

“6%,” Sakura tried again. 

Madara laughed, throwing his head back. “You little devil, you."

Her new track had put Madara in a particularly generous mood. He had bought dinner for her and the other producers. Kakuzu, of course, ordered the filet mignon and lobster combo, shameless as ever. They chatted and laughed in the fancy restaurant. When they parted ways, Sakura drove Temari back to her apartment in the west end of the city. Temari fumbled for her keys in her purse as Sakura parked out front. 

“Thanks, Bunny,” Temari said. 

“Yeah. Of course, Tem.”

Temari opened up the car door, planted one foot on the sidewalk. And then she paused. Turning her head back to Sakura, she glanced around. In a low voice, Temari asked, “Any word from…. you know?”

“Who, Voldemort?” Sakura retorted. Temari squinted at her.

“No, Tem. No word. He’ll show when he shows,” sighed Sakura. 

Temari grimaced. “I don’t envy you, girl. He’s a mess. A hot mess…. but a mess,” Temari declared. And then she got out of the car. As Temari shut the door, Sakura lowered the window. She leaned over to peek out at her friend. It amazed Sakura how Temari managed to stand in those ridiculous heels sober, much less drunk. 

“Seriously…. hot mess,” added Temari.

“Good night, Tem,” was all Sakura said.

“Yeah, yeah.”

Sakura lingered to watch Temari scan her keycard to get into the building before she drove off.

The only alcohol she’d had all night was a sip of Madara’s sangria. Her head felt clear as she pulled onto the highway. She turned the radio up a little louder before she switched lanes. The heater thrummed at full blast against the cold night. The bright green signs that announced each exit rushed past. The numbers grew lower and lower as she drifted farther from the city. 

By now, her body knew exactly when to get off the highway. She knew how to navigate those dark, winding roads. And it almost didn’t surprise her when she glimpsed a shadow in her side view mirror as she drove into town. It followed her as she made a left turn. It paced back and forth on the sidewalk as she pulled into the driveway. Her tires crackled over the gravel. 

“Hey, Sheriff,” Sakura greeted him as she got out of her car. She locked it before she crunched up the path to her front porch. Keys jangled together as she unlocked the screen door. Kakashi only stayed long enough to watch her lock the patio door behind her. He had nagged her about doing so on more than one occasion. It still didn’t make much sense to her, since she always locked the inner door. But he seemed to think it was important. 

Sakura glimpsed the grim running down the road, deeper into the woods near her house. She knew that he would do a loop of the whole town. It was the last thing he did before heading home each night. 

It was barely past 10. But for some reason, she felt exhausted. She sat on top of the closed toilet lid as she scrubbed eyeliner and foundation off her face. She rubbed lavender lotion onto her arms as she waited for water to boil for her chamomile tea. And she fell asleep before she managed to finish her drink. 

When she woke, there was a brief moment of panic that she had slept the entire day away. Because it was dark outside. But, as she squinted through the blinds, she realized that it was just very overcast. Rain began to pour down on Old Pines about an hour later. She listened to the water drip off the roof, dribbling out of the gutter and onto the street. She climbed up to the loft, just to hear better. And then she set her metronome to match the tempo of the rain, lying on the rug as she soaked in the sounds. 

When noon rolled around, her stomach began to growl. There was food in the fridge, but none of it seemed particularly appealing at the moment. Sakura threw her raincoat on before running to her car. Ino’s cafe glowed in the dreary rain. Gerbera daisies had begun to bloom all around the front of the shop. A startling pop of color against the still-brown grass. 

The wind chimes clanged together as Sakura hurried into the cafe. She nearly ran into someone carrying a plastic cup. 

“Whoa!”

“Sorry!” Sakura yelped, her boots squeaking to a stop. 

Itachi held his strawberry smoothie high above his head. In his right hand was a light blue box with the logo of Ino’s cafe. He was all dressed up in a black suit and a camel coat. 

“Hi,” Sakura greeted him. 

“Hi.” He copied her tone. And then he smiled at her. Eyes lighting up.

“Haven’t seen you around lately. I guess you’ve been busy,” Itachi then said. He moved to the side as another customer made her way out of the cafe. 

“Yeah. You know. Writing songs. Although, you’re not getting anywhere near my new notebook,” Sakura joked. His smile faded.

“Seriously, I’m so-”

Sakura put her hand on his arm. “Hey. Relax. I’m kidding.” 

For a moment, she worried. Because his eyes unfocused a little. As she watched, he blinked a few times, shaking his head a little. When his eyes opened again, they were clear and bright. She felt a little proud of him. 

“Oh, I meant to text you. Do you like cheese and wine?” Itachi inquired. 

“I don’t know. Do fish like to swim?” she replied. Itachi didn’t answer right away. His forehead wrinkled a little as he seriously considered her answer.

“Well…. they kind of have to… to not die, right?” he responded after some thought. 

Laughing, Sakura nudged his arm. “Good point. I like wine and cheese, okay?”

“Big tech company is throwing a cheese and wine fundraiser. Do you want to be my plus one?” Itachi asked. Sakura could feel Ino’s stare sizzling into the back of her head as the fairy, undoubtedly, strained to hear her answer. 

“Hm… I don’t know. That sounds…. boring,” Sakura hedged. A fundraiser was just a bunch of stuffy rich people in expensive jewelry pretending to care about whatever charity they were donating to. Madara had made her go to precisely two with him before she had threatened to revolt. 

To her surprise, Itachi nodded. “Oh yeah. It’s super boring.”

Sakura stared at him. 

“Well, if you’re there, that’ll be at least one person with a real personality that I can talk to. It’s really to keep me sane. And free wine and cheese for you. My company’s paying,” Itachi explained. He took a sip of his smoothie.

“It’s a heated rooftop bar. If the wine sucks, there’s an open bar,” he added, reading the hesitation in her face. 

“I’m in,” she said right away. Itachi chuckled. 

Sakura mimed typing with her thumbs. “Text me details or I’ll forget,” she told him. Itachi nodded. And then glanced down at his watch. The apology was already in his eyes as he looked back up at her. 

“You look busy. Go,” she urged. Itachi nodded. She gave a light push to his chest before she moved past him. To where Ino stood at the counter. Ino’s eyes glittered as they darted from Itachi to Sakura. She held an iced coffee out to Sakura.

