#starved for content. But also again. He is putting time and money effort into something to give us for free.

[awigglycultist]

Okay I'm curious, if you're a TSS fan rb this put in the tags how long you've been a fan and your opinion on the who "Thomas isn't giving us episodes often at all we're absolutely starved for content/we get the content for free he can take as long as he needs" debate

[prelovednikaidou]

corrupt; draken, ken ryuguji [01]

Summary:

In which you met the man of your past, but he didn't come back to remind you of the bitter break-up. Draken had one thing in mind and it was to never let you leave his side ever again. Distance made the heart grow fonder but he'd rather let you spend the rest of your life hating him if it meant you'd never leave his sight.

"I don't wish you well when you ain't with me, I want you crying."

Warning:

mention of suicide, oral receiving (reader),

a/n: taglist are open up to 10 users! comment '☁️'

Word count: 2.1k

series masterlist

[01: jealousy]

Draken wanted to take you away.

The curves of your spine, flowing down to the slope of your well-rounded bottom flesh, he watched the symmetrical dimple right above your butt - mocking him that those precious intimate spots were no longer his possession to own.

It wasn't only him who shared the same thought; everyone in this crowded room had their eyes glued on you. As if you were holding those guests captive, you felt immense pressure on your feet and thighs, quivered before you wrapped your leg around the shining pole.

Spinning, spinning, spinning.

Those blinding lights showered your sweating figure in all fairness, the sound of Abel's voice had long dimmed down, it meant that your show was done. It was silent in a minute,

lifting your face - your lips curled into a hunting smile and the room soared with cheers, crumpled money tossed across the stage, but your sense of content was suppressed by the overwhelming tension.

A pair of black pupils were starring at you - pinning you to where you stood. He was among the crowd, all in his glory without care but you. You felt something burst inside your chest, unable to tear your focus from him.

This longing for him is toxic.

Flashes of memories where those sober eyes bore into yours when he pumped his fat cock into your tight cunt until his thick cum over spilled, the same eyes that once shone with so much love but turned cold.

"Dollface!"

A shout from backstage startled you from your daze, another coworker came up and escorted you down, assisting you to take off the painful high heels.

"What's with you?" She threw a curious stare your way.

You still couldn't wrap your mind. He was there. Flesh and soul, presented in front of you. It was a brief eye contact but it was enough. Enough to tell you that he was coming back for you.

It had been years since the two of you chose to split up, making your paths without each other's companion.

"I, I've got to go. I forgot that I locked the windows, my cat's probably waiting for me. He's been out for 3 days so he's starving I think. Y'all can continue without me,"

You stood but your knees turned weak at the sudden arrival of him, standing by the door. A few steps taken back, you lost all rationality to stay calm because your heart thumped loudly.

Standing tall on his 6' ft, athletic and young Draken was nowhere to be seen but replaced - with a mature adult man that induced everything he carried into lust.

The robust body looked incredibly fit, lean, and you could see the strong outlines of his defined chest and abdominal muscles from the black shirt. If it was years ago, those leather jackets wouldn't suit him - he'd look like those up-start wannabe gangsters.

But it was different now. It clung to his broad shoulders perfectly, he wasn't as cheap as those local pranksters. The dark jeans also did little job in hiding his long legs. He was indeed a member of a gang; eerie and cruel - but he had never look this good that you want to fuck.

Draken's presence was enough to brush away every man in the room that you belonged to him. Your little admirers couldn't even look at him in the eyes, let alone make up a fight.

They left with a strong sense of defeat; no wonder you never once accept any confessions, turned out you have such a man waiting.

"Why is he here? This area is off-limits. Only staff is allowed. Naoki, guide him out." You forced yourself to mutter those words, uncaring to look at him with your back facing him.

Naoki sighed, this man literally slipped $750 under the table just to meet you. Those incompetent flies who claimed to love you didn't even spare this much effort. She only signaled him to step in before she whispered to you,

"Remember the guy I told you? The one that booked a whole session for your private room? He's that guy. It's just that he arrived a little early than the arranged meeting but it'll be great if you can build a connection with him."

You glared back, "Then send him back. We still have a week before that, right? I'm tired. I can't keep up with this," You pushed off her hand from your shoulder, began to take off your wig. His eyes were still the same; always undressing you naked.

Naoki could only grit her teeth, the money already landed in her pocket. What if he asked it back? She can't let such a great deal slip so she greeted him,

"She's a bit tired from the recent show. How about we push this to tomorrow? She's got free time on her hand to rest too." At least, this would do, right?

"If I have so much time on my hands, I wouldn't have come a week early. So you guess it yourself." His voice has changed too. It was an octave lower, you immediately rubbed your thighs together before you waved a hand.

"Haaa... leave us, Naoki. But I need you to go to my house. I wasn't joking about what I said earlier."

Naoki hurriedly nodded, clutching to her pocket before her eyes warily darted from Draken to you. Is this a couple feud? She noted in her head that she'd help this guy soon in the future - who doesn't want easy money?

"Okay, I will. Sir...? Err.. hope you have a pleasant chat with Dollface. I will excuse myself then ." The hindrance in Draken's eyes finally left the room, the door closed in a thump and the subtle tension thickened.

He didn't say anything, only leaned his body by the door as he watched you wiped off your makeup. This was his morning view back when you were still wet behind ears about pole dancing. You'd come back at the crack of drawn and he'd already been out to his workshop.

"Dollface."

Stubborn like a little cat, your doe eyes didn't look up from your make-up bag and he could see through your act to be so busy. He loved how feisty you've become after years. It eased his heart that you could chase off those little shit.

"It suits you, [Y/N]. Face so pretty like a doll. Make one's heart itch to keep around. But I wonder why the name sounds so familiar."

"State your business. I'm heading home straight after this so don't expect a lap dance or something."

"Then that's the plan. I'll drive you home, eh?"

That damn 'eh'. He picked up your habit too well that the time he spent with you shaped him into copying your habit. It sounded cute but your heart still couldn't forgive him. Let him suffer a little.

"Don't need to. My boyfriend is great at doing his job. So do me a favor and let me rest quickly, how about that?"

Now, you were looking at him through the mirror. It was just too hard for you to muster yourself to face him directly. Draken didn't seem shaken. He stood straightly, you clenched your thighs tighter.

"Have I ever been quick in everything when I'm with you, [Y/N]?" His towering figure gawked over your smaller frame - casting his shadow over you as his sharp facial features caught your attention.

"Can't remember. Maybe? Because I said it just now almost like a reflex." You replied, not backing down but instead, squaring up to him that your ample breasts brushed against his torso.

His cologne didn't smell like the tacky, cheap body spray he used to own. This one smelled so expensive, alienated your memory of his familiar scent.

"Now you're getting older, your memory is getting rusty, dollface. Should I put on a play and see if you can call anything in mind?" You felt your breath became heavier but he didn't let you lose your focus yet.

Your chin was tugged upwards, the shadow of his cap cast upon his face and you remembered now; it was his eyes. Because he wasn't vocal about his feelings, you could understand everything from his eyes.

"You've grown softer, Draken. I almost threw up listening to you talk like this. What, are you changing jobs now? Don't tell me you went from a gangster to a con artist."

No, you were lying to yourself. Draken didn't change but improved. Change can be something bad but he never did anything that would bring him down. He just got better.

And it was true when the velvety touch on your beating pulse suddenly moved to your lips before he squished your cheeks in his hand.

"Fucking hot as hell but so damn annoying." He laughed, the light from his eyes never return, only replaced by a wicked glint.

He wanted to take you to his place, fuck you in his bed until you couldn't walk properly so he'd have more reasons to keep you at his place. He wanted to swallow you whole and he barely even started but why was it so damn hard to have you?

"Don't dare to think of anything nasty. You might not care about commitment in a relationship, but I do. So take your hands off me, Draken."

"Kenie. It's Kenie for you."

Your lips were so plump and wet, his other arm wrapped around your waist - hoisting you up to his body before he leaned by the dresser.

You shrieked when his scalding hot palm touched your naked back and as he untied the strings of your bra, he smiled at your face as he said,

"Do you think I'm going to believe that, dollface? Do you really think I don't know that this pussy hasn't been fucked well for months? I have eyes across this ward. You don't get to fool me."

Heat rose to your face, your small hands pushed on his shoulders, "You're still up in my business? Sounds like someone can't fucking move on."

He nodded, ripping off your lacey bralette and his big hands began to palm your heavy breast - carelessly rubbing your nipple with his thumb. You fought the urge to moan, you hold onto his shoulder for dear strength.

"You're right. I can't move on." Your breath hitched, he nuzzled his face to the column of your neck, inhaling so deep, and wrapped his arms tightly around your body. He missed you so much. So much that if you ran away again, he'd just kill himself.

"I fucked my fist thinking of you. I got this hard just by thinking of you. I'm not ashamed of it."

"That's your problem, Draken. I'm not you. I'm living my best life right now, and sorry that I can still cum just with my fingers."

"That's my girl," He pushed you until your back met the concrete wall, your eyes widened when he took off his cap and put it on you before he dropped to his knees.

"I am aware of your appetite, [Y/N]. You won't be happy with such a small meal. You always keep coming back to have your tight pussy stuffed. Even when we were living together, you couldn't stop begging my dick every night."

"What the hell are you talking about-" You pushed his forehead away from your private part, one hand covering your pussy but he gripped the side of your hips - bringing you straight to his mouth.

"I don't care if you use me as your favorite Cherry Twins. But don't deny that I made you cummed the hardest when I was in your life, dollface."

Your eyes became misty, his words just flew through your head - empty when his mouth latched on your clothed crotch, lapping on the small fabric that the nudge of his tongue probed on your budding clit.

Cherry Twins were the name he gave to your vibrators. Since he was always out when you were at home, he'd make you use them to your greedy cunt - even made a video call so he could jerk off in the public restroom.

You were wild, but he taught you to live even wilder.

Next page: chapter [02] →

a/n : next chapter is full smut bcs thats the only thing my brain's capable of. Taglist are open up to 10 users! Comment '☁️’.

Taglist: @hanmascult @q-the-rockaholic @hikkarins

[devildomimagines]

MC Has a Terrible Day

Sooo I had a series of bad days. This is for anyone else in the same boat, have some comforting demons. 😙~✨

Thank you for your patience to anyone who has requested something recently. I’ll get to requests again shortly, I just wasn’t in a great headspace. 

It all started in the morning. You heard loud banging so you rolled over to look at the door.

“We’re leaving in five minutes MC!” Mammon called and you could hear him walking down the hall.

“Five minutes, huh?” You rolled to your back and blinked. “FIVE MINUTES?!” Without thinking, you jumped up and started stripping your pajamas off. You ran into the bathroom to quickly clean your face, apply deodorant, and begin brushing your teeth. 

You went back out to your room with your toothbrush still in your mouth. While buttoning up your school shirt, you went over to check your phone. You leaned down to press the home button with your nose, no response. You tried again and nothing. Once you had finished buttoning your shirt, with one hand brushing your teeth, the other tried to turn on your phone. No response again meant it was dead. 

“Of course,” you rolled your eyes, no power, no alarm. You threw the phone and charger in your backpack, maybe during lunch you could find an outlet to charge it.

You went back to the bathroom to spit out the toothpaste. Most likely four of the five minutes had passed already so you grabbed your tie and draped it around your neck to tie later. You snatched your uniform jacket and backpack as you slipped on your shoes and ran out the door.

~

Although the brothers gave you some odd looks, Lucifer was the only one to speak on your state of dress. “I’ll be sure to look decent by the time we arrive at school,” you were pushing out Asmo and Mammon who were your chaperones for the morning commute today. Once through the door you sighed and Asmo giggled.

“What happened, love?”

“I overslept.” You bit the handle of your backpack while you put on your jacket. Then you threw on your backpack to start with your tie. It wasn’t the easiest without a mirror but you thought you had it pretty close from muscle memory.

“Oi,” Mammon snickered, “I don’t know how, but you tied it upside down.”

With a groan you undid it. You decided to take a second to run your fingers through your hair to fix it and get it out of your face.

“Let me, MC,” Asmo offered. He popped your collar and walking backwards, he deftly tied the knot.

“Thanks Asmo,” You folded down the collar and began with the buttons and belt on your jacket. These uniforms are a nightmare on their own. You felt a tug backwards and looked over your left shoulder.

Mammon blushed, “Your half cape was twisted up.”

“Thanks guys,” you sighed, “hopefully the rest of the day goes better than this morning.”

~

It did not.

The only good thing seemed to be that you passed Lucifer’s uniform check when he passed you in the hall. He nodded and continued on with Diavolo.

Your first class was reviewing homework but when you opened your backpack, you couldn’t find your folder. You groaned internally, picturing your folder exactly where you left it on your desk in your room and began writing down the answers to review later. 

In the next class, there was an assignment due to be handed in but it was also in your folder at home. When the teacher got to you, all you could do was shake your head no and it killed you knowing it was done, just not here.

Unfortunately with over sleeping, you didn’t have time for breakfast in the morning so as lunch time approached, you were getting hungrier and more distracted.

Lunch finally came and you were starving. The menu had something that you were familiar with and you were looking forward to a warm meal. You opened your backpack to look for your wallet with your prepaid cafeteria card. Once you shuffled your books around and still didn’t find it, you sighed. Of course, you left your wallet at home. Dejectedly, you moved to a table against a wall where you knew an outlet would be. You plugged your phone in and put your head down on the table.

“MC~!” The sing-song call of your name made you sit up. Simeon smiled at catching your eye. The rest of Purgatory Hall was in tow and they all took seats around you at the table; Luke sat next to you, Simeon across from you and Solomon across from Luke.

