#it's supposed to be a full body piece but i have trouble drawing legs/feet

[chikoyama]

i'm sorry, i really haven't had muse to write lately (that's why i've also been a little reluctant to engage with people). on the other hand, my desire to draw has returned! here's a sketch of chiyori partly transformed using her cursed technique!

[angeli-marco-writes]

Harry Holland - Polaroids

A/N & WC - I do not know Harry or the other people mentioned in this fic, nor do I claim to; this is a work of fiction. 3.9k.

Warnings - Swearing, mention of food, smut: depictions of oral (m+f rec), penetrative sex, use of toys, bondage & bdsm, photos being taken in the act, mild exhibitionism and definite voyeurism (not Harry or reader) 18+.

Summary - You and Harry have an exciting intimate life to say the least, and he rather enjoys taking photos of the two of you in compromising positions. However, in his sex-addled mind, one vital fact is let slip when he allows Sam into his room unsupervised.

“BUD, WHERE ARE THOSE PHOTOS you took of my food the other day?” Sam asks.

The sizzling of pancakes overlaps the conversation, and you mussing up Harry’s hair distracts him, his attention drawn to more important matters than his brother. Harry barely swallows his giant mouthful of food before speaking.

“By my bed there’s a huge pile, they’ll be somewhere,” he answers flippantly.

Flippantly.

Usually so cautious and so organised Harry lets one thing slip his mind for five seconds, and his life is going to fall through the cracks. His reputation will be utterly destroyed. Just with his brother, but it still stands. Sam is… more innocent than Harry has ever been. And Sam will also tell the others, and likely their friends…

“Remembered something, baby?” you muse sardonically from beside him, your hand halting its movements as you cup his jaw, turning him to face you.

The second his green eyes meet yours, you watch the world crumble in his eyes. You’ve never seen him scramble up from his seat so quickly. His bare feet slap on the tiled floor violently, thudding sounds echoing through the house as he blunders around, swinging around the banister with the force and elegance of an elephant.

“Sam! FUCK— Wait!”

“Don’t look in that pile of photos,” you add in a feeble shout.

It’s not like what Sam’ll find there is any secret. You’ve been together a long time, you and Harry, and everyone knows full well that you’re shagging, but that doesn’t mean you necessarily want them to know exactly what happens in the bedroom, in your most intimate, secret moments together. That’s sacred, even if it seems like sacrilege to so many.

No matter how quickly you hear Harry legging it upstairs, his lean legs carrying him up the stairs perhaps three at a time, his curly hair even more unruly than before from the exertion, you know he won’t be fast enough, and that Sam is an insolent bastard when he wants to be. You’ve lived with them all long enough and have had more than your fair share of near misses: no chance will you not be found out, this time you’ll be caught. Better than the alternative and the other times, you suppose, as you cram one more syrup-drizzled and strawberry-covered pancake into your gob, reluctantly trudging your way upstairs to the hive of fun.

It’s chaos by the time you get there. Dozens of artfully-taken photos spilled out onto your duvet, Harry’s freckled face paler than you’ve ever seen it, his hands tugging at his pyjama shirt convulsively while Sam stands on the other side of the room, his dark eyes wide, his expression agog, his jaw unhinged, staring blankly and pointing at whatever the most incriminating thing is he sees next. You just hope he doesn’t go ferreting through your drawers, because then you’ll really be in trouble.

“What… the fuck.”

You come up to Harry’s side, and wrap an arm around his slim waist, lending a weak, “Surprise?”

It’s their fault if they haven’t guessed, frankly.

You can’t draw your eyes away from the pictures, so many of them, all displaying different aspects of your sex life at varying degrees of explicitness. You can even recount the minutes and hours of pleasure that led to the photos, each occasion etched into your mind. Sure, you and Harry go at it a lot, but you don’t always go the extra mile, hence why these commemorative photos of your special nights are so treasured. And private. Or, were.

The first one… oh boy, that takes you back to the most far-out, extreme experiment you tried—the most recent, as well: just this past weekend. You’re still covered in rope burn from it, though that could’ve been prevented if you hadn’t writhed or wriggled about so much while in those bonds. The amount of attempts it took, the sheer number of YouTube tutorials you had to watch, but it was definitely worth it. The intricate patterns the ropes formed all across your body, creating braids down your back, suspending you prone with little movement in your arms or legs. It was heaven to have Harry tugging on the ropes, contorting you into new and wonderful positions for his own delightful access to all of you. Perhaps it’s not something you’ll gravitate towards again, but it was fun while it lasted, and it’s another thing to tick off your list of fun, kinky bedroom experiments to try. To be fair, even though the swathes of soft, rose-coloured rope, intricately woven around you were a lot, you certainly wouldn’t be averse to trying something else with rope. Less shibari, perhaps just normal levels of bondage. You can feel the skin on your arms prickling with heat: Harry feels it too, winding his fingers into yours, holding on tight as he struggles to suppress a smirk.

The next set is interesting, and rather common. Harry’s freckled, ring-less hand is unmistakable in the dappled light as it grapples with the handle of a leather whip, or a paddle, even his belt, bringing them down harshly onto your ass cheeks, already reddened with hand prints, purple from bruises. In one of them, your skin is even glistening with his release, and another, your hands are suspended behind your back. Harry’s always been one for spanking, and the rest of them know it. Even before you were sleeping together he’d playfully smacked your bum, and he certainly hasn’t stopped even with the sexual connotations it now conveys between the two of you. As though he can read your mind, he snakes a hand down and pats you on the bum; his wink telling you it’s just for good measure. Cheeky shit.

One in the dead centre brings shivers throughout your body. Not because it wasn’t fun or pleasurable, but because of the way it made you feel afterwards. Yes, you’d talked through it in thorough details—as with everything the two of you do—how it made you feel going in, throughout, and you’d got a safe word sorted, but perhaps you hadn’t discussed all the long term risks of it. The pretty pink collar, the satin blindfold… The whole subservient thing is a big turn on for Harry, and you played into it, you always do and you naturally fall into a position of less power in your relationship because of the way you are, but being degraded in such a way isn’t for you. You can’t help but feel a sting of shame ricochet through your heart. Harry must feel it this considering how reactive he is: he leaps towards the bed and snatches it up, shredding it before your eyes, chucking it into the bin, and curling another protective arm around you.

“Look,” you whisper to Harry, turning his attention elsewhere as you point to the bottom few: your favourite photos of all.

Despite the disarray, they’re all together, and they remind you of an incredible night. Your anniversary, and what a special day it was. Butterflies swarm you at the sight of them again, but it feels strange for someone else to be looking at them. Not that you or Harry are exactly in a fit state to be proactive about preventative measures now Sam’s seen them all. His eyes bulge from his face, his mouth going dry as he swallows viciously, suddenly having to shift his already apparently tight shorts. Again.

“You’re so sexy in those, baby,” purrs Harry.

He’s damn right, you do look incredibly sexy. And though the first one in the chronological series is you mostly covered, you can remember how hard his dick was at the sight alone, salivating, clenching his fists to stop from ripping the lingerie from you piece by piece. You wanted to put on a show for him that day: who was he to deny you?

On top of your bra, panties and stockings was a nightgown, and above that, a dressing gown. Each image shows you in a further state of undress. It was a deep burgundy lace set of negligée with soft satin straps that pushed your boobs together, lifting them up, the lace hooked together with a single eyelet on your spine, whereas the panties, though half covering your cheeks with dustings of lace, hid nothing while they sat high on your hips, revealing your entire upper thigh where a matching satin garter sat with tiny lace bows. The entire thing cost a fortune. You forked out a damn arm and a leg for what you got, even with a discount included with a certain toy you bought.

First went the dressing gown, letting it fall from your shoulders, allowing it to pool around your feet as you showed off the skimpiness of the silk slip in a series of flourishing twirls, much to Harry’s delight. Next went the slip, and you honestly wish you’d taken a picture of his face utterly agog—as you stood there in stockings held up by garters, barely there panties and a push up bra. There’s one shot of his rough fingertips playing with the trim of the stockings delightedly, like a kid in a candy shop. Next went the feeble scrap of fabric that you dared to call a bra, barely covering your nipples, allowing your breasts free, spilling into Harry’s awaiting hand. You remember the next part vividly, because he was just about to peel the panties off when you laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“I’ve got a surprise for you, babe.” you cooed.

His twinkling eyes grew as wide as saucers, and you dared to card your fingers through his curls as you settled yourself over his lap, letting him keep his camera in one hand while leading the other down, down, a little further…

He’s never since made a sound quite like it, so visceral and animalistic, so ready to devour you, to come on sight. He’s never been as hard as he was in that instance.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he moaned, a deep groan released from him the second his fingers slipped through your folds to find dripping arousal all ready for him. “Just—wait a minute…”

You followed his every instruction for the next few moments, finding yourself standing up in a good lighting position, Harry strategically beneath you as he snapped a particularly incriminating (yet oh so sexy shot) of your bare pussy in crotchless panties. Harry’s never recovered. He’s already openly admitted that he uses those particular photos more than any others to get himself off whenever you’re away from him. However, the creases and folded corners of one particular photo can’t be blamed on him, since that’s the one you use when you're away, two of his fingers plunged knuckle-deep inside you in those exact panties, from that exact angle, desperately trying to replicate the irreplaceably pleasurable feeling of him within you. He took a good few more than had to be thrown away. Spillages are awfully unfortunate… He fucked you that night with the panties, stockings and garters still on. Twice. Then without the panties, then without the stockings, then nude at last at some ungodly hour of the morning when he took you at last as the sun rose. You didn’t sleep a wink.

There are more of you with lingerie on, nightgowns and matching sets, scraps of silk and strange one pieces that took you hours to get on, but they’re bound to make a sort of book, stowed away neatly (mercifully) beneath his bed.

Sam still hasn’t moved from his state of paralysed shock, and though you should probably clear the photos up from where they’re dumped, you feel a filthy swelling pride within your chest, a glean of risk as you watch Sam rove his eyes over some more, these all involving toys. If only he knew where you hid them. One his eyes focus on is you with a thick purple rubber dildo deep inside you, a rabbit vibrator stuck to your clit. Your body is but a blur, writhing around for Harry, your hands cuffed before you and not released no matter how much you moved. Harry wouldn’t let you stop coming for what felt like hours: it was the first time you squirted for him as a cry tore from your heaving chest, drenching the bed with your fifth orgasm of the night. Harry vowed he’d be the only one to make you squirt after that, no toys involved, and he’s stayed true to his word.

There’s a few more, and Sam seems to be furrowing his thick brows at the sight of the Polaroids. Glass wands, spreader bars, clit suctions (that admittedly look like they’d be used in a spa for a facial). Poor boy is being corrupted...

Good God, you need to get those toys out again.

With his twin's attention diverted, you snake your hand down the front of Baz’s shorts, wrapping your fingers around his already hard member through his boxers: he seems to be enjoying this as much as you are.

You point out one of your favourite pictures, a debauched mess that shouldn’t be viewed by anyone else, frankly. Harry was reluctant about hurting you or pushing you too far, but you begged to be gagged. You meant just by a tie, maybe his bandana—which features in many images in many different manners: as a bind for your hands, tying you to the bed, keeping your ankles together, even wrapped lightly around your neck, but never as a gag—but he went all out. When you got home, he was waiting in his room with a leather-bound ball gag.

“You begged, baby,” he said, and you couldn’t refute. You had begged, but this was above and beyond. You complied with his every wish that night, and though you’d do it again in a heartbeat, Harry wasn’t a fan of not being able to shove his fingers or cock down your throat at any given moment. He liked hearing your whines and moans and hushed curses, prayers of his name. He also liked hearing your bratty, belligerent rebuttals when he took on a dominant role. You enjoyed it more than a little, but only now can you see how much of a mess you were, messy hair and tears spouting from your eyes, drool down your chin...

Given the chance of the slightest spark of stimulation, you’ll be coming on the spot.

There’s a scattered pile of the two of you in just about every position under the sun, every shape in the karma sutra, fucking both inside and out, al fresco sex beneath the big oak in the garden, anyhow, anywhere and everywhere you could fuck safely and privately, you would, and you didn’t even realise Harry had snapped some of these shots after consenting to him taking them at any time. Your eyes squeezed shut as you peaked, Baz’s palm kneading your chest, your skirt hiked up around your stomach while your jaw was agape, your pussy exposed and glistening slick in the mirror, penetrated by Harry’s cock. That was a good day, mirror sex, and definitely something you’ll try again. This time with your own mirror... There are a few snapshots of oral, perfect Polaroids of Harry’s nose nuzzled into your pussy, his tongue deep in your core, his lips on your labia, all of them for your sake whenever he goes away.

“Gonna recreate that one tonight,” Harry husks, pointing towards one image in particular of you sucking him off.

His huge member down your throat, you’d trained yourself to breathe solely through your nose, but the neatly trimmed patch of hair there tickled your nostrils. Harry’s talent for photography reveals your doe eyes were red rimmed, saliva trickling from the corner of your mouth matching the mascara tracks down your cheeks. You’ve never looked so fucked out, and Harry couldn’t believe you remained in that innocent façade, rosy cheeks and a coy expression even with his dick rammed down your throat, making you gag.

However, the one you’d like to recreate is one he picks up on, surreptitiously moving a hand to your chest, his fingers hovering over your peaked nipple.

“Reckon we can go again the second Sam fucks off?”

“Yes,” he eagerly exhales.

You don’t blame him, especially not when both twins are staring at the same image of your tits, pushed together with Harry’s dick between them, fucking your chest despite the fact his come already painted your chest in hot white strips, a beautiful painting you’d always wish to frame. He certainly has an obsession with your boobs so there are a couple like that, his hands all over them, the tip of his member tapping them, but the debauched one is by far your favourite. Similarly, there’s one of you tied to the bed, completely spread eagle, his dick resting on your stomach while your belly is coated in his come once again.

It seems, however, that’s what snagged Sam’s attention and has his face a ghastly shade of grey because it's so pale, is the one photo Harry never wanted anyone to see. You leap and snatch it up in one fell swoop, and Harry draws you into a bear hug within his arms, kissing your temple affectionately in thanks as you stow it away for safekeeping. Though Harry naturally carries the more dominant title in your relationship, you always like to shake things up, hence why this photo (and a series of others he already has hidden) depict Harry as your submissive. You walked around as the picture perfect dominatrix in stilettos, carrying a whip while Harry lay there with his hands bound, a blindfold on in some photos (you took them so they’re not as great, but he still looks damn sexy) with a vibrating cock ring wrapped snugly around his girth. He’s never come so hard or so much after you finally removed it and cuffed his hands to the bedpost and began to ride him. You can still feel the warmth of him climaxing within you if you close your eyes and clench your thighs.

“I promise I’ll touch you later,” boy do you hope he sticks to that promise he whispers while nibbling on your earlobe, “but Sam’s coming out of his daze in 3... 2... 1...”

“OH MY GOD.”

“Okay, I didn’t see that coming,” he remarks breathily, hazel eyes wide as he pivots, met with two incredulous stares. Tom’s cry wakes Sam up right on cue.

“Harry! What the fuck?!” Sam demands, his voice a bellow, horror and disgust and... something unattainable just emanates from him. “Why do you have three porn mags worth of your girlfriend down here? That’s fucked, mate.”

“No it’s not. We just like to have photographic reminders of all our... sexcapades.”

Sam is, unsurprisingly, retching, now finally turning his head away from the pile without even bothering to pick up.

“This was cool until you called them sexcapades,” Tom chimes, smacking Harry upside the head as he swaggers over to the bed, fishing a few photos up before tossing them back down.

Sam's horrified attitude doesn’t seem to be spreading thankfully, but you and Harry are understandably rooted to the spot, stuck to the carpet, just biding your time until this is over. Then again, you can’t really tell, since no one is saying anything. You nor Harry want to be the ones to break the silence, though, and you can tell with the furtive and expressive stares you’re sharing that his anxiety is increasing the more people are seeing this.

Momentarily, you think someone may remark about your silent communication, your fixed glances and speechless conversation, but instead, Harrison comes up to you both, a sly smirk etched onto his pretty model face as he clasps a hand around one shoulder of yours and one of Harry’s.

“Harry Holland, you kinky fucker,” he praises.

You definitely feel a swell of pride at that. And the fact that Tom is trying desperately hard not to look at you while also trying to hide how flustered he is, somehow still abhorred by the sight. Harrison’s intrigue is palpable, gnawing on his lower lip as his lithe fingers trace you on the polaroid's, whereas Sam? He can’t decide whether to cry or scream. Harry huddles in closer and cuddles you, ensuring you feel every part of him, just how much he wants this lot to leave to finally have you at his mercy once more.

“So you two are shagging,” Tom observes.

You and Harry nod between kisses.

“Dangerously.”

You nod again, though this time a little reluctantly.

You expect Harry to nestle down with you again, but instead he detaches himself, unravelling his arms, and shoulders past Tom and Haz. He gives Sam a death glare as he piles up all the Polaroids and shoves them deep in a drawer for him to organise later, away from prying eyes and judgemental comments.

“Really, though?” Sam bursts out, flailing his arms before grasping Harry’s collar. “I thought you’d just handcuff her and give her a smack at most, very vanilla.”

As much as he tries to fight it, Harry’s face flushes bright red, leaving no visible distinction between his forehead and hairline. “I think those photos, erm, tell a different story.”

He rocks on the balls of his feet, tugging himself out of his brother's grasp, only to fall into another, saved by Harrison’s scowl at Tom.

“Can you lot bloody get out? Please? I’d like some alone time with my girlfriend after that sodding invasion.”

“If you’re having alone time, we’re leaving the house for a while,” Tom jokes, “how long?”

You smirk, striding over to meet Harry, eyes fixed on him as you press onto your tiptoes, wrapping your fingers around his shoulder before kissing his earlobe. He wilts into your touch.

“Two hours should be enough time. Scram.”

They do, gladly, and you slam the door shut as their scurrying footsteps down the stairs recede. Harry’s grip increases around your waist, a growl escaping him as he pushes you onto the bed. You gasp when your back hits the mattress, his lips instantly attacking your jaw.

“Which of those polaroid's do you wanna recreate first, baby?”

—

It’s hours later, and you're all around for your weekly dinner at the Holland house. You and Harry, having some ‘business’ to attend to before leaving the house, are the last to arrive, and Paddy, poor unfortunate Paddy, has the delightful job of letting you into the house.

“Sam asked me to give you this,” he says barely before you’ve entered the porch.

Harry’s face pales as he unravels the small piece of paper bundled into his hand by his younger brother, but you could swear all blood drains from him the second the words sink in.

‘You took them, you lost them, you collect them. What would mum and dad say, Harold?’

“Harry, what’s happening?”

“That utter wanker stole the polaroids as revenge for scarring him. He’s hidden them around the house. We have to find them before mum and dad go looking. You in for the ride?”

“Only if Haz can join us tonight,” you tease, and after calling a hello to Harry’s parents, you follow him around the house, detaching all the pinned photos.

Harry's learnt a solid lesson today: hide his damn Polaroids better from now on, away from the prying eyes of his bloody brothers. But, he thinks with a smirk, by no means will the two of you stop taking them.

[iphoenixrising]

DickTimWeek2021 Day 2

** Day 2: Time Loop | Jealousy | Stray AU

Welp. Time to break some hearts.

They’re laughing like assholes as they climb through Timmy’s penthouse windows. 

“Did you see that thug punch himself in the face?”

“That’s the right way to get out of an ass beating by the Batman.”

Tim, still in Red Robin, doesn’t even bother, just lets his knees buckle so he can slide down to the floor and laugh until tears are rolling down the dominio still plastered on his face.

He’s riding the concussion train with 

(J)

Josephine and she’s not as bad as some of them are. 

Dick at least tosses the gloves and gauntlets before hauling Timmy’s bruised ass up off the floor, throwing the arm around his shoulders.

“C’mon, you butt. Really Timmy, just laying here in your suit? Alfred would be appalled.”

“S’why I don’t go to the Manor much anymore.”

“Ooh, I’m telling. You’re going to be in so much trouble,” as he gets Tim down the hallway to the bathroom.

“Y-You can’t! You’re the oldest! Dami’s supposed to be the tattle-tale!”

“Nu-uh. As the oldest, I can do whatever the hell I want.”

And does he tell on Timmy? You bet your ass he does.

It’s nice when Alfred can look at someone else in the family with extreme disappointment.

Tim comes by the Manor the day Alfred video chats him, shuffles down to the Cave behind the butler and absolutely sticks his tongue out at Dick’s smarmy grin.

**

His apartment is a literal mess and Dick can’t be bothered to do much more than flop on the overstuffed couch with a groan. 

Still in his uni from the day shift, he’s too bruised and battered and tired to even think of suiting up for the night. He’s been running himself ragged for two months, the day and night shifts blending together along with the usual bullshit of daily human life, and he desperately needs a night of terrible television, junk food, and snuggles.

Like he’d been reading the room, Timmy walks out of his bathroom, towel around his shoulder and hair just this side of damp.

“Hey, you made it home in one piece.” Tim’s long fingers in his hair literally pulls a noise out of Dick he can’t ever remember making.

“Yeah, I drove down because you looked like death warmed over when we talked last weekend. Luckily for you I went grocery shopping, did a few loads of your laundry, and cleaned up a little so you don’t have to worry about housework.”

“I love you. Have I told you that recently? Like, so, so much–” is muffled by the couch cushions, but he thinks Tim can probably still make it all out.

“Mmhm, I know,” and the gentle scratching against his scalp doesn’t stop, and Dick goes a little boneless with it. “I even brought my Roku so we can binge watch terrible television while you eat something more substantial than cereal. Alfred is going to be so proud of you.”

A pat to his head and Timmy is off, slinging his towel on the rack, turning on the shower again to make sure it’s nice and hot for all those bruises and contusions.

He’s no-nonsense about picking up his previous mentor and best friend, literally stripping him down and manhandling him in the shower after a low whistle at the span of blue/black across Dick’s chest and ribs, the scrapes across his back and shoulders. 

The first aid kit tackle box makes an appearance because Tim plans for literally everything ever, and Dick finds himself sitting on his sink wearily while his injuries are meticulously treated.

He knows he eats something super tasty with meat and vegetables, his belly full, before Tim pulls him down on the couch and lets Dick lay against his chest, between his legs to sleepily float while watching God-awful B-movies.

It’s the most relaxing weekend he’s had in a while.

**

Dami sneers at Tim, arms crossed over his chest, the expression on his face begging Tim to try to deny it.

The third Robin however, is looking over at Dick with horror that the big secret is finally out in the open.

“Th-that isn’t– it’s not–” Tim fumbles desperately, “he’s been my big brother forever, that’s it!”

“Tt. Grayson may be painfully oblivious, Drake, but the rest of us are detectives. Even Todd knows of your feelings and he rarely even comes to the Manor!”

Tim’s soul literally leaves his body.

Dick blinks, completely taken back, mouth open without anything coming out.

Damian raises his eyes skyward and prays for patients dealing with these two. “What I am saying,” he tries, he really is trying here, “is that you two must cease and desist this pointless–” vague hand wave– “pining for one another. It is getting to the point of absurdity. I demand you two either discuss your need for one another or take this ridiculous mooning elsewhere. The rooftops of Gotham is no place for this,” another hand wave, “utter nonsense.”

Tim’s mouth goes dry, subtly backing away to be closer to the Ducati’s waiting for tonight’s ride. He’s pretty sure he has enough energy left in his shaky knees to hop on one and be the fuck out of the Cave before his face literally bursts into flames.

But, well. Dick was Batman.

His strategic retreat is stomped into the ground by acrobatic leaps and a very well done joint lock to keep him from immediately taking off.

Dami scoffs at them on his way up the winding staircase. He stops Pennyworth on the way and turns the butler to return back into the Manor proper, citing those two needed time to figure themselves out.

**

After several weeks under deep cover, Nightwing wearily hacks into Titan’s Tower and makes his way through the maze of hallways until he hits a hidden panel. 

Tim is sleeping on his desk, only one empty coffee mug at his workstation. Even dead in his boots, Nightwing can take a second just to look, just to sigh, just to enjoy how much every inch of this boy is his.

He journeys down the hall, flips the bed covers up, carries his sleeping partner in and tucks the blankets around him, a quickly there kiss to the top of messy, too-long hair. A shower in Tim’s perch literally makes everything in life a little less awful and exhausting, not enough for him to do much more than crawl in bed against Tim’s warm body and snuggle up close.

He gets breakfast in bed and blue-violet eyes looking at him with fondness rather than awe, gets coffee flavored kisses and a slow-paced back rub that continues down to his thighs and calves and feet. Later, he gets a date night in a nice restaurant and a sweet San Fran club scene for dessert. He gets to let loose and hold Tim’s body against him, to play them both until the gazes are intense and the low key UST between them makes other people on the dance floor give them space.

**

Witty banter is a primary weapon against megalomaniacal bad guys of any flavor. For some former Robins, it’s an art form.

Over the years, they’ve cultivated their dip and distraction to bounce off one another like a well-oiled vigilante machine. 

It should have been a standard take-down because it’s not one of their more dangerous, deadly villains. It’s not one of the Rogue Gallery baddies. It’s not one of the mobster families, not one of the super powered groups come to call. It’s not someone with hordes of thugs and deadly science waiting to take them down.

It’s a simple B&E, just Nightwing talking it up to draw gunfire while Red Robin is creeping up from behind to get the last laugh.

It’s one of a thousand times they’ve done this. 

It’s a guaranteed win.

It’s the last hour of patrol before they get to go back to Red’s penthouse and snuggle together, eat and show, probably have some fantastic sex before passing out.

The .45 shell, however, cuts through the suit, between armored plates. 

Going after the running baddies is automatic, taking them down, zip ties, and viola. They’re ready for GCPD to pick-up, all kinds of gift-wrapped.

When N finally realizes Red isn’t with him, isn’t answering comms, isn’t waiting for him on the roof, he goes back inside. He hits up B for a ride in the big car in case he missed –

– anything.

The pool of blood around Red Robin is more than he can afford to lose, and Nightwing has been in the vigilante life for over twenty years, has been official with Red Robin for a little over two, has personal experience on how his Baby Bird can take a mostly-fatal beating and still keep moving. He’s seen Tim come close with the Clench, with horrifying injuries, with any of the many bad guys they fight holding him hostage.

Nightwing has seen him perform literal miracles.

And tells him so the entire time he’s got Red Robin up in his arms, carrying him through Gotham’s skyline to the waiting car, falling in with Red on his lap when the familiar hatch slides back, the tourniquet already applied before he even shot a grapple. The struggling pulse is enough of a concern to get it together.

And even if they all gather to strip off the suit, and now it’s on to get vitals back to an acceptable range. Even if the Bats cry overhead, even if the equipment is top notch in the Cave, even if Dick is still talking the whole time, and Alfred is keeping a cool head and Bruce is gripping a hand and Damian is standing at the ready to hand implements and Cass is biting her thumbnail while she hovers and Steph is moving from empty space to empty space around the gurney –

The consistent beep of the flatline cuts through it all.

**

The Titans make it for the service. 

Each of them make a point to hug Dick for as long as possible, holding on tightly.

Bruce is silent and stoic, a little boy again when he has to watch someone else he loves being lowered into the cold, unforgiving ground. Another Robin taking a piece of his heart to the afterlife. 

Steph is red-eyed, a ghost moving around to individual circles, listening to stories she might not have known. 

Cass grips the coffin with bruised knuckles, her whole body wound tight as a string ready to snap. She doesn’t move the entire service, is already convinced leaving him to his own devices caused this whole thing. She doesn’t blame the thugs or Dick or Bruce. She blames the boy that never understood how much it all means.

Duke Thomas is back in Gotham, taking leave from the Outsiders to be here for the family that took him in after the Joker drove his parents insane. He hovers in the doorway to welcome mourners, direct them toward the book to sign-in, talks about Tim Drake with regular humans and other metas in disguise, accepts condolences with his throat tight and his eyes watery. He makes sure Dick has a bottle of water after the first hour, pats Damian’s shoulder, grips Bruce’s arm, weaves an arm around Cassandra’s back to give her a squeeze, obediently looks at the old pictures of Tim on Steph’s photo roll when she’s overcome and has to see that smile again.

In the back, Jason Todd wears dark shades and a clean black suit. Roy Harper is beside him, a hand on the broad back to keep him grounded, to keep the Pit rage at bay. If anyone knows how far Tim and Jason had come over the years, it’s the former Red Arrow. If anyone knows how much agony Jason is in at this moment, at another fallen brother, another Robin gone, if anyone had held the Red Hood while he screamed and cried and broke the utter fuck down, it’s Roy Harper.

Damian Wayne hovers right by Grayson’s side, silently supporting his first Batman, his first brother. Whenever Dick’s eyes start going hazy, glazing over, Damian gently grips a wrist to bring him back, allows fingers to lace through his own and tolerates the tight squeeze that obviously assists in grounding the oldest Robin. 

(Later when the night is crowding grief-stricken Wayne Manor, Damian will be the one to open Grayson’s bedroom door, lift the covers to crawl in behind him, to wind both arms tightly. He will be the one to take the onslaught of grief, to be soaked in tears and snot, to listen to the broken, hoarse voice, to make soothing hums that ultimately mean nothing.)

Alfred Pennyworth quietly talks with the funeral director about the arrangements. Of course Master Timothy would want to be laid to rest with his parents, and the family appreciates all the support and ease of process as the deceased was an important part of the Wayne family. 

When he gets a phone call, he firmly verifies the name on the tombstone is Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne Grayson.

**

Exactly four days after the service, the Flash is staring at him helplessly, gripping Nightwing’s arm tight, “please, please, Dick, don’t do this. You can’t think this is the answer!”

He can barely hear Wally with the absolute destruction going on around them, the machine they’d inadvertently stumbled upon (which is a lie, Nightwing had been looking for it and the Flash basically caught him red handed). 

“You know you aren’t going to be able to stop me.” Standing between the glowing portal and Wally, debris from overhead crashing down on them at intervals, Nightwing is at his peak stubborn, “no matter how fast you are.”

“You don’t understand what’s going to happen,” Wally yells desperately as the vacuum starts pulling at Nightwing’s other arm, pulling him into–

–the Speed Force.

“You don’t have the lightning, Dick, you won’t be able to get yourself out, and I won’t have any way of tracking you!”

The small smirk as the machine’s panel starts going haywire, lights blinking and readings off the charts, makes Wally’s heart clench hard in his chest, makes him try to dig in his heels, makes his stomach tremble.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve already done this, Wally. And I’ll do it as many times as it takes until I change everything.”

The pellet Nightwing palmed before the Flash grabbed his hand goes off the same time the machine hits the highest ratings and a low boom is followed up with an intense swirling suction, pulling the heroes closer to the portal’s surface.

The light grenade goes off without a hitch and the Flash has no choice but to let Nightwing go.

**

They’re laughing like assholes as they climb through Timmy’s penthouse windows. 

[oftenderweapons]

Steamy Waters — Jimin

Pairing: Jimin x reader (nicknamed Princess)

Wordcount: 7.1k (to be edited when my eyes aren’t bleeding)

Genre: NSFW, pwp, smut, slightest crack. Established relationship, Idol!AU

Rating: so 18+ I feel bad at age 22. 

Hello ladybirds! Welcome to the Steamy Waters scenarios. 

Let me move very quickly to the plot (I’m super late in publishing this — yes, it’s 7am, I stayed up all night but I was having fun🤭🥴). Well, it’s been a while since Jimin has returned from the tour. Princess is supposed to meet with Vixen and Lace — Girls’ Night squad is back — for dinner and is missing only a few details before leaving when Jimin presents his counterarguments. Too benevolent to leave him sulking — and too vulnerable to his charms — Princess decides she has enough time to indulge him. Of course she ends up being late to the appointment, but she’s not the only one. 

TRIGGER WARNINGS: well. Swearing/slurs (used between girls who are joking among each other) Also, there’s a generic mention of drinking wine and tipsiness at the end of the piece. Hard dom!Jimin (Sir), bratty sub!reader; use of non-verbal safewords; very mild degradation (mostly patronising acts and hinted objectification — Jimin calls reader ‘doll’; very, very mild dumbification); masturbation, both male and female, clitoral vibrator; oral, male receiving, brief female receiving; the oral male receiving is pretty intense (includes ruined makeup, gagging, tearing up, wrist pinning and wrist bondage), facefucking; plenty of voyeurism (mirrors. Mirrors everywhere); marking (with lipstick) female and male (milder) receiving; lipstick and make up fetish; spanking with a hairbrush; partly accidental exhibitionism through phonecall (the girls are telling each other they’re gonna be late but a bunch of things go wrong so all the phonecalls end up exposing the characters and their current debauchery); playful mention of foot fetish (licking, it’s contained in a joke). FINALLY, AS USUAL, UNPROTECTED SEX WITHIN AN ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP! NO, DON’T DO IT UNLESS YOU AND YOUR PARTNER(S) ARE TESTED AND CLEAN. 

Features: Namjoon x Vixen; Taeyhung x Lace. Yes. The Girls’ Night squad is back and this time it’s not Vixen’s turn to cause trouble.

Here is my masterlist!

Enjoy!!!

———————————————

Jimin was sulking.

Old news.

That brat is a professional sucker… ahem, sulker.

Anyway, he was sulking in the bathtub, the lower part of his face hidden under the bubbles, his stare so vicious he could have probably thrown very sharp daggers with it.

“It’s just one dinner.”

“It’s Saturday night! What about you join me in the tub we do our full skin care ritual and I fuck you senseless on our bed.”

“Please, the girls have been so kind to me. We have planned this dinner weeks ago.”

“I am less important than your friends?” Jimin opposed, sitting up and crossing his arms.

Dammit, you were walking in very dangerous territory. “In this moment you are a tiiiny millimeter less important than them. Very tiny millimeter.”