“Hel-loooo, Miss Popular,” Ino teased. Sakura shrugged. She took a long slurp of her drink.

Itachi held the door for someone on his way out. Ino and Sakura’s eyes were drawn to the noise. Just in time to see Kakashi walk into the cafe. Two dogs trailed after him, each wearing a tiny red poncho. A squeal rose up Sakura’s throat. The dogs noticed her before Kakashi did. Biscuit’s tail began wagging back and forth, slapping Kakashi’s thigh with fury. Bull’s butt just sort of vibrated as his stubby tail moved too.

“Got you, Sheriff,” Ino called out as she went to make his coffee. 

“Thanks, Ino,” Kakashi said in response. 

And then he smiled at Sakura. “Hey.” He held an arm out to her. Her greeting hug was light because there was still water dripping off his jacket. And then she bent to give the appropriate pets and baby talk to Bull and Biscuit. 

“Hey. Keep your muddy feet off her,” Kakashi scolded when Biscuit tried to paw at her legs. 

“Kakashi, why don’t you just buy them little rain boots? I think you can get them for like… 10 bucks,” Sakura suggested. And Kakashi gaped at her for a long moment before he shut his mouth. Then, in a low, conspiring voice, he asked, “They make those?”

Ino nearly sloshed hot coffee all over herself as she burst into laughter.

Life was peaceful. Almost mundane as March crept in. The cold seemed reluctant to go, like a houseguest that lingered too long after a party had clearly ended. The pine trees shed the white coat of snow they had worn for most of the season. And the last bits of snow pushed to the sides of the roads finally melted into dirty puddles.

Sakura leaned against the window in Ino’s cafe. She gnawed on a straw as she stared at her laptop screen. Ino dropped off another ice coffee that she hadn’t ordered. And then Ino’s weight leaned against her shoulder.

“You look annoyed,” commented Ino. 

“I hate writing lyrics,” Sakura grumbled. 

“Not your strong suit, huh?” Ino guessed.

“Mm.”

Ino rested the tray against her hip. “Well… good luck, I guess.”

“Mm,” Sakura said again.

After making little progress, Sakura shut her laptop. Sighing loudly, she got to her feet. She had hoped that moving to somewhere new would shake things up. Kickstart her brain. All she had managed to do was drain her computer battery. 

“Nothing?” asked Ino as Sakura approached the counter. Sakura stuffed some bills into the tip jar, ignoring Ino’s glare.

“Go take a nap. You’re exhausted,” Ino urged her. And then she pushed off the counter. A few seconds later, the cafe door opened. A customer walked inside. 

“Thanks, Ino,” Sakura called. Ino’s hand rose from behind the espresso machine. Then there was a loud whir as the machine began foaming milk. 

Sakura walked outside. Her laptop secured inside her backpack. The ground was still busy soaking up the melted snow in many parts of town. Her boots did a good job of navigating through the muddiest patches. Hands shoved into the pockets of her jacket, Sakura began the short walk home. Even the thin sunlight that poked out through the clouds was welcome after months of grey, snowy days. 

She had walked a lot when she lived in Empire City too. More out of necessity than anything. Because parking was expensive and almost impossible to find during certain times of the day. But Sakura liked walking. It gave her time to think in a way that driving didn’t. Plus the wind helped clear her mind, even as her cheeks began to turn cold. 

As Sakura turned the corner onto her street, she squinted. There was a black car parked across the street from her house. She had seen it too many times not to recognize it. Her heart began to race, even as her steps slowed. 

Hidan always joked that Tobirama almost looked like he was a CG character. Like he was a little too good-looking to fit in anywhere. This was a pretty accurate overall description of Tobirama, though. 

'Sharp nose, sharper jaw, and sharpest eyes’, Madara always listed in that order.

Tobirama sat on the hood of his car. She recognized his broad shoulders, even from the end of the block. He ran his hand through his hair before he looked around. It was silver, tinged just a little blue. He glanced down at his phone’s glowing screen. 

Sakura was almost tip-toeing as she neared her house. He still hadn’t spotted her. His legs were stretched out in front of him, just the heels of his boots resting on the asphalt. His feet moved back and forth, the tops moving apart and then clicking together. She had the feeling that he had been waiting out there for a while. 

She sucked in a deep breath, eyes drifting down as she tried to come up with a plan. It had been such a long time since she had seen him. And even though he had said in his email that he wasn’t mad, she couldn’t stop herself from worrying. She had sort of stolen his futon. And blocked his number. And not responded to any of his emails.

“Sakura.”

Her eyes flew up from the sidewalk. To his face. Her stomach lurched. 

He was looking over his shoulder at her. A smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Sakura.” He said her name again. 

His mouth stretched into a grin, revealing his top teeth. Eyes squinting into half-moons. Sakura took a few steps closer. There was a bouquet of lilies sitting on the hood of his car too. Dark pink with the edges of each petal fading to white. Her throat felt clogged.

He got to his feet. 

“Tobirama.” His name came out as a croak.

He hurried the rest of the way to her. 

The inside of her head got a little fuzzy as he wrapped his arms around her. His cologne smelled so good. She took a deep breath, pressing her face to the front of his gray sweater. His leather jacket creaked a little. His hands linked against her lower back. He felt cold.

“I’m sorry. Whatever I said or did. I’m sorry,” he said. Rocking them back and forth.

She shook her head. She didn’t trust her voice to come out right at all. 

“I should’ve come back faster. I’m sorry,” Tobirama added. She loved the way his voice vibrated out through his chest. Into her cheek and ear. Like his voice was flowing through her veins. 

Sakura let out a shaky sigh. Hands slipping into his jacket to rest against his chest. 

“Are you still mad at me?” he then asked.

Sakura nodded. And Tobirama laughed. His hands rubbed up and down her back. 

“I thought so,” he chuckled. 

[hoodoo12]

A Girl and Her Demon (1/?)

Demon Rick has tickled my fancy. I hope people don’t mind some more. This will have several parts; ratings will be marked for each.

SFW; contains unsavory descriptions and practices

⁂

Living with the beast was something of a trial. If you were savvy enough you could have sold the premise to a TV network, but your witchery took other paths instead of a commercially creative one.

