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be-ready-when-i-say-go · 3 years

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Anklets and Necklaces

Inspired by this tweet.

@5-secondsofcolor I’m not sorry.

Female Reader insert. NSFW Content (18+). My smut writing is hella rusty. So I do apologize, whoops.

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Calum plays at the anklet, spinning it around and around her joint as her legs are crossed and resting in his lap. The gold jewellry is hardly ever taken off since he gave it to her. In return, she gifted him a chain with a tiny pendant with her initial etched into the back of it. The front of it is an arrowhead. He wears it so often now, that when it’s off, he feels a little incomplete. It’s an easy gesture to carry her everywhere with him.

“Okay we gotta decide what to eat for lunch like now or I’m going to get hangry,” she states.

Calum glances up from his phone, to see her still scrolling on hers. “Oh no. Not hangry,” he teases. But he knows she means it. Her warnings have about a thirty minute window, just enough for a delivery if they get something simple. Or if they want something more complicated, they need to find a snack now while the main course is cooking. “What do you want? Thai? Mexican?”

“Would you hate me if I said I really just wanted nuggets from McDonalds?”

The pout on her lips makes him laugh, “No, I could never. Usual then?”

“Yes, please.”

Stretching across the length of her, Calum pushes his lips together, trying to ask for a kiss. She laughs in return and squeezes his cheeks. “Be lucky you’re cute,” she states before lifting up slightly to meet his lips. “And squishy.”

“Ain’t nothing on me squishy,” he huffs, straightening back up to put her order into the app.

She sets her phone down on her stomach, gazing up over the sharp line of his jaw that his plump cheeks sit atop. And while it’d be easy to return with a poke and a verbal jab about his cheeks, she just watches him. His fingers deftly work over the screen. The white tank sits as a stark contrast to the depth and glow of his skin. “I think all the right things on you are squishy.”

“Yeah, what are those?”

“Your cheeks. And as much as you and your trainer kick your ass, I know happy weight when I see it.”

Calum grins, a chuckle shaking through him as he sets his phone down on the arm of the couch--the order completed on his end. He pinches at her thighs. “Take that back.”

She shakes her head. “No, I don’t think I will. I like it--just like I like my cookies. Hard on the edges gooey in the middle.”

Standing for just a moment to let her legs fall onto the couch, Calum kneels onto the cushion, hovering above her. Her eyes glitter just a little as she talks and the soft easy smile on her face lets him know that it’s all out of love--what’s she’s saying. The pads of his fingers run along the side of her thigh. “Be lucky I love you.”

“I am already lucky, so say what you gotta say. Roast me, my love. It’s not like we don’t do that anyways.”

And truth be told, Calum had no response. Not when he looks at her, because God all he sees is the person that’s been with him on his bad mental days. She’s been there when Calum was sure there was no lower low or higher high. And what do you say to that person that’s been there, seen all of you that there is to see? With a gentle and chaste kiss, Calum settles for silence.

“Cat got your tongue now, huh?”

This--this Calum can respond too. It’s all too easy. “I know what else my tongue can have.”

“I know something your tongue can have too.”

“Really now?” Calum asks, dragging his fingers over the top of her thigh and tracing the line of her lounge shorts. “Food will be here in fifteen minutes though. So that’s up to you.”

“Not nearly enough time to savor it. Besides,” she starts and takes a pause. Her lips pull into a side smile and Calum knows what that means. One brow quirks in anticipation and Calum watches her. The silence settles for a little too long.

“Besides what?” he prompts again.

“Besides, I need the mail to be delivered first.”

“What did you buy?”

“You’ll see later. I promise. It’s really not even supposed to be used for lingerie. But I’ve wanted these for a long time and I specifically have a set I’m trying to complete.”

There’s the black mesh set that she’s slowly been building out. The main piece came in weeks ago, at this point it might even be months ago that that came in. He was privy to it then and gave it the christening that it deserved. But there wasn’t any other lingerie set that needed expansion. Not at least to his recalling. “Which one is it?”

“I’m not saying.”

“Oh please,” he whines, dropping his head into her neck. His lips softly and slowly seal kisses into her warm skin.

“No, Calum. I’ve been waiting on this package for weeks. It got held up in customs and I-” she sighs at his lips sucking at her skin. Not hard enough to cause a bruise, but just enough to make her spine tingle. “You’re going to have to do better than that.”

Calum pushes up, with a huff, sitting back down on the opposite end of the couch. “This is killing me, you know?”

“Well, you ain’t dead yet. So I think you can tough it out for a little bit longer.”

“Begrudgingly--I want you to know that.”

She sits up, swinging her feet to the floor. “Your sacrifice will be duly noted. The mail will be here before you know it.” The couch releases her weight and Calum watches her pad into the kitchen. “Do you want anything?” she calls.

“I’m good,” he returns, knowing that he will be counting down the seconds until the mail comes. She returns with a glass of water, sitting back down on the couch, but bringing her feet up underneath her as she motions to the TV. “You watching that?”

Calum answers with a shrug. He wasn’t anymore. He originally turned it on mostly for the weather and some news. He found himself bored and flipping through channels before settling on the sports channel while he took care of Duke in the morning. Noise to fill the space since his brain needed the distraction. He hadn’t slept all that great the last few nights, decent sleep. The closer and closer the band got to putting out music the more his nerves kicked in--sometimes they were sneaky. The nerves come up faster than Calum had anticipated. And right now, they won the first round. But Calum was working hard to combat them so he could get about his daily life.

“Go crazy,” he finally verbally responds. And she picks up the remote, changing channels too fast for Calum to even understand how you could process what was on before decking it was a no. She eventually settles for HGTV--not quite caring what show was on.

The first knock that comes to the door is the food that Calum ordered for the two of them. He answers it, popping up in the hopes it’s the mail. When it’s not, he sighs just a little but places the bag down onto the coffee table. “Your nugs, my queen,” he teases.

“Thank you, my good sir,” she returns with a grin, opening before divvying out what is for who. “You wouldn’t have happened to shot up like a bat outta hell because you wanted that to be the mail?”

Calum feels the heat in his cheeks, but bumps her shoulder gently. “No, why would I ever want that?”

“Oh I don’t know,” she scoffs in return, dunking a nugget into the sweet and sour sauce. They share a soft bout of laughter before turning their gaze back to the TV. Duke’s paws click as he ventures into the kitchen for a drink of water from his bowl. The lapping and splash of his tongue echoing just slightly as the screen goes dark between the show and the commercial break.

Calum lifts his gaze, taking in the soft angle of her jaw. She curls up around the carton of fries, eyes glued to the screen. Does she even have the slightest clue what she does to him? It’s not even the involved things like dressing up for him, or comforting him. It’s just her, when she’s munching on fries. Or when she sleepily walks behind Duke in the mornings. It’s when she hums as she cooks. It’s the dancing she does when she’s cleaning. It’s the pouts when she messes up on something and her brow furrows in as the determination settles onto her face.

It’s when she fucked up a birthday cake for him once--not greasing the sides of the pan enough and then adding a tad too much milk--called him crying about it and then in a minute flat resolved to make him brownies instead. Because she said she’d be damned if she didn’t make him something sweet to nibble on or pass along to the guys. And Calum’s not even that much of a sweets guy, which she knew, so she only settled on giving him half the batch she made. She, of course, saved the other half for her and her friends.

And it’s just the moments that she’s not even trying that makes Calum melt. Like when she paints her nails, she offers to do his first. Or when she lays down next to Duke, and in their shared silence, they seem to communicate everything with each other.

“I love you,” he states.

She turns, eyes widening for a second before grinning around her sip of iced tea. “I love you.” Her brows furrow just a little. “You okay? You’ve hardly touched your food.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine.”

“If you didn’t want McDonalds, I could’ve done something else. Literally anything else,” she continues on almost as if she hadn’t heard him.

“It’s not the food,” he giggles. Calum reaches out to caress her cheek. “I’m okay.”

She nods. “Okay.”

“I just love you, that’s all. Wanted to share it with you.”

Her grin is soft as it lifts her lips. “Good because you’re not getting rid of me that easy.”

“I wouldn’t dare dream of getting rid of you.”

Another silence envelopes them. Calum finishes his food and takes the empty containers to the trash. Another episode starts up from the speakers and just above it, he hears the chime of his phone. “Do you want me to screen it for you?”

“Yes please!” If it’s one of the guys, they won’t mind her answering. If it’s someone important, he doesn’t want to miss the call.

“Calum’s phone,” she answers but he can already hear her feet shuffling to him in the kitchen. “Okay, Ash. I’ll keep that in mind.” Her voice comes closer and Calum shakes his hands just a little to get rid of the excess water before drying them. “No, I can’t say what it is without taking a look. Did you use the soil I recommended last time?” Another pause comes from her and when Calum turns, he finds her leaning up the kitchen counter, phone halfway pulled down but not fully away from her ear. “Yeah, I definitely think you should consider changing soils. But I can take a better look tomorrow for you. I’m going to pass along the phone now.”

She hands the phone over. “He said it was important.”

“Thank you,” Calum says in a whisper, pressing a kiss to her forehead and then placing the phone to his ear. “Yeah, Ash?”

Calum’s not even sure how long the conversation goes on. At first, it is important information that Ashton’s trying to confirm--a date and time for a meeting that they had later in the week. He says he wrote it down where he writes down all their meetings but it’s not there. And Ashton’s trying to make sure that he doesn’t miss it. So Calum shuffles to his office and verifies in his calendar the time for the meeting.

But then the conversation diverges--they start talking about everything and anything. So much so, they’re laughing. Calum doesn’t even hear the knock at the front door. But he does notice her scurrying off into the bedroom. The door closes with a soft click. Duke comes trailing after her but notices the closer door and then keeps down the hall to the office. Calum reclines back in his seat trying to get another angle at the door. But it’s closed fully.

“You okay, gramps?” Calum asks Duke.

“Oh fuck off, mate!” Ashton laughs.

“Not you, you fucking egg. Duke--I was talking to Duke.”

“Oh!” Ashton giggles. “Sorry, I thought you was trying to talk shit.”

“I don’t have to try and do that to you.”

“Oi, don’t start something bro.” The two of them laugh and Calum bends down to scratch behind Duke’s ears. “Alright, thanks for confirming that meeting. I’ll see you tomorrow in the studio?”

“Yeah--bright and early. Talk to you later.” The call ends and when Calum spins around in his desk chair, his jaw drops as she steps out from the bedroom. It’s not exactly something new--as in something that she’s never worn before. But it doesn’t mean he ever gets tired of seeing her like this.

The white bustier pushes her breasts up and almost over the cups. And he travels the look down, taking in the baby blue skirt, fishnet knee highs. And he goes back up, taking in a black strap wrapping around her thighs. She notes the lustful gaze and steps right on the line of the threshold to the door.

“So,” Calum starts, trailing his gaze down and then back up to her face. “Not the black lingerie I was anticipating.”

“No, I’m waiting for the heels I want for that lingerie to go on sale. Besides, you didn’t like the collar I liked so I’m still searching.”

“It wasn’t that I didn’t like it. It’s just too similar to one we already bought.”

“You’re right, but still.”

Calum cracks a smile at the reluctant confession. “But enough about that. This--this is a cute outfit.”

She nods, smoothing out the pleated mini skirt. “It’s less about the outfit and more about these,” she says, tapping at the thin black band.

“And those are?” Calum asks. It’s one step closer into the room and Calum think he can make out a heart shaped metal loop in the middle of it. She takes a second step closer and Calum can see clearly it’s some sort of thigh garter--leather or something related as the material. “Oh,” he breathes.

She continues slowly to approach Calum and when she’s just in arms reach, she lifts the skirt up. It goes up inch by inch and Calum’s entranced. Watching more of her thighs revealed to him. And soon it’s black panties--mesh and if Calum remembers correctly crotchless. But wrapped around her waist is another band of leather. Two pieces hook to another metal hoop right on her hip bones and then one trip connects the top piece to the bottom.

“A harness garter belt--what do you think?” she asks in a whisper.

Calum exhales, desire stirring in the pit of his stomach. He reaches out, wrapping his fingers around her thighs and pulling her into him. He kisses in the spaces between the leather, gingerly, lips hardly touching her skin. “I think you look beautiful,” he hums, dropping his head on his neck to look up at her.

Her eyes are still closed and Calum softly runs the tips of his fingers up her thigh, tracing the lines of the harness. With a deep exhale, she finally blinks back to reality. “Not too silly?”

His brows meet in the middle of his face. Why would she think it’s too silly? There’s nothing silly about her standing in front of him, clearly excited about her own purchase. “Angel--I’ll be damned if I ever think this is silly.”

Swinging her leg over and settling onto his lap, she grins. “Thank you, love.”

Calum holds onto her hips, rubbing his palms down to her ass. “So you said this technically isn’t lingerie?”

“No--I don’t think so. But I think they could be--a small accessory to something I already have.”

They share a kiss, much too quick for Calum’s liking so he pulls her back in for more. And her arms wind around his neck as he continues to palm her ass. Here, he doesn’t really care what it is technically or not. She looks absolutely amazing. “I like it. In fact,” Calum starts, moving to grip her thighs before housing them both up and then plopping her down on the desk. “I really like them.”

Calum stands between her legs, nose brushing and bumping against hers. Here, she can feel her core aching as Calum’s fingers trail closer and closer to her heat. It’s feather light--his touch, but it makes her feel electric all the same. “Cal,” she hums.

“Yes baby?”

There’s nothing that comes out of her mouth but a small huff, a rushed and harsh exhale at the feeling of his fingers dancing across her skin. He grins pulling back just a little to see the way her face goes slack, almost as if she’s at peace with him between her legs.

“Was there something you wanted to say, darlin’?” Calum tries again, taking just a half step back away from her.

With her eyes still closed, she smiles. “I want to know,” she starts, exhaling softly to counter the thud of her heart in her chest, “if you’d so kindly want to make love to me?”

Calum can’t help his own small tuft of laughter. “Darlin’, I’d do so happily.” They don’t always wind up in bed like this--but it’s nice, to be comfortable even to be this forward with this and this open.

Calum takes her hand as she hops down from the desk. “Give me a twirl,” he asks. She obliges, turning in a circle for Calum, punctuating the back view by lifting her skirt up. “Silly girl,” Calum laughs, giving a firm but playful tap to her ass.

Facing Calum again, she wraps her arms around his torso. “But you love it.”

“I do. I love you.”

They share another kiss and she slowly walks backwards out of the room. They get lost in each other--Calum in the way she fits against him and her in the way Calum holds her, palms spanning across her back and tight enough that she wonders if he thinks she’s going to disappear but gently enough at the same time that she’d love nothing more than staying here forever in his hold.

Calum finds the zipper to the top and slowly drags it down. The material exhales, slowly falling away from her body and when it falls to the floor, he kisses her neck, down to the swell of her breast. Her moans are soft, just above a hum that makes just enough noise for him to hear. And it goes right to his gut.

Here there's very little need for words. When Calum gives, she takes happily. But when she tugs at his hair, Calum knows to step back, lets her give something to him. Her kisses are soft against his skin, but make him feel like it’s being set on fire. One that he’d happily stay in, let the blaze consume every inch of him, if it meant that she was always the one to take him.

His shirt goes to join hers. Her mouth teases his nipples as she descends further down on him. Calum thinks he sighs, all he can do is just shut his eyes and let go into the feeling of her teasing the cut of his hips beneath the sweatpants. She’s always like this, teasing him. At first, it used to annoy him. But now he loves it, loves just how close she’s willing to push him to the edge, push his buttons but always delivering at the end of it.

Her meticulous work, to watch him jump at every scratch of her nails and nip of her teeth, is enjoyable. But Calum blinks open his eyes to cup her jaw, which stops her. When her gaze lifts, Calum motions for her to stand. “Yes?” she grins standing to her full height.

Calum presses their foreheads together. “I missed you.”

“Well how dare I keep a man like you waiting?” With a slow kiss, tongues just barely dancing, Calum walks the two of them to the bed. The back of her knees hit the edge of it and she buckles just a little. Calum catches her from falling. “Turn around,” he whispers into her ear, “please.”

The instruction is obeyed and she spins to face the bed. Calum finds the zipper to the powder blue skirt and almost doesn’t want to take it off her. In the end, he does-- Calum lets the skirt fall onto a pool at their feet. Without even prompting she falls to her hands, ass grinding against his hips. He traces her spine with the pads of his fingers, following all the way down, over the curve of her ass and down to the opening in the panties. His fingers gather a bit of her arousal.

“Oh,” he groans. “So wet for me,” he hums with approval.

“Always for you,” she sighs. Calum teases her clit--a featherlight touch as he dances over her core. She lets herself fall a little bit more into the mattress--another moan leaving her lips when Calum takes one finger down from her clit to teasing her entrance.

Calum pulls away, bring his wet fingers to his lips and sucking them clean. “Taste just like heaven,” he hums. He gingerly guides her back to standing and uses her hips to get her to face him again.

More kisses are shared before they fall onto the mattress. Calum takes hold of one of the straps around her thigh and tugs her down, closer to him and she laughs. It gets caught off and morphed into a moan as Calum’s tongue licks a wide stripe up her. He’s careful of the mesh material of her panties, but knows that carefulness won’t last long. Not when her arousal coats his tongue. Not when her nails scratch over the muscles of his shoulders or tangle into the curls on his head.

She melts under the work of his mouth. The mattress merely becoming the vessel to hold the mess she’s bound to make and become. The room echoes the moans and slurps. Fingers gripping at the sheet, she chants Calum’s name. His tongue working magic over her core and just when she thinks she couldn’t possibly handle anything more, she notices the stretch at the addition of his fingers.

“Fuck,” she whines, lifiting one leg and he slips in even deeper, curling his fingers and hitting just the right spot.

Calum hungers for her pleasure--the high-pitched whine and groan as she releases. Some days it’s just the sound he needs to ground him. She gives short and breathless huffs, and quivers underneath him. “Gonna be a good girl?” Calum asks, fingers still pumping at her.

“Yes, oh yes, I will.”

“Gonna cum for me?”

“I want to, yes I’ll come for you. Make me your good girl.” Her voice sounds far away, as if she’s not fully cognizant of what she’s saying. Not quite babbling, but definitely talking so fast words bump into each other and slur together.

Calum grins, sucking at her clit again and she groans, head throwing back against the pillows. Her toes are curling--her whole body growing warmer with the passing second. The heat coils in her lower gut and she’s pleading. Though, she’s not sure who she is really meaning to plead to, but she wants to cum so badly.

Then it finally happens, one moment she’s sure she’s nearly in tears and the next, the coil snaps. She squeezes, hips raising off the bed and Calum continues to ride out her orgasm, gently pressing her back down into the bed. She hisses and starts to push at his shoulders, the signal that it’s too much. So Calum places one last kiss to her clit before pulling away from her glistening core.

Beneath him, eyes fluttering close, she looks angelic. Calum holds himself up above her and just watches the way she tries to collect her breath. “You’re beautiful, you know?” he whispers, not wanting to shatter the silence.

“No kidding?” she teases, winding her arms around his neck. The necklace dangles just a little in her face and she takes one hand to trace the chain. Hooking her fingers into it, she tugs Calum down to her. The taste of her arousal on Calum’s tongue makes her head spin. Calum caresses her side and stomach as the kiss deepens. Here is all they need--the soft and deep kisses, the moans that they swallow from each other.

Her hands leave from around his neck and begin to push down his sweatpants and underwear. And he lets her, even pulls back to kneel on his knees as she sits up. Their kiss hardly breaks and she’s quick to tug the cotton material down, hands wrapping around his length.

He groans at the squeeze--nothing too hard just enough pressure to make his whole body ignite. Her hand pumps him, once, then twice slowly and teasing him. “Baby,” he sighs, relishing the feeling of her hands working over him. The stay like that only for a minute or two before Calum pauses her to step down and full disrobe.

When he climbs back onto the bed, he crawls over her. “Welcome back, handsome,” she greets.

“Oh, it’s so good to be back,” he returns, grinning.

She runs her fingers over the tattoos decorating his chest, out of habit, out of something to ground her for a moment. There’s no way he’s real and it shouldn’t ever shock her like this. But sometimes it sneaks up on her and the realization of how madly in love she is with his man hits her all over again.

“What are you thinking about?” Calum asks.

“How much I love you,” she answers softly.

“I love you too,” he returns, bending down to kiss her. It’s soft and sweet--the kiss. For a moment, they just inhale the breaths of the other. It’s a tender moment, one that neither one wants to interrupt, so they let it linger, smiling at each other. She stretches up to kiss him, one hand trailing between their bodies and Calum catches the hint all too quickly when she traces along his length.

“I haven’t forgotten, love,” he exhales in a breathy laugh. “Trust me, I could never forget.” Once lined up, Calum’s slow to sink into her. One, he wants to drag this out, enjoy every inch of him that she grips of him. And two, because he wants to make sure that even in the lull that she’s ready to take him.

Her head falls back, hair pushing into the pillow and neck exposing itself to him. A tempting sight but Calum loses himself in the feeling of her wetness. He’s slow, pulling out just a bit before sinking further back into her. Her sighs and words of encouragement are soft from beneath him but they fuel him.

The pace quickens and both of them groan at the ecstasy. Out of reflex, she lifts one leg to readjust her hip flexor and Calum brings it up, resting her ankle on his shoulder. He kisses over the joint and the anklet, savoring just how much of her he can feel like this.

The chain dangles in her face, brushing in the valley of her breast and she revels in the feeling of Calum reaching the full depths of her body. She digs her nails into his flesh, more curses falling from her lip. But some of them get lost in the groans that win out. “God,” she huffs. “You’re everywhere.” And though it’s a bit of strain to get the words out because Calum’s pace is relentless as he snaps his hips into hers, she pushes the words out.

“You always take me so well,” he praises, watching the way her face contorts. “Oh, so soon, love? You’re going to cum again for me so fucking soon, like a good girl.”

Her whine slips out first but she nods, feeling the coil tightening yet again in her lower abdomen. Her body is hot, and she can already feel the prickle of sweat on her forehead. “Please, baby, please,” she begs.

“As you wish,” he hums, his own orgasm approaching faster than he anticipated. His body humming as the warmth spreads. The bed rocks just a little, hitting the wall and the sounds echo around them as they sigh and moan to each other. But the only thing that really matters to them, is each other.

“Fuck, baby,” he whispers, voice straining as she orgasms. No noise comes from her, but her mouth opens like if she had the breath she’d definitely be screaming his name. This time the quakes last longer, her whole body shaking. “You’re okay, you’re okay,” he hums, bumping his nose against her jaw, still riding through her orgasm.

“Shit, oh my god,” she shudders, wrapping her arms around his neck.

There’s a slight hiss when Calum moves again, and he kisses over her face, starting with her nose and then moving to her cheeks. Another quake takes her and Calum, not anticipating it, groans-- his orgasm now right on the edge. It won’t be much longer, but she nibbles at his earlobe. “Thank you,” she whispers. “Made me feel so fucking good. I want you to cum in me. So fucking deep,” she hums.

And while Calum’s trying to get his own rebuttal to the tip of his tongue, she squeezes around him. “Fuck,” he yelps just a little, his body erupting with his orgasm. His body shudders and he’s so blindsided by the feeling, his slips just a little, more of his weight settling onto her than usual.

She doesn’t say anything, just hums at the feeling of him succumbing to the pleasure. “Oh, that’s what I wanted,” she encourages. It leaves her throat like a purr and Calum shivers again at the sound.

They lay together, for a moment, her nails scratching lightly at the muscles in his back. Calum sinks into her, body going heavy. Her slight shift squeezes around him and he groans, sensitive. “Don’t--I can’t,” he laughs.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to.” Even her own voice sounds heavy and slurred. She kisses his temple and Calum pushes up. He’s slow to pull out, enjoying the drips that follow of his own release spilling out of her. With one finger he gently scopes it back up and into her. The familiar twinge of desire pulls at his lower gut and it’s almost enough. She even shivers, but Calum watches the way her eyes stay closed.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Sleepy now,” she returns.

“Let’s get cleaned up first and then we can nap.” His voice sounds farther away towards the end of the sentence and she assumes he went to the attached bathroom. The rush of water from the sink confirms it. Something wet and warm presses against her--no doubt Calum with a warm washcloth.

The clean up is swift as both of them share a shower and then under the sheets, they curl up around each other. Calum kisses the top of her head as she nuzzles in closely. “I want pancakes after our nap,” she mutters.

“I think we still have some blueberries.”

She pops up onto her elbow and grins a little. “It’s like you can read my mind.”

Calum laughs. “Maybe just a little bit.”

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drarrily-we-row-along · 3 years

Text

Day 111: Smile

"Auror Potter! Auror Potter!" the wizarding press started shouting the instant the doors to the Wizengamot opened following the trial, and Draco watched as Harry's shoulders stiffened. "Smile for the cameras!" one witch shouted.

"Tell us about the case, Auror Potter!"

"How did you catch Hollister?"

"What's the status on your relationship with Ginny Weasley?"

"Smile!"

He watched as Harry carefully put on a mask of indifference, making his face pleasant and amiable in the way that only someone who has spent years in the public eye is able to do.

Harry held up a hand, "Thank you for your interest in this case. We're asking that you respect the Griffiths Family's privacy as they go through the aftermath of this harrowing ordeal. Alden Hollister has been brought to justice; I will leave it to the court reporter to give you more of the details."

The reporters started in shouting at him once more, asking all sorts of questions both professional and personal.

"Sorry," he said, "If you'll excuse us please. Auror Malfoy and I have had a very difficult few days and we're long overdue for some rest," he added, chuckling amiably at them. "Thank you," he nodded. "Good night."

Without waiting for anything else, Draco reached out and grasped Harry's elbow and apparated them out of there and back to the apparition point just outside the Ministry. They had to apparate home separately, Merlin knew the press would have a field day if they knew the full truth about the nature of their relationship.

(Read more below the cut)

Members of the press were waiting by that apparation point as well, Draco watched a tremor of unease sluice up Harry's back. He was sure that he wouldn't have suspected a thing if not for how long he had been watching Harry Potter. Sometimes he wondered if he knew Harry better than Harry knew himself.

Harry held up a hand but Draco beat him to the punch this time. "Move," he snapped, pushing his way through the press but keeping Harry half a step ahead of him so they couldn't suck him in. "Auror Potter's already given an interview to your insipid colleagues. The DMLE and the Wizengamot will be issuing official statements within the hour, I suggest you wait for them."