“Are you serious?”

“Jimin,” you begin to say, trying to make him understand. “We have the rest of the week. I owe them.” You told him. “We are always so busy, we can never meet up, plus with you guys’ crazy schedule we need our own debriefing. Let me have my time, baby.”

“So you prefer staying by yourself rather than spending time with me?” He said.

“That is not what I mean and you know it.” You replied, frowning, sitting at the vanity.

You opened a small drawer.

Oopsie. Wrong one.

Unless?

You checked your watch noticing that you had an hour left. You could make it a quick thing. Something to make Jimin quiet and willing to let you leave the house with the excuse that ‘the sooner I leave, the sooner I’ll be back’.

Sure, your brain might have been slightly confused by the thought of him naked in the bathtub, and the scent of his body wash, and the sexy way his elbows were propped on top of the edges of the tub, the water sliding down his perfectly toned, smooth chest, his head thrown back, wetness glittering on his plump, luscious lips.

His eyes opened. “Fine. Go.” He said, and his voice was grumpy and sad.

You couldn’t leave him like this. Still, it wasn’t important what he said specifically. The only thing you noticed was his dulcet timbre, like a siren calling you.

Without even precisely knowing what you were doing exactly, you took the small seat in front of the vanity and the tiny, powerful toy inside your drawer; you walked to the side of the tub, placing the chair there and tugging your pencil skirt up, exposing your panties. The mirror behind the tub offered your reflection to your unsure gaze, making you move your eyes away.

Of course Jimin noticed. Of course he stayed quiet.

He’d much rather watch you undisturbed as you bent forward, pulling down your panties and sitting down, your skirt bunched up in your lap as you spread your legs and propped your feet against the edge of the tub, dragging your toes against his elbow to catch his attention. He would boost your confidence later, when it mattered the most to you.

“What is it?” He called, pretending he hadn’t seen what you were doing.

“You’re not interested?” You asked, switching on your finger vibrator, a tiny device with a silicone band that wrapped around the back of your digit and a thick, bulbous head on the other side, a vibrator embedded in the thicker part, with the specific aim of making the ridges and patterns on the head repeatedly stimulate your clit.

The sensation was immediate, rubbing it up and down your slit a couple times, you managed to capture Jimin’s ears — and eyes, soon after.

“Princess?” He called, staring at you, your hand wandering and finding purchase on the bathroom counter.

“Yes?” You moaned sultrily.

“Don’t you need to go out with the girls?” He asked, his eyes hypnotised by the motion of the toy moving back and forth from your clit to your hole and back up.

“I thought I could give you this, as a treat.” You said, licking your lips.

“A very generous one.” He replied, licking his lips, bracing his forearms on the edge of the tub, settling between your open legs and placing his cheek on the back on his hands, staring, completely mesmerised.

Your breath was becoming irregular. “How close?” He asked.

“Not too much.” You replied, removing your hand on the counter and placing it on your chest, palming it heavily.

His gaze climbed up to watch your flesh swell as you squished it. “Does it feel good?” He asked, untucking one of his hands to remove the cover blocking the drain of the tub.

Water started to rush out, his hand going from the drain to your ankle, drawing patterns up your calf, the other one lazily reaching for his length, tugging it a couple times.

Your eyes closed as you started feeling the edge of your high, the image of Jimin kneeling before you filling your senses, imagining him everywhere, all over you, his mouth on your nipples, between your legs, his hips smashing against your ass as he slammed inside you from behind, and his deliciously candy-pink cock in your mouth.

“I’m close.” You murmured.

His hand slowed down between his legs. As if it could go any slower.

“Cum for me, Princess.” He ordered. Still, siren voice.

A pattern of quick circles on your clit possessed your digit, your brain going on autopilot to the fastest way to pleasure. “Jimin, please.”

“What, Princess?” He replied flirtily, gleaming in cockiness as you were begging him without him even putting his hands on you.

“Please.” You called again, as pleasure overthrew you, your lips parting in one long, purring moan, first very high-pitched and then descending all the way down to your normal voice as you calmed down, focusing on chasing your high until it became too much, your eyes closing completely, your free hand reaching behind your, holding you up since the stool couldn’t be trusted much.

As you removed your finger — and the adjoined vibrator — you felt something wet and soft part your folds and titillate the tight ring of muscles at your entrance, still quivering with your fresh climax.

Your eyes opened, blinking a few times before you spotted Jimin’s wet hair below you, his head between your legs, body tucked in the small space between your body and the tub.

“Put that finger back on your clit. We’re not done here.” He said, placing one of his hands on your spine, on the small of your back, holding you up while his other arm went to his thick shaft. You loved looking at it, at how deliriously pretty it looked. You would gladly print a very big picture of it. Hang it in your closet. Stand there and look at it every now and then, with a glass of wine. Get inspired by the shape, length and colour. Find new ways to please him and torture him. Study every small vein on it. Every tiny detail. The small mole at the base — God only knows how a mole can end up there. And how it can make a cock look so insanely, unfairly pretty.

You felt crazy for it, completely devoid of your own will. And the way his hand left your back and caught your wrist, placing your buzzing finger on your clit made you even wilder.

“Jimin.” You called, your other hand ending in his hair and tugging him closer.

He chuckled mischievously. “Needy.” He said simply, before fighting against you trying to remove his head. You were too close.

It was all too much.

“Jimin!” You called again, desperate and embarrassed.

“Oh, no.” He said, moving his fingers away from your wrist and crooking his arm at the right angle before sliding two of his fingers inside you, his digits just the perfect measurement to reach your g-spot.

“Feels too good.” You mewled, removing your finger from your clit. Too much stimulation.

“Put that finger back in place.” He growled, his hand moving angrily on his own sex.

“Please!” You said, whining and whimpering.

“Back in place, Princess.” He said sharply.

Without room for opposition, you did as he ordered.

“Good girl.” He murmured as you cried out at your finger and his working you towards your second high. “You’re doing so well for me.” He added.

“I can’t.” You said, feeling your pleasure amplify in your abdomen. Suddenly your ears zeroed on the nasty, squelching sound coming from between your legs.

“Oh, you can, Princess. Keep going, sweetie. Sir’s waiting for you.”

He had entered dom zone.

Well, fuck.

You were officially done for the night. Especially when he pressed his chin to his hand, his tongue devilishly playing with your sensitive hole while his fingers stimulated your pulsating walls.

You came undone. His moaning turned in loud, thin moans, open mouthed breathing as he finally reached his high with a tight squeal that undid a knot in his throat.

You removed the toy almost immediately, the filling sensation inside your cunt definitely too much for your nerve endings.

He didn’t even notice, and when he did, he let it slip. You were deep in your second climax, making you sensitive and vulnerable, and he had no intention of overstepping any boundaries. Yet. His fingers slowed down, his mouth parting from you; his hand stopped at his base, giving a slow, strong tug at his shaft, milking out the last few droplets of his release.

“There you go. Has your treat been satisfactory, Princess?” He asked with a saccharine voice, most definitely trying to tease you with his bratty ways, or maybe gloating about him getting what he wants. As usual.

“Very.” You replied, pressing down the button on the ring and removing the toy from your finger.

He unhooked his fingers from your sex, sliding them out and licking one gingerly. “Nice.” He grinned in a dangerously endearing way. “Let’s clean up, yes? Can you stand?” He asked, gentle as always, standing up and quickly moving to the sink, washing up the remnants of your shared debauchery on his hands.

“I hope so.” You replied, grabbing a small towel and running it under the tap before cleaning yourself, drying your skin with an unused corner. You wore your panties and tugged your skirt down next.

“Would you like me to do your make up?” Jimin asked, looking at you in the mirror. “I’d like to repay you for the sweet treat. And I don’t want you to think I don’t support you going out.” He turned towards you, completely comfortable in his naked state. “Consider it my way of blessing your plans.”

And maybe bless your face when you come back home later and drool on my cock.

You smiled. “That’s nice of you, Jimin.”

“I’m always nice.” He said, rubbing a towel wildly against his hair before wrapping it around his waist, grabbing the small bench and putting it close to the vanity, strategically placing you so the light would hit your face enough for him to properly do your make up. “Sit, darling.” He said, patting the seat.

You followed his direction, checking your watch. Twenty-five minutes until you needed to head out.

“You already did toner, serum, lotion, all of that?” He asked, making sure that the canvas was at its best.

“Yeah.” You confirmed, wearing the small necklace he had gifted after coming back from the tour.

“You already wore your cream?”

“Yes!” You repeated, playfully cocky.

He swatted at your calf. “Don’t play cocky with me.” He reprimanded, matchingly playful.

“Primer.” He said, standing up, his perfect chest right in front of your eyes for the briefest of seconds. Then he walked behind you, removing the whole small drawer and bringing it with him as he kneeled down again, pouring a small amount of concoction on the tip of his index and middle finger. “It’s summer so I bet you’d like to stay light.” He said, touching the two digits with their twins on the other hand, only to draw tiny dots all over your face, and then using his devilish hands to spread the lotion. “Sorry, I prefer using these rather than sponges and stuff.” He said, but it was actually simply an excuse to touch your face.

The more touching he could do the better.

His goal was getting you going and any kind of touching on your face felt intimate enough to be more powerful than a booty grab or a whole body slam all over you at the moment. He just knew.

With his pinkie, he pushed back the small hair on your forehead. “You know what? Fuck beauty standards. Out there is damp like a swamp today, you should just wear some BB cream and stay fresh.” He said, kissing your head. “You’re perfect anyway.”

“Jimin.” You said, a tad emotional.

“And I don’t want men staring at you. You’d look too pretty with full makeup.” He said, leaving a ginger kiss on your lips. “I want you to shine as you are.” He said, grabbing a small compact hand mirror containing a cushion imbued with light foundation. He took a small puff and pressed it twice against the cushion before placing his left index under your chin, directing your face as he patted the puff against your face, distributing the lotion evenly.

“It contains mother-of-pearl powder. It will make you glitter like the princess you are.” He said, with a kind smile. “You already look like a diva, babygirl.” He said, twisting your head to the side before noticing a small blemish.

He stretched to the table behind you, your gaze focusing immediately on the small, solitary droplet of water rolling down his chest. A bit hesitant, you collected it with your tongue.

“Princess,” he warned before grinning. 

You were slowly, very slowly surrendering. He just needed to play the last few cards right.

With your concealing pen in hand, he fixed the red spot on your cheek, and another smaller one on your chin, blending them with the slightly damp tip of his pinkie.

You smiled and caught his hand, kissing the small digit before smiling. “Your hands are absolutely lovely.” You said. This kind of small reassurance was something you offered him daily, and even though he played tough and acted as if he wasn’t bothered by those details he so stubbornly called flaws, you still made sure his self esteem could always thrive.

“I assumed so, considering what they did earlier.” He stood up and — maybe — accidentally the towel fell, his cock standing proud in front of your eyes.

May goodness help you and God protect you.

You reminded yourself of dinner, of the girls waiting on you. I mustn’t. You told yourself. Still a part of your brain told you you’d be a fool if you didn’t took your chance.

But your chance had already disappeared behind the towel once more. “Sorry.” He said, standing straight after bending down to grab the cloth and fixing it back in place. He collected the small wooden drawer too, putting it back in place in the vanity.

Next he took your beauty case, making sure that it contained exactly what he was looking for.

This time he stood in place in front of you, his navel perfectly in front of your face. He found a small box and opened it, fishing out a miniature brush and running it against white, glittering powder. “Just a faint sparkly effect on your lids. Close your eyes.” He whispered sweetly, putting the powder in place, on one eyelid. Then the other. And then every touch disappeared. Before you felt his fingers tracing your collarbones. “Just for the extra sparkles.” He said, grinning viciously once you opened your eyes. It was indeed his fingers. Not the brush. He took his chance to widen the neckline of your white chiffon blouse.

“Tip your head back.” He said, this time more commanding.

A shiver ran down your spine.

You obeyed.

He took a dark eye pencil. It was something you hadn’t used in a while, preferring lighter make up, usually using simply dark eyeshadow to trace the line of your eyelid.

“Black pencil?” You asked.

“Be quiet. It looks so good on you.” He said, focusing on applying it evenly on both lids. “Look down.”

Right at his abs. Fantastic.

You prayed the other girls were being tempted just like you. Knowing Vixen and Namjoon, he was probably already halfway up her panties. And Lace… well. She’d probably had to change her outfit at least three times to hide Taehyung’s marks. You hoped they were late too.

There was no way you could arrive at the appointment in time with Jimin in this mood. And with your blood roaring in your veins, cursing you for each second you let him stand untouched before your eyes it was all a matter of time before it all went to hell.

“Eyes to the ceiling.” He said, “I’ll do your lower inner lid.”

“Jimin, that’s a bit aggressive...” You replied, trying to keep his hand from going anywhere close to your eye.

“You look so intense with the lower line too, though.” He teased, already tracing the corner with a slow, light-handed touch. “Just a bit. Come on, make me happy.” He said. And with that you knew precisely he was in the mood. Just like you were.

At this point there was no fucking way you could make it in time.

You stood perfectly still, the pencil too near to your eye, too dangerously close to stabbing it. “Jimin,” you called, as he moved to the other eye. “I’m gonna be late.”

“Don’t worry about that.” He already knew there was no way the other men weren’t in a similar situation. Knowing Taehyung, he probably still had Lace naked. Especially after what he’d told him about their sexy weekend.

“Jimin, please.” You said, exasperated.

“Baby, I know you’ll be the first one there, as usual, and you’ll have to wait for them all dressed up and pretty.” He said. “Chill. You can be fashionably late.”

He put down the eye pencil and picked up the silvery tube of your mascara.

“Just a teensy, tiny bit.” He said, “Look straight ahead.”

You mean at your hard on peaking from under your towel?

Your lips twitched nervously as you tried to look away.

“What is it?” He asked.

“I’m gonna put my mouth on it.” You said in warning.

“Don’t,” He replied, fixing the upper lashes on your left eye. He applied way more mascara than necessary before moving on to the other eye.

“Don’t bat your lashes,” he said with a focused tone as he applied the finishing touches, giving quick, teasing flicks to the lower lashes and came back to the left side, making the two match.

“Lipstick.” He said.

You huffed out a stressed breath.

“Lip liner to make sure your lipstick doesn’t smear at dinner.” He said, tipping your chin up and drawing his face dangerously close to yours, his hot, quick breath fanning over your face. “Stay still.” He said, tracing your cupid bow first, then covering all the way from the peak to the angle, mirroring the gesture on the other side.

Your lower lip was tricky. From the middle he drew the left arc, then the right one. No matter how hard he concentrated there was something harder calling his attention.

And the situation worsened when he felt your hand timidly brush the back of his thigh.

“No.” He said harshly, cupping your jaw and squishing it, making sure that you opened your eyes and looked at him.

“Why?” You asked, your hand still climbing up.

“You need to go.”

“You said the girls will be late too. And I should be fashionably late.”

“Princess.” He said, his voice growling in a harsh warning.

“Jimin.” You warned, mocking his tone.

“Stay put. Let me finish my work here.” He said, a bit frustrated.

Your lips were tempting him. And his brain was telling him to claim, claim, claim.

For the umpteenth time, he closed his eyes, inhaled and exhaled slowly and calmly.

He completed the weak spots on your liner before he inspected it.

He placed down the lip pencil.

He found your Chanel lipstick, uncapping it and focusing before placing the perfectly shaped tip against your upper lip, following the liner before completing the other half.

“Almost done, Princess.” He spoke gently. But his hand shook. Especially when he felt your nails tease his skin again.

“Princess.” He scolded eloquently.

“Jimin.” You called again.

“What.” He replied drily.

“I wanna be late.” You said, your palm climbing higher up under the towel and landing on his ass, squeezing a glute seductively.

“Let me finish.” He said, giving up.

You smiled before relaxing your lips, making them extra pillowy as you offered the lower one to him.

He tapped the red paste against the inner flesh before drawing half a line, then the other half.

“Pop them.” He said, as you started pressing your lips together lightly and making them sputter.

“Am I ready?” You asked.

Jimin smirked before his eyes turned sultry.

Looking him in the eye when he had that expression was too dangerous. He held too much power.

“No.”

He stared at the upper hem of your blouse, at the way it let your collarbones show with an expensive, classy bateau neckline.

Jimin stared at the front buttons. He placed down the lipstick. And started undoing the buttons.

You grinned. “Are you gonna make me get there late?” You asked expectantly.

“Quiet.”

You obeyed. Not like you had much choice.

He reached the lace of your bra, then undid more buttons, until he reached the waistline of your skirt.

“Arms out.” He said, making the delicate fabric of the shoulders slip past your wrists, letting the blouse fall around your waist.

“From now on, not a word. Are we clear?” He asked, making you look him in the eye. “Answer.”

“Yes, sir.” You said, obediently.

“Excellent. You move when I tell you. You move how I tell you. Yes?”

“Yes, sir.” You replied again. You were salivating at the idea of what he was going to do, how he was going to use you.

His hands moved to your bra, pushing the cups under your heavy breasts. “You’re my little doll, aren’t you? Sir wants you and your nipples pop up. I bet you’re wet between your legs without me even touching you. Are you wet, Princess?” He asked.

“I’m always wet for you, sir.” You said, offering him extra praise. Not like the statement wasn’t true.

He smirked and moved to the vanity once more, letting the towel fall for real. “It was an accident.” He said, mocking you, raising an eyebrow and shrugging. “Not like you mind staring at my cock, do you, Princess?”

“I love staring at your cock, Sir.” You replied, giving him absolutely no reason to complain about you or punish you.

“So hungry for it, little doll.” He snorted.

Once more the lipstick was in his hand.

“Who do you belong to, Princess?” He asked, stroking himself as his sweet, poisonous voice enchanted your ears.

“To you, sir.” You said, sitting with your back straight, your knees pressed together, your thighs squeezing in helpless arousal, your hands laying flat on your legs.

“What’s my name?” He said, licking his lower lip as a droplet of pre-cum appeared on his tip.

“Park Jimin, sir.” You answered, sharp and refined as he wanted you.

“Just my name, Princess. Say it.”

“Jimin.” You kept your eyes on your lap, not yet sure you were allowed to look at him.

“That’s right, Princess. Good girl.” He said, voice disturbingly neutral as he bent down.

He let go of his length, running his hand under the tap and drying it, oh-so-slowly, before he cupped your breast and stared at it, his expression focused and meditative.

He placed the tip of the lipstick on the left side of your breast, drawing an horizontal line. Two curled ones. A straight one. He moved to the other side. A rectangle. Another straight line. An L-shaped one.

“There. Stand up.” He said, placing down the lipstick and offering you his hand, helping you on your feet, making you stand in front of the mirror. “Who do you belong to, my beautiful princess?” He asked, standing behind you, his lips moving sensuously at your ear.

Right there, spelled on your chest in expensive, rouge Chanel lipstick, you found your answer, just like it was indented in your heart, mind and soul. “Jimin.” You read.

“That’s right, ____. Excellent job, doll.”

He turned you towards him and placed a gentle kiss on your lip.

“Now, kneel.” He ordered, smiling gently, however the command in his voice was icy and sharp.

You smiled shyly and obeyed. Once on your knees, you waited for his hands to feed you the tip of his cock, his precum making your lipstick glisten and stain his spongy head. You opened your mouth wider, lolling your tongue out in invitation, but he refused.

“Kiss it. I want it covered in lipstick.” He ordered. “Kiss it like it’s my face. I want imprints all over it.” He ordered.

And just like that it stood in front of you, exposing all the underside to your feverish and reverent kisses.

You were ready to beg for him to push it down your throat, desperate to feel the taste of him, to feel him there; then you remembered you weren’t allowed to speak unless he asked you.

You tried to talk the only way you could. Your eyes connected with his as you gave a gentle lick.

He snorted. “Want it in?” He asked, biting his lip and placing his hand on your head.

“Please, sir.” You begged: the easiest way to get what you want. You would never, ever beg for anything in your life. But for Jimin? You would lick the soles of his feet if he asked you to. Thank goodness he was too ticklish for that.

“Open up.” He said, grinning.

You assumed your position and waited for him to slide in. Holding your head, you felt his tip on your tongue, his hand feeding his cock into your mouth.

“That’s it, Princess.” He said, pushing inside.

Your hands naturally moved to his butt, leading him further in. You wanted to take him all the way, watch your lips print a nice red ring at his base.

“Hands in place, Princess.” He scolded.

You placed them lightly on your knees.

“Yes. Good girl.” He spoke through gritted teeth. He started thrusting in, your eyes watering as you felt your throat close up, hitting your knee noisily, twice, letting him know you needed to breathe.

“Okay.” He slid out, giving you some time to catch your breath. His fingers wrapped around his length, thumb, index and middle finger forming a ring sliding up and down the tip.

“Ready?” He asked.

You simply nodded and he let the small misbehaviour slip. He just wanted to sheath himself in the warm velvet of your cheeks, tongue and throat.

Once he bottomed out a new set of prints began forming on his pelvis, your hands coming for his hips, trying to slow him down as you began tearing up.

“Hands. Princess.” He roared.

You drew them back, shaking, trying to bob your head on him, wet droplets leaving your eyes and rolling down your cheeks.

And now the black eye pencil and mascara make sense. He wanted this from the very beginning.

Your hands pressed against his abs.

“Silent. Safeword. ____.” He ordered aggressively with a growl.

No. You didn’t want him to stop. You wanted him to snap.

You made to remove your hands, but instead you cupped his balls with your right one.

He drew out. “That’s it. Brat.” He walked to the shower wall, where your bathrobe was hanging. He tugged at the tie, whipping it out of the small hooks in anger.

“Lay down.” He said, minaciously as he walked to the vanity, picking up the lipstick again.

You crawled to the carpet in the middle of the room and did as he told you. At least you wouldn’t be met with the cold of the tiles.

“Ungrateful brat.” He said, placing two fingers under your chin and straddling your chest with his legs. “I let you go out. I made you cum. I did your makeup. I offered you what you wanted. And you disrespected it, and disobeyed me.”

He caught your wrists and pinned them over your head. “But maybe I didn’t offer you what you wanted.” He said, wrapping the soft tie around your wrists, making sure it wasn’t too tight, even though he was furious. He took two deep breaths before securing the knot with a flowery bow. “Maybe this was what you wanted, uh? Answer me, Princess.” He encouraged you.

“I want what is best for you, sir.” You replied, eyes imploring as his cock laid on your chest.

“If you really did that, I would already be done fucking your mouth and I could be slamming my cock in your disobedient, tight, creamy cunt.” He said, applying more lipstick on your lips.

“You better make me cum quick, brat.” He spat the words at your face, his legs moving to bring his hips closer to your mouth. He lifted his ass and propped himself on one forearm, his hand holding his cock before offering it to your lips for small kisses. “Your non-verbal safeword is snapping your fingers. Any number of snaps will mean ‘stop immediately’. I will slide out and let you breathe, then I’ll ask you if you want to keep going.” He said, using his tip to draw your lips, just like a tube of lipstick. “Understood?”

“Yes, sir.” You replied.

“Make me proud, Princess.” He said, before accompanying his shaft into your mouth and looking down, into your eyes, before he started thrusting. The movement was identical to that he uses to fuck you nice and good on your bed, his hips usually slapping against the back of your thighs, while now they met the skin of your cheeks, the blurred mascara coming down in thicker rivultets, making your eyes redden.

You were definitely a mess.

Jimin tried to stay focused on your hands, feeling pleasure but ready to ignore it or your safety.

His thrusts became more intense, your throat producing thin, panicked whimpers before he felt your fingers snap, two, three times.

He pulled out.

You gasped for air, your eyes immediately connecting with the black stains on his pelvis. Your mascara. Or eyeliner.

And the red on his sex. All over it. Staining his balls too. It was undoubtedly your lipstick. No natural blushing could do that.

“Are you okay, ____?” He asked, and you could tell he was out of his dommy character.

“Yes.” You replied simply.

“I’m almost there, love. Can you take it, baby?” He asked, worried.

“I can. I want to.” You said, nodding and reassuring him.

“Then let’s go, Princess.” Back in the game.

He was back in your mouth in a second, and this time you were sure you wanted him to dissolve in pleasure like sugar in coffee.

You used all your tricks, swallowing once he settled in, pumping him with your cheeks until you saw him lift on his tiptoes, needing closer, giving up on the fine grip of his knees to plank on top of you and properly stroke inside you as his head rolled back in a very improper, very loud yoga position, making his mouth spill a divine moan while his orgasm spilled inside you.

He gave a small series of the tiniest thrusts before going perfectly still, his moaning stopping. It was smart of him to own a house rather than an apartment. Way more feasible in terms of… disturbing noises.

He slid out of you quickly once he realised you were there, perfectly still, trying to save your oxygen and prolong his bliss.

“Oh, Princess, angel.” He said, quickly undoing the ribbon, descending down your body, straddling your hips and touching your face. “Can you stand up?” He asked, trying to fix the smudged line around your mouth.

“Maybe.” You said, hesitant.

“Come on, let’s try.” He said, helping you up.

“I want more.” You said, kneeling on the carpet, flinching at the sensation.

“That flinch is a reply enough. And you’re messed up. And late for the meet up.”

You checked your wrist. “Lace is always twenty minutes late. Please, one last thing.” You begged, looking at his sex, half hard. “Please.”

“You want to fuck or make love?” He asked, already touching himself. He could do one more. And it was you. All he needed to do was bend you over and watch your tits move as he ground his hips against yours.

“Fuck me.” You said.

He grinned sadistically. “In front of the mirror. Bend over and spread.” He ordered drily.

You smirked back at him and turned into his doll, becoming exactly what he had asked of you, your panties soaked by now, the only protection your skirt.

You were a mess as you looked at yourself in the mirror. His name barely smeared on your breasts, your cheeks made of tens of dark, dried-up rivulets, your mouth a ridiculous attempt at a clown look.

He tugged the hem of your skirt up, exposing your ass before slipping his fingers into the see-through, fine net of your panties, his fingers digging until the fabric ripped offering your slick, honeyed entrance to his eyes.

He stood behind you, the reflection intoxicating as he showed you a wooden hairbrush.

It was that wooden hairbrush. It was the one he liked being used on himself when the roles reversed.

It was extremely fitting of him to want to use it right in that moment, on you.

“Ten. If you don’t cum on my cock all you’ll have is your fingers while I touch myself. Clear?”

“Yes, sir.” You replied.

“Ready. Count.” He said, rubbing the smooth wood against your lower glute.

The smack was harsh. Violent. The sound was scary but the pain was divine.

“One.” You called.

He slammed inside you, his thighs hot with boiling blood as he thrusted in harder before delivering another smash.

“Two!” You almost screamed.

“That’s right, doll.” He said, bending down, teasing your ear. “How pretty my name looks on those tits.” He said, slamming into you, a few more times, the various objects laying on the bathroom counter shaking as he pushed into you.

What you didn’t expect was for your phone to shake that hard.

The screen lit up.

Jimin noticed it immediately.

“Oh. It’s Vixen.” He said. “Maybe she’s worried about you.” He panted at your ear.

No. No, no, no. You thought.

“Come on, answer, Princess.” He said, vicious and petty as usually. “You love your friends so much.” He smacked your ass, just with his hand, almost playfully. “You wouldn’t want her to worry. Answer.” He ordered.

Your hand shook as it reached the phone. Jimin stilled inside you.

You picked up the call. “Hi.” You said.

“Hi bub, lovely to hear you. I might be late.” She said, straight to the point, her voice way higher than usual.

“Late?” You asked, trying to speak as little as possible.

Jimin started to move behind you.

You shook your head. NO. No, please, no.

“Forty minutes. Also, tell Lace. She’s not—” squeal “—answering.”

A dark voice behind her murmured something. “Only forty minutes?” He teased.

Namjoon, of course.

“I’m… busy?” You said, just as Jimin pulled out and smashed the hairbrush against your right asscheek. “Three.” You said under your breath.

“Didn’t catch that.” Jimin said teasingly.

You tried to cover the microphone. “Three. Sir, I said three.” You knew you were very likely putting yourself in trouble.

“Joon, why am I not getting spanked?” Vixen asked on the other end of the phone.

“Brat.” He snarled before his voice disappeared again.

“____, dearest. My boyfriend is threatening me with his ten inch cock. I can’t make that call, sweetie. Please, call her.”

“She will.” Jimin answered on your behalf.

“Thanks, Min. Enjoy.” A final squeal echoed down the line before it fell.

Another smash.

“Four, Sir.” You said, feeling Jimin stroke in while sneering, his lips parted as your wet, slippery walls welcomed him with a rich, squelching sound.

“Call Lace.” He ordered at your ear, sweet like a mermaid.

You shook your head in denial, but at the same time you searched for her contact on your phone. The sooner, the better. You would be done embarrassing yourself, and he would simply focus on torturing you until you reached your orgasm.

You pressed ‘call’ and Jimin’s ears tuned in to the sound of the phone, making sure that he began to truly fuck you only once Lace picked up.

The calling sound went on forever. “Let me… She’s not answering. Please.” You said, looking at Jimin’s reflection in the mirror.

“Wait.”

The line went silent for a second. “Vixen, for fuck’s sake, she’s sucking my cock, stop fucking calling.” Taehyung roared.

Jesus.

“It’s me, Princess?” You said, using the nickname that all the boys used. Sometimes it felt ridiculous. Like in that precise moment, when your boyfriend’s dick was buried inside you.

“Princess, what is— mh… Yes.” Taehyung stopped for a second. “Sorry. Lace is busy. Might be late.”

Jimin stretched to the mic. “I knew it.” He said, talking to Taehyung.

“Jimin, get out of my ears.” He joked with his friend. “Can I please… Twenty minutes. She’ll be there in twenty. Thirsty— Thirty at worst.” He spoke before a low rumble came from the line.

You blushed.

Jimin started pushing inside you, trying to get a moan out of you.

“Mh—Meet in forty. Vixen late. Bye.” You said before closing the call, Jimin using that precise moment to start hammering into you.

“Let’s make this quick. We need to make you presentable again, doll.” He said, picking up your knee and propping it up on the counter. You were so wide open for him, his hips smacking lewdly against your ass. To go the extra mile, he grabbed your waist with one forearm and used the hairbrush again.

“Five? Is it… Five?”

“Yes, Princess.” You weren’t sure he was saying yes to the counting or your inner walls squeezing him.

His cock touched your cervix repeatedly with a neat pattern, two fingers reaching your clit. “Quick.” He said.

You managed to push back only three times before your vision went blank, your upper body collapsing against the bathroom counter, your hand pressed against the mirror as you tried to find purchase to keep you upright, to no avail.

Jimin whimpered a few times before he went silent and collapsed on top of you.

His cock twitched twice inside you, weakly. He was probably drained.

“Jimin. Thirty-five minutes.” You called. He slipped out, immediately trying to clean you up.

“You shower, I get an outfit for you. Try to save your hair. Make up remover in the shower.” He said. “I’m driving you.” He said, helping you unglue yourself from the bathroom counter. “Do you need something special, love?” He asked, stopping you a second to hold your face and kiss your mouth, no matter how messy it was. “Aftercare, baby.”

“Just help me get ready.” You said, kissing him again. “I love you. You’re fantastic. The best.”

His ego exploded. “Love you too. Let’s make Stickerella ready for the ball.” He grinned before rushing to the closet.

——————————————

Forty minutes later, you, Lace and Vixen met in front of a classy, sleek restaurant.

“Did you pre-party, Vixen?” Lace asked as the three entered the place, Vixen leading the way to the table. Her legs were wobbly. Very.

“You’re so much fun.” She replied with a fake laugh. Namjoon’s habits were starting to rub off on her. Not the only stuff being rubbed, you thought mischievously.

“Seriously, did you swap your left shoe with your right one?” Lace asked as the tiny woman showed them the table for three. She took a seat on the closest chair, biting her lip as she lowered her bottom. Her eyes closed and she swallowed noticeably.

You smirked, right before sucking your own lips, your ass hurting with the leftovers of the spanking. “You are both two nasty bitches and I am so proud of you.” Lace said with a wide grin.

“Fix your neckline, you classy whore. I can see your boyfriend’s marks from here,” Vixen seethed, still smiling, no offense in her words. Still, she ran her tongue against the edge of her teeth, taking a calming breath as she fixed her position on the seat.

You chuckled at their scene before clearing your throat.

They both turned toward you, waiting for you to speak before realising that you simply had a sore throat. Yeah.

“Please. let’s order wine. You both sound like Marge’s sisters in The Simpsons.” She said, laughing and shaking her head.

“You’re just envious because your gag reflex sucks.” Lace said, clicking her tongue before shaking her head herself in faux disapproval.

You snorted and tried to cover your mouth.

“Glad I’m everyone’s laughing stock.” Vixen said, fixing her hair.

“Your neckline, slut.” Lace said, once more addressing Vixen with a whisper, acting with the posed mannerism of a lady from a Jane Austen novel.

Vixen laughed herself this time. “How did you get out?” Vixen asked her.

“Baby boy fell asleep like a puppy.” Lace said, a dreamy look on her face. “You?”

“Something along that line.” She replied. “What about you, sweetie?” She said turning towards you.

“Jimin brought me.” You said, smiling serenely.

“He’s such a sweetheart.” Vixen said, smiling with her whole face, her eyes turning into pure affection. Again, she looked like Namjoon.

You clicked your tongue. “Everyone’s a sweetheart when they’re getting fucked right.” You said quietly.

Both women laughed.

“I’m just sorry Yoongi’s girl couldn’t come.” Lace said, a bit sad.

“Oh, don’t worry about her. She’s fine. Coming. In… other ways.” Vixen — her neighbour — quipped.

“My god, we’re nymphos.” Lace said, covering her face with her hands.

You shrugged. “Again. That’s the magic.”