It was so weak, from both the abuse it suffered in its realm, and because you’d woven two spells together when you decided to allow it to stay. Not only did you give it access to leave the confinement, but you added some to dampen its potential power. You didn’t deceive it; it repeated what you bid during the ritual and voluntarily drew the proper symbols on the floor. It knew you were muzzling it.

Stripped of arcane power and physically broken, you assisted it down the stairs from the attic room. You’d have drawn a bath to clean it, but it would have barely fit into your bathtub. Not wanting to contort it and cause it further pain, you simply filled the tub and used the water to wash it.

It grumbled and hissed warnings at you, telling you it would clean itself, that its tongue was better at removing maggots and poison from the wounds it sustained. You ignored its insistence and used a cloth to wipe it clean. You weren’t sure if it’d ever been washed before; it squirmed and whined like a child. Its internal body temperature was so hot its skin steamed from contact with the water.

You discovered the maggots did bite, as one latched onto your finger. You yelped, and the demon immediately grabbed your hand, moving more quickly for the first time than it had since it left the circle. Its tongue wrapped around your finger, dislodging the parasite.

Once back in its mouth it crunched it between sharpened teeth, and spit the dead flesh back to the tile floor. It hit with a splat, oozing purulent slime that smoked.

“They’re venomous. Don’t touch them,” it told you.

You’d learned that the hard way; your finger was already swollen and an ugly shade of purple.

The beast eyed your wound and your finger was encircled by its tongue again. Then it was engulfed by its mouth, sucking hard on the digit. It would have been mildly erotic, if your finger hadn’t felt like it was in a potential meat grinder.

Each second that passed you wondered if you were going to lose that finger to its maw. It may not have supernatural powers here, but physically it could still do you damage. Soon, however, the demon released you.

Your finger was pale and wrinkled and numb. The demon retched and spit a copious amount of the same pus-like liquid onto your floor, where it too smoked ominously.  

Leaving it in your bathroom for the moment, you fetched a pair of tweezers and a dented metal bowl that you knew you’d have to throw away after it was used. At the bottom of the bowl you crushed a handful of herbs and plants selected on the fly through your house, plus a splash of holy water. You mixed it all with your hands as you chanted under your breath while you hurried back to your guest’s side.

It’d been working at getting the parasites out while you were gone. There were more chewed bits of flesh and smoking piles of liquid sizzling on your floor.

You told it to let you have access to its back. It protested again, then reluctantly did as you asked.

It wasn’t an easy task, digging semi-intelligent maggots out of its wounds. Each one fought the tweezers. They all died quickly in the bowl you’d brought in, though.

The demon asked if you wanted to save some of the poison, as it was quite rare in this realm. With a shrug, you found an old glass apothecary bottle, dipped it in the same holy water, and held it steady while the demon bit the parasites to death and spit the resulting pus into the receptacle.

In the end, you had approximately an ounce, which if sold in the right market could sustain you for a good half year.

Parasites gone, it sighed with relief and told you the endless chewing of the maggots was designed to drive their host insane. It was glad it could no longer hear them. Even before you were finished, some of the very narrow cuts had started to heal over. It was still cross-hatched with a multitude of other wounds that would take a long time to fill in, however.

You were exhausted. You assisted it to your bedroom and offered it your bed. It eyed the mattress and frame and decided the floor may be a more stable choice.

With you on the bed and it on the rug, you drifted to sleep. You should have had the wherewithal to ask if demons slept, but you were gone before you could.

⁂

Your new roommate didn’t eat. Didn’t sleep, either, you eventually learned, when you woke up out of a sound sleep to find it looming over you. You tried to remain calm and collected as you asked in a sleep-roughened voice what it was doing, but it slunk away without answering. You watched until it disappeared out your bedroom door.

It prowled around your house at night instead of staring at you, after that. You could hear it shifting through your belongings, pulling books off shelves, digging through cabinets. You let it do as it would.

During the day it stayed up in your bedroom, where you kept the shades drawn so it was dark and quiet. When it was curious or seemed to want some company, it tucked itself between your couch and the wall in a space that was too small for it. You got used to its golden eyes following you as you worked or read or prepared spells and rites.

If someone came to call, you shooed it back upstairs.

You didn’t know it was eavesdropping until after your latest visitor left.

It slunk into your kitchen while you were tidying up and asked, “You help people?”

You nodded distractedly. “Sometimes. When they really need it.”

“Or when they’re willing to pay enough?” it replied.

You looked over your shoulder; it was tapping a claw on a neat pile of money the woman who’d come by had left. It grinned.

“Money is the root of all evil.”

“The love of money is the root of all evil,” you corrected it. “I don’t charge for services. People pay what they can afford.”

“Do they pay you in things besides money?”

“That’s a little personal.”

It snorted a laugh. “I mean livestock. Food.”

“I’ve offered you food,” you reminded it.

It hung its head, a little. “I don’t eat . . . cooked food,” it admitted, hesitantly. You didn’t know why it would be ashamed to tell you this. Its golden eyes met yours again. “Would you have a visitor who would bring roosters? Cats? Goats?”

You could infer that on the tip of its tongue there was something even less savory it would like to ask for. Before it could continue, you told it, 

“I’ll see if anyone has chickens.”

Its eyes lit up at the semi-promise, and it slunk away again.

After that you occasionally had to deal with birds in the house, but you didn’t mind too much. You asked specifically for white roosters, for the feathers, and there was always some extra blood to use when you needed it.

You dabbed it in deft patterns on your doorways and window frames as you chanted over them, and occasionally added it to the soil of certain potted plants as well.

The demon watched you with baleful eyes while you repeated these rituals every other day, but it never asked you why you put wardings on the entrances.

⁂

It grew more comfortable in your presence, and you in its. You gave up inviting it to sit on your couch, and took to sitting on the floor to keep it company. It usually stayed in the tight spot between the furniture and wall while you sat with your back against the couch. The space it tried to occupy didn’t hold all of it, however, and occasionally its tails made it to the floor beside you.

As you were read one evening, you absently stroked one of its twin tails, when it rested beside you. It growled automatically, but choked off the noise itself; it seemed to have been more a knee-jerk reaction to your touch than a threat.

You considered this for a moment, then asked if it would like to sit next to you, instead of against the wall.

It didn’t respond. You went back to your book, silently memorizing passages and key words again.