“Hello,” you offered the group.

“Were you napping?” Luke asked. 

“Ah, no. Just recharging a bit,” You ruffled his hair with a smile.

“We can watch your stuff if you want to go up and get your lunch,” Solomon offered.

“I actually forgot my card at home and I don’t have any Grimm on me.”

“So you’re not going to eat?” Simeon looked surprised.

“If I don’t have any money, what can I do besides wait until after school to eat at HOL?”

“Don’t we have that Student Council meeting today?” Luke asked to confirm with the group.

Solomon nodded his head, “Yes, the exchange students have to be there as reps to approve new motions.”

“Ugh,” you buried your face in your backpack, “I completely forgot.” That meeting could be a couple hours depending on how many motions to be reviewed. Your stomach growled just thinking about how long it would be until you could eat.

“Here,” Simeon spoke first and you looked up to him pushing his tray towards you.

“Oh it’s ok Simeon, I’ll be fine, thank you but you shouldn’t have to go without.”

“I insist!” Simeon clearly wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

“How about we split it?”

He blushed and nodded, “Ok! I’ll get you a set of silverware.”

Once he was walking away, Luke offered, “Here MC,” he pushed some candy into your hand, “for later since you’ll probably be hungry before the meeting with eating only half a lunch.”

“Thank you, Luke.” 

“MC,” Solomon asked for your attention, “You can have my drink. This one came with the lunch set but I’m not fond of the flavor.”

Simeon came back and handed the fresh silverware to you with a smile.

“Thank you for looking out for me,” you looked around the table.

“Of course! Us exchange students have to stick together!” Luke accepted for all of them.

The rest of you smiled and laughed. Simeon split the bread in half and you two shared the plate. You left a little more for him before claiming you were full so he could finish it off.

~

Your last classes were fine except for the amount of homework they assigned. Each teacher gave at least an hour’s worth of work on top of the long term assignments they already had going.

Last on your agenda was this Student Council meeting. Luke was right and you were hungry so you popped a candy in your mouth while you waited for the members to assemble. When he entered, you waved at Luke and brought the candy to the front of your mouth to hold with your front teeth in a smile. He snickered as he took his seat. 

There were only three things to review so the meeting was relatively short. Even so, you were exhausted, it felt like you were running on empty. Getting off on the wrong foot at the beginning of the day made you feel like you were trying to play catch up. You still had the walk home and homework to deal with too. 

Beel and Belphie were your walk home companions but they ended up walking next to each other leaving you to follow behind. You trudged your way home, the weight of the day slowing you down. Passing through the entrance of HOL felt like a relief to at least be home. You waved to Beel and Belphie and made a straight shot to your room. Once inside you dropped your backpack, rolled your eyes at the books and folder on your desk that should have gone to school with you and fell face first on your bed. You needed some time to just unwind before even beginning to think about your homework.

~

Through some herculean effort you managed to finish your homework before dinner. You were tired but content as you ate. The brothers were as lively as ever so you didn’t need to provide much to the conversation. 

While everyone was clearing the table, you sought out your favorite demon.

Belphegor

He had already gone to the attic so you climbed the stairs and knocked on the door.

Belphie opened the door and at first he just stared at you.

You stared back, not really sure what to say to him.

He shrugged and stepped aside to let you into the room.

Without a word, you walked in and collapsed into his bed. You took a deep breath thankful to be finally done with the day.

Belphie chuckled and copied you, when he collapsed on the bed, it made you bounce a bit.

“You know I’d never question a good cuddle session.” He wrapped his arms around you and you scooted closer to him, but he left the question unsaid allowing you to choose if you wanted to share why you were seeking him out.

You confessed as you held him tighter, “I had a bad day.”

After, you described the terrible highlights from beginning to end, Belphie listening and humming acknowledgements. You were surprised you hadn’t lost him to sleep half way through.

“It doesn’t sound all bad,” Belphie offered.

You backed up and gave him a questioning look.

“Well you didn’t get in trouble with Lucifer, he would have definitely strung us up for something like that.”

“I guess.”

“Even the scummiest of my brothers helped you start the day.”

“Yeah, though they aren’t scummy.”

“Right, right.” Belphie laughed, “The other exchange students were looking out for you too.”

“That’s true… where is all this positivity coming from?” You gave his side a pinch, “Who are you and what did you do with my Avatar of Sloth?”

“I don’t know, some human has been rubbing off on me I guess,” Belphie yawned.

“Sounds like some kind of good influence or something,” You giggled as you snuggled back into him, ready to end the day by his side.

Beelzebub

You took your plate into the kitchen where you knew he would be.

“Are you still hungry?”

The question threw you for a loop. You had just finished dinner. “No, I had enough.” You laughed while patting your stomach and putting your plate in the sink.

He was rummaging in the fridge for a post-dinner snack himself.

You jumped to sit on the counter, just watching him had a calming effect, Beel was gonna be Beel.

He noticed you staring, “Are you sure? You didn’t eat much for dinner.”

“I’m alright, thanks though.”

Beel paused, he didn’t seem satisfied with the way you answered and nodded to himself. He changed gears and opened a cabinet instead.

You were curious what he decided on eating until you recognized the box. “Are those-”

“Mhmm, they’re chocolates from the Human Realm, the ones you had mentioned last time we took a trip.” 

“Beelzebub, the Avatar of Gluttony, was hiding food?” You smirked.

He offered the box to you shyly, “I almost ate them once in a frenzy but reminded myself I got them for you. Afterwards I asked Lucifer to put a spell on it so only you could open them.”

You reached out to accept the box and he pulled it away. Shocked, you looked up at him.

“But if you’ve had enough to eat…”

“There’s always room for chocolate!” You defended.

Beel chuckled as he surrendered the package. He joined you to sit on the counter as you went to open them, excited to see the contents himself.

“Why are you giving these to me now?”

He shrugged, “I got them for you, I thought I would save them for a special occasion, but you looked like you needed it today.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder, “I did, thanks.” You popped a chocolate in your mouth and it melted just like your stress from the day. Then you laughed at the loud gulp to your side, “Do you want a piece?”

Beel nodded enthusiastically and opened his mouth for you to feed him.

Asmodeus

Asmo always welcomed an after-dinner visit to his room. You didn’t typically take him up on the offer so he was interested in what changed today.

“MC!” He grabbed your wrist and pulled you into his room and shut the door, “What’s the special occasion that brings you by?”

You smiled but it didn’t quite make it to your eyes, Asmo noted. “I just wanted to bask in your beauty,” you joked.

“Ha ha,” Asmo rolled his eyes, “but for real, what’s up?”

You looked away debating on how to answer, you had thought that maybe Asmo would be just the distraction you would need to forget the day you had.

With a sigh, you admitted, “I had a really bad today…  but you always seem to know how to make me feel better, so I guess…”

“Aw MC!” Asmo gathered you into a hug. Softer, he added, “I’m sorry you had a bad day.”

You hugged him back, already feeling some of your energy being restored. “Thanks, I know everyone has bad days… it just sucks.”

“It does, and just because everyone has them, doesn’t minimize your bad day to be insignificant. Do you want to talk about it?”

“Sure,” you released him and pulled him to sit down on the end of his bed.

You reviewed everything after oversleeping.

“You were really going to skip lunch?” Asmo asked with a squeeze of your hand.

“Well yeah, I didn’t have any way to pay for a meal and I’m certainly not sneaky enough to dine and dash in the cafeteria.”

“You should have called me! Or one of my brothers! I bet you could even get Mammon, the cheapskate, to pay for your lunch if you asked. You shouldn’t go without a meal, it’s not good for your health,” he whined as he now played with your hand.

“It’s alright, it worked out somehow.”

“I’m kind of jealous of you and Simeon splitting a meal though,” Asmo puffed out his cheeks.

“Who are you jealous of exactly?” You teased and poked his puffed cheek.

He giggled, “I’ll never tell!”

It was your turn to laugh, “I’m gonna tell Simeon!” you got up and pulled out your phone.

“Wait, no! Don’t!” He chased you to try to snatch your phone away, both laughing.

Satan

You knocked on his door lightly. He was either here or in the HOL’s library. If he wasn’t in then you’d just go to bed.

The door cracked open and you could hear Satan call from further inside, “Come in!”

You were careful with opening the door so as to not hit any piles of books that may be behind. “I’m sorry for bothering you!” You called back to him, wherever he may be.

With a pop of magic, he appeared behind you, “You’d never bother me.” He snickered at your shock.

You lightly hit his chest but smiled seeing his enjoyment. Your hand lingered on him and focused on playing with the fabric to avoid his gaze.

“Something wrong?” He raised his hand to hold the back of yours.

“It’s…” you were going to say nothing but you couldn’t bring yourself to lie. You leaned forward so your forehead rested on his clavicle. “It’s been a long day.”

The fact that you almost never admitted to your more negative feelings was not lost on him, especially since he is guilty of the same. “Oh? Do you want to talk about it?”

“It’s alright,” with a shake of your head you sighed and started preparing yourself to push Satan away, “it was just a regular old bad day.”

And although you hadn’t really stepped back yet, Satan felt you move to be at an arm’s length. You started back physically and he knew a window was closing. Without another thought he pulled you in close.

You giggled but returned the hug, “Satan?”

“I’m sorry you had a bad day.” He gave you a squeeze, “do you want to stay the night?”

Maybe today wasn’t all bad. With a content sigh you nodded, “If that’s ok with you?”

“You’re always welcome.”

He picked up that you were looking to be physically close so he set himself up on the bed and you crawled in after him. You settled your head on his chest and his hand came up to stroke your hair absentmindedly. With his free hand he held a book.

“Can you read to me?”

“It’s not exactly a bedtime story,” he laughed and you relished the way it sounded through his chest.

“That’s alright, I just want to hear your voice, it’s very calming.”

Well that’s a first, the Avatar of Wrath, calming? He laughed and you smiled.

Leviathan

You had caught him in the hallway on the way back to his room.

He hadn’t seen you yet and he had his headphones on watching something on his phone.

Feeling mischievous, you snuck up behind him and pat his back. Levi jumped, yanked his headphones off, and turned quickly to see you smiling at him, proud of your little spook.

“Geez MC!” His hand went to his chest, “You gave me a heart attack!”

“Sorry,” you giggled, walking beside him. “What were you watching?”

He launched into an in-depth review, usually you’d listen more closely to provide some kind of unique perspective but today all you could manage was nodding and some sounds of acknowledgement. After the day you had, it was comforting seeing Levi in his element so you let his enjoyment radiate to you.

“Hello? MC?” Levi waved a hand in front of your face. “Are you listening?”

“Ah sorry, I zoned out there. Your face when you were talking was really cute.” You figured it would fluster him to distract him and you were right.

His face blushed deep red as he stuttered your name.

You smiled, Levi will always be Levi. You walked in front of him, leading him to his room.

“H-hey!” Levi called, you half-turned to look at him, “Is something the matter?”

You were actually a little surprised he had picked that up and it made your smile falter.

He looked down with disgust, “Is it because I was going on about gross otaku shit?”

“No,” You answered. He wasn’t looking at you so you stepped back toward him and headbutted his chest. 

He tensed up but didn’t withdraw completely.

With a sigh you admitted, “I had a rough day at school, I’m sorry I made you feel like it was because of you.”

Levi shifted and you thought he was going to move away but instead he wrapped an arm around your back and started rubbing a circle.

You looked up at him and he was back to being a blushy mess.

Mammon

You actually didn’t have to search him out since he was already walking you back to your room.

Mammon was recapping his day and he actually had a pretty good one. He got a good fill of breakfast before Beel cleaned them out, he got a passing grade on a test he was dreading and avoided Lucifer’s ire the entire afternoon. He was positively glowing.

If you hadn’t been worn down by the day you had, you would be over the moon for him as well but it still brought a smile to your face, his happiness was infectious. “That’s amazing Mammon, I’m really proud of you.”

He blushed at the praise but became serious, “You feeling ok?”

“Mhmm,” you nodded and turned to open your door.

“Are you sure?” Mammon confirmed.

“I’m just tired is all,” the day was finally over, besides entertaining Mammon. You rubbed your face to try and wipe some of the weariness away.

“Rough day?”

“I guess yeah, but it’s alright,” You offered a smile.

Mammon reached out and instinctively you leaned into his touch. You felt the warmth of his palm radiate through your cheek, complimented by the smooth feel of his rings. You hummed a sigh and closed your eyes to savor the tender moment.

“You know,” he started and you peeked your eyes open, “if someone’s giving you a hard time, I could take care of them.”

You laughed, “Even if it was Lucifer?”

He gulped, “Is it?”

“No, just wanted to see what you would do,” you teased and stuck out your tongue.

“I’d handle it, even if it was Lucifer!” Mammon pinched your cheek.

“Ow,” you said more out of habit than actual pain, “too bad you can’t beat up a bad day.”

“I could try!” He puffed out his chest.

Shaking your head, you giggled and leaned your head onto his puffed chest. “Thanks Mammon.”

He tugged you into a tight hug, “I’d do anything to keep hearing your laugh.”

Lucifer

His office door was closed. You knew that meant he was busy with something serious.

If it wasn’t serious then he usually left the door ajar, a silent invitation that guests were welcome.

You walked up to the door and seriously debated knocking. 

He did say if you ever needed anything you could always come to him but one bad day didn’t feel like it stacked up to the duties that Lucifer could possibly be working on at that moment.

While leaning your forehead on the cool door you pretended it was his chest. You took an exaggerated breath in, gathering up your strength and hoping to pick up some of Lucifer’s strength too, and turned to head back to your room for the night.