By the end of the night, the three of ended up happily tipsy, toasting to your boyfriends and ‘doing things right’.

[alderaani]

conceal don’t feel

Summary: Fox removes his helmet in front of Riyo for the first time, and she very much likes what she sees. | AO3 

Pairing: Foxiyo, no warnings.

A/N: I’m not even really sure where this came from, but it has been all my brain wanted to write for the past two days, so.......here she is.

Riyo knew what it was like to fall.

It was a rite of passage on Pantora to climb the cliffs outside the capital, the only high point disturbing the tarnished gleam of the marshlands for hundreds of miles. It usually took adolescents several tries to reach the top and Riyo had been no different, just one of many amongst the blue-and-purple sea of her peers. She’d been fifteen then, straddling the cusp of adulthood and desperate to prove herself. How funny, now, that she wanted to peel back a decade and tell that young girl to slow down, not rush, to cling on to her youth.

The day of her climbing she’d been so impatient, so sure that she would be among the first to reach the top. It had lasted as long as it took to leave the ground before all ambition had been wiped away, the world narrowing down to the tips of her fingers, the pads of her toes and the way she sought out crevices in which to place them. She wasn’t the first to fall, nor was she the last. The memory was sharp and clear, like the cold air near the top of the ridge, where the birds took flight from their nests and swirled, screaming, around their earthly intruders. She’d hesitated a beat too long, her fingers sliding on the slick rock, and then there had been the lurch of her stomach dropping out, the white noise of terror supernovaing inside her skull. The split second of free-fall, of feeling totally and utterly weightless, before gravity had set in. The sudden finality of the drop, of the way the air rushed through her horrifyingly empty fingers.

The ropes had caught her, of course, along with the eager, guiding hands of her friends, and before long she’d been stood on the peak, feeling the wind corral the backs of her legs and pull teasingly at her hair, victory surging in her gut. But the feeling had stayed with her - that long, eternal moment, like a drawn in breath.

It was the sort of thing most people didn’t experience twice. But now here she was, staring into Commander Fox’s face and stepping into free fall.

“Senator?” He was saying, his hands firm and solid on the curves of her shoulders. Her poncho had gone awry in the bomb blast that had shattered her windows and put the Senate into lockdown, and he pulled up the edges and tucked them round her almost absentmindedly. She shivered at the feeling of his gloved fingers brushing over her naked skin, despite the blunt efficiency of the touch.

“Senator Chuchi?” The commander repeated, his hands going tight. “Senator?”

When she didn’t reply, unable to do anything but stare, he released one of her shoulders in favour of putting his commlink to his mouth.

“I need a medic here stat. Think the Senator’s going into shock.”

That was enough for her to shake her head, feeling the scrape of her hair pieces against her scalp where they’d gone awry. Pulling some sort of composure together out of the rubble was harder, though she did her best seeing the worry in those brown eyes.

Was this always what he looked like under that helmet? Was there always so much feeling, fleeting and raw across his naked face? She was so used to having to parse out his emotions from the slant of his shoulders, the tight motions of his hands, the hard shape of his voice, that so much bare skin was almost overwhelming. 

“Sorry, Commander, I’m well,” she murmured. His eyes were a brown she’d seen literally a thousand times, but somehow were completely different. The full lashes, the little creases developing at the corners, the flecks of gold sitting bold at their centres. The hard, piercing gaze that was all Fox, breathtaking without his helmet in the way. It was almost worth the ruin her office had been turned into to have seen the strong line of his jaw, the soft streaks of grey hair developing at his temples. His lips looked chapped and raw, and a not-insignificant part of her wanted to touch them with her thumb. 

“Senator, you’ve been staring at me for five minutes,” Fox informed her flatly, voice deep and scratchy with a bass that the vocoder must usually filter out. “And - kriff, you’re bleeding.”

“What?” Riyo reached up to touch her face, then squeaked when Fox caught her wrist and reached into his utility belt for a tissue, which he used to dab at her hairline. There was a flash of pain as it came away dark, and the cold night air funnelling through the open window sharded against her bare skin, sending shivers wracking through her body.

“Oh,” she breathed, as Fox cursed and pressed the tissue back down. As he shifted she caught sight of a thin line of red beading on his cheekbone and tilted her head. “You’re bleeding too.”

“Just stay still, Senator,” Fox said, ignoring her comment in favour of glancing over his shoulder and shifting so that his body was between her and the door. His uncovered curls lifted as a fresh gust of wind blew in, his shoulders hunching. She saw him glance at his helmet more than once, resting by his feet with the visor shattered, and considered how odd this must be for him too as she let herself be manhandled away from the window to one of the plush green chairs in the corner, stained now and blackened with soot. 

“I’ve never seen your face before. It’s very nice,” she said before she could help it, fighting the urge to clap her hand over her mouth. She hadn’t meant to say it out loud, or to phrase it like he’d picked it at a store. 

Usually she was so careful around the Commander, so choosy with what she said. Riyo had learned early on that blunter commentary would make Fox withdraw, turning him back into a professional pillar of plastoid and paint. Too many nights of him leading her escort back to her apartment had gone by in silence before she’d mastered the knack of weedling him into polite conversation, like luring a baby loth-cat into the open. 

She liked him - liked the way the harsh things seemed to roll impassively off his back, the way he turned to stone should anyone cross him or his brothers, the plainness of his feelings when you knew how to look. She didn’t know why she’d felt so compelled to learn his tells, and he hadn’t invited her in as much as she’d bothered to knock. Commenting on his face, bared without permission, felt much more like picking the lock and forcing entry to the tight facade he so carefully maintained.

It seemed to be a night for surprises, though. Fox just tilted his head, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

“You’ve seen several of the Guard, before, yes?”

Riyo nodded, then winced as it sent pain skittering down her neck. Fox noticed, of course, and moved one hand to support the base of her skull while he continued to press down on the wound. Now that he’d mentioned it she could feel the blood trails tickling as they dried down her cheek. 

“Then you have seen my face, Senator. I got the standard GAR issue, same as everyone else.”

She shook her head before she could think better of it, and realised suddenly that she was trembling, shivers wracking up her arms. Perhaps the Commander was onto something with his assertion of shock. 

“Now that’s not true at all,” she murmured, aware that she was setting herself up for another fall but unable to stop the words tumbling out. “Now that I know it, I’d recognise yours anywhere, Fox.” 

His brow crinkled, concern burning bright in those pretty eyes, and she realised, distantly and unable to care much, that she’d never called him by name before. Not without ‘Commander’ attached, at least. He raised his commlink again. 

“What the Sith-hells is taking so long, Oops? Get your shebs up to level fifty now,” he hissed, then pressed down firmly when she shifted again. “Please stay still.” 

“I’m cold,” Riyo said quietly, closing her eyes briefly until Fox made a low sound and shook her, just a little. 

“Come on Senator, keep talking to me. Are you sure there’s no medkit in here?” He asked.

Riyo gestured at the still-smouldering remains of her desk. “There was one in the third draw down.” 

Fox cursed, soft and sharp, and despite the cold and the way her head was swimming, it made her giggle. 

“Sorry Commander,” Came a panting, tinny voice. “I’m in the stairwell now, moving to your location. It’s chaos down here, ‘m gettin’ run over by half the karking Senate.” 

“Tell him corridor 847 is always empty,” Riyo murmured. “The maintenance tunnel half way down pops out just opposite my aide’s office.” 

Fox raised an eyebrow but dutifully relayed the message, getting a laugh and an affirmative from the medic on the other end. 

“Don’t give me that look,” she said, instantly regretting it when Fox’s expression shuttered. “No - I mean - you can laugh. I suppose it’s silly, but sometimes it’s the only way to avoid Senator Bronn. I climb in there with a datapad and pretend I’m out until he leaves. Courageous of me, isn’t it?” 

Fox’s forehead creased. “Is he giving you trouble?”

Riyo laughed weakly. “No, no, it’s very kind of you to worry, Commander. He just likes to talk too much and orders the worst food - some sort of delicacy from his home, I think, but they taste awful. And it would cause offence to refuse.”

There was a short pause before Fox’s lips stretched into a small grin, his head ducking as if to hide it from view. 

“So you hide in the maintenance halls?”

Riyo couldn’t help the answering smile that burst onto her face, even as her cheeks went hot. Their gazes met, and the jolt that ran through her was electric before she forced herself to look away. She swallowed thickly. 

“I’ve never liked confrontation,” she shrugged. “So where I can, I avoid it. Perhaps not the best trait in a Senator.”

Where Fox’s hand still cupped the back of her neck she felt the gentlest pressure, the quick sweep of a thumb against the dip of her spine. 

“Seems like we could sometimes do with more of that to me,” he said, voice soft but still amused. At this distance she could see the light stubble on his cheeks, a small scar on the bridge of his nose that had paled with time, the deep purple shadows ringing his eyes. 

Riyo stilled, lost again in the thrill of every little detail, and still hadn’t responded by the time they heard a thump and a yelp from outside the door. Fox rolled his eyes, but she could see the tension drain out of his shoulders.

“That’ll be Oops.” 

She smiled. “A promising name.”

Fox smirked. “He’s one of our best, Senator. I’ll let him in.” 

The cold rushed back in from the moment he let her go, but she could almost still feel the imprint of his hand on her skin, the weight of his eyes on her. Fox stood from where he’d been kneeling next to the chair, then turned to go to the blast door.

Riyo cleared her throat.

“Commander Fox?” 

He turned, the emergency lights slanting red over the bridge of his nose. 

“I meant it - what I said. You do have a pretty face. And I’d recognise it anywhere, GAR standard issue or not.” 

It seemed awfully important that he know, right now, before this moment ended, even though she couldn’t articulate why. She had to let him know that it mattered; that for however little it was worth, considering what she was and what the system she was part of made him do, she could see him. 

“I think that may be your head wound talking, Senator. But...thank you.”

He raised his hand towards the control panel, his head ducked, but as he pressed a button and the lights went green, Riyo could see the shy, bashful smile forming on his lips. 

She could only hope that he’d deem her worthy of that great privilege again.

taglist: @simping-for-fives @leias-left-hair-bun @nelba @iscream4clones @dom-i-nic @battletales | list here

[flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash]

Every Breath You Take - Loki x Reader

Summary: Loki has been stalking you for weeks, and you have no idea why. One night, he decides to claim what is his.

Characters: Loki x female reader

Words: ~6300

PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS!!!

Warnings: Explicit smut, explicit language, stalking, dub-con and/or non-con smut (depending where you draw the line between those), breaking and entering, choking/breath play, fear kink, power dynamics, humiliation, praise kink, basically Loki being a dominant mother fucker

Author’s Note: Major song inspiration for this is “Every Breath You Take” by Devil + Winter. Yes, I know it’s a remake of an older song, but I looove that specific cover so much.

This might officially be my favorite oneshot I’ve written thus far, so I hope y’all enjoy!

Every Breath You Take

Glancing at the clock, you puffed out a breath at the late hour. It might be Friday, but you had refused to leave the office until all weekly projects were completed by their deadline, as well as a few extras that you wanted to finish ahead of schedule. You had snagged a government job, and there was no way in hell that you were going to slack off or cause anyone to second guess whether you were the most qualified choice. 

Sending off an email to your supervisor with the attached completed work, you gave a triumphant grin before logging out of the computer system, grabbing your purse, and hightailing it for the elevators. Thoughts of a long, hot bath followed by curling up on the couch with delivery pizza and a sappy movie were beckoning, and after a week full of working early mornings and even later evenings, you deserved it. 

Exiting the elevator and crossing the lobby, you waved and said goodnight to the evening security guard. He was unsurprised to see you leaving so late and wished you a good weekend. The sun had set hours ago, but the street was still semi-lit from the city lights, sections of darkness broken by circles of lamp light, car headlights, and the muted glow of lit windows. 

And yet, he still managed to hide within the shadows. 

You wouldn’t have even noticed, if it weren’t for the fact that he had been an unfailing constant lately. Each time you exited the office, even if it was just to run down the street to the nearest food truck, he was there. Standing right across the street from your work building, intense stare fixed in your direction, tonight was no exception. 

The first time it had happened, you had been sure you were hallucinating. Especially because no one else seemed to notice the tall figure, pedestrians passing by with no acknowledgement. It was as if he didn’t allow anyone to see him. Just you. 

Habit made you glance across the street again, and sure enough, the shadowed outline of his lean form was still waiting between the patches of light. It was as if he had molded them to his own benefit, wrapping the night around himself so that only the inhuman flicker of his eyes glinted at you out of the darkness. 

Loki, the God of Mischief, had been silently stalking you for weeks. And you had absolutely no idea why. 

Starting down the street, you felt his presence as a prickle on the back of your neck. He was there as you walked a block over to the bus stop, and it was only when you were safely on board and in a seat that the sensation disappeared. You breathed a heavy sigh of relief, knowing he was gone. The reprieve was short-lived, since you also knew that he’d already be there when you got home. 

Sure enough, once the bus exited the city and stopped near your block, the sensation of being followed returned. You walked quickly up the front path of your suburban home, hands shaking slightly as they fit the key into the front door. He never came too close, never followed you across the threshold, but the idea that he could made your mouth run dry. Once you were inside with the door closed and deadbolted, you went around double checking all the windows and the back door. Yep, still locked. 

Peeking out between the blinds in the living room, your eyes scanned the moonlit yard, looking for movement. You didn’t see any, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t out there, lurking. For the millionth time you contemplated reporting him, but also for the millionth time you had no idea who exactly to tell. It wasn’t like you were highly-ranked enough to have Mr. Fury or the Avengers on speed dial. And the police would think you were having a mental break, since it seemed as though Loki could cloak himself from being noticed, even when in the middle of a crowd. 

You had just started working for S.H.I.E.L.D a couple of months ago, as a low-level data interpreter. To say you were at the bottom of the totem pole was accurate, but you were prepared to work hard to elevate yourself within the organization. Sure, you’d never be an actual agent or spy, but there were upper level positions within your department that would one day have your name on them. You weren’t about to jeopardize those possibilities by creating waves while still in your probationary period, especially since you doubted your by-the-book, no-nonsense supervisor would do anything other than laugh in your face if you tried to tell him that a friggin god had chosen to follow you around. Hell, even your own family would probably assume you were overworked and delusional.  

Which meant that you were stuck dealing with the issue of Loki yourself...and so far your grand master plan had been trying to ignore him in the fervent hopes that he would get bored and leave you alone. 

Though he was impossible to totally ignore, you had made some progress with not lying in bed awake all night, staring at the ceiling and fearing the moment he’d decide to come inside the house. You still did this for about half of the night, but hey, progress. When he had shown no interest in crossing that boundary, you wondered if you were supposed to feel more terrified at his lack of intent, or safe with the knowledge that he was lurking around the house like your own personal security system. 

And while you had at first been too scared to leave the office for lunch knowing he was out there, after a week of huddling in your cubicle you had been furious with yourself. It had been a piss-poor day anyways, and you had barely made it to an 8am meeting on time thanks to forgetting to set your alarm the night before (probably because you had been too busy stressing over the god lurking outside). Deciding that enough was enough, you had walked outside with head held high, ready to march down the street to the nearby deli. He had been there, of course he had, piercing gaze immediately zeroed in on you the moment you exited the building’s doors. 

Lack of sleep and frustration making you feel bold, you had actually stopped and glared black at him. It was the first time you had been assertive enough to acknowledge him without any visible fear, and you were damn proud of yourself. 

That pride had quickly turned to ash when the corners of his mouth curved slowly upwards, lips parting to showcase a sadistic smirk that caused your heart to drop into your ass, legs doing a 180 and practically sprinting you back into the building. Turns out you hadn’t been that hungry, after all. You had left the office for lunch a few times since then, but always kept your eyes pointed down at the sidewalk, never daring to nonverbally challenge him again.

Now, after checking for the umpteenth time that all the blinds were closed, you went through with your evening plans, the hot bath relaxing tense muscles and greasy pizza filling your soul as much as your stomach. And when you crawled into bed a few hours later and drifted off to sleep, you almost forgot about the powerful god who was stalking your every move. Almost…

~  ~  ~

Startling awake a few hours later, you sat up in bed and grabbed for the bedside lamp, flicking it on. Eyes squinting at the sudden brightness, you scanned the room with a pounding heart, relief washing over you at seeing that the corners were empty. It was just a dream, you soothed. It wasn’t real…

Said dream had been filled with flashing green eyes, lips twisted into a cruel grin, and a large, powerful form pinning you to the bed. 

Licking bone-dry lips, you got out of bed and headed down to the kitchen for a glass of water. You didn’t turn on any other lights, both because you knew the layout of the house well enough to navigate it in the dark, and in hopes that your movement wouldn’t alert a certain visitor who might still be in the vicinity. 

The microwave clock showed that it was a little after 3am, which meant you had only gotten a couple hours of sleep before the raven-haired god had once again disrupted your life. There were enough windows with moonlight streaming in through the blinds that you had no trouble navigating the kitchen. Not wanting to open the fridge and risk him seeing the light, you grabbed a glass out of the cabinet and went over to the sink, glancing out the small window above it but seeing only an empty yard. 

The glass was half full when you felt every hair on your body stand up in warning. All those blinds had been shut earlier. You had checked them multiple times before going to bed. Your eyes flew back up, breath catching in your throat at the sight. Only seconds ago the view of the yard had been empty, but now…

Loki was standing mere feet away, on the other side of the glass. Moonlight lit up his features, the pale unblemished skin giving off an eerie glow as his emerald eyes burned into you through what, suddenly, felt like a pathetic excuse of a barrier. Shock and fear made your suddenly shaky fingers loosen their grip on the fragile water glass, causing it to fall into the sink and shatter. The noise was like a gunshot to your frozen state; you jumped and screamed in alarm before realizing the sound wasn’t from the window. Eyes jerked down to the sink, where pieces of glass lay scattered and sparkling in the dim moonlight. When you looked back up again, Loki was gone. 

Suddenly, a wave of anger flowed through you, heating your blood and overtaking the fear long enough for you to make what, looking back, was a really fucking stupid decision.

You were so done with his shit, done with living in constant hypervigilance and fear because some god had decided to play with you like a bug in a jar. Without allowing yourself to fully process the stupidity of what you were about to do, you went over to the back door, opened it, and stormed out onto the porch. 

Breath puffing with adrenaline, you glanced to your right, where Loki had previously been standing. Instead, there was only empty air. This served to piss you off more, as it was obvious that he was just toying with you. Well, you were done with the games. 

“Listen up, asshole!” you shrieked at the empty yard. “I don’t know what your problem is, but-” you cut off abruptly as logic finally caught up to anger. Your brain was frantically waving a big, red ‘this is a really stupid idea’ sign and telling you to get back inside. 

The flames of rage quickly fizzled out, replaced by an icy wave of fear when the asshole in question suddenly appeared in the middle of the yard, seemingly out of thin air. He stood silent and still as the night, all-black Asgardian clothing molded to his tall and proud form so that he blended in with the shadows.

You felt, more than saw, his eyes trail slowly down over your body, expression unreadable in the dim moonlight. You were suddenly very aware that you were only wearing a lavender tank top and grey sleep shorts, bare toes curling against the cool wood of the porch. The sheer vulnerability of your situation kicked-started the flight response, and you took a slow step backwards, not wanting to lose sight of what your survival instinct classified as a wild and unpredictable predator. 

The plan failed instantly when Loki burst forward, black cape fluttering out around his form as he strode across the yard. You weren’t sure if he looked more like a fallen angel or avenging demon, but the effect was enough to jolt your body into motion as you turned and sprinted for the still-open back door. 

Crossing the threshold, you felt a small spark of relief, thinking how he never came inside, that you just needed to get the door closed and…

He hit the wood with such force that you were thrown into the kitchen, stumbling back against the opposite wall when he stepped inside. His gaze zeroed in on you as he lifted one booted foot and kicked the door shut.

The loud slam made you jump, vocal cords suddenly coming back online as you opened your mouth to scream. He moved so fast that you didn’t even have time to consider fleeing, his hand cutting off the scream before it even left your throat. He slammed you into the wall, his palm so large that it covered the entire bottom half of your face and effectively cut off your oxygen. His other arm caged you in, palm flat against the wall right beside your head, making you feel utterly trapped. Eyes widening with terror, you clawed at his hand, fighting to breathe. You might as well have been an insect trying to stop an incoming shoe with all the difference your struggles made. 

“You will be silent. Attempt to scream again, and I will choke the life out of you. Understood?” 

His low, dark voice made you shiver with fear, but you were so desperate for air that you would agree to almost anything at this point, and so nodded frantically up at him. His eyes narrowed for a few moments, as if assessing your reliability, before sliding his hand down so that it lightly encircled your throat and anchored you to the wall.

Gasping in blessed oxygen, you panted up at him with heaving breaths, eyes shifting back and forth as you tried, and failed, to come up with an escape plan. If you thought he had been intimidating from a distance these past few weeks, it was nothing compared to the vision of him up close. He practically buzzed with power as his lean, muscular frame towered over you, the ebony-clad chest and shoulders blocking any view of the kitchen and back door. The fingers at your throat flexed slightly in silent warning, as if he could read your thoughts and was reminding you that escape was futile. 

You looked up at him, still in shock and trying to process the fact that a literal god was in your kitchen. And not just any god, but one who had terrorized your city, made a crowd kneel at his feet, and declared his intent to rule the planet. His arrogance was legendary, his powers terrifying. And you were so, so fucked. 

Glancing up, you took in his face, semi-shadowed in the moonlit kitchen. Flawless porcelain skin showcased features sharp enough to cut glass, your eyes scanning over his sternly clenched jaw and lips pressed into a tight grimace. They gave off a coldness that sent a shiver down your spine, but then you looked up past his straight, regal nose and found the blazing heat of his gaze. He was watching you intently, those cruel lips curving up the slightest bit at your obvious perusal.

Horrified to have been caught staring, your eyes quickly lowered, taking in the expensive fabric that covered his tall, powerful body. You felt him bend down, every muscle tensed in fearful anticipation when his face stopped right beside your own. You could practically feel the effort he made to reign in his strength, the capability for violence coiled tightly right below the surface of his skin. Still too scared to lift your eyes, you heard as he slowly inhaled through his nose before exhaling through his mouth, so that warm breath ghosted over the side of your neck and caused goosebumps to erupt across your flesh. 

Holy crap, had he just sniffed you?!

He gave a dark chuckle at the noticeable shudder that ran through your body in response to his actions. The hand at your throat moved up to tightly grip your chin, tipping it upwards until your eyes fluttered up as well and were ensnared by his gaze. 

He was taking you in, noting your eyes dilated with fear and mouth slightly parted as your chest heaved to take in panicked breaths. He seemed to catalog all of your reactions with a piercing intelligence, as if storing away the knowledge for later. 

“Do you fear me, human?”

The low, rumbled words shouldn’t have been enticing, but you’d be lying to deny the stirring low in your gut that resulted from his voice whispering in your ear. It actually took a few seconds for the question itself to filter through your brain. Unable to nod with his fingers still gripping your chin, you instead gave a soft, breathy, “Yes,” which caused him to smirk.

“Good girl.”

Okay, now that definitely caused a reaction, your body heating up at the mixture of fear and praise he provided. Dear god, what is wrong with you?! Scream, fight, do something!

As if he could read the thoughts in your gaze, he clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “Ah ah, little one. You’re not getting away until I allow it.” 

Attempting one last ounce of bravery, you asked in a pleading voice, “Why are you doing this?”

His eyes lit up, as if he were impressed that you dared to question his motives. The fingers at your chin loosened slightly, his eyes watching as he moved a thumb slowly back and forth across your lower lip.

“This planet is exceedingly uninspiring, and I have found humans to be particularly boring. So I had to obtain entertainment in one form or another, didn’t I?”

Well that sure wasn’t the answer you had been expecting. All the weeks of following you around, scaring you to within an inch of your life as you tried to figure out what reasons he had for singling you out, and it was all because he was bored?

You were grateful to feel a spark of anger return at his callous response and utter disregard for what he had put you through these past weeks. Looking back later, you’d think that he had verbally poked at you on purpose, had wanted you to showcase a bit more fight to add to his entertainment of the situation. 

Through gritted teeth, you said, “If we’re so boring, then why waste your time following me around?”

His fingers trailed back down over your throat, and for a moment you thought that your words had been a fatal mistake, that this was when he decided you weren’t worth the trouble and strangled you. Instead, his fingers flitted over the pulse in your neck, pausing there as if to measure its beating, before gliding further down and across your delicate collarbone. 

“I said humans were boring.” The tips of his long, cool fingers slid underneath the right strap of your tank top, pushing it towards your shoulder. “I didn’t say that you were boring.” 

Shocked into silence, you felt the fabric being dragged down over your arm, the neckline lowering with it so that the top swells of your breasts were visible. You felt like a rabbit caught in the hunter’s crosshairs, too scared to move outside the involuntary trembling that started in your knees and traveled up the length of your legs and torso. 

“Please,” you whispered, staring up at him helplessly, beseeching him to let you go. Wanting this to all just be a dream in which he would suddenly disappear and you would wake up in your warm bed. 

“Begging already?” he taunted. “But we’ve barely begun.”

With that, he grabbed the neckline of the tank top and yanked, the fabric no match for his inhuman strength as he literally tore it from your body. The cool air hitting your bare nipples was what thrust you into action, as you reached up to shove against his shoulders with all your might, hoping to make him stumble back long enough so that you could dart to the side and make a run for it. 

Instead, you might as well have pushed against a stone wall, even the adrenaline-laced strength not making him retreat so much as an inch. The only reaction your action caused was him to huff out a dark laugh of amusement before he flung the tatters of the tank top to the side and leered down at your exposed flesh. 

You watched, wide-eyed, as a large and surprisingly warm palm cupped your breast, testing the weight of it. The whimper that left your throat was purely out of fear, you told yourself, and had nothing to do with the sensation of him pinching your nipple between two of those slender and graceful, yet powerfully masculine, fingers. 

“What delightful noises you make, pet. I’m eager to learn how many others I can wring from your lips.”

Oh god, this couldn’t be happening. The whole situation was too surreal, too overwhelming. Your brain couldn’t compute all the mixed signals it was getting from the rest of your body. Thighs trembled with fear and the desire to run, but your traitorous nipples were hard as stone, and not just from the chilly air. 

Loki noticed as well, of course he did. He was a master of lies, and of reading them in others, so there was no way your body was going to fool him. A pleased look lit up his eyes, and the emerald blaze was too much, causing your own to squeeze tightly shut when he leaned in close. 

The words were whispered from mere inches away, and they brought with them a pang of arousal that shocked you to the core. “Don’t fight it, girl. You were made to be ruled, to be owned. And I’m going to make you mine.”

You gave a little sob in response, but didn’t argue, didn’t struggle. Not even when the hand at your breast continued its pleasurable torment while his other hand left the wall to trail down over your ribs and waist until it met the top of your sleep shorts. The tips of his fingers hooked inside the fabric, and with one graceful movement he shoved both shorts and panties down over your hips, so that they fell in a pile at your feet and left your body completely bare. 

“Step out of them,” he commanded, fingers dancing softly along your hip bone. 

Frozen with indecision, your breath came in audible gasps as the mixture of fear, anxiety, and burgeoning desire made your head spin. The headstrong and independent mentality that was so self-ingrained insisted that you fight him to the very end. But there was another part of you, a hidden and previously unknown part, that wanted to do as he said. Wanted to give in and submit. 

Before you could find out which side would win, the hand at your breasts leapt back up to your throat, the movement so quick that you barely had time to register it before your oxygen was cut off. Eyes flew back open in panic, but before you could even attempt to struggle, the long fingers of his other hand caught and held your wrists tightly together, effectively trapping you once again.

His face lowered directly in front of your own, his straight, white teeth bared as he snarled, “I said step. Out. Of. Them.”

At this point, you’d do just about anything he asked if it meant being able to breathe, and so obediently lifted first one foot and then the other out of the shorts and underwear. He used his own booted foot to shove the fabric so that it slid across the floor off to the side, but didn’t yet let up his grip on your throat. 

Your vision was growing spotty from lack of oxygen as you choked and squirmed in his grip. He looked delighted at this, his gaze dropping down to watch your body’s involuntary twists and jerks before lifting back to your face. 

“You’re a willful little human, I’ll give you that. But from now on, when I give an order, I expect you to obey. Do I make myself clear?”

You nodded desperately, and when that didn’t seem to satisfy him, sputtered out a barely audible, “Yes”. 

“Sorry, pet, I didn’t quite catch that. Try again.” 

Certain you were about to pass out, you put all remaining energy into gurgling out another attempt of the word. It must’ve been enough, because he whispered ‘good girl’ at the same time his grip loosened, allowing you to cough and gag as your lungs frantically filled with air. 

His hand stayed in place this time, splayed across your throat in silent warning, as his other palm released your wrists, coasted down the front of your body and, without any hesitation, delved between your thighs. When you tried to close them, he used his own leg to wedge yours back open, pressing his erection into your hip and making it clear where this was heading. 

Those cruel yet seductive fingertips ran along your slit before dipping into the humiliatingly apparent wetness and spreading it up to your clit. He gave a hum of male satisfaction at your pleasured gasp, exploring your body in a way that made both shame and desire heat your skin. The tip of his finger teased at your wet opening, barely dipping inside. Your hips bucked, and you didn’t know whether it was an attempt to get away or move closer. 

His voice was more raspy than before, when he asked in a condescending tone, “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you, my pretty little girl?”

You hoped he didn’t notice the way your pussy clenched onto the tip of his finger when he called you ‘his’, but judging by his groan, he had. 

Slow, achingly slow, he pushed his finger inside you, the long digit reaching places that your own hands never could. Your head fell back against the wall with a soft thud, baring your throat to him, as desire officially overtook the will to escape. 

“Yes, that’s it,” he cooed, the thumb of his other hand tracing over the rapid pulse that beat in the side of your throat. “Show how you belong to me.”

His words should’ve scared you, and they did in a far-off and hazy kind of way, but you were more focused on how he was pushing a second finger inside you. He rubbed them with knowledgeable precision against the sensitive front wall, making you cry out when they found your g-spot. And when his thumb also started rubbing quick little circles on your clit, you decided that maybe belonging to him wasn’t such a bad thing, after all. 

He continued that way, relentless, his breaths coming in heavy puffs against your cheek as he finger fucked you roughly until the tension between your thighs coiled into a tight spring of need. Whimpering, you dimly realized that your hands were grasping desperately at his arms and your thighs had fallen open wide of their own accord. 

“There you go, pet. Take your pleasure, be a good little girl.” The hand at your throat tightened slightly, just enough to make you have to work a bit harder to draw breath. “And then, I’m going to fuck you...and I’m not going to be gentle about it.”

The orgasm slammed into you unexpectedly, and it was unlike any you had previously experienced. The combination of his praise and threat, along with the motions of both his hands, sent your body soaring. Your cries were hoarse and strained from his grip at your throat, and your legs shook as you came all over his hand, his eyes flaring down at you with delight as your body convulsed against him. 

He removed the hand from between your thighs, lifting his wet fingers to your lips and ordering you to open them. Still drunk off the orgasm, you did so without hesitation. 

“Suck them clean. Taste your own desperation,” he purred, teeth nipping sharply at your ear as he ground his hips against you.  

Once he was satisfied with your work, he removed his fingers from your mouth with a pop before reaching down to his crotch and starting to undo the fabric. You watched in silent awe as he removed just enough of the unearthly clothing to release his thick cock, the head a dark red and already glistening with precum. Despite your recent orgasm, you still felt a bit of apprehension, knowing it was going to be a tight fit. He gave it a few firm strokes with his fist before he grabbed your hips and twirled you around so that you were facing the wall, his feet pushing your legs open even wider, spreading you out for him. 

It felt so taboo, his still fully-dressed, muscular body pressing into your naked back, his bare erection bobbing between your spread thighs. He was so tall that when the hand at your throat pushed upward, forcing your head to tip back until your face was parallel with the ceiling, he was able to lean down over you and make eye contact. You tried to look away, but his fingers pressed into your windpipe in retaliation. 

“Eyes on me, girl. I want to see that little look of pain in your eyes when I press into you.”

Your eyes widened at that, causing him to chuckle. The tip of his cock notched at your opening, but he didn’t press forward, drawing out the tension of the moment. 

“Who do you belong to?” he taunted. 

Licking your lips with both anticipation and nervousness, you whispered, “You.” 

He made a deep, approving noise in his throat. “Yes. Say it. Say my name.” 

“Loki,” you answered with a cry, as he started to press his cock forward, your body twisting as it struggled to adjust to the wide head. 

“No no, don’t tense up,” he hissed. “Take it. Take it all.” 

With that, he pushed inside you with one long, slow thrust. You felt the slight burn as your body stretched to accommodate every thick inch. It must’ve shown in your face, because his lips curled into a smirk at the same time as he groaned deep in his chest, the sound vibrating against your back. 

“Mmm, you suffer so beautifully for me. Look at you, taking all of my cock like a good little girl.”

The bastard knew what his words did to you, panting out a chuckle when he felt you involuntarily clench around him in response. Your hands were braced against the wall, back arched as he grasped your throat and hip with his hands and impaled you on his cock. You felt so full, so utterly overtaken when he ground his hips into your ass, as if to see just how deep he could go. 

He withdrew slowly before thrusting back in, quick and harsh, causing you to cry out with the sharp pleasure-pain. He did it again, pulling his hips back agonizingly slow until the tip of his cock was resting at your entrance. He paused for a moment before pushing back inside, as if to recreate that initial claiming thrust. After doing this about half a dozen times, he stopped teasing and set up a steady and deep rhythm, each thrust sending sparks throughout your entire body. 