They were followed into the lobby but fortunately the reporters couldn't come any further and within a few moments they were ensconced in the relative safety of the elevator.

Once they got inside, Harry leaned back against the back wall and let his head fall foward while Draco hit the button to their floor before joining him.

"Thanks," Harry murmured.

"Don't mention it," Draco replied, reaching across the gap between them and hooking their pinkies together.

He released his finger the floor before theirs and stepped away, "What do you still have to do?" he asked.

"You're submitting the report, right?"

Draco nodded, "It's just about done. I'll need a few minutes to finish."

"I just have to straighten up my desk, then. I'll head home first."

The elevator dinged and the door opened onto their floor, Draco gave Harry a little nod and they stepped out.

Harry was done straightening his desk and putting things away in ten minutes and he stood and stretched before patting Draco congenially on the shoulder. "Nice work, Malfoy," he said. "I'll see you in two days. Enjoy your couple of days of recovery," he added.

"Thanks, Potter," he replied. "You, too."

He didn't let himself watch Harry leave, didn't let himself look at his retreating form to analyze what he was feeling and thinking. No, he went back to finishing his report and after another fifteen minutes he was done as well. He dropped the report in Robbard's mailbox and headed for the apparition point, knowing that Harry would have used the floo network to avoid as many reporters as possible.

Fortunately, the reporters left him alone for the most part and he reached the apparation point without incident. A heartbeat later he was standing in their entry way, breathing in the comforting scent of home, the warmth seeping into his bones and washing away all of the tension and stress.

He kicked off his shoes, tucked his bag into the closet, and hung up his cloak before turning and heading into the kitchen. Harry was standing over the hob, cooking chicken tikka masala by the smell of it, and that told Draco everything his needed to know about how draining this case had been on Harry.

Harry only cooked after a case when he was especially frustrated, when he was desperate to care for someone, to fix the hurts he was able to, to heal. He ached with how much he loved the other man.

"Hey," he murmured as he wrapped his arms around Harry's waist and hooked his chin over his shoulder. "Smells good."

Harry leaned into him, "Good," he replied, setting the wooden spoon down and turning his head to press a quick kiss to Draco's lips. "How are you?" he asked softly.

"Tired," Draco replied honestly.

Harry hummed and turned back to his rice, pulling down the jar of jasmine and adding some. "Me too."

"I'm going to open a bottle of wine," he said, pressing a kiss to Harry's shoulder. "White okay?"

"Sure," the other man replied, giving him a worn, weary smile.

Draco opened the wine and set the table, getting everything ready while Harry finished preparing the food.

"Dinner's ready," Harry said, bringing over the rice and chicken tikka masala, and a batch of naan that he'd had under stasis for a moment like this.

"Thanks," Draco replied and the first part of dinner was quiet, companionable, like it always was.

Then, once Harry was almost done with his first helping he started to talk. "Godric, I hate those vultures," he grumbled before taking a sip of his wine. "Can you imagine how heartless you have to be to stand outside of a court to ambush someone after the kind of case we just finished?"

"They're awful," Draco agreed.

"I always wish I could tell them to fuck off," he added, shaking his head.

"What a sight that would be," he said with a laugh. "I'd give my entire vault at Gringotts to see it. Can you imagine their faces?"

Harry laughed too, "It sure would be something." But then after a moment he said, "What's happened to me?"

"What?" Draco asked, panic spearing through his chest. "What's wrong?"

He shook his head, "No, nothing like that," he said, soothingly. "Sorry. It's just," he paused as though he was trying to put his thoughts in order. "When I was seventeen I would have told them to piss off in an instant. I would have told them that they were heartless, soulless leeches without hesitation."

"You've just learned to be more diplomatic," Draco replied, tearing off another piece of naan to soak up more of the tikka masala.

"But why?" Harry asked. "I'm sick of it. It's exhausting."

Draco nodded, "I don't doubt it. But I'm sure even you would get in trouble for telling off the press like that. You are the Ministry's Golden Boy, after all. You've got quite an image to uphold."

"Why do we do this job, Draco?" he asked suddenly.

Draco blinked, their conversations after a case usually centered around the case itself and Harry's guilt for not being fast enough, clever enough, etc. "Well, when we started, you wanted to catch bad guys, save people, the works. And I wanted to redeem myself, do some good for once, and piss off my father."

Harry swallowed down the remainder of his glass of wine, "I hate it."

"What?"

"Being an Auror," he said. "The only time I'm ever happy is when I'm with you, the only time I feel like I'm actually me is when I'm with you." He shook his head, "I don't know how I became this person. How I became someone who could put on a fake smile and be polite to people who are such arse holes."

"What are you saying?"

He blew out a breath, "I want to stop." Running his fingers through his hair he said, "I don't want to do this anymore."

"Alright," Draco said, covering Harry's hand with his own. "We'll quit tomorrow."

"We?" he asked.

He nodded, "Ninety percent of the reason that I am still an auror is to keep an eye on you."

Harry leaned in to kiss him, both of them smiling so widely that it made kissing rather difficult. "What'll we do?" Harry asked.

Draco shrugged, "Let's not rush into anything."

"Alright," Harry agreed, bringing Draco's hand to his lips and pressing a kiss to his wrist. "I'm sure whatever we decide on will be good, as long as we're together."

"I love you," Draco murmured.

Harry smiled and squeezed his hand, "I love you, too."

And even though he didn't quite know what tomorrow would bring, he knew that everything would be okay.

---------

Day 110: Rough | Day 112: Intimacy

#100 Drarry Drabbles in 100 Days #established relationship #auror partners #love #drarry #drarry ficlet #drarry drabbles #fluff #my writing #secret relationship

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wh6res · 3 years

Text

UP IN SMOKES — DOYOUNG

psych student! kdy | tw. college au, violence, a knife, GASLIGHTING, hallucination, psychosis, swearing, just pure manipulation, minor charac death, there's a court scene, this is a repost! | wc. 10k she a beast

life could’ve been simple;

you shouldn't have met kim doyoung.

what does a freshman in college hate the most other than the high-stress levels of moving into a new dorm? a shitty roomie and a smelly, moldy mattress. the girl you call roommate refuses to help move the mattress because it will ruin her new manicure. what a fucking classic.

"sounds like a 'you' problem. figure it out yourself, plain jane."

she said before heading out, annoyingly popping her bubblegum as she kicks a few of your scattered boxes by the front door. you roll your eyes; classes haven't even started yet, so why is she already making your life miserable? as much as you'd like to snap at her, you don't, merely glaring daggers at her back as she finally turns the corner of the hallway and disappears.

"bitch," you mutter under your breath.

you eye the abomination that is supposed to be your bed, cursing how you shouldn't have made a 15-minute pit stop to starbucks for a drink when you could've just bought one from the instant coffee vending machines in every corner of the hallway of this dorm building because if you didn't, maybe you could've beaten regina george wannabe from taking the better bed. sighing, you suck it up and start getting to work. life's full of shit, anyway; no point sulking.

moving a moldy mattress is easier than you thought, to say the least. you can't ask for help from the other freshmen you bumped into in the hallway because they, too, are under a huge amount of stress from the move and are busy getting their affairs in order. it was a good thing, though, that a committee was formed specifically for this day to help out the freshmen if they were to stumble upon problems or mishaps with moving in. they were all around the campus, and they prove to be way friendlier than your batch mates. since this morning, three people have already offered help in carrying your luggage — which you have politely declined.

"hey, uhm… is this the stall for the welcoming committee? oh, wait. i'm sorry, there's a sign right there —"ugh.

you mentally shut your eyes in humiliation. why do you have to be this bad, this awkward at communicating with strangers? why couldn't you be born like all those socialites who already (probably) got their contacts filled with new numbers on the first day of school or something?

"yeah, this is them — welcoming committee, i mean. how can i help you?" he smiles, sweet, radiating the epitome boy next door aura as he looks up at you from where he's sitting behind the stall. your eyes quickly land onto the name tag stuck on his varsity jacket before meeting his eyes again.

"i have an issue with my mattress. it has mold, you see..." your voice slowly trails, becoming quieter as you feel small under the weight of his piercing stare. oh, come on. he's just a guy with a beautiful face, woman the fuck up.

"really? let me see..."

he needn't finish rounding the stall when his nose is hit by the pungent smell brought forth by your mattress. frankly, you weren't that picky. you could've covered it with bedsheets and call it a day, but the odor is too strong to ignore. you mentally hope the smell didn't latch onto your clothes, especially not when someone so cute is around — what a bad first impression.

"oh, god!" he exclaims the moment he lays eyes on it, taking a step back. “now, that has to go. and you lugged it from the fourth floor?"

ah, yes. according to tradition in these dormitories, which you've only found out today, freshmen get the curse of climbing four flights of stairs up while the seniors strut into their rooms on the ground floor like the hallway is a goddamned runway.

"doyoung! help me carry these!"

someone calls his name as you both turn your head to spot a chestnut-haired girl clad in the same varsity jacket he's wearing. you grimace at the sight of her. for someone so small, she just had to volunteer to carry all those heavy bags. however, he doesn't move in front of you and brushes her off as if she doesn't look like she's carrying rocks over her shoulders. "i'm already helping someone else! go find taeyong or something. i'm sure that shit's loitering around here somewhere!"

"oh, it's okay, you can go help her. i'll just look for someone else —"

"nah, it's fine!" you try hard to school your face into indifference when you notice his gummy smile. "plus… trust me when i say no other person from the committee will help you with this. this shit smells like my roommate's sweaty basketball socks!"

you can't help the smile forming on your face as you help him carry the mattress off to the side of the hallway, the stinky thing leaning vertically against the wall and behind a huge terracotta plant pot. "don't worry, let's report it to student affairs so they'll get you a new one. congrats! you'll have to share beds with your new roommate tonight, freshie. it'd be a great ice breaker."

the universe truly hates you.

your expression must've been a dead give away because he's suddenly patting your shoulder, regarding you with utmost sympathy. "been there, done that. i hated taeyong, too, when i met him last year. still, for some mind fuck of a miracle, we've grown to be friends and developed a talent of not wanting to kill each other every two seconds."

"highly doubt i'd be friends with a regina george-level bitch, but thanks, anyway," you mutter under your breath. suddenly, you whip your head towards him after internalizing what he just said. "you met your roommate last year? you're a sophomore?"

he scoffs, leaning down to your height to lowly mutter against your ear as he eyes the lobby's front desk. "why? do i look like some 4th year who radiates 'don't touch me' energy?"

you feel the heat on your cheeks with how close he is, only releasing an exhale when he finally gets out of your personal space. "i'm kim doyoung. you've heard it from wendy earlier, but anyway — i'm a 2nd-year psych major."

"no way!" you exclaim, a little too excited. "i'm taking psych, too!"

"oh, you are? well, if you need anything or if you don't understand stuff…" he winks. "feel free to approach me anytime."

hmm… how sweet of him.

it was only hours later that you found out who kim doyoung is in your department during the acquaintance party. and for god's sake, you found out from your best friend who is a major in english lit and has never even seen the guy. "seriously, you didn't know he's a genius? i hear the professors call him a prodigy, girl! a fucking prodigy. if i were you, i'd ask for his help in every subject."

"you know i prefer keeping to myself. how'd i know stuff like that when i have no one to talk to in the psych dorms?" you look down, making the ice cubes in your drink clink against each other. "i didn't think he was this big shot or whatever. he looks normal, and everyone treats him normally."

"well, what do you expect?" she hisses, hitting your arm. "the other students don't want to make him feel alienated or something just because he's tons smarter than them. but anyway… the real question is…"

you roll your eyes when she pauses for effect, tentatively leaning closer to whisper under her breath.

"is he cute?"

you didn't want to answer her question, but he's been stuck in your head since he offered walking with you to the student affairs office. doyoung had smiled his cute gummy smile and had even ruffled your hair before leaving you for committee duties — saying he's cute would be an understatement.

"you have no idea."

for his first act;

he gains your trust.

fast forward to one year, many things have changed, but the only constant remaining is the handsome sophomore — who is now a 3rd-year, by the way — whom you've met on your first day. coursework has been pretty tough this year. instead of the content written in your textbook, your mind is plagued by the horrible twist of fate your best friend had encountered; she didn't have enemies. or so you thought.

she disappeared in the middle of christmas break last year. her beaten up body was found only a month later, in january, floating around the university's lake. happy fucking new year.

the first time she chose to spend the holidays with you instead of her family back in her hometown, and that happens? some rotten luck you both have. it's why you didn't put it past her family to hate your guts with strong convictions. it's okay. the feeling's mutual. after all, it had been your best friends' own family, the same ones who had been so willing to take you in when you got kicked out, that were so eager to pin you as the murderer of their child. all under the argument that you have been the last person seen with her.

oh, the things her mom said about you when she had stormed into the police station, red in the face, tears streaming down her cheeks..."i warned my baby not to hang out with that — that bitch. came straight out of a cursed family, that one. abusive dad, a nutjob mom. that bitch is a danger! probably got her dad's nasty temper and beat my baby to death! i want her on the electric chair!"

in those times, you once again realize this world is fucked up and cruel in every bit of its glory as you fought tooth and nail to defend yourself. but even then, they never believed you — the law will only favor the rich . the prosecution had been so sure it was you until a certain witness appeared and presented himself before the jury.

"do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?"

doyoung raises his right hand, fixing his stare straight at the judge. "i solemnly and sincerely declare that the evidence i shall give will be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth."

"how long have you known the defendant?" the prosecutor asks, arms crossed in front of her chest as she paces in front of the witness stand.

the boy briefly meets your gaze, and it's enough to make his heart sink. doyoung can't bear seeing you in those grey overalls when he knows it himself. you're being accused of a crime you didn't commit. "i've known her for one year."

"how'd you meet?"

and the questions went on and on; your defense attorney isn't all too keen on winning the case and had never once yelled "objection!" in her seat, but what could you expect? all the evidence kept stacking against you, and some of those you knew were even fabricated. you've never felt this hopeless in your whole twenty years of living.

"what's the point in this, anyway?" doyoung snapped in the witness stand, fiercely glaring at the prosecutor. "how is my history — or lack thereof — with the defendant any relevant to the case? you're not even asking me about evidence nor what my statement is!"

"easy there," the prosecutor retaliates, jaw locked. "i have to first measure what exactly your relationship is with the defendant for us to think twice about your statement. who knows..." the prosecutor makes a grand gesture of turning her head in your direction, affixing you with a condescending stare. "she might've just hired you to say these things."

your attorney doesn't come to your aid.

"perjury isn't my thing."

the prosecutor seems to have taken offense by the tone of doyoung's voice, but he doesn't let her speak further. "the victim isn't all sunshine and rainbows, you know. she'd been a part of a sorority and one with quite a nasty reputation in the college, too. i have to say she made very poor decisions, ones i'm sure her family didn't even know about. you see, they take their oaths and pledges very seriously. the victim wanted out. they didn't like that."

"and you have evidence to support this claim?"

without a moment to waste, he digs around the front pocket of his jeans before proudly presenting a black usb between his slender fingers. "knock yourself out."

the professor calls your name, snapping you out of your reverie. this isn't the first time your mind had transported you back to that particular day in the courtroom, where doyoung had swooped in and saved you from a lifetime in prison. the whole ordeal had been so scary, so frightening that you remember everything vividly as if it had only happened yesterday.

the classroom is empty. even your social psych professor has long packed up his stuff and is already standing by the classroom door. damn. were you that out of it?

"i'm so sorry." you mutter under your breath monotonously as you walk past him and out the door without another word. this is bad, very bad. no one would help, much less lend their notes to someone charged with murder — especially of their very own best friend. whether you were innocent or not doesn't matter to the student body. you've been ostracized, gossips of your problematic family spreading like wildfire, and the ridiculous part is only a fourth of the gossips are true.

the damage is done.

at this point, you realize with a heavy heart that you have to face doyoung again sooner or later. you haven't talked to him at all since the start of the new school year, ignoring his lighthearted greetings in the hallways, rejecting his calls, ghosting his texts. you are afraid people would judge him harshly for hanging around you. frankly, you were embarrassed to ask any more favors from him with how much he's done for you already and the fact that he had seen you in such a state of vulnerability.

but you also didn't want to fail your subjects and lose the one thing holding your life together — your scholarship.

that is why you found yourself standing before him, in his favorite spot in the library tucked behind shelves upon shelves of books, next to the windows overlooking the empty football field. he's wearing black-rimmed glasses and is clad in the usual navy blue sweater as his head turns to and fro between a textbook and his notebook. the air had been so silent, you hear the aggressive scratches his pencil makes against the paper.

you feel a little hurt when he makes no move to acknowledge your presence, but you think back to what you have been doing and figured he has a right to act this way.

"hey, doyoung." your voice is meek, hesitant.

"if you're not here to explain nor give me an acceptable reason why you've been ignoring me for the last few months, then please get out of my sight. i'm busy, as you can tell." he is brutally honest, knocking down the remaining hope you have left of ever reconciling with him.

something within you snaps, the steady streams of tears running down your cheeks as you pinned your stare on doyoung's open pencil case lying on the table. you have nobody left. your family — father, specifically speaking — has disowned you for taking a course your heart wanted, and the one friend you have lies motionless in a white coffin buried six feet under the ground. you didn't want to lose doyoung, too, no matter what role he plays in your life.

"i'm sorry," your voice cracks. "life's been… fucking shitty, and i'm sure you of all people know what i've been through. i've thanked you before for — for what you did, and i'm thanking you again right now but — i'm sorry, i'm really —"

your voice cracks when you feel him pulling you into an embrace. you feel the tension in your body breaking loose as you crumble in his arms. all those months grieving and wallowing in self-pity took such a heavy toll that you can't help but tightly clutch the sides of his hoodie, scared he'll slip through your fingers.

one of his hands comes up to push your face against the crook of his neck, muffling your cries in the silent library. doyoung felt like a jerk for snapping at you the way he did. how inconsiderate can he be? however, he felt elated because you sought him out yourself and wanted his help of all people.

his eyebrow raises in amusement.

well, not that you have a choice, anyway.

it took you a few good minutes to calm down, cringing when you see the wet patch on doyoung's sweater because of your tears.

"why don't you tell me everything, hmm? i'll help you as much as i can."

you sheepishly look down, fiddling with your fingers as you sit across him, the open textbook and notebook before him long forgotten. "well, i've been so out of it lately? my mind's just a whole bloody mess and i can't focus on any of my subjects at all and if i can't, then i'll lose the scholarship and it's the only thing i have in my life right now —"

"hey," doyoung cuts you off, placing a warm hand against your forearm to calm you down. "you won't lose that scholarship. trust me, okay? why don't we arrange tutoring sessions and i'll even lend you some of my notes from last year. what do you think?"

"okay... thank you, doyoung."

"for the record, you have me in your life, too. i'll always be here for you."

in the first session, you woke up from your deep slumber with only 15 minutes to spare from the scheduled time, but thankfully, your tutor only lives one floor down with the rest of the 3rd-years. bringing nothing with you but a pen and a pad of paper, your textbooks were destroyed as some students from your batch thought it'd be fun to throw them into the lake to "honor" your friend.

you offer a small smile when taeyong opens the door, sporting an oversized shirt and track pants, eyes wide in shock when he sees you. "hi? can i help you?"

"hello! i'm here for doyoung. he's tutoring —"

"he doesn't live here anymore. his mom bought him a place outside the campus."

what?

"i'm sorry for disturbing you, then. do you by any chance know where he lives?"

that's weird. doyoung never mentioned he's already moved out. you feel a wee bit irritated that he forgot to tell you; it would've saved you the embarrassment of interacting with the varsity player. you weren't stupid, you can see the hints of repulsion in taeyong's eyes the moment he opened that door and saw you standing before him, no doubt thinking about: oh, look, it's the crazy murderer with a fucked up family standing in front of me.

he had shut the door in your face. you stood awkwardly for a good minute in the hallway until the door reopens, taeyong handing you a small piece of paper with doyoung's new address scribbled hurriedly in black ink. he doesn't give you a chance to thank him for he's already closed the door again without another word.

you opted walking to his place instead of catching a ride because the money you have on you is enough to buy yourself dinner. to say the least, the apartment building is mediocre, not too grand, nor is it too rundown. double-checking the floor level written on the paper before pushing the elevator's button, you then realize doyoung lives on the very top floor of the building.

the hallways are painted a boring brown. some acrylic number signs plastered on the doors are broken, hanging vertically with one screw left. it says on the paper he resides in room 720. taking the right hallway, you mentally count as you eye the mahogany doors. 718… 719… there it is!

when you raise a fist to start knocking on his door, there is a tinge of hesitation surging through you. perhaps being alone with a boy in his apartment is not the best setting for a girl like you should end up in, but this is doyoung we're talking about. if he had ill intentions for you, it would've manifested a long time ago. you shake your head, feeling bad for thinking of him that way as you slowly knock on his front door. not long after, it swings open, revealing the 3rd-year in a white shirt and boxers as he lazily dries his hair off with a small towel.

"you're late," is the first thing he says to you before spinning on his heel to disappear further into his humble abode.

"you didn't exactly inform me you've moved out of the dorms. so, whose fault is it?" you retaliate, inviting yourself in and closing the front door shut.

"whatever. let's get started!" he plops himself on the floor, coffee table filled with loose papers as he struggles to find a specific one amongst the mess. "i've already scanned, exported to pdf, and emailed you my notes. it should be in your inbox by now. anyway, answer this quiz i made so i know what i'll be working on."

"you didn't really have to send your notes, doyoung. i could've just read everything from the textbook," you sit down across from him because otherwise, you'll be too distracted to remember information.

a thought crosses his mind. with what textbook?

"i just think it's missing some essence. that's why i love reading over other psych books in the library for fun. be grateful, those notes are like my babies and i don't simply give them to anyone," he looks at you pointedly. "they've all been summarized and explained in layman's terms so you wouldn't have to spend grueling hours of reading and trying to make sense of the big words as i did — i know that's not the definition of 'fun' normally, but it is for me, and that's why i do it."

"okay, doyoung. you sound so defensive when there's nothing to be defensive about," you tease, feeling pleased with the hint of red on his cheeks as he averts his gaze from yours, muttering incoherent words under his breath.

you spent the following tuesdays, thursdays, and sundays like that; hours upon hours with no one but your tutor, laptops with tangled chargers, a printed copy of his babies, and a mountain pile of loose papers filled with the specialized quizzes doyoung makes to measure your progress. the location varies from a cafe or his flat. but in what you've gathered from the time you spent with him, doyoung's a homebody. cafe tutor sessions are rare, and he always complained about how "noisy" the atmosphere was — "i can't stand it."

but the conversation hadn't always been about academics.

sure, for the first few sessions, doyoung kept an image of professionalism and had heavily insisted on it — "it's for your learning experience!" — despite your lighthearted teasing. but as time passed and he eventually grew more comfortable in your presence, you find the strict 15-minute break he had initially imposed between 45 minutes of studying turned into hours of talking about whatever; how he likes his eggs in the morning, your favorite coffee brew, his favorite show, your strongest pet peeve.

and you wholly welcomed the change, not minding that it's practically dark out whenever you go back to your miserable dorm. you feel butterflies in your stomach whenever doyoung offers to walk you home but never had you taken his offer, still cautious of other people seeing you both together despite his constant reassurances. you've already thoroughly ruined your image. you didn't want to ruin his, too.

kdy the cute tutor, 2:14 pm —last day of midterms! & its all majors today —good luck —remember what i taught u —lets get ice cream after u cant say no

you shake your head bemusedly. his texting style is the most doyoung thing he does and it's as if you can hear him say these things to you in real life. too caught up in your own world, you fail to detect another student sitting next to you and had nearly fallen off your chair in shock when they spoke.

"why are your notes like that?"

you fight the urge to glare at the person, especially when you turn your head and see lee jeno looking at you in genuine curiosity. he's the only batchmate that treats you a wee bit nicer among the rest. although he isn't technically your friend, at least he doesn't look at you like you're a piece of bubblegum stuck under his shoe like all the others.

"what do you mean?"

"they're… the definitions are all jumbled up. where did you even get that?"

what? jumbled up? doyoung himself said these notes are a combination of most of the psychology books he had read last year concerning his subjects. how would it be jumbled up? then again, lee jeno was not tutored by the prodigy himself. maybe things are bound to seem "jumbled up" when information is too great to understand for a feeble mind.

just as you were about to claim these notes aren't yours, the professor has already waltzed into the classroom with a thick wad of papers — the exams. after one last concerned glance directed your way, jeno averts his gaze with a confused tilt of the head.

hours later, you walk out of the classroom with the biggest smile on your face. aced it, you thought. your hands feel numb with how much you wrote on the essay portion but it's worth it if it meant you get the full 25 points, which you no doubt will as it was a topic you surely tackled with doyoung. speaking of... he sure is a man of his word.

"what are you doing here?" you hiss, head ducked with hair framing your face as to not draw attention from the rest of the students filing out of the testing hall.

"i texted you that we're getting ice cream. remember?"

"i did. but i didn't remember agreeing."

he shoots you a comforting smile, planting his hands firmly on your shoulder. “i told you, y/n. i don't care if they all see us together, so what? we all know you didn't commit that crime and it wasn't your fault you were born into the family you had. i don't care about the trivial things, baby, so don't shy away from me, okay?"

how the fuck can you say 'no' when he's looking at you the way he is as he brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear? doyoung's just so bewitching that he has you wrapped around his slender fingers. he seems pleased when you stumbled over your words as you come up with a reply, caught off guard by his bold gestures.

"i just — you, uhh — fine..." you gave in, rolling your eyes out of pretense.

he just had to call you 'baby' and erupt the butterflies in your stomach.

it had been doing that for the last few months now and it had only truly manifested today when he took you out for ice cream to celebrate the end of hell week. and since you didn't want to go back to your dorm yet, you asked if you guys can watch some movies in his house but it had simply become background noise to your heart-to-heart talks. and what better accompaniment than the classic, chicken and beer?

you listen to him drone on and on about the little realizations he had on some of his past lectures even when you barely understood anything he's saying. doyoung's so lucky to be extremely good at something he's so passionate about, talks about the human mind and the complexity of a person's behavior will never fail to make his eyes light up in interest.

he calls out your name.

your eyes snap open.

"why don't we get you home? it's past 10 and it's alright, stupid, you don't need to pretend to be interested in my psychological findings." he chuckled light-heartedly, stealing the can of the now room-temperature beer from your hands before you can protest.