“MC?” Lucifer called, you hadn’t heard the door open, “I thought I heard footsteps.”

“Oh, hi, I was just passing by,” you lied, “Busy night?”

“Yes,” Lucifer sighed and shook his head, “Diavolo wants to move up the next event which means contacting all the vendors to reschedule and refiling all the permits with the new dates.”

“Sounds rough,” you were somewhat pleased you had guessed correctly earlier but hated to see his frustration, against the protest of every cell in your body you asked, “Is there anything I can do to help you?”

He thought for a moment, “Yes actually, come here?” He extended his hand.

You took it and sighed; more work wasn’t exactly how you wanted to end this terrible day but if you could help relieve some of Lucifer’s unhappiness then maybe it wouldn’t be too bad.

Lucifer first pulled you into the room and then pulled you into a hug.

“What-”

“You looked like you needed a hug.” He admitted with a light blush tinting his ears.

“Well, thank you,” you melted into his hold, it was firm and warm and felt like sunshine after a storm.

“Is everything ok?” Lucifer looked slightly concerned, “You were pretty quiet at dinner too.”

“I feel better now,” you tighten your grip on him trying to stop him from pulling away.

He still did slightly, “You know I’m always here for you, right?”

“Of course,” you confirmed with a smile, “it was just a bad day, it sounds like you’re having one of those too. Let’s get to that paperwork.”

Lucifer chuckled, “To be honest, the help I wanted from you was the hug. I’m glad it could make both of us feel better,” and he embraced you once more.

[yee-fxcking-haw]

•Porcelain Obsession•

Summary: Tamaki has a problem, a bad problem. He's obsessed, he's desperate, and he'll do whatever it takes to have you the way he wants you.

Pairing: Pro Hero Yandere Tamaki Amajiki x Reader (both 18+)

Warnings: Yandere, stalking, noncon voyeurism, mild manipulation and sabotage, mild coercive behavior, male masturbation, panty theft, male ejaculation, cum eating. It's just real graphic, strap in.

A/N: I am hopeless, this will have a second part that will be so much more sinful with gratuitous tentacle content. Just tagged those that interacted with the posted about this fic as usual. This little series was inspire by a tiktok I saw, and I'm literally writing it for the sake of putting one zinger of line in it lol.

Playlist

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMJbubhQN/

Word Count: 4,184

Part Two: Love Me Tender

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Stunning, astounding, enchanting. You're an angel, you have to be. That's the only explanation for the way you shine, surrounded by some ethereal glow.

Tamaki Amajiki has a problem. No, it's not a problem, it's completely normal to fall in love, he's under a spell. He can't be blamed for it, he never stood a chance. Although, most people would call this a problem, but only people who don't understand.

An ignorant person would have seen him watching you from around the corner for weeks, following you to your house after work under the cover of darkness, and finally, finally getting a glance into your window at night and label him as obsessed or disturbed. He should have felt dirty for that, but he didn't, not even close. He felt almost holy.

He felt like some chosen follower that was allowed to witness a sacred ritual. He watched you all evening with immeasurable reverence. He took note of the way you ate, how intently you read, but his favorite part was watching you settle into your bed and fall asleep.

As soon as he saw it the first time, it became an addiction. Watching your body curl around your pillow, clutching the fabric as you snuggled into it. How sweet you looked, so soft, so innocent. It made his chest ache, it made him feel starved. He had to have you, smell you, feel you.

That was nearly three months ago. Now, he watches you every chance he gets. The days he doesn't get to, he feels like a pitiful addict going through withdrawal. He has to at least speak with you, know your voice, see your skin up close.

During his patrol around the city he comes to the conclusion that it has to be today. He feels like he's losing breath without knowing you, captured by your existence but suffocated by the distance. He will have you, he will do whatever it takes.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

At your age, you should at least have a friend or two, maybe go out on friday, possibly even work another job. None of that ever seems worth it, not worth the time or the money or the effort to pretend you enjoy it. Here you stay, stuck somewhere in between discontent for your situation and the refusal to do anything about it.

You only have a half hour left of your shift, everyone else has gone home and you’ve been left to do dishes and lock up, as usual. You huff and puff around the shop as you complete the final closing tasks. Anybody else could have stayed and closed, they probably should have too, considering how often you shut down by yourself so they can all go home.

Naturally, you jumped at the opportunity to stay late, where else are you going to go? Certainly not on a date or out with friends. You feel slightly better about making money while you burn the hours away, so you always end up here.

The sun has set already, leaving the illumination of the shop to the awful fluorescent lights that hang from the ceiling. It’s all so mundane, so simple, so dreadfully boring.

Then the bell above the door jingles.

You roll your eyes and throw your rag into the sink, the sign says closed. Why don’t people read? You huff out of the kitchen and into the serving area.

“Hey, sorry but we’re closed right now, we open again tomorrow-” You freeze, it can’t be him, it has to be some cosplayer, some wannabe.

“I’m sorry, I just- my phone died while I was on patrol and I needed to call my boss to let them know I was finished for the day. I was hoping there would be a phone in here that I could use.” His voice is so timid, so unsteady. It doesn’t sound anything like you would imagine the voice of a pro hero to sound.

You try to stay uninvolved with any hero business, all of the flashy quirks and the gossip and the drama. The theater of it bores you to tears, and you lack respect for anyone that uses their ability to save lives as a tool for gaining popularity. You find most heroes to be so incredibly irritating. Most of them, except one.

Suneater, the emerging pro hero that has been the focus of all of your thoughts lately. You've only seen glimpses of him in the news, seen his face on the back page of a magazine, or heard his name from other people. Any evidence of his existence rapidly became precious to you. You are not some hopeless fangirl, you do not collect merchandise or follow him around and beg for autographs.

You admire him, his subtlety, how genuinely different he is from all the other heroes. He isn’t some attention whore, he isn’t some pretty boy that’s always posing for fan service. His quirk is so unique and powerful, unparalleled by any hero on the charts right now. He’s a real hero, and so much of you wanted him to be your hero.

There he stands, right in front of you, in your shop, asking you for help. He’s far more beautiful than you could have possibly anticipated. He’s all porcelain skin and inky hair, deep indigo eyes pear out from under his magnificent hood. He stands so tall, yet comes across so reserved. He’s spectacular, he’s an angel, he has to be.

“Of- of course, it’s in the back, follow me.” You say, motioning for him to come around the corner with you as you tuck back into the kitchen.

“Thank you, this is very kind of you.” He says as he follows, cape swishing behind him as he moves. You don’t know, you can’t possibly know, how badly he wants to take you into his arms and finally know what your body feels like against his, how he wants to bury his face in your hair and inhale your scent. If he could get away with it, he would, oh how he would feel every inch of you. He can’t though, not yet. He has to be careful, he has to be smart.

I will have her, and she’ll have me.

“It’s no problem, it sucks to be stuck without a phone. I’m happy to help.” You say as you round the corner to your shop’s makeshift break room.

It’s not even a room really, just a corner tucked away with a phone on the wall and a few chairs around a cheap foldable table.

You turn to him and motion to the phone awkwardly, heat settling in your chest and all over your skin. Your heart races and you can feel your palms turning wet.

“Take as much time as you need, did you uh- are you hungry?” You ask, “I’m technically closed, but I can only imagine how hungry you are after a whole day patrolling, I could throw something together for you?”

God, you’re so sweet.

“Oh no, you d-don’t need to do that, I can eat at home.” He insists, your mind fixates on the way he stutters, the way his eyes dart down and his feet shift as he talks.

“I would like to. Please? If you’ll let me?” You say softly, heart pounding even faster when he shifts towards you slightly.

How perfect you are, already asking for permission…

“Are you sure, I really don’t want to create more work for you.” He says, eyes flicking up to meet yours. His gaze makes it hard to swallow, he looks at you so intently, you almost feel like you don’t have enough clothing on.

“No! I promise you won’t be. You’d also be missing out on the best takoyaki around if you didn’t let me, and that would be a tragedy.” You say, trying to entice him with your bold claim.

“Well I g-guess, if you put it that way.” He offers you a trace of a smile.

“I’ll get started while you make your call.” You say as you move to squeeze past him in the narrow hall. As you slide by, there’s a brief, precious moment where you stand inches from each other. You don’t dare look up at him as you skate by, You know your legs will fail you if you meet his eyes while standing so close, and you can’t risk the embarrassment of dropping to your knees in front of a stranger, even if he is a hero,

He doesn’t say a word, simple stalks towards the phone as you glide down the rest of the hallway and into the kitchen.

You slip into autopilot in the kitchen, your brain is far too fixated on the fact that Suneater is down the hall, in your shop, using your phone. You clink around some pans, prepare the octopus meat and the batter and get to work. You can’t overhear him talking to anyone with all the noise you’re making, you almost want to apologize for being so noisy.

Your mind settles on thinking about how beautiful he is, how strong he looks, how easily he could overpower anyone… especially you. The thought makes you squeeze your thighs together, it shouldn’t, but holy hell it does.

Out of the corner of your eye you see him come into the kitchen, you immediately start to berate yourself for thinking that way about him. He’s a hero, he would never be interested in something like that with someone like you.

“I think the phone is down, do you maybe have a- a cell phone i could use?” He seems almost ashamed of the question, it makes your chest ache.

“Shit, that line is always being funny. I’m sorry, but I left my cell this morning.” You say, flipping the takoyaki around in their tray so they’ll cook evenly.

“I live just across the street though, I can run and grab it while you eat.” You say, desperate to help him in any way you can.

I know you’re just across the street.

He just shakes his head and bunches his cape in his fists, a very faint blush spreads across his cheeks and it makes your heart do summersaults.

“I couldn’t ask you to do that, you’re already doing t-too much for me. You don’t need to make the extra t-trip, I can just call my boss when I’m home”

“Really, it’s not too much, if you’re worried about the extra trip you can just walk me home and use it when we get there. I imagine you would need to call as quickly as possible and get somebody on patrol now that you’re off.” You say, catching yourself a little when you sound too desperate.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable?” As he talks, he shuffles so he can press himself up into the corner of the kitchen, almost looking like he wants to melt into the wall.

“Well, considering your occupation is literally saving people, I definitely don’t feel uncomfortable, it’s not like you’re some crazy kidnapper.” You chuckle a little as you plate up the takoyaki. You try not to give attention to the twisted thoughts that enter your mind when you mention the kidnapping, pushing down the desire to be taken away from the colorless life you live.

If you only knew how badly I want to take you, to have you, keep you…

“I guess you have a p-point.” He says, taking the plate with a soft thank you. He starts stuffing his face with the spheres of breaded octopus immediately, letting a small content sigh leave his body.

“This is incredible, thank you, um, can I ask what your n-name is?” That damn stutter is going to turn your bones to jelly.

You say your name quietly, he responds by repeating it back to you, like he’s checking the pronunciation. You just nod as you open the fridge and pull out a gallon of green tea so you can pour him a glass.

“T-Tamaki, my name’s Tamaki Amajiki.” He says with his shy voice.

A warm, invasive feeling spreads through you. You have to remain calm, pretend that his real name is news to you, pretend that you haven’t spent hours searching through fanfictions listed under that name.

You chat as he finishes his food, thanking him as he mumbles compliments about you cooking in between bites. It doesn’t take long for him to take down the plate. He thanks you over and over as you clean the rest up. He stays glued to his spot in the corner until you take your apron off and hang it on the rack with the others.

“Alright, let’s get you to that phone.” You say as you grab your keys off the hook and switch the lights off.

When you turn to look at him the breath is stolen from your lungs immediately. He looks so celestial in the dark, somehow glowing in the dark. He’s stunning, he’s perfect, he’s painfully out of your league. You remind yourself of that last fact in order to still your nerves.

You turn on your heels and walk towards the door as quickly as you can without seeming rushed. He follows silently, the heavy sound of his thick cloak floating around him makes the hair on your neck stand up. He even sounds powerful.

After you exit the building, he stands with his back to you as you lock the door. His stance is protective, surveying the streets around you like a real hero. You can’t let it go to your head, it’s not for you specifically, he would do this for anyone, it’s his job.

The walk to your house isn’t really uncomfortable, but it is tense. The energy between you is painfully obvious, just not to each other. You both want to speak, ask about each other, know each other, but neither has the guts to make the first move.

While you walk, Tamaki’s head is constantly on a swivel, and he stays so very close to you. It makes your chest ache, the feeling of being so safe next to such an intimidating man. Nobody would dare approach you with him next to you. You would damn near kill to have this all the time, if not all the time at least as often as possible.

You arrive at your house after not even two minutes of tension filled strolling. Silently, cautiously, you both enter your home after you unlock the door.

"It's so cozy." Tamaki says immediately upon seeing all of the soft lights and pastels that make up your decor. He’s nearly trembling with excitement from finally being able to see inside your little world. After watching from the outside for so long, he can finally learn more about you.

"Oh, thanks, I try to keep it soft looking in here. It helps me decompress after a day at a busy restaurant." You explain, setting your keys in their dish before leading him down the hallway to the kitchen.

The house is nothing special, a simple little single bedroom, one story with a relatively open floor plan. It’s small but easy to afford and keep clean. It works for you.

“I’ll go grab the phone from my room, feel free to sit down.” You say, gesturing at the two chairs on either side of your tiny breakfast nook.

He just nods quietly, taking small glances around the rest of your house. You find his hypervigilance charming. It makes you feel incredibly secure to know he’s so aware of his surroundings.

You walk off to your bedroom then, leaving him to stand in your dimly lit kitchen.