Your eyes had started to flutter shut, but his hand cutting off your air caused them to reopen and focus up at him, his chiseled features hovering over you in the dim light, gaze searing down into your own. This time, you didn’t panic, didn’t tug at his arm, just stared up at him with desire-glazed eyes and let him do as he wished. You could practically feel his approval of your surrender, his fingers loosening long enough for you to draw a few breaths before tightening again. 

“You’re so pretty like this, surrendering to me,” he growled through bared teeth, once again letting up on your throat so that you could gasp in air and let it out with a moan. “Every breath you take is mine. Every gasp from your lips, every flutter of your pulse...it’s because I allow it. And now, I’m going to fill up this cunt and claim it as mine.”

Your whimper was cut off as his hand tightened once more, hips picking up the pace as he thrust brutally into you, his balls smacking your clit and fingers pressing so deeply into your hip that you knew there would be bruises to match the ones at your throat. The edges of your vision were starting to become fuzzy when he let up for the last time, his hand lowering from your neck to run over your breasts, tweaking the nipples until you whined before continuing downward. 

When his fingertips zeroed in on your clit, you let out a pleading noise which, under other circumstances, would’ve made you ashamed at how needy it sounded. You weren’t sure what exactly you were begging for, but you did know that he was the only one who could give it to you. The harsh bite of his cock dragging against your sensitive inner walls combined with the fast and skilled movements of his fingers drove you up to the edge, forehead dropping to the wall as you moaned uncontrollably, his answering grunts sending shivers through you. 

The hand gripping your hip came up to wrap in your hair, pulling your head back so that you were once again looking up at him, and you couldn’t help but think that he was one of the most glorious creatures you had ever seen. His features looked as wrecked as you felt, cords in his neck standing out with stark relief in his pale, moonlit skin as his jaw clenched tightly, eyes focused unwaveringly on you. It was one of the most intensely intimate moments of your life, his piercing gaze breaking you wide open with nowhere to hide. 

You started shaking uncontrollably, body balanced right on the knife’s edge of pleasure and wanting so badly to fall over into the abyss. His lips twisted knowingly as your pussy started to flutter around his cock. 

“Yes, that’s it. Come for me.” The hand between your legs pressed in harder, moved faster. “Come for your god.”

As if the words were the final push your body needed, the orgasm flowed through you. It wasn’t as volatile a punch as the first one; instead, it drowned you in waves of blissfully intense pleasure that drew soft cries from your lips, the sound mingling with his own strangled groan. Leaning down, hand still fisted in your hair, he bit into your shoulder as he came. You felt his warm cum filling you as he did just as he promised, and claimed you as his. 

Mind floating from the high of your orgasm and body trembling with little aftershocks, you felt his hips slow then still, his mouth moving from your shoulder to lick a trail of sweat that was running down the side of your neck. Whimpering, you couldn’t stop your hips from pushing back into his, grinding onto the softening cock that was still buried deep. 

He hummed with approval, his hands running up over your sides, tracing your body with possession for a few long moments as both of your bodies calmed. Taking your earlobe gently between his teeth, he whispered, “You’re mine now. Anytime I want you, anywhere I choose. Is that clear, kitten?” 

Part of you wanted to deny him, wanted to find the strength to fight back, now that the orgasmic stupor was starting to lift. Instead, your body responded of its own accord, head nodding with submission. 

His lips pressed softly to your temple, making you gasp at the gentle touch. You realized dazedly that it was the first kiss he’d given you all night. 

“Good girl.”

The words were said a moment before his body moved away, his cock slipping wetly from your body. The cool air hitting your back made you immediately miss his body heat. You turned around, unsure what to do or say next…

But he was gone.

The back door was slightly ajar from him disappearing into the night, leaving you standing there, naked and shivering, his cum starting to trickle down the inside of your thigh. Grabbing your shorts and panties, you put them on before finding the tatters of your tank top and holding it to the front of your chest. Walking over to the door, you closed it with a click that sounded unnaturally loud in the empty kitchen. 

You went around to the windows and re-closed the blinds, stopping at the last one to glance out into the yard. It was empty, completely undisturbed, but you knew he hadn’t gone far...and that he wouldn’t be gone for long. 

Leaving the broken glass in the sink to deal with in the morning, you grabbed another one, filled it with water, and headed for the staircase. As you tucked back into bed, body already sore in places that made your skin heat with the memory, you thought back over his final words. 

You’re mine now. Anytime I want you, anywhere I choose. 

You wondered when he’d return to make good on his promise...and as you drifted off to sleep, tried to ignore the dark part of you that hoped it would be soon.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~

Afterword: This is meant to be only a one shot. I know, I know, I left it very open-ended. But I like to leave something to the imagination, so y’all can create your own fantasy idea of what might happen to “you” next ;)

[fourmarkdove]

Fawn.

Title: Fawn.

Words: 2.8k

Summary: Geralt stops into ye locale brothel expecting one the ladies to soothe his battle weary soul. You aren’t meant to be there and have no idea how to handle his needs.

Paring: Geralt x reader

Warnings/Triggers: Smut.

A/N: This is a multi-chapter beasty. I’m already up to 10k so I’ll be editing and breaking it up into chapters to post in the next couple days. I’ve held onto this for 3 months (?) and I still can’t figure out where I’m going with it past chapter like 8, so I may be asking y’all what you think when we get there. (Also, I need to go back and tag some folks.) Comments welcome. Thanks for reading!

~

It had been weeks since the Witcher had been through town, so when his massive frame darkened the doorway of the inn, the women who worked there scattered to put on their rosy lips and tighten their bodices just a bit more. In truth, none of them would have even asked him for a single coin. Being the one chosen to bed the Witcher later that night would have been more than enough payment for keeping his plate full, his drink topped off, and some easy company with curves to fondle while he consumed and brooded.

By dusk, the leather clad man was served enough of a steady stream of ale to just barely soften the lines across his troubled brow. His demeanor was still altogether sullen, leaning over his mug, shoulders rolled forward, silver strands of hair fallen around his weary features. The hunt had not gone well. 

He needed food, a bath and a hard fuck. Emptying himself out in the tight cunt of a pretty little thing would help clear his head. It might even afford him the chance to get a little bit of rest.

Mathilde, one of the more experienced women, saw Geralt always had proper company to suit his mood. Settling in next to him with a mug, she let out a labored sigh and sipped on her ale. His heavy lidded gaze glanced her way and an acknowledgement “Hmm” rumbled from his chest.

“You look tired, Witcher,” she noted, leaning heavily into his shoulder armor. “Why don’t you stay more than a night or two, my darling? Let Mathilde look after you a bit.”

“Hmm.”

That was usually enough to get him headed into a room upstairs but instead he sat back and downed the last third of his drink.

Mimicking his motions, she sighed and turned away from the room to whisper into his ear.

“Anyone caught your eye tonight, darling?”

Geralt looked in a drunken citrine haze around the room, but took pause at your figure sitting at the hearth, tending to the fire.

“Hm,” he grunted, motioning with his chin, before sipping on the fresh pint just delivered.

Mathilde pressed her lips together and slipped her hand under the table to touch his knee. Lazily lifting an eyebrow at her advances, he waited in silence for more information. 

“She is new since you been here last, darling. Might not be exactly what you’re in the mood for tonight though love. Let’s maybe try Larissa? She can be bent over a sack of potatoes in the kitchen in about two minutes if you want an early night in.”

The slightest downward tick of his mouth indicated he was not pleased with her proposition. Returning his gaze to your outline seated by the fire, he grunted,

“Send the doe-eyed one up with soap.”

You’d barely seen the shadowy figure dragging his weary frame upstairs before Mathilde crossed the noisy room to where you were seated. 

“You’re up, girlie,” the mistress instructed without a drop of honey in her tone. “Take a bar of soap up to the Witcher.”

Willing your hands to stop trembling, you paused and pressed your back against the wall just outside his door. Shaky breaths felt like they could have rattled your body to pieces and left you collapsed on the floor.

You’d been saved the humiliation of participating in the activities all of the other girls were involved with by staying in the kitchen for the last few weeks you’d been at the inn. Knowing absolutely nothing about cooking, you still tried to make yourself useful. Carrots were cut in odd sizes at an achingly slow pace. Onions made you weep so much that you closed your eyes while cutting and sliced your knuckles by mistake. Collecting potatoes, you’d managed to get tangled in a thicket of thistles and stumbled back to the kitchen empty handed and covered head to toe in burrs.

Having absolutely no training about local flora and fauna, you assumed all herbs were created equal. You’d never have known the herbs next to the parsley were in fact poisonous had you not washed and cut them to put in the soup yourself. Just a few sprinkles of green on top of a spoonful of broth made you immediately sick. Your body revolted and cast up everything you’d eaten that day, over and over.

So you were sent out of the kitchen. Potentially poisoning patrons was apparently the last straw. You knew it was only a matter of time before you would be sent upstairs to perform other activities. And it made your hands sweat and breathing quicken so much that you started to see stars.

Just as you were feeling your legs might give out from under you, the door swung open.

The white haired man stood as a broad shouldered wall of muscle, leather pants undone low around his hips, shirt crumpled in his hand.

You were absolutely dwarfed small by his impressive size. Upon one last shallow inhale, the soap dropped from your hand and your eyelashes fluttered closed.

Catching your waist, he tossed his shirt at the foot of the bed, swept you over his forearm and sighed. He’d heard your rapid heartbeat, like a frightened deer hiding under a brush pile, from the other side of his closed door. Of course, he was used to a cool reception wherever he went, but making you faint dead away was not his intention.

Dragging you to the bed, he hummed a thoughtful sound. He’d felt the kind of expensive green fabric you wore under his rough hands many times, but never in a place like this. Dresses this soft came from fabric woven from far away places, which meant you’d come from money and belonged in a court somewhere not collapsed on his bed in a brothel in the center of nowhere.

Fortunately, he had more knowledge of courtly dresses than most men, particularly their quick removal.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he let you fall forward so your head rested against his shoulder as he reached for his silver dagger and slipped it right up your spine, slicing the ties laced across your back. Roughly tugging apart your dress, your body responded with a desperate gasp. 

With a shuddering exhale, your fingers grasped onto his thick biceps, trying to ground yourself as the dizzying sensation passed.

He made quick work pulling you free from the binding garment, slipping it down your shoulders, letting it pool around your hips.

“I’m… sorry… I don’t know… what happened,” you stilted, pressing your forehead into the crook of his neck.

“Why you ladies tie yourselves up in these fucking dresses I’ll never know,” he grumbled almost imperceptibly low. Slipping a hand under your hair, he stroked along your jaw and lifted your head with his thumb. “Better?”

You straightened up a bit and released your fingertips from their death grip into his upper arms. 

“Better,” you lied. “How may I… please you?”

Regarding you with amusement, he lifted a brow. “Please me? Keep breathing for a start.”

You bit your lip, and his golden eyes followed. You were uncertain how to say the things out loud that you were supposed to say. Even moreso, do the things you were in his bed to do.

You frowned in confusion when he reached around your hip and pulled back the covers.

“You can stay here tonight,” his voice resonated deep in his chest. “I’m going to wash up.”

“Can I help?” you asked meekly.

He tugged your bitten bottom lip from between your teeth with his thumb. “You can stay right here.”

Decision made, his weight lifted from the bed making the old frame creak. He went to the fireplace to add more wood before heading to the bath in the main part of the room.

Pushing your heavy outer dress down your hips, you remained in your underclothes and slipped your cold feet under the covers, pulling the wool blanket up to your neck. 

Geralt groaned as he sank down into the bath. Every muscle in his body ached.

Resting his heavy arms along the sides of the bath, his tired eyes finally closed and he rested his head back against the hot water basin.

Still alert like a snoozing cat, he didn’t move a muscle when you padded over, undressed and carefully held onto the edge of the bath to climb in with him.

You settled a long moment opposite him, drawing your knees up to your chest in the warm water. Fairly certain he was sleeping, you were allowed a longer look at him without those keen eyes flashing at you. He really was stunningly beautiful. Somehow that made what you were about to do even more difficult.

You were just inches away from touching his large hand holding onto the edge of the tub but he sensed your reach and grumbled, “What are you doing, little fawn?”

You gasped and froze, glancing at his still reclined and resting form.

“I… um…” you stumbled, pushing forward despite your racing heart shooting up into your throat. Wrapping your hand around two of his massive fingers, you pulled it underwater and his palm around your waist.

“You paid for this... room…” came your breathy voice, collecting every last bit of courage left in your body. Slipping over to him, you rose onto your knees before him, letting the water just skim the underside of your breasts.

His gaze became dark, pupils dilated, as he followed the water droplets rolling down your flushed skin.

He licked over his lip and flicked his gaze back up to yours after drinking in all of the soft flesh you were offering. His hand you’d wrapped around yourself flexed and pulled you flush to his chest. You could feel the steady thump of his heart pounding like a horse’s canter under your palms. Nudging his nose to yours, you could feel his warm breath against your lips when he parted his and waited. 

It was so close and quiet and intimate and it surprised you. 

A man like him could take what he wanted. But he was stalled out, stroking your neck with his thumb and the curve at the small of your back, while you decided. Leaning just that tiny bit more forward, you gave his full lips a chaste kiss, long and lingering, before backing off, still just inches from his face, and gazed at him through your dark lashes.

It was more than enough encouragement for him to stretch his long neck and tilt his head just a degree, capturing your mouth with his. He kissed you like a man starved, filling all of his senses with your sweet, soft presence, inhaling deeply your scent and needing to taste your lips, feel your soft tongue, breathe the same breath with each kiss that he dipped to receive from you.

It filled your body with such heat, from your cheeks to your toes, overwhelmed with the sensation.

Dropping his head, he pressed his lips to your neck, leaving little nips down to your collarbone. Nuzzling your chest there he huffed in appreciation and lifted his gaze again, arching a brow. He had a mischievous glint in his amber eyes which you couldn’t help but smile softly at. It was then that you felt him cup your breast, massaging it gently in his strong hand. His thumb found the sensitive nub of your hardened nipple and you bit your bottom lip to stifle a whimper.

Your eyelashes fluttered closed when your foreheads touched. He nudged his nose to yours and told you in a gentle rumble, “I want to hear you.” 

Pawing your fingertips at the rock hard muscle atop his shoulders, you whined and let your head fall back, your hair spreading across the water as he lifted your body inches more out of the bath, kissing down your sternum, delivering hungry kisses to your warm flesh until his mouth finally found that nipple he’d been teasing.

Your whine turned into a moan as he hugged your hips to his chest. He caught behind one of your shaky knees and helped you wrap your squirming legs around his middle, never pausing for a second on the attention his open mouthed suckling kisses were giving your breast. Once it seemed he’d gorged himself on one breast, he shifted your body slightly and dropped his head down again to capture the second nipple in his mouth.

You dug your heels into his muscular back and threaded your fingers through his hair, arching and whimpering sounds you didn’t know you could make. Flattening his tongue along the swell of the underside of your breast, he lifted it past his lips and into his hollowed mouth, drawing you deep into him and suckling at such a slow even rhythm, rubbing your sensitive nipple into the roof of his mouth. Something like lightning shocked from your nipple down to your clit, making your hips jerk foreword violently. 

“Hmm,” he grunted approvingly, feeling the swell of the hood of your clit nudge against his stomach when your thighs tightened again. Even underwater he could feel your slick heat smearing against his taut skin.

The slightest flutter of gentle fingertips near your core made you gasp his name. Wrapping both arms behind his neck, you rutted into him, trying desperately to get more friction. 

Thick fingers slipped along your folds, coating you in your own sex, and a desperate ache pooled in your belly. Your hips rocked making waves in the bath and some spilled onto the floor.

“Careful there,” he teased, spreading two fingers around your core to stretch your center from outside. His thumb pad completely covered and deliciously circled your almost too sensitive clit. It made you cry out when he sped up thumbing over the tip of your swollen nub and then curled a thick finger over your clit hood, drawing down to his circling thumb. It was a motion and sensation and pressure you’d never even thought of to try yourself and it made your inside walls tighten and become thick with want.

Your fingers curled into the hair at the nape of his neck, not meaning to pull his hair hard as you writhed into his hand and panted into his mouth. Your eyes were shut, and an almost pained expression tensed your features as you moved into his rhythmic ministrations.

His expressive eyes never closed for a moment, however. Black dilated pupils caught in the light and he gazed at you like a hunter to prey. He wanted to see the heave of your breasts and how they shuddered against his chest at the pleasure he was giving you. He wanted to see how your eyebrows lifted and furrowed as if you were singing a song of ecstasy whose melody could only be heard by watching your beautiful features as he stroked your most sensitive parts of you. It was a melody you were writing together with every caress, kiss and muscle twitch.

You wrapped one arm behind his neck and pressed the other’s palm to his shoulder, giving you a bit of push and pull leverage against his anchored body. Your core was tightening and not willing to relax even if you willed it to.

“Fuck! Please don’t stop!” you cried trembling all over. 

He growled a pleased sound, snaking his tongue into your mouth which you licked at wildly. He was doing things to your body you’d never felt before. How were you supposed to tell him it felt better than the best feeling ever without having any words fully formed coming from your brain?

“You like that, little fawn?” he purred as your mouth crashed against his again.

“Ah-hah…” you mumbled into his mouth, coveting more of his strong tongue. You wanted to taste him, every inch of him, have his scent all over your body. The need was incredible.

The forearm holding around your hips eased tension and his free hand slid down to caress over the curve of your behind. You cooed and nibbled at his swollen lower lip, still slipping into his thumb and fingers at your front.

His one strong palm pressed under you from behind almost made a seat for you, and you were able to relax your thighs’ grip on his sides.

You gasped and dropped your head down against his shoulder, shuddering when you felt his thick fingers from behind slicking along your tensed up core and began circling with increased pressure where he’d been working to stretch you before.

Falling silent, your hips stilled and warm breath panting against his neck caught in your throat.

He could no longer see the impending orgasm written across your features when you buried your face in his neck, but he could definitely still feel the hard heartbeat between your legs kissing at his bare stomach. 

One slickened middle finger traced your opening, swirling over it gently at first and then pressed his fingertip into you.

His heightened hearing caught your mouse-sized whisper into his shoulder, “Please don’t…”

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 |  Part 4 |  Part 5 | Part 6 | Masterlist

[tsarisfanfiction]

Escape: Chapter 1

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Hurt/Comfort Characters: Gordon, Scott

An island vacation turns into a nightmare, and it’s going to take Gordon everything he’s got, and then some, to get himself and his injured brother to safety.

I am, tentatively, calling this a oneshot, but there is definitely scope for a full fic here if my muses line up properly.  It turns out they didn’t want to go a whole week without Scott&Gordon and whump, so here we go - a little something to keep them happy.

EDIT: Officially no longer a oneshot.  Thank you, muses.

“Leave me.”

Blue eyes locked with his, bright with pain but determined nonetheless.  Gordon expected nothing less from his eldest brother.  Still, Scott was asking – demanding – the impossible, and no matter that it was an order from a superior, the part of Gordon that was little brother rather than operative only had one answer to that.

“Not a chance.”

“Gordon-”

“I am not leaving you behind,” he hissed.

Scott was injured, and it was bad.  The guys had got the drop on them, their tumble over a thankfully shallow cliff hadn’t ended well for Scott, no thanks to Gordon landing on top of him, thereby cushioning his own fall, and now they were on the run.

Well.  Gordon was on the run.  Scott was another matter entirely, and there was a sick logic to Scott’s demand.

Gordon was uninjured, barring a few scrapes.  By himself, he’d have no trouble getting to safety, somewhere where he could turn the situation around and get back to their boat and off the island where they’d decided to take a day’s vacation.  With his broken leg, and Gordon suspected some busted ribs and a wrist injury on top, Scott couldn’t even walk by himself.  He was slowing Gordon down, and they both knew it.

“You have to,” Scott insisted.  “If they catch you-”

“And what about if they catch you?” Gordon cut him off.  They didn’t know what the guys’ goal was, but he was willing to bet it wasn’t for a friendly chat over a cup of tea.  “Come on.”

He’d managed to swim them across an inlet, towing Scott like a helpless rescuee – which he might as well be, at this point – but they needed to get into the treeline, out of sight and somewhere where they could hatch a strategy to get out of there.

Both of them out of there.

No matter what Scott said, leaving him behind to their pursuers’ mercy was not an option.

“I,” Scott started. His face was chalk white, emphasising just how blue his eyes were, and he was trembling ever so slightly. “I can handle it.”

The words were supposed to be reassuring, but they fell flat and empty.  They didn’t even know what the guys wanted; if this was just some sick hunting game to them, it didn’t matter how well Scott could handle captivity – he’d still be dead.

Gordon couldn’t hear immediate pursuit; the inlet seemed to have at least temporarily done the trick, although he knew it was only a matter of time before they were back on their trail.

“Scott,” he bit out, frustration born of worry sharpening his tongue more than he’d intended. Those bright blue eyes met his, and he could see the fear his big brother was failing to hide.  There was love, of course, and determination, but it was the fear that called out to Gordon.  He crouched down in front of him, getting down to Scott’s current level of struggling to sit upright.  “I am not leaving you behind.”

“You have to!” The desperation was well-hidden, but Gordon knew his brother.

He grasped his forearms, taking Scott’s weight as his brother lurched forward, unable to keep himself upright.  The skin was cool and slightly clammy to the touch.  Combined with the trembles wracking his body, and Gordon knew what he was dealing with.

“Scott,” he repeated, using the grip on his arms to hold him in place, draw him a little closer.  “Listen to me.”  He tightened his hold marginally.  “You’re going into shock and you’re not thinking clearly.”  Another concern to add to the pile he already had. “Listen to me.”

“Gordon-”

“Listen to me,” he repeated, leaning forwards and carefully releasing one of Scott’s arms so that hand could gently wind around until it was on the nape of his neck.  “Scott, do you trust me?”

In some situations, that question would be answered with an eyeroll and a smart remark about prankster squids.  In situations like this, it was answered by a reflexive swallow and a word floating out on a breath.  “Always.”

Gordon drew him in, pressing forehead to forehead and trying to ignore the clammy skin as he looked point blank into Scott’s eyes.  “I’m getting you out of here,” he promised.  “I’m getting us out of here,” because Scott would never be pacified by promises of his own well-being if it came at the expense of a brother’s. That should have been enough, was enough, but there were more words on his tongue and he let them fall. “They won’t hurt you again.  I won’t let them.”

Pain made Scott look younger, more like the young man he really was than the middle-aged commander he tried to emulate.  If someone had told him he was actually looking into Alan’s eyes then, Gordon might even have believed them.  Almost. There was still a steel there that Alan didn’t quite have.  Not yet.

Scott was still struggling to keep command, still trying to present himself as the leader and in control of the situation, but Gordon knew it was, well, maybe not an act, but more for Scott’s benefit than his own.  And he knew Scott knew he knew that.

Still, there were no more futile protests, and he held him close for a moment longer before pulling back.

“Let’s go,” he murmured, conscious that they’d stayed in one place for too long.  “Come on.”

Scott didn’t fight him this time, although there was next to no assistance, either.  That came as no surprise to Gordon, even if he hated the reminder that Scott wasn’t well, was badly injured and going into shock as a result.

There was no way Scott could walk on that leg.  Up until their swim across the inlet, he’d been leaning heavily on Gordon’s shoulder, hopping along at a painfully slow pace, but they couldn’t keep that up if they wanted to stay far enough ahead to get out of there.

He crouched down and pulled Scott forwards, cautiously slinging him over his shoulder.  It wouldn’t be easy – Scott was tall and heavy, and Gordon knew he didn’t have the strength to carry him for too long – but he could keep it up long enough.  He hoped.

“Gordon,” Scott croaked as he staggered to his feet.  Hands balled in the back of his shirt.  “Your back-”

“I’m getting us out of here,” he repeated, one arm wrapping around his brother’s waist where it bent over his shoulder, and the other clinging to his legs tightly, both for additional security and to immobilise the break as best he could.  “I’ll be fine.”

It wasn’t a bad day, thank goodness.  Gordon had never yet been put in a position where he’d have to choose between potentially re-destroying his back or saving a life, and if there was one piece of luck shining down on them, it was that he didn’t have to make that choice today, either.

He staggered forwards, one step and then another, falling into an ungainly rhythm as he pushed on, towards the treeline that promised cover.

Grunts and gasps of pain from behind him betrayed the way Scott’s leg was jostled by the movement despite his best efforts.  Gordon hoped he’d positioned him so that his ribs weren’t worsening, too, but he hadn’t had much of a choice on that matter.

Hold on, Scott, he thought, not wasting his breath by vocalising it.  He didn’t have the breath to spare, and Scott wouldn’t appreciate acknowledgement of his agony.  All Gordon could do was cling on tightly and forge forwards.

He still couldn’t hear pursuit, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t any.  They wouldn’t be safe until they were clear of the area, off the coast and hopefully far into the sea.

Gordon knew there was a cove nearby.  On a good day, he could swim from there to the neighbouring, larger, island.  On a day like today, where the waves weren’t quite flat calm and his brother could do nothing more than float along, it was bordering on the impossible.

If there were no boats there to hijack, it would be their only option.

Clearly, Lady Luck had determined that Gordon’s back being fit enough to carry Scott the distance, even if his brother was gasping with every staggering step he ran, filled his entire quota for the day.  He was beyond grateful to have had that, but the sight of an empty cove when he broke free of the treeline made his heart sink.

“How are you holding up?” he asked Scott, stumbling to a halt on the shoreline and staring out at the expanse of blue-green ocean.  In the distance, the flat horizon line was broken by another landmass – the other island, and their only chance of escape.

Not for the first time since they’d been attacked, he cursed the fact that neither of their comms were working.  Disabled by some jamming bubble, no doubt.

“Holding,” Scott gasped, a word that was more lie than truth in the same way as Gordon’s conviction that he could swim the distance with his injured brother in tow.  It wasn’t true, but it had to be, because they had no choice.

“Okay,” Gordon acknowledged, his kneeling more a controlled crash to the ground than anything else.  “We’re getting out of here, Scott.”  He lowered his brother to the shingle, laid him on his back and looked at skin so white it might as well be translucent.  Scott was getting worse, trembles more noticeable as they passed through his body, and Gordon prayed he could hold on until they got to the next island, where they could shelter and he could treat the onsetting shock.

If they survived the swim.

His chest heaved, shoulders taking advantage of no longer having his brother slung over to rise and take in large lungsful of air.

Blue eyes spotted it, because Scott might be injured and well onto his way into shock but he was still Scott and he’d always notice a younger brother in difficulty.

“Gordon,” he rasped, a last-ditch attempt to change his mind.  “Go.”

“Not without you,” Gordon swore.  “Come on, Scotty.  One last little swim and we’ll be out of here.”

He didn’t give him a chance to protest, wriggling his arms underneath his brother and ignoring the way the shingle scraped at his skin.  Scott let out a reluctant groan at the movement, but Gordon couldn’t address that right then.  Not until they were off the island.

It was a lunge to his feet more than anything else, arms clutched tightly around Scott as his forwards momentum dragged them across the shingle, almost tangling his feet together and face-planting them both back on the ground.  Water sloshed around his ankles, the ocean cool.  She wasn’t inviting, but she wasn’t openly hostile either, so Gordon pushed on.

Water around his ankles became water kissing his knees, creeping up his thighs until it encircled his hips. He waded deeper, until it was up to his waist and caressing his forearms.  Touching Scott’s back.

He made eye contact with Scott as he came to a stop, disbelief and fear warring for prominence over the usual love and faith in those familiar blue eyes, and his brother opened his mouth to croak out his name again.  Gordon gave him a tight smile, lowering him until he was floating on the waves.  Strands of his hair had escaped the rigorous gelling they’d been subjected to that morning and splayed out like a miniature halo as ripples of water teased them.

“We’re getting out of here,” he promised again, the words tangling up in his throat and coming out all twisted and hoarse.

Letting the water take his weight was as familiar as breathing.  Looping his arm around Scott, he kicked off from the seabed and, eyes on the distant island, began to swim.

It was a long way, Olympic speed training useless to him.  He needed the endurance swimming from WASP, kilometres of open water with a casualty in tow.  It was reckless, stupid, even.

It was their only chance.

Chapter 2>>>

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Caged.

Word Count: 2.0k

Written for an anonymous commissioner.

Synopsis: Yaoyorozu’s always loved your wings. She takes care of them, grooms them, keeps snow-white feathers clean and undamaged and just perfect... You just wish she took care of the rest of you, too. 

TW: Graphic Violence, Broken Bones, Kidnapping, Captivity, Dehumanization, and Delusional Mindsets. 

She’d said it hadn’t been because of your wings.

That was all she said for the first few weeks of your captivity, really. Momo was many things, but she wasn’t subtle, nor did she make an effort to watch her tongue around the civilian chained down and (more often than not) unable to respond to her one-sided conversations. She said everything a kidnapper could have to say about their hostage. She claimed that she fell in love with your personality, that she’d spent months dutifully noting down your interests and your hobbies and every piece of information that could be gleaned from careful surveillance. She told you that your wings were just a bonus, that they didn’t really matter, but they just made her precious, darling songbird a little easier to find.

But, for every second she spent singing your praises, she spent two gritting her teeth or crossing her arms or making it clear that she’d love you more if you were obedient, if you were affectionate, if you were different. Your hobbies faded into the background, considering how few opportunities she gave you to indulge them, and unless she was bringing home a gift to make up for the night you’d spent trying to cry yourself to sleep, she didn’t seem to pay your interests any mind. But, she gave your wings the utmost attention, keeping your snowy-white feathers pristine and taking far too much time to prune and pluck anything she didn’t deem ‘befitting’ of you. She adored your wings, she loved your wings, and she never hesitated to tell you that.

As much as she claimed they weren’t her motivation, she cared for your wings. She couldn’t deny that. 

That was more than she could say for the rest of you.

You supposed it wasn’t so bad, having her focus on one part of you so heavily, she tended to overlook most of your minor shows of rebellion. You were allowed to drag your knees into your chest and cling to the idea of safety as she looked over your wings, the appendages outstretched to their full length as Momo hummed and pulled at anything loose, anything bent, anything that wasn’t perfect. While she was perched on the edge of her bed, you were left to settle on the cold, barren floor and fight the chill your thin clothes did little to keep out. The basement - your bedroom, as she called it - was sizable, but the space was lost on you, considering how Momo chose to use it. After your last escape attempt, she’d declared furniture a ‘distraction’, something that took your attention away from her. You had a cot, just enough blankets to sleep, and whatever Momo thought was necessary for your basic survival. She’d said that you’d be able to earn things back, but that’d been weeks ago, and she seemed to like the way you were forced to look forward to her daily visits. She liked knowing she was the only thing on your mind.  

She liked making sure her pet had nothing better to do than beg for her attention.

“What’d you get yourself into?” She asked, drawing you out of your thoughts. The question was more for her than for you, posed under her breath, and yet, you couldn’t help but feel like you had to answer when every other word was accompanied by another tug, another feather at her feet. “It’s worse than usual, today.”

A dozen excuses played on your tongue. Last month, you’d told her it was molting season, and you’d managed to quell her worries by saying that this kind of damage was normal for avians in new environments before that, a trick that worked for longer than either of you would like to admit. You doubted she’d forget so quickly, so you settled on something simple. “It’s just the stress,” You explained, the statement only half untrue. “It makes maintenance harder than it has to be, but it looks worse than it is.”

That earned a pause, a more careless jerk to one of your primary feathers. “You’re stressed?” Now, she was talking to you, expecting an answer. Paying attention to the way your hands twitched at your sides every time her fingertips brushed a tender spot of lean, thin muscle. A hint of something playful traced the edges of her tone as she continued, and you weren’t sure whether to relax or reinforce your barriers. “Don’t say it’s because of me, angel.”

A pet name. Pet names were good. Pet names meant she didn’t see you as human, right now, making you another one of her infallible, unblamable creatures. It didn’t mean you could be honest, but you wouldn’t have to lie, either, not really. Not as much as you’d have to, otherwise. “It just happens,” You admitted, giving a noncommittal shrug. “Animal-based quirks are complicated, like that. When I’m inside for too long, or… like, when the room I’m in is too small, my wings tend to notice before I can.” You allowed yourself a breathy laugh, loosening your hold on your legs. “When I moved into my first apartment, my roommate had to start complaining before I--”

“You think I’m not taking care of you.”

If her words hadn’t been enough to silence you, the feeling of her fist closing around a handful of something downy and sensitive did the trick. Reflexively, you went rigid, stretching your wings out to their full length and bowing your head, but Momo’s threats were never hollow. With one strong, steady pull, a patch of your left wing was on fire, bare and blazing and burning as you slapped your palm over your mouth and tried to stifle the shriek that threatened to escape. You kept it there, for a moment, attempting to suppress the tears building up in the corners of your eyes, but Momo took your silence as resistance, a low growl reverberating through her grit teeth as she took hold of the base of your wing, the length of exposed bone between skin and feather. She didn’t squeeze, didn’t shatter, but the idea of the pain was worse than the eventuality, forcing your breath to hitch in your throat, your whole body to go stiff. Forcing her to hold you tighter, her irritation more than apparent in the sternness of her grip alone.

"It’s such a shame,” She started, a patronizing lilt weighing down the simple sentiment. You couldn’t see her, not when you were abruptly incapable of even turning your head, but you didn’t have to. You could practically hear her shaking her head, her expression somewhere between a frown and a pout as she lamented over whatever mistake her poor, stubborn little captive made, this time. “I really do try to be patient with you. There’s such a nice nest waiting for you upstairs, but it feels like I can’t let you out of your cage without having to worry about my baby bird trying to fly away.” There was a click of her tongue, a tap of her manicured nails against your shoulder blade. You felt her eyes prying into your skin, flitting across all the places your wings rooted themselves in place, as if she’d be able to tear them out with her gaze alone. For a moment, you wondered if she could. “Maybe if you stopped trying to get yourself into so much trouble, you’d wouldn’t have to be locked up. You’d be able to accept all the wonderful things I have to give you, and I wouldn’t have to watch you throw your tantrums and pretend I wouldn’t do anything to make you happy.”