"i wasn't dozing off, i swear."

"i caught you in the act. stop lying."

like all the other times he has you as his guest, doyoung once again offers to walk you home and you decline for the thousandth time. it really isn't that much of a long walk anyway. you don't see the need for him to go out of his way to secure your safety. plus, you were the one who insisted on hanging out in his house anyway. you weren't that thick-skinned to let him take you home, too.

"you're drunk!" he scolds.

“no, i’m not. i can perfectly handle myself."

"but —"

"bye!"

you feel a little guilty for shutting the door in his face. still, a minute longer of his persistence and you would've taken his offer. unfortunately for doyoung, you are one stubborn girl. only if you don't make brisk movements with your head, then you won't see doubles. you'll be fine, it's just a quick walk and it's not as if you're stupid enough to pass by deserted alleys.

but you had underestimated the divine prowess of your fucked up fate.

everything happened in a matter of three seconds; one, the blinding headlights illuminate your path from behind; two, you hear the loud honk, and as you turn around — three, the vehicle sends you rolling against the asphalt.

you should have taken the alleyways.

for his second act;

he alters your reality.

when you open your eyes, you thought you were dead and your spirit is wandering elsewhere — because you don't believe in trivial things like heaven and god — until an agitated doyoung comes into view. for a split second, you thought, is he dead, too?

"i'm not dead, you idiot." too dazed, you hardly register his anger. "i can perfectly handle myself, she said. i'm not drunk, she said. this wouldn't have happened if you had simply let me walk you home! you're damn fucking lucky you're alive and breathing right now!"

a person clears their throat.

"i don't think it wise to… nag at the patient the moment she wakes. don't you agree, sir?"

pink splotches on doyoung's cheek as he looks down, embarrassed at getting scolded as he stands closer to your bed. "i'm sorry, doc."

you didn't know when your vision cleared or when you started hearing normally again, but it was enough to find out what exactly had transpired on the very night of your tragic accident. a hit and run. fifty-fifty chance of surviving. doyoung getting a call from the hospital in the middle of the night —"they were trying to contact your dad, but he wasn't answering. i was the last person in your call history."

six months in a coma. but today, you wake… only to find out your world has crashed and burned.

"what do you mean i lost my scholarship?"

"baby, listen to me —"

"why did they take it away? is it because of my accident? i'm behind by one term only and i swear i can catch up. they need to let me back in the program. there must've been some mistake —"

"your gpa didn't reach the cut-off grade."

that can't be possible.

"but you tutored me!" you claim with conviction, pointing an accusatory finger at him until you groan, bowing in pain as you clutch your head.

doyoung springs into action. the chair's legs screech against the tiles as he jumps to your aid, ushering you gently back against the hospital bed despite your refusal. "you're not well. lay back down, please."

you don't hear a single word he says, not when you had lost something so crucial. "i put in the effort and learned everything you taught me... i aced those fucking mid-terms! i know i did!" you were on the brink of tearing up as doyoung settled himself in front of you.

"i… i actually saw your papers," his lips set in a thin, hard-line. "everything was all wrong, sweetheart. what happened to you? i tried reasoning with the professors, mentioned your state — you know, with your best friend dying — but they didn't relent. i'm sorry y/n. i'm so —"

gone. everything is gone. the money. the dorm. what if they ask you to pay the fees from last year? what if they ask you to pay the tuition fee for this year? you have no money, no family, no relatives. no one to help. who's even going to pay for the hospital fees?

you weren't able to process anything after that. not with the sudden news of your now revoked scholarship. doyoung pulls you in a tight hug. "i was a bad tutor," he says, snapping you out of it. "maybe i shouldn't have pushed you that hard to learn them. why were your answers even mixed up y/n? i thought you knew those topics already…"

he pulls away, observing your confused state as your eyes dart everywhere in the room. "what — how are they mixed up? i know i got them right. there has to be some mistake. you taught me those topics, remember?"

"i did... "he averts his gaze. "but i don't remember teaching them to you mixed up, darling. i think you did that all on your own."

"but… why would i mix up my answers? that's —"

"see, what i mean?" he cuts you off, raising a hand to give your cheek the most delicate caress. "you're not well, baby. you need to be treated, especially with how much you hit your head during the accident. don't worry, i'm here. we'll try asking if you can stay in the dorms at least until you find another place —"

"am i a charity case to you?"

oh, the surprise on the junior's face when you push him away as you pin him with a hard stare. you just don't get it. why is kim doyoung so adamant about helping you? in becoming your hero, even when you never asked him to be? if you let him help you this time around, that'll be the 3rd time he came to save your ass. it's not as if you're ungrateful. simply, you've had enough of his help. you don't know how a person like you, who literally has nothing, can return the favor to someone like doyoung.

"what are you saying —"

"i'm saying…" you fix him a hard stare. "you helping me out doesn't even benefit you in the slightest. so why do you do it?"

he pauses, staring at you with hesitance in his eyes as this seems to be the very first time you've truly seen him speechless. when doyoung opens his mouth, he mumbles, and you hardly make sense of what he said.

"do you really want to know why?"

you urge him on with an arched eyebrow, his softened tone creeping into your heart.

"you're someone special to me y/n. i don't know how or when i admitted it to myself, but you are, and it hurts me to see how shitty your luck is," he cracks a small grin, slowly settling back onto the hospital bed as he grabs your hand. "it's okay to seek help from others. it isn't a sign of vulnerability or weakness. i help you because i want to, and i'm more than willing to take care of you. will you let me?"

you're not blind. you've noticed the way he had slowly started coming closer as he continued to speak, hands held securely in his as he looked straight at your eyes then down at your lips. and so, you act in a way you know that will surely answer his question — with a kiss.

the man before you immediately reciprocates, overpowering your own eagerness as he curls the tips of his fingers into the roots of your hair. he pulls you close, cradling you against his chest. you can taste his desperation in the way his tongue dances against yours, the kiss transporting you into an alternate reality where your world revolves around doyoung and doyoung alone.

when he pulls away bleary-eyed, both of you ignore the thin strand of saliva connecting your lips. "how about you come live with me for the time being, my love?"

still high off his kiss and natural scent, you hardly mull over the question he asks you. "okay."

days later, after you've been discharged (he wanted to chip in for your hospital bills but you had given him a firm no), doyoung had been the one to show up at the dorm to collect all your things after leaving you in his apartment. the cutie had refused to simply drop you off and had deliberately accompanied you up the elevator, through the halls, and finally into his apartment.

"i'll be out for just a minute, sugarcube."

"oh, can you get take out?"

doyoung had smiled, playfully booping the tip of your nose. "no, because i'll be cooking for us tonight as a little celebration for you getting discharged. you'll love it; i'm making your favorite!"

it was funny how the night had been nothing but utter bliss. the foreign feeling of being taken care of sprouting in your chest as you watch him cooking from behind the counter. it felt… nice. but funny enough, as if doing a 360, you both had immediately gotten into an argument the next day.

"i don't see the need for skipping another day if i feel perfectly fine! i'll figure something out once we get there, doyoung, so can we just —"

"you' re not fine, babylove — hell, you got discharged yesterday! i'm not just about to let you back into the arena with those students. they've only grown more immature since your coma, love. i seriously don't want you near them."

"fine! then i won't talk to them. simple." you throw your hands up. "there. problem solved. now, can we please just go to uni? i need to talk to the dean and the head of student affairs, too —"

"i'm going to uni, not you."

maybe it had been the way he firmly stated his claim, the way his eyes pierced through your soul as if daring you to argue further with him that made you snap.

"i'm not a prisoner in this apartment, doyoung! don't treat me like i have the plague! i'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself — jesus christ, i've been doing it nearly half my fucking life!"

too caught up in your anger, you've failed to notice the tears pouring down his face as he sets his gaze on the floor.

"you're right," his voice cracks. "i shouldn't be pushy like that. i'm sorry. you just mean so much to me and i'm so scared of losing you again. with your coma — i just — it's like i was fighting a losing battle each day that passed when i saw you in that hospital bed. i've never felt so scared in my whole life and i hated myself for not being able to protect you that night."

his tears run like waterfalls, and when you step forward with your arms wide open, doyoung sobs harder as he pulls you against him. you hardly comprehend what he says as he spoke, shaking against your frail body as you felt his tears stain your blouse. "i'm sorry, i never should've dictated what you felt — i'm so sorry."

"no, it's okay. i was feeling a little lightheaded, anyway. i'll stay here and i can come back to school next semester, right? doyoung? just… please stop crying."

he lifts his head, staring at you with bloodshot eyes before giving your forehead a kiss. you let a relieved sigh escape your lips, melting into his warmth as you prop your chin on his shoulder. if you had only been more attentive, you would've seen the reflection of his wicked grin on the tabletops. too easy.

living with him became a blur after that incident. everything fell into a routine for the next four days as you spent the day watching netflix, eating, reading, sleeping. nothing felt fun anymore. but your peaceful life had ceased during the fifth night — the whispers, they woke you up. you can hear them from behind your door at night, and when you rouse awake, you see doyoung walking around the hallway from the tiny gap at the bottom of the door. you had sighed, falling back into your plush bed as you pray to god, he keeps it down.

but what he told you the next day rendered you speechless. "me, walking around the hallways? whispers?" he says, confused. "i was already asleep, love. knocked out cold the moment my body fell on the bed."

"but…"

he doesn't spare you a glance as he takes his sweet time skimming through his notes on the dining table, coffee in one hand. "maybe it's just the meds kicking in."

"no, surely it was real! i literally woke up in the middle of the night," you repeat. "it's okay if it was you, doyoung. i'm not mad."

he sets his coffee mug down a little too loud.

"well, you can't be mad at me, sugar, because like i said — it wasn't me," it doesn't take a genius to notice he's awfully cranky today. you observe him, dark half-moons under his eyes as he relentlessly reads his notes with instant coffee in one hand.

"you're just imagining things, okay? stop acting crazy."

for some reason, the way he had uttered certain words like 'imagining' and 'crazy' made you curl into your seat in embarrassment. he was right that your doctor did prescribe a generous amount of pills per day, but his tone made it feel off, made you feel like there was something wrong with you even when there wasn't…

right?

you didn't say a word after that and had hesitantly pecked him on the cheek before he left for school. with the amount of time you're with him, two things stood out to you — his keen sense of observation and his knack for reading people. you highly doubt he didn't notice a shift in your behavior but a part of you thinks it's just the stress talking. he is about to take his finals and had recently started on his research paper.

every psych student is required to present a paper in accordance with the department's annual theme. it could be anything from proposing a theory (if you dare) to constructing a well-developed psychology model. if you don't turn one in, you don't graduate — the paper's that important, and you've been bugging him for so long about sneaking a peek on what his study is about. but he always refused.

the next week came rolling around, and both of you had been spending every day together due to the semestral break. the arguments have significantly lessened, but your episodes — eventually, you started calling it that way because that's how doyoung labels it — have only gotten worse. you end up moving out of the guest room and into his. privacy be damned. the whispers stopped momentarily but what came next became your imminent downfall.

the first time you heard it, you thought you were dreaming. but the doorknob kept rattling aggressively even as you sat up. just as you climb off the bed, your half-asleep boyfriend asks where you're going.

"bathroom," you lied.

you were always the one to snort when it comes to the supernatural, claiming it's all bullshit. yet, as whatever outside continues to fight its way inside the room, the rattling progressing into loud bangs against the door, you're not so sure of your beliefs anymore. you're not crazy. nothing is wrong with you, and you're perfectly fine. this apartment is cursed, and you are going to prove that to doyoung.

grabbing your phone from the bedside table, you turn the flash on, pointing the camera at the door as you take a footage of the mad entity that has been playing games with you. a squeal escapes your lips when a particular bang! reverberates louder in the room than all the others. the phone slips your hand, falling onto the floorboards. you don't bother to retrieve it as you scramble to get yourself back under the blanket and into doyoung's comfortable warmth.

you snuggle yourself plush against his chest, shaking as you wrap your arms around his waist, inhaling his natural scent to anchor you back.

bang! bang! bang!

you didn't get a wink of sleep last night.

"can't the video wait? there's a new episode of start-up, and i want to watch it already!" he whines, shoving his face further on the throw pillow situated on your lap.

you giggle, shaking your head as you scroll through your gallery to find the video. i'm not imagining things. i'm not hallucinating. i'm not crazy. "here! watch... i'm telling you this apartment is haunted, and the ghost probably likes you, which is why it doesn't bother you —"

your lighthearted rambling cuts off when you notice no sound emitting from your phone. weird. you could've sworn you started recording right when the loud banging has already started. your heart drops upon the wary stare doyoung shoots you before he continues to watch the video.

no, no, no, no — please!

you quickly scoot over to his side, watching as the video unfolds before your very eyes. the shot was messy as the phone was handheld, not to mention you were panicking at the time. but the video is silent. not a single noise of a rattling doorknob or banging on the door can be heard through your phone's speakers.

"maybe — maybe you didn't turn the volume up?"

you hardly contain the mortification in your face when you realize the volume's at 100 already. and as if on cue, your squeal is heard in the video and the noise of the phone hitting the floor.

doyoung's silence shakes your whole being. as you kneel before him teary-eyed, your voice breaks. "i swear, i'm not crazy."

but at this point, you don't believe yourself anymore.

for his third and final act;

he triumphs.

his deprivation began in minuscule ripples.

it didn't take much effort on doyoung's end to convince you to stop studying for a year or two, at least, only until your hallucinations aren't as severe anymore. everyday felt like hell on earth as the fine line between what's real and what isn't has blurred over one too many times. in sheer paranoia of accidentally hurting him in his sleep, you moved out of his bedroom and had started sleeping in the guest room again — much to doyoung's frustration.

but he's a smart man, one that recognizes an opportunity amidst the hurdles thrown on his path.

"why does my door need a lock outside again?"

he approaches you, who’s sitting cross-legged on the bed, after screwing in the last of the screws that came with the new doorknob. doyoung is familiar with the look written on your face, has observed and studied you enough to navigate his way inside your pretty little head with ease.

he can't have you doubting him, can he?

"you know i'm all about protecting you, right?" he starts. you nodded. "i've been doing it for a year now, and i will continue to do so until you need me to. the world is a bad place, sweetheart, remember? your own best friend's mother tried framing you. your dad disowned you. you've been ostracized in the whole college... do you think i'm just like the rest of them, baby?"

doyoung has already mastered the perfect expression of a kicked-puppy, one that easily pulls at your heartstrings and has you cooing at him.

"no!" you say with conviction, reaching forward to thread your fingers through his. "i know you're different, not like any of them at all. i know you're only doing what's… best for me."

he ignores the underlying hesitance in your tone. that will be corrected, sooner or later.

doyoung tightens his hold as he kisses the back of your hand. such an innocent gesture — but such ill intentions.

"the outside lock helps me in protecting you, love. you don't need to worry about anything. just focus on getting better, alright? i'll keep the bad guys away from you."

it was during his first semester of senior year, a few months back, doyoung and a good few students of his batch had been granted the opportunity to intern for a mental hospital located near the edge of the city. he was supposed to decline the offer but you convinced him to take the spot. it had only been a two-week “job” yet it was enough for doyoung to conclude — he’d rather kill you than subject you to the horrors of what the patients have to go through in the loony bin.

eventually, the small ripples shift into unforgiving waves, dragging you into the depths as everything comes crashing down before your very own eyes.

it should have been like any other day inside the apartment. doyoung's already gone in the morning to attend classes. though not before setting a tray of your brunch on the nightstand, making sure to lock your door on his way out. he knew your nightmares and anxiety kept you up at night, resulting in longer hours of sleep during the day.

turns out, you moving out of his bedroom had been a blessing in disguise. coming home to an empty apartment has become his biggest fear yet, and you unconsciously found a solution for him. one that doesn’t have him fidgeting on his seat as he counts down the minutes ‘til he’s back by your side.

doyoung smiles unconsciously as he listens to his professor drone on and on in front of him — his mind at peace, knowing you're safe and sound in your little prison.

until he received a text that made his blood run cold.

ty, 11:34 am —im done.

meanwhile, you rouse awake once more to thunderous poundings against your bedroom door. oh no, you thought. it's happening again. this time, there'll be no doyoung barging into your room, half-asleep and hair messy, as he tries to calm you down. you throw the blankets over you as you sob, hugging your legs against your chest as you try to 'wake yourself up' from the hallucination.

the person outside calls for your name, the desperation in their tone alighting a new-found fear in your heart. you don't know what's real anymore. is this truly happening, or is it another hallucination your fucked up mind has conjured up?

"please! it's taeyong! y/n, can you hear me?"

taeyong?

slowly, your head peaks above the blanket, warily staring at the door. doyoung has warned you about these kinds of things, has practically ingrained in your mind that whoever comes looking for you will take you away from him. not to mention, doyoung slipped one time and said he isn’t friends with taeyong anymore.

the banging on the door progresses.

“are you in there? answer me! i can’t find the key!”

you don’t say anything, merely pushing the covers off your body as you keep your eyes fixed on the beating door. it looks like it’s about to pop out its hinges as taeyong relentlessly fights his way inside your room. what are you going to do? do you open the door? oh. right. you can’t do that on your own accord. the key is with doyoung and he isn’t in the apartment at the moment.

all your thoughts come to a halt when the boy outside sends the door flying open, finally breaking the lock with one powerful kick. you flinch back, his actions pushing you on your feet, wanting to place a maximum amount of distance from the intruder.

taeyong looks frantic, disheveled as he immediately notices your alarmed state. he approaches you cautiously, hands up to show his empty palms. “hey, hey… it’s just me, y/n. i’m not going to hurt you. i’m not the enemy here.”

“doyoung doesn’t know you’re here, does he?”

the look of surprise on his face is an answer in itself. for someone doyoung had proudly claimed to have “broken” you’re still quite quick to catch up on things, taeyong observed. and he doesn’t know what to feel about it — pity? guilt?

“that’s not important!” he claims, boldly surging forward to grasp your shoulders with a firm grip. taeyong felt his heart dropping when you flinch under his grasp.

“listen to me. we need to get you out of here. doyoung isn’t — he isn’t everything you thought he is!” he can’t help but raise his voice, panic surging through him because there’s not much time left and you aren’t exactly cooperating. you’ve been trying to shrug off his hold the whole time.

“do you think he actually loves you?”

“he does! stop saying bullshit!”

“doyoung never loved anyone and you want to know why? because he’s too in love with his research to care for anything else!” taeyong felt bad to have been so direct, especially when he sees the tears now falling freely down your cheeks. “listen to me, y/n! i’m not the enemy! if there’s anyone you should be pushing away, it’s doyoung! he turned you into his lab rat! you are nothing but a variable in his study! don’t you get it?”

taeyong grabs a firm but gentle hold of your head, trying to make you look at him straight in the eye for the gravity of what he’s about to say to you.

“doyoung had his eye on you since sophomore year. i told him this was a bad idea and that he should change the topic of the research and he was. fucking hell, he was about to scrap the whole thing until your bestfriend died and did you know what that psycho told me? that it was a sign for him to continue the research! and i’ve been pestering him so much that he moved out because he claimed i was going to get in the way of his discovery.

tell you what, if you can tell me right here, right now, that he has mentioned anything — anything at all — about his study to you then everything i’m saying is a lie.”

you have asked doyoung for the longest time about that research but the answers have always been the same. “not yet, my love. it’s not time for it to be seen with your eyes. soon, okay?”

with a voice not louder than a whisper, you ask. “what… what’s his research about?”

you fail to see the sorry look on taeyong’s face. “in psychology, they say a person only develops psychosis mainly through genetics or drugs. although you’re technically already a worthy “lab rat” considering your mom and upbringing, he wanted to expand the external factors of what causes the disorder — grief, grades, toxic family relations…”

you hear a ringing in your ear and a sudden urge to throw up. only, you didn’t have anything to hurl because your brunch remains untouched on your bedside.

“but he hadn’t been successful. and that’s… that’s where i came along. doyoung thought the medications he’s been giving you isn’t doing what he wanted it to and he knew he needed a little push. i was… i gave him that push. remember the whispers, the banging on the door at night? it was all me. he made me do it. you know what that means, right? you’re not crazy. you don’t need to stay here cooped up like some kind of pet, believing all his lies as if it’s written in a fucking bible —”

he stops. and if he hadn’t, you wouldn’t’ve heard the familiar beeps of the front door’s automated lock going off. doyoung’s home.

in lightning speed, taeyong has you sheltered behind him, throwing his warm coat over you in the process, hoping to give the smallest comfort amidst the chaos that’s about to erupt. there’s no point in pretending or hiding — one look at that lock and his crazy friend would know something’s off.

taeyong feels you flinching behind him with every heavy footstep against the floorboards as doyoung wastes no time in getting to your room. and when he finally appears, hands braced against the door frame, you’ve never been this scared your whole life. his eyes are drawn into slits, fixated on taeyong alone. “how fucking dare you?”

“it’s over, doyoung. give it up or you wouldn’t have to suffer a longer sentence than you’ll already get.” taeyong tried with his whole being to appear intimidating.

“what’re you saying, yong? i meant, how fucking dare you barge in here and disturb my girlfriend in her sleep? that’s not very nice of you…” doyoung sports a disarming gummy smile as he approaches, hand outstretched and beckoning towards you. “c’mere, baby. i don’t think you’ve eaten lunch yet?”

“drop the fucking act, you psycho!”

“what act?” doyoung tilts his head innocently, gaze shifting from taeyong’s and yours, who keeps peeking from over his ex-friend’s shoulder. luring you out is a piece of cake unless taeyong decides to make things a wee bit more complicated, doyoung thought. “i’m just concerned for my darl —”

“we’re leaving.” taeyong cuts him off, breaking eye contact as he places a firm grip around your wrist. he pulls you towards him, farther away from your supposed lover as he tries walking past doyoung.

but the said man pushes taeyong back with a humorless smile on his face. “and who told you that you can do that?”

a pregnant silence befalls the room as the two men size each other up. they regard each other with such hostility, you can't help but unconsciously fist the back of taeyong's sweater in nervousness, prompting the man to turn his head over his shoulder for a swift second to check up on you.

but a second is all that doyoung needed to deliver the first kick towards taeyong's legs, throwing him off his balance. if it was one thing doyoung knew, is that he needed to eliminate taeyong's agility all together if he wants to win against him.

but taeyong isn't one to back down. the moment doyoung straddles him on the floor, with a fist raised to throw a punch, taeyong grunts as he rolls them around. doyoung now receiving taeyong's rain of fists as he yells. "fuck you! you manipulative asshole!"

you sat on the corner, horrified of the scene happening before you. you've never seen doyoung this way. he has always been your sweet, caring bunny, but after everything taeyong said, you aren't so sure you even know the man you've been living with.

"everything i did, i did it for her!" you flinch at the sound of bones breaking as doyoung kicked taeyong's ribs. "she had nothing to lose! i saved her!"

the door is open, you noticed. wide-open and inviting you to make a run for it. and you would have made a run for it... but taeyong. you can't leave him behind, not when he lays there bloody and grunting in pain as doyoung lets his anger take over him. so, as stupid as may be, you did it. you had to.

"you didn't save me," you say, schooling your face into indifference as doyoung whips around, forgetting about taeyong in the bat of an eye. "you caged me in here, treated me like there's something wrong with me, gaslighted me into believing everything you said! and... what did you say? 'saved me'? you made me go through hell!"

the whole time, taeyong tries his hardest to stand upright, but his broken ribs don't allow him to. the pain too great that he had no choice but to crawl instead, arms pulling his weight as he drags himself across the floorboards, desperately trying to get doyoung's attention back on him even if it meant getting beaten to death.

meanwhile, he had his eyes trained on you the whole time you spoke, sobbing as you walk backward in fear as doyoung approached you with a dark glint in his eye. he doesn't like what you're saying; that much is very clear. he wanted to yell at you, to scream of your ungratefulness despite his constant care but instead, he says.

"i thought we were making progress, baby. i guess i have to drill everything in your brain again. you're not okay, but you will be after i treat you."

you try to fight the urge to look at taeyong as he finds his strength, silently rising up from the floor to ambush doyoung while he's so busy preaching about you.

"what i said is true, baby. do you actually think this scum over here is doing this to save you? do you actually believe everything he said? i've been here since day-1, my love. literally. and have i ever let you down? no. everything i'm doing is for us. even this damned research!"

taeyong surges forward to put him in a chokehold, but everything happened so fast, and the next thing you knew —

"did you actually think i'd fall for that?"

you didn't know the sound of a knife cutting through flesh could sound that loud, but nothing could beat the strained gasp that tumbled through taeyong's lips as he shakily held the knife pierced through his heart. you would've been concerned about how doyoung got it so accurate in one go or where the knife even came from. but you were too busy screaming, collapsing against the wall as you let out a broken sob.

"no," you mutter. "no, no, no..."

you can't bear to avert your eyes from taeyong as he lies dying before you. the look of fear in his eyes would forever be ingrained in your mind, and no amount of brainwashing or gaslighting would ever make you forget.

doyoung killed him. you lost.

the knife clatters loudly on the floor as he slowly turns around as if he himself has yet to register what he did. you didn't know what to expect from doyoung's reaction but certainly not the eerie smile that starts spreading on his face.

"now... how about that lunch, baby?"

✉ : a repost no one asked but i respectfully dont give a fuck <3

#hmu if i missed a warning #yandere doyoung #yandere kpop #yandere nct #yandere nct 127 #tw swearing #tw manipulation #tw violence #tw knife

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rainydaydream-gal18 · 4 years

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(Clone Wars- The Bad Batch) That Time of the Month

(Author’s note: So I’ve had this sitting in my incomplete folder for some time.

I hate to play into the whole stereotype about females around this time of the month because I understand that every woman is different, but this is my experience. Every month, with the exception of a few times, I find myself getting easily irritated and feeling extra sensitive, whether it be to people’s comments or jokes. And every month I get so confused and cry into my hands like, “what’s wrong with me? I’m never like this!” And then it finally occurs to me to take a look at the calendar, and then I’m like, “oh...well that explains it.”

Not saying that it justifies crappy behavior, but like...it sucks to feel this way. And even though those feelings are very real, I always apologize to my friends and fam if I was an impatient wench to them in the moment.

Warning, mentions of periods).

Feeling the irritation flare up into anger, you stood up abruptly and left the room in flash. As the door slid shut behind you, the four males were left rather confused. Hunter looked to Tech for an answer, but he only gave a shrug. Wrecker frowned, and Crosshair sat in silence to analyze the interaction that just occurred.