Instantly, his eyes zero in on the laundry basket full of clothes that’s sitting on your counter. His body moves without his mind’s permission, his heart thrums in his chest once he catches something pink and lacy.

He can’t help but think you’ve done it on purpose, like you’re some spider sitting up in your web waiting for a poor little bug to stumble along and get all caught up. He’s more than willing to be that bug, and so desperate to get caught up.

He grabs the fabric quickly, as it unravels in his hands he sees what it is and his breathing stops.

It’s a pair of underwear, your underwear.

His fingers go all twitchy as he shoves his hood off to expose his pointed ears, wanting to be able to hear your footsteps.

He brings the panties and takes a deep breath in.

They’re not clean.

He has to choke back the noise that threatens to escape when he finally smells the intoxicating aroma. You smell so fucking sweet. His body reacts instantaneously, goosebumps raise on his flesh as he’s dick twitches in his pants.

God he feels dirty, but why should he? You lead him in here, after cooking for him and being so kind. You left this little gift out for him, you had to know what you were doing.

The sound of soft footsteps jolts him back to reality. He shoves the underwear deep into one of his pockets, he’ll keep them as long as he can, preferably forever.

“Sorry it took me a minute, I’m constantly misplacing everything. One of those ‘lose my head if it wasn’t attached to me’ kind of people.” You give a half hearted laugh, which he returns with a cute little chuckle as he takes your phone.

“Oh sorry about the laundry, I’m a bit of a mess today.” Hot embarrassment fills you as you grab the basket of dirty clothes off the counter and hoist it onto your hip.

“Don’t be sorry, you weren’t expecting any visitors.” He assures you, voice soft and soothing.

“I’ll run this to my room and give you some privacy.” You say, turning once again to leave him alone.

As soon as you’re out of the room his shoulders drop and he lets out a quaking breath. Having you so close after filling his mind with your smell pushed him to the very limit. He wants to grab you and lay you out on the counter, rip your pants off and shove his face between your thighs. He wants to drown in every smell and taste you can offer him. He wants to gorge himself on your sweet little cunt.

He can’t think straight. He’s fully hard, his skin is boiling and his mind is fuzzy. He has to get out of here, he has to get to somewhere hidden, Somewhere he can fuck his fist and think of playing with your soft body. Maybe, just maybe, if he stuffs your panties in his mouth he can taste a trace of you.

When you return he says a very quick goodbye, says something about stopping by your shop again so he can see you again. He doesn’t know for sure what words he uses, he’s too focused on getting out before you notice his erection, before you smell the shame wafting off of him in thick waves.

He has to go before he makes a mistake, before he ruins all of his plans.

You follow him to the door to let him out, bidding him goodnight with your gentle, enchanting voice.

You’ll never know that the phone at the restaurant worked fine, that he never even had to call Fatgum. You’ll never know that he stole from you, that he almost lost it and took you home with him. You won’t ever know that he’s not going home now that he’s left your home.

Urgently, he swoops around the corner of your house, heading straight for your bedroom window. His pants feel so tight it’s maddening, he’s frantic, he’s slipping.

As soon as he reaches the bedroom window, his favorite window, he slumps against the building with one arm as the other shoots down to his pants. He takes a quick glance around, noting that the lights in the surrounding buildings are all out given the hour.

He should be safe.

Then you walk into your room, the image of you is distorted slightly by the white sheers you have up, but only slightly, only enough to make you look like some fuzzy apparition.

She uses these curtains on purpose, she wants me to see.

You have no interest in showering tonight, now exhausted and confused. Did you say something wrong? Why did he take off like that? He did say he would see you tomorrow, though, which gives you a bubbly feeling.

You strip your clothes off, and it shreds Tamaki’s last ounce of self control.

You little fucking tease.

You undress until you’re left in your simple white underwear.

Tamaki’s hand is in his pants the second you crawl into bed. He grabs his aching length, thumbing at his head as he watches you shuffle around in the blankets. His mouth waters when he sees your collar bones, his breath hitches when he sees the way your stomach rolls when you sit. He starts to stroke himself slowly when you leave one leg out of your blankets.

His chest rises and falls rapidly as he remembers the precious gift in his pocket.

He snatches the panties out as he watches you move, as he zeroes in on the meat of your thigh. He shoves the fabric of the crotch into his mouth and bites. He bites your panties like he wants to bite your delicious looking legs.

His hand jerks more rapidly as the faintest flavor spreads across his tongue. His cheeks are pink and his eyes start to tear up as he trembles from the euphoria of knowing you this intimately. His hips thrust into his fist as he claws at the panites, pulling the fabric tight as he watches you drift off to sleep.

His mind races through every possible way he would take you. How he would ruin and claim every inch of you. The idea of you shaking beneath him, moaning his name so sweetly, begging him to keep going, maybe begging him to stop, it makes him want to break down the window.

He tongues at your panties, wishing he could swallow your slick. He feels so unbelievably envious of the fact that the fabric in his mouth has been so close to your perfect little hole. The thing he wants to taste the most, feel the most, fuck the most.

His hand tightens around his dick as he tries to imagine how tight you would feel around him. He rips your panties out for just a brief second so he can spit down into his palm, wrapping it around his cock the second the spit reaches his skin.

“Shit- fuck- shit- fucking love you.” He chokes out as his eyes stay locked on your body.

Once the panties are back in his mouth, the free hand flattens against the window.

Then you shift, hips rolling gently as you adjust your position, exposing your cute little ass to him.

“Slut- bad little slut.” He huffs out as he claws at the window. He feels his balls start to seize up as he focuses on his swollen head, fucking it as fast as he can whle he imagines you with your head buried in the pillows as you stick your ass in the air for him.

He tears the panties out of his mouth and holds the crotch of them in front of his dick, drool slips over his bottom lip as he lets out a high, broken moan while he starts to spill into them.

His body quakes and shivers as he squirts rope after rope of hot cum into his stolen prize. Tears wet his cheeks while drool soaks his chin as he strokes himself through his climax.

He chants your name over and over again, watching the way his seed ruins your pretty little panties. In his orgasmic haze, he brings the panties back to his mouth full of his own release, he laps it up as he eyes roll to the back of his head, pretending he’s made you cream yourself, pretending he’s tasting you instead.

It’s filthy, it’s depraved, but he doesn’t care, he needs it, he’d die without it. He swallows the rest of his own cum down with a greedy whine as he watches your perfect form lay there so peacefully.

He doesn’t know how long he stands there, how many more times he fucks his hand while he watches you sleep, only to leave himself covered in sweat and cum and shame. Somehow, he finds himself walking away, as much as it hurts, he knows he can't indulge himself all night.

Once he’s finally home, he collapses, body buzzing and addicted. He sleeps with your soiled panties clutched in his fist. He wakes up with one thought on his mind, he needs more.

[tatooines-ghosts]

HAPPY 2020s ENDING Y’ALL!!!

Enjoy a little blog-exclusive Shades AU that I affectionately refer to as the No Jedi Allowed AU, feat. everybody’s favorite prequel-era Mandalorian bounty hunter.

Sometime this last summer, while trying to work past writer’s block, I toyed with a little AU idea for funsies, I made a post about it, said I wasn’t going to do anything else with it, and left it at that. Until a month or two ago when, still in the throes of writer’s block, I took that little AU idea and figured “fuck it, I’m not working on the next chapter, but at least it’s writing SOMETHING Shades related” and made a real thing out of it.

This is Part 1. Future parts will come out at some point in the future, I’m thinking about making these a holiday special or something haven’t decided yet. (And really it’s only blog-exclusive because I cannot make a series on AO3 and remain anonymous so...)

Enough rambling. Please read, I hope you all enjoy this look at how things might have gone a little differently if a couple Jedi didn’t end up going all the way out to Tatooine to stick their noses into Hutt business.

Please assume content warnings given on AO3 may apply to this story as well. Also, beware spoilers if you are not fully caught up on the main story.

No Jedi Allowed AU - Part 1

Jango Fett heaved a long sigh as the door closed behind him. He had just finished up a long job for Jabba, one that should have been quick but ended up requiring well over a week of stake outs and reconnaissance, but in the end he got his man, as he always did. Jabba had at least expressed his gratitude suitably, in money and amenities. He had given Jango one of the better guest suites and was probably going to send up one of his better girls for a night of entertainment.

Jango began shedding his armor, considering what he would do with the slave girl. He really didn't have the energy to draw anything out. He hoped it wasn't going to be a new girl, explaining how things work was more effort than he cared to expend. Really he just wanted a shower and to sleep, but he wasn't about to leave his stuff unattended with a stranger on the way.

There was a light rap on the door.

"Enter."

The slave entered pushing a dinner cart. Jango breathed a sigh of relief. "Skywalker, nice to see you again."

She flashed him a small smile. "Been a while, hasn't it, Jango?" She paused just over the threshold and let the door lock behind her. "The usual tonight?"

"Sure." He finished removing his armor and set it aside carefully aside. "Get yourself ready, I'm hitting the shower first."

He stepped into the 'fresher, leaving Skywalker alone. Ten minutes later, he was stepping back out, with the provided robe draped around him. His clothes were a little rank, and the quick rinse he gave them in the shower wasn't enough to really clean them. They'd get a proper wash when he got home.

Skywalker had set up dinner, laying out the food and drink from the cart on the little dining table for him. She was perched at the holotable, flipping through the selection of games. There weren’t many games, as most visitors to a Hutt pleasure den were usually otherwise occupied in their rooms, or wanted to watch porn.

"How's dejarik sound? I'm not feeling anything particularly strenuous tonight."

"Fine." Jango sat down in the free seat. He grabbed the complimentary bottle of liquor and poured himself a healthy glass. He offered Skywalker a drink, but she declined. She did pick at the fruit he offered to share. There was always more food than he could eat, and he knew the slaves didn’t get fed nearly as well as guests.

She made the first move on the dejarik board. "How's Boba?"

They fell into comfortable conversation about Boba, about Skywalker's sister, about the recently finished racing season – Jango congratulated Skywalker on another victorious season. They played a few lackluster games of dejarik. That was a bit unusual, Skywalker was a worthy opponent, and she didn’t usually lose more than once or twice.

He beat her soundly for the fourth time in a row, the board resent, his turn to make the first move, but instead he checked the time. "I think I'm going to turn in. It's late enough."

"Yeah," she agreed distractedly. She fiddled with the edge of the gauzy white shawl wrapped around her. She looked pale, uneasy.

Jango gave her another critical, searching look. Her behavior was odd enough, was she supposed to be spying on him? Bribe him, coerce him, assassinate him? He knew Jabba wasn’t opposed to taking out a troublesome being with some poison served by a pretty face, but Jango hadn’t done anything to offend his second-best employer recently. The Hutt had no reason to want him dead, or otherwise intimidated.

Maybe Skywalker was just having an off day, or dealing with some other problem. He wasn’t going to ask. Wasn’t his business.

Her outfit tonight was white and copper, paper-thin linen wrapped in layers to be made suitably opaque, with copper metal accents to draw the eye and match the heavy collar around her neck. It was one of her softer, looser costumes. Aside from looking pale and anxious, Skywalker looked pretty good, a little softer, better fed. Jabba kept his slaves starved and stick thin, save for a few exceptions for the fetishists. This was a change, but not a poor one. Maybe Skywalker was being treated better after another successful racing season.

He turned off the holotable and stood up to stretch. The bed was looking very comfortable, and he wanted to get out of here early tomorrow morning.

Skywalker didn't move. "Jango, I need your help."

He fell still. This was a first, she had never asked for his help before. He'd taught her a few tricks to defend herself against handsy patrons who hadn't paid for the privilege to touch her. Maybe someone was a little more aggressive than she could handle. But Jabba had enforcers on staff whose job it was to take care of people like that. There wasn't anything else he could do for her. She had nothing to ask him to smuggle of planet, and there probably wasn't anything she knew of that he could bring to her. Which meant she was about to ask him to do something very stupid and probably impossible.

"What is it?"

She turned her wide blue eyes to him, her lower lip was caught between her teeth, and she worried it as she considered her next words. He could read her indecision clear in her face. His heart sank. If she was so afraid to even say the words, it couldn't be anything good.

"I need you to free me and my sister."

Jango actually laughed, a single, dry bark. "You're joking." She wasn't. "You want me to steal you from the Hutts? Never gonna happen. Jabba would kill us both for just considering it."

She didn't seem particularly disappointed with his rejection. She implored, "Please, Jango, you're our only hope for freedom."

"No. No way." Even if he wanted to, Jango wouldn't risk earning Jabba's ire, no matter how much he liked Skywalker.

Yes, he felt sorry for Skywalker and her little sister. Being born slaves was unfortunate, but it was their rotten luck that they ended up being owned by Jabba the Hutt. If anyone touched Jabba's property, or thought they could steal from him, they were dead already. Jango had been hired several times to bring in a bounty on someone who had done exactly that. He was not going to put himself on Jabba's shit list.

"I'm pregnant!" she blurted out. "Please, Jango, I can't let my baby be born a slave too." She shifted her arms, removing the shawl from around her waist, and there was the unmistakable roundness to her belly. "I don't even know if Jabba will let me keep my baby."

Jango sighed heavily. "He let you keep your sister."

"Because I didn't give birth to her, because he needed leverage over me after my mom died." She drew a shaking breath; he could see tears gathering in her frightened eyes. "He hasn't even made up his mind on whether he'll let me have the baby. Any day now he could take them from me if it stops me from being able to serve. He'll cut the baby out of me, he'll kill them. And if I do get to have them, then what? He'll steal them from my arms, or just use them like he uses Shila. Please, Jango, I can't go on like this. I want my baby to live. I want to raise them. I want Shila to grow up and know what freedom is."