Then, without warning, the whole piece of furniture moved as it scrambled up. Off-balance, you were buffeted by it physically and by the heat that rolled off it. It butted its head between your body and the book you were holding, settling its head into your lap. It looked up at you with narrowed eyes as if daring you to challenge it, but startled, you couldn’t find the words to protest.

It found a more comfortable spot for its shoulders and glanced at the book. 

“A grimoire?” it asked, as if it didn’t know. You only read through it every night.

“My grimoire, yes,” you told it.

“That wording is wrong,” it announced, reading through the exposed page without asking permission and bringing a taloned finger to point at a particular passage. “And blackthorn bark would be a better choice, if you want more potency in the spell.”

You realized it was right. Instead of pushing it off your lap, you allowed it to stay as you made corrections to your living book. In that way, you both passed many evenings. You’d taken to running your hands over the curve of its horn as you read, and that seemed to please the beast too. A deep rumble--that first you thought was another growl, but soon realized it was more akin to a purr--would start deep in its chest and it never asked you to stop once you’d started caressing it. You grew intimately familiar with each ridge and crack in its headgear.

Many of its wounds healed. Some wept for a long time, and it allowed you to collect the serum-y discharge in other tiny glass bottles to sell. They eventually stopped oozing, but remained open, bloodless scratches that continued to look painful, even if it insisted that they didn’t.

You finally took an opportunity to ask about its genitals. It was no bother to you that it was naked, there were many times you were naked too, during specific rituals, but your curiosity about it couldn’t be kept quiet.

“You said they repeatedly castrated you and make you eat them?” you asked, eyeing the pendulous bollocks and flaccid but impressive cock between its thighs.

It snorted. “They could’ve made me a eunuch permanently if they’d wanted. But it was more entertaining for them to allow me to regenerate, so they could do it again and again.”

It didn’t seem too upset providing that information. However, its fingers went to and traced at the symbols on its shoulders that had been marred and broken by the whippings it had suffered. The way it didn’t have to look to follow the patterns indicated to you that it touching them was habitual. As if it a common gesture it did frequently.

“But these . . . they used a whip that causes non-healing wounds. The enchantments don’t work as well on my kind compared to humans, but it still managed to destroy these brands . . .”

You remained silent, thinking about weapons like that.

The demon took your silence for a bid for more information. “Broken lines don’t convey power,” it whispered shamefully.

You’d gotten much more comfortable touching it, and dared to cup its jaw in sympathy.

There was a pregnant pause.

The demon turned its head in your hand, and licked your palm.

The touch of that wet, slightly sand-papery tongue sent electricity coursing up your arm to settle in your gut.

Although it had explained it had no demonic power like it did the first time you’d coupled with it, you pulled it to your bedroom anyway.

The two of you broke your bedframe that night.

tbc...

[lalainajanes]

Prompt for AU Week (or any time) (I am not particular obviously): kc + alphas of rival werewolf packs and fuck we're mates

Send Shivers Down My Back

When Caroline steps off the elevator she’s greeted by aneerie quiet. It puts her on edge. She’s later to arrive than usual, a sideeffect of a series of restless nights and a guest who didn’t know how to take ahint. It’s nearly 10 AM she should bethe last to arrive. Scanning the room she sees a full house, but there’s noneof the usual chatter and bustle. The ping of IMs is absent, there are notapping keyboards. Not a single squeaky wheel or shuffling of papers can beheard.

Caroline needs to figure out just what’s happened andquickly.

She pauses a few steps out of the elevator and looks aroundmore carefully, notes the pinched expressions and nervous fidgeting that aboundeven as all of her employees avoid her eyes.

Something was verywrong.

She doesn’t think it’sher – she’s not exactly a pushover ofa boss but she’s not Cruella DeVille either. Caroline expects results and isn’tshy about offering either praise or criticism. Nor did she allow herself to gettoo personally involved with her staff. Most of her employees were also herpack and her position as alpha was tenuous and often on the verge of beingchallenged. At work she took great pains to be cordial so she hasn’t thefaintest clue about why every person who works for her is suddenly acting like Carolinehad been hatching a plan to use their pelts for outerwear.

She begins walking again, her pace brisk, the crack of her heelson the marble tiles gunshot loud in the stillness. She stops in front of herassistant’s desk, notes that April is trembling with nerves. Caroline leansforward, smiling softly and making an effort to sound gentle. She can’t showthat she’s alarmed. Leaders never panicked. “April? Do you have any messagesfor me?”

“On your desk, ma’am. But…” her voice falters and she looksup at Caroline with wide, helpless eyes.

“But…” Caroline prompts.

“There’s a… visitor in your office.”

Caroline straightens abruptly, a swell of irritationmingling with her unease. “Why would you let someone wait in my officeunsupervised?”

April struggles to answer, at first only emitting astrangled whimper. She manages to draw in a shaky breath. “He didn’t reallygive me a choice.”

Caroline scoffs, “So? There’s a reason I pay a securityteam.”

She whirls when she hears the familiar whisper of her officedoor. It only takes another instant for the heavy scent of blood to hit her.Caroline tenses, darts a glance at the letter opener on April’s desk. It’s notsilver so it won’t kill a wolf but Caroline can certainly do some damage withit. Her fingers itch to lunge for it but she tells herself to be patient andassess the situation. She studies the man framed in the doorway carefully,trying to place him. He’s dressed casually in jeans and a snug grey Henleythat’s spattered with blood. He’s not particularly large or muscle bound butsome instinct tells Caroline not to let that fool her.

Her gut tells her he’s powerful, dangerous. All the more sobecause he doesn’t look it.

“Who,” she bites out frostily, “do you think you are?”

She vaguely hears April scurrying away though the man’s eyesdon’t leave Caroline. He drifts forward a step, then another, light on his feeteven in heavy boots and Caroline watches him approach carefully, looking forany twitch of muscle that will indicate he’s planning on going for her throat.

But there’s no threat in his movements, his hands remainvisible, loose at his sides. “I know exactlywho I am. I thought I knew who you were, Caroline Forbes, but it seems as if Imissed something critical.”

He sounds perturbed but Caroline only grows confused. Whatcould he possibly have missed? Caroline led two lives, kept pack business separatefrom her company, but she was an open book in both if you knew who to ask. Andfrom the way this guy carries himself, the intelligence in his eyes, he’s notthe type to do sloppy recon.