“That’s not what I meant,” You managed, curling your nails into your palm as you willed yourself not to raise your voice. Yelling at Momo was never a good idea, and playing dumb would only make her more determined to remind you of your offenses, even if you couldn’t name the incident she seemed so focused on, today. “Please, Yaoyorozu, please, I didn’t mean to--”

“This is why I have to be so strict with you,” She sighed, her free hand falling to the arch of your wing, spreading the appendage to its full span. No longer giving you the chance to refuse. “You’re so quick to lie, and so slow to regret it. You don’t even know what you did wrong.”

You flinched, your lips parting, but your mind going blank as soon as you processed the accusation. Your stupor couldn’t have lasted for more than a few seconds, but a few seconds were more than enough for Momo to come to a resolution.

It wasn’t that she was stronger than she looked. She was, technically, but it wasn’t just that, it couldn’t have been. She’d done her research, she’d prepared, she’d practice, and you could only be thankful her new skill had been refined, polished into an undeniable talent, albeit a grisly one. There was a minute of pressure - crushing, awful pressure - and a snap, and then the pain.

Always the pain.

It was a clean break, halfway between the base of your wind and the bend, shock provided little comfort, adrenaline flowing in-time with the throbbing, the tight ache now coursing through your left wing, joints loosening in their sockets and tendons contracting in an effort just to keep something so broken where it should be. Resistance wasn’t an option. It was an animalistic  instinct that had nothing to do with your avian features, you were struggling before you could think to hold yourself back, willing your injured wing to fold against your back as you flailed, kicked, clawed, doing everything you could do to get away from the predator that was so content to watch you writhe in agony. Fighting was pointless, though. Momo didn’t try to restrain you, didn’t try to hold you back. Why would she? All the doors were locked, the windows nonexistent, and it wasn’t like you could actually hurt her.

There was nowhere for you to run, nothing for you to do.

In the end, there was nowhere to go but up.

It was difficult to get off the ground at the best of times, but you were desperate. As soon as you were on your feet, you were in the air, struggling to gain elevation without momentum, without an upward draft, without a single factor in your favor. It was hard, but it wasn’t impossible, even if every muscle in your back strained at the effort, your lungs burning and your uninjured wing taking up a frenzied speed just to get you a handful of meters off the floor. It must’ve looked pathetic, one wing struggling to keep you aloft and another, crooked and weak, twitching in an attempt to keep up with the pace its twin set, and it hurt so, so much, but you didn’t care. For a few seconds, Momo couldn’t reach you. For a few seconds, she couldn’t touch you and pull at your feathers and hurt you and…

And then, you hit the ceiling, and went plummeting back to the cold, unforgiving floor, as if you’d never left it at all.

Your shoulder took the brunt of your fall. It wasn’t far, but something in your arm still cracked as you collided with the solid cement, pulling a ragged sob from your chest that came out as broken as it was pitiful. You weren’t sure when you’d started crying, but suddenly, it was all you could do to curl into the tightest, smallest ball possible and hide your face, if only because you doubted you’d have the strength to wipe away the tears now blurring your vision. Momo didn’t seem to mind, though. She hadn’t taken a step since you’d gotten away from her, but that only meant she was still calm and collected and so, so composed as she kneeled at your side, barely nothing to brush your hair away from your face before her hands trailed back to your wings, always so eager to make sure her favorite parts of you weren’t more damaged than they had to be.

To make sure her favorite toy wasn’t beyond repair, after she’s had her fun.

“I hope you got some of your energy out,” She said, her tone sweet, but her voice devoid of all warmth. You’d say devoid of all love, too, but you were beginning to think Momo never had any to lose, in the first place. Not when it came to you.

“It’s going to take me hours to take care of all this damage. The least you could do is sit still, especially when I take such good care of you.”

[laketaj24]

Shrike II

Author’s Note: Finally, back with some suitable work to be the conclusion of Shrike. I am so intrigued with learning this world, even watching the gameplays, reading the books, and investing in the game. I mention a few things mentioned in the games and writings; if they are in the wrong context, don’t jump me. I hope you enjoy this addition. Let me know what you think! Happy Reading!!!

Side Note: If you are on the taglist and are no longer interested or active in the fandom, please let me know.

Pairings: Reader X Geralt

Warnings: SMUT. Angst

M A S T E R L I S T

Enjoy my work!! Buy me Ko-Fi to help me get back to school! All your support is appreciated!! I even do commissions!

The old house creaked, the most noise you’d heard it make in months. But supposed nothing could remain quiet when Geralt was inside. Your heavy dress swayed with every step you took, you slammed the bowl down on the table, followed by the spoon and then your hands. There was so much anger; you didn’t even know where it derived. Pieces of you rejoiced at even the thought of him being in your presence. They were elated, singing his praises, replaying lines in your conscious as if he never left. But the innate part of you that knew what he had done was venomous. It tainted those thoughts quickly.

“You left me.”

“Y/N.” Your name rolled off his tongue like honey, sweet and smooth, clinging to every fucking reeling emotion you had in you. “I swear.”

“You swear what??” You hissed at him, “You had every intention of returning? You were coming back when the world didn’t need you.”

“Is the child mine?” Geralt dare not look at you. His amber eyes fixated on the empty bowl in front of him. They were cut as if he was ashamed to ask you.

“What?” You answered.

“Is the child mine?”

“Who else’s?” It seemed illogical to you for him ever to think you would bed another so soon after him. Geralt meant more to you than you ever wanted to admit or comprehend. And the fact that you two conceived a child only made your point more blatant. You were destined, and no one could cheat their fate, not even the Witcher.

“How?”

“Geralt.” The tension in the room was replaced by sadness as Geralt finally locked his eyes on you and reached his hand out to your round belly. You forgot how his touch made you feel. Wrecked. Your heart strummed against your chest, drowning out any words that he might have said. You moved his hand from you, wondering how it would have affected you if his skin had touched yours and not the fabric. “What do you want, Geralt?”

“I only want…” He paused. “You.”

“Could have fooled me,”

He sighed in defeat. “I cannot explain why I left.”

“Then I suggest you leave again, I suggest you take your false sincerities to someone who cares to hear them.”

“I am not leaving,” He admonished.

Outside, your door was a small child, ashen blonde hair, and she carried a sword. “Geralt!” She called. Her small voice laced with a sudden panic.

Geralt stood, “There was a reason that I left.” He sighed. “I have,” He gestured to the young girl. “Ciri.”

Geralt explained his exploits and how the past year had led him to go back for her. You’d only heard the murmurs of the turmoil that trickled through the continent. Your heart was set on you and your child, the troubles were not for you to consider at the moment. This did not settle your heart, though, not one bit. It was easy to reach out, it just wasn’t in Geralt to be tied to anything, perhaps that’s why Ciri’s presence shocked you.

The two moved from the inside of the house after he’d explained most of everything to you, he told you how he wanted her to be training always and every second counted if she was to be an actual Witcher. It was odd he was training another child to do his job; he must have truly loved her.

You watched from the window, Geralt trained Ciri on her reflexes. She was decent, not as sharp as him, but for sure on the proper path. She flipped from the stone she’d perched on and landed on her feet. It took one swift kick and duck, and she blocked his next blow.

“Ha!” She exclaimed triumphantly. “I won.” She lifted her wooden sword over her head and then exhaled. “I am done.”

“Who says that you are finished?” Geralt knelt down to her level, brushing the ashen white hair from her face. “Continue training past your exhaustion, a battle doesn’t end when you want it.” He struck her sword to the ground with a single blow, and you grinned at him. “There was no doubt he’d make an excellent father. He’d already taken to his surprise child so well.”

Some of the animosity you’d harbored against him had subsided, it was hard to stay mad at him when he behaved this way, fatherly.

“Allow her one break,” You placed the bowls onto the table, happy that you opted to eat outside and then waved them over. “I have some food for the both of you.”

Ciri did not wait for Geralt’s permission, she simply tossed her sword to the ground and charged over, excited about the food you’d prepared. “Thank you, Y/N.” She looked to Geralt. “Someone cares about my survival.”

“Hmmm.” He picked up the wooden swords and placed them against the tree before he came to the both of you. “Ten minutes to eat. One hour to rest, train until sundown.”

“But, Geralt!”

“No protests.” He said sternly. “Vessimir said six hours of training daily, and you will have it.” Geralt looked to your stomach again, the flutters returned. “Shouldn’t you be sitting?”

“You do not return and tell me what to do.” You handed him the spoon and sat down in the rocking chair. You did not want to admit he was right, your feet ached along with your back. Carrying the child had started to take a toll on your body. “Ciri, you look wonderful out there.”

“She does well, but she is not there.” Geralt looked to Ciri admirably and shifted in his seat. “Nowhere near.”

There was silence as you ate, but the burning gaze from Geralt screamed at you, you could feel his curiosity teaming off him. Ciri finished first and retrieved her sword from the tree. She continued with her bounds of energy, and you found yourself envious of her. You didn’t have much energy, sometimes staying awake was even a hassle.

“Now that we are alone.” Geralt slid his bowl over and leaned forward on his elbows. “Y/N.”

“I do not want to argue.” You shrugged and exhaled. “We have a baby on the way, and you’re already playing father.”

“I,” he paused.

“You don’t owe an explanation to me, Geralt.”

“But, I am giving you one so shut up.” He held his hand up when he noticed your mouth draw into a tight line. “I came back for you earlier and was sent away upon arrival. After talking to a few villagers, they told me that you had been banned from the royal family. I’ve been out in the fucking forest searching for a week now.”

“A surprise child is only okay when it’s the form of her,” You pointed to her thwacking the tree.

“I love you.” He smiled. “And the fact that you are carrying my child only makes that ache in my chest that much heavier. I’ve always wanted it to be you.”

“It appears it was in our fate.”

“If this is truly fate’s will, I guess I should start believing in it then.” He touched your face, “You look exhausted.”

“I am.”

“Get some sleep.”

 It was unlike you to actually listen to what Geralt said, but this time there was no issue with his request. You slipped out of your clothes into the plush bed and wrapped yourself in the soft blanket. It took moments for you to drift off to sleep, which was rare in your state. It usually took hours to find the perfect way to lie, not tonight.

You were unaware of how much time passed, but you felt the dip in the bed when he found his way to you. Geralt’s hands smooth over your stomach, and his weighty armrest on your side. “you could ask before you do that, you know?” You teased.

He would hear none of it; he rested his chin in the nape of your neck, and his hair pricked you. The familiar sensations of having him near covered you. “I did this to you… I don’t need permission to touch what’s mine.” He teased.

His possessiveness was alluring, he pulled you flush against his chest. Geralt’s earthy aroma was one that you had missed, your finger trail down the thick vein in his arms. “You can’t just leave again.” You whispered. “and if you do… don’t come back.”

Being grounded had never been an attribute the witcher conducted well, he was in constant movement. It was something that you were sure would not bode well with having a family with him. It couldn’t.

“Come with me.” He asked.

“No, sir.” You laughed.

His teeth sunk into your shoulder, and then he sucked, drawing a pressure to your pussy you hadn’t felt in months, one you had craved in the nights you slept alone.  The pain followed the surge of lust, and you shook your head. “Please.”

“Are you asking me to come with you because you know that you cannot stay here?”

“I am asking you to come with me because the only home I have ever known is across the continent. If I am to have a family, the safest place I can think of to house them is the school. Come with me to Kaer Mohren.”

“I will not go there.” You said quickly.

“You think here is safe?”

“Yes.”

“Darling to the north, there is a swamp full of drowners, to the south, there is an army taking over everything from Nilfgard. To your east is a city full of thieves and to your west… a father with no heart.” Geralt paused, listening to your breath slow. “My point being there are dangers everywhere, if you are with me… I can and will protect you.”

Perhaps he had done enough talking because at your back, his cock, massive and clearly aroused, poked. You pushed your round ass against it, stroking up and down. The whimper slid from your mouth once his hand delved further down your stomach tot mound that was hidden. He pushed your legs apart easily and then rest his palm on you. You wanted for him to fuck you silly, make you wail his name until you lost your voice.

“Tell me you will come with me.” Geralt whispered in your ear, his teeth grazed the tender flesh on your earlobe and lifted you completely on him. Whatever his plans were, you abided with what he had in mind. You straddled him facing the wall, while his hands cupped your breast and squeezed. They were heavy, both with arousal and milk. Your body had started to prep for the arrival of the little one that stirred inside of you. He pulled the nightgown over your head and tossed it to the ground, which left you utterly naked on top of him. It wasn’t until now you’d realized he’d ventured into the bed with full intentions to fuck you. He was naked, muscles taut, and slick with his sweat from the training he’d just finished.

Each time Geralt’s hand stroked over you, he swore, his cock grew harder, more rigid. The thought that he had made you that way, swollen with his seed, full of him literally made him want to bury his cock into you again and fill you over and over. He wanted you to seep of him when you finally stood, fully claim you by fucking you into the mattress. He reached around and placed his thumb in your slit. He could feel you swelling for him, the blood rushing to those sensitive areas, so no matter how he touched you, you were gonna writhe under him.

He rubbed in circles allowing your head to rest on his chest while he worked. By the fourth circle on your clit, you were soaking his fingers, making it simple for him to rub you until your whole pussy wept for him. Your legs caged his, and from the slip of your fingers on the mattress, he knew you wouldn’t last long like this, but it pleasured him to have all your weight on him. He wanted to fuck up into you; he ached for it. He tapped his cock against your clit once, you jumped in ecstasy. He liked the reaction, so he tapped again and again until your clit jumped and nearly spasmed into an orgasm. Then he pushed into you.

Your satin walls enveloped him, and his head fell back onto the pillows. He was elated just with you still on top of him. His balls were heavy, threaten to spill inside of you just from it. You moved your hips, side to side, and then attempted to ride him. You moved up and then down, taking his whole cock.

“Oh.” You said with hitched breath. The feeling of fully sheathing him was overwhelming. “Geralt.” You swallowed and then lifted and buried his cock back into you again. You found your rhythm, bouncing on him while using the bed to anchor yourself for the ride. Geralt steadied you. Slowly meeting every other thrust as if he was trying to be careful with you. But you weren’t going to break.

“Fuck me.” You said, nearly out of breath.

It was as if he had waited the entire night to hear those words, Geralt placed his hands onto your hips and with a sharp thrust impaled you, the perfect angle. The tip of his cock was hitting your g-spot, causing a shutter to encompass your whole body.

You tugged at your own nipples, twisting them until the slight pain mixed with the alluring pace of Geralt sent you over the edge.

“Fuck.” He said as you fell apart on his cock. “I like that sound.” He smiled. “I like it better when you add my name.” As if it was a challenge, he started to fuck you harder and faster, his strokes causing your heavy breast to bounce and your body to quake with another orgasm.

You caught on this round, and when your back bowed, his name came off your tongue in a song. “Geralt. Geralt.” You clung to his legs for balance, and Geralt growled.

“You like being full of me?” He asked.

The erotic question somehow made you slicker for him. “Yes.” Your pussy sucked around him, coaxing him to stay deep inside of you. “Fucking yes.”

“I wish I could do it again.” He confessed. “Fill you up and see you swollen all over again.”

Fuck. You swallowed and nearly slid off him, but Geralt  caught you, “Stay with me.” He breathed. He was exhilarated by the way you responded to him, your sweat coated the both of you, your cum trailed down his thick thighs, and the thought of burying his seed in you again drove him to the edge of insanity. Geralt wrapped his arm around you and fucked you deeper. He tried to keep the thought far from his mind because every time it inched it’s way in his head, he was ready for it to happen again.

Thoughts consumed you when he laid you on the bed, you lay on your side, and he lifted your leg up, allowing access to your pussy again. What the fuck was going to happen next? Nothing had been settled.

Geralt, as If he knew you were distant, He peppered the kisses on your shoulder, and then his hands were back at your clit rubbing expertly until you came again on him. He pushed back into you this time with languid thursts, controlling the deep grunts that escaped as the build-up to his impending orgasm began. His hips wind the smacked onto your once, twice, and then the third time, he swelled a little more, and the warmth seeped through your pussy. “Stay with me.” He pled.

There was no answer given, the flicker of the candle dimmed, and your eyes closed. You’d sleep on it, but deep down, you knew  the answer already.

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[erekiosuncreativeideas]

Being Human - Chapter 20

<= Chapter 19

Summary : The search for the rest of the group continues... But things don't go as planned. Also available on AO3 : https://archiveofourown.org/works/24826561/chapters/71985015

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New chapter, heeeeeey

So uh I may have overcome my writer and artist block, I don't know, but... In any case, as an apology for the recent lack of content, you get this chapter the day after it was finished !

I hope you'll like it, just like I hope you'll like the drawing coming with it ! (I feel like I've improved a lot)

The “Oh The Humanity” AU belongs to @doodledrawsthings​​ !

Happy reading !

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Chapter 20 - “Show yourself!”  

Snatcher was running, running through the snow as fast as he could, as fast as his cold limbs allowed him to. Ever since he had become human again, the former spirit had had trouble keeping himself up on his two legs. However… At the moment, it was like it didn’t matter anymore, as if his body instinctively knew exactly how to run without falling, without stumbling into the deep and thick snow.

“Please,” he thought to himself, despair engulfing him whole: “please, let them be safe,” he prayed to whatever deity would be ready to listen to him despite his kill count. The thought of what could have happened to Moonjumper and… No, he couldn’t think about it, he didn’t want to think about it.

His lungs were hurting, stinging like never before, the cold air not helping in the least. It felt like thousands of needles were piercing his lungs, his heart pounding in his chest, his stomach tied in knots… It was an awful feeling, but it was nothing compared to what the other two might be experiencing.

He had to find them, he had to! If he was too late… No, he simply couldn’t be, he couldn't allow himself to be!

-“W-wait for me! Snatcher!” the bow-wearing child was trying to follow him, but he supposed having an adult body fueled by pure adrenaline made him run faster than her. Still, lost in his dreadful thoughts, the young man barely heard her. He was too focused on running to the direction of the beacon, of that laser beam that had such a terrible meaning attached to it.

The closer they were getting, the lower the temperatures were, making it harder and harder to run- But Snatcher didn’t care. He couldn’t.

Flakes were falling into his eyes and he couldn’t help but fall down as he had to close his eyes. His foot got tangled in a barely visible root. A muffled cry left his blue lips as his face hit the thick snow on the ground, forcing the air out of his lungs from the shock. No, he couldn’t stop, every second was important!

The child managed to join him while he was trying to get up, his limbs hurting from the cold and the efforts. Her breath was quick and heavy: she was, just like him, exhausted. Still, she frowned as she helped him to get back to his feet:

-“Don’t run off like this, we need to stay together!” she told him, and he knew she was right. If he had crossed Vanessa’s way alone… She would have easily killed him. But he couldn’t be slow when they had to-

-“Wait,” the bow-wearing kid squinted as she tried to see something a dozen feet away : “What’s that?” she continued, pointing to a silhouette that was almost invisible in this blizzard, which had worsened the closer they got to their friends. The falling snow prevented them from perceiving what surrounded them, both hiding them and making them extremely vulnerable, should Vanessa find them.

The former ghost narrowed his eyes but shook his head. This didn’t move, so it… Probably wasn’t Vanessa. But it wasn’t a tree nor a rock, it didn’t have that kind of shape. Still, this was definitely a form he had never seen before in his forest. This had to be a clue leading them to Vanessa or to the rest of the group.

-“I don’t know,” he murmured, his voice getting lower. If Vanessa was near them, he didn’t want her to hear them and find exactly where they were. Then again… Where was the rest of the group? Snatcher and the kid had gone in the direction of the laser beam… Yet, they couldn’t hear anything but the sound of the wind, of the snow falling around them…But no trace of a fight, no voices, no sounds of people defending themselves… This terrible silence was giving him a terrible feeling and, deep down… He couldn’t help but fear for the worst.

-“Let’s get closer,” added the young man, stepping closer to the foreign shape, the snow crackling under his trembling feet. He was hugging himself now, both because of the cold and the fear of seeing something terrifying. He still kept walking, but the closer he got, the harder it became. Not because of the low temperatures… But because, little by little, he was starting to figure out what this strange shape was. And now, around six feet away from it… He stopped, his heart missing a beat, and his breath getting stuck in his throat. It was like he had just received a bucket of cold, no, icy water on his shoulders.

No. No. No, no, no, no! This couldn’t be possible, this couldn’t be happening! This had to be a dream, a nightmare!

The bow-wearing child stopped next to him, her face paling up at the sight, this terrifying and horrifying sight, one that none of them would ever be able to forget.

-“H… Hat…?” she murmured, her eyes watering despite the surrounding blizzard. She didn’t want to believe it, she didn’t want to accept what she had in front of her. Expressions full of despair, fear and horror crossed her features as she let go of the Time Piece, too shocked to care. The magical hourglass fell into the snow, not breaking as its fall was softened by the thick, white layer covering the ground.

The little girl made a few steps forward, slowly, trembling on her legs as she started crying. Snatcher… Was no better. Sorrow could be seen on his face as his eyes couldn’t look away.

Right in front of them… Was the hat-wearing child, completely turned to ice, an expression of horror visible on her frozen features. Not far away from the small statue, another one was laying on the ground, almost hidden by the snow that had fallen after the other’s terrible fate. Moonjumper’s face showed a mix of terror and fear, now carved forever on his face. He had probably been floating before he got frozen, as his arm had been broken, most likely from the fall. A few red strings could be seen next to him, flying through the blizzard, only held by a frozen hand.

Snatcher fell to his knees, white noise ringing into his head, his eyes lost into space. No. This couldn’t be. He was dreaming, he was having a nightmare, a terrifying nightmare, just like he had when he had dreamt about his death. So now, he was dreaming about the brat and Moonjumper’s deaths! Because his brain was a jerk! What other explanation could there be…?

After a few seconds, the former shade realized he had stopped breathing. When he tried to, the air got stuck in his throat and he coughed.He almost threw up, a horrible nausea challenging the limits of his body and his emotions. Said body contorted and soon, he was all curled up on the ground. His cheeks hurt, stinging like cuts in his skin. He pressed his cold hand to his cheek… Only to notice he was crying, and the reason it hurt was because his tears were turning into ice.

-“No… No!” Not far away, he could hear the bow-wearing child crying, screaming as she hugged the statue of her friend, as if she were refusing to let her go. Her voice full of despair was echoing all around despite the wind muffling the sounds.

He… Had been too late.

The former Prince looked at his hands, shaking. He should have been there for them… And now here he was, next to two frozen corpses, new ones adding up to the pile of dead people that Subcon had welcomed into its midst.

This place was cursed. Nothing he had ever done and nothing he will ever do would change anything. Those who stepped into his forest never did leave in one piece indeed… And not always because of him, like this all proved.

-“Hat… Hat, stop…! This is not funny…!” sobbed the other child, as she was trying to take her friend’s signature top hat away. Perhaps she was thinking the hatted brat had voluntarily turned herself into a statue thanks to her ice hat… But Snatcher knew better. This was not a joke, this…

This was all Vanessa’s fault.

That single thought brought him back to reality, and only then he realized he couldn’t feel most of his muscles. Curled up in the snow, like this… He would die if he didn’t movenow. With a newfound vigor, Snatcher forced himself up, anger, no, fury engulfing him. He was going to kill Her, he would make sure this never, ever happened-

-“Who’s there?!”

Snatcher’s entire body froze as he heard those words, this voice… The bow-wearing brat seemed to have the same reaction and their eyes met instantly, both of them with the same thought echoing in their mind.

Here was the murderer of their friends.

The young man’s fury intensified, a warmth spreading in his chest and around him. Soon, his body started to glow, casting around him a yellowish light, making the snow surrounding him melt as heat radiated from him. His clenched fists were becoming hotter and hotter and, as if on cue, flames started to grow out of his fingers. Fueled by anger like fire was by coal, his flames were getting so hot that, after a few seconds… They changed colors.

His yellow fire had been replaced by warmer, more dangerous blue flames. He didn’t pick up the baseball bat, knowing he would surely burn it just by touching it in his state. In any case… Snatcher would not make the same error twice.

Letting her go was not an option anymore.

Not too far away from him, the bow-wearing child adopted a defensive pose, holding her umbrella like one would hold a sword. She was looking everywhere around them, looking for any threat, any sign of Vanessa’s presence. He was, too. Unfortunately… The blizzard just seemed to grow worse and worse as seconds passed. Did that mean Vanessa was getting closer…?

-“Stop hiding, you coward!!” he shouted, turning his head as he tried to perceive a form, a silhouette, anything, but to no avail. This only made him more furious than he already was. He opened his mouth, and he felt like fire was escaping from his throat: “Show yourself!”

He had to do what hehad been too afraid to do when he had fled left: kill her, once and for all.

But silence was his only answer. Had… Had she left? Did she really have the nerve to pull that up, after she had killed their friends?! Was she really going to do that?!

No. No, she had heard them… And Snatcher had yelled at her, so there was no way she would have left. Still… Still, a good minute had passed and Vanessa was nowhere in sight. The little girl seemed to be confused just like he was as she turned to him, trying to understand what was going on. A trail of white lines could be seen on her face: frozen tears. Snatcher was sure the same was visible on his cheeks.

Suddenly, a look of realization crossed her features and she seemed to look around them, a glimmer of hope in her eyes. What was she-

-“The Time Piece!” she urged him : “Where is it?!”

The gears in the former ghost’s mind clicked and he understood why she was asking for it. She was probably intending on using it to go back in time, back to when Moonjumper and the hatted brat were still alive! Of course, how could they have forgotten something so obvious…! Snatcher looked around him, his eyes searching near the last place he had seen the Time Piece… However, his face paled when he realized the blizzard had added a new layer of snow, covering everything up.

The Time Piece was there, surely… But there was no way of finding it.

He turned back to answer her- but the moment he looked in her direction, the ground started to shake. The young man’s heart missed a beat, but before he was able to do or say anything, four high walls of thick ice emerged from the ground, surrounding the little girl and trapping her into an ice prison.

The Time Piece now completely forgotten, the former Prince dashed to her sides, the adrenaline making him forget the numbness of his muscles. His powers died down from the surprise, leaving him cold again.

No, no, not this…!

-“Kiddo!!” He stopped in front of one of the walls, pounding onto it with as much strength he could gather in such condition. Panic replaced his fury and was making him shake. He couldn’t lose her, he couldn’t lose anyone else!

-“Answer me!!” he yelled at her through the ice, his nails scratching at the frozen surface painfully. His body was hurting so much from the cold…!

-“I… I’m alright!” he heard from the other side, and he could perceive some sort of silhouette through the thick wall of ice. The other’s voice was trembling, though it was probably more out of surprise than anything else. Or so he hoped… But soon, her words brought him back to reality: “The Time Piece, find it, we ne-”

However, the little girl didn’t have the time to finish her sentence as a new voice echoed around them:

-“My Prince~…!” it sang, gleefully: “I’ve finally found you…” In a single instant, Snatcher’s blood turned to ice and he instinctively turned his head to the source of the voice. Horror crossed his features as, finally, his eyes caught afamiliarform a dozen feet away, slowly approaching him. His limbs were frozen, fear paralyzing him, and he couldn’t help but remain completely still, unable to move as he saw his worst nightmare getting closer and closer.

This was happening, this was actually happening- and he was not ready, no, he wasn’t-

-“Snatcher, run!!” Poundings from inside of the ice prison broke him out of his trance and the former ghost came back to his senses. He couldn’t stay here! The life and survival of his group was entirely in his hands now.

Inhabited by a new determination, Snatcher started to search into the snow, looking for a sign, any sign, indicating the location of the Time Piece. Giggling could be heard behind him as the Queen approached him, only reminding him of the danger he and the child were in. He had to find it, he had to be fast…! His lungs hurt, and the only thing preventing him from collapsing from the cold and exhaustion was the adrenaline, pumping fast into his veins. He knew it wouldn’t last, and this was exactly why he needed to find it now.

This was a matter of life and death.

-“There you are~…!”

The young man took a second to look behind his back, his blue hands still into the snow, looking for any object he might encounter. The silhouette was now dangerously close and he could see her red, glowing eyes now. He had to find that hourglass, he had to find it, he had to-

Suddenly, his fingers bumped into something solid and his heart missed a bit. Could it be…? With a feeling of hope swelling inside of him, the former Prince grabbed the object and lifted it up, pulling it out of the snow. Instantly, a blue, glowing light emanated from what he was holding. A wave of relief suddenly hit him: the Time Piece! He had found it!

But this was not over yet.

Snatcher got up as fast as he could, almost stumbling back into the thick snow, and started to run…Feeling claws brushing his hair…

He knew very well who those claws belonged to. Dread and horror settled on him as he realized he had almost been caught. A single second too late, and it would have all been over… A chill ran down his spine, but he forced himself to ignore it, just like he was trying to ignore the pain, the exhaustion, the fear-

All he knew was that he was running, running fast, doing his best to get the Queen away from his group. It would be too risky to rewind time if Vanessa was around them- she could easily kill them all again for all he knew.

He needed to lead her somewhere else, where the others would be safe from her. But then, it hit him: how would he alert the rest of his group about his position…? He didn’t have a projectile badge! And no one would be able to hear him scream if he got too far away…!

-“Come back! Hehehehe~,” sing-sang a terribly familiar voice, right behind him. Vanessa was maybe quite hunchbacked… But she was immune to exhaustion. Snatcher, on the other hand, was not. And he could feel her claws lightly touching the scalp of his hair, and who knew when she would decide to use his powers to stop him…! Who knew when she would stop seeing this as a game…? He felt even more furious at that particular thought: she had murdered his friends and she was thinking of this as some twisted game! How dares she!

If he had to do something… It was now or never. And so, with that in mind…

Snatcher suddenly changed direction, confusing his pursuer momentarily. He took a deep breath and, with determination, charged a nearby tree. He held the Time Piece next to him, his arm out straight and ready to hit the frozen trunk of that three. He wouldn’t be able to stop to break the hourglass… So he might as well use his current speed to his advantage. The former shade narrowed his eyes, a single thought echoing his mind as he got closer and closer from the tree, a wish for the Time Piece to grant.

“Please let them be safe. Please, anything, as long as they’re alive and well, please, please…!”

A few seconds later, Snatcher’s arm hit the tree violently. He screamed from the pain, the latter intensified from how cold he was- but he didn’t have time to linger on it any longer. The shock made him lose his balance and he fell forward into the snow, forcing the air out of his lungs again. But before he could do anything…

A white, blinding flash made him shut his eyes hard.

-“What is-” Vanessa’s voice echoed behind him, but at least the light had made her stop.

He had managed to do it, he had done it, he had saved his team, this-

However, his train of thoughts was cut short as he felt his conscience blacking out for a short moment- perhaps an effect of the Time Piece? In any case, his mind seemed to have shut off for a few seconds, perhaps a few minutes, he couldn’t quite tell. Yet, when he came back to his senses, something felt… Different. Different just like when he had woken up in that body, different as if he were in a carnal envelope that wasn’t his, one that was both familiar and unfamiliar. But this wasn’t the time for this, no! He was still in danger, he-!

Snatcher turned back, quickly changing side to face the source of the danger- And immediately, his eyes fell on the Queen, who had been covering his eyes, her red glowing eyes… Just like him, the violent flash had blinded her, forcing her to shut her eyes. Her black, disheveled hair was flying with the wind, her black dress following that same dance. Groans left her mouth as she finally lowered her clawed hands…

And their eyes met.

“This is it,” realized the young man internally with horror: “this is how I’m gonna die.”

But Vanessa merely stared at him, as if her mind was processing something, as if she was trying to make sense of something she was seeing. What… What was going on? Why wasn’t she killing him now? She was having the perfect chance to! She looked away, her eyes scanning their surroundings, searching for something that wasn’t there anymore. Confusion spread on her face, and when she glanced back at him, she seemed even more perplexed.

Snatcher was completely paralyzed in fear, his eyes fixed on her, terror visible on his features. His body was trembling- but he wasn’t as cold as before. Actually, he was feeling much better, strangely! His lungs didn’t hurt anymore, he wasn’t feeling as tired as before… He felt pretty good actually, and he was not as much out of breath as he had first thought.

He frowned, confused and afraid, not daring to move. What was…

But his thoughts died down when Vanessa’s voice brought him back to reality:

-“Oh…” She let out a surprised and yet mother like sound, tilting her head on the side, a smile appearing on her face.

What… What was happening, whydid she- Snatcher’s thoughts became completely silent as his eyes fell onto his hands. They were… Much smaller than before, weren’t they…? And these clothes… He wasn’t wearing this, he was wearing something else before…! Why did those clothes seem so familiar? Why did this body looked so small, so frai-

Oh no.

-“My, what are you doing here…?” wondered the Queen with a coo, as she crouched to his level. Her expression had softened and she looked nothing like the monster who had been chasing him down: “Do I know you…?” she asked, waiting for an answer, her confusion having visibly calmed her down.

Oh no.

Snatcher crawled away : this couldn’t be happening, this couldn’t be possible, this-

His eyes moved to the shiny object next to them, to the hourglass that had been sitting in the snow after he had broke it. It was back to its previous state, unbroken. The little girls’ words immediately came back to his mind as his eyes couldn’t look away from the glowing artefact.

“But… It wouldn’t work in your case,” they had told him: “Because if you broke it again, you would just… Get younger. You wouldn’t go back to being dead.”

Snatcher hadn’t saved the others. No, on the contrary…

He had gotten younger instead.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_- 

...... heheheheHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE BET YOU DIDN'T SEE THIS FORESHADOWING COMING !! HA !