Jango didn't move, didn't speak, his eyes stayed on Skywalker. His brain was already picking at the idea; it wouldn't be too difficult to – no! He was not about to ruin his career and risk his life for a pregnant slave girl, it's not like the baby was his. What stake did he have at all in Skywalker's future? None! If he tried helping her and they got caught, Boba would be left fatherless. The boy might never know what became of his father. But Anakin... she was the victim of her circumstances. Her little sister and her unborn baby were innocent of the whole matter. They were just slaves.

It wasn't like Jango was opposed to slavery, it was a lucrative evil for the dark corners of the galaxy, and it kept him paid, fed, and employed. He was a mercenary; he wasn't a saint, or even really a good person. Killing was never personal, it was for the job, but he still had a code of honor. And abandoning Skywalker after she asked for his help, after she had exposed herself to be in such a vulnerable position… that was breaking his code.

Would he be able to live with himself if he left her here to her fate? If Jabba stole her child, would he ever be able to look her in the eye again? And Boba... was this the kind of example he wanted to set for his son? Disregarding the lives of children and babies because he didn’t want to risk his own neck. Shameful. Dishonorable. No true Mandalorian would sacrifice a child’s life for their own comfort.

"Ossik," Jango hissed under his breath, dropping back into his seat. "Okay. Fine. I'll get you out of here."

X

Freeing Skywalker and her little sister was easier than Jango suspected it would have been. Granted it was easy for him to go where he needed in the palace, and nobody looked at him twice. He met Shila Skywalker, the little ad'ika he had heard so much about from her older sister. It was clear they were family, they shared the same face, but where Anakin was fair haired and blue-eyed, Shila was dark haired and brown-eyed. Reportedly she looked like their mother, Shmi, but Jango had never met the woman. Shila was young, only three years old, and she was quiet and shy, and frightened of Jango; a fact that was not helped at all when Jango had to cut the slave chip out of the child's stomach. It was just beneath the skin, and he didn't have to cut deep, so he was able to be very quick about it, but it still had to be done without pain killers.

It hadn’t been pleasant or fun for any involved. Skywalker had to hold the child down, keeping her hand pressed over Shila’s mouth to muffle the screams. But Jango had been the one with the knife. It would probably be some time before the child trusted him.

She flinched away from him with a whimper, hiding her face in her sister’s shoulder when he offered his hand after it and apologized. “Sorry, ad’ika, but you were very brave.”

The elder Skywalker, on the other hand, hardly made a sound when Jango carved out her chip from her shoulder.

With the girls freshly unchipped, Jango smuggled them unseen into his ship and stowed them in a hidden compartment in his cargo hold. It was specially lined to block life signs from most scanners, and certainly anything Jabba had his hands on out here. He left at dawn, nobody looked twice as he had made several comments before about leaving early, and he had never made a habit of staying very long in Jabba's palace in the first place.

Only when he was safely in hyperspace and clear from any Hutt influence did he release his cargo from the hold. Shila had been soothed to sleep by her sister, but Anakin was fully alert and terrified.

"Thank you for doing this," she said gratefully. "Jango, I don't know how I'll ever be able to thank you. You saved our lives."

"Don't thank me yet. Just because I got you out of there doesn't mean you're safe. Jabba's not going to like losing you."

"I know." Her hand moved behind Shila, rested against her belly. "But you've given us a chance."

A few hours later there was a small explosion at Jabba's palace. Nobody was injured, and the damage was minimal, but it threw everyone and everything into hysterics. In the chaos, it took time for someone to take count of the slaves, and then they noticed two very valuable slaves were missing. Search parties uncovered the hastily buried tracker chips, coated in dried blood and sand. Jabba's wrath was terrible and he turned the planet of Tatooine upside down looking for Anakin Skywalker.

X

Jango landed Slave I on the storm tossed landing pad, rain drummed against the hull. It was midday, though the rainclouds were so thick it might as well have been midnight. He dropped from the cockpit down to the passenger hold, where Skywalker sat with her sister.

Anakin, he supposed he should get used to calling her by her first name. They were aliit now. Whether she knew it or not, when Anakin had thrown her lot in with him to gain her freedom, Jango had brought her into his tiny clan. There really was no way to get around it. Releasing the Skywalkers into the galaxy to fend for themselves was as good as putting a blaster bolt in the back of their skulls. Jabba would have them back and dead, or worse, by week’s end. There was safety, at least, in a clan, security under the Fett name; even if the clan had doubled it in size overnight.

Shila was sleeping soundly, curled in her sister's arms and lap, but Anakin was alert and worried.

"What's that noise? An attack?"

The rain was so familiar to Jango, he tuned it out automatically. "What? No, that's the rain. Water falling from the sky," he had to clarify. He realized rain probably wasn't a word that ever got thrown around on Tatooine.

Anakin glowered at him. "I know what rain is. My mother told me." Her cheeks went pink. "I just didn't realize it made much noise."

Jango gave her some credit. "It is coming down rather hard out there. Come on. We'll get you inside and into more suitable clothes."

Kamino was cold, and the cloner's kept their facility chilly. Anakin's service costume was not going to cut it. He opened the cargo ramp, a blast of cold, wet air swept in.

He heard a gasp and a yelp behind him, Shila had woken up. Anakin tried to comfort the child in Huttese, but Jango could see her own eyes were wide with fear. This much rain and water had to be a shock. But Jango was hungry, tired, and ready to change into something more comfortable. He didn't want to stand here until the desert natives got used to rain.

"Come on," he said again, taking Anakin by the arm and pulling her forward. They walked quickly from ship to facility door, Jango keeping his grip firm so Anakin didn't slip and fall on the wet walkway, her shoes were less suitable for the slick metal than her clothes were for the climate. By the time they stepped inside, Anakin was shivering. Whether from the cold and wet, or everything else, he wasn't sure but thirty seconds in the downpour had turned her costume downright indecent. The flowy white linen had turned translucent and plastered against her body. It made the curve of her belly even more obvious.

It was a good thing Skywalker was so distracted looking around at everything else to not notice him staring and frowning at her. Well, more accurately, staring at her abdomen. A seed of doubt quickly settled and bloomed in his mind – not the first to grow since he agreed to free the Skywalkers, and he squashed it like the others. Having a baby around soon was going to make things interesting.

He sighed softly and shook his head. That little bastard was going to cause him a lot of trouble, he knew it already. After all, it had been the baby that tipped him over to helping the Skywalkers in the first place and inevitably put him on Jabba’s shit list.

How long would it be until Jabba put a bounty on his head? He couldn't possibly be so lucky as to escape without suspicion.

Jango stepped off down the hall, wondering whether the Skywalkers should be seen by a doctor first or if he should just take them home. When the ad'ika began to complain of the cold and the wet, he bypassed the corridor turn that would lead to the medical wing.

Their apartment had that mild, unlived in scent when he stepped in. Boba would have been left with his Kaminoan caretakers while Jango had been gone for a few weeks.

"Come on. We'll get you dried and change clothes before getting you to a doctor."

"Doctor?"

Jango stepped into the 'fresher and dug out some clean towels. He buried his derisive snort in the linen closet. "I doubt Jabba wasted any expenses on having you checked out, didn't he?"

"No, he didn't." Anakin folded her hands over her belly. "I thought for the longest time it might be dead inside me, but I've started to feel them move."

Jango handed her two towels. "How far along are you?"

"Almost six months."

Anakin bent to wrap Shila in the fluffy towel so she didn't see Jango frown at her. He was no expert, but he was almost certain most women were bigger by the time they were five or six months pregnant. Sure, she looked pregnant, but only barely.

"You sure about that?"

Anakin stilled, but nodded, her voice was low and confident. "Yes. I know exactly when it happened."

Jango wasn't going to press the issue. The Kaminoans could figure out the nitty gritty biological details. He moved to the bedrooms, "I'll find you some dry clothes. Won't fit all that well, but they'll be warmer and more suitable than that costume." He pulled a shirt and a pair of pants with a soft, drawstring waistband from his closet. The Kaminoans would have no trouble fabricating something more suitable for Anakin and Shila to wear, but this would do short-term. The little girl's clothes were the basic pants and tunic of Tatooine, but Anakin's costume would be entirely unsuitable for Kamino's climate, not to mention just daily life.

Jango grabbed a shirt from Boba’s room for Shila. It was big enough to be a dress on the child, and the sleeves fell past her hands, but it was workable with a few adjustments. Anakin's clothes were just as ill-fitting, but she didn't complain. She just had to pull the drawstring tight to keep her pants secure around her waist.

"It's only temporary," Jango assured her as she tugged at the oversized shirt. "We'll get you some better fitting clothes ‘fabbed once the Kaminoans get their measurements."

"It's fine," Anakin said quietly, fingering the shirt fabric, it was probably sturdier than anything she'd worn in a long time. Jango's clothes were made for warmth and wear. "This will do."

Jango took them back from the apartment and into the cloning complex, through the cold white hallways to the medical facility. It wasn't empty, it never was. With how many clones the Kaminoans spat out, the medical facilities were always busy; someone was always hurt or sick or injured, or having their genetic aberrations evaluated for viability. But the entrance from Jango's side of the facility kept him separated from the main body. He had mentioned the cloners to Anakin before, but he wasn't sure how much she had picked up on though. It had been a passing conversation as he taught her how to play sabbac. He felt like explaining it in whole might be a bit much for the newly-freed slave.

His side of the medical facility was a little clinic set aside from the main body of the medical wing. It was just one room; the medical bed dominated one side, while cabinets of medication and supplies lined the other walls. There were two doors, one they came through and another that went into the larger facility.

Jango flipped a switch on the panel by the facility door, it would summon a doctor. It must have been a slow day because a Kaminoan stepped into the room a few moments later, one of the doctors. Her big eyes scanned over Anakin and Shila before turning to Jango.

"What can I do for you today, Jango?"

"Doctor Wey Luma, this is Anakin and Shila Skywalker, new additions to my aliit. They both had subdermal chips removed that need patching up, and health checks, and Anakin's pregnant."

Kaminoans weren't nearly as expressive as humans, but Jango could see the excitement in Wey Luma's face. The doctors working with the clones were human specialists, but it wasn't like they came across any pregnant ones in this facility. She would probably become a scientific celebrity just on the fact that she got knocked up. He hoped Anakin wouldn't mind the scientists pawing at her. Probably not, she had enough practice with drunk Hutt patrons, and the Kaminoans wouldn't want to fuck her.

He turned to the Skywalkers, "Wey Luma will take care of you. I need to make some arrangements for your stay here."

"Okay." Anakin nodded and set her sister on the bed at the doctor's encouragement. Jango left the room and pulled up his comm.

He made a call to Taun We to arrange for a bigger apartment, they would need more space with Anakin, Shila, and a baby on the way. Plus supplies and clothing for the new additions.

And it was time to get Boba back from his caretakers and introduce his son to his new aliit. By the time he stepped back into the exam room, Anakin was perched on the medical bed, and Wey Luma was practically buzzing with excitement.

"Such hybridizations are almost unheard of," the doctor trilled. "You could provide us with priceless data."

Anakin looked nervous. She chewed on her lower lip while her hands rested over her little belly. "Would that mean you'll make sure the baby is healthy?"

The Kaminoan paused, confused. Jango stepped in quickly. "They'll take care of you and the baby regardless of whether you agree to let them study you."

"Oh, yes, of course," Wey Luma insisted quickly. "We would not withhold medical treatment. But… you would just do us an enormous favor if we were able to study you and your child."

"What's so special about it anyway?" Jango asked before Anakin had to agree to anything.

"He's half-pantoran. Humans and pantorans typically do not mix genetically."

Jango grunted in understanding. He understood only the most basics of genetics, and he imagined Anakin understood even less. "She'll think about it."

There was nothing else they needed from the doctor, so Jango took them back home.

Taun We was waiting with Boba and a small crate of supplies, the new clothes. Kaminoans were nothing if not efficient; the clothing fabricators must have gotten Anakin's measurements from the medical scans.

There wasn’t time for more than the quickest introductions, as their apartment had to be packed up and everything moved into bigger quarters. A squad of droids expedited the process, and after only a couple hours, they were fully moved into a new apartment.

Taun We and the droids left the newly expanded Fett clan alone to get properly acquainted.

“Boba,” Jango put a hand on his son’s shoulder, pushing him forward ever so slightly. “This is Anakin and her sister Shila Skywalker.”

Boba’s dark eyes traced over the Skywalkers. Confusion curled in his head, father had never brought home anyone before, much less a woman and child. He’d met a few of his father’s more trustworthy associates before, but Anakin didn’t look like a bounty hunter or well… much of anything. What was it about them that had prompted such a sudden uprooting? Why were they now living together?

He’d heard Jango and Anakin muttering about a baby earlier during the move. Was that why? Was she his father’s… girlfriend? Was Shila his half-sister? A natural born Fett heir?

Jango’s grip tightened on Boba’s shoulder and he quickly remembered his manners. “Hello.” He nodded quickly to Anakin and Shila, and then turned to his father for further explanation.

“Anakin and Shila are alit now. I expect you to treat them as such.”

Aliit? Them? That word meant something in Mando’a, Jango wouldn’t throw it around casually. But he knew his father’s adopted clan lines, he knew the branches and offshoots, and distant relations belonging to the family that had taken his father in as a boy. Skywalker was not one of those family names.

“Where did they come from?”

“Tatooine.”

That illuminated very little for Boba, but he could hear the mildly dismissive tone in his father’s words. Now was not the time for more questions.