If he hadn’t shown up uninvited and spilled blood on herterritory she might have even respected him.

When he steps closer Carolineinhales instinctively, used to using her heightened senses to her advantage. Hisscent drifting over her and a light touch of cologne can’t hide the scent ofhis skin.

It hits her hard and she breathes deep, her heartbeatthrumming a frantic rhythm as she fights her instinctive need to claim what’shers with touch and teeth and claws. She wants her marks on his skin, his handson hers and for their scents to combine into something new, something that willwarn others away.

He’s hers. Only hers.

She’s heard enough stories to know what’s happening to her, what he is to her even though he’s yet tosupply a name. Caroline locks her knees to keep from swaying on her feet. It’sa struggle to maintain her hardened expression, but she has to think. She gritsher teeth and fights the pull of him, locks her muscles when her body protests.The urge to step forward is strong, all she wants to do is rend their clothinginto miniscule pieces, to press every inch of her skin to every inch of his.

She didn’t even care that they had an audience. Werewolvesweren’t exactly shy.

It takes longer to recognize the scent of the blood, butonce it tugs at her she uses it as a focal point. It’s familiar but placing ittakes time while she sorts through an overwhelming tangle of emotions.

Once it clicks she’s abashed that it took so long. She knowswhose blood her mate is wearing. After all, she’s spilled it herself often enough.

“Where’s Tyler?” Caroline demands, hating how thick andunsteady the words come out. She needs to get herself under control.

“Tyler?” the stranger asks, his head tipping to the sidequizzically.

Caroline offers a false smile. “Dark hair, about yay high?”She holds her hand about level with her forehead. “His blood ruined your shirt soI imagine you at least spoke?”

“Ah, so that was his name. We only exchanged a few briefwords. I’m afraid I reacted rather hastily.” The words are contrite but hisexpression isn’t. If anything he appears maliciously pleased with himself.

“Reacted to what?” Caroline presses.

“A strange wolf covered in my mate’s scent.”

Several audible gasps ring out from around the room, makingit clear this conversation is far from private.

They need to take this discussion elsewhere. Baring her bodywouldn’t faze her but this? This was no one’s business.

Caroline’s hands ball into tight fists, her nails digginginto her palms as she considers the ramifications of what her pack had justwitnessed. The gossip would spread quickly, every member of her pack who wasn’tin attendance will have heard the news she’d been mated within the hour. The usualdicks who are always gunning for her spot will be emboldened, will assume amate will make her weak.

They’re going to be sorely disappointed. Caroline’s notabout to let go of everything she’s achieved, all that she’s built, without onehell of a fight.

Klaus had known Caroline Forbes was lovely – the companyshe’d inherited was publically traded, and so a quick search had yielded dozensof images. He’d studied them all. She’d been cool and calculating in a navybusiness suit at a shareholder’s meeting, her pale blonde hair ruthlesslypinned back. She wore evening wear just as well, elegant gowns and fine jewels,always smooth and serene as she attended charity galas and awards banquets.He’d particularly liked the photo of her outdoors at a Forbes Inc. sponsored animaladoption drive. She’d been laughing with a pile of Shepard mutts in her lap,her curls loose and blowing at the wind, softer and joyous and all the moreappealing.

At that point he’d begin to idly consider bedding her as ameans to soften her up. Every report said that she was smart, calculating andruthless. All traits Klaus admired. It wouldn’t be a hardship to use lust toattempt to sway her to his side.

He suspected that he’d rather enjoy mixing business withpleasure.

He intended to claim a piece of territory for the pack he’dbeen building.  A piece that bordered andpossibly overlapped land that the Forbes pack had always considered theirs. Andwhile Klaus had no real qualms about taking what he wanted with fear andbloodshed (a method that had worked exceedingly well for him over the lastmillennium) it had been pointed out that diplomacy might occasionally serve hisinterests better. His efforts to force triggered wolves to be hybrids hadyielded unfavorable results. A wolf infected with vampirism against their willwas difficult to control.

Besides, if he continued to have to kill the hybrids thatrefused to fall in line eventually Klaus might very well run out of werewolvesaltogether.

Without werewolves there could be no hybrids. And Klaus hadcome to be rather fond of his hybrids.

Caroline Forbes will make a magnificent one.

She’d looked a bit tired when he’d first spotted her, thoughthat had quickly melted away once she’d sensed a threat. She’d grown reactiveand watchful until the moment she’d caught his scent and had been sent reeling.He’d watched the play of emotions across her face with fascination, had beenimpressed by her ability to control herself. She’d managed to claw back an admirable amount of poise.

Watching her Klaus had decided he’d make a project of unravellingher impressive control. And he’d make certain she enjoyed it enough to beg fora repeat performance.

After he’d uttered the word ‘mate’ her posture had closedoff. She’d stalked out the way she’d come, making no motion for Klaus tofollow.

He had, of course. They had quite a lot to discuss. Carolinehadn’t appeared surprised when he’d shadowed her into the elevator and Klaustook that as a sign that he was welcome. He’d watched as she’d yanked her phoneout of her bag. A few taps and she’d lifted it to her ear, “Tell everyone toclear out. Now,” she instructs, her tone icy and offering no room forquestions. The phone is stowed in jerky motions and she smooths out her dressas she faces the front of the elevator, keeping a careful distance betweenthem. He detects no additional warmth when she speaks to him and she doesn’tlook at him. “We use three floors of this building. We’re heading to the 42nd.Everyone will be gone and we can talk over who you are and what you want.”

“Yes, it was rather rude of me to show up without anappointment, wasn’t it? But you’ve so determinedly been dodging my attempts toset up a meeting.”

Klaus watches with great interest as her spine stiffens. Shecrosses her arms, “Ah. So you’re Klaus.”

“Does my reputation precede me?”

Her eyes close briefly and he watches her fist ball sotightly he wonders if her nails are drawing blood, “It’s kind of hard for itnot to, don’t you think? It’s so very colorful.Were you planning on killing me?”

“I had considered it,” Klaus admits. “That’s off the tablenow, of course. I was rather leaning towards seduction if that eases yourmind.”

“Immensely,” she spits out venomously, just as the elevatordoors slide open.