Wrecker took the liberty of finally breaking the silence. “What? Was it something we said?”

“I’m not sure,” Tech replied.

Hunter tipped his head to the side, eyeing the floor as he thought. “Something’s been off about her this week. Something in her scent, and even her eyes and voice. It’s subtle, but the change is definitely there.”

“Hm,” Tech hummed, typing rapidly on his holopad. “Changes in mood, voice…”

“What are you doing?” Crosshair’s gaze flickered to the device.

“I have a theory.” Then, Tech nodded at the search result displayed on his holopad, humming again. “There’s a possibility that __________ is experiencing PMS.”

“What’s that?” Wrecker asked, leaning in.

Tech adjusted his goggles. “Do you recall the reproduction unit in our Biology course on Kamino? The part about females and the cycle they go through-?”

“Yes, I think we all remember that,” Hunter interjected with a grimace. “Is that what’s going on?”

He continued swiping through articles on the holopad, the light reflecting off his goggles as words sped by. “Possibly, but I don’t want to assume. According to the holonet, females may take it the wrong way if you ask them directly.”

“Well, we don’t want to make it worse,” Crosshair muttered.

“But shouldn’t we make sure she’s okay?” Wrecker looked at Hunter with wide eyes. “I mean, that stuff is scary.”

“It’s nature,” Tech corrected. He put the holopad away. “It’s quite fascinating too, how the female body has such an elaborate system.”

Hunter stood up with resolve. “I’m going to see how she is.”

“Shouldn’t we just let her come talk to us when she’s ready?” Crosshair protested with the roll of his eyes. In his mind, he figured you might rather not be bothered since you had walked out of the ship’s dining area.

“But what if she thinks we don’t care?” Wrecker asked.

“Alright, alright,” Hunter sighed. “I’m going to just knock on the door and take it from there. If she wants to be left alone, she’ll tell me.” He was more inclined to check on you since his ears picked up a sound on the other side of the ship where your quarters were. It sounded like crying- muffled crying. He headed for the hallway, releasing another sigh when he heard his teammates following. Even Crosshair seemed curious to know what would become of his attempt to speak to you. Hunter reached your door, and the sounds were clearly what he thought.

Inside, you were sitting on the bed, face buried in your hands, and letting the tears fall. You didn’t let out a sob out of fear that Hunter would hear from wherever he was, and you knew your fears were confirmed when there was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” you said, voice shaking. The door slid open, and Hunter walked in, pausing a few feet away. Before he could say a word, you looked at him with eyes red and tears glistening on your cheeks. “I’m s-sorry. I didn’t mean to snap like that. It’s just, I don’t feel the greatest right now, and with you guys picking on me...”

“It’s alright,” Hunter assured you, holding his hands up.

“Is she crying?” you heard Wrecker’s voice fail to whisper outside the door. “I thought she was mad, not sad.”

You laughed, wiping the tears as Tech responded loudly. “It’s hormone surges. Sometimes it causes swift mood changes.”

Hunter gave the door a swift bang with his fist, growling, “you know, we can hear you!” He rolled his eyes when it grew silent on the other side and approached, taking a seat at the edge of your bunk. “Look, I’m...sorry. We didn’t mean to upset you.”

“No, I know you guys tease me because I’m part of the team. Usually, I don’t mind.”

“I know,” he nodded. “I heard that it might be a...sensitive time for you.”

“Yeah, it is.” You sniffled. “Sorry if that freaks you out.”

“Not at all. We’ve seen some dire situations together,” he chuckled. “I just want you to be alright.”

“Thank you.” You wiped more tears, and he gently rested a hand on your back. Touch from the Sergeant was rare because of his abilities, but it was welcome. It also magnified your guilt for getting upset earlier, though. “I’m really sorry.”

“For the last time, it’s okay,” he said with a light chuckle. “Do you need anything?”

“I kind of stormed out of the kitchen area before I could get any lunch,” you mumbled. “And I’m still hungry.”

“Lunch it is, then.” He patted your back. “Anything in particular?”

“Oh, it’s okay, I’ll make it.” You shifted, but Hunter firmly planted his palm on your shoulder to keep you from getting up.

“Don’t you worry about it. Just go ahead and rest for a few.”

“O-okay.”

He stood up and headed out the door. You heard hushed voices as he informed the others of the situation, and then you saw Wrecker poke his head in.

“Hey _________, I’m going to make you my famous double-decker sandwich for lunch!”

You couldn’t help the smile. “Thank you, that’s so nice.”

“It’s no trouble at all. I was going to make one for myself too,” he said. “Then maybe we can watch a holomovie! Crosshair and Tech are picking one out right now, actually.”

“Oh, you guys,” you shook your head. “You’re too nice.”

“Anything for our _________!”

#clone wars imagine #clone wars #star wars: the clone wars #star wars the clone wars #clone wars the bad batch #clone wars bad batch #clone wars hunter #clone wars wrecker #clone wars crosshair #clone wars tech #bad batch imagine #the bad batch x reader #bad batch period

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cocained · 4 years

Text

crime plots part 2: (part one here: x)

tw: drugs, guns, mental illness, mention of murder, etc.

you’re a stripper and i’m the big boss who’s got a soft spot for you.

we’re cellmates and even though we are completely different from each other, you’re the only one i really get to talk to, so we’re having long ass conversations about how we got here and the different things in our lives we care about and now there’s no one who knows me better than you. (plot twist: them get released at some point and figuring their lives out together as ex-cons).

you’re pretty much a psychopath and i didn’t even realize it at first, until you grew attached to me and now you kill everyone who ever hurts me and it’s totally insane. it literally breaks my heart and at the same time it’s the most anyone has ever done to me in my shitty life and i can’t help to have somewhat of a weak spot for you, even though i know it’s totally and completely wrong.

two criminals who hate each other have to hide together in the same safe house for whatever reason. it can be either really fancy or really shitty! and they’re constantly pissing each other off, like stealing each others weed, playing loud music in the middle of the night and then blowing up the other’s music box by shooting it... name it! and then after a while, their cover gets blown and they have to work together to stay alive.

you hire me for sex all the time to get your mind off things and i can see that you’re really damaged and broken, but you won’t talk to me and even though you’re my client, i end up really caring about you which is really stupid... it’s probably not even mutual and it really hurts, but i also need the money and don’t want to stop seeing you.

your sibling (or even bf/gf!) and i are in a criminal business together and it was going really well, until it didn’t... and i was lucky to get away, but your sibling/significant other unfortunately wasn’t. now the people that went after us are not only looking for me, but also for everyone we care about, so you have to come with me and run, even though you’re blaming me for it and you hate me and you’re devastated.

i almost overdosed and now i’m forced into rehab. this is really fucking stupid and everyone sucks - except for you, you’re kinda cool.

you’re my arms dealer and at the same time one of the only people in the industry that i’ve been able to rely on for years. now i know it might be a bit inappropriate but can i take you out on a date?

my narcotics producer just got killed and since you’re a chemist/chemistry teacher i need you to replace them and help me make a batch of *insert drug*. there’s a lot depending on it, so if you don’t help me i’m gonna have to kill you. turns out, your batch is the best quality i’ve ever laid hands on and i need you to come work for me permanently and take over the industry.

your muse and my muses are playing a game of russian roulette for whatever reason (depths, a dare, punishment for pissing of the wrong people). they both don’t want to be there and one of them is going to die. they take turns and with each time they fire, they get closer to the truth. with only two rounds left, one of them decides to take it upon themselves to shoot the guard. they each take a weapon from the dead body and from there on it’s the two of them together, trying to escape with the bad guys chasing them and hoping one day they will be ahead enough in order to finally take a breath.

#indie rp #indie crime rp #rp plot #independent rp #〈 ♦ | desired plots 〉

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surpriserose · 2 years

Note

🔥 what's your biggest jjba unpopular opinion?

hmmm

People can and sometimes should part skip but not for the parts people suggest to skip like

Youre really gonna suggest people skip part 1 and 2 to get to 3 faster??? The part that sucks so so much? Fuck that just skip 2 and 3 to get to 4 where jojo actually has like...pacing and characters. Youre not allowed to skip part 1 though because i love Jonathan and he deserves the spotlight

Like jojo fans priorities are so bad there are people who will tell you to skip part 6 but not part 2 like!!! Get some taste and stop hating women besties!!!!!

Also i actually dont mind the batch release format on Netflix? Like i already read the manga i know whats going to happen i dont want to wait every week just so redditors can make unfunny memes hzhsjsjsksk and i say that but im also actually fine with waiting until the fall for the next batch? Like im disappointed for sure but idk ive got other stuff to watch and hopefully the delay means the animators arent getting crunched. The real problem is netflix not being transparent about the release dates and releasing teasers way way too early not the actual schedule tbh

#Jjba

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lynn-writes-things · 4 years

Text

Anxiety Attacks w/ the Bad Batch (platonic)

Warning: Depictions of anxiety attacks

Summary: The Bad Batch calm you down during an anxiety attack.

You had felt it building all day. Like a coil in your chest, taking form where your heart should be. It felt like holonet static; like a burning ball of squiggly lines that was slowly cutting off your oxygen. The boys had been especially rowdy today, as you’d been in the depths of space for over twenty-four hours now, and their constant bickering and yelling was slowly driving you over the edge. The louder they became, the quieter you shrunk, until you were practically alone with just your racing thoughts, surrounded by your closest friends- though you’d never felt so distant from them.

You aren’t good enough to be with them, the thoughts said. They merely tolerate you- nothing more. You’re nothing to them, but you know that, don’t you? You weigh them down. Get in their way too often. They probably hate you- and they’re right to, you suck--

“Y/N,” Hunter’s voice cut through your thoughts, and your heart sunk when you realized you were crying. You could hardly breathe. Hunter had heard your heart rate quicken almost as soon as your intrusive thoughts took over, and he could tell from your fidgeting and far-off look in your eyes that you were having an anxiety attack. He knew you. They all did. “What do you need from us, mesh’la?” He asked softly, sitting next to you and taking hold of your hand that was busy picking at your skin, and your leg started bouncing instead. Sometimes you wanted them around, other times you wanted to be alone. But the way you were gripping his hand made him think you wanted them around this time.

“I-” You shook your head, unable to look at any of their concerned faces- unable to speak. The ball of static had now extended up into your throat. It was agonizing. You hadn’t noticed that Wrecker had gotten up, until you felt him wrapping a blanket around your shoulders. You jumped, but thanked him to the best of your current abilities. Whenever you had one of these, he grabbed his favorite blanket for you- it was fuzzy and warm, very much unlike the regulation blankets. Crosshair had left to get you some water and something to dry your tears with, knowing you’d get dehydrated by the end of this.

“We’re here for you, Y/N.” He assured you with a hand on your blanket-clad shoulder, before sitting down next to you, his hand moving to rub your back.

“Let’s get your breathing under control, okay?” Tech suggested, he was currently kneeling in front of you, holding the opposite hand of Hunter. Their hands felt so warm on your clammy skin, it helped ease the static just a little- their hands kept you tethered to reality. “Okay, you’re going to inhale for seven counts, hold it for four, then release over eight. Ready?” He asked, and you gave a short nod. He began counting, and you did your best to breathe in time with his counts.

“You’re doing great.” Hunter assured you, giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

“We’ll do that a couple more times, alright? You ready?”

“Y-Yeah.” You answered, voice small and shaky- but words were still progress. You did the breathing exercise three more times. By the time you had finished, you were feeling a good deal better. The static was mostly subsided, and now you just felt drained and utterly exhausted. Crosshair made you drink at least some of the water he’d brought you, to make up for what you lost through tears, then you were cleared for a nap.

“Thank you guys.” You said softly, still finding your voice again. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” You had a little smile on your face that the boys gladly returned tenfold.

“You save our asses all the time- just consider it us returning the favor.” Hunter joked, and you went off to find Echo, who had been asleep throughout your anxiety attack. He was the best for cuddles, though, which you now sought out. He was just waking up when you appeared next to his bunk.

“Y/N?” He rubbed his eyes. “You alright?”

“Can I stay with you for a little bit?” You asked. Echo smiled, scooting over.

“Absolutely.” You crawled under the covers and snuggled up to him, Echo wrapping his arms around you and holding you close as you lay with your head on his chest, listening to his heart beat. It was slow and methodical, unlike yours, which was still slowing down. “Did something happen?”

“I had another anxiety attack.” You admitted with a sigh. “I’m okay now, just still kind of shaky.”

“Well, you’ve got me to keep you nice and stable.” He said, placing a quick kiss to the top of your head. You sighed in contentment, snuggling ever closer. Echo started playing with your hair lazily as you lay together, and it didn’t take long before you had fallen asleep in his arms. Echo was no longer tired, and couldn’t fall back asleep, but he was content just laying there with you for hours.

What would I do without my boys? You thought, as you drifted off.

#the bad batch x reader #hunter x reader #crosshair x reader #wrecker x reader #tech x reader #echo x reader #sergeant hunter x reader #arc trooper echo x reader #platonic

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doing-all-write · 4 years

Text

home for the holidays

Pairing: Ben x Fem!Reader (she/her pronouns)

Summary: Reader is fine with being alone on Christmas. In fact she prefers it. But when her best friend, Michael Hardy, invites her to Christmas with his family, how is she to refuse? Especially when Michael lets slip that his mysterious brother Ben will be around for the holidays...

Word Count: 9K

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, implied sex and swearing. And so much goddamn softness, WHEW.

A/N: HI!!!! I’M BACK!!! AND ALIVE!!! 2020 has kicked my ass in many ways but I cannot thank all of you enough for supporting me. To all my new followers, to all my old followers, to everyone who still liked and reblogged my stories, I saw all of you and it made me happier than you could have imagined in this dumpster fire year. I hope all of you made it through this year and I hope this sweet little story makes you feel better.

I would be remiss to not give a huge, massive thank you and I love you to the Lizard Ladies, @mrhoemazzello , @diasimar, and @fairestkillerqueenofall. You three are truly the wind beneath my wings, the farts in my butt, the light at the end of the tunnel. I can’t thank you enough for the love and support this year and I love you from the very bottom of my heart.

💖💖As always likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated 💖💖

I'm......dreaming.....of a white......Christmas

Bing Crosby's velvet voice wafted through the air, competing with the scent of pine from the lit candle as they wafted through the apartment. Swaying along to the slow beat, she measured out the final cup of flour she needed for her last batch of gingerbread.

The air was thick with flour and if she stuck her tongue out, she was sure it would taste of baked goods. Humming absentmindedly, she popped the last batch of cookies into the oven and reached up for the towel flung over her shoulder to wipe her hands off. Pulling her phone out of pocket, she set a timer and checked her messages.

There was one from her friend, Michael:

Mum won't let up about you coming over for the holidays

Oh?

yeah

Why??

cuz she thinks no one should be alone for the holidays

Rolling her eyes, she huffed out a breath at Michael's message. She had moved to London when a job offer had come up she couldn't refuse. To help her get the lay of the land for her neighborhood she had taken up jogging. On one of her nightly jogs she had turned a corner and-

WHAM

Groceries went flying one way and she another. As she lay groaning on the ground amidst spilled apples, she contemplated which would be worst, dying from a concussion from running into someone or dying from embarrassment from running into someone.

"You alrigh'?"

Groaning, she slipped her hand into the one extended to her, "Yeah. I think so. My ego's more bruised than my tailbone so we'll go ahead and chalk that one up to a win."

The chuckle caused her lips to raise up in a smirk as a woman's voice cut through the conversation, "Oh dear! Michael, I told you to watch where you're going! And this poor young woman...are you quite all right, dear?"

Stifling a laugh at the rolled eye coming from, she could only assume was Michael, her eyes snapped back to the woman in front of her. One blond curl hanging in front of her eyes as her hands fluttered around (Y/N)'s body, not wanting to cross the line into impropriety.

"Really, it's alright! I'm alright."

"Are you sure? I can't apologize enough-"

"Seriously! It's fine. It was no big deal. I wasn't -"

"Well he clearly wasn't either-"

The two women's voices were overlapping each other and finally the man stepped forward and gently clasped his hand around the older woman's wrist, "C'mon mum. I think she's okay."

Eyes scrutinizing her face, (Y/N) did her best to arrange her features into someone who didn't have a concussion.

She wasn't sure how effective it was but it seemed to quell the older woman's nerves as she nodded and took stock of the mess surrounding them.

"Oh god. Looks a bit like we've upended a fruit stall haven't we?"

Chuckling, (Y/N) knelt down to help clean up the mess. Gently handing things over to the woman as her son placed them gently back into the bag. After the last piece of fruit had been collected, she wiped her hands on her pants and stood up with a groan.

The woman's eyes snapped back to her immediately as her son groaned, "Ahh c'mon, why couldn't you have kept that in?"

"Sorry! Not my fault I've got the bones of a 90 year old already." she grimaced as she arched her back in an attempt to stretch it out.

"At least let us walk you home, dear. Please? It'll make me feel better that you'll be alright and safe."

Glancing over the woman and her son, (Y/N) figured the worst harm they could have done her was already out of the way so she shrugged and told them what street she lived on.

The woman's eyes lit up, "Oh! That's not far from us at all is it, Mickey?"

Cheeks pinking at the nickname, "Mickey" nodded and mumbled something as he became studiously interested in the ground.

Smirking at his reaction she nodded and turned in the direction of her home. As they strolled along, (Y/N) got to know her two new friends better. Angela did live just up the street and had two sons. Michael and Ben. She was married to Keith and Michael still lived with his parents but Ben was out of the house, working as an actor. It was obvious she was proud of Ben but immensely proud of Michael as well and wanted to make sure he didn't feel left out by his brothers light.

She stopped at the end of her walkway to her flat and pulled her key out of her pocket, "Well, I can't say I always meet people like that but I'm oddly glad we met this way." Chuckling, Michael patted her shoulder and Angela pulled her into a hug.

As she released her, her eyes flicked over the house, "Dear, it doesn't look like anyone's home. Will they be soon?" her lips tugged into a frown.

Rocking on her heels (Y/N) sucked in a breath, "Well...I, um, I live on my own so-"

Before she could even finish that sentence, Angela had barreled past her, grabbing her key and getting a pot of tea on the stove and throwing a dish towel over her shoulder as she got dinner prepared. Michael walked past (Y/N), laughing at her gaping mouth and nudged her with the bag he was holding, "Welcome to the family."

Since that day, Angela had invited her over to dinner at least once a week. She and Michael had gotten close and other than one drunken kiss, they were best friends.

In all this time though, (Y/N) had never met Ben. But, the holidays were approaching and from all of the fuss Angela had been making the last few days, it seemed like he was finally coming home.

Her phone vibrated in her hand again. Another message from Michael and at least three from Angela badgering her into staying at their place for the holidays.

Slumping against the counter, she let her eyes gaze out of her kitchen window and grow unfocused.

She was used to spending the holidays alone and had actually come to prefer it. No annoying family members, no "accidentally" getting too drunk and asking conservative family members why they "fucking hate women." No. Her holidays now consisted of pajamas all day, whatever takeout was open and a whole bag of Hersehy's kisses that she ate throughout the whole day as one cheesy Hallmark Christmas movie played in a continuous loop.

But....

She did miss being around people. Feeling cozy. Playing a game after a big Christmas dinner.

She missed Christmas dinner.

Maybe it wouldn't be all bad...

Plus she could finally see what Ben's deal was.

And hang out with Michael.

And Angela and Keith.

Before she could think too much about it she found herself texting Angela that she would be spending the holidays with the Hardys.

"You fucker-"

"Michael! I didn't raise you to use that language!"

"He started it!"

Rolling over in the twin bed in the Hardy's guest room, she thrust her arm out, wincing at the cold air biting into her skin. Snatching her phone from the nightstand, she quickly drew it back into the cocoon of warmth she'd created in the night.

Sighing, she snuggled further into the blankets as she unlocked her phone, checking her messages, the white noise of Michael arguing with whoever was over made her smirk.

Did one of your friends stop by?

She scrolled through a few social media channels before Michael responded,

nope

Ben just got here

scared the shit out of me by hiding behind the kitchen door

almost spilled my entire cuppa

Letting loose a full laugh at that, she locked her phone, stretched one more time and pulled herself from the bed. Curiosity over meeting the mysterious Ben almost winning out over her need for coffee.

Popping her head through a sweatshirt, she grabbed her phone from the nightstand and slid it into the pocket of her joggers.

Trotting down the stairs, she followed the deep timbre of Michael's voice mingling with the higher cadence of Angela's and a third voice that...was even deeper than Michael's.

Her breath hitched in her throat as she listened to the voices competing in the kitchen. The way they danced around each other, through each other and over each other in the way that only family members could talk to each other.

Not wanting to interrupt them, she decided to peek through the door to get a feel for the room. Inching forward, being sure to miss the creaky floorboard that would give her away, she leaned forward.

Eyes roving over the tableau in front of her, she felt her lips twitch as she saw Angela sitting in a chair, her hands clasped around her favorite mug, eyes shining with love at having her two boys back under the same roof.

Michael was in the chair opposite, clutching his, she assumed, refilled mug.

She couldn't see Ben so she moved to the right and-

Her jaw dropped open.

Whipping around she pressed her back to the wall. Digging her phone out of her pocket she composed a new message to Michael.

Why didn't you tell me your brother is hot??

how am i supposed to bloody know if he's hot or not

he's my brother

Yeah but

You could have at least given me a heads up!!

Her spine stiffened as she heard footsteps approaching the door. Suddenly, Michael's silhouette filling up the door frame as he stepped forward to head up the stairs.

Before he got to the first step, she hissed, "MICHAEL"

Completely forgetting the fact that Michael had already had the wit's scared out of him by his own brother not a few moments before, she felt a little bad about scaring him again in the same way.

"JESUS. What is with this house I swear-"

Waving her hands in front of her, she stepped forward as she shushed Michael, "Keep it down! I don't want your brother to know I was creeping right outside the door!"

"Then maybe you shouldn't be creeping right out side of doors!"

"Fair point. How's my morning breath?"

Leaning forward, she let out a loud exhale only to clasp her hands over her mouth as Michael retched and stepped back,

"Well. Shit. That answered my question."

"Just...jesus...come into the kitchen and have a cuppa and then Ben and I were going to run some errands for Mum. You can come with us."

Pulling her hands into the sleeves of her sweatshirt, she fidgeted as she weighed her options. As she went back and forth about the cost/benefit analysis of having Ben see her first thing in the morning in all her unwashed hair and morning breath glory.

Then her rational side kicked in and realized how dumb she was being. Worrying about what a man would think of her, who gives a shit? The voice in her brain rationalized, if he doesn't like you looking like a half made muppet then he doesn't deserve you at your completed muppet. Shaking her head at the metaphor she'd created she looked up at Michael, "Yeah. Yes. Let's do that. Sorry. I freaked out there for a second."

"Yeah. You really did. It was almost as bad as that time the guy who looked like Tom Hiddleston winked at you from across the bar."

"Well, who was the one who got him to pay for the drink she choked on and ended up spilling all over herself, HUH?"

Michael threw up his hands in defeat, turning on his heel to march back into the kitchen. Muttering under his breath, ruing the day Angela had run into her.

Snickering, (Y/N) hitched her joggers up and padded behind Michael into the warmth of the kitchen. The only thing that felt warmer was the look emanating from Angela's eyes.

"Morning, love. Sleep okay?"

"Yeah, Angela. Like a log. I swear the beds here are more comfortable than my own." She answered, leaning down to plant a kiss on her cheek.

"Yeah, snore like one too." Michael snickered as he slid back into his chair.

"I...snore like a log?"

"Yeah. That's definitely a saying."

"She can't snore worse than you, mate." Ben chuckled as he pushed himself from the counter, extending his hand, "I'm Ben. Michael's brother."

"It's nice to meet you! I'm (Y/N)."

"I know. I heard all about how you met this family as soon as it happened. Michael gave me the play by play. But it seemed he changed his tune about how you're a, what was it?, a 'clumsy sod'?"

Gasping as she turned to Michael, he held his hands up, "It was forever ago! How was I to know that we were meant to be best friends?" His voice rising as he sank deeper and deeper into his chair.

Angela swatted Michael's shoulder as she went behind him to pull (Y/N)'s favorite creamer from the fridge as Ben laughed.

"Fuck you! I might just keep your Christmas present for myself then!"

"NO. You wouldn't!"

Pointing a threatening finger at him, she cocked an eyebrow as Angela rolled her eyes, setting the creamer down by (Y/N), "I can see that the lovely family moment we were having has been ruined. I'm getting ready. You three behave, and clean up the kitchen!" she yelled over her shoulder as she waltzed out of the room.

(Y/N)'s eyes followed her out of the room, knowing she wasn't that upset. She was secretly thrilled her boys were back home and under the same roof as her. What mother wouldn't be?

"Oi! (Y/N)! Focus! How soon can you be ready?"

Michael's voice snapped her out of her revere. Turning back around, Ben's eyes were the first thing she locked on. Fighting back the blush climbing up her neck she cleared her throat, "Can I at least have a cup of coffee first? Please? And then i'll be ready in like, an hour?"

"Ugh. Fine. I'm gonna go watch the match," a glint lit up in Michael's eye as he bolted out of the kitchen, finger resting on his nose, "Nose goes on not cleaning up!"

Rolling her eyes, she turned to grab the creamer and a mug from the cabinet.

"Did he always do that growing up?"

Nodding, Ben rolled his eyes back at her, "All the time. He's the youngest, he got away with way more shit than I ever did."

"That tracks," she replied as she doctored her coffee up.

"Huh"

"What?" She didn't look up as she poured the brown liquid into her mug, relishing in the scent that rushed up into her nostrils, waking her up almost instantly.

"I just-I've never seen someone pour in creamer first and then coffee."

"It eliminates the need for a spoon, my ex turned me onto this method and, I don't know, it stuck." Shrugging she moved to return the creamer to the fridge, sliding past Ben in the process, desperately hoping he'd smell bad or at least have morning breath but no. He smelled like old books, leather jackets and the first day of fall.

Fuck.

As she sidled past Ben, he thanked his mother for having such a small walk way between the table and the counter where he stood. She smelled like coconuts and coffee. He tried his best to not inhale too deeply, didn't want his brother's friend thinking he was a creep.

His brother's gorgeous friend.