Jango pushed Boba forward a little more. “Anakin and I need to talk. Can you keep Shila entertained?”

“Oh, okay.” Boba craned his neck a little to peek behind Anakin’s legs, where Shila was hiding. “Shila?” The child buried her face in the back of Anakin’s thighs.

Anakin smiled slightly and scooped her hand behind the child’s head and pushed her forward towards Boba. She said in gentle Huttese, “Go on, Shila, go with Boba.”

Shila stumbled forward, gripping tightly to Anakin’s sleeve. Her eyes were wide and frightened, and Boba didn’t miss the way she flinched away from Jango.

“Introduce yourself.” Anakin prompted.

Shila stuttered out in Huttese a quiet little, “H-hello.”

Boba looked back to his father once again, asking silently if Shila only spoke Huttese. His father nodded curtly, yes.

No worry there, Boba was near fluent in Huttese, so he smiled at the little girl and said back to her, “Hello Shila, I’m Boba.”

Her eyes lit up when she finally understood his words. Boba offered his hand and the child took it. He led her off down the hallway to her new bedroom, right across the hall from Boba’s.

“Let’s see what kind of toys we can find.”

Boba thought he was getting a little too old for toys, but the move had unearthed a lot of old stuff he had nearly forgotten about. He pulled the box down and set it on the floor for Shila to explore while he moved to the open door and tried to listen to whatever his father and Anakin were discussing, but they were speaking too quietly for him to overhear. Jango was clattering around the kitchen, preparing their evening meal, but also making enough noise to purposefully discourage eavesdropping.

Annoyed and disappointed, Boba turned back to Shila. She had tipped most of the boxes contents out onto the floor and had promptly ignored all of them for the plush Aiwha that was almost as big as she was. It must have been a gift or something, though Boba had never particularly cared for the stuffed animal; or many plus toys in general. Shila seemed to like it, though, so he held no qualms bestowing it upon her. Shila was so delighted and excited over the gift, she even dragged it out to the kitchen when they were called for dinner to show Anakin what Boba had given her.

Shila was all set to sit the Aiwha at the table with them for dinner, but Anakin had her put it back in her room. Jango wouldn’t have cared either way – it wouldn’t have been the first time a toddler would have insisted that a favorite toy had to be a dinner guest – but Anakin was still trying to figure out her place in this whole affair, so he wasn’t about to step in a parent her baby sister. Not yet at least.

Shila was still very much frightened of him, even without his armor and the knife, it would be some times before she warmed up to him. Probably when the pain and scar from her tracker faded. Having everyone around her able to speak the same language helped, but Jango knew the child couldn’t only know Huttese for forever. Galactic Basic was a must, as was Mando’a, and Kaminoan would be useful too. He had no doubt Shila would pick up new languages quickly, children that young learned fast. Anakin on the other hand needed to start Mando’a lessons as quickly as possible, picking up the language would be harder for her, but it was something she had to know.

Nobody in his aliit would not be fluent in Mando'a.

"You keep using that word," Anakin observed over dinner. "'A-leet' what does it mean?"

"Aliit means family, of the same clan."

She frowned at him, her brow furrowing in suspicion. "But we're not-"

"You are newly freed slaves. You have no clan or family. You're foundlings and I have taken you in, so now you are part of my aliit. The galaxy is safer for you this way, you have protection."

Anakin stared at him, caught between gratitude and suspicion. “Does this mean we will have to change our names?”

For practical reasons, it would be safer for Anakin and Shila to adopt new surnames; it reduced the chance people would recognize her by name. But he understood the importance and attachment beings could have to family names. If he told her she had to change, she would probably do so without complaint, but that might make her resent the name, resent him and this gift of freedom he was giving her. Then again, this wasn’t something he felt was within his power to decide for her. “Not if you don’t want to.”

Anakin nodded slowly, considering something else. “Does that mean we’re trapped here?”

Trapped wasn’t the word that Jango would have chosen, but he knew where she was coming from. What was the point of being free if you had nowhere to go except back to slavery? With no home, no family, no resources, or friends to turn to Kamino could feel like a trap.

“For now,” he said reassuringly, “You are safe here, and hidden. Kamino is not widely known to the galaxy, nor will the Hutts think to search for you here. And there’s no chance of anyone seeing you and turning you back over to him. If you find staying here to be truly interminable, I can make other arrangements for you, but it will take time.”

Most of the suspicion left Anakin, though Jango could still read a little unease in her. Freedom would take time to adjust to, and it had been less than a day. Her eyes skimmed over him and to the dark, rain-lashed windows that made up a wall of their living area. She managed an uneasy smile and said lightly, “Well, it is very different from Tatooine.”

[dhiabori]

BLOODBLOSSOM ―

here’s another drabble (okay, i lie, it’s 3k) featuring julien! this time the other relevant characters are tatian, the leader of the revolution/anti-royalist faction, and jelena, an arms dealer and sadist.

CONTENT WARNINGS ― graphic depictions of whipping; tying up; panic attacks; self-destructive behaviours

TAGLIST ― @doveotions

“Jelena, I assure you, it’s unnecessary. And foolish.” Tatian sighs; controlling Jelena is like putting a steak in front of a starving dog and telling it not to bite. 

No. It’s like collaring a wolf and expecting it to drop its prey at your feet; there’s nothing tame in her eyes, in her body, leaning against the windowframe. Everything from the scars on her neck to the dagger dangling mindlessly between her fingers says predator, predator, predator, an insistent thrumming in the back of Tatian’s mind. 

If she’s a predator, an idle thought asks, who’s her prey?

Glancing up from toying with her dagger, she gives Tatian a sharp smile. He knows her teeth had been filed in prison, that all Nyrish convicts did it, but— he also remembers seeing those canines stained with blood. “The people would beg to differ.”

The people. The people whose houses she’s razed to the ground, whose sons and sisters and friends she’s punished, toyed with, a vengeful demon. 

Tatian takes a step forward, meeting Jelena’s eyes. Keeping his voice smooth; dissent is a distraction, a threat, a loss of momentum. Affording her time he doesn’t have is out of the question.

“The people can differ all they want. Julien is my property, and I won’t allow you to play with him.” He can’t help glancing back at Julien, kneeling at Camille’s feet; the picture of devoted obedience. It’s almost pathetic, how eager he is to demean himself for a scrap of affection — almost, but he still looks more a crowned prince branded and humiliated, leash resting casually in Camille’s lap, than Tatian has ever looked in the mirror. 

All Jelena does is shrug, and even that’s a calculated movement, tense with the kind of power he’s only seen in a caged panther. The kind that says, come too close and you won’t live to repent it. “ Tell me, what do you care about more?” Tossing her dagger up, she catches it by the blade. Show off. “Your property, or the loyalty of the people outside?”

“It’s which,” Tatian says, taking another step, slowly circling her. Letting his hand run over the lacquered chest, not deigning to look her in the eye. “Which do I care about more. And don’t pretend to speak for the people.”

“Oh, but they want it. You know they do.”

“They might, but the people have a nasty little habit of regretting their choices. Their desires.”

“And you know all about that, don’t you?” 

“What?” It’s all Tatian can get out, but he sees it now, the corner he’s backed himself into. He’s taken this wolf in, fed her, collared her, forgotten it isn’t the collar that keeps her at his heel, it’s the meat. Forgotten that wolves don’t care what’s theirs or what’s his -- all she knows is hunger, and if he won’t feed her, he’ll become her next meal.

Jelena peels herself away from the windowsill, stepping towards him. Slow and deliberate, spinning her dagger between her fingers as she walks so it catches the light in a biting flash. This close, he has to look up to her, has to smell the sulfur and brimstone on her breath.

“Do you regret hiring me?” The words are spoken, but the dagger gives them their edge, wandering carelessly through air. A little closer to Tatian’s face than any employee of his should ever bring their weapon. “Because the way I see it, you need me. You need me to put swords in your men’s hands, bows on their backs.”

“You need me.” Even as the words leave his mouth, cracking under the effort of keeping his voice steady, Tatian knows they’re not true. He isn’t her only buyer.

Glancing over at Camille, all he gets is a pointed stare, a silent rebuke. Not here, not yet. 

Jelena laughs, almost a snarl. “Do I? Because I thought I could easily take my business elsewhere. The only thing keeping me playing by your rules is what you can offer me. Your money -- and your pet.”

She looks over to Julien, hungry hungry hungry. More than that, victorious; Tatian wants to scream in frustration, wishes he had a dagger of his own to claw out her glinting eyes, but there’s nothing he can do.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” he says, voice taut, “Because if you break my property, I can assure you the consequences will be severe.”

All he gets in return is a derisive snort as Jelena strides over to Julien, snatching the lead from Camille’s lap. He does nothing to stop her, only shrugs, removing his hand from where it has been tangled in Julien’s thick, brown curls. 

Wrapping the lead around her hand, Jelena jerks Julien to his feet, sending him stumbling a little. “Get up, Your Grace. Your people want to see you.”

Tatian half-wishes Julien would scream, struggle, fight for his life like a deer -- but all he does is freeze like one, a single desperately apprehensive glance before his face softens into resignation and he nods.

With that, she begins to stride out, pausing as she pushes the tent flap aside to say to Tatian: “I can assure you, medvedezdha, you’ll get your pet back.”

Hearing her footsteps recede, Tatian releases a sigh, that turns into a frustrated half-scream.

“Shit,” he hisses, feeling his breath begin to hitch and race, he should’ve seen that coming, should’ve done something. Shouldn’t have seen her without a guard, now he’s lost control, and he’s spiralling, falling, slipping the maw of the past rushing up to swallow him -- 

He rounds on Camille, because it’s the only thing he can do, and he has to do something, or his skin might split from the itch that rages beneath it, the mounting frustration. 

“Why did you let her?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because she wouldn’t hesitate to slit my throat with that dagger?” He can only be grateful that Camille’s words still have a bite to them, that he doesn’t stand -- if he did, it would mean Tatian was slipping again, drifting further from the careful reality he’s constructed.

Tatian sighs, trying to steady himself. “Saints, I should’ve stopped her. She’s out of control.”

Sighing, Camille twists a curl of hair around his finger. “She is, but she has the upper hand now. She must be anticipating a reprisal.”

“Or she thinks she can get away with it,” Tatian returns, glancing towards the tent flap. Knowing she’s taken Julien out there, when he can hardly manage the walk from the castle to the makeshift meeting room -- and he shouldn’t care for Julien, he knows that, but all the same he can feel the affection sinking its roots into his chest, winding its thorny branches around his heart.

His instinct is to run from it. Run from the wolf, then lay your traps -- it’s always been the de Carachelles way, the reason why they survived when the de Carcassonie fell. Yet something in him rebels at the idea. Something in him baulks at leaving Julien to suffer, at letting Jelena break his toy without a witness; it all culminates in a breathless realisation.

“I caused this. I should watch.” 

Not waiting for Camille’s response, Tatian pushes out of the tent, surfacing like a drowned man coming up for air. Only the fetid afternoon heat does nothing to relieve him, only clogs his lungs with more doubts as he hurries past the soldiers. What if she kills him? What if the people aren’t on her side? He can’t decide which is more dangerous, only that he has to see for himself. That maybe Julien de Vere is more trouble than he’s worth.

The camp passes in a blur of canvas and familiar, grimy faces as he rushes to the edge, to the sound of a murmuring crowd. They’ve come from every nearby village, drawn in by Laetitia and the promise of food; now the stand, jostling, in a semicircle. Whispers ripple through them like the chittering of birds, all eyes directed to a single, gnarled cypress tree.

Forcing himself to turn his gaze to the tree, Tatian feels his breath catch in his throat.

Julien. She’s tied him to the tree, forcing his cheek into the rough embrace of its bark, face turned towards Tatian. Oh, please let there be anger. Bitterness, fear. Anything would be better than what he can read in Julien’s wide, doe-brown eyes: acceptance.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” Jelena’s voice cuts into Tatian’s horror, broken-glass sharp. Only half as sharp as the whip that dangles from her hand as she circles the tree like some demented kind of ringmaster. “You asked, you shall receive. The Crowned Prince, for your entertainment.”

She cracks the whip at Julien’s feet, forcing him to shy away against the tree. Its bark grates against his skin, leaving raw scrapes.

“So.” The whip snaps out again across dusty ground, rearing back, a rattlesnake in its fury. Tatian flinches. “How many lashes?”

Fluttering nervously, the crowd mutters amongst itself. Two hundred or so glittering eyes, nattering beaks, all eyeing Julien with a kind of beady apprehension, the kind that makes Tatian feel sick. You brought this on yourselves, he wants to shout, you fucking decide. You asked for this, didn’t you?

He should be asking for it, too. His mother would. His sister would, she’d be the one with the whip in her hand, breaking the figurehead of the de Veres as they’ve broken her. He should be baying for Julien’s blood, but Tatian finds he can’t. Every time he tries, he chokes on the blossoming of care that’s grown in his chest, caging the hissing, scratching thing with its thorns.

At last, a man steps apart from the crowd. Swallows, then speaks, eyes still fixed on Julien.

“Twenty-five,” he murmurs, and when Jelena glares at him, he says it louder. “Twenty-five lashes.”

Again, uncomfortable whispers flit through the crowd. Jelena only nods, stepping back as if to begin -- but she pauses, lowering the whip.

Tatian hopes for a reprieve. Knows it won’t come, but hopes anyway, watching her approach Julien.

“Someone should really cut off all this hair,” is all she says, almost casual as she gathers Julien’s curls, pushing them to the side. Exposing his back, unblemished except for a scattering of moles. “It’s just impractical.”