Hm. Anyway. I hope you liked this chapter !! Thank you for following my work and for being patient with me, it means a lot.

=> Chapter 21

[teacupfulofstarshine]

but i make these high heels work

summary: roman has something new that he wants to try out, but he’s nervous about his family’s reactions. he needn’t be; they’ve always got his back. 

(OR: a birthday fic for roman sanders, set in my moxiety dad au)

a/n: i’m jumping on @notveryglittery‘s “giving the gay everything he wants” agenda. happy birthday roman sanders!!! 

cw: anxiety, mild angst, fear of homophobia

wordcount: ~1.8k

read it on ao3!! 

Roman carefully smooths his hands over the fabric spread out across his bed. He knows that no one else is awake yet. Not even Logan, who routinely wakes up early because apparently he can run on crumbs of sleep and nothing else. Not even Dad, the earliest riser out of all of them, since he doesn’t have any pressing appointments. No one is awake but Roman. 

He’d tossed and turned all night, barely snatching a few hours. He knows he’s going to regret that later, but he also knows that there’s nothing particularly important happening today, so Papa and Dad will be more lenient if he decides to nap. So, rather than waiting until later to roll out of bed, Roman gets up a good hour before anyone else. He makes his bed - properly, this time, pulling off the excess of blankets and pillows and stuffed animals and tucking his thick quilt in. He never has the time or the willpower to make it in the mornings, but today. 

Well.

Today, he has anticipation thrumming in his chest like caught lightning, and he needs something to do with his hands. 

Roman showers, quietly. The bathroom is between his room and Logan’s, and there’s always the off chance that the water running will wake up his lightweight-sleeper brother. He holds his breath, keeping in all the melodies that usually bubble from his mouth in the shower, and is rewarded with no signs of wakefulness from his brother. 

He doesn’t bother to wash his hair, so he doesn’t have to worry about blow-drying his fluffy curls. Instead, he spritzes them with dry shampoo he stole from his Papa and combs through them with his fingers. It takes him about fifteen minutes to get them to just the right state of artfully tousled, but it still doesn’t waste nearly enough time. 

Which brings him to here, sitting cross-legged on his perfectly-made bed, staring at the fabric spread across his quilt. It’s plain, compared to what he usually wears, but he supposes that’s the trouble with borrowed clothing. Adding to all that, it’s not real clothing; it’s an old prop he’d salvaged from a box of costumes destined to be torn apart and repurposed. He kind of wishes he had the courage to ask Dad or Papa to take him to the mall to buy a proper one, but he’s never been that kind of brave. 

Roman fiddles with the hem of the skirt between his fingers. 

It’s red, at the very least, but not the proper shade of red. It’s garish and bright, like a firetruck, like a cartoon bloodstain. It comes down to about Roman’s knees, hanging in loose folds, and it’s not the most comfortable thing he’s ever worn, but he loves it. He loves the way the fabric feels when it swishes around his knees, he loves the way it flares out when he spins in circles, he loves the way it feels to smooth the fabric beneath him in a single fluid motion when he sits down. 

He’s terrified to wear it out of the comfort of his bedroom, but he figures that today, June first, the first day of pride month, is as good a day as any to come out of the closet. Roman sighs, curling his hands into loose fists on his thighs. 

His phone pings with a notification, and Roman almost falls off his bed as he scrambles forward to snatch his cell phone off his desk. He takes a moment to smile at his home screen photo before answering the message: it’s a picture of himself and Janus from last year’s pride festival. They’re wrapped in a rainbow flag like a cape, leaning their heads together and laughing. Janus has a genderqueer flag painted across his cheek, and Roman has rainbow star stickers across his nose and a rainbow bandanna tying back his hair. 

Roman thumbprints his phone open and checks his messages. It’s from Janus himself. 

[7:41 am] snoyfriend (snake boyfriend): you’re going to do wonderfully, dearest. your family loves you, and they’ll support you no matter what. and even if they don’t, i support you no matter what. i love you <3 

Roman wiggles his feet back and forth eagerly in a gleeful stim as he taps out a response. 

[7:43 am] me: thank you, snove (snake love). ily2 <3 

[7:44 am] snoyfriend (snake boyfriend): are you ever going to stop calling me snake-themed nicknames, beloved?

[7:44 am] me: sno (snake no) 

[7:46 am] snoyfriend (snake boyfriend): i hate you <3 

[7:47 am] me: i snove (snake love) you too <3 <3 

*~*~*~*~*

Someone knocks on his door around 8:45. “Ro? Are you coming down to breakfast? I’m making pridecakes!” Dad calls. Roman’s stomach growls at the thought; every year, Dad makes multiple colors of homemade pancake batter and draws pride-flag pancakes on the griddle.

“I’ll be down in a minute!” Roman says. 

“Okay, kiddo!” 

Roman takes a deep breath. He slides off his bed and shimmies out of his pajama pants. Rummaging around in his drawers, he pulls out a white t-shirt with a swooping golden outline of the Disney castle on the front. Carefully, he steps into the puddle of skirt and tugs the red fabric up over his hips. It’s not a perfect fit, but it comes down to his knees. Roman studies himself in the full-length mirror on the inside of his closet. 

“It’s going to be okay,” he sighs, reaching for the rainbow bandana on his desk. He folds it and ties it to form a headband which he uses to push his bangs off his forehead. “It’s going to be okay. Dad and Papa aren’t going to hate you. Thomas and Logan aren’t going to hate you. It’s going to be okay.” 

Roman waits until he hears Logan and Thomas go downstairs before he leaves. He picks up his phone, glances at the photo of himself and Janus one more time, and then steps into the hallway. 

He lurks on the stairs for a moment, glancing into the kitchen. Logan is sleepily gnawing on a bagel slathered with jam. Papa is pouring coffee into a row of mugs while Thomas helps Dad with the pridecakes. Roman grips his skirt tightly in his hands, watching his family, and then he steps into the kitchen. 

“Morning.” 

“Good morn - oh!” Dad whirls around, holding a spatula which he quickly foists off onto Thomas. He hurries forward, taking Roman’s shoulders, eyes scanning up and down his outfit. “That’s new! Where’d you get it?” 

“It’s an old costume skirt,” Roman says. “Is that - am I - do you -”

Dad smiles, eyes crinkling up as he leans in to kiss Roman’s forehead. “I think you look wonderful, Roman. No matter what you choose to wear.” Roman smiles, hugging his dad tightly. He feels Dad reach up and press a hand into the back of his hair, rocking them back and forth a little as they hug. 

When Dad pulls away, Roman’s eyes jump up to Thomas. He grins, flashing a thumbs up, and Roman shakily offers one back. “Nice skirt,” Papa says, wrapping an arm around Roman’s shoulders and pulling him in. Roman feels Papa press a kiss to the top of his head, and he fights to keep himself from crying. 

Roman turns, looking at the only family member who hasn’t said anything yet. Logan is still placidly chewing his bagel, watching Roman with his typical calmness. “Logan?” Roman hates the way his voice shakes a little. “Do you like it?” 

Logan swallows and sets his bagel down. He scans over Roman’s outfit with a strange critical expression and says, “No. It looks completely wrong on you.” 

Roman’s heart sinks to the bottom of his chest. Logan stands up, scanning over Roman repeatedly, frowning as he stares at the skirt. “Logan,” Dad says warningly. 

Logan keeps talking. “That is the wrong color for your skin tone. It does not compliment the tan you always achieve in the summer months. The shape is unflattering on your body type, and the material is -” Logan reaches out and rubs the material between two fingers, shuddering. “- is entirely unpleasant. This skirt is completely wrong for you.” 

Roman recognizes the glint in his brother’s eye as he examines the skirt with a critical eye. It’s the way he looks at pieces of clothing that the theater department asks him to help tailor. “You would look much nicer in a circle or handkerchief style skirt. That red is hideous, you need a darker shade. I think that dark green would also look nice on you.” 

“You . . . aren’t mad about me wearing a skirt?” 

Logan blinks at him. “To quote that Avatar show you like so much, ‘Pants are an illusion and so is death.’ Gender is a social construct and clothing should not be dependent on the genitalia you were born with. I do not care if you wish to wear a skirt or not, Roman. Why would I care?” 

“I was nervous about wearing a skirt because I thought you would judge me.” Logan takes a few steps closer, offering a small smile, and Roman feels his heart start to swell and rise like a balloon.

“I was not judging you for wearing a skirt, Roman. If you would prefer to wear a skirt, I will support you, always. I did not mean to imply otherwise. I merely meant to offer my assistance because that skirt looks uncomfortable.” 

“It really is,” Roman sighs. “I stole it from a box of outgoing props.” 

“Go put comfortable clothes on,” Logan tells him. “I am going to the fabric store with Dad later today. I will take your measurements and you can come with us to find a fabric you like. I will make you a skirt that actually fits you.” 

“You’d do that for me?!” 

“Skirts are relatively simple garments to sew, provided you get the measurements correct. I cannot promise that it will be perfect, but I will work to make sure that it is comfortable and flattering on your form.” Roman bounces eagerly. “Can I hug you?” 

Logan tilts his head, considering. “Ten seconds,” he decides, which is more than enough time. Roman pulls his brother into a hug, feeling Logan’s hand flap back and forth against his bag as he happily stims. 

“I love you, Logan,” Roman says, squeezing him tightly. Logan hums at the pressure, pushing closer to his brother before leaning backwards to signal that he’s done being hugged. Roman lets him go, settling down at the table. He can change after breakfast. 

(Two weeks later, Roman comes downstairs in a dark red circle skirt embroidered with golden stars and detailing. Logan hums, flapping and rocking happily when he sees Roman twirl around and show off the way the skirt flares around his thighs. 

“It’s perfect, it’s perfect, I love it so much!” Roman squeals. “Thank you, Logan!” 

Logan flaps even more in response.) 

[thekytchensynk]

Ain’t No Picnic (9/9)

Summary: They were just supposed to head over to the island real quick, just to see what was going on. After all, if pirates were trying to ambush and kill the Straw Hat crew, how could Coby NOT go? And how could Helmeppo let him go alone? It should be simple enough, but nothing can be taken for granted in the New World, and when things go awry, Helmeppo finds himself separated from his captain on an island chain full of pirates who probably won’t be too happy to see a Marine if their paths cross.Oh yeah. And one of those pirates is the infamous “Surgeon of Death,” Trafalgar Law… Warnings: Occasional strong language Read it on AO3 

__________

Helmeppo opened his eyes to find a curious-looking animal staring down at him, half lit by flickering firelight. He blinked groggily. The animal blinked back.

“How are you feeling?” it asked.

What an adorable voice, he thought muzzily. After taking stock for a moment, at least one thing was clear. “I don’t feel great,” he said aloud.

“Any acute pain? Your breathing sounds good, but if you feel something like a stabbing pain, let me know.”

Stabbing pain? “Not right now,” he replied as he started to wake up a little more. The stabbing had been before he fell asleep.

“Helmeppo!”

The furry creature disappeared from his vision as a familiar voice reached his ears. Despite the sleepiness still struggling to reclaim him, Helmeppo slowly propped himself up on his elbows, and took in the immediate surroundings.

He was back in that accursed open space where they’d all started at the beginning. No melee there now, thank goodness, but somehow it had definitely become night (sleep will do that, he supposed), and the bonfires here and there were doing little to push back the inky black. Just a few people remained in sight, talking in small groups, or doing things singly. Helmeppo seemed, unsurprisingly, to be in a sort of medical area. Across from him he could see a man … a bear?... a guy with his arm in a sling arguing with a guy in an oversized hat. Bear guy clearly did not want to stay on the makeshift bed he’d been given. Hat guy disagreed.

The next person, he recognized from the wanted posters and wild tales from Coby. Nico Robin lay sleeping, a careful swath of bandages encircling her middle. He was keeping some esteemed company today it seemed.

To his left, Coby stooped a good dozen paces away, speaking with the little fuzzy creature who, Helmeppo figured, had to be the Straw Hat crew’s doctor. The wanted posted said otherwise, but Coby had told Helmeppo it was the doctor and his questions of a moment ago would seem to confirm he had the right of it.

The doctor was speaking to Coby in earnest tones that Helmeppo could hear but not make out, since the doctor’s back was to him. But he heard Coby’s polite, “Understood. I will.” Then the doctor said something else, this time accompanied by one hoof shaking sternly at him. With a sheepish grin, Coby nodded and said, “I won’t. I promise. Thank you.” The two parted, and Coby headed toward Helmeppo’s makeshift sickbed, face shadowed and growing serious.

Oh. That’s right.

He sat all the way up and looked down. His leg was wrapped in bandages. The wrapping looked more or less white, not thoroughly stained red, so it seemed things could definitely be worse. Of course, he hadn’t tried standing on it yet. His shirt had been similarly replaced with at least a double measure of fabric covering the knife wounds and stabilizing his ribcage.

He experimentally tried a deep breath. Oooh. Bad decision. The surge of pain wasn’t unexpected, and didn’t rise to the level of stabbing pain that he assumed the little doctor meant, but what was unexpected was that the pain dragged everything else back, momentarily bright and clear.

The fight. That last fight.

At the time he’d been too concerned with surviving, but now, with the benefit of hindsight, he felt nauseated. How had he failed that badly? He’d talked a big game -- more than once! -- about how he was going to find his dad and beat him, big strong Marine that he thought he was. And instead he’d gotten his ass handed to him. It hadn’t even been a contest. He should be dead. Utterly dead. He’d been too weak, and got in over his head, and he should be d-

“Hey.”

Startled, Helmeppo’s head snapped up to look at Coby, who’d stopped a couple feet away. After taking in as much of a slow, steadying breath as he could and offering what had to be one of the shakiest salutes he’d performed in recent history, Helmeppo replied, “Hi, Captain.”

Coby rolled his eyes at that. But as Helmeppo put his hand on the ground and started trying to get up, he put out his own hand to stop him. “Wait, wait! Don’t get up. Dr. Chopper says you need to rest. And if he can keep the members of his crew in their sick beds, it’s probably best to listen.”

Settling back to his seat on the ground, Helmeppo glanced over toward the doctor. He looked about as threatening as a plush toy, but then again … New World.

“He said I’m not to keep you from resting when you need to, and that you’re supposed to take it easy for the next week or so,” Coby continued, glancing over toward the bear man and his hat buddy. “And see the ship’s doctor when we get back, to keep an eye on your leg, but he said it should heal cleanly if you take care of it, though there will probably be a scar.” He slowly looked back, as though he didn’t really want to look at Helmeppo, and said, “So … you okay?”

“Still breathing and in one piece,” Helmeppo said with a self-deprecating laugh. “Feels like a win today. How about you?”

“Same.” He cracked a small smile, but the solemnity quickly overtook it. “Sorry. This whole thing really did turn into a mess. After I had to-”

“Hey. It all worked out, right? So let’s leave it at that?” Helmeppo interrupted. “The mermaid’s safe, and your … those pirates are safe?” Coby nodded so he continued, “Then it was just a heck of a training mission, I guess. And we are not telling Garp about this place.”

“No? I kind of feel like we should make a report to him.”

Helmeppo sighed. “Coby, if I have to come back here again, my body will probably shut down on its own to save this place the trouble of killing me. So you can tell him whatever you want, but just make sure you’re OK with that being on your conscience.”

Another brief smile at that. “Fine. If I make a report, I don’t know what the island was called or much of anything about it. Just some island. That work?”

“I’ll take it,” Helmeppo said.

“All right. So, do you want to chat? Or you want to go back to sleep?”

Helmeppo considered. He was definitely still tired -- his body felt leaden -- but he was waking up now, to some extent. Plus, watching Coby interact with Luffy and the rest of that crew was kind of adorable to watch, even if a bit predictable -- how excitable and flustered he got. Not to mention, now that he was up, the idea of being asleep and vulnerable sounded … well, not great. Not if there were alternatives. “Think I’ll stay up a while,” he said.

Coby dropped smoothly to a sitting position and glanced first at the sleeping woman, then the bickering pair again, before saying again, “Sorry about all this.”

Exactly what he’d been trying to head off before. Ah well. “I didn’t have to come,” Helmeppo reminded him wryly.

Coby came back with, “Well, it definitely wasn’t boring.”

“You’re telling me,” Helmeppo muttered. Then, since he could just about see the question Coby was getting ready to ask, he hurried to add, “So what happened with that guy you were fighting. Was he the other twin?”

“Hm? You heard about them? Yeah, I guess.” He reached back, fidgeting with his headband, as he said, “Really all I did was keep him off Luffy and his friends most of the time. They handled the bulk of the fight. I thought the one guy had blown everyone over there up for a while, but…” He chuckled, and Helmeppo did too. The idea of trying to wipe out part of a New World pirate crew with a simple explosion -- even on this island -- sounded about like trying to stop a charging bull with a piece of paper.

“So you just fought him to a draw until you got help?”

“No. I beat him eventually. Just not in time to be much more use,” Coby said, saying it like it was something he felt ashamed of.

Which was dumb. That guy might not have been the most powerful person fighting, but he’d been central to the group’s plan. And he wasn’t weak -- not by a long shot. Too hard on himself again, Helmeppo sighed.

“Sounds like it was a whole thing. Glad it all worked out.”

Coby nodded his agreement, then asked, “How about you? Looks like things got rough for you too.”

Helmepppo knew exactly what he was asking about, but he wasn’t really in the mood to talk about it. Maybe if he just forgot about it now, he could forget about it forever. So feigning a carefree tone, he replied “Well, getting dropped into the sea the first time wasn’t too bad. But then I got cornered by a group of pirates in a cave.” He started ticking things off on his fingers one by one. “Got glared at by the Surgeon of Death -- not recommended, in case you were wondering. Another dip in the ocean to pull someone out. Another round with those pirates. Had to be saved, that time. Then back over here for the tail end of your epic fight. And for being called a castaway by some random lady pirate.”

He looked down. The bandages in place of a shirt, barefoot, missing a weapon, hat and sunglasses gone, one pant leg cut off at the knee to make way for more bandages. One hand went up to his hair and … yup. Salt-stiff and tangled. “I guess I have to give her that one,” he finished. He desperately needed a shower and like a week’s worth of sleep. He felt today’s adventure to his bones.

“Saved?” Coby frowned.

“That Law guy helped me out.” Helmeppo said. Coby’s eyes narrowed at the name, and he glanced out into the darkness. “Guess I got lucky.”

“Well, either way I’m glad,” Coby said.

Quiet fell between them. Distantly, Helmeppo could hear other lives going on around them -- people talking, laughing, shouting. The wind through the plants. The lapping of the waves. Bear guy and hat guy had stopped arguing at some point and were sharing a meal. After the wild tension of earlier, it all felt very comfortable.

“Why’d you decide to take them on alone?” Coby asked.

Briefly, Helmeppo wondered if he could ignore the question and pretend the concussion had damaged his hearing. Nah, he wouldn’t buy that. And it wasn’t exactly what he wanted to avoid. So he said, “Honestly? I thought I could beat them. They didn’t seem like big-bounty sorts. And it seemed like taking that other twin guy out was the right move.”

“Yeah,” Coby agreed. “I mean, he was throwing things off. Messing up the fight for a few people. Luffy’s shipwright can shoot missiles, but they were going all over the place, and whenever anyone tried to go find the source, they got headed off. How did you get through?”

Well, that was easy. “Because of Trafalgar Law.” He said, grinning. “It would be like if I’d showed up with … with one of the admirals. One of us is definitely going to draw the attention. Plus, I think he used his power to kind of help me along.”

“Ah.”

It was absurdly kind of Coby to sound doubtful in that one word, as though he thought they should have considered Helmeppo -- no slouch in combat broadly, but still only a lieutenant commander and only a couple years removed from abject uselessness -- a threat anywhere near on par with an infamous pirate.

And then he realized what Coby might be thinking. After all, hadn’t he wondered it himself, in reverse, at the start of this whole thing, about Coby himself being a target? Ugh. That stupid fight. The smile dropped from his face.

“Trust me, it wasn’t anything to do with me,” he said, tone going flat. “He was as surprised to see me as I was to see him.”

Some tension in Coby’s face relaxed at that. “Okay,” he said. “But if-”

Yeah, no. He was not going to do this. “I think I need to lay back down for a while,” he interrupted. Coby’s mouth snapped shut, and his eyes widened. Helmeppo’s stomach clenched at the look. But Coby just nodded and got to his feet.

“All right. Get some rest. Our ride should be back early.” He smiled, and there was nothing forced or false in the look. It felt so earnest that despite everything, Helmeppo did too. “So we can get back and you can do something about that hair.”

“Hey, it’s a trophy of my struggles,” Helmeppo retorted, laying back down.

“Sure, sure. Rest up.”

He didn’t intend to go back to sleep. He didn’t want to. But in the face of a really bad day, sometimes neither intent nor want matter very much. He thought he heard the little doctor walking past. Before the footsteps faded away, dreams swallowed him again.

The next time he woke, night remained, but most of the fires were down to embers and all but the nature sounds had faded. At first, he blinked sleepily around, trying to get his bearings. Then he saw the empty space around him, the massive flat island, and all the memories of the past day sent a jolt of adrenaline through his body. He sat up in a rush, eyes wide in the dark. The other patients were gone. Quiet lay heavy around them. How long had he been asleep this time?

“Mmm… Helmeppo?”

Coby’s voice, a little slurred and slow, came from the darkness to his left. He searched the shadows and finally saw a form standing up from the ground and walking toward him.

“Uh .. yeah. Sorry. Did I wake you?” he asked.

“No. I was keeping watch.”

There were probably questions about how well he’d been keeping watch, given the sleep in his voice, but Helmeppo felt a stab of guilt. This was exactly what he wasn’t supposed to do. He was supposed to worry about Coby, not make him worry.

Stretching and trying to blink the sleep away, Helmeppo said, “Well, I can take over if you like. Feels like I’ve been asleep all night.”

“You were hurt. You should be sleeping,” Coby said.

“And I did,” Helmeppo replied, slowly standing up. Basically every muscle protested this move, all of them sore and wound tight. As he got to his feet, he swayed a little. Putting weight on the injured leg let him know that while it might be well bandaged and expertly treated, that big gash wasn’t gone. He said, “I can-”

“Stop!” The word came out partway between a plea and an order, and froze Helmeppo in his tracks. The quiet of the island fell over the pair for several long seconds.

“The others left. We swept the area for enemies. Everything’s fine. It’s just us two until the kid comes back,” Coby continued. “Please? Just rest. You don’t have to prove anything. I’m planning to keep watch until we’re on our way back.”

Helmeppo watched his friend, barely outlined in the remaining light from the near-dead fire. He was serious about this. And Helmeppo had enough experience with him to know there was no talking him out of things if he was serious enough. Helmeppo had tried. He knew better than maybe anyone.

“In that case, want company?” he asked instead.

He could see Coby’s shoulders relax a little as he said, “Sure, if you want.”

At best estimation, they were maybe an hour from dawn, which put them about two hours from their ride home. Rather than stick around here, they formed a pair of makeshift torches that they lit in the coals of the nearest former bonfire and started walking back toward the spot where they’d be meeting the kid. Helmeppo had only the vaguest idea what direction that lay in, but Coby seemed certain of his way, so Helmeppo simply followed. They came out, a few minutes later, at a place which he supposed might be familiar. Maybe. They both wedged their torches into the scant earth near the shoreline, letting the flickering light cast broken trails of glitter across the choppy black water.

Helmeppo had been moving slow, taking each step gingerly -- the island was light on crutch-appropriate branches, and stepping on a weak spot meant wet shoes before, but he had a feeling wet bandages over an open wound would be a whole lot worse. Coby never hurried him, just kept pace, and let him get himself along, but stayed nearby just in case. Once they got to the shore, he took up a spot against one of the massive leaf stalks, while Helmeppo found a dry spot to ease himself to the ground. The quiet fell between them, as it often did, but this one felt … uncomfortable. Helmeppo stared at the light on the water, waiting for the start of the sunrise to add paleness to the sky.

“Helmeppo?”

“Hmm?”

“Was it really him?”

Helmeppo kept staring out over the water, debating whether or not to answer. At length, he relented. “Yeah.”

Quiet fell again.

“Can I ask what happened?”

He pulled his knees up and crossed his arms across the tops, resting his chin on them. Sighed. “I’d really rather not talk about it.”

“Why?”

Helmeppo tensed up. “I just don’t want to.”

He expected Coby to press the question, but instead the quiet returned, vengeful and accusatory. It felt like the surroundings themselves were judging him for shutting down so blatantly. Coby was worried, Coby was trying to be nice, and he was just being terse and rude in return. Just like before. Like he hadn’t improved in any way that mattered since … since then. Helmeppo tried to think of something, anything to say to break the silence, to make it less awkward, but with every second, he felt the weight of it more. He’d been an idiot. He should have kept his mouth shut, should have-

“You know, I was sure I was too late.”

“Hm?” Helmeppo turned his head, looking over at Coby in the half light. His friend was looking out across the ocean, face solemn.

“When I got there. After we heard that awful racket, that-” Whatever he’d been about to say, he bit off, and continued a moment later with a hint of heat, an emphasis on the name, “Trafalgar Law told me to go, you might need help there, and-”

“Wait. He sent you over?”

“Yeah. Since you two showed up at the same time, I thought maybe you’d come up with some plan. So I went with it.”

Huh. Yeah, Helmeppo definitely had no idea what was going on in that pirate’s head. But he had yet another reason to be grateful to him. “Well, he wasn’t wrong.”

Coby looked over and caught Helmeppo’s eye for the first time in the conversation -- Helmeppo’s own fault, he supposed. “What was that noise, anyway?”

“Something the Straw Hats’ sniper gave us,” Helmeppo said. “It was … you know? I’m not honestly sure. Really loud grass. In a handy pill. He said to snap it if we needed to get some distance. I can see why.”

Coby chuckled a little at that. “Sounds useful. Certainly helped me find the place.”

“Yeah. I think my ears are still ringing. I feel a little bad for the pirate who got the brunt of it. She just ran off, screaming. I think. I mean, she looked like she was screaming. I couldn’t hear it one way or the other.” He waggled his fingers in as close to a dismissive gesture as he could manage without unfolding from his current pose.

They both laughed, and for a moment everything was normal. Then Coby sobered abruptly, and the good mood drained away from Helmeppo too, replaced with dread. He hated the look on Coby’s face, even hidden as it was by the deep shadows from their small torches. Forget it, he’d take the uncomfortable silence for the next hour, or day, or week, if they could just … just forget everything here. Or at least his part in it.

But, as Helmeppo had figured, Coby wasn’t going to let that happen.

“Sorry. But it really scared me. When I got over there, and I saw him standing there, and you bleeding, and I was still so far away, I was sure there was no way I’d get there in time. I was honestly sure I’d gotten you killed.” His voice wound down to little over a whisper, that would have been lost if anything more than the nighttime nature sounds surrounded them, and he finally chanced a peek in Helmeppo’s direction.

“Yes, well, I should have been more careful.”

“It’s not like that! I just … I’m trying to figure out how to say this. I’m not really wording it right at all.”

“Hmm?”

This time it was Coby who fell silent until Helmeppo raised an eyebrow. On seeing that, Coby squinched his eyes shut -- a childish but familiar gesture -- and steeled himself before blurting out what was on his mind.

“You can’t let this get to you? OK? And-”

“It’s fine, seriou-”

“And I’m so sorry I let you face that by yourself! That I unintentionally put you in that position.”

Coby was clearly fighting to find the right words, which Helmeppo appreciated, because he wasn’t sure he was going to deal very well with the wrong ones right about now -- even from his best friend. The last day had been awful, top to bottom, and now that it was all over he just wanted to try to forget all about it and pretend he hadn’t abjectly failed when faced with a true challenge. But Coby was here just raking through it with both hands. Steeling himself against an urge to snap at his superior officer, he said, “Listen, like I said, just forget about it. It doesn’t matter.”

“It does, though.”

The plaintiveness caught Helmeppo off guard. “Why?” He asked.

“Because it’s bothering you,” Coby said.

“No, it’s not!” Helmeppo protested, but he could hear the lie in his own words.

“Ugh, why is this so weird to say? Listen. I’m not saying you’re dad’s not awful. He is. He’s really awful, and you’ve already surpassed him in every way that matters. I guess I’m saying, it’s okay to feel …” He paused, debating, before continuing with, “conflicted. Because I know you can’t just stop feeling how you feel. No one can. That’s all.”

Yeah, this was definitely not what he needed today. Bitterly, Helmeppo said, “So, what, you think I should-”

“I don’t think there’s a should,” Coby said quickly, pushing away from the leaf stalk. “It’s just, I think it’s OK to be horrified by what he did and to bring him to justice and to still be sad about it coming to that and wish things were different. You don’t have to just see him as an enemy. Because he’s not just an enemy for you.” He finally looked over at Helmeppo again, a guilty, furtive look. “Sorry. I know I should have said that a while ago.”

“What are you even talking about?”

“Back when you first told me, Helmeppo. Remember? I felt bad, later. Because it was the first time you trusted me with anything.”

A while ago? What was he talking about?

First time you trusted me with anything.

Oh.

That sparked a memory, of those first few weeks as a chore boy. Of hating every minute of it. Of rejecting everything he could about Marine life without getting himself kicked out. And each day’s list of chores just reinforced that he really was just as weak and stupid and useless as his dad had said, and that made him hate everything even more.

And this guy, this guy had continued to be so damn nice, cloyingly nice, after everything. He never seemed to get how he just made it harder. Being in the Marines was what Coby wanted, after all, while it was basically the only road Helmeppo had. The kid already knew how to wash dishes and scrub floors, things Helmeppo himself struggled with at first.

Plus, Coby had been sixteen, just coming into his own. Helmeppo, at twenty, was ostensibly an adult and found himself serving the whims of the same Marines he’d been an asshole to for so long. He’d been sure they were all laughing, watching him struggle and enjoying every moment of it. Some of them had been, of course. But a greater part of that feeling, he figured now, had been in his head. Still, at the time, it had felt so real that it was all he could feel.

And watching Coby take to the whole situation as though it were completely natural had felt like salt thrown directly in a very raw wound.

It had been maddening. Helmeppo felt like he was drowning, and as a drowning man will, he lashed out and nearly dragged others down too. But despite every attempt to get Coby to either give up the goody-two-shoes act and show his own awful side or just leave Helmeppo alone, he kept just being there. Friendly. Kind. Trying to make him keep going.

To be honest, it had worn Helmeppo down. And it had just been so difficult to pretend nothing bothered him, every day, when everything did. His entire life had been upended. He had no place anymore than felt like home. The work was awful and hard and he couldn’t do any of it right. And his father was going to-

He’d never felt more cowardly than at that moment, crying in front of some kid over his father’s well-earned upcoming punishment. But on some level, it had made him feel better. And even that took him a long time to accept. What was it Coby had told him, when he finally confessed all this? It took a moment to dredge up the words -- not even the words, just the message. He’d wondered if they’d kill his father, and Coby had said he didn’t know.

Had that been bothering him?

“Ah.” Helmeppo honestly wasn’t even sure what to say to that.

“I’m pretty sure that’s why you only read the newspaper when you think you’re alone,” Coby said, causing Helmeppo to blanche. He’d figured that out? “And I know you sneak down to check through every new batch of wanted posters. I’ve seen the look on your face when you do. Like you’re so angry at the world, until you get to the end and it’s just … you go still. So please don’t tell me it’s not bothering you. All right?”

Huh. So apparently all this time of thinking he was doing a good job of being discreet, he’d actually just been lying to himself. Just perfect. It was a really good thing that Coby couldn’t see just how red he was turning. One more reason to just forget today and-

“Helmeppo?”

Oh, right, Coby had been pouring out his thoughts and Helmeppo had been sitting here like a lump. “Sorry,” he said, struggling to find words that would assuage Coby’s worries. “It didn’t bother me, you know. What you said back then. I think that was what I needed to hear. Just someone to acknowledge that it was happening, and that there wasn’t an easy answer. As for today-”

What about today? How did he even begin to explain it all? Or even the heart of it? On the surface, it was simple. But more broadly…

“I screwed up,” he said heavily. “You shouldn’t have had to come flying to my rescue, but I stopped paying attention to the fight I was in. I noticed him, before I knew who he was, but I lost track of him during the fight. Until he cut me off when I tried to get out of there. Found him then.” He laughed, bitterly.

He chanced a look over at Coby. He was looking at Helmeppo, paying full attention, and there was something in his expression that Helmeppo was kind of glad he couldn’t see more clearly. He didn’t like seeing his friend sad. Especially not over something like this.

And like that last time, alone like this, something about Coby -- hell, maybe just him being willing to be here, and so clearly willing to listen and wanting to understand -- let Helmeppo finally break down.

“I know I said I was going to find him and bring him in. And I meant it. But it was like…” He groped for the right words. “It was like when I was there, in front of him, he looked at me like he was seeing the person I used to be, and I … I felt like it. Sure, I wasn’t exactly in great shape, but part of me didn’t even really want to try. When he looked at me, my first thought was just to get away from him. And when I couldn’t do that, I was just hoping someone would come help me, because he seemed so impossible to face. And-”

His fingers tightened on his elbows. Just talking about it was dredging the vision -- his dad big as a mountain, eyes hard and mouth in a thin line, his voice just the same -- He apparently thinks he’s a grown man. Never was willing to do what needed to be done. You never belonged on the Grand Line. You barely belonged in the East Blue.

“Helmeppo?”

“I felt trapped,” he said, startled out of reverie and into verbal motion again by Coby’s voice. “And I felt like … a fraud, you know? Like, I’ve been so full of myself, so sure that I’ve grown into a better, stronger person. But the moment I get tested, really tested, I find out I’m just the same self-important, oblivious coward that-”

“No.”

He couldn’t stop a rueful laugh. “No?”