She stalks out, attempting to leave him in her dust. Klausdoesn’t bother to hide his pleased grin as he watches the angry sway of herhips. He’d never given much thought to what his mate would be like but heshould have known she’d have a temper that was something to marvel at.

Honestly, Klaus had always thought him finding a mate wasexceedingly unlikely given how long he’d been alive.

Caroline Forbes is a surprise, a disruption in his plans. He’snever dealt well with those before but this instance is an exception.

He’s not even bothered by the knowledge that this will unlikelybe the last wrinkle in his plans she’s responsible for.  If anything he eagerly anticipates the clashesthey’ll surely have.

He’d just met her but he sensed that Caroline was a worthyopponent. Any mate of his would have to be.

She’s being unforgivably rude. Both of her southerngrandmothers would have fits if they saw the way Caroline was acting. Herparents would be entirely disapproving – they’d drilled the rules of diplomacytheir kind abided by into her head since birth. William and Elizabeth Forbeshad prepared her to lead even when their peers had scoffed at the idea of awoman heading up a pack as old as theirs. If Caroline had treated any othervisiting Alpha the way she was treating Klaus Mikaelson right now she’d have awar on her hands.

She tells herself there are serious extenuatingcircumstances but it’s a weak defense. She needs to do better. Caroline keeps moving,avoids looking at him, maintaining as much distance between their bodies as shepossibly can. Her avoidance wouldn’t be noticeable to most but Klaus’ indulgentexpression tells Caroline he knows exactly what she’s doing and why. He’spersistent in closing the gap though he’s smooth about it. He doesn’t push too far into her bubble but he’sundeniably there.

Unsettling her.

She leads him into a conference room, a place where shealways feels in control. Caroline can only hope that it gives her a boostbecause she’s feeling so far off her game. Her nerves are screaming at her, herthoughts a jumbled mess of cautions and demands and admonishments. She’d knownthat putting Klaus Mikaelson off was a gamble, had hoped to just buy a littletime to figure out a way to bargain with him.

She’s got lists on her phone. Things she can offer him. She’dthought it a simple matter of enticement, thought that she merely had to findsomething he would want.

The problem with that was there weren’t too many things a1000 year old hybrid with money to burn and very few boundaries about peskythings like rights of ownership didn’t already have.

She’d had no illusions about how hopelessly outmatched herpack was if Klaus wanted to take them out or worse, collect them for his hybridarmy. Caroline had been running herself ragged trying to think of a solution,some deal she could strike.

She hadn’t expected him to just show up and she certainlyhadn’t expected that he’d be her freaking mate.

Caroline circles the table, sinks into the leather chairthat sits at the head. Klaus wanders over to the windows. “It’s quite a view,”he remarks admiringly.

She holds in a snort. “Really? We’re doing small talk now?”

“Would you have preferred I offer an apology for yourboyfriend’s untimely death?”

He turns to look at her, his eyes far too blue and far toointent. Caroline folds her hands to stop them from visibly trembling. She’strying so hard but she can’t stop wanting to touch him.

“That depends. Are you actually sorry?”

His shrug is casual and he takes a careful step forward,gauging her reaction. “I’m rarely sorry, truth be told.”

“Yeah, I figured. That sounds right in line with yourreputation.”

“You don’t seem particularly broken up,” Klaus notes. “AboutTyler. Not a love match, then?”

Caroline considers her answer carefully. She knew how oldKlaus was, had heard stories of his cunning. She has no doubt he’ll spot anylie she tries to tell and hold it against her. If she’s going to protect herpack she needs to earn a little trust. “I loved Tyler when I was in highschool. Before pack politics mattered. When my father died… things got messy.Richard Lockwood wanted to be alpha, couldn’t wrap his head around the ideathat little ‘ol me was capable. He challenged me. I won.”

“Did you kill him?”

“No. Nor did I kill him the second time he tried. I probablywould have, had he tried again, but Mr. Lockwood had a heart attack and keeledover in his mistress’s apartment before that became necessary. Tyler tried achallenge of his own the next full moon. Wanted to make daddy proud.”

“Unsuccessfully, I imagine?”

“He did better than his dad ever did but he relied too muchon brute strength, not enough on brains. Typical man.”

Klaus’ lips curl in amusement even as his eyes flare yellow,“And yet, this morning, your scent was all over him.”

Caroline meets his eyes defiantly, “Yeah, he’s kind of acuddler. Or was, I guess. And if you start some chest beating alpha male crap Iwill do my very best to throw you out that window.”

“Wouldn’t kill me,” Klaus notes casually. Caroline imaginedhe was pretty used to threats against his person.

“I don’t want to kill you. If I kill you I turn into araving lunatic, remember? I like my brain as it is, thanks.”

“I’m beginning to think I like your brain too, love.”

Caroline refuses to be charmed even if he seems like hemeans it. If he’s adept at spotting lies he must be equally capable of tellingthem. She narrows her eyes and straightens her posture. “I’m not going toapologize for any of the sex I’ve had. It kind of comes with the whole werewolfthing, certain itches just don’t go away. My position in the pack means myoptions are limited. I didn’t love Tyler. We haven’t even been friends for avery long time. But he could pretty reliably get the job done and didn’t getclingy.”

“You didn’t hold his attempt to usurp you against him?”

“I had gotten over it. I get that grief can mess a personup. I’ve been hearing whispers that he’d been gearing up for another shotthough so you might have done me a favor.”

Klaus raises an eyebrow, “And yet you still invited him intoyour bed?”

“How much closer can an enemy get?” Caroline asks sweetly.

He smiles, a gleam of something like admiration in his eyes.“I see. And I’m happy to have help.”

He’s drawn closer throughout the conversation and Carolinebites back a gasp as he sidesteps her chair, placing himself behind her. A handrests on her shoulder when she would have turned, lightly, he’s not holding herdown. Klaus ducks low to whisper, “Easy. I won’t hurt you, Caroline.”

Caroline’s body eases and she curses her heritage becausesurely her long line of werewolf ancestors was the only reason she believedhim. Mates were rare, miraculous, she’d always been taught. A gift to becherished if you were lucky enough to find it.

With him touching her she almost believes that.

“Why wouldn’t you meet with me?” he asks, thumb idlystroking the top of her spine. “I was most cordial in my inquiries.”

Caroline would roll her eyes if she wasn’t so intent on notleaning further into his hands. “I had a pretty good idea of what you wanted.”