His stomach twists at the irony, remembering running his fingers through those same curls. All Tatian can remember thinking is they’re so soft. 

Jelena steps back again, more deliberate. Brings back the whip, then -- 

It snaps down like a thundercrack, and Julien flinches, the muscles in his back taut and straining as his shoulders stiffen. When it falls, there’s a welt, a stark red line picked out in horrible contrast to his dark, brown skin, making Tatian’s stomach twist.

Someone in the crowd calls out, one.

Before Julien can even catch his breath, the whip comes down again, again, breaking his skin. Blood wells up along the line as his chest heaves with desperate gasps; red blood, jewel-blood, petal-blood that Tatian wants to wipe away, but he can’t, he’s rooted to the spot with mute horror. As if whatever was growing in his chest has sunk its roots into the ground, not finding enough sustenance in his body.

The crowd keeps crowing: two, three. Still, Julien doesn’t scream. 

Four and five pass in a sickening blur, only the crack of the whip indicating any blows have fallen. Shuddering from the impact, Julien whimpers -- still not quite a scream, but his knees are beginning to give way, the tree his only support. Even that is hardly a mercy, the rough bark rubbing his skin raw every time he flinches further into its embrace.

Grinning, Jelena recoils for another lash, toying with her helpless prey. The whip snaps back, biting into a fresh welt. 

Six. 

Julien screams, bloody and desperate. Tatian thinks he feels the pain too; a gasp wells up in his throat, a bud about to blossom and fill his mouth with bloodstained petals. It feels like someone has pulled the world from under him, leaving him reeling, bile rising in his throat. 

Coward. Coward, he thinks, as the whip cracks again and Julien’s screams mingle with the crowd’s counting.

Seven. Eight. Nine. Julien’s knees have buckled, and he slides down the tree, leaving a smattering of blood from the scrapes on his face and chest. None of that compares, though, to the mess Jelena has made of his back, of his composure: his breath comes in choppy, strained gasps, tears trickling down his cheeks to mingle with fever-sweat.

By the time number ten comes, all he can do is sag against the tree, head dropping in defeat. Tatian wants to tell Jelena to stop, wants to collar and chain her again, but he knows he can’t. He can’t, unless he wants to offer himself as a sacrifice to her ravening jaws. All he can do is watch and choke on the agony of seeing Julien sob, knowing it’s his fault, his fault.

He finds his mind drifting to his mother’s garden, her beloved rose bushes. How beautiful they are, how much careful cultivation they require. Compared to them, the straggling thing in his chest that cries out, aching to hold Julien, is withered and shriveled, but it still aches.

Eleven, twelve, thirteen. Tatian doesn’t even want to watch anymore, doesn’t want to hear Julien scream, then cough, then gasp for breath. He hardly notices the crowd quietening, no longer crowing the numbers. Only staring, hollow and nervous.

Jelena steps back, admiring her shuddering, suffering masterpiece. Her work is enshrined on the heaving canvas of Julien’s back, blood welling up like pigment and trickling down from a multitude of welts. She’s reduced him to a pathetic, cowering thing, and it’s so wrong, so fucking jarring to see him humiliated and broken, stripped of his regal dignity. 

The whip, her paintbrush, twitches lazily in her hand; for a moment, Tatian can’t understand why she’s stopped.

“Sigolène?” Only then does Tatian glance round and see Jelena’s lieutenant, watching sullenly. “My arm’s tired.” 

“I--” Sigolène looks like she’s about to say something else, stepping forward like an antelope approaching a lion. Unsure whether she’s prey or partner. 

“Five lashes.” Is all Jelena says, shoving the whip into Sigolène’s hand. 

She looks like she’s about to object -- Tatian’s seen her scars, the luxury of a shared bathhouse, knows how many lashes the army gives for insubordination. But Sigolène simply swallows and nods.

Her lashes come thick and fast, cracks like fireworks exploding behind Tatian’s eyes; there isn’t room for Julien to scream between them, visceral noises of pain tumbling over one another on their way out. Even without the crowd, Tatian counts: fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen. Blood, running in rivulets down Julien’s back, damning, damning red. 

When she’s done, Julien is left gasping for breath once more. His hair, so carefully tucked away, has come loose, splashing down his back in a cascade. Matted with blood from his wounds. 

For a moment, Sigolène freezes just like Tatian. Stares at what she’s done in, the whip sliding from her hand as her chest heaves, rise-fall, rise-fall.

Then she runs. 

Tatian wishes he has the right to run; wishes he could be anywhere else, but his legs are still wooden, still rooted to the spot. All he can do is watch as Jelena picks up the whip again, tossing her Nyrish jacket aside. Beneath it, her scarred arms are taut with power.

As she draws back the whip again, Tatian realises his own breath is lurching in his chest. He can’t breathe, can’t even control his own body, and he feels himself teetering on the edge, feels the abyss calling to him. The itch curling through his body, unable to be chased away, even as he digs his fingers into his wrist, scratching, desperate.

He’s lost control. Of her, of everything, of Julien -- even of his future. It hinges on victory, and Jelena can tear that victory apart on a whim, if she thinks chaos would taste better.

Twenty. Julien chokes on his own scream; Tatian feels an agonising blossoming in his chest. Pity. Concern. 

Twenty one. The crowd are staring, all staring, beady button eyes and sun-browned skin and they’re human but they’re allowing this. He’s allowing this.

Twenty two. Panting, Jelena draws back again. Stop stop stop stop -- he can’t stop it, he isn’t in control, he can’t breathe -- 

Twenty three.

Twenty four.

One last time, the whip falls, a crack that snaps through the air, cleaving the crowd’s silence into murmurs of -- relief? Pity? All Tatian feels is dizzy and sick, eyes fixed on the stained-glass destruction of Julien’s back. Some of the welts are almost concealed by a blossoming of blood, more leaking from the wounds as his shoulders heave, struggling to suck in a breath that isn’t a scream or a cough. Wherever there isn’t blood, his back is slick with sweat, the salt inevitably dribbling into the cuts to create a cocktail of agony. 

But it’s over. Jelena bows for the crowd, brushing her own sweaty hair out of her eyes -- Tatian’s hit by the realisation that her sweat comes from the exertion, the clammy afternoon she picked to display her masterpiece.

His one consolation is that there’s no applause, only that frightened, fervent murmuring. Shame, that’s what it is. Shame they have no right to, because they asked for this, they fed the wolf. Yet he has no right to it either; he was the one to bring the wolf into his house, to offer it a place by the fire, to leash it.

Slinging her jacket over her shoulder, Jelena strides away, with all the satiation of triumph. Only -- she throws a glance back at Tatian, a smile filled with too-many, too-sharp teeth, sending a shiver twisting down his spine.

At least he’s no longer rooted to the spot; at least he can move, feel like he’s doing something as he rushes to Julien’s side. 

“Julien?” Kneeling, Tatian’s heart is in his mouth as he fumbles for his dagger, clumsily trying to saw through the rope that binds Julien to the tree. He casts a quick glance at the crowd, but they haven’t noticed. They’re too busy fleeing, flitting away like starlings, unable to face the destruction they’ve caused. Cowards. “Julien, look at me--”

And he does. Of course he does, because it’s an order, an opportunity to make Tatian happy. He looks up with those melting eyes, even as his breath hitches desperately, even as he sags against the tree.

“Did I--” Julien can barely get the words out without coughing, pain written all over his scraped face. Voice laden with pathetic hope. “Did I do well?”

Tatian’s stomach drops, thorny vines of affection tightening around his heart. He knows, but knowing and seeing are two different things, separated by this kind of visceral pity. 

No-one should be praised for what Julien just went through -- but Tatian doesn’t have the courage to withhold the words.

“Yes, you did,” he murmurs, almost reaching out to run his hand through Julien’s hair. Stopping short when he remembers Jelena. “You did, and it’s over now.” 

Slumping down even more, Julien finally slides off his knees with a gasp of relief, a hoarse thank you. 

There’s a soldier lurking nearby, practically squirming with discomfort; Tatian motions her over, knowing he doesn’t have the time or the luxury to comfort Julien anymore. 

“Get him back to our tent and give him some water,” he says, giving his words a deliberate edge. “And don’t break him any more. He’s a valuable asset.”

The soldier nods, slinging Julien’s arm over her shoulder and pulling him to his feet. As usual, he doesn’t put up a fight, only follows like a lamb wherever he’s led. 

Only once they’re gone does Tatian let himself glance down at his hands. They’re shaking, the itch raging beneath his skin, forcing him to claw at his arms. Now it hits him harder than ever, how much danger he’s in, the corner Jelena’s backed him into: if it wasn’t clear enough already, his fucking cowardice has proven how he can’t control her.

She can afford to let the wolf free now, knowing he has to keep feeding it. Probably betting on him not having the courage to punish her.

Lurching to his feet, Tatian begins walking back to the tent. Back to Camille -- but he hardly feels able to face him now, knowing Camille would’ve been able to stand it. Camille isn’t afraid of wolves, would’ve known how to properly muzzle Jelena.

The inevitable realisation stabs him all over again, a knife in the gut.

Jelena has to go.

[loveistherootofhappiness]

Bathena prompt 11

This was... made unnecessarily more than it needed to be, but I’m extra like that. You, anon, unknowingly picked the hardest one for me on the list, but it was also a challenge that flexed the fuck out of my creative muscles so, I’m appreciative.

All that prefacing was to say that this went... somewhere and I really hope you do enjoy it. It’s definitely fluffy, like gratuitous amounts. Seriously, Hallmark would be proud. The Christmas miracle tropes, they’re... here.

Prompt #11: it’s a Christmas miracle!

Also written for Countdown to Christmas.

Word Count: 3222

Summary: “Attention all passengers: due to approaching inclement weather all flights to and from Hartfield-Jackson airport have been cancelled until further notice. Thanks in advance for your patience and... happy holidays.”

Fan cast: Ashleigh Murray as Desiree

Also can read be here.

-----

She felt the all too familiar burn in her lungs as she sprinted. She could feel the sweater forming under the extra layers she’d put on to account for the weather. Chancing a glance behind her, unaware just how fast she was going, she saw her husband lagging a little ways behind her. The only person keeping up with her was her daughter, who was just as determined as she was. Through their efforts, they’d finally made it to where they need to be only to hear, “attention all passengers: due to approaching inclement weather all flights to and from Hartfield-Jackson airport have been cancelled until further notice. Thanks in advance for your patience and... happy holidays.” The timidity in the last part could be heard, knowing they were about to have a lot of pissed off people on their hands.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me!” Athena heard the exclamation come from both of her children. As all of them were still struggling to catch their breathes, she watched as May dropped her bags and Harry dropped to the ground in dramatic fashion. Athena looked at Bobby, knowing they should probably reprimand the children. They would have in any other situation, but they didn’t, knowing they shared their sentiments exactly.

“Harry get off the floor,” Athena told her son.

“Let me die in peace, mom.” Harry said between strained breaths.

“Harry stop being silly and get off the floor,” Athena said with a little more sternness in her voice.

Harry did as he was told and picked the bags he’d dropped. “All that running for nothing.”

“We wouldn’t’ve had to if you had left the tickets in my dorm room.” May said in annoyance.

“You’re the one that got us lost on the way to the airport with your bad driving.” Harry countered.

“You can’t be-“

“Hey!” Bobby got between May and Harry as she was inching closer to him. “We’re not doing this,” he turned towards May, “I gave Harry the folder that held the tickets as were putting your stuff in the truck. I didn’t get it back from him, like I intended to. If you’re gonna blame anyone, blame me,” May looked sheepish as Bobby turned towards Harry, “as far her driving, anyone would have gotten lost. I’m completely convinced that GPS took us on the scenic route on purpose. We probably went through the entire city just to get here,” Harry started laughing and so did May, “this would have happened no matter what we did, it’s nobody’s fault. Hopefully it’ll just be a passing storm or something and we’ll be home way before Christmas.”

The children grumbled in agreement.

“I’ll take that as a yes. Get your stuff and let’s find,” Bobby looked around the airport filled with people, “somewhere to sit and wait this out.”

The children picked up their bags and starting walking towards one of the many waiting areas. Athena, who’d stayed silent just to see how all of this was gonna play out, looked at Bobby as he looked at her.

“You stopped a potential fight and got them to calm down all in the same speech. Looks like someone’s getting the hang of this step parenting thing, Mr. Nash,” she said as she smiled at him.

Bobby placed his duffel bag on his shoulder before grabbing her suitcases and bringing his lips to hers. “Surprised?”

“Nope. I had faith in you.”

She grabbed his free hand and walked off in the direction that the children went.

Dec. 24th, 7:00 pm - 5 hours until Christmas

“Will you guys be back by Christmas?” Buck asked.

It has been over three hours since the initial cancellation announcement. There had been no change and didn’t look to be any for the foreseeable future, so they decided to make the necessary calls. They were hosting Christmas this year, after all.

“We don’t know Buck.” Athena turned to look out the windows behind her. Though it was dark, the bright lampposts allowed her to see some of the storm raging outside? he violent whips of the trips, the rain and snow mix beating against the windows. “The way it’s looking outside it might be a while.”

“But, but, but Christmas dinner tomorrow. We were off this year and everything. All of us. In a setting that wasn’t a fire station.” Athena thought she could see Buck pouting.

“In the event that we aren’t there, we trust you to prepare everything and continue on as planned. Just come over tomorrow morning, as already planned. Everything’s in labeled dishes in the fridge, just take them out and heat them for the appropriate times,” Bobby told him. Between him and Athena, they’d been steadily teaching how to cook more, they trusted him to be able to do this, to a certain extent of course.