Michael had failed to mention that (Y/N) was a knockout. He figured either they had hooked up once and it hadn't worked out or Mikey was too chicken shit to make a move.

He would have placed his entire life savings on the latter.

"Sorry, have to sneak past ya again." She smiled at him as she went to grab her coffee mug and Ben extended an arm in a mock bow, "My lady."

Letting out a bark of laughter Ben couldn't help his own lips to curl up into a smile.

"How come your brother didn't get any of that charm?" she asked, bringing the coffee up to her lips and blowing on it.

Ben wrenched his eyes from the perfect circle her lips made and forced himself to focus on their conversation, "Just goes to show I'm the superior sibling." He crossed his arms over his chest as he surveyed the kitchen.

(Y/N)'s eyes tracked his, taking in the damage, "I'll help you clean up. If we both tackle it, it won't be too bad."

"No, c'mon. Finish your coffee. Besides, if my mum catches you cleaning, she'll have my head. She still thinks of you as a guest."

Snorting, she shook her head, "I know. It kills me but, hey, if it means I get a break from cleaning for a while, I'm all for it."

Ben looked up at her as he moved to collect all the dirty dishes and she tired not to gasp at how long his eyelashes were, "You live alone? Or does your boyfriend not pick up after himself like a prat?"

"Ha! No, I don't have a boyfriend, I live on my own so I have no one to blame but myself when the plates are stacked to the ceiling."

Laughing, they traded horror stories of living alone. The weirdest things they had done, the grossest things, what they liked most about it. (Y/N) was having such a good time, she didn't even think before she heard herself say, "You should come over and see my place sometime. The scene of the crime for the Great Pomegranate Death of aught four."

Ben's laugh died on his lips as he looked right into her eyes, "I would love that."

Nodding, she looked into her empty coffee mug only to be distracted by Ben's hand coming into her periphery, "Can I take that for you? It's the last thing actually and then we're free and clear."

"Oh, yeah! Of course. Thank you so much for doing that, I appreciate that."

"No problem, got to earn my keep around her somehow."

Giggling she stood up, following Ben as they exited the kitchen and pausing as they both reached the stairs, "Well, I'm gonna shower and get ready then we can go Christmas shopping?"

"Sounds good. I'll let Michael know."

"Cool, um, thanks for the morning company. Michael definitely downplayed how you're the cooler sibling."

"It's because he's a shit," Ben deadpanned, feeling his heart swell as she threw her head back in a laugh.

Shaking her head she started moving up the stairs, "You got that right."

Ben watched her go, trying to tell himself he shouldn't be thinking about his brother's best friend in the shower and how badly he wanted to join her.

"Why is that thing staring at me?" (Y/N)'s eyes were wide as the off-brand elf on the shelf stared back. Well...one eye was staring at her. As Ben got closer he realized the other eye was painted basically on the side of the elf's head and couldn't help jumping back a little.

"See? It's horrifying."

"Only parents who really hate their kids would buy that."

"So you and Michael had that in your rooms then?"

Ben glared at her in faux annoyance as she smirked at her own joke.

"Aww are you guys buying that? I was going to get it for mum." Michael whined, nicking the deranged doll from its spot on the shelf and looking for a price.

"Ha. Good one man."

"Yeah, that's a pretty good joke." (Y/N) agreed as she wandered away, distracted by the candles a few aisles down.

"Why would you say that? I'm being serious." Michael's lip pouted and Ben swiped the elf from his hands.

"Christ. I forgot how bad you are at giving presents."

"Hey! I got you a really nice gift last Christmas!"

Ben stared blankly back at his brother, "You got me a black market Arsenal hoodie that said 'Assenal' on it and still had the price tag on it."

"And it was the best gift you've ever received, I'm sure."

Throwing his arms up in annoyance, Ben's gaze drifted over the shelves before stopping on (Y/N) as she bent over to grab a candle from the bottom shelf.

The snap of Michael's fingers in front of his face pulled him out of the daze he had slipped into it.

"Who’re you drooling over, mate? You know you need to let me have first crack at her-" Michael's sentence died on his lips as he saw the woman Ben had been oogling.

"Oh no-"

"Look, I-"

"Are you serious?"

"I know she's your best friend but-"

"Right and you better bloody stay away from her!"

"You could have warned me she was beautiful!"

Michael dropped his head into his hands as Ben shifted from foot to foot, "Seriously Mikey, this won't go anywhere if you don't want it too. I'll respect your boundaries but-"

"No, I should have seen this coming," Michael sighed as he lifted his head up, gazing over at (Y/N) as she strolled further away from them, holding at least four candles, "I think, honestly, that's why I didn't tell you."

Ben stiffened at the hoarseness in his brother's voice.

"(Y/N)'s one of my best friends, and she's practically Mum's daughter and I always figured you'd fancy her whenever you met her so..." he threw his hands up to signify the futility of that exercise, "just...really think about this before you fuck up a really good thing." Michael muttered as he shoved his hands in his pockets.

"Hey. Mike. Seriously, I'm sorry. I need you to know that if I do decide to go after (Y/N) it won't be for just a casual hook up, okay? It'll be because I care about her like you and Mum do. Promise."

Michael nodded as he sniffled, "Cool. Thanks, man. Anyway."

"Yeah, uh, who else do you need presents for?" Ben cleared his throat as he tried to dislodge the emotion that had gotten stuck there.

"Really, just (Y/N)." Michael nodded to the general direction of where she'd gone.

"Well, don't get her any candles."

Michael shot him a weird look and Ben shook his head, "Don't worry about it."

"Guys, c'mon, my feet are killing me and I'm starting to get hangry. I need food. Or caffeine. Or sugar. Or, ideally, all three."

Michael threw an arm around her shoulder and Ben tried to ignore the stab of jealousy he felt at the casual closeness they had.

"There's a Starbucks straight ahead, why don't you get something there and Ben and I will check out this last store, okay?" He pressed a kiss to her cheek as she peeled off toward Starbucks.

The knot in Ben's stomach got bigger.

"What store are we going to? I swear we've been to 50 stores and you still haven't found anything that (Y/N) would like."

"It's one of her favorite stores. She loves it."

"You've said that at the past five stores, man.”

"But this time I mean it." Michael said with renewed verve as he struck up a quicker pace toward the shop.

The sigh that left Ben's lips could have blown out all the candles (Y/N) had bought at the first shop.

Stepping inside the store though, Ben could see why this would be her favorite.

Books with ornate dust jackets covered every reclaimed wood table. Plants and fresh flowers bloomed from every corner that wasn't filled with crystals, tarot decks or notebooks. There were vintage clothes dripping from racks around the perimeter of the boutique. Jewelry with signage describing which local artist had crafted it. A corner with vinyl records stacked in a case that went to the ceiling with a ladder to browse at the very top.

Ben hadn't known (Y/N) for very long but when he stepped into this store, he was surprised he didn't see her pouring over the vinyl and calling excitedly to them about a particularly exciting find.

Looking around, he spotted Michael pawing through some of the clothes and figured he better intervene before he bought something everyone would regret.

"Do you think she'd like this?"

"Yeah if she wanted to look like Nana's drapes."

Michael made a disparaging noise in the back of his throat as he shoved the dress back on the rack, "Dammit. God. Why am I so bad at this."

Ben shrugged and moved deeper into the store, veering towards the bookshelves. (Y/N) had mentioned in their conversation that her apartment was covered in books, who doesn’t love a new book? he thought.

Crouching down, he ran his finger over the spines of some of the books. Taking in their titles, swaying to the jazz playing softly over the speakers his finger stopped on a book of poetry.

Golden read the gold inlay on the spine, a tiny sun at the bottom. Ben pulled it out, flipping the book over to see who the author was and realizing it was a compilation of local authors poetry.

"That's a wonderful book."

Ben jumped at the shop assistant's voice.

"Sorry! I didn't mean to scare you! I just, I saw you and your brother browsing and I figured I'd see if you needed help with anything."

"He looks that lost, huh?"

"Well," her eyes traveled to the ceiling to find the right words, "he was looking at a diary where you can track your period so..."

"Jesus" Ben hissed as the shop girl laughed.

"It's okay, I told him to try a necklace or a pair of earrings instead."

"God you're a saint, thank you."

"No problem. Didn't want his girlfriend to hate him forever!" the laugh Ben let out felt hollow. His heart constricted at the idea of (Y/N) being Michael's girlfriend and not his.

"So, uh, this then," Ben held up the book of poetry, "you said it was good?"

"Oh absolutely. It's one of our best sellers. One of the writers, she's one of our most popular jewelry creators too. She made a necklace to go with the book actually..." her voice trailed off as she ventured back to the front of the store.

Ben followed closely behind, stopping as she bent over a display rack of jewelry, finger dancing over the delicate chains till she found the one she wanted.

Turning, holding out her finger, a whisper thin gold chain fell down to where a delicate ring with swirls resembling the sun dangled.

"Do you think she'd like it?"

Ben felt himself nodding before he even realized it. All he could see then was the chain sitting around (Y/N)'s neck and the charm hitting her chest as she looked up at him, eyes sparkling.

"Can you gift wrap it?"

Smiling, the shopgirl nodded and went to the register. As Ben watched her box and wrap the necklace, he felt Michael's hand land on his shoulder.

"I still have no idea what to get her. This is impossible, mate." Michael sighed as his eyes roved over the counter.

"Wait a tic, what's that?" pointing an accusatory finger at the necklace and book, Ben felt himself tense.

"Well, it's a book of poetry and a necklace to go with it-"

"You wanker! That's perfect! How much is it?" Michael's wallet was out and buying the set before Ben could even stop it.

"Hey, whoa. C'mon man, that was going to be my present for (Y/N)."

Ben could see the shopkeep girls eyes widen and figured she thought she was in the middle of a love triangle between two brothers.

Michael scoffed, "You just met her, how do you know she'll love it?"

Ben struggled to come up with a retort as Michael nodded decisively, "That's what I thought."

Feeling helpless, Ben wandered out of the shop to get away from his brother before he strangled him for being so dense.

"Oy!" Ben turned at the sound of Michael's voice, "Don't pout. I'm a great brother and picked up a candle for you to give her so you don't look like a total tosser."

Rolling his eyes, Ben turned and stalked toward the coffee shop as Michael's snickers followed behind him.

The tap at the doorframe caused (Y/N) to look up from her book, smiling as Angela poked her head into the room.

"Sorry love, didn't want to bother you but I got a gingerbread house going and I have to pop out to finish some Christmas shopping. Would you mind finishing it up for me?"

Smiling and nodding, she placed her bookmark in her book and pushed her sweater sleeves up, "Sure. Did Michael also give up?"

"No, he's actually out with some friends. Ben's taken over for now but figured he could use reinforcements."

Angela's tone was casual but (Y/N)'s eyes snapped to her anyway, trying to figure out if she had planned this with a mother's intuition or if she just didn't want her eldest to be alone.

Either way, she appreciated getting more one on one time with Ben.

As she made her way down the stairs, she felt Angela's cool palm catch her elbow right before she hit the landing, "Love..." the tone of her voice made (Y/N) stop and turn, "I'm so happy you and Michael are close and I know you two are friends but...I would be remiss if I didn't mention that I think there may be something...extra with you and Ben."

Her stomach clenched and all of a sudden she found it difficult to look directly at Angela.

"I know it's none of my business and I would never pry or try to tell you how to live your life, much," she modified her statement at (Y/N)'s raised eyebrow.

"But...I really wouldn't mind if maybe one day you were really my daughter."

The lump in (Y/N)'s throat made a response impossible so she just nodded and Angela smiled wanly. Bringing a hand up to rest on her cheek, Angela's eyes were watery.

"Right," Angela cleared her throat and moved past (Y/N) on the stairs, "I'm counting on you to make that gingerbread house not look like a disaster!" She called over her shoulder.

Sniffing, (Y/N) swiped a finger under her eye, catching the moisture that had fallen. Shaking her head, she moved down the stairs and pushed open the kitchen door only to be met by a wall of sound.

THAT'S THE JINGLE BELL ROCK!

Ben's voice was hilariously off key, the Santa hat on his head askew and flour covered his face.

Which dropped comically as he moved to the back of the gingerbread of the house and his eyes met (Y/N)'s.

Her mouth was moving but Ben couldn't understand what she was saying. Fumbling in the pocket of his joggers, he pulled out his phone and hit pause.

"-Mean Girls dance?"

"Are you asking me to learn the Mean Girls dance to this song with you?"

"What makes you think I don't already know that dance by heart?" She cocked an eyebrow, moving closer to inspect the house from all angles.

Ben's hands immediately became sweaty as (Y/N) got closer to him, eyes squinted as she scrutinized the work he'd done so far.

"Went for a classic look I see."

"Well, you know what they say, if it ain't broke and all that."

Nodding, (Y/N) turned to face him, eyes lighting up as she took in the streaks of flour all over him.

"You managed to get flour in your eyebrow. And on your cheek and...wait...you have frosting..."

Her voice trailed off and Ben's breath caught in his throat as her hand came up to gently swipe a bit of frosting from underneath his eye.

Her palm cupped his cheekbone and she wasn't even thinking when she gently stroked it with her thumb. The sigh that escaped Ben was involuntary and caused (Y/N)'s lips to quirk up slightly.

"Did you get it?" the words left Ben's mouth in a wisp and (Y/N) found herself leaning forward to catch what he had said.

"I think so, yeah." She whispered back, not making any move to remove her hand from his face, thumb still gently stroking his cheekbone, letting her eyes get lost in his.

Suddenly feeling like his legs wouldn't support him, Ben put a hand down on the table and that's when a loud clang caused them to jump apart.

Slapping a hand over her heart, Ben looked embarrassed as he bent down and brandished the decorating knife that had fallen to the floor.

"God that scared me. Are you okay? Did you cut your hand?" Ben chuckled and showed (Y/N) the fronts and backs of his hands.

"Clean, not a scratch on me."

There were a few seconds of silence as (Y/N)'s eyes traveled all over his hands. Ben cleared his throat and (Y/N)'s eyes widened as they snapped up to meet his.

"Sorry, I, uh, got distracted."

No need for Ben to know she was distracted thinking about his hands wrapped around her throat.

"Well, now that we've got the harrowing death by kitchen utensil out of the way, did my Mum send you in here to help me decorate?"

"She did. Apparently she doesn't trust her own son to be responsible with decorating a home for cookies."

"She barely trusts me to take care of myself I don't know why this would be any different."

Every laugh Ben managed to pull from (Y/N)'s lips felt like a victory to him.

"Well, put the tunes back on Hardy and is there another Santa hat I can wear? I feel severely underdressed for the occasion."

Smirking, Ben held up a finger as he pulled a plastic bin from underneath the kitchen table.

"Mum brought this out and I think I spotted something in here earlier that I think would suit you much better than a Santa hat. Close your eyes."

Making a big production of closing her eyes and covering them with her hands, she heard items being moved then the creak of the floor as Ben drew closer.

His body felt warm as he stood in front of her and slowly slide a headband onto her head, making sure to not ruin her hair. He smelled like sugar and spices and she was overwhelmed with the urge to lick his neck.

"Alright, open your eyes."

She did, blinking at Ben as he bit his lips, trying to keep from laughing. "It really suits you I think."

Looking wildly from side to side to find a mirror, Ben pulled out his phone and turned his camera on, "Here, let's take a picture. Then you can really see how amazing you look."

(Y/N) leaned into Ben and he tried to ignore the voice in his head telling him to kiss her cheek.

"BEN!" She could barely say his name as giggles overtook her. The headband with light up Christmas bulbs in danger of falling off as she bent over with laughter.

Ben couldn't help but laugh with her. Her laugh was infectious, he wanted to be the one to make her laugh for the rest of her life.

"I don't understand why you're laughing, this is a very serious matter." He wheezed out as (Y/N) straightened up, trying to take a deep breath in. "Okay, okay, whew, alright. I'm ready for this picture." She waved her hands in front of her face as she did her best to stop laughing.

"Ready? 3, 2, 1" Ben counted down and as he pulled the picture up so they could look at it he didn't think he'd seen anything more beautiful.

(Y/N) was mid laugh, Ben's eyes were twinkling as he leaned into her. Their respective headgear askew, flour and icing all over their faces.

"Is that our Christmas card?" (Y/N) joked as she wandered back over to the table with the decorations, picking up a piping bag full of icing and wielding it with an expert precision.

"Yeah, it can say 'Our First Christmas'" Ben replied, taking one last look at it and hoping that maybe one year, they really could get Christmas cards together.

Christmas Day dawned bright and early.

It had snowed last night and Ben and (Y/N) had delighted in locking Michael out in the snow when he'd run outside to make a snow angel in nothing but his boxers.

Waking up to an incessant banging on her door, (Y/N) let out a groan as she stuck her head out of the cocoon she'd made of her blankets only to be met by Michael throwing a pillow at her face.

"MMPH"

"Wake up! it's time to be holly and jolly and all that bullshit!"

Ben's laugh made her perk up a little and sit up farther in bed, "I'd be a lot more holly and jolly if you wouldn't throw pillows in my face."

"She's got a point."

"I hate when you take her side Benjamin. What happened to brotherly love?"

"Oh that went out the door years ago."

Michael's reply was drowned out by her and Ben's laughter.

Throwing the pillow back to him, she and Ben smiled at each other as Michael caught the pillow and disappeared down the hall.

"Merry Christmas." Ben said as he leaned up against her doorframe.

"Merry Christmas" she replied, swinging her legs down over the bed frame, letting them dangle off the side.

Swallowing thickly, Ben had to tear his eyes from her legs, shaking the image of her legs intertwined with his from his brain.

"So, has Angela been up since five making breakfast?" (Y/N) said through a yawn, stretching and not realizing the turmoil that was causing Ben as he watched her body unfold before him like a flower.

"Uh...yeah. Yes. Most likely. She loves a hearty Christmas breakfast." he murmured as (Y/N) finally stood up and out of bed.

"Well, yeah. Who doesn't?" She remarked as she hunted down her sweatshirt and pulled it on over her t-shirt.

He let out a breathy laugh as he did his best to get the swelling of his cock under control.

(Y/N) finally let herself look at Ben fully as she pulled the sweatshirt over her head and felt her lower half growing warm.

Alarm bells were ringing in her head and the only thought going through her head at the moment was GRAY SWEATPANTS!!!!!

Gray sweatpants and a loose t-shirt with a low v-neck that had her thinking how easily she could have teared it in half.

They would have stood there, devouring each other with their gaze, the sexual tension getting so thick they were drowning in it, if Michael hadn't called up the stairs calling them prats to break the tension.

"Well! Seeing as how we're all so full we can barely move, do we want to open presents?"

Angela had barely finished that sentence when Michale had disappeared through the dining room doorway, yelling over his shoulder "C'mon! I want to see if I got the new FIFA."

Laughing at Angela rolling her eyes, (Y/N) stood up as Ben did the same, smirking at his family.

"My lady" Ben cracked as he and (Y/N) reached the door at the same time.

"Thank you, sir." Dropping into a curtsey, Ben raised an eyebrow.

"You're surprisingly good at that."

"Learned from the Queen myself."

"You know the Queen?"

"I'm the secret princess actually."

"Might have to start calling you 'princess' then."

(Y/N)'s stomach clenched at the thought of him calling her princess in his deep voice. Keeping her eyes down, she let out an airy laugh, hoping to sound unaffected.

If she'd looked up and seen how sincere Ben's eyes were, there would have been no doubt in her mind that he was being 100% serious about the new nickname.

As they made their way into the living room, Angela settling into her chair and Michael sprawled on the couch, Ben suddenly felt nervous.

He hoped (Y/N) liked his present. He'd felt resentful toward Michael as he wrapped the candle. He knew this was a fine gift for someone he'd literally met just a few days ago but he couldn't help being disgruntled that Michael had swooped in and stolen such a perfect gift from him.

Swatting Michael's feet off the couch he settled in as (Y/N) crouched next to the tree, "Can I hand people presents? That's how we did it at my home, if that's okay." She ducked her head, cheeks growing pink at appearing sentimental. Ben didn't realize he was smiling at her until he caught his mum appraising him.

Running a hand through his hair, he shifted in place as Michael yelled, "OI. Where're my gifts?"

"Hmm, I'm looking but I don't see any gifts for you...why...it looks like these are all for me!"

"Fuck off-"

"Michael!"

"Sorry mum. Frick off, I see one with my name on it right there." Pointing emphatically, Ben smacked his hand out of his face.

Snickering, (Y/N) scooted over to grab the present and threw it at Michael.

From there, it was all a blur of wrapping paper, bows flying and exclamations of surprise and delight.

Ben was busy reading the inside flap of the novel his mum had gotten him when he heard Michael's voice cut through his reverie,

"Here. (Y/N). I got this one for you."

"Aww, Michael. You shouldn't have."

"Yeah, well, don't say that till you've opened it, dear."

"Mum!"

Forcing a laugh that sounded hollow even to him, Ben sat there, staring lazers at the box in (Y/N)'s hands.

It, funnily enough, was shaped like the box the candle came in.

It even had the same wrapping paper he'd used.

Ben hardly breathed as the wrapping paper fell away and the candle he'd wrapped just last night was revealed.

"Aww, Michael! Thank you so much. I love it." She smiled at him as she uncapped it and sniffed it.

Bolting up, Ben murmured something about getting more coffee and stumbled out of the living room.

Gripping the sink, he could barely believe what he'd just witnessed.

He didn't even want to believe it meant what he thought it meant.

"Hey."

Head jerking up, he didn't even notice the present in Michael's hand until he thrust it forward.

"Give it to her. You had dibs on it anyway."

Ben's jaw dropped, "Is-are you actually doing something decent for once in your life?"

"Shut the fuck up, man. I see how you look at her. There's no way you don't not have legitimate feelings for her."

Struggling for a quick response, he could only manage a half hearted grunt as Michael emphatically shoved the present closer to him.

"Go on. Take it. She's gonna love it and it'll mean way more coming from you than me I bet."

Gently taking it from Michael, he had no words. Looking up, he pulled Michael into a hug.

"Oh. Alright. Guess this is what we're doing."

Letting him go, Ben sniffed, rolling his shoulders back, "Right. Okay. Thanks for this man."

"Yeah. Just...don't hug me again."

"No promises."

"Figured." Michael was almost out of the kitchen when he stopped and turned back to Ben, "Also. My room is right next to yours. If I hear any noises that even sound remotely like sex-"

"Oh my god, dude."

"I'm just saying! Jesus isn't the only one watching you sin and judging you for it."

Ben could only stare incredulously at Michael's back as he contemplated how his brother could do something so sweet but ruin it all in the same moment.

They had just finished dinner and Ben still hadn't found the perfect time to give (Y/N) her present.

Every time he thought he could get her in a moment alone, someone walked into the room or the timing seemed wrong.

He knew he'd have to act soon but the right moment had yet to present itself and he was getting anxious.

It also didn't help that Michael kept texting him asking if he'd given the gift to (Y/N) yet.

So, yeah. No pressure.

"Oof. I feel like all I've done today is eat."

"How is that different than any other day though?"

Throwing a Christmas Cracker at Michael, (Y/N) laughed.

"You don't need to expose me like this."

Ben watched their interaction with jealously. He wished he could just give her the present now but he wanted it to be perfect.

Pushing back from the table, (Y/N) stood up and stretched, "Well. I'm going to go for a walk. Does anyone want to come with?"

Ben's eyes lit up and he sprang out of his chair. Before he could say anything, Michael was rising as well, opening his mouth.

Getting ready to body check his brother into next week for ruining this moment, Angela stepped in.

"Michael. You haven't done any of the cleaning up this week. You're staying here and helping me wash up."

(Y/N) almost missed the wink Angela shot her as she and Ben were left in the dining room as Michael's protests grew quieter.

"Shall we?"

"My lady."

Smiling, she stepped into the foyer. Her and Ben making idle chit chat as they bundled up against the cold.

Stepping out into the night, the clouds were heavy with snow. Taking a deep breath in, she sighed out, enjoying the look of her breath appearing in a fog before her.

"Smells like snow."

"Snow has a smell?"

"Yeah, it...I don't know how to describe it. It just smells fresh and new."

They walked on in silence for a bit. (Y/N) was tempted to ask why he hadn't gotten her a gift for Christmas. She had gotten him the pair of rounded sunglasses he'd admired in the shop window for Christmas and she had just met the man.

Feeling pressure on her elbow, she stopped.

"Come with me."

Following after Ben, not minding that his hand was still on her elbow guiding her, she wondered where they were going.

Feeling bold (with the help of the generous portions of wine Angela had served at dinner), and figuring it must have been uncomfortable for Ben to lead her by the elbow, she gently untangled her arm from his.

Smiling at Ben's furrowed brows she slide her hand into his.

"Figured this would be easier than holding my elbow."

Fighting the smile breaking over his face, and failing miserably, Ben stared ahead. Butterflies erupting in his stomach at the feel of her hand in his.

"Where are we even going?"

"Oh. Yeah. I should have thought of that. Not really smart of me, huh."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I mean, I'm not a bad guy but still. We don't really know each other and it's dark. I know some women might be nervous in these circumstances."

Trying to quite the Women's Studies major screaming in her head about his "wokeness", she gave his hand a squeeze.

"I don't know. Just feel like I've known you for much longer than we actually have."

"I feel the same way."

(Y/N) thought she had imagined him saying that, his voice was so low but with how his cheeks pinkened, she figured she hadn't imagined it.

Pulling her up short, he pulled them toward a bench. Two trees bending over it, branches intertwining like lovers fingers creating a canopy.

Sitting down he put his hands in his coat pocket where (Y/N) thought she heard gift wrap crinkling.

"So."

"So." She said, tilting her head back to stare at the clouds. Ben took this time to admire her profile.

"Why here?"

"Just wait. It'll be worth it."

Shrugging, she turned her face down to look right at Ben.

"Think it's going to start snowing soon."

Huffing a breath, Ben turned his body to face her more fully.

"Listen. What you said earlier about it feeling like we've known each other for forever, I genuinely feel like I've known you for a long time. And...I got you a Christmas present."

Ben shook his head as (Y/N)'s face melted into a bemused expression.

"This isn't coming out right but-" he rubbed a hand over his face and (Y/N) watched as his shoulders melted and when he lifted his head out of his hand, she knew he'd made a decision.

"I like you. A lot. And I know you've known my family for a while and my brother's your best friend and my mum's your second mum but. Fuck. I just. I really like you and ever since I saw you I thought you were gorgeous but then we talked and you were funny and so smart and,"

He sucked in a huge breath as (Y/N)'s head kept spinning with what he’d just revealed to her.