“Listen, Helmeppo … today was a mess. You can’t just judge yourself by the worst of it. Come on. You think the you from before could have even stood up to him? Much less doing so when you were already injured? Even when I got there, you weren’t backing down or running away.”

Why did he have to sound so reasonable? “Maybe I should have,” Helmeppo said. “He even told me to, you know? Said if I dropped the weapon and begged him for mercy he’d let me leave.”

“And you didn’t,” Coby said firmly, as though that were the end of the conversation.

“It was weird for him even to say it though,” Helmeppo said. "I never would have thought he of all-”

But… wait. He’d been lying about the offer, Helmeppo was certain of that. But he’d said no, and maybe … maybe that was what had caused that hesitation at the end? The one that both he and Coby had noticed.

“Helmeppo?”

“You’re right, you know,” he said slowly. “He had me down, had me dead to rights, and he didn’t … he was just standing there and waiting. I was even thinking, why didn’t he just end it? But he didn’t. And then you came, and he lost the chance.”

“I didn’t know him,” Coby said. “Can you think why he might not press an advantage?”

“No.” Helmeppo laughed a little. “Mercy was never one of the virtues he particularly liked.”

“That’s why I wondered.”

“Maybe he … ugh. No. That’s dumb.” It couldn’t be.

“What?”

“I just wonder if he’s such a … you know, so wrapped up in his whole power and strength schtick that that was the only way to ever get through to him. Like back when he escaped. Remember? He could have killed us, or subdued one of us and tossed the other. But he tossed us both overboard. After we both stood up to him.”

He was overthinking this. He had to be. Until now, he’d never given it a second thought. He’d been sure it had happened because they had been too big a pain in the ass to control and the Marines would have been happy to add another charge to his rap sheet if he’d killed them. But would he really care about that?

“So you’re thinking he might have been impressed enough with you standing up to him that he didn’t want to h… well, kill you?”Coby mused.

“I told you it was dumb.” How many of those attacks had been aimed, not at something immediately vital, but an arm or leg?

“I don’t think it’s dumb. It kind of makes sense with what you’ve said about him.”

Well, he had not been expecting that. And now that he had, the idea felt … uncomfortable? He’d spent two years trying to convince himself the guy was just a monster. And yeah, he still was. But the idea that he was a slightly more complicated monster didn’t work well with those thoughts.

But there was some relief there as well.

Maybe I can hate him, and still miss some version of him and not be a monster myself. He thought about how his dad admitted that he had changed, in a tone that sounded so similar to approval that it had actually felt viscerally wrong to hear it come from the man’s mouth. What a mess. He’d have to thank Coby for this later. Again.

“If that’s the case, I bet in his head he’s taking credit for it all” he joked, as much to bring himself out of his own thoughts as anything. “Like threatening to kill me finally made me turn into the sort of son he might have been a little proud of, even though I managed it way too late.”

“Well, if he tries, let’s just ask if he was also responsible for all the whining you did when we got started,” Coby teased.

“He’ll never admit it, but yeah, that was definitely him too,” Helmeppo said with all the mock-seriousness he could muster.

Something crackled and crunched as Coby pushed away from where he’d been standing and walked over to sit by Helmeppo. He felt something press his left shoulder. As he looked that way, he felt a presence on the other. Coby was putting an arm around his shoulders, which was unexpected, but also kinda nice.

“You’ll get him next time,” Cody said with conviction.

“Just gotta make sure I got shoes next time.” Helmeppo said. “That was the real problem.”

“Obviously.”

“Hey Coby?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

“For what?”

Helmeppo laughed at the genuine puzzlement in Coby’s voice, but he didn’t answer. And the silence that fell between them now, as they waited for daybreak, finally felt familiar.

[thegoodgayshit]

Luz’s mother really doesn’t want to send Luz to camp. She knows once she leaves, there is no going back. But Luz has a knack for getting into trouble, and one day she stumbles into the same type of people her mother would have preferred she avoided. After helping Luz dissolve her high school bully into dust, Eda and Lilith know right away that this kid is just like them - a child of the gods. So Luz hops on a Pegasus and heads to Camp Half-blood, where she embarks on a dangerous quest that makes her both friends and enemies... and she might even save Olympus along the way.

Chapter Six: A Hellhound Requests Cuddle Time

“Luz, you look terrible! When was the last time you slept right?” Willow asks in shock, reaching over and gently turning Luz’s face in her hands.

She laughs nervously and gently pushes her hand away. “I’m fine! I just didn’t sleep well last night, but I’m sure tonight will be better.”

It was a blatant lie. She hadn’t slept right since the night Amity was nominated for her quest. The last fourteen nights since she’d left, Luz had been plagued with the nightmares of the man in the mountain, pointing the sword and her and laughing. Some nights were better than others, but last night had been particularly draining, and Luz had only slept for a couple of hours.

Luz had always been good at hiding her problems from the people in her life, usually with her Mami, but she supposed she was starting to push what she thought she could get away with. She had never really had friends to lie to before.

The night of the nomination, Luz had been so terrified by the dreams she had left her cabin before the sun was even in the sky, deciding she would take a walk to clear her head. Usually, she would draw, (the wall next to her bunk was quickly filling up with tacked up drawings and photos of her and her friends at camp) but the dream had freaked her out so badly all she’d wanted to do was leave the cabin as quick as she could.

She paced the strawberry fields in frustration, trying to put together what the dream had meant. She had slept funny on her arm and irritated the cut that had clotted over from where Amity’s sword had skimmed it, and while it didn’t hurt, it was itchy and uncomfortable.

She drew Aletheia watched the bronze blade appear in front of her, still so polished she could see her face reflecting in it. Luz remembered Willow and Gus saying the blade brought bad luck. Maybe that’s why she was having these dreams.

“Can’t sleep?”

Luz jumped, spinning around and holding up her sword defensively. She came almost face to face with Amity, who didn’t even flinch at the blade, her gold eyes staring at Luz blankly. Luz lowered her sword in embarrassment.

“Sorry about that,” Luz mumbled.

Amity shrugged her shoulders. Luz noticed that she was already packed and ready, dressed in a long-sleeved black shirt, leggings, and boots. She had a black backpack swung over her shoulder, and the only remnants she was wearing that showed she might have been a camper was her amethyst-studded xiphos on her belt and the leather necklace around her neck.

Luz did a double-take when she saw it. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t noticed it before. There were five beads strung on it, but the thing that made it stand out was the amethyst pendant strung around the middle. Now that Amity wasn’t wearing the staple orange t-shirt and jeans, it was a lot more obvious.

Amity was still staring at her, and Luz realized she had never answered her question.

“Uh… yeah. Nightmares, and whatever,” Luz added awkwardly, and Amity’s eyes flashed knowingly. Luz wondered if she wasn’t the only half-blood plagued by the dreams.

“So what are you doing down here?” Luz asked, trying to keep her voice light. Luz still didn’t really know what to make of Amity after their conversation last night. She felt like she had gotten a glimpse of who she might be under all those layers, but she still wasn’t sure.

Amity swallowed, looking away from Luz and towards the huge pine tree that stood proudly on Half-Blood Hill. Luz remembered Willow telling her that the tree was a huge source of the camp's magic and that the Golden Fleece on the tree wasn’t a replica, but the real deal.

“I come up here every morning and go for a walk before training,” she eventually said. Luz felt the tension radiating off of her in waves. She wasn’t sure if she should try and comfort her, or if she would think Luz was making fun of her.

“How are you feeling?” She tried gently, and Amity shuffled her feet.

“I’m fine. This is what all half-bloods are born to do. We do quests, and bring honor to Olympus.” Amity’s voice rose slightly as she said it, and Luz thought that Amity might just be saying it to convince herself.

“It’s okay to be scared,” Luz said softly, and Amity flinched. Frowning and slowly reaching out, Luz put her hand on Amity’s forearm. She tensed, her gaze turning back to Luz’s.

“I’d be terrified in your position,” Luz said honestly. While she had thought at the pavilion last night that a quest would be a fun adventure, her nightmares had given her a whole different perspective. At camp, she had all of her new friends to help pick up the pieces when something scary happened. On a quest, Amity would only have Boscha and Skara. She didn’t know Skara all that well, but from what she’d seen of Boscha she didn’t exactly peg her as the comforting type.

Amity looked down at Luz’s hand, then back up at her face. She seemed to be grappling with something before she just sighed and squeezed her eyes shut. She gently pushed Luz’s hand away.

“Can you just promise me one thing?” she asked quietly, turning her body away from Luz and wrapping her arm around her body. Luz was nodding the second the words were out of her mouth.

“Of course.”

“Take care of the camp while I’m gone,” Amity said quietly, swallowing hard. “Demigod dreams are usually a good indicator of how serious things are. I don’t know who that guy is on the mountain, but he’s dangerous.”

Luz blinked, not sure why Amity would want her of all people to watch after the camp. But she looked so on edge, Luz wasn’t going to refuse.

“Uh, yeah sure. I’ll make sure everything is fine here.”

As Amity walked away to the pine tree where Lilith would send her and her friends off, Luz was smacked with the realization that she had never said anything to Amity about her dreams… and especially not about the man in the mountain.

Ever since she left camp with Boscha and Skara, Luz had been on edge. The conversation with Amity had really freaked her out, and Luz wanted to make good on her promise. She had changed and gotten ready in the Hermes cabin before setting right off to the Big House.

Hooty, the houses magic security guard/door stopper/living owl had asked Luz a bunch of questions she couldn’t answer when she just told him she needed to see Eda. Eda had opened the door in her pajamas, looking disgruntled to be woken up so early, but regardless she’d let Luz inside.

Luz hadn’t been expecting to tell Eda everything she’d seen in her dreams, or about her conversation with Amity, but she just hadn’t been able to keep it in any longer. Eda had sat there and listened intently, her face morphing from annoyance to worry the longer Luz talked. When Luz asked Eda to train her again, so she could make good on her promise to Amity, she had readily agreed.

Eda pushed her hard. It wasn’t in a way that freaked Luz out or anything, but she always expected Luz to be her best, and Luz would be lying if she said she didn’t find the whole experience exciting. She asked a ton of questions every night in the arena, and Eda would always offer a thoughtful (abelite unconventional) solution. Sometimes Willow or Gus joined them, and Eda would have Luz scrimmage against them while she offered pointers. King was always there too, usually sleeping in the corner or yelling threats of encouragement.

While Luz had learned a lot in the two weeks she’d been training with Eda, the mental and physical exhaustion of the nightmares was getting harder and harder to avoid. She didn’t want Willow or Gus to worry, especially since they didn’t know the full extent of her dreams.

“Yeah, seriously Luz,” Gus said, looking at her up and down. “You haven’t been yourself lately. You haven’t even touched your lunch, and that’s saying something.”

“If you have no meat on your bones, you will never be able to destroy your enemies!” King said from his place on Luz’s lap. The tiny talking hellhound had gotten into a habit of following Luz and her friends around, usually curling up in one of their laps or joining them for meals hoping he would get some of their food. Luz rolled her eyes at him, but there was no malice to the gesture, and she reached up to scratch behind his ears.

The trio had decided to get lunch together in the pavilion since it wasn’t as formal of an event as dinner the place was pretty empty. They were sitting at the Athena table by themselves, and even though Luz’s chicken and cheddar sandwich looked fantastic like all the other camp food, Gus was right. It remained untouched on her plate, with Luz’s appetite disappearing when they sat down and Luz caught a glimpse of one of the slash marks in the columns that had yet to be sealed post skeleton attack.

“I’m myself!” Luz tried, doing her best at her typical “Luz chipper” that her friends always made fun of her for. “I’m still good ol’ Luz! Camper extraordinaire!”

Willow and Gus shared a look, and Willow turned back to Luz and pursed her lips, not buying it.

“Luz, you need sleep,” Willow said firmly, her eyes locked on the bags that had been forming for days now under Luz’s eyes. “You’ve been pushing yourself way too hard.”

“I’m not pushing myself too hard,” Luz retorted with a frown, “I need to be the best I can be in case something like this happens again.” She gestured to the column, and Willow and Gus’ face lit up with understanding. Willow reached across the table comfortingly, putting her hand over Luz’s.

“Luz, it’s not likely that something like that will happen again,” Willow said, giving her a comforting smile. “It’s been two weeks since Amity left on her quest, and we haven’t had a sliver of trouble at all.”

Luz’s stomach flipped, thinking again about her last conversation with Amity. “Do you think they’re doing alright?”

Willow frowned, moving her hand away from Luz’s to clamp them in her own lap. “It’s hard to say with Amity… you never really know what she’s thinking.”

Luz blinked at the tone of Willow’s voice. It was almost… resentful. Even Gus noticed it, his mouth set into a hard line. Luz suddenly remembered something she’d forgotten that happened during capture the flag two weeks ago.

“During the game, Boscha called you “half a half-blood” Luz started curiously, unable to resist. Willow looked at her hands, clearly upset, and Gus shot Luz a warning look. Luz pinked, realizing she might have crossed a line.

“Sorry, it’s none of my business…” she started, but Willow cleared her throat, shaking her head.

“No, it’s alright. You’re my friend, you should know.” Willow looked up and met Luz’s gaze, giving her a nervous look. “They call me that because I’m not really a half-blood. Well… I am… I guess… but I wasn’t born the way a lot of you guys were. My dads have a really popular farm in Minnesota, and it was enough to get Demeter’s attention. She blessed them, and my dad’s say I just showed up on the front porch of their farmhouse.”

Luz nodded slowly, picking up what she was saying. “So Amity and her friends bully you because you weren’t born like they were. That’s terrible.”

“Amity wasn’t always like that,” Willow mumbled quietly, looking forlorn. “When I came to camp, we were the same age and we became friends. But when I told her about my dad’s and what happened… well…”

“She ditched you for Boscha and Skara,” Luz concluded, doing her best to not get angry. “That’s stupid! The camp boundaries keep everybody who isn’t a half-blood out, and they let you in just fine. You’re just as good a half-blood as everybody else.”

“She’s not just as good, she’s better,” Gus added with a smile. “Demeter campers haven’t shown magical abilities like Willows in thousands of years.”

“Yeah!” Luz exclaimed with a grin, nodding to her encouragingly. “I saw you make that wall of thorns during the game, it was a huge reason our team won. Don’t even let Amity and her dumb friends convince you otherwise.”

Willow smiled bashfully. “Thanks, guys. But you know, even though Amity was so mean to me, I do really feel bad for her right now. I can’t imagine what she’s going through.”

There was a pause between the three of them as they suddenly grew solemn.

“I can,” Luz eventually said quietly.

Luz didn’t know if it was because Willow had just shared something personal with her, or because she couldn’t keep it bundled up any longer, but soon she was spilling everything. She told them about her conversation with Amity right before the skeleton attack, the dreams she’d been having ever since she got to camp, and then finally about the last time she saw Amity and the suspicion she had about the connection of their dreams.

By the time she’d finished telling them what happened, she slumped forward, feeling like a weight had finally gotten off her chest. Gus wrapped his arm around Luz comfortingly from next to her, and Willow somewhere along the way had taken Luz’s hand in hers again.

King had sat up and listened intently, and when she was done, he snuggled closer to her chest. “No wonder you’re so tired, Luz. I would be too if I had been having the same nightmare for so long.”

“Amity was right, half-bloods are known to sometimes get dreams when something is off with our world or Olympus,” Gus said, his brow furrowed with both worry and confusion. “But I don’t understand why you’re having similar dreams to Amity if you’re not a hero on her quest. That’s pretty unusual.”

“So you two haven’t had any dreams like this?” Luz asked desperately, and the two shook their heads. Luz sighed, reaching up to rub her tired eyes with her fist. “I don’t understand why this is happening. Who is this guy and why won’t he just let me sleep?”

“It’s not like any of what he said is easy to pinpoint either,” Willow mumbled with a shrug. “Lots of heroes and villains in Greek Mythology have a vendetta against the gods.”

“This must have something to do with Hestia,” Luz said certainly. “I think he knows where she is. If I could just talk to this guy-”

“That’s not how these dreams work,” Gus interrupted with a frown. “Sorry Luz, but you’ll only see what he wants to show you.”

“Amity had been having these dreams too,” Luz mumbled lowly, not wanting to upset Willow by bringing her up. Thankfully, Willow didn’t seem to be angry right now, just concerned. “She asked me to look out for the camp. Why?”

Willow and Gus shrugged, but King looked up at Luz with serious blinking eyes.

“If Amity is anything like you guys have just described, then she’s been thinking about this for a while. Luz is a new camper, and Amity wouldn’t just tell her something like that if it wasn’t important.”

The three half-bloods slowly started to nod. “You’re right, King.” Willow said, “I’ve known Amity for five years now, and she doesn’t do things like that on a whim. This means something.”

Except Luz didn’t know what it was, or what she could do to help. She groaned in frustration, letting her head hit the table with a clunk. “Why is being a half-blood so confusing,”

King wiggled underneath her. “You seem upset. Not that I want you to or would appreciate it at all, but you can hug me if you so choose.”

“Really?” Luz asked excitedly, scooping him up in her arms, and cradling him to her chest. King pretended he wasn’t happy about this, but Willow and Gus smiled knowingly when they saw King press his head against her collarbone.

“The King of Demons can also be the King of Cuddles,” he said, daring them to make a comment.

Luz was feeling a lot better as she and her friends headed to the arena for their afternoon practice. Eda had set up an obstacle course for campers in there and they would participate in teams to complete it. Today, the Hermes cabin would pair with Demeter, while the Athena cabin played against them and would pair with Aphrodite’s cabin.

While Luz was sad Gus wouldn’t be on her team, it would be nice to test her new skills and see how far along she was coming. She thought she was getting a lot better with her sword, and hoped all her hard work was boosting up her endurance and strength. Today would be the first real test since capture the flag… and as she had already confessed to Amity she hadn’t exactly won fairly.

The arena was divided into two sides, and Eda had obviously taken some inspiration creating this course from the mortal military one. Each side was composed of a short climbing wall with an oiled rope, a tough barricade of barbed wire you’d have to army crawl under, a balance beam (with enchanted vines to try and trip the camper, courtesy of Willow), and then the two competing campers would have to scrimmage at the end in a tiny makeshift circle. The first camper to be knocked outside the lines loses.

“For every camper who makes it to the end and wins the scrimmage, their team earns a point.” Eda finished, and Luz was beginning to feel stressed. That was a lot of work for one point. “The team with the most points at the end wins, with their chores divided amongst the losing team for one week. High stakes, kids.”

That perked Luz up, as well as the rest of the Hermes cabin. Their chore this week was dishes, which was definitely not fun since the Harpies wanted them to wash them in literal lava for a spot-free solution. Luz cuffed the sleeves of her camp shirt, getting excited at the idea of passing it along to a different cabin.

She saw Amity’s siblings, Edric and Emira, standing next to Gus. Maybe Aphrodite could get their chore. Luz thought that was fair revenge for letting them sneak past her during capture the flag.

Eda blew the whistle, and they were off. Luz’s team had decided that the Demeter cabin was going first, and they were going to line up according to seniority, which meant Luz had to run dead last. She fidgeted anxiously at the high stakes but did her best to ignore her nervousness to cheer on her team.

The other team, of course having Athena, had a different and more thought-out strategy. They would have their newest campers run first to try and secure a more solid lead at the end of the game when their best campers were still fresh and ready to run.

Willow ended up having to face Gus after the two had been neck and neck the whole time they ran the course. As Willow drew her sword and Gus his spear, the two were very well matched, and Luz was torn at who to cheer for. When she expressed this to Viney, the counselor jokingly threatened to strangle her.

“You better start cheering for Willow,” Viney said to Luz, not able to keep the smile off her face as she said it. Luz laughed.

Due to a quick slash from Willow’s sword, Gus had no choice but to step back to dodge, effectively being pushed out of the circle. He sighed in disappointment, and Willow apologized, but Gus just smiled and gave her a high five for her good effort.

With Luz’s team slightly in the lead, she continued to watch and wait for her turn. Viney went up against Emira, and Luz leaned forward excitedly. Despite her injury from two weeks ago, the slash had healed impossibly fast, and Viney had returned to training just a few days later. Viney had winked at Luz, saying the healing process was almost magical. Luz had a feeling she was making fun of her.

The two were a perfect match, with Viney swinging a three-foot sword hard towards her that got deflected every time by the tip of Emira’s knife. Luz gasped when she saw it happen, only a really talented knife user would be able to pull something off like that. She now understood why the Aphrodite cabin was no laughing matter.

Viney’s brow furrowed in frustration every time she did it, with Emira making a couple of teasing comments Luz couldn’t hear from so far away. It seemed to make Viney swing a little harder each time, and Luz wondered if this was the Blight twins “way with words” Willow and Gus had mentioned before.

Eventually, out of a pure slip on Viney’s part, she swung and Emira moved, causing Viney to accidentally step willingly out of the circle. Viney cursed in Greek, and Emira smiled coyly, and Eda called the point in favor of their team.

Viney walked shamefully back to their side, where her siblings all gave her murmurs of encouragement despite the loss.

“That girl is going to get her tongue cut out by someone one of these days,” she growled in annoyance to Luz and Willow. Luz thought she had a good point, but Willow just laughed.

The points jumped back and forth a couple more times before Luz realized she was up, and worse, the game was tied. Then she looked left and realized who she was up against.

Edric looked over at her and grinned, giving her a teasing wink. Luz’s face pinked, and she cuffed the sleeves of her shirt, ready to go. They waited for the campers to jog back to the beginning before they took off running, and when they reached the first climbing wall, Luz spared a glance towards Edric and her mouth dropped in surprise. He was keeping perfect pace with her, and he leaped over the wall like it was nothing. Like his sister, he was a natural.

Luz pushed herself up the wall with shaky hands, leaping into the air and hitting the ground running to the next task. Instead of army crawling like she was supposed to, (where Edric was already almost halfway done) she decided to try something a little more Luz, (Willow would later smack her and call it too risky and dangerous).

She tucked her back leg under her thigh, baseball sliding down on her back and under the entire barbed wire netting in one swift slide. She couldn’t believe it had worked, and she hadn’t poked out an eye or anything. When she cleared the netting (while getting another rush of adrenaline at the roar of approval from her team) she pushed herself to her feet and ran to the balance beam now neck and neck with Edric.

She saw Edric grit his teeth competitively and together they jumped up on the beam, sprinting far too fast for any of the thorns to latch around their ankles. When they landed smack into the center of the circle, they each drew their weapons and turned to face one another.

Edric had a three-foot xiphos that was so similar to Amity’s Luz almost did a double-take when she saw it. But instead of amethysts studded into the blade, Edric’s sword had gems that were blue. Edric seemed to be just as skilled at fighting as her sisters because when he swung at Luz and she connected her sword with his, the force of the impact almost knocked her out of the circle instantly. She grit her teeth and lunged, but he deflected the blade easily.

“Come on, Luz,” he said with a cheeky smile. “Where’s all that power Amity had to deal with during capture the flag?”

“You want power?” Luz asked, taking another swing at him. “I’ll give you power!”

The pair clashed for a few more minutes, and Luz had to block out the cheering coming from both sides of the teams. It was clear Luz’s team hadn’t known the full extent of what she could do, expecting her not to be able to hold a coin to Edric. But her training with Eda had her feeling fresh, and she found her pointers rushing back to her like muscle memory.

“Remember to move in when you have a shorter blade.”

When Luz saw the opening, she took it. Pushing forward, she stabbed with Aletheia and forced Edric to take a few wild steps backward in an effort to getaway. The second he did it, his foot slide outside the circle.

“You’re out!” Eda yelled, and Luz’s team broke out into crazy cheers. “Hermes and Demeter win the game!”

Her team came rushing around her in an instant, patting her on the shoulders and screaming in her ears. Luz’s whole body vibrates with exhaustion and excitement. She’d done it! A grin broke out onto her face, and Willow and Gus met her eagerly, Willow pulling her in for a hug and Gus giving her a begrudging smile.

But Luz could only savor the moment for a few seconds, before the loudest road she’d ever heard came thundering down in the distance, over by Half-Blood Hill.

The crowd instantly quieted, all of them drawing their swords at the sound. Luz fumbled for her blade in terror, the volume of the roar itself washing terror over her body. Eda reached for Owlbert, shifting him into her spear holding up her hand. Her face was unusually serious, and she didn’t hesitate before rushing forward.

“Somebody is trying to get inside the camp. Half-bloods! Rally with me!”

The flood of campers from the four cabins drew their weapons and followed, and Luz hurried to keep pace with Willow and Gus.

“What does Eda mean, somebody is trying to get in?” Luz said to them, doing her best to steel her nerves from the serious situation.

“Most half-bloods who come to camp don’t fly in like you did, Luz,” Willow says seriously, gripping her kopis so hard her knuckles were turning white.

“Most of them come from the road by Half-Blood Hill,” Gus finished, looking unusually nervous. “Usually being chased by some kind of monster.”

Well, that explained the roaring. Reading her own sword, Luz and the other campers climbed the hill with Eda in the lead, heading towards whatever monster had just made that sound.

Luz was holding her breath as she reached the top, and the party of demigods passed the protective pine tree and into the forest. Luz looked around cautiously, but before she could even realize what was happening Willow was diving into her.

“Get down!”

There was another terrifying snapping roar, as she and Willow went tumbling away from the group, and the half-bloods scattered, Eda, yelling ferociously and calling out orders. Luz rolled to her side and got to her feet, her heart pounding in her chest as she tried to locate what had just snapped at her.

When she saw it, her blood ran cold.

It was a dragon, but it wasn’t. It had huge thick scales, and claws that could cut Luz in half with one swipe. But the most terrifying thing about it was the head… no… the heads.

Six of them exactly, glaring around at the yelling half-bloods who had run to meet it. The one that had snapped at her and Willow had turned away when it realized it had missed them and turned back to Eda, who was stabbing wildly with her spear at its scales. Luz quickly helped Willow to her feet, and Gus joined them, hovering over them protectively with his own spear.

“What… is that?” Luz managed, so terrified she was lucky she hadn’t passed out.

“A Hydra,” Gus yelled, and Luz had no idea how he could look so awed in a dangerous moment like this. “Whatever you do, don’t cut off any of its heads!”

“Who was the Hydra chasing?” Willow asked, and Luz noticed that she was also trembling with anxiety. “We should find them while the monster is distracted by all the other campers!”

Luz knew she was right. With at least fifty campers helping fend off the Hydra, it was a good idea to look for whoever it had followed to the hill.

The three of them darted past the scales, dodging the snapping heads of the Hydra as they looked for anybody hurt.

“I don’t see anybody at all!” Gus exclaimed as he jabbed his spear at a head who had gotten too close while snapping at Viney and Jerbo.

“Me neither!” Willow yelled, slashing her sword at exposed scales from behind a tree. One Hydra head roared in outrage, giving Eda the opportunity she was looking for. She stabbed hard with her spear in its eye, and it must have been a daughter of Zeus thing because the whole head shook with electricity as it was stabbed, hitting the ground with a thud.

Luz scanned the clearing desperately when she saw them.

“There!” She screamed to her friends, pointing just beyond a large tree twenty feet away.

A girl in a black hoodie holding her sword in one hand while dragging along an injured girl, her other hand wrapped around her waist. The girl who was limping was holding a broken bow, and her face was streaked with exhaustion. When Luz realized who it was, her eyes widened in shock as she raced forward with Willow and Gus to help.

It was Boscha and Skara, and Amity was nowhere to be seen.

[dottiechan]

Spare bunk

Pairing: Captain Rex x reader

Word count: 2008

Warnings: TCW S7 spoilers below cut

Summary: After discovering a strange signal at the cyber station on Anaxes, Captain Rex calls an old ally for help.

Having just arrived back to Fort Anaxes from the Separatist cyber station, Rex feels drained. Drained might actually be a poor description of what he is going through – being overwhelmed by all his newfound feelings might be a better way to capture his inner sufferings. Sufferings he cannot share with anyone truly. No one who would understand, no one who would fully believe him.

Because he knows Echo is alive, damn all who think otherwise.

Tup, Dogma, Hardcase and Fives are all gone – no more than distant memories and smiling faces on holo images tucked away carefully in crates of 501st military gear and equipment. Cody is injured, moaning incoherently in his sleep while his face is scrunched up in pain despite all the kolto circulating in his bloodstream, with Jesse and Kix tending to him, watching over him.

There’s General Skywalker, of course, but one need not be Force sensitive to feel he’s reluctant, filled to the brim with disbelief and concerns to his own. And the Bad Batch may have proven themselves as allies and warriors, but none of them knew Echo. None of them would share his pain, feel his grief, and support his blind hope.

There is one another, his mind reminds Rex as he sits alone in his barracks, the white-blue shells of his armour lying discarded on the floor more carelessly than how he usually leaves them, knees hugged tightly to his chest. Another who’s survived the Citadel, another who was broken by the loss of Echo, so broken she walked straight out the Jedi Order, maybe even the Republic. Another who could potentially help, potentially understand. Also across the Galaxy, probably, but that is beside the point. Rex is aching to hear her voice, feel her compassion, feel like something, anything that isn’t just plain miserable. Anyone who says clones are engineered to not be afraid, to focus only on duty, can go straight to hell according to the Captain.

Rex moves slowly, not trusting his limbs as he unravels himself, plants his feet firmly on the ground as if he didn’t trust his own body. He pushes aside the pieces of his chestplate to fish out the utility belt underneath. There’s an encryption only he and her know, the one he constantly aches to use and yet never once dared to actually use to make a call. Now there is no hesitation in his fingers as he keys it into his holoprojector and waits for you to answer on the other end.

...

Sskoora growls, but you know him well enough to decipher the meaning behind the Trandoshan’s hisses – the one he emitted just now is the equivalent of a sigh, and you know you’ve won when the hunter brushes past you to enter the cockpit of your ship.

“Scorekeeper won’t accept droids as Jagannath points. A waste of time; a hunt not worthy of our time and our talents.”

But your old friend is already entering the coordinates of Fort Anaxes into the navicomputer and you can’t help but smile softly. He isn’t like most Trandoshans. He is a seasoned warrior, but he has honour, and the friendship you established over the last year after surviving the harsh sands of Tatooine together is one you will cherish until you die. Your attachment to Sskoora is yet another reminder why you kept failing as a Jedi. And another is waiting for you at the end of your destination.

“I owe you one, old friend.”

“You owe me a hunt,” he corrects you calmly, his red scaled face a mask of perfect tranquillity.

“Find the burliest rancor by the time we’ve rescued my friend, Sskoora.”

The Trandoshan wants to say he knows it’s about more than just Echo, more than just a friend lost and found again. He knows you want to be reunited with your mate, but he keeps his mouth shut. You’re still young in his eyes, and he will respect the rashness of youth just like the wisdom of old age.

“The burliest I will, little hunter.”

...

When a Trandoshan appears on the ramp of the ship that just landed in Fort Anaxes, all the perimeter guards are on alert, guns aimed and ready to fire. Until a Jedi appears behind, waving her arms to show their harmlessness. It takes General Skywalker to break the state of emergency, but the great hunter seems to be regarded with distrust even afterwards. Anakin is upset when he finds out why you’re here, but he cannot truly be mad. He stalks off in the night after showing you the direction in which Rex’s barracks are. You bring back too many painful memories – the Citadel, the way you got out of the Order to live your life, the same way Ahsoka did. You don’t blame him for not wanting to speak to you more. So you send Sskoora back to the ship and ask him to prepare for a fight, pacifying him enough to know his preparations for the hunt will quell any desire in him to cause trouble. And then you take a deep breath and go, trying not to reach out with the Force so eagerly to where you suspect Rex to be. The man you so innocently loved as a Jedi, and then agreed to let go for the sake of the Republic.

You’re not a Jedi anymore. And though you wish nothing more than to throw your arms around him like he used to allow you, what you truly wish is to make him happy, to console him, to trust him when no one else does. You tell your little heart beating so fast that the man asked for your help only to bring Echo back, not for any other reason, and the sour lie helps you restrain your emotions as you enter the dark building.

“I got your message. Rex?”

You can sense him – his anguish and thoughtfulness draws your focus immediately, but you cannot see him until he moves. He’s partly in his blacks, the circular emblem of the Republic visible on his chest. His kama and boots are on, however, and you’ve caught him in the act of fastening his belt around his hips.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come, if I’m honest.”

“Oh... I can wait outside, if you’d like.”

“With our shared history?” Rex snorts, shaking his head. “You’ve seen more while you were still a Jedi.”

“A fair point,” you admit, usurping a bed and perching on top of it cross-legged. “Why weren’t you sure I’d come?”

“That message encryption we cooked up was during... well, you know,” he sighs, sitting across from you as he fidgets with his bracers.

“Yeah. I know,” you breathe, voice quiet and strained.

It was during the prime of your love, before you both agreed to put an end to it for the greater good. Not long after, the mission to the Citadel came, and all your hopes of ever loving him again where shattered by the most painful decision you’ve ever had to make. Echo was a friend, a member of your weird little family, and you realised you were tired of losing them all one by one under your command, as you led them to countless battles knowing full well many of them would die. Echo’s death was the last straw, the awakening you needed to stop being a hypocrite by enslaving an army of clones and spouting wisdom about the wrongness of oppressing the weak.

You never lost hope and you never stopped helping wherever you could, wherever the Republic would still let you, but you mostly did it for the same reason you didn’t delete the encryption from your datapad all this time – Rex. It is well beyond your capabilities to say no to the man, to do anything that would harm him, anything that would go against his beliefs. Even if those beliefs in the GAR and the Senate had shaky underpinnings at best these days.

“I haven’t seen you since you left,” he says suddenly, eyes not rising to meet yours, but voice so full of suppressed yearning that it makes your head spin.

“I hope you understand why it had to happen this way, Rex...”

“You never told me. So no, I don’t really. But you’re not a Separatist, so I wouldn’t mind hearing you out.”