Buck’s eyes widened, “I can’t believe you guys trust me not to burn your house down,” he chuckled, clearly joking.

“Yeah, right. Michael’s already aware of the situation and he’s gonna be there tomorrow to make sure everything goes smoothly,” Athena told him, clearly serious. “We don’t want a repeat of last time.”

Buck sighed audibly. “Oh come on, I set one oven mitt on fire. You can’t brand me for life on that.”

“Yes we can.” Athena, Bobby, May, and Harry said simultaneously.

Dec 24th, 9:00 pm - 3 hours until Christmas

Athena, who’d gone on a walk to stretch her stiffening legs, was standing in front of the glass window when she felt arms wrapping around her. She snuggled into his hold while he placed a kiss on her neck. The storm in front of them seemed to slacking a bit, but she could tell they were no closer to leaving than they were two hours ago.

“There were so many great schools in California. She just had to come to Atlanta.” Athena deadpanned, dreaded her daughter’s choice of school at the moment.

“She wanted to go to Spelman. You remember how she was when she found out she was accepted.”

Athena remember the screaming, dearly. “Yeah, I know.”

“And besides, this is Atlanta. Nobody could of predicted this would happen.” That was evident by the amount of people still stranded with them due to reports of ice damage, road closures, and the passive aggressive suggestions for everyone to stay where they are. “She’s doing great here and we’ll be fine. At least we’re doing it together and not worried about May being stranded here by herself.”

Athena had to admit he did have a point, a great one. “You just couldn’t let me be irrationally irritated in peace could you? Just had to be the voice of reason.”

“You know you love it.” He’d taken to lightly poking her sides, tickling her.

She was struggling to stifle her laughs, “Will you st-“

“Sorry to interrupt, but can we have money for food?” May asked them as she took her headphones off.

“Yeah, we’re starving,” Harry added.

Bobby let go of Athena, much to her chagrin. “Actually, now that you guys mention it, I could go for something to eat, too,” he looked towards Athena, “do you want something?”

“I don’t really have a taste for anything in particular. Something from where ever you guys go is fine. You know me.”

“That I do,” he kissed her temple lovingly. “Be back soon,” he said before walking off.

“Don’t let anyone kidnap the kids.”

“No promises.”

Athena shook her head as she turned back towards the window. She’d contented herself with watching the snow fall, when she heard, “you guys are really cute,” she turned her head in the direction of the voice to see a young, heavily pregnant, woman sitting near from where she was standing.

“I’m sorry,” Athena asked.

“I know it’s kind of juvenile, but it’s the only word I could think of. You guys are just cute,” she giggled, “reminds me of how my parents used to be.”

Athena’s years of experience allowed her to seize the young woman up quickly. She didn’t appear to mean any harm by what she’d said, nor doing anything different than what they were all doing, waiting this thing out, “Thanks.” She held out a hand to her, “Athena.”

“Desiree,” she introduced as she shook her hand, “and you’re welcome.”

“When are you are you due, if you don’t mind me asking?” Athena asked, feeling compelled to keep the conversation going.

“Oh not at all. In about a week and a half, but doc keep saying any day now.” Desiree rubbed her belly lovingly.

Athena’s eyes widened before she knew it. “And you’re flying?”

Desiree laughed again, “no, no. I’m just here picking up my husband. Well, I was anyways. He was in California visiting family. I would have went with him, but,” she gestured down to her stomach, “so he went to see family and planned to come back by today to spend Christmas with us.”

“That’s where my family is trying to get back to. We came here to pick my daughter, that just had to stay up here, from college.” May had been done with midterms since the 12th, but her working and wanting to stay in Atlanta with friends brought them to the situation they were in now.

“That’s so cool. What school does she to?”

“Spelman.”

“Awesome, I got accepted there. I was seriously considering going before little nugget popped up. Oh well, there’s always next year, right?” Desiree stood and bent inwards, stretching her back.

“Back pain?”

“God yes. The pain’s been getting worse by the day and it’s mostly in my lower back.”

Athena was going to say something, but decided against it, not wanting to scare her. Something about this young woman was bringing out her protective side. Maybe it was how young she looked, she couldn’t be much older than May , or the fact that she was here alone. She kept any eye on her as she began to pace and grimace.

“Okay, Nugget, mama needs you to calm down.” Desiree still looked highly uncomfortable.

“Are you okay?” Athena knew she wasn’t, but she chanced an ask anyway.

“Oh, yeah, yeah I’m fine,” she lied, “I’m just fine. Nugget knows not to come yet,” she paused, “not until daddy gets back,” she mumbled the last part, but Athena still heard her. Almost as soon as the words left her lips the splashes of liquid could be be heard in the silence between them.

Desiree sighed in what sounded like annoyance, “yep, this very pretty much tracks with the day I’ve been having.”

Dec. 25th, 12 am - Christmas Day

In three hours, Athena, and Bobby now, had become tasked with keeping a scared 19 year old girl calm, with 10 minute apart contractions, while Athena fought to get EMS to the airport. A dirty airport floor was not a place to have a baby.

“God, this hurts. I think I changed my mind. I don’t want to do this anymore.” Desiree cried. She was propped against the window with pillows and blankets given to her by kind people that had gathered near them. Another woman, her name couldn’t be remembered, who’d happened to be a trauma nurse, was also assisting.

Athena huffed in annoyance. She hated that didn’t have the leverage she did in L.A. her. She understood the gravity of the situation and why EMS couldn’t get to them, but they needed someone her now.

“Still nothing?” Bobby asked as he sat on the other side of her. He looks towards the direction he came to see Harry sleeping and May still awake, but staying out the way. May still held strong to the tsunami being the last time she did anything like that for a while, Athena understood.

“They’re working to clear the icy roads, but the entire city’s stretched thin for obvious reasons. We know very well the type of pandemonium weather causes.”

“Frustrated because you can’t make shit happen like you normally would?”

She sighed putting her phone down. “Yep.”

“It’s okay, I’ll be fine.” Desiree’s tone was clipped from the pain, “I feel like if I keep repeating that, it will be. I mean I can’t get in contact with my husband and I’m stuck doing this in an airport, but this is fine, right.”

“It will be fine, Desiree.” Bobby looked towards Athena, “it is the season for miracles, want to ask around and see if an OBGYN is here at the airport?”

Athena huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, do that. Tell me what you find,” she said sarcastically.

“I mean we already came across a nurse. We might.”

“At this point I’ll take anyone that knows what they’re doing, cause I think I feel the urge to push.” The humor between them died at the young woman’s words. Desiree looked nervously between the sets of alarmed eyes on her, “is that- is that bad, is it too soon.”

“I mean her contractions have been coming in quick, let’s just check you out to see how you’re doing.” The nurse said. Almost as soon as she’d gotten into position in front of Desiree, she said, “oh wow. This baby is not blowing smoke, I can feel the head. She is about to give birth.” The nurse said as tied off her hair.

“Wait, what?” Desiree was rightfully alarmed. “He’s going to miss it,” the tears were really starting to flow down her face.

“Look Desiree, I know how you feel about your husband not being here. I know he would be if he could be, but right now you need to focus on bringing this baby into the world, because they need you so much right now. Do you think you can do that.”

Desiree nodded, “will you stay with me?”

Athena grabbed her shaking hand, “of course.”

“Aright I guess we’re doing this.”

“I’ll help,” Bobby offered.

“Delivered a baby before?” The nurse asked him.

“Yeah, I have.”

“Well look at small miracles. Look at all this experience you have your disposal young lady. It ain’t much, but it’s what we got to work with” The woman’s words caused Desiree to smile, “let’s bring in the newest little guest to the party.”

December 25th, 2:00 am - Christmas Day

Athena looked down at the newborn child while, Desiree was finally able to talk with her husband. He called shortly after the baby had been born. Though no one could be completely accurate about the mother and child’s status, both seemed to be doing completely fine. The little girl was asleep in Athena’s arms, already done with the day’s excitement. She handed her back to her mother to give them some time alone to bond. Athena was moving to get up, when Desiree stopped her.

“Hold on Mark,” Desiree spoke into the phone before moving the device, “Athena, I just wanna thank you for everything. I was alone and scared and you didn’t have to stay with me, but you did. I was a total stranger, I could have been a serial killer for all you knew, but you were still kind to me. Ive been shown a lot of kindness today and I don’t know if it’s the Christmas spirit or what, but I’m thankful.

“I’m so glad you were here, you and your husband. When I told you earlier that you guys reminded me of my parents I meant it. They passed away earlier this year and I feel like I got a little of them back too, I can’t explain it,” Desiree paused and took a deep breath.

Athena took Desiree’s words to hear, but stayed silent to allow her to continue.

“Anyway, what I’m trying to say is, I don’t think I could ever repay you, but I’d- I’d like to try,” she looked down at baby in her arms. “You see nugget needs a name. Well, an actual name, because if I name her nugget- which I did think about a little- my mom will smack me from beyond the grave. Mark and I never came across any names that stuck out, until now. I wanna name the her Athena. I love the name: it’s so powerful and honors the person that helped me bring my little Christmas present into the world. If that’s okay with you, of course.”

“I- wow. Yeah, that’s more than okay. Thank you, I’m honored.” Athena could feel the tears welling in her eyes, as the onset of emotion hit her.

“Can I hug you?”

Athena didn’t answer and just pulled the young woman into her, careful not to squish the baby. Athena can positively say this is one of the oddest, craziest, best experiences she’s ever had.

“I heard someone here is need of a ride to the hospital.” The two women broke apart and looked to see several EMTs behind her.

Finally.

December 25th, 7:00 am - Christmas Day

Athena sighed rubbing her tired eyes, the lack of sleep finally catching up with her. All of the commotion had died out. The mess had been cleaned. All that was left of the events that had taken place not even six hours ago were the memories. And the picture that Desiree had sent her of her, Mark, and the baby with promises to track Athena down next time they were in California.

Even the traces of the storm were gone. As she looked out at the window, she was greeted with calm blue skies and a fresh layer of snow on the ground. They’d announced about an hour ago that flights were now back on and the road were safe for traveling again. They’d finally be going home soon.

Again she felt those all too familiar arms wrap around her from behind. “We’re on a 10 am exchange flight.”

“Good,” she turned in his arms and wrapped her arms around him, “it’ll be good to be home again.”

“Yeah, we can finally get some sleep.”

“I just realized we’ve been up this entire time.” She sighed. “Hell of a start to Christmas.”

“It’s definitely top five on the list.” He said placing a kiss on top of her head.

“Really, all of this wouldn’t make your top Christmas experience.”

“You know, it would if it weren’t still competing with the Christmas you agreed to marry me.” He said cheekily.

“Not what I meant, but bonus points for sappiness, though,” Athena rolled her eyes, playfully, “I meant crazy Christmases, where stuff similar to all of this happen.”

Bobby thought for a second, “still top five.”

“Really?” Athena asked genuinely surprised.

“Christmases in St. Paul were wild.” He offered no further explanation.

“Really, you’ve never told me about that.”

“Because I’m still hoping that you’ll go with me next year.”

“Getting me to agree to go somewhere I know the temperatures reach negative numbers- now that would be a real Christmas miracle.”

Bobby chuckled, but didn’t respond further. They fell into a content silence as they watched the sunrise. She looked back towards where her children were still sleeping and Bobby followed her line of sight. “Think we should rouse the troops? Maybe gets some breakfast or something”

“Nah, let ‘em sleep a little while longer. Someone has to be alert enough to make sure Buck hasn’t destroyed our house.”

-----

Can I say again: I hope you enjoyed this.

Previous works in the series: 1 2

[the-colony-roleplay]

Ethan Kerr | Twenty Three;  Survivor

House: Brink Security Class: 2 Status: Infected - Praeteria

History

tw: rape mention

Ethan never did anything he didn’t want to. Growing up in an orphanage before eventually being transferred to foster care, Ethan had always been a stubborn, picky child. If he didn’t like the food placed in front of him, he wouldn’t eat; if the other children were mean to him, he’d spend his days alone; if he didn’t want to be somewhere, he simply wouldn’t go. So when Ethan decided he couldn’t stay with his foster parents anymore, he ran.

And it wasn’t so much rebelliousness that drove him, but rather fear of forever being only okay. Trapped in a life pendulum-ing between mediocre and miserable, never to discover anything more. Having come out as transgender in his preteen years and physically transitioning in his early teens, If Ethan wasn’t happy, he certainly had the courage and will to try to change it. Unfortunately, what he didn’t have was forethought, common sense, stability. He ran because he couldn’t handle his surroundings, felt drowned in the huffs and cries of a house too full, arguments too plenty, and his environment consumed him with a desperation to escape it. Maybe if he ran long enough, hard enough, he’d find a place to breathe, where the air would be cleaner, the world a little less small.

But that was when he’d been younger, less jaded and faith less crushed. At sixteen he’d run, and instead slept on friend’s couches, took up shit, bottom of the barrel jobs to try to feed his half-starved self. But by eighteen he’d realized that you couldn’t just run away from a shit hand you’d been dealt, that there was no such thing as escaping what you once were to aimlessly stumble across happiness.

It’d started when he was crashing at a friend’s house, the first place he’d stayed longer than a few weeks in ages. He was a new friend, a boy he’d met while working as a bar hand at a dingy pub in Manchester. “Corbin”, as the boy called himself, (though Ethan later found out his real name was Sam), was someone Ethan felt drawn to because Corbin was also a foster care runaway and had been living on his own in so-called ‘luxury’ from the age of fifteen. Corbin