"That's why I got you this and I wanted to give it to you at the perfect moment so. Merry Christmas."

He shoved the present towards (Y/N) who just barely grabbed it before it rammed into her stomach.

"Wha-. Ben. I-"

She stopped as Ben frantically shook his head,

"Please just open the present before you give me an answer," his eyes widened at how that could have come across, "Not like, I want that to change your mind but. I don't know. Just. Please open it."

(Y/N) nodded. Looking down at her hands and letting out a breath she hadn’t even realized she was holding.

Ben noticed how her hands quivered as she pulled the ribbon off. His eyes stayed locked on her hands. He couldn't stand to look at her face until he heard her gasp.

Eyes trailing up to meet her face, his whole body melted.

One hand over her mouth, her eyes were watering at the necklace.

"Ben...it's beautiful. I. I don't know what to say." She let out a watery laugh as Ben leaned toward her,

"There’s another thing in there. It goes with the necklace."

Sniffing, she picked up the book underneath the necklace and let out a peal of laughter.

'You remembered!"

"Of course. You said you needed more books of poetry to really be a pretentious ass."

"God. This is amazing. But these actually look like amazing poems." She consented as she quickly flipped through the pages.

Shaking herself before getting too sucked into the book, she blinked her eyes up at Ben.

"Will you put this on for me?" Brandishing the sun necklace between them.

Nodding, Ben took it with shaking hands.

Turning, she moved her hair out of the way, and tried not to gasp as Ben's fingertips grazed the back of her neck.

"Okay. It's on." he whispered.

Turning back around she locked eyes with him. Realizing they were still very close to each other.

"How does it look?"

Swallowing thickly, Ben leaned closer.

"It looks amazing."

"Good." She whispered against his lips and Ben's only reply was to press his lips to hers.

Grabbing his arms, she moaned at the muscle’s flexing underneath her fingertips. Ben wrapped his arms around her waist. He tried to pull her closer and cursed their layers.

(Y/N) would have stayed entwined in Ben's embrace all night if a brilliant flash hadn't erupted around them.

Pulling back in surprise, she was met with the sight of every tree in the park covered with a thousand tiny lights.

Gasping, she barely registered Ben laughing at the delighted look that crossed over her face.

As her eyes drank in the sight around her, Ben couldn't help but admire the way the lights were reflected in her eyes.

"What is this?"

"It's a park I discovered one year when I was walking alone. They do this every year from the first of December to New Year's Eve. I haven't told anyone about it. I wanted to share it with someone who was really special to me."

Ben didn't know which was shining brighter. The lights on the trees or (Y/N)'s eyes.

"I really like you too."

"Yeah?"

Nodding emphatically, (Y/N) snaked her arms around his neck. "Since the moment I laid eyes on you really."

"Hmm. Seems like someone is stealing my lines."

"It sounds better coming from my mouth though."

"I bet a lot of things sound better coming from your mouth. Princess." Ben growled before claiming her lips as his.

Moaning, (Y/N) had to stop herself from straddling Ben then and there.

Breaking apart from Ben's lips was the toughest thing she'd ever had to do.

"My apartment's not far from here actually."

"Yeah?"

"Come with me."

Smiling at how she turned his own command on him, Ben grabbed her hand and together they ran through the cold toward the bright lights of (Y/N)'s cozy apartment.

Waking up the next morning, (Y/N) was briefly confused by the brief weight around her torso.

When she felt the steady rise and fall of Ben's chest, she sank back into him as memories of last night flooded through her, causing her to press her thighs together to stave off the wanting that had appeared again.

Hearing her phone vibrate, she carefully reached an arm out to make sure Angela hadn't called a search party on them.

Ben texted me. Angela's fine but I had to talk her down from subscribing to wedding magazines. x

Snorting, she shot a heart emoji to Michael as she felt Ben's lips press into her shoulder.

"Morning, princess."

Moaning, she turned to face him. "Your morning voice is the hottest thing in the world."

"Yeah?" he cocked an eyebrow as (Y/N) nodded.

Ben took a moment to consider it.

"Then you clearly haven't seen yourself first thing in the morning wearing only that necklace."

Shivering at Ben's finger pressing the charm into her skin, she smiled.

"Figured you'd like that."

"Like it? I love it."

Smiling, she burrowed further into his chest and said through a yawn, "Will you read a poem to me?"

"Of course, darling." Planting a kiss on her head, Ben reached over to grab the book of poetry from the bedside table. They'd fallen asleep after reading each other poems from it last night.

Paging through it, Ben stopped when he found the perfect one:

Light.

Sun.

Gold.

Your Smile.

Your

Heart

Your love.

Your love for me.

All golden.

They spent the rest of the day alternating between the bed, the kitchen and a walk back to the park with the lights where they promised to each other to return back to it every Christmas Day.

#ben hardy #ben jones #ben jones fic #ben hardy fic #ben hardy fluff #ben jones fluff #Christmas!Ben #Holiday fic

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willadisastercry · 4 years

Text

Keith relapsing and not being able to stop once he starts... pt 2

(((( Once again: please, please, please read the trigger warnings and proceed with caution before reading this. I vividly describe Keith’s internal struggle after he relapses... if anything even remotely regarding self harming or someone discovering a person who has is sensitive to you I HIGHLY RECOMMEND YOU DONT READ ))))

tw: in depth depiction of acting on self harm ideations/urges, scars, relapsing, becoming ill from blood loss, someone discovering a person after they relapse, rationalizing their self harm because the alternative is suicide, contradicting oneself and later very much deciding they would rather be unalived, panic attack symptoms, reopening a wound, allusion to surgery (stitches)

Keith is still very out of it after having a full fledged panic attack and the last thing he wants is to invite another spectator into the mix to watch him devolve further. So Shiro agrees to do something he hasn’t had to do in a very long time... courtesy of his battlefield medicine training.

Also again... YES klance and NO klance. You can interpret it however but their questioningly less and less ‘no homo’ behavior uh certainly ramps up and I suggest that they’ve had certain discussions/interactions before... definitely still not the main focus of this fic but there for context bc it just happened that way.

Part 1 / Part 2

The tension in the air was palpable as it hung on all of them. Lance watched Shiro’s entire body visibly relax, the grimace on his face the only tell that he was working through something in his mind, remembering something unpleasant.

Keith’s wimper pulled both boys back after a minute of terrible silence.

Several of the hardest cuts to close had broken free of the glue that held them and were gushing steadily. Keith was paling by the minute as he continued to breathe rapidly and tremble as if he was cold despite the sweat on his forehead.

He just wanted this to be over. To finally be asleep where at least then he could pretend that it had never actually happened and it was just a horrible dream.

Without saying anything more Shiro pressed the bandage back to his side and moved Lance’s hand to hold pressure there while he stood up and scanned the room, his eyes landing on Keith’s towel. It was hardly even damp then with how much time had passed since Keith had finished his shower.

“Keith, I know you’re not going to want me to,” he started with his jaw set as he pulled Keith towards him for a moment to lay the towel beneath him despite his meager protests.

“...but I have to tell Coran so that he can—“

He stopped when Keith let out a desperate whine as he released his hand from his mouth to tug on Shiro’s arm, his fingers digging in like he was trying to anchor them to something so he didn’t drift away as his chest started working double time.

“No. You can’t! You’re n-not t-tell-telling him.”

“Keith, I know that this is—“

“No, you dont,” Keith rasped, “you d-don’t know anything and you c-can-can’t tell Coran.”

The fear in his wide eyes was enough to make Lance want to cry for the umpteenth time that night, his chest hitching painfully as he pleaded with Shiro, getting himself more worked up as he did.

“Calm down, buddy. You know how this works. You know we have to get you fixed up.”

He shook his head back and forth as Shiro tried to rationalize with him.

“Keith,” he paused with a lengthy sigh because the last thing he wanted was to do something that Keith didn’t want him to do.

“Keith it’s bad. You need stitches, we have to.”

His purple saucers met Shiro’s grey pinpoints for a long moment, fear and desperation glistening in Keith’s and making Shiro want to pull him up into a bone crushing embrace.

“Then y-you do it...” he all but whispered through a heave as he tried to take in enough air to satisfy the ache in his chest so he could talk.

“Ke—“

“You’ve d-done-done i-it-it before Sh-Sh-Shi—fuck. P-please, j-j-ju-just-just-j—“

“Okay,” Shiro agreed, his voice pitching higher as he tried to assuage the budding panic evident in Keith’s anguished expression and worsening trembling.

“Hey, it’s okay. I will. Shhh, I will.”

He repeated the words religiously after Keith began to choke on his own, his face reeling with frustration when the full body trembling made him unable to get a proper sentence out and the effort of trying sent him spiraling further.

Shiro carded his hand through Keith’s still damp hair as his hands rose back up to his face, his feet kicking against the bed as the terrible dropping feeling worked its way through his stomach, gasping as it did. Lance watched in horror as Shiro tried to comfort him but any point of contact made Keith struggle harder.

He absolutely hated being so vulnerable, so reliant on others in such a fragile state. He knew he sorely needed the affection but his body instinctively cringed away from their touches, at war with itself as his mind lied to him, told him he was pathetic for needing such a thing. Another part wanting to melt into even the faintest brush against his shuddering body. All while feeling the consequences of losing a pretty descent amount of blood, the loss fogging his mind to a point that made it immeasurably harder to not succumb to panic, especially since he was still bleeding.

It was truly the perfect storm and he hated every second of it.

His lungs felt like they were being dripped dry of every ounce of oxygen in them as the phantom sensation of spinning returned and disordered his heaving breaths further as he fought the urge to vomit. The bone deep exhaustion seemed to be rather helpful then, the physical symptoms of his anxiety fizzling out in minutes as he quite literally just lacked the faculties to accommodate them.

“I’m right here, Keith,” Shiro assured when his grip on his arm tightened and then wavered as he began to sink back into the mattress, his hands settling restlessly on his chest as they shook.

“That’s it, you’re alright.”

Shiro griped his shoulder securely now, the metal of his prosthetic arm weighing with an oddly pleasant pressure on Keith as his whole body shook still.

Closing his eyes seemed a tad less dangerous once he could breathe somewhat regularly again and the intense dizziness had somewhat dissipated. They were also swollen like hell and heavy from all the crying so shutting them became less of an active choice then as well.

Lance’s hand moved to his leg after a beat, just to peek and make sure that those wounds hadn’t met a similar fate. He watched as Shiro’s face dropped when he saw the second wrapping, swallowing thickly and shifting where he sat on the edge of the bed to speak to Lance.

“Will you get him to eat something while I go grab a few things?”

He nodded and made his way to the forgotten tray of snacks he’d nabbed as Shiro took off for supplies. The sobbing had died down after the climax of his panic did but the tears didn’t seem to ever dry up, evident from the sniffling every few minutes as he tried to clear his airways.

“Hey,” Lance nudged his arm where it had moved to cover his blotchy face again, “why don’t you sit up a little, gotta eat something...”

He didn’t even try, just shook his head.

“N-nauseous,” he stuttered, the shaking impossibly infuriating as he tried to relax enough to do anything other than cry.

“Hmmm, well you could also have juice, I can water it down a little. That sound doable?”

He just sighed and Lance took his indifference as a ‘whatever’ and went ahead anyway, nudging him again when he had a modified juice pouch for him.

“You don’t have to sit up all the way, there’s a straw,” Lance noted when Keith tried to raise himself up on shaking arms before they gave out. He grunted defeatedly and tried to scooch back on bent elbows and sit up that way but found he didn’t have the core strength then to do that either.

“Here, what if I...” Lance mused with a shy smile as he moved to pull Keith up enough to slide in behind him, bringing the pouch up to his lips where his now propped up head rested securely in the crook of his arm, still racked by tremors but seemingly more at ease with the contact.

“That better?”

Keith didn’t answer, just sucked on the straw of the pouch like he was dying of dehydration. By the time he’d finished the pouch Shiro was walking through the automatic door with a whoosh that startled Keith, his breathing picking back up as he nestled his head further into Lance’s arm like he was trying to hide under it.

“He finished some juice,” Lance stated proudly as Shiro laid out the haul of medical supplies he brought back.

“That’s good, something solid would be better though. Hm, how bout the bread?” Shiro asked, walking back over to the tray and picking up a roll from the batch Hunk had made with a type of alien wheat they’d found.

Keith grumbled but took it from Shiro’s outstretched hand because he knew that he wouldn’t be able to win that debate, but more because he knew what was coming next and he wanted that more than anything.

“What?! You just give in for Shiro but with me it’s like pulling teeth? I’m offended, mullet. Deeply offended,” Lance scoffed and Keith made a noise as he bit into the bread begrudgingly.

“It’s not personal, he just knows not to be stubborn unless he wants to be awake while I stitch him up.”

Lance’s heart sunk impossibly further into his chest because Shiro had fully found him like that before... and done this exact thing after. This wasn’t new to either of them.

God he wanted to cry too.

Once Keith had made a sizeable dent in the roll from the dinner he’d missed Shiro handed him three pills of which Lance assumed were some variant of a sleep aid that took him a while to swallow with how choppy he was breathing still. The high sort of buzz had never really gone away and only worsened when his anxiety took over, leaving him both feeling floaty and trapped in a constant state of shaking.

Lance tried to comfort him now that he seemed more receptive to being touched, tracing light circles on the shoulder not tucked against him and leaving his other hand out where he could reach it in case he needed something to squeeze.

In the time being Shiro had set up a sterile tray for what looked like a literal fish hook and a whole bunch of gauze. Oh, jeez. Lance wasn’t sure he could stomach watching and tried to manifest being able to just hold Keith in his arms while Shiro worked, ya know for moral support. For Keith obviously.

“How ya doing? Tired yet?” Shiro inquired as he continued to ready the tray, fiddling with bottles of medicine similar to what Lance had used before.

“Mhmm, getting... sleepy,” he slurred, his trembling dying down a bit as the medicine helped his body relax.

“Good,” Shiro let out a hollow laugh at the way he sounded like a kid again, “Lance will you let me know when he’s out?”

The altean medicine was working quickly, aided by the fact that he was already utterly spent and leaving his eyes fluttering as his breathing evened out. He didn’t want to fall asleep still worked up or he’d probably be restless, maybe even come to and be more disoriented than before. So he dragged out the relief of slowly being pulled to sleep by the flick of Lance’s fingers on his arm, forcing his eyes to remain open as long as he could manage.

“Yep, shouldn’t be long,” Lance noted when Keith let out a hissing yawn and turned his face towards Lance’s chest, his cheek resting against the squishiest part he could find and making Lance stifle a gasp.

Keith wasn’t known for being cuddly and the gesture, though not really a conscious one, made Lance’s stomach flutter. He wasn’t able to dwell on it long though because Shiro was addressing him again.

“Can you pinch his arm...?”

Lance obliged and Keith didn’t make a sound.

“Perfect, okay, you won’t get squeamish will you?”

“Uh... glue is a bit different than a needle but even that sort of freaked me out.”

“Alright then, you can clean and dissolve what opened up while I handle what’s already free,” Shiro determined as he ushered the familiar supplies closer to Lance.

He took up the needle which was already threaded and sighed heavily before pulling Keith’s desk chair flush up against the bed.

“Help me get him more on his side.”

They managed to by Lance pulling him by the shoulders and more onto his lap as Shiro pushed.

Shiro breathed deeply then, something in his eyes flickering as he removed the soaked through bandage from the younger boy’s hip. His entire side coated again, the skin visibly raised and puffy.

Lance took up the wound wash and showed it to Shiro who nodded, bringing the towel up to catch the excess liquid as he poured. Once he’d sopped up what had bled again Shiro started with the widest gash, the hardened glue was easy to pull off with how horribly it had been secured over such a large area. Lance looked elsewhere, focusing on removing the glue from the other reopened wounds.

Shiro operated like a robot after that, known quite literally for a precise hand but what happened next took that generalization to a whole other level. His fingers moved swiftly, tying off stitches almost faster than Lance could wash out the gashes but definitely quicker than he could remove the blue tinted glaze. He had to scrub and scrape at the substance from the open wounds, the bloody mess they’d become making the task harder than it ought to have been.

In actuality only a few had reopened, but they were also the deepest. Some of them took upwards of five stitches, others two or three. The proximity of them to each other, especially to ones that were still glued, made it difficult for Shiro to figure out where to place the needle.

They were done after ten or so minutes but when Shiro sat back to analyze his work, he frowned.

“What’s up?” Lance questioned dubiously.

Shiro didn’t answer, just brought his hand down to examine the glue that was barely holding about a dozen more wounds together. They’d grown darker, the amount of red beneath the generous amount of blue visibly greater than the lesser wounds as more blood gathered and threatened to burst out as well.

“Some of these look like they’re about to go too, they haven’t clotted. I don’t think they’d heal right if I don’t stitch them up, they’d leave worse, uh—worse scars.”

Lance nodded transfixedly, not sure if his heart could take hearing more things like that, more direct acknowledgments of how one of his best friends had hurt himself so badly... how it hadn’t been the first time... how he couldn’t make sure it was the last if even Shiro had failed to.

“-nce. Lance, hey, don’t let me lose you now. I need you to work on dissolving the rest of the glue,” Shiro said, his tone gentle again as he brought Lance back from the depths of his weary mind.

“Right,” he affirmed more for himself as he brought the dissolving liquid back down while Shiro rethreaded his needle.

Opening a just about to burst wound was admittedly a lot harder on Lance’s stomach than freeing one that had already. There was so much more blood because when he was done with one side it’d spring open and pool immediately as he fought to dissolve the rest before it spilled out and got everywhere.

Both of them were coated then, the only saving grace that kept Lance’s nerves at bay was Shiro having the forethought to have them both wear gloves, but that just made it seem like a literal operation. And with the amount of black threading Keith back together it was seeming more like one each horrible minute it droned on.

Shiro had lost his vest and jacket somewhere around the third time he had to rethread his needle, Lance’s discarded too after some time, both of them uncomfortably warm as they poured over stitching Keith back together.

Oh, oh god.

That did it for him.

Lance huffed shakily and turned his head away as he nearly lost it again over how much he wished he could do more than just help heal his wounds, he wanted to mend every one of his broken pieces, put the parts of him back together that you couldn’t see.

He couldn’t stand the thought of slapping a bandage on what had happened and ever going about normally again.

“Lance...”

Shiro looked at him with sorry eyes, wanting to hug him as he blinked back tears but Keith was very much preventing that from being possible.

“I’m okay, sorry—it’s just a lot.”

“I know. We’re almost done if that helps, just need to finish up on this one and then I want to take a quick look at his leg,” Shiro offered as he got back to the gash that was almost closed.

“It wasn’t as bad, only a few were deep,” Lance noted, his eyes glossy as they stared at Shiro’s busy hands, not even registering the way they pulled on Keith’s skin as they tied off the last knot.

Shiro nodded, sneaking a worried glance over at Lance who didn’t meet his gaze as he finished applying an ungodly amount of tape over top the gauze he’d put on the area. He then manhandled Keith’s leg so he could get at his thigh.

Lance looked down at his arms. There wasn’t much blue of the medical gloves on his hands showing, blood smeared past even that and up his arms. He hurriedly yanked at them, peeling one off within the other and folding the outer one over itself.

“Just toss it, I’ll clean this all up later.”

Shiro suggested noticing how dangerously close Lance was to unraveling and hoping to delay it until he could actually help.

He was right though, only a handful required stitches and half as many as the ones on his hip had needed at that. Shiro was done in record time, taking over Lance’s job of removing the glue and cleaning up the mess that followed, finishing by wrapping a thicker bandage around his leg and taping it in place.

When Shiro finally sat back and started to clean up he was dimly aware that Lance was silently crying and had scooted further down the bed to hold Keith more securely in his arms. Though he was definitely out he had never fully stopped shaking, but now it seemed more like a nervous system response to the nowhere near healthy amount of blood he’d lost. Lance moved his hands up and down his arm in attempt to soothe him anyway.

Shiro brought the throw blanket at the foot of the bed over the two of them after he’d removed all of the trashed medical supplies from it. Lance’s eyes had fluttered shut but were open now.

“He shouldn’t be up anytime soon but you look wiped, figured you’d want to stay...”

He nodded absently, eyes bleary but understanding as Shiro moved about the room for a little before sitting down at the foot of the bed.

“I’ll handle talking to him about all this tomorrow but in the case that he isn’t entirely dead to the world when the morning drill alarm goes off, tell him that he is not only excused but barred from training and piloting Red until his stitches are out.”

Lance just nodded again and yawned, pulling the blanket over the rest of his upper body.

“And Lance... “

He eyed Lance with a sort of fondness then.

“I know how fucked up tonight was, it couldn’t have been easy. You didn’t have to help him, you could’ve just gotten me, but you did. And I don’t know what kind of headspace he’ll be in when he wakes up but I do know he’ll be grateful you were there for him... even if he has a funny way of showing it.”

The lump in Lance’s throat bobbed threateningly, his eyes stinging again as he whispered a meak ‘thanks’ as Shiro stood up and leaned closer to ruffle his perfect hair before he turned to leave, shutting the lights off before he did.

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brandywine-tomatoes · 3 years

Text

Dreadful Black

The Bad Batch angst

Prompt from the Discord! (@icedcoffee101, @twitchstoleyourbagel, @dragon-pups, @in-the-crosshairs, @angstkings)

Masterlist

TW: being shot, blood, falling, breaking of bones (I swear it's not as bad as it sounds)

Word count: 1,565

Prompt/Inspo: Challenge is you have 30 minutes to kill one batcher [it took me hours to outline it and actually wrote it the next day, sorry y'all ): ]

“You said the engines would hold until we got there!” Hunter yelled from his seat behind Echo. The ship lurched side to side, barely keeping it together. If the ship broke up in hyperspace... they didn’t want to think about it.

“I didn’t calculate one of them blowing up!” Tech yelled back, scrambling over the controls.

“One of them always blows up!”

“Would you like to try getting us to a safe planet while coming out of hyperspace?”

“Just get us out of here, Tech!” Echo shouted over the bickering. He had his own jobs of trying to keep the wings stabilized while keeping the ship balanced. All in all, not easy to do on your own.

Tech pushed up the hyperspace lever and the ship lurched forward, almost throwing everyone out of their seats. The tunnel disappeared and they were plunging to an orange and grey planet surface.

“We’re going too fast, Tech!” Echo shouted over the breaking ship.

“Then slow us down, Echo!”

“Then help me!”

Tech’s hands immediately flew to the yoke and gently pulled it back in time with Echo as they flew through the atmosphere, a trail of black smoke in the ship's wake.

“A fucking ocean! We’re gonna land in a fucking ocean!” Echo panicked.

“Calm down, there’s land over there!” Tech pointed left towards the land in the corner of Echo’s eyesight.

“I knew that!”

They swerved violently towards the orange land. It went on for miles, nothing but a rocky orange landscape. No vegetation, no life they could see. They narrowly crashed into the cliff where the land met the black ocean, but thankfully Tech pulled down the wings and lifted the ship just enough to get them over the side of the cliff.

The crew fell forward in their seats on impact, the ship dragged across the sand, every large rock making even more of a hack job of the hull. Hunter covered his ears at the sound of sand against metal and the rest braced themselves.

Everything went quiet. The ship was on solid ground, and they were surprisingly alive.

Tech took out his datapad. “Ephilia 78. Uninhabited. The troposphere is atrocious and there’s about 8 times more carbon dioxide than Kamino,” he looked up to everyone. “I’m surprised we haven’t died already. We need respirators.”

Hunter grabbed the respirators from storage and handed them out. Omega’s face was almost consumed by hers, making Echo have to stifle a laugh.

“Apparently there’s a pretty vicious rainy season-”

“Not like we haven’t dealt with a bit of rain,” Wrecker smiled.

“The ocean out there literally moves from basin to basin; this isn’t Kamino.”

Wrecker stayed silent, a look of concern on his face.

“Don’t worry, we’re 17-24 rotations away from it starting, we’ll be relatively safe.”

“Is it imperial occupied?” Hunter cut in.

“I don’t think the Empire even knows it exists, the information I found is written in Huttese.”

“Great, we’ll lay low here for a few rotations and get back to Pantora,” Hunter instructed, everyone nodding in agreement.

“Why is it so cold here? Aren’t deserts supposed to be hot?” Omega piped up, pulling the parka closer.

“The ocean lowers the temperature about 13 degrees,” Tech answered, his head and shoulders completely immersed in the engine. “The carbon traps what little heat there is. We’re lucky we didn’t crash someplace worse.”

“Oh, so the ocean is as cold as Kamino?” She pressed on.

“Somewhat. Though since the orbit of this planet isn’t similar...”

Tech and Omega went on and on about the conditions of the planet for some time, almost boring Echo to death.

Thankfully, Tech and Hunter delegated jobs after Tech assessed the engine. Hunter, Wrecker, and Omega went on a perimeter check and Echo was sent to do an internal diagnostic to see what was damaged in their recon mission for Rex.

He couldn’t help but think he’d been to Ephilia 78, the black waves of the vast ocean and the orange sandstone cliffs a stark contrast gave him major déjà vu. He searched his blurry memories of before Skako as he gathered an internal diagnostic from the Havoc.

He didn’t think he was stationed on any planets this far out from the core worlds. Maybe his brothers showed him photos? Maybe a General sent a holo from the planet? Maybe he really was stationed on the planet, but then again, the information about it was in Huttese. The Republic wouldn’t want to risk a terf quarrel in the middle of a galactic war. Maybe... oh. He’d seen the planet before. He’d fed the Separatists information on it for possible base locations. His shoulders sagged and the concentrated face was replaced with a grim look. His spirits dampened significantly.

He looked through the hyperdrive systems. They wouldn’t need urgent attention. The life support systems. They’d need those professionally fixed, but Tech could patch it up enough to get to Pantora. The cloaking device-

The cloaking device. It was fried, shot to hell. Their ship was completely exposed for tracking. Shit.

He ran to the doorway and slide down the ramp.

“Tech, we have a prob-”

A bright red bolt came from above, hitting the respirator at the perfect angle to knock it off his face. Only one person could make that shot.

“Echo, what-” Tech froze at the sight of an Imperial dropship landing close to them, the cargo doors open and a familiar sniper stepped out.