“I left because of you.”

“Me?” he asks, looking up with a face full of shock that makes the corners of your lips lift into a small smile that disappears quickly from your face. Rex’s eyes chase after it, wishing it lasted more than that split second.

“In a way, yes. I refused to be part of an Order that would willingly enslave you and your brothers, forcing you to fight in a war you have nothing to do with. And I don’t see a way winning would make your situation any better. You’re men, and yet you’re treated as property. So much for the Jedi values.”

“It’s the Senate, not the Jedi,” Rex argues back meekly, knowing your words to hold more truth than he’d like to admit.

“Well, now I’m not bound to either. Speaking of being bound, I have a spare bunk on the ship... Sskoora takes up two, but the top bunk is all free,” you joke, trying to lighten both your moods momentarily. It works for a little while as Rex snorts, shaking his head a little as he concentrates on slipping his gloves back on.

“Sharing sleeping quarters with a Trandoshan sounds fun, but I might just pass on that.”

“You could share mine. Captain’s quarters are quite spacious, you know. More comfortable, less... Trandoshan, I suppose.”

“Now that is a tempting offer. Think you could extend it to the end of the war?”

“Let’s just extend it until we find Echo now,” you sigh, both your moods souring considerably as you think of your friend. “You really think he’s out there?”

“It was his voice. I know it. It couldn’t have been anything else.”

You slowly stand and sit next to him, casually letting your elbows touch. When Rex doesn’t pull back, you let your shoulder lean against his, a small encouraging smile gracing your lips as you lean closer. “I believe you. We’ll find him tomorrow. I’ll help. Even if the Republic does not want me to. You just send me the coordinates, and I and Sskoora will be there on Skako Minor to back you up.”

Rex, struggling with his tears at the prospect of seeing Echo again, and moved by your devotion to him, stares at his fingers and nods. “Thank you. For believing in me.”

“I never stopped doing that, and I never will. Oh come here, you,” you sigh, drawing him in for a hug which he gratefully accepts. Despite all the heartache, the war, the constant terror the Galaxy lives in, you find peace in Rex’s arms, and he in yours. It’s both extraordinary and just so natural at the same time, your minds joined in a synchrony you’ve terribly missed. Even if he cannot feel it through the Force, there’s a bond that intertwines your fates so much that there is no escaping one another.

“There was a time I would have scolded you for even suggesting something like that, you know. About the spare bunk thing. But now all I’m saying – no, all I’m asking – is that you hold onto that question until we find Echo and win this war. And then I’ll say yes, if you still want me. Stars know I’m more than ready for that.”

You nod against his shoulder, letting your heart rejoice at the notion that the man you used to love, the man you still do, has grown so much in your absence. Maybe your separation was not for good, but only a temporary setback, a lesson for you to learn that there is no life without one another.

“I’ll be waiting patiently until then. Like I have been all this time.”

[creepy-spooghetti]

A Hapless Endearment [Creepypasta x F. Reader]

Sorry for being inactive... I’ve been busy this week and haven’t had much time nor inspiration to post any headcanons or anything else. Forgivesies?

Chapter 3- It’s Time To Begin

A sudden crack of thunder erupts throughout the sky, making her flinch and crane her neck backward to look up at the ever-darkening clouds. The atmosphere shifts from warm to damp in an instant as rain draws nearer. Oh great, she thinks, turning on her heel to walk the two miles back to her grandparents' cottage. That's what I need. Rain. She quickens her pace, being mindful not to trip over a stray root or run into a limb dangling lower to the ground, following the plant-ridden trail that she originally took to get this far out here.

She isn't exactly sure where she is, as she doesn't recognize the seemingly endless frondescence around her, but she knows that she has to be around thirty-five to forty minutes away from the cottage. This means she will likely get caught in the storm that just abruptly appeared out of nowhere. 

The air around her feels muggy and thick, and she can’t stop herself from sniffing. It grows steadily darker, though not enough to obstruct her vision any, for which she is exceedingly grateful. A bolt of lightning streaks through the sky, and following close behind is another startling clash of thunder. Forcing her legs to move at an even faster pace in an effort to get back before it starts to rain, she continuously avoids running into any plants or tripping over weeds sticking out of the ground and looping around each other.

It starts out as a small, almost unnoticeable droplet of water landing directly on her nose and slowly cascading down her skin, causing her to avert her gaze back up toward the sky anxiously. Another soon follows, this one stopping on the top of her head and dribbling down her h\c locks of hair. This is the moment that she wishes she would have brought a jacket. Well, how was I supposed to know it was going to storm?

The area around her now begins to seem more familiar, and she hopes that means she's getting closer. Maybe she can get back before it starts—

Another crackle of thunder erupts throughout the atmosphere, and not two seconds later, a shower of rain follows. She curses under her breath and now speeds up into a full-on run, desperately wanting to make it back home prior to being totally drenched. She'll need a shower at this point, anyway. 

Water blurs her vision as it leaves wet trails down her face, and she can feel it as it soaks her clothes and weighs her hair down. The cool drops send chills up her spine, and she dashes down the path, trying to step on the patches of grass to avoid slipping on mud and falling to the ground. Holding her hands above her eyes to act as a sort of shield from the rain, she navigates through the condensing fog and thick greenery surrounding her b\s frame. 

Every couple of minutes she steps under some branches housing abundant leaves, making a temporary shelter against the storm, though it only lasts about three or four steps before she's back underneath the mercy of the pounding rain. The nearer she gets to the cottage, the harder the rain seems to get, and it isn't long before her shoes and feet are slathered in mud and her hair is sticking to her neck. 

I'm gonna get a cold, aren't I? She can't stop the annoyed huff that exits her lips, her eyes squinted as she attempts to ward off the pouring water and stop it from irritating her senses even further. The deep rumbling of the constant thunder, the pitter-patter of rain splashing against the leaves and rising puddles of water, and the invigorating breeze gently blowing against her skin would be almost relaxing if she wasn't currently being saturated as she hurries back.

In her rush to get out of the weather, she stares ahead of her in an effort to see if she can find the tranquil little house, and just for an instant forgets to watch where she's stepping, and as a result, misses a particularly thick weed, causing her foot to get caught up in it which soon has her losing her balance and falling to the dirt floor with a grunt. 

She catches the majority of her body weight with her hands and allows her arms to take the brunt of the fall, though she still lands on her stomach and chest. The tips of her hair land in mud and she can feel pressure in the palm of her right hand, almost as if something was stabbing through the skin, but she doesn't pay much mind to it, too focused on returning before the weather has a chance to get even worse. Releasing an exasperated "crap", she slowly pushes herself to her feet, not taking time to look at the damage that had to have been caused, and makes sure to keep her eyes glued down to her feet and what's in front of them.

Finally, finally, after what feels like an hour, she comes upon the familiar driveway, and straight across from it, sits the quaint property that she calls her temporary home. Sighing in relief, she sprints toward the gate, hurriedly unlatching and opening it far enough so she can step through, closing it back behind her and moving to the, thankfully roofed, porch, where she meets the eyes of a very unhappy cat, who is also drenched in water, sitting on an old, wooden chair and looking at her in obvious contempt.

"Oh, you too, huh?" she mutters, brushing her hands off to the best of her ability and opening the screen door, hoping to God that her grandparents left the main one unlocked. To her luck, she grabs the knob and twists it without any trouble, and immediately steps inside, relishing in the warmth and dryness that it holds. 

Marshmallow nearly trips her as he tries to push past her legs and go through the door himself, though she puts her foot up in front of him and blocks his path before he can. 

"Sorry, little buddy. You'll get mud everywhere." She gently nudges him back outside, and he lets out a meow in protest, clearly not enthused about having to wait outside in the damp chill that the storm holds. Once he's out of the screen's path, she shuts it and gets a glimpse of the wet feline as he stands on his hind legs and pushes against the door with his paws, looking in pitifully and continuing to cry, even though it's mostly drowned out by the rain. She taps the glass in compassion and softens her voice just a tad. "Look, I'll dry off then I'll get a towel and dry you off, okay?" 

His calls raise in volume as if disagreeing, and she can't stop the laugh of sympathy that leaves her mouth. 

"It'll only be a few minutes, I promise—" 

"Sweetie! Oh, my goodness, are you okay?" She's cut off by the worried voice of her grandma, who appears by her side to examine her in concern. She meets her eyes and nods reassuringly, brushing a strand of wet hair stubbornly clinging to her forehead behind her ear. 

"Y-yeah, Nana, I'm fine."

"Are you sure? It's raining cats and dogs out there!" 

"I'm sure." She uses the back of her hand to wipe away a stray droplet of water as it runs down her cheek before shivering slightly. Farrah's eyebrows furrow. 

"My word, you're cold, aren't you?"

"Only a little," she replies, her gaze trailing down to the hardwood floor, or more specifically, the puddle that's quickly forming around her feet. "Um, will you bring a towel or something? I'd hate to get water and mud all over the floor."

"Oh, don't worry about that, hun. My biggest concern is you getting sick." She wraps her hand around her shoulder and lightly pushes her in the direction of the stairs. "Why don't you go and get cleaned up and I'll make some hot chocolate." The very sound of hot chocolate makes her heartbeat quicken, and she only nods and makes her way up the staircase, in a hurry to get the mud caking her skin off before it dries and becomes a pain to scrub. 

She tries to make the journey quick so she doesn't completely soak the carpet and cause mildew to grow, and soon enters the bathroom, where she flips the light on and shuts the door to grant herself some privacy. Grasping a piece of thoroughly-soaked clothing and prying it away from her body, she lets out a quiet scoff, not very pleased with the recent turn of events.

She looks at her hand after dumping her clothes on the floor beside the sink, noticing the color red mixed in with the minuscule pieces of gravel and mud coating her hand, and after rinsing it off under the faucet, she sees a hole around the size of a pinprick permanently indented into her flesh, along with two minor scrapes around it. 

A stick must've poked me, she thinks, remembering the moment she tripped and felt a sudden pressure in her palm. Sighing in discontent, she steps into the shower and turns the water on, having to wait a minute for it to get good and steamy. She rinses all of the mud from her skin and washes her hair, becoming irritated when she picks a couple of small twigs out of it and tossing them down the drain without a second thought. 

The hot water cascading down her body feels relaxing, and she finds herself almost wanting to go to sleep, though she shakes off the idea pretty quickly. Sure, the weather is perfect for it, but she needs to visit with her dear grandparents whom she hasn't seen in years. Perhaps she can show Nana some of her paintings like she was planning on doing originally. She highly doubts that she would be criticized; Farrah is too nice to do such a thing, and even so, she'd be doing it gently and out of love, hoping to help rather than condemn. 

Shutting the water off and stepping back out a moment after, she grabs at her arms in an effort to warm herself back up, as the temperature inside of the bathtub is much warmer than the temperature elsewhere. She wraps herself up in a towel and turns toward the fogged-up mirror, making a portrait of sorts with her arm to enable herself to see the reflection that it gives her and finding herself satisfied enough with it. 

After brushing her hair she cautiously makes her way to the room that she's occupying while she's staying here, making sure that nobody is making their way down the hall while she does so, and shuts the door, going to the closet to pick out yet again another pair of clothes to wear, since her first ones got wet and dirty.

She slips on her undergarments, a pair of sweatpants, a loose-fitting t-shirt, and a pair of socks before throwing her previous clothes into the laundry room and going back down the stairs, being sure to bring an old towel with her. The pleasant aroma of hot chocolate wafts up into her nose, and she licks her lips absentmindedly, glancing into the kitchen to see Farrah mixing the warm liquid into two separate mugs.

She seems to notice her granddaughter's presence and gives her a welcoming smile, one Y\n finds absolutely calming each time. "Hi, sweetheart! How are you feeling?" The h\c girl shrugs and moves over to the front door, where she knows a certain cat is likely still waiting in front of.

"A lot better, now that I'm not covered in rainwater and dirt."

"I understand. That's not a pleasant sensation by any means." As soon as Y\n opens the door, a gust of cool breeze hits her in the face, bringing drops of rain with it. Not wanting to confront this weather again, she looks around for Marshmallow and finds him curled up beside the door, a shivering lump of soaked fur, clearly attempting to create some form of heat to lay in. 

"Aw, little buddy," she coos, feeling bad that she couldn't have brought him in sooner. He lifts his head at her voice, and it's obvious that he's been trying to lick himself dry by the random tufts of fur sticking out here and there on his small body. He lets out a meow and she bends down and swaddles him in the large piece of cloth she brought with her, lifting him up in her arms and allowing the towel to soak up as much of the water as possible before she brings him back inside and closes the door. 

"Oh no, is that Marshmallow?" Farrah says, and Y\n hums in response and places him on the floor after wiping off the mud from his paws. "I totally forgot about him. I guess I was too distracted." She chuckles, and the girl rubs her damp hair, watching the grateful yet exasperated feline find a nice, cozy spot on the couch before starting the process of grooming himself, once more. 

"Well, he's okay, now." Her Nana hands her a mug of cocoa, and she sucks in a large whiff of it, looking around curiously. "Hey, where's Pops at?" 

"Oh, he laid down to take a nap. We old people don't have too much energy to spare, anymore." Both of them walk into the living room and find seats on the couch, thankfully not disturbing Marshmallow as they do so, as he's currently sitting on the back of it, seeming quite content at the moment. 

She blows on her drink, waiting for it to cool down enough to allow her to sip on it, and her eyes fall to the window, watching the drops of rain hit the glass pane and slide down the shutters. Farrah follows her gaze and flashes her a sympathetic look. 

“I really am sorry about the rain, Y\n.” The teen meets her caring brown orbs attentively. “If I would’ve known it was going to storm, I would’ve told you.”

“Nana, it’s fine,” she reassures, resting a hand on Farrah’s arm. “There’s no way you could’ve known what it was going to do. Besides, I’m inside and dry now, anyway. I don’t think I was out long enough to get a cold.”

“Lord, I hope not. I would hate for you to be sick on your vacation.” She pats Y\n’s hand and takes a small, cautious sip of her cocoa.

“Yeah, that would suck.” She agrees, and copies her grandmother’s actions, putting the rim of the mug to her lips and tilting it upward in order to get a tiny drink. She can feel it burn the tip of her tongue as a strong burst of flavor erupts through her mouth, and she swallows, holding back a peaceful sigh as it slips effortlessly down her throat and warms her insides. 

Haven’t had hot chocolate in forever, she thinks, savoring the smell and taste of the rich, chocolatey beverage. I forgot how good it was.

“So, hun,” Farrah starts, shifting her body around to have a better view of Y\n in her position on the couch, “what do you like to do? I mean, do you have any hobbies?”

She considers the question briefly, taking another thoughtful sip of her drink. “Well… I like to paint.”

“Oh, you do!” Her eyes seem to light up at the very thought, and she leans in closer. “I remember that. You were always giving us little art pieces that you did. There’s a drawer in our bedroom dedicated to that very thing.” Upon hearing this, Y\n glances away shyly as her cheeks glow a light shade of pink. 

“Heh, y-you didn’t have to keep them. They were all just meaningless stuff, anyway.” 

“Sweetheart.” Her expression morphs into one of seriousness, and her voice hardens slightly. “Nothing you do is meaningless.” She shrugs in response and bites the inside of her cheek. 

“If you say so…”

“Of course I say so.” She nudges her with her shoulder in a consoling manner, making Y\n avert her gaze back at her. “So what do you paint?” The genuine interest she holds within her tone almost surprises Y\n, as she isn’t used to somebody, much less a family member, being intrigued by what she does, and it takes her a moment to gather her thoughts and form a coherent reply. 

“Like… scenery, and stuff. Mountains, skylines, waterfalls. Gardens, sometimes people, though I’m not very good at that. I don’t know. It depends, really.” 

“Well, that sounds absolutely lovely. Did you bring some?” 

“I, uh, I brought one or two of the small ones. But I have most of the pictures on my phone."

“Can I see them?” Her eyebrows raise and her lips part a bit, attempting to contain the excitement quickly flooding into her chest as she glimpses at Farrah hesitantly. 

“...Really?”

“Yeah, really! I wanna see what my little girl has been up to all these years.” A bright smile etches itself across her face, and Y\n stares at her, perhaps a couple of seconds too long, before complying and slowly standing to her feet, setting her mug of hot chocolate on the frosted coffee table as she does so.

“Okay. Just, be warned that they’re not very good.” She, herself, is proud of some of them, especially the more recent ones, though when in the presence of someone she finds that she wants to impress, her confidence steadily dwindles down and shrinks into the back of her mind, plaguing her thoughts with doubt. What if she gets laughed at?

“Oh, stop criticizing yourself. I’m sure that they’re beautiful.” Her words offer the slightest bit of relief, and the girl nods slowly and makes her way up the steps and into her room. Grabbing her backpack and taking out the two canvases—one 6x6 inch and the other 9x12— she looks down at both for any mistakes. After all, she doesn’t want to embarrass herself in front of one of the only people in her life who actually seems to care about what she likes to keep herself busy with.

One of them is a painting using watercolors, and it shows a small stream glimmering in the moonlight alongside a meadow of vivid wildflowers of yellow, pink, blue, purple, and white. She remembers doing this one when she was bored, and she got inspiration from a photo she saw on Pinterest, although a few key details were changed when she created it.

The second painting is one of the ones she worked fairly hard on, one that took around a week to complete, and she was pretty happy about the result. It shows a beam of sunlight shining down into a forest of willow trees, capturing the life beneath them in a bright, cheerful embrace. A mother fox and her two kits sneak out of their burrow dug at the bottom of a small hill, a nest of robins lay up in a branch, away from danger, butterflies flutter their wings and land gracefully on a patch of lilies.

The project had been something she had wanted to start and complete ever since she began painting with acrylics, and once it was finished, she was proud of it. Before she left to go to her grandparents’ house, she had a mental debate about whether or not she should bring it. It may have gotten broke, after all, though she eventually decided, what the heck, why not. 

She made sure to pack it carefully, in a position where it couldn’t get crushed or torn easily. And it looks in perfect shape as of now, so she figures that she accomplished her goal. 

She tucks both of the paintings under her arm and grabs her phone from off of her bed before walking back down the stairs to present her work to Farrah, nervousness and slight hesitancy bubbling up and making itself apparent in her stomach, once again. What if Nana doesn’t like them? She’d feel ashamed and embarrassed for even mentioning her favored activity, in the first place. Shaking her head dismissively, she attempts to gather some form of confidence as she nears the living room. It’s only her grandma, not some popular judge from America’s Got Talent. It will be fine, she tells herself. It will be perfectly fine, there’s nothing to worry about.

A rumble of thunder tears her from her thoughts, and her eyes shift up toward the ceiling, almost expecting the house to shake, though nothing of the sort happens. Ignoring the second boom of noise as it seems to get more distant, she finishes her trek into the living room and takes her previous seat on the couch, beside Farrah, and puts her phone on the table in front of her.

“Okay, so, this isn’t one of my best ones. I did it about three months ago when I was bored.” She lifts up the painting with the pond and lays the other one beside her, handing it to Farrah and giving her a clear view. She subconsciously bites her bottom lip and glances in the between the painting and the elderly woman several times, trying to read her thoughts and anxiously awaiting her reaction.

An expression of pure revelation and pride appears across her face as she stares down at the work of art currently in her hands, taking in every, well-thought-out detail to the best of her ability, her mouth dropping in astonishment and her eyebrows raising. 

Y\n is unsure what to make of this; she’s never been great at reading other people’s emotions and sensing what they’re thinking. All she can do is wait for a verbal reply and hope that it isn’t one purely of criticism and distaste. 

“Sweetheart…” She speaks, and Y\n’s ears perk up in recognition. “Y\n, this is gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous.” She turns to meet the girl’s e\c eyes and holds the canvas up in front of her face to better get her point across. “You did this?”

Y\n nods timidly, her cheeks raising in warmth as they flush a faint shade of pink at the compliment. “Uh, y-yes, ma’am. I did.”

“Hun, this is spectacular. Absolutely amazing. How am I just now finding out about this secret talent of yours?” It’s asked as mostly rhetorical, as they both know the reason and the answer to the question. “You said you had more?”

“I only brought two, but I have pictures of others I’ve done in my phone gallery.”

“Show me!” She gives her back the painting, and she takes it again, before handing her the second one, the larger one of the two. Her eyes scan the surface, where all of the shades blend together in a peaceful cadence of colors and a proper story, full of raw emotion and dedication. 

“This is one of my favorites,” Y\n comments quietly, reaching up and petting the fluffy feline laid behind her head affectionately and looking over Farrah’s shoulder at her creation. 

“My word… this is even better than the first!” She looks down in the bottom left corner, where the young girl’s signature rests, and clicks her tongue considerately. “Hun, you could have a business with these treasures.” 

“I actually do want to become a professional artist. Make paintings for a living.” She tenderly takes the canvas from Farrah’s grasp and lays it atop the previous one before leaning forward and grabbing her phone. “Maybe, if I can scrape up the money to go to AAU, I can make it a reality. I’ve already gone to art camp three summers in a row, so I have practice.”

“Well, that sounds lovely. I hope you stay on that track because I think you would make an excellent artist. People all over the world would want to buy your paintings if they looked like those do.” She releases a small chuckle and unlocks her phone, scrolling to the side until she finds her gallery and clicking on it.

“Yeah, well, people are really picky about what they do and do not buy, so I dunno. A girl can dream, I guess.” Farrah wraps her arm around Y\n’s shoulder reassuringly and pulls her closer. “One of my dreams is to be recognized by April Gornik, maybe even meet her someday. She’s, like, my inspiration for half the things I paint.”

“It’s great to have goals, Y\n. I’m sure she would love to meet you. Who knows, maybe she could even teach you a thing or two about being an artist.” She smiles at the very idea and nods slightly, her thumb swiping patiently through the many photos as they appear across the screen. 

“Maybe.” She clicks on one of the pictures, this one revealing an older painting based on Niagara Falls, the rainbow shooting through the sky and over the surging white water below, and shows it to Farrah, who looks at it proudly. 

"That's amazing. Where'd you get that artistic talent from? I know it wasn't your father." She breathes an amused laugh in response and shakes her head in the negative. 

"Yeah, it definitely wasn't him."

 ✭ ✭ ✭

For the past couple of hours, she had talked with her grandmother about various other things, ranging anywhere from her potential job to what else she plans on doing in the future. Does she want to get married, have a family? Where does she want to live? Is there another career she wants to pursue should the original fail?

It takes her a moment to answer each question without stumbling over her words, mainly due to the fact she isn't used to somebody being so invested in her personal life and interests as a whole. But she quickly finds that she enjoys being asked frequent questions about such things and that she's able to tell Farrah anything and everything about whatever she wants to. A bond seems to radiate between the two; Farrah is like a long-lost mother figure to Y\n, and it feels good to have finally recovered her, again. 

The rain outside eventually ceases, as does the storm, and the clouds slowly thin out until they're nothing but thin streaks of white floating through the now grey-blue sky. The plants outside are coated with thick drops of water, the soil surrounding them properly soaked and allowing the roots to suck in the moisture. The very air itself smells of life, feels damp, and holds a certain cleanness to it, as if the earth has just been cleansed of evil and is made pure, once again. 

The rest of the day goes by, for the most part, uneventfully, with Y\n helping and visiting with Farrah, and when he wakes up, Phil. The three stay inside of the house, neither of them wanting to go out when it could possibly start raining, again. 

They have dinner; a few simple chicken strips and some homemade gravy, along with biscuits to add a bit of variety. It fills Y\n up well, and by the time all of them are finished eating, it's nearing eight o'clock. Despite the late hour that she awoke this morning, she feels drowsiness seeping through her body and making her mind hazy. Perhaps it's the stress of everything finally weighing down on her and causing her to collapse, or maybe it's the lack of stress, at last, allowing her to get the rest that she greatly yearns for. 

Releasing a small yawn, despite how much she tries to fight against it, she stands from where she had been previously lying down on the soft, delicately-patterned sofa, and discreetly rubs at her eye. "You alright, hun?" Nana's voice erupts from behind her, and she glances back and gives a tired smile. 

"Yeah, I'm okay. Just feeling sleepy."

"Well, go on to bed. Get all the rest you need; that's why you're here, after all."

"I'm here to see you guys," she argues halfheartedly. "I'd hate to cut this time short just cause I'm tired."

"Y\n, you've been visiting with us all day. Besides, you've been through a lot. More than what a person should ever go through, especially someone of your age." She parts her lips to further proclaim her point, though when she sees the final expression formed across the woman's face, she huffs lightly in defeat and internally rolls her eyes. 

"Fine."

"That's more like it." 

"You going to sleep on us?" Phil interjects from his recliner, momentarily taking his attention off of the old sitcom that's playing on the small flatscreen TV sitting across the room and onto his granddaughter. Y\n shrugs hesitantly, holding back another yawn that tries to escape past her lips. 

"I guess so..."

"I see. You get here then you leave again." His voice sounds serious, though anyone who listened closely enough could hear the playfulness hidden inside. His wife lightly slaps his hand from where it's resting against the arm of the chair in a scolding manner.

"Oh, hush up, Phil. She's tired. You've been sleeping near about all day."

"I know, I know!" He puts his hands up in front of his face defensively. "I was just joking! Jeez, woman." Y\n watches the two bicker in amusement, unable to decide which person she ultimately agrees with. Just in case she's forced to take a side. Farrah only scoffs, and Y\n leans in to give both of them a warm, fleeting hug, trying to put all of her unending love for them in that one gesture. 

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight, hummingbird," Phil says.

"We love you."

"I love you guys too, Nana." She begins to walk toward the staircase. "Call if you need anything."

"You, too!" Then she makes her exit, stopping by the bathroom to do her nightly routine before heading into the bedroom and changing into her pajamas. The world outside has yet to darken enough to allow stars to peak down, but the bright illumination of the moon can be seen far off into the sky, if only somewhat. To her, it's a relaxing scene to go to sleep to, and she crawls beneath her covers soon after turning off her light and plugging her phone in to charge. 

Something about it feels tranquil, and she finds herself wishing that her parents never come back to get her. She doesn't have many friends back home anymore, if she can even call it that, and her lifestyle is less than desirable, largely considering the fact that she can have a perfectly good, stable, loving environment right here, where she could continue to grow, and do it healthily, this time. 

Her eyes slowly flutter closed, and she lets out a relaxed sigh, allowing her consciousness to drift off into the deep, dark hollows known as sleep. 

___

"What are we going to tell her?" Phil, now sitting up fully in his chair and staring at the aged woman beside him, asks, concern showing in his crystal blue orbs. Farrah lets out a distressed breath, burdened by the confounding information her husband recently shared with her.

"I don't know, Phil. It would... it would crush her if she knew what happened."

"Well, obviously. But we can't keep her in the dark. She asked about them. It's only a matter of time before she asks, again." Farrah pinches the bridge of her nose in apprehension, finding it hard to focus on what they should do to solve this issue. Do the right thing. But what's the 'right' thing?

"We just got her back. I don't want to make her upset the rest of her trip..."

"Yeah, neither do I. But we have to do something."

"Okay, okay. We'll just... wait until she brings it up, again." Phil raises his brow at her suspiciously. "Then we'll figure it out from there." Thoughts of perturbation swarm her mind, and she clenches her fists in an effort to calm her jangled nerves. "Phil... we already lost three babies. I don't... I don't want to lose another." Her voice cracks, showing the strain that this whole event has had on her, and she buries her face in her hands to conceal the tears threatening to flow from her eyes. 

"Baby, hey, hey." His tone softens, and he moves over to the couch to sit beside her, wrapping his arms around her smaller, frail frame comfortingly. "We're not gonna lose this one. I promise." She leans into his embrace and quivers vaguely, shaking her head in doubt.

"You can't promise that."

___

Darkness. That's all she can make out at first, as she blindly stumbles around, desperately trying to find a way out of this soul-crushing gloom that surrounds her. She blinks, and blinks, and blinks, even rubbing at her eyes to rid herself of the dull, emotionless scenery, until eventually, her wish is granted, and instead of never-ending darkness, she figures out that she's standing in the middle of a forest. 

The trees are all dead, their leaves having fallen long ago and leaving their branches bare and sharp. The flowers, or what she assumes used to be flowers, litter the lifeless ground below her feet, their stems drooping low and petals losing all original shape and color as it becomes pitiful piles of what could have once been beautiful plants. A heavy, morbid breeze blows, ruffling the brown grass and sweeping through her hair in what she can only describe as a taunting way. 

Chills zip up her spine, and she suddenly gets the feeling that she isn't alone. Spinning around frantically to find someone, any form of life in this dead, empty place of horror, she spots a flash of color as it disappears behind the trees, out of her immediate sight. She feels a tug in her chest, an invisible force pulling at her heart and begging her to follow. 

She doesn't want to listen to it. She wants to ignore it and walk away, though something tells her that she can't simply just walk out of this place. At least not alive. So she complies, hesitantly, and begins her chase after the mysterious blur of color that made itself present in her vision for only a mere second, but it was enough to gain her attention. Draw her curiosity. Forcing her way through the dead trees, she notices a thick fog appearing steadily around her, altering her vision severely though not enough to force her off of the trail.

Determination strikes her body, and suddenly, she wants nothing more than to find that figure of color. Confront them, ask them what their problem is. Why she's here, force them to take her back. An ominous force wraps around her mind, so abruptly it's almost blinding, and she feels nausea gripping at her stomach and squeezing. It's fear. Pure, raw fear that she's never felt before in her entire life.

Her breathing becomes more labored as she quickens her pace, and no sooner than she does, her foot catches on an unknown object and she comes tumbling down to the ground with a pained grunt, her arms taking the majority of the impact and shielding her face from the dirt underneath her body. 

It takes but a moment to collect her bearings, and as she leisurely rises to her full height, she catches a whiff of a smell. A bitter, rotten smell. An odor that's so strong, so rank, it reminds her of the possum that crawled under their house that one time when she was seven years old and died. They had to call the exterminator to pull out its rotting, maggot-infested carcass and burn it. 

She crinkles up her nose in disgust at the distant memory and tries to pinpoint exactly where the smell is coming from. Stumbling to her feet, she glances around to the best of her ability but finds her efforts are fruitless. It seems so close, but yet so far away at the same time. 

She finally spots a lump right beside her feet; the very same lump that she tripped over not a minute earlier, and she bats away the fog with her hand and squats down to get a better look. She recognizes something. The color. A light, serene shade of green. That's what it's wearing. A green t-shirt.

The smell gets stronger, she just knows it's coming from this motionless figure lying on the ground. Nearly gagging though wanting to get a closer look, she leans nearer, noticing a mop of messy, platinum-blond hair covering his head. It's a 'he', she knows it is. She pinches her nose and nudges him with her foot, though he still doesn't make any move to signify he's conscious. Or even alive.

Her heart rate quickens, and she puts quite a bit of strength into the next push she gives him. His body is quite small, which is why it takes her off-guard when he's so difficult to move. As if he's being weighed down by an invisible force. His body is rolled over, enough to give her a clear look at his face, what he looks like.

What she identifies as blood leaks from a large wound in his forehead and dribbles down his face, causing her to let out an audible gasp and tumble backward from shock in an effort to get away. She knows this boy. She knows him all too well, even though she hasn't seen him for years on end. Wyatt.

Her mind is in a frenzy as she stares at his corpse, breathless, motionless. Dead. An expression of absolute terror is etched onto his ghostly pale features, and she feels hot tears pricking at her eyes. How did this happen?? Why-why did this- what happened!

Her breathing is fast and hard as she covers her mouth, trying to contain the sobs from spilling from her lips and alerting whatever else may be here, on the prowl. Waiting for her. Looking for her. No, this can't be happening. He's only a kid. He was only a kid...

That breeze once again flurries around her shaking frame, bringing a warning like no other with it. "Remember this," it whispers softly in her ear. "Remember what happens when you fail to listen."

～

Shooting up in the bed with a strangled gasp, she looks around her room frantically, doing a mental reality check, as if to make sure that she's still here. That he's gone. That it's gone. Tears freely stream down her warmed cheeks, and she shakily runs her hands through her hair and tries to slow her breathing and the rapid pace of her heart. She swallows, perhaps a bit too hard, because she ends up gagging herself and almost throws up in her own lap, right on her bed.

A squeak exits from between her parched lips, and she moves her frantic gaze out toward the window, hoping to find some form of comfort in knowing, confirming where she's currently at, rather than where she was just moments before. Just a dream, just a dream, just a dream. 

She sucks in a cooling breath and wraps her arms around herself, staring intently at the treeline on the other side of the natural driveway as she makes sense of everything around her. It's okay, it's okay, you're safe, you're safe. He's safe. He's okay. It doesn't exist, it's just in your head.

Something catches her eye, and she leans closer to the window, attempting to rid herself of the salty tears making her vision blur and get a clear image of what she's seeing. Or, at least, what she thinks she's seeing. After a failed attempt, she wipes her eyes on her arm and looks again. Something white, reflecting the moonlight where it shines down from the sky and gaining her attention even further. 

With her fast, shallow breaths and busy mind, she finds it hard to concentrate, so all she can make out is something beige. Its height isn't very intimidating, at least not from her distance. Is that... a man? With a mask? She blinks, processing her assumptions and praying that they aren't true. And he's... is he watching me?

Releasing an unsteady, nervous sigh, she stares at it for around thirty seconds, before it turns abruptly and disappears behind the trees and likely deep into the forest. She sniffles, keeping her gaze locked in that exact spot until her eyes begin to get heavy, again. 

No! No, I can't go to sleep... not again. She shakes her head, getting rid of the drowsiness to the best of her ability and turning to grab her phone. Gotta keep myself distracted. I can't go back to sleep. Otherwise...

Her e\c orbs anxiously shift back toward the woods, and she bites her lip. Who was that guy...?