“Did you?”

“Louisiana, Mississippi, Arkansas,” she recites. A briefpause of his hands is the only indication she might have surprised him. Heresumes his gentle exploration and she continues, giving in to the urge to rollher head forward and bare more of her skin. “Hayley Marshall is a snake and wasonly too happy to come and whisper in my ear. I doubled the money you gaveher.”

“Funny, I thought a Queen would be above such petty backdealing,” Klaus mutters. Caroline barely hears him because he’s begun to unpinher hair, his fingers carefully unraveling her curls until they brush hershoulders.

She should stophim.

She doesn’t.

Caroline clears her throat, wills her voice not to shake,“Hayley’s pack is… odd. But they don’t bother us so we let them have their tinypiece of land, their silly titles, because she’s occasionally useful.”

“Tell me, does she expect you to bow, curtsey?��

“I’d rip her throat out if she did.”

He makes a small noise, rich with mirth and somehow fond. “Ioffered her the opportunity to be a hybrid.”

“Offered?” Caroline echoes incredulously. “Is that what you’re calling it? Becauseforced was the term I’ve heard used most often.”

Klaus doesn’t seem offended and his reply is even. “I’mtrying something a bit different. Call it a new leaf. Hayley declined my offer.Seemed rather repulsed by the idea of becoming a half-breed.”

Well, that was tactless. Caroline couldn’t say she wassurprised, however. “Werewolves have hated vampires since the birth of yourspecies. That’s not something that can be easily set aside.”

“So if I were to offer your pack the same choice?” Klausasks and Caroline’s not fooled by the casualness of the query. There’s a lot ofweight in such a small question.

The connection between them had been instantaneous, a sharpnew awareness. It hummed in the back of her mind and his fingers brushed herskin were making her feel warm and lit up from within. She feels attuned to hismovements even though her eyes are closed, the thread between them thickening. Ifhe hadn’t taken the initiative to touch her she’d have snapped and asked himto. His idle caresses are soothing her nerves and Caroline’s never one to beeasily calmed. That more than anything convinces her that she’s stuck with him.If this wasn’t real why else would she feel so safe in a monster’s hands?

If she’s stuck with him, he’s just as stuck with her.  If she dies he goes insane be it tomorrow orin sixty or seventy years at the end of her natural life.

Caroline doesn’t even want to think about what that would look like.

“In my pack I doubt you’d find many willing. We’ve held ourterritory for generations and vampires have never been welcome.”

“I’m aware.”

“Killing Tyler will endear you to a few, make you an enemyof others. Though I’m sure a few more of those won’t make much difference toyou. No one will look kindly on the fact that you showed up and got immediatelymurder-y.”

Klaus nods, accepting. “And you? Could you be convinced?”

That’s the big question. Her knee jerk reaction should be afirm, ‘Hell, no’ but Caroline finds that’s not the case.

She suspects she couldbe convinced.

She pushes her chair back, rises so they’re face to face. Shesquares her shoulders and lifts her chin. Her next words will change her lifeirrevocably but she’s not afraid.  Caroline’sno stranger to deals, excels at negotiations. She might never have attemptedanything with stakes this high but she still plans on coming out ahead. “If you mean what you say, that you don’tintend to force my pack to turn into hybrids, then maybe. I need you to show methat I can trust you.”

Klaus takes her hand, tugs it up to his lips, eyes gleamingwith heat and triumph. He brushes a kiss across the inside of her wrist and theshiver that wracks her frame is impossible to hide. It had only been a tinyhint of a kiss but it felt like a promise. “For you, Caroline for what we couldbe, I’ll do my very best.”

That will have to be good enough.

[ladysdork]

Some Days It All Comes Crashing Down

“Jay? Fuck, Jay?” Dick’s fingers run along his neck, searching for the clasp on his helmet. “Shit, he’s hyperventilating.”

Jason doesn’t like being stuck underground. Luckily, he has a very patient knowledgeable boyfriend to lay on the ground with him. Tim can be comforting.  

“Hood, report,” the deep gravel of Batman’s voice rumbles in his ear and Jason frowns, lips pursing slightly. The ancient subway system is completely clear at their end - it’s just some rusted tracks, graffitied tile, and squeaking rats. Nightwing is making shadow puppets with the flashlight as he searches, the two blue fingers twisting into snouts and mouths. They’ve been at it for two hours and the only suspicious thing they found was a box of old honeybuns stamped four years ago that still looked fully eatable. He had dared Dick to try one, but then Bruce immediately banned them over the comm before Dick had gotten past tearing open the wrapper.

“Nothing here, just Wing’s circus animal light show,” he could hear Bab’s snort muffled by her hand but still there through the line. “Yeah, you picked him, O. That’s on you.”

“Not to be a bummer,” Steph’s voice came through. “But those three stooges you were lookin’ for? But we’ve got em all tied up with a pretty pretty bow on top over here. So if the Batmobile could come pick them up we can all get back to being above fuckin’ ground.”

“Location?” Batman responds.

“Right under that Chinese place Red Robin likes,” Steph answers breasily.

“Ugh, eggrolls,” Tim’s voice practically moans over the line and Jason has to consciously not choke a reply. He figures that a couple months into dating he should be used to the pornographic sounds his boyfriend makes over various types of food. “Can we get lo mein for dinner? I’m ordering for us once I have some kind of cell coverage.”

“Are you ready to rendezvous?” Damian’s crisp tone cut past Dick’s echoing laughter through both the comm and the air around Jason. “Meet at the center?”

“Can do,” Steph chirped. “Red Robin and Spoiler en-route.”

“You know that’s not real French,” Tim starts at the same time Damian announces he and Cass’s agreement.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Dick starts, and Jason already knows he’s going to hate the next words out of his mouth just by the tone. “But, um, my normal map tracker got zinged by a bullet a week ago and I haven’t had the time to fix it so I don’t really know how to get there can someone-”

Jason knows, he can hear in the distance, Dick is continuing to talk even when Damian cuts in. But all he can hear is the sudden whoosh of veins dilating and a pounding heart pushing a wall of blood past his ears. All he can feel is the numbness creeping up his fingers and the constricting python around his chest as his brain re-starts at ‘stuck underground in Gotham’. He’s already been here. He’s waited for people and they didn’t show up and that’s how he woke up in a suffocating coffin with no air underground and had to claw his way out with bloody fingers and his nails never grew back right or his ribs or-

“Jay? Fuck, Jay?” Dick’s fingers run along his neck, searching for the clasp on his helmet. “Shit, he’s hyperventilating.”