Echo gasped for breath, his throat freezing and cracking like an ice burg from the toxins he was desperately trying to inhale in exchange for oxygen. He clawed at his throat like ripping it out would solve the problem, black slithered through veins in his face, the whites of his eyes swimming with blood.

Crosshair advanced faster and Echo stumbled to the side, trying to stay standing while heaving in gulps of carbon and whatever lethal toxins were waiting for victims to breathe in.

“You know,” Cross’s cold and raspy voice was much closer. “There’s just enough oxygen in the air to keep you alive for 5 minutes, but the trick is not poisoning yourself while trying to breathe.”

Echo kept backing away, tripping over every pebble he could when he felt the first of a thick liquid hitting his cheeks. His shaking hands whipped it away to see pure obsidian sap smeared on the back of them.

“The maitotoxin is quite graceful. Your blood thickens and discolours, releasing from the tear ducks in the first 2 minutes. Your organs start failing in the next 7,” Crosshair shouldered his rifle as he spoke.

Echo tried whipping away the blood more rapidly as it flowed like sap from a tree. It was as if the fates wanted to watch him dance in his own blood bath.

As Cross neared closer and closer, Echo glimpsed the sea and the dangerous cliff edge he was backing into in the menacing green visor. He started hacking the obsidian sap up from his lungs, the blood blocking his airway made him panic even more.

He felt, for a few seconds, a free fall. His foot backed off the edge, the rocks under his boots fell to the black waves. Cross caught his arm before he fell to Echo’s surprise, but Cross’s grip on his forearm was his only salvation.

“Do you remember?” Cross asked coldly, any semblance of a person gone.

“What- what?” Echo painfully asked.

“When you were on Skako Minor.” Cross’s grip on Echo’s armour loosened.

Echo didn’t have any kind of leverage on the ground, he had to be pulled back by some ounce of Cross’s mercy.

“Some-” he tasted the blood running from his eyes into the corners of his mouth, frightening him and almost plummeting into the black, quite literally. He could feel the cold seeping in from the light spray of the ocean on his back. He’d known the cold like it was an old friend, and he would know it even more closely.

“Some of it.”

The green visor tilted to the hand holding Echo’s life.

“You’re a liability to the empire,” he smoothly said, like he spoke those words too many times, like he was programmed to. Like Echo was programmed to give up the Republic.

After a second of hesitation, CT-9904 released Echo’s arm.

His face was a light blue from lack of oxygen, his cheeks were smeared with pure obsidian blood, creating a mess of black tear tracks.

He fell, he dropped, he didn’t make a sound. He was unconscious before he hit the water, a peaceful death if you will. It shattered his spine and limbs immediately, the frigid water swirling over him, sucking Echo to the depths of the sea to be eaten by small fishes and a rather large squid-like fish.

The others had found a hiding spot behind an orange sandstone ridge and watched as the life was sucked out of Echo, then let go by their brother. Omega’s head was pushed below the ridge so she couldn’t watch, the others so desperately tried to hold back sobs, trying to keep quiet.

Cross searched the Batch’s ship quickly and speedily left back on the one he came in. Only when the Imperial shadow of a dropship darted through the thick, grey clouds did the Batch let their sobs go for Echo.

A/N: OMFG, that took forever!!! My outline for this is 613 words, I knew exactly how I wanted this to turn out, and I very much like it! I think Imperial Darkness will always be my favourite, or the one I'm writing with Ahsoka, Rex, and Maul, but this one turned out pretty cool!

ANYWAYS, I hope y'all liked it! I hated the process, but I love the final product! Go drink some water right now and go get a snack, you deserve it so much bestie 💓💓

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vinciwolf · 4 years

Text

Of Winners and Losers 2

Pairing: Crosshair x fem!Reader Part 2 | here is Part 1

Warnings: 18+, nsfw, masturbation, biting, smut with a small plot, mentions of blood and gore.

Did you regret what you made Crosshair do at the cantina? Not one bit. Because if it weren’t for making him streak, you wouldn’t be under him right now having your soaking pussy bumped full of his cock.

Your legs shake from the merciless pace of Crosshair’s thrusts. Wrapping your legs and arms around his torso, your head shoots back and you let out a whimper when he hits a sweet spot. Your walls clench around his pulsating cock and he groans into your shoulder. A yelp escapes your mouth when he bites down hard, growling. You grip his face and make him look at you. A small drip of blood slips down his chin. You lap up the blood with a flick of your tongue then smirk at the sniper, running your hands over his chest. Sneering at you, he yanks your head back with your hair and sucks the length of your neck.

You moan and squirm under Crosshair’s heated touch when his hand starts assaulting your breast. The grip on your hair releases and he lifts one of your legs over his shoulder and picks up speed. The new angle allowed Crosshair’s cock to grind into your hole with excruciating pleasure. Knots and coils in your stomach tightened from the pressure, your orgasm about to split through you.

“I—I hate you,” you grip the sniper’s hair and kiss his neck, the muscular rings of your entrance burn from his violent thrusts. Waves of numbing heat shoot through your nerves as you near your high.

“Do you regret what you did?” Crosshair’s warm, shaky words hit your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

“Never,” you spit.

Your nails scratch and grip the muscular cords of his back as he moves in and out of you. Your hand moves to your clit and circles the bud desperately. The sniper moans when your walls grip hard around his cock.

Crosshair holds your ass in the air and drives harder into you, breathing becoming loud and heavy against your ear. A gasp hitches in your throat when he bites your neck again, his grip tightening around your form as he nears his high. He’s whimpering into you. Your fingers rake into his skin, eyes rolling back as white heat cracks your pussy open. Crosshair’s cum stuffs you full, the warm shots of liquid pulsating into your walls.

Crosshair sits up on his haunches, head leaning back, eyes closed from the high. His abs flex with each gulp of air and you notice small droplets of sweat glistening on his forehead and chest. Your hand grazes his stomach and he recoils, coming back to the moment. He pulls out, a string of cum connecting your pussy to the head of his dick. The sniper sighs at the damp stains on his pants. He stands up and shakes his pants off, leaning down to pick up your discarded clothes.

“Get out,” he chunks your garments at your face, “and get off my bed.”

“A bed that you just fucked me on,” you hiss back at him.

He turns around, still butt naked, and folds his arms across his chest.

“This never happened. Got it?” He eyes you with a pointed stare.

You reluctantly stand up, cum dripping from you sore entrance, and put on your clothes. That night, your mind was disoriented. You and Crosshair fucked! You couldn’t help feeling hurt though. Crosshair knew how you felt but didn’t feel any connection or feelings during your embrace. You fell asleep thinking he hated you and only used you for a good time.

Crosshair was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. His mind couldn’t stop swimming with images of you underneath him, moaning and scratching his skin. It felt good. Very good to finally have you. He couldn’t deny his feelings. You slowly grew on him from the moment you joined the Bad Batch. Your smile, your kindness, the way you held yourself up against the world. It was beautiful and suffocating. He drapes his elbow over his eyes. Then why did you throw her out right after fucking her?

He sighs. The images kept flooding his mind. The hand resting on his stomach inched forward. Crosshair’s breath hitched in his throat as his fist pumped the length of his cock. He imagined you beneath him again, but this time it wasn’t hate-fucking. His mind remembered how you felt around him. Warm…smooth… tight. Or how his cum dripped down your thighs when you stood to get dressed.

Don’t go.

“(Y/N),” Crosshair fists the bed sheets, eyes screwed shut.

His eyes shoot open when he feels hot liquid drip down his hand. He looks down at himself and chuckles. He had cum thinking about you.

The Bad Batch had recently taken a mercenary job for a small city needing help with pest control. But by pest, they meant an infestation of giant parasites that often terrorized the citizens. Currently, you and Tech were placing bombs on the sides of the insect’s burrowed tunnels while the rest hunted for the queen and her nest. The idea was to draw in the horde by killing the queen, then crushing the rest of the parasites inside by collapsing the tunnels.

“So,” Tech looked over his shoulder.

“Don’t even start,” you grumbled, attaching another bomb to the wall.

“I can tell he feels terrible,” he taps on his datapad to prepare the bombs for a synced detonation.

“I’d love to shove on of these bombs right up Crosshair’s uptight asshole.”

Tech snickers, patting your shoulder gently.

“Let’s go prep the Marauder.”

This was not how the mission was supposed to go. You were waiting inside the tunnel entrance when you heard yelling. Running to Hunter’s aide, you noticed just how angry the team made the horde of parasites. You scream into your comlink telling Tech to bring the Marauder to Hunter’s location. He sustained a gash on his leg. The sergeant also screamed to “be ready to blow the kriffin’ hell outta these bugs!”

The smallest dot of light beamed at the edge of the tunnel. Victory was so close… until your leg was snared by a large pincer. Exploding through the grown, one of the parasites snatched your leg, making you trip.

“Wrecker, take Sarg!” you kicked the parasite in its ugly face while Wrecker carried Hunter to safety.

Another bug jumped on top of you. You struggled to hold its large pincers away from your neck. It screamed loudly, exposing its sharp fangs. Crosshair ran back for you and kicked the parasite off your body. He took aim and blew its head off, guts and piss going everywhere. The sniper hoisted you up by your arm and you both ran. It was going to be okay. You and Crosshair made it out of the tunnel, Wrecker and Hunter already making their way into the ship.

You remember the adrenaline of victory washing over you as you slid into the co-pilot chair. Tech maneuvered the Marauder out of the blast zone before Wrecker detonated the bombs. The cave collapsed, taking every parasite with it.

You remember smiling from you chair at the boys’ celebration on another successful mission. You stood up to join. Wrecker was pumped, then he stilled. Crosshair’s eyes filled with dread.

You remember a sharp burn. Looking at your boots, warm red liquid dripped down your pants and pooled on the floor. Your skin shivered and your lungs suddenly locked up. Your hand pulled back your jacket to reveal a stinger lodged in your stomach, blood oozing from the wound. As the stinger came out, black venom leaked from the gaping hole.

Tears filled your eyes as you looked to Crosshair. The world slowed when you collapsed onto the hard, metal floor.

Everything went black.

#mywriting #myart #crosshair x reader #crosshair #the bad batch crosshair #the bad batch fanfiction #the clone wars fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #the bad batch x reader

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detroitbydark · 4 years

Text

Chapter 11

Characters: Fox/Mouse (reader), appearances from Hound, Thire, Rule, Mace Windu, Yoda, and Padmé Amidala.

Warning: angst (y’all want me to hirt you right?)

A/N: so get ready to read nearly 6000 words of Fox’s self loathing, the CG being supportive vod, Jedi being Jedi, and Mouse being hurt yet again.

Current

The choices had been fresh ink or gut-rot barracks hooch. Fox chose the ink.

He’s down in the levels, he can’t remember which one exactly, far enough from prying eyes and questioning vod, that was all that had really mattered. The artist, a pantoran with a nice portfolio, was busy laying out the design. He can feel the cool transfer as it’s pressed over his heart and he drags in a ragged breath. This was penance. This was the closure he needed. He’d messed up. For two weeks he’d messed up and now any chance he had was gone along with her.

“You wanna talk about it, man?” The tattoo artist asks as he peels away the flimsy leaving the outline on his skin.

“No”

Two weeks earlier

Fox hates the sterile smell of the hospital, the beige walls, the gleaming metal all around. It reminds him of Kamino and a medbay he’d spent more than enough time in. He was never quite as strong or quite as fast as the other CCs in his batch, men that would go on to bear monikers like Gree and Bly and Wolffe. He made up for it in other ways. His mind was sharp, quick to come to a plan of action, he could think on his feet.

He remembers Sargent Kal coming into the CC classroom one day for a talk on urban combat- something that had piqued CC-1010’s interest from the word go- and how by the end of the lesson he’d ended up the star of the day. His observations as they’d talked through scenarios had left Kal remarking that he was “Sly as a Fox” and that the Triple Zero would be a good place for the likes of him. He was only the second in his batch to earn a name and he wore it around like a badge of honor.

Now he didn’t feel so honorable or so sly. He felt a lot of other things though. The psych droid, a loathsome device of he'd ever seen one, had talked him through what had happened in the Supreme Chancellor’s suite. It had questioned him over and over, maybe expecting the answers to change, about what his part in the assassination of Sheev Palpatine had been. He was tired. He wanted to wrap himself around his cyar’ika and pretend the whole day had been a nightmare.

That was impossible, she was somewhere else in the hospital being treated, shoved into a bacta tank. It had only been Rex’s firm voice that had convinced Fox to let the medic’s anywhere near her. When he’d let them take her limp body away from him-

Fierfek.

The handprint- a bloody partial across the left side of his breastplate, was still there.

“Commander Fox” a familiar voice cuts through the silent world of the room“ Much to think about you have“

He recognizes the Jedi Master, Yoda, immediately. There was no one else the ancient green Jedi could be mistaken for.

“I prefer to not“ being around a force wielder was not high on Fox’s current list of things to do.

“Such Is life”

“With all due respect sir,” he can hear the petulance in his own voice but he has neither the energy nor will to rein it in “I didn’t ask for this life.”

“But given to you it was, nonetheless. Choices you must make with what to do with it.“

Fox is quiet and the small Jedi Master matches it until the door opens again and General Windu joins the pair. Fox meets his gaze and the Jedi nods solemnly.

“Much discussion Master Windu and I have had these last few hours-“

“So it’s back to Kamino then? Reconditioning or Termination?” Fox can’t hide the bitterness in his voice. He doesn’t want to. He wants the world -or at least the two Jedi in the room- to see his pain. To feel it like he was.

Yoda sighs and moves to him, walking stick clicking in time with his steps. He hops up on the cold metal table next to Fox in a way that makes Fox think that the walking stick was not really necessary. He fights the urge to move away.

“A great disservice has been done to you, Commander. No, Kamino is not where you belong, deserve punishment you do not.”

The words burn. Fox is trapped between relief and a slow simmering rage, one that demands he be punished for his inability to protect those most vulnerable. First Fives. Now Mouse. He failed because he was weak-

“Stop” General Windu’s voice is firm. The look on Fox’s face must read pure terror because the Jedi huffs softly, “I don’t need to see inside your head to know what you're thinking. It’s all over your face. Do you know the kind of power Sidious possessed? To fight off that kind of insinuation would have been nearly impossible and that was before the chip-“

“The chip?” Fox attempts to rise to his feet but three green fingers press down on his arm. He looks down at the tired, ancient face of the Jedi Master and sits back down. “What of the chip? What has it got to do in all of this?”

The answer is simple. Everything.

Fox sits in cold shock as the Jedi describe to him what they’d learned of Palpatine’s- no, Sidious’ plans for the clone army. He stops them once to go to the bathroom and vomit. It wasn’t just Tup and Fives and him. It was all his vode. The entire clone army programmed to turn on their leaders, their friends with the utterance of a single phrase. He thinks of the hints Bly had made about his Jedi when they’d last spoken.

For a moment it’s more than he can fathom, and he holds a hand up for quiet. The Jedi allow it. He gives himself a minute, just one, before he pulls himself together, before he sits up straight and pushes the anguish, hurt, and the dirty feelings deep down.

“What now?” The implications of what has happened are finally becoming clear “The Republic can’t know the truth. There’ll be chaos in the streets. They’ll turn against the clones entirely” Fox worries more for his brothers than ever before. If the citizens knew…

“Correct you are, Commander” Yoda agrees..

“It needs to stay under wraps. The only people that will ever know it was anything other than an sudden death by natural causes will be us and the others that were in that room. Skywalker, Captain Rex, and-“

“Don’t say her name” it comes out as a growl, “leave her out of this.”

“There she was, Commander. Secrets she must learn to keep.”

Fox’s nails bite into the palms of his hands, “you won’t-“ he can’t bring himself to say the words.

“We will not force thoughts into her head.” Mace clarifies. “From what I’ve heard of her I think she’ll understand our reasoning for secrecy. Her injuries will be said to come from a mugging. You’ll fill out the report. Wrong place wrong time”

Wasn’t that the truth.

Fox nods slowly, “and what of my brothers?”

“Come out the chips must.” Fox flinches when a green finger taps at his temple, “but uncomplicated and quick it is.”

“We will let it be known that the chips are faulty and to continue to use them puts the clones in danger of having unforeseen medical problems.” Mace’s eyes narrow as Fox scoffs. He raises a brow challengingly, “do you think they’d rather know that they were all ticking timebombs? That at any moment they’d be triggered into mindless killers? Pawns?”

A tense moment passes with the two men glaring at one another. Of course Fox doesn’t think that would be any better.

“We’ll begin rotating troops through the nearest medical units capable of removal immediately.” Mace explains. “We can have the entire Coruscant Guard done by the end of the week and it appears with minimal down time. A day, tops.” He explains.

A quick nod is all the acknowledgement Fox can muster. He doesn’t like the idea of keeping the Guard in the dark and he hates having them undergo any medical procedure even more. He wasn’t the only clone who had lingering emotions when it came to the medbay, not by a long shot.

“I’ll go first.”

The Jedi at his side makes an agreeable hum. General Windu nods.

“As I would expect a good leader to do.”

Fox isn’t sure how much he buys into their approval.

13 days earlier

The official story was that Supreme Chancellor Sheev Palpatine had succumbed to a sudden illness. The holonews was ablaze with stories: from the official release to the tabloid fodder. Fellow politicians waxed poetic on him as a man and a leader, someone who stepped forward when the Republic was in its darkest hour to take control of the chaos.

It was said his last words were, “and sorry I couldn’t give more for my people and the galaxy.”

If Fox’s eyes rolled any harder he was sure they’d fly from his head and ping around in his bucket. Sidious was dead. He didn’t deserve the adoration of billions or the high honors of his burial. He was a hu’tuun. The skanah was better suited as feed for the carrion birds than the marble burial chamber he’s laid to rest in with military honors provided by clones he’d have used as weapons against the very Republic they swore to protect.

10 days earlier

Four days without Mouse and Fox feels twitchy. It’s been over a year since he’s gone more than two days without laying eyes on her. Knowing that she was recently released from the bacta tank doesn’t make it any easier. He’d not wanted to see her floating in the tank for a plethora of reasons, the least of which was his own guilt. That didn’t stop him from setting up a guard rotation at her door as soon as he was cleared to return to duty. It also didn’t stop him from demanding regular updates on her care from the kits he was setting up at her room.

Ryk had been present when she’d been taken out of the tank and said she’d seemed in good spirits as she’d slowly come too.

Wren had gently indicated that she’d love some company while she was on bed rest.

Rule had given him a look that screamed, ‘don’t be a scum sucking piece of nerf fodder.’ As he’d explained that Mous’ika had been asking for him.

She’d been asking for him. Even after everything she wanted to see him.

And he couldn’t do it.

He’d made his way twice to the nurses station before turning and making an excuse to leave.

He couldn’t look at her. Sidious’ words still swirled in his head. even though General Yoda had reassured him that he was no longer under the sway of the Sith, the thoughts still lingered.

You were supposed to use her to fuck your baser urges out.

She’s using you to obtain a foothold in the guard.

She’s fooled you all.

The underlying message was unmistakable.

Why would anyone choose to care for a clone?

Fox almost wishes the headaches would return so he could focus on the pain in his head vs. that dull empty ache in his chest, a black hole behind his rib cage, but he hasn’t had one since both the Sith Lord and the chip were removed from his life.

9 days earlier

Bail Organa is voted into the Chancellorship by an overwhelming number of his peers.

It’s the best choice, as far as Fox is concerned. With Senator Amidala announcing a leave of absence to give birth to the best guarded secret since the clone army, it’s the only choice Fox finds acceptable.

Not like anyone would ask his opinion.

Organa is a good man, even if he is a politician. He’s only ever looked out for the Republic, never given in to self indulgent whims, never taken more than he deserved.

Fox touches the fresh scar on the right side of his head gently as Holonet News continues to replay the new Chancellor's inauguration from earlier. Barely more than a week and everything has changed.

General Windu was correct, medical had been able to get through the entire guard in rapid fire. All of his men were sporting matching scars, many were more than a little curious as to the actual reason their chips had been removed. He’s both insanely proud and horribly frustrated at the theories being bandied about. Some far too close for comfort.

They can never know. Nobody can ever know.

But somehow Bail Organa knows.

He’s only had one meeting, early this morning before the inauguration, in private with the new Chancellor but he’d alluded to things that left Fox speechless. He’d known Bail to have friends in high places, but he hadn’t realized how high.

“Think he’ll do better than the last one?”

Thire hovers in the doorway, unmoving until Fox inclines his head toward the open seat across his desktop.

“Can’t be any worse.” There’s no humor in his tone but Thire huffs out a quiet laugh.

There’s a lag in the conversation, not like one has truly begun, and Fox takes a breath before setting down his datapad and flicking the holo off. “How long have we known one another?” He asks looking up at his lieutenant.

“Long enough.”

“So, you and I both know that you're here for something else and It's not just to make quips about the new Alor.”

“I suppose that’s true” Thire’s face gives nothing away. Fox liked that about the shock trooper. He was reserved, yes, but also pragmatic. A problem solver, not ruled by his emotions. Which was all well and good but something about the way he’s staring makes Fox feel like he’s the problem needing solving.

“Spit it out.”

“Go see her.”

Fox raises a brow in his vod’s direction. “Is that an order”

“Respectfully sir” the corner of Thire’s mouth quirks almost imperceptibly before it falls away.

The little shit.

In reality, Fox had known this one going to come from one of his men. He’d expected Rule or Hound, the more brash and aggressive boys, to be the ones but Thire is not a complete shock. He’d never seemed particularly close to Mouse but the lieutenant did play things close to the chest.

“She had a nightmare last night while I was on watch. Woke up crying your name.”

Inside Fox crumbles. No amount of talking to a psych droid was going to fix that feeling. No amount of time would make him feel ok about what he’d allowed to happen to the woman he loved. Thire continues.

“A clone's lot is not much. They decant us. They train us. They ship us out to fight in their war. We live, maybe. We die, more likely. Nothing is given to us.” Thire runs a hand over his head, fingers scratching at the crown. “Sometimes though, a di’kut like you gets a break. That woman in that bed cried in my arms. Talked to me like I was you for over an hour and I let her. You know why?”

Fox has to unclench his jaw, work past the jealous ache rising up in his chest to respond, “why?”

“Because it’s the closest I’ll ever have to feeling that kind of emotion. I’m not ashamed to say I pulled your girl into my lap, held her close and said soft things I didn’t even know I knew into her pretty hair until she calmed down. I was happy to pretend to be your atin’shebs but you know what the real kicker is, Vod?”

Fox’s hands are like vice grips on the edge of his seat, knuckles pale white as a shinies armor. The thought of Mouse hurting is one thing, but to have someone else be the one to comfort her? It tears at him. “What?” He asks through gritted teeth.

“When she calms down she says, “I know you're not him. Thank you for letting me pretend for a minute”.

7 days earlier

He pretends like he doesn’t know where he’s going. Like talking to the kriffing psych droid really had him so out of sorts he didn’t realize he was getting on a turbo lift and heading up three flights after his appointment.

He tries to act like he doesn’t know his feet are carrying him to the room with the familiar red and white sentinel outside the door.

Rule quirks his helmet before snapping to attention.

“Commander Fox, sir?”

“At ease Sargent.” It's late, well past visiting hours but the few sentient nurses and the droids assisting them make no move to rush him along. Perks of the armor.

Rule relaxes and glances through the small transparisteel window on the door behind him before turning back.

“She just had some medicine.” He explains, “pain was getting pretty bad again.”

Fox’s bucket hides his cringe, allowing him to outwardly remain impassive and aloof, his voice even as he asks simple questions about visitors and any possible issues arising.

“No problems here sir. I think I heard her Doc say something about discharge tomorrow. She’s doing ok” what isn’t said hangs in the air.

She’d be doing better if you were with her

“That’s good. That’s good” Fox agrees, readily avoiding the things left unspoken. “Have you been relieved for dinner?”

“I have a ration bar in my pack sir.”

“Do I need to say it?”

The sunny tone of Rule’s voice tells him everything he needs to know. He can imagine the shit eating grin that accompanies it. “I’m not entirely sure what you mean, sir?”

A quick glance up and down the hall shows nothing but gleaming white tile. No staff. No visitors. No one but Rule to bear witness to his moment of weakness.

“Take the night off Sargent. I’ll cover the watch.”

He stares at the emotionless visor for a beat waiting for his kit to argue, for him to make a smart comment.

It doesn’t happen.

Rule rolls his shoulders, stretching slightly as he makes his move past Fox. At the last second, Rule's hand shoots out, resting over Fox’s vambrace. The moment lingers without either speaking until Rule gently pulls the Commander in and knocks his bucket against Fox’s, pressing his forehead to his Commander’s.

Fox, claps a hand behind the sargents head and they sit there frozen for a moment in time, Rule offering more comfort in that one gesture than he’s felt in days. A Keldabe kiss to ease his fragile psyche.

“Alverde.” Rule offers quietly when the pair finally part.

“Sargent” Fox gives a minuscule nod. “Enjoy your night.” He watches the youngster head down the hall until he turns a corner and is gone from sight.

Fox manages to avoid looking in the room for five minutes exactly. He’s able to fight off the pull to enter it for another twenty. The draw of her is too much in the end and he finds himself slipping into her room before the first thirty minutes are even past.

The lights are low and the monitors and electronics surrounding her hum and buzz steadily. Everything is white and stark. His cyar’ika is nearly the same color as the sheet she lays under.

She looks small, and so achingly fragile Fox is afraid the weight of his look alone will break her. She shivers lightly and he lurches into motion, dragging the itchy comforter over her legs and tucking it around her shoulders. Her body stirs as his gloved hand grazes along her cheek.

He freezes as her eyes flutter open. Her pupils aren’t quite right. It seems to take her a moment to piece together what’s going on but when she does the realization that washes over her is visible.

“Fox” his name sounds like a long lost friend rolling from her lips. She struggles to sit up. A look of pain flashes across her face as she twists under the blankets.

“Stop that” he demands impotently, his gloves moving to press gently against her chest. “you’re going to hurt yourself.”

She blinks owlishly up at him in the way only a person on good pain meds can, like she doesn’t quite understand what’s been said and she’s not sure whether she should comply or question it. It’s somewhere between bemused and scared.

He cups her cheek in his hand, “easy precious girl.” He soothes. Mouse relaxes into his touch as his gloved thumb rubs softly. Her eyes flutter shut and he can feel the soft sound she makes against his palm.

This was already far past what he intended. He just wanted to see her, to prove to himself she was really alive and in one piece despite him.

Now, he finds himself already slipping into old habits.

More focused, her eyes open. Her hand slips up and grips his vambrace. Slowly she pulls his hand away from her face. She lets her fingers slip down into and through his. Her voice is thick with sleep when she speaks and Fox has to lean in to hear her.

“I knew you’d come”

Of course she had. Fox wonders if she knew him better than he knew himself. This was always going to happen no matter how many times he’d lied to himself. He pulls his hand away. Mouse’s hangs empty in the air for a moment before she sets it down over her chest.

The quiet burr and hum of the monitors around her are the only sound between them until he reaches up to his bucket and lets the seal pop with a soft hiss.

Her eyes scan his face as he sets the helm off to the side. There’s a question there he can’t decipher. “What can I do?”

A harsh laugh escapes Fox’s lips and Mouse frowns at him.

“I think you’ve done enough, cyar’ika.”

“Fox-“ it’s a scolding tone that holds no weight when she looks like a battered doll in a too big hospital bed. She closes her eyes when he doesn’t give in and offer her more.

The bed dips under his weight as he sits at the edge of it. “I just wanted to make sure you were, ok. Alright?” He holds back from touching her again. It takes an enormous amount of will.

“I’m ok, Fox. Because of you.”

It’s a lie. All of it. It can’t be anything else. “You're in a hospital bed,” he growls, pushing up to his feet and stalking toward the window. He can’t look at her. “You spent days floating in bacta. You-“

“I’m alive.”

“That’s not because of me.”

He hears the ruffle of sheets as he looks out over Coruscant. The lights of the buildings and speeders in the sky lanes, like stars in the polluted evening light.

“Fox-“ her hand touches his arm and he spins to steady her. Anger swells up in him.

“Kriff- Mouse, get back in bed” he orders lowly, “you’re going to get hurt.”

She sways gently on her feet in the too big hospital gown but her jaw is set, “will you listen to me?”

“Will you get back in bed?” Fox pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a deep breath before looking at her again. “Get back in bed and I’ll listen. Please.”

Mouse stands, arms crossed, glaring pointedly. Fox has had enough. Quick and smooth like a tactical insertion he scoops her up. Mouse makes a small noise as his arms slide behind her knees and his other arm cradles behind her shoulders. She breathes heavily as she looks up at him.

“You’re going back to bed.” He covers the small room in just a few steps. When he goes to set her down she slips her arms around his neck and holds on for dear life.

“I’m not getting back in that bed unless you come with me.”

“You’re not in the position to make demands.” But that’s a lie because, with him, she was always in the position to make demands. She just never had to.

“Please, Fox. I just want one good night. You can leave as soon as I'm asleep.”

It’s hard to say if it’s the tired tone of her voice, the smell of her skin so temptingly close, or just his own beaten down need to be close to her, regardless Fox gives in.

“The armor stays on.” He says as he settles into the bed, he tries to keep his boots off the bed the best he can. Mouse curls tighter against him. It can’t be comfortable against the plastoid but to look at her he’d never know. One hand rests along his jaw while the other wraps around his back keeping him from easily disentangling himself.

Fox can’t help himself as he slips one glove off and cards his fingers through her hair, stopping every so often to work out a tangle. Mouse sighs against him.

“Precious girl,” he hums lowly as her fingers trace along the stubble at his jaw, “go to sleep.”

“You're going to leave once I do.”

“Yes, that was the deal.”

“You’re not going to come back.”

Again, he’s struck with how well she knows him. “No, cyar’ika. I’m not.”

6 days earlier

His knuckles are wailing in pain and it feels so kriffing good. His hands, wrapped in protective tape are held tight and safe as he tenderizes the heavy bag in front of him. A low, guttural growl works its way up from his chest with each landed blow.

It’s the first time he’s felt in control in days. Even if it only lasted for his duration in the sparring rooms he didn’t care. When he closes his eyes he doesn’t see Mouse at the end of his blaster, the way her body recoiled and convulsed at the first shot. He doesn’t hear the scream that rips through her when the second bolt burns through her side. He doesn’t dwell on the voice in his head demanding the kill while Fox did everything to drag his near perfect aim away from center mass.

He pictures Sidious’ face on the bag and the pile of sloppy mash his fists were making it into. There’s catharsis in the exertion that a psych droid couldn’t give him.

“Commander, sir?”

Fox turns to see Hound stripped down to just his black under armor pants. He was a burly boy as far as clones went, thicker and more muscular through the torso, next to Hound, Fox looks almost lithe.

Fox pants lightly as he dips to grab a bottle of water and straighten back up. “What can I do for you?”

“I- do you need to-“

Fox watches as the man chooses his words carefully, finally gesturing first toward the mat.

“You wanna go a few, rounds? Looks like you could use it?”

A roll of tape is flipped through the air in answer. Hound catches it smoothly, giving Fox a happy grin as he begins wrapping his hands.

5 days earlier

There’s a neat hole in his wall, fist sized and fresh, less than a week old. Fox pretends like he doesn’t see Chancellor Organa eyeballing it with some amount of apprehension. What he can’t pretend is that a visit from the newly minted Chancellor to his office isn’t a surprise.

“Commander, you can drop the title with me.” The Chancellor says for the second time since his arrival.

“Sir, it’s frowned upon-“

“-not by me”

Fox huffs and closes his eyes to hide the roll of them. “Ok, fine. Can I get you something to drink? Some caf?”

Bail waves off the offer, “I won’t be long and it looks like you're woefully underserved.” He tips his head back toward the door and the empty desk.

A bristle of irritation tingles down Fox’s neck. “She was in the hospital. She was…” the words trail off. Part of protecting his little Mouse was keeping her involvement in the Sidious event quiet.

“I know, Commander.” Bail says quietly, “we share a friend on the council who’s made me aware of many interesting things.”

It feels like he’s being baited. He likes to think Organa wouldn't try to try to weasel information from him but his trust is a very delicate thing at the moment and he’s not willing to give an inch. His loyalty is to his men and the republic, after that only one other person had earned any devotion from him and that was not Bail Organa. At least not yet.

“If there’s anything I can do for her, anything she needs we can make that happen.”

Fox glances at the picture on his desk. It had come by courier earlier in the day. It’s been neatly matted and framed to be hung, a children’s drawing of a small green twi’lek child and him holding hands. He’d stared at it on his desk in silence for far too long before he felt something ugly bubble up. Now he had a hole in the wall. He hoped the picture would cover it.

Fox continues to look at the picture. He needs a second to pretend like he knows what Mouse needs. He doesn’t listen to the nagging voice inside of him saying it to him. He hates that voice, would smother it if he could.

“She needs time to heal.”

“I can make that happen.”

“Thank you.”

Earlier this day

“Senator Amidala” Fox greets the senator at the door, “this is a surprise. If I keep receiving politicians in my office I’m going to have to have it made more suitable.”

The senator gives him a bright smile, “it’s good to see you Fox.”

He lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, “it’s good to see you too Padmé.”

They were friends, of a sort. They’d seen enough together that Fox would gladly file her under battle buddies in his short list of friends. She looks lovely, as always, absolutely glowing. Her hand rests softly over the growing baby bump she was now proudly displaying.

“You look wonderful. Congratulations on the coming Ik’aad.” He offers gesturing toward her belly. His eyes linger and he remembers laying Mouse across his bed, placing kisses in a ring around her naval and imaging what it would be like someday when he-

Fox gives his head a quick shake and refocuses on the senator.

“Thank you.” He watches her eyes travel to the child’s drawing on the wall behind his desk before returning to him. “And how are you doing?”

“As well as can be expected. Chancellor Organa keeps a busy schedule and he’s insistent that I go with him. He’s got a lot of ideas and he asks my opinion. It’s different… but it’s nice.”

Padmé slips into the chair across from him.

“That’s wonderful” but she doesn’t sound like it’s wonderful. She sounds like she was here on a mission that he hasn’t been briefed on. He raises a brow at her. They’ve known each other long enough that she should know to just come out with it.

“We’re leaving for Naboo today. I want to have the baby in the lake country. It’s beautiful and peaceful.” She lets out a tired laugh, “and far away from the prying eyes of the holonet news.”

“They’ve been very… interested in you as of late” he offers diplomatically.

Another small laugh, “to say the least” Padmé sobers. “I just wanted to make sure you were ok with her going?”

Confusion must show on his face. Her?

Padmé frowns gently, the look of pity is out of place on her serene features, “you weren’t told, were you?”

“I’m afraid you’ll need to speak clearly.” Fox tries to bite back the tension but it slips into his voice.

She says Mouse’s name. Her real name.

“The Chancellor asked if we would take her with us. That she needed a place to finish recovering.” Padmé is watching his face. She’s trying to gauge his reaction.

He tries to give her nothing.

“She’s an amazing woman. She said if she went then she had to be useful. She’s going to be my assistant while I’m on leave-“

Fox holds up a hand. “She’s excellent at what she does. You’ll never be in better hands.”

“What about you?”

“I’m not her keeper. Mouse deserves to be safe and happy.” He shoots her a forced smile. “That’s not with me.”

Current

He had the rancor etched into his arm after Thorn had been killed in action on a mission Fox was supposed to have led. It was an inside joke they’d heard as shinies. Something about a Jedi and a rancor walking into a cantina. He can’t remember the punchline. It wasn’t funny anyways.

The Pantoran works the needle over his freshly shaven chest. Back and forth, outlining and filling. Pressing the ink into his skin to permanently mark him with another mark of regret, penance. Everytime he looks in the mirror, stripped down from his armor and his blacks he’ll see the reminder of what never was supposed to be, the thing that he went after when he knew it wasn’t allowed. The love that nearly destroyed the person he cared for beyond all others.

“So, this picture is pretty wicked” the Pantoran says conversationally. He glances back and forth from the reference picture Fox gave him, a partial hand print pressed against his armor, the fourth and fifth finger only partially visible and the heel of the hand smeared red. “Was it done in ink?”

“No. Blood.”

The Pantoran makes a sound of understanding. The buzz of the tattoo gun fills the quiet.

Seconds, minutes, hours it’s all the same as Fox sits still as stone in the chair, the press of the needle intimately familiar.

He thinks of Mouse on a shuttle to Naboo.

This was what he’d needed. Mouse far away, somewhere safe. Somewhere no one could hurt her. Where he couldn’t hurt her. No matter what he’s told he still doesn’t believe there isn’t something in him that can be persuaded, to be flipped on, that won’t harm her.

He needed to focus on his job, his men, the Galactic Republic. There was no world in which he and Mouse would work and it was better that she wasn’t there to know that.

“Alright, mate.” The Artist sets the gun down and claps his hands once before rubbing them together. “You’re all set. Why don’t you take a looksy in the mirror while I grab the bacta gel and a dressing?”

Fox nods and pushes himself up. His back is stiff from laying still and he takes a moment to stretch and twist before stepping in front of the mirror. His eyes trace the ink. It’s a perfect replica of the picture, deep vibrant red fingers pressing into his armor, only now pressing into his heart. A reminder of what happens when he becomes selfish. When he wants more than the greater design allows for.

“It’s perfect.”

#fox and mouse #commander fox/reader #cc 1010 #commander fox #fox fanciers #tcw

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afterhoursfic · 4 years

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Hi! I saw your lactation prompt with Yen, and it reminded me of this prompt I sent to another blog. It wasn't their cup of tea and I was wondering if you might like it? Eskel/Vesemir/Geralt/Lambert daddy!kink, breeding!kink, lactation. wolf school used to use a potion to make their witchers lactate for when they recieved a baby child of surprise. The wolves don't believe it, so Vesemir makes a batch and Eskel volunteers to try it. It works, but it also makes him horny AF. He begs to be bred and his papa Vesemir and his brothers are more than willing to help. It's all about those hoe Eskel rights!

Okay I really loved this prompt and not just for the hoe Eskel part, but I hope you enjoy reading it!

He doesn’t know how the conversation started, just that it was late and they were all deep in their cups on Lambert’s shitty moonshine, even Vesemir for once.

It wasn’t as if they cared for the old witcher practices, if they weren’t useful now, and most weren’t, there was no point in knowing it because it only served to open wounds and secrets that should really remain unknown.

Yet when the conversation predictably goes to Geralt’s child of surprise, a topic Lambert enjoys bringing up every chance he gets (he’s just thankful they don’t bring up Diedre), Vesemir buts in with his own stories of the problem of too many babies earned through the law of surprise and no safe way to bring them to Kaer Morhen. Basically, they couldn’t produce milk to sustain them, a fair point, but the school was desperate for recruits and so they made a potion, and each witcher out on the path would take the recipe so if the time ever came, they could lactate to support their new charge.

The story is just a bit too outlandish for him, and given Lambert’s scowl and Geralt’s somewhat mortified glare, no doubt imagining himself lactating to feed Ciri from one side of the continent to the other, he knows they don’t believe it either.

But then Vesemir lists off the ingredients with far too much ease and then the method to make it, adding in that he almost did it for Geralt, but he was just old enough not to need it when Vesemir found him, which frankly earned a snort from him and a ribbing from Lambert who would no doubt use it to his advantage in the future.

Hearing all of it though Eskel can’t help but feel curious. He craves knowledge, always eager to delve into the unknown, at least bookwise, he wasn’t going to gamble his life on a contract, and hearing this he wanted to know the truth, if such a thing could really work.

As Geralt and Lambert scuffled on the other side of the table Eskel turned to Vesemir, a hint of humor in the older witchers eye when he turned to face him and he whispered, almost impossible to hear even to himself.

“Can you make the potion?”

Vesemir just scoffed as he drained his cup slurring out “Of course I could make it, if you listened a minute ago you would know how to make it as well”

Then there was silence as Vesemir refilled his mug, Geralt and Lambert now staring between them and Eskel could swear his face turned bright red in embarrassment as they pieced together the conversation.

All eyes were on him then and Eskel hated it, feeling like he was examined down to the bone and he was just about to stand up and say his goodnight’s, hoping the next morning the others were all too drunk to remember it when Geralt spoke up.

“You want to try the potion” Sure, he did, but having it said so bluntly didn’t exactly help matters and he just nodded once in answer and the room turned silent again as they all thought on it, on what would happen. He looked up when Geralt hummed and he could smell the startings of arousal? Coming off of Geralt as he turned to him again “Can I be there?”

Eskel nodded again before saying “It’s just curiosity, nothing else”

Again, he felt all of their eyes boring into him, before suddenly Lambert leaned back and smacked his hand on the table “Well guess I’ve got to see it too now, plus it’ll be fun to watch you squirm”

He felt himself let out a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding and almost didn’t even hear Vesemir interject “That settles it, we’ll all be there. Tomorrow good?”

He could only nod as he tried to come to terms with what he agreed to, he was going to down some potion that hasn’t been used in decades to make himself lactate for all his brothers to see. With a sigh he straightened his back before finishing his drink, turning his eyes away as he bid them farewell and escaped back to his room to properly work out what the fuck just happened.

When he woke up the next morning, he half hoped it was all some drunken fever dream. In fact, he’d fully talked himself into believing it until he got downstairs to see a grinning Lambert, never a good sign.

He was only proven right as Lambert stepped closer to grab his pec as if it were a women’s tit before quickly stepping away from hitting distance as he said “So how do you feel about growing your own pair of tits? Will be the first you’ve touched in how long?”

He’s somewhat proud of how he manages to catch Lambert unawares and knock him to the floor in retaliation before he quickly escapes back to the kitchen for food, but not before Lambert tells him Vesemir’s already preparing his potion and that it’ll be ready by noon. Great, now he had a deadline, and he won’t be able to focus on anything else until this whole business is over with.

Although the more he thinks about it he finds himself almost excited about it, about how it would feel as his tits filled out, would they even fill out and what it would be like to leak milk, could he convince one of them to suck at his tit so he could feel that too?

He cussed Lambert for putting thoughts in his head and got himself some bread and meats before heading back to his room, and no he didn’t stomp his way there or slam his door in a horny strop, no matter what Lambert says.

It’s gone midday when he ventures out of his room, it’s not like he can stay there forever and it’s better than having one of them come knocking on his door to tell him to drink his lactating potion. Gods he was so fucked.

It didn’t make going down to the great hall to see all three of them sitting there, waiting for him, and feigning polite conversation as if they weren’t just about to watch their brother, brother, lactate.

Thankfully, he wasn’t made to ask for the potion, Vesemir just held it out to him and he quickly snatched it up, ignoring their eyes boring into him as he unstoppered it to get a smell. He didn’t know what he expected but it wasn’t the sweet smell wafting up to him, almost like a mix of honey and milk he’d seen mothers make their kids at night, and he was quick to shove that thought to the side as he quickly downed the potion in one.

He was surprised when the effects weren’t instantaneous like their other potions and for a long while he thought it hadn’t worked and that Vesemir’s memory wasn’t as good as he seemed to think. He was just about to gruffly tell them that the show’s over and head back to meditate, no not strop Lambert, in his room.

At least that’s until he feels an itch? A pain? On the right side of his chest and for a moment he thinks that somehow, he’s having a heart attack, it’s a feeling so unfamiliar to him that he can’t help but lift a hand to work at the ache steadily growing and he’s only faintly aware when he hears Geralt’s breath hitch.

When he looks to the other witcher he sees his eyes are blown wide and fixed to wear he’s working his chest, which just so turns out to be his pec, his pec that’s supposed to be producing milk and Eskel lets out his own breath. He can’t get his shirt off fast enough and when he does, he’s looking down as he strokes and squeezes at his tits, barely able to keep back his moan when he notices that they're bigger, easily a full handful now and he can’t stop himself from playing with them.

He wants to see himself, to force the first bead of milk out but no matter how much he works his tits nothing seems to work. There is a pressure there that he’s desperate to release but he can’t help but get frustrated when all he does do is work himself up the more he pinches and tugs at his nipples until Lambert speaks up.

“Looks like you’ve got a bigger problem than a couple of sore tits, your cock’s trying to say hello” He ignores Lambert’s snicker as he gets hit over the head to look down and sure enough the head of his cock is peeking out of the top of his pants, hard and leaking over his stomach and clothes. Now that he’s seen it it’s all he can focus on, how his cock is so hard it almost hurts, so he moves a hand under his trousers to start jerking off whilst the other keeps pinching at his tits trying to get anything out at this point and he really can’t help his groan. “Fucking hell Vesemir, witchers took this around kids? That’s fucked up, and more fucked up than usual”

He barely registers Lambert getting hit again or Vesemir’s ‘The effects are different for everyone’ because he just aches too much, he feels too empty and too full, and whilst he can gradually feel something building it’s not enough, he needs more, to be filled up properly to drive him over because he thinks he’ll go insane with want before anything happens.

“Fuck me” It was said as a whisper, one Eskel didn’t realize he’d even said until he heard three gasps of air. He couldn’t wait though, desperate for anything to fill him up at this point, to take him over the edge and get him to spill, from where didn’t matter but he just needed it.

He repeated the command even as his eyes shut, head rolled back as he continued working his cock and nipple, growling when it did little to help the empty ache that begged him to be filled, in fact, he’d just moved his hand down past his taint to try and get his fingers into his hole, slick with nothing but pre.

A growl left him when a firm hand grabbed his wrist to stop him and he looked up to see Vesemir, a vial of something in his other hand as he coaxed Eskels hand out of his pants.

“If you want to get fucked then we’re going to do it properly before you hurt yourself” Eskel could only focus on the words ‘we’ and ‘fuck’ and the thought had his hole clenching, just waiting to feel one of them slide their cocks in and Eskel couldn’t help himself from taking his hand back to stroke his cock again before Vesemir batted it away “We can’t fuck you with your clothes on wolf”

That sentence he did register and was practically tearing his clothes off, shivering as the cool air of the room hit him and he didn’t even realize someone was helping him until he was naked and he briefly caught a flash of white hair before a mouth was on his nipple, sucking and biting it whilst Geralt’s hand fondled his other tit, now swollen and too big for a handful but it still didn’t stop Geralt.

Eskel hissed at the feeling of it, at the gentle pressure and the way Geralt was sucking at his tit like he was desperate for something, his milk he realized in the back of his mind, and Eskel felt his knees grow weak as Geralt doubled his efforts, and he would have fallen if it wasn’t for Vesemir’s strong grip on his hips.

He didn’t even recognize when Lambert came up behind him, just felt his head being pulled back and he found himself leaning back against a strong chest and pulled into a messy kiss purely because he didn’t have the brainpower for anything more finessed.

So focused on Lambert’s burning grip around his waist, on the way he licked into his mouth as Geralt moved his mouth to his other tit, a line of spit connecting him whilst he admired the red, swollen nipple he’d been working on until he rushed forward to latch desperately onto his other one. It was all too much and not enough, and he still felt too empty, was ready to whine about and try and work Lambert’s cock into his ass somehow, regardless of prep, until he clenched his hole and found that he was currently being finger fucked by Vesemir and gods how had he missed that.

“In me, please, need one of you in me now” He heard Lambert chuckle against his lips and Vesemir tut, mentioning something about manners, but then Lambert had a hand under his thigh and was lifting it up to make space for Vesemir to step between his legs. “Daddy” He felt Vesemir shudder, could hear Lambert swear in his ear and Geralt groan with a mouth still around his nipple, and the feeling was enough to have Eskel whine because he was so close to getting what he wanted, no needed “Daddy, daddy please breed me, wanna be filled with your pups”

Eskel whined when he felt Geralt pull away, but he didn’t mourn long before he felt Vesemir's hands under his thighs, holding him up and open which left Eskel clinging onto Vesemir’s shoulders as the older witcher quickly fucked his cock into him. He didn’t even get a chance to enjoy finally feeling full, to grind down and feel his cock settle even deeper into him, the perfect place to come and so deep inside of him he’ll have to catch, but all thoughts of that were gone as Vesemir immediately started fucking him, nothing but the sound of their fucking and Eskel’s unbidden moans on every other thrust could be heard.

“That’s it, daddy, just like that, just like-“ He broke off with a cry as Vesemir moved his hips and was now driving against his prostate “Fuck daddy right there, you gonna knock me up? Gods wanna be full of your pups, want you to fuck me till I’m dripping come, daddy, will you do that?”

“I won’t last long with that mouth on you, wolf”

Eskel couldn’t help but moan, trying to fuck himself back on Vesemir’s’ cock despite the tight grip on his thighs letting out chants of ‘yesyesyes’ and ‘harder daddy’ and ‘right there’, reminding Vesemir he has to fuck him deep if he wants him to catch. The comment is always accompanied by a swear from Vesemir before he shifts his legs to reach deeper in him to make his hole tighter around Vesemir’s’ cock until the witcher is panting and Eskel’s pretty sure he’s drooling over Vesemir’s shoulder as he whines at the witcher to come.

It’s when Vesemir leans forward to latch onto one of Eskel’s nipples, sucking at it that Eskel swears he leaks a bit of milk into Vesemir’s mouth, and that fact with Vesemir changing his angle so that his cock stretches even further into him has Eskel coming. His neglected cock twitching as he spills between them and he’s pretty sure he whines out for his daddy again because he feels Vesemir fuck into him once, twice, and on the third time he stays there, grinding deeper into him as the witcher comes with a snarl, fucking him full of come and the realization has Eskel clench around Vesemir’s cock trying to coax as much out as he can.

When he comes to a little bit, he realizes he’s being passed off to Lambert, behind him but still being held up as Vesemir pulls out. Eskel whimpers and tries to cling onto Vesemir with a soft ‘daddy’ to get him to stay, that and the fact that Vesemir’s come is dripping out of him, he can hear it splatter on the stone beneath him, has Eskel feeling hollow and empty again.

Vesemir just offers him a quick kiss before pulling back to say “You wanna get bred don’t you wolf? You’ll have a better chance with three of us, have you swollen by the end of the night if that’s what you want” Eskel’s shudder and muttered swear is answer enough as Vesemir pulls away and his space is quickly filled with Geralt who again latches onto one of his tits.

He’s not left waiting as he feels Lambert slip his cock into him, the sound of their fucking wet and dirty as Lambert whispers a whole manner of dirty things to him, all centered with him on someone’s cock, whilst Geralt worked at his tits, desperate to taste a drop of him as his brother humped his front. Occasionally their cocks bumped together, but Eskel wasn’t fully hard yet, was still recovering from the last one but even then it was the last thing on his mind, right now it was all about getting Lambert to add to the mess Vesemir had left in his hole.

It’s not long before Lamberts biting his neck whilst he grinds his cock deep into him as he comes, and it's then Geralt moans and snarls as he pulls away, pinching one of his nipples between his fingers and he looks down too to watch a bead of milk bead at the tip before Geralt again snarls as he latches on, humping him desperately as he sucks and Eskel lets out a shattered groan when the ache on his tit gives way to pure relief, ecstasy, as he’s finally letting out milk.

He can hear Lambert whine behind him before the witcher's hand comes to work on his other tit to help alleviate the ache whilst Geralt feeds, slapping their brother away with a snarl of mine when Geralt moves to latch onto that one. Eskel’s sure he can come from this, he can feel Lambert’s cock, still inside him, getting hard again and glancing over his prostate whilst Geralt feeds on him.

Only then Geralt chokes as he comes between them and suddenly Eskel is begging ‘In me, Geralt, get your cock in me now’ and he feels Lambert start to pull out, feels the stretch when Geralt tries to shove his cock in just as the head of Lambert’s cock is pulling out, can feel the stretch of both of them in his hole for just a moment before Lambert’s out and Geralt is grinding out the tail end of his orgasm and it’s that which has him shaking through a second orgasm.

The rest of the night is spent in much of the same way, in that even being filled by all three of them isn’t enough, that ache to be filled comes back and he begs to get two of them in his ass at once, but the promise of another time from Vesemir will have to do for now. Although the implied later, of doing this all again, is not lost on Eskel.

They spend hours on the floor by the fire, where he’s left to ride Geralt’s cock who watches with wide eyes and eager hands on his tits as they bounce with each movement, but it doesn’t last long before Lambert kneels beside him to latch onto his other nipple, groaning at the first taste of his milk. Before he can pull either of them into a kiss, where just the thought of tasting his own milk on their tongues has him shiver, Vesemir pulls his head, teasing his cock head at his mouth and fuck why hadn’t Eskel thought of this, letting out a moan when he feels Vesemir’s cock slide deep down his throat.

#afterhours cw lactation #afterhours cw breeding kink #afterhours cw daddy kink #afterhours fic week #any feedback is welcome

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