Jason knows someone else responds, sounds like Tim’s angry voice, but he’s jerked away from the fingers reaching around his neck, trying to suffocate him or pull him out and back to life and either way it isn’t good, and he trips, falls back and lands hard on his spine. The pain radiates for a second, bringing enough clarity and awareness to his limbs that Jason pulls them all in, ducks his head into his hands, and stays.

No one can reach him. Hands can’t pry him open, apart, vulnerable to attack or misguided affection. He is strong enough for that, knows where to hold onto his neck and tuck his elbows in. Kicks won’t reach anything too important - kidney’s might get hit but usually he just throws up, no wait, he’s got kevlar, and bones might break, no wait, he’s got kevlar, but the pressure of curling up is keeping his chest even tighter and he can’t breath fast enough because something is over his face-

He isn’t sure how long he stays curled up - a panicked tone floating around him - before he hears a good voice. A safe voice.

“Jay, it’s me,” Tim. “It’s Tim. I’m sitting right in front of you. I’ve got you covered, okay?”

He can’t nod back, can’t open his mouth to speak because something is still on his face so he can’t get enough air and it’s all muggy and warm, so he taps with fingers-

“Okay, I understand. Jason, you’re okay, it’s your helmet. I’m going to remove it though,” he feels fingers press softly against his shoulders, two sets sliding up steadily until they push on something and his head is pulled free. Light blooms beyond his eyelids, and he tries to open them but it’s too much. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. You can keep your eyes shut, I’ve got you, Tim’s got you. We are sitting on the ground, and I’m here. Your helmet is off, but it’s near by. Just off until you can breathe enough to put it back on, okay?”

He nods. He can do that. Breathing is such a simple task and if he can’t do that he deserves to stay dead.

“I’m lying down with you, okay,” he hears the grit and dirt move and then feels air ghost across his face. “Okay, Jason, can you give me one hand? So I can breathe with you?”

He shakes his head. He can’t. He needs that hand.

“Okay, that’s okay. I’m going to count them out, but when you think you can, if you can, just reach out. My fingers are still on your arm, so just follow up me okay?”

Yeah, yeah, he can do that. He’s dead but apparently he can do that. So when he feels Tim’s fingers trace up to his shoulder, rest against his bicep, he nods.

“Good. Okay. In, one, two, three, four. Out, one, two, three. In…”

He concentrates on the warmth of Tim’s hand. His palm is pressed against him, more pressure than warmth through the leather jacket. But he knows how warm Tim is. Which is to say not at all, usually. But he wants to feel it, so he wiggles his fingers. Just a little. Just so the tips press against his chin and he can feel the stubble - it’s been a long week of papers - and that makes it easier to move his arm. So he works on extending it, feels Tim’s fingers move to rest against his side and press to his ribs as he settles his own big hand on Tim’s chest. He stops listening to Tim’s counting, just feels the rise and fall under his hand, against his hand, and does his best to copy.

“Good job, Jay,” Tim’s voice makes it past his brain that still says dig, claw, fight. “Good job. I’ve got you, you just keep breathing, okay? As long as you breathe, we are going to be just fine.”

That’s a fucking lie. Just over the weekend Tim woke up screaming because he had a very realistic nightmare that everyone died. It has happened to him before and it could happen again. Jason knows it. Tim knows it. But they both hope to God it won’t. But expecting fine in their like ignoring the bomb in the warehouse. But living like death is right around the corner is impossible, exhausting, too much. So until then, he’s going to live the rest of his days cleaning up coffee mugs and waking up to Tim talking in his sleep. He’s going to live.

He can do this.

For Tim. For himself. For them.

He opens his eyes, just little slivers in case it’s still blinding like it was before, but Tim’s blocked most of the light and all he can see is blue. The same light blue he wakes up and falls asleep to. The same blue he kisses and sometimes has to pry away from computer screens even under death-glare and bo-staff. Which is no joke coming from his boyfriend, Jason's seen what happens when he levels that weapon at others, but tea, cuddles, and smores poptarts - eugh - make an excellent bribe. Tim shifts slowly, fingers curling around to pull them closer as he tips his head and presses their foreheads together. Tim is warm, solid, steady. There and patient just like always. The familiar swirl of Tim cologne, coffee, and sweat slowly permeats his head, wrapping him in a Tim- sized bubble and grounds him back to this safe moment.

Jason isn’t totally sure how long he’s been on the ground. But he guesses ten minutes. Which is plenty enough time to spend on an old subway track. So, he copies Tim’s breathing some more, makes sure he’s doing it right, before pressing harder against Tim’s head.

“Help me up?”

“Of course,” it takes another minute of helping muscles unlock and joints creak but then he’s standing, Tim staring up at him with that soft worried smile. His eyes are all crinkly at the edges. “Do you think you are okay to walk?”

“Yeah, yeah, I am,” Jason swallows and clumsily tangles their hands together. “But-”

“I’ve got you,” Tim fixes the order of their fingers so it feels right, squeezes gently. “Dick went to go get the bike, but we can start walking. We aren’t far.”

“Okay, sounds good.”

“I think you scared him. He was staring at us until I got on the floor with you. Then he said he didn’t want to be in the way,” Tim laughed slightly and Jason drank in the sound. “Even though he was standing a good several meters off.”

“Yeah well I think I did kind of shove him away and fall to the ground.”

“That would explain it,” Tim squeezes his hand again, gaze flicking back up to Jason instead of down at all the iron spikes and rocks and broken glass. “Need anything else?”

Jason takes a second, runs an assessment down his body. Feet are good, he can feel his boots crunch down on shifting soil every few steps. Legs are walking a little slow, feel a little shaky, but nothing he doesn’t experience on the regular. His chest is breathing. He feels a little nauseous, but that will fade into hunger by the time they get home. So he smiles slightly, knows it looks wrong but also knows Tim knows that, and squeezes back.

“I’m good. Alive and with you. So, good,” Tim’s stomach rumbles. “But I’m not cooking tonight so you should order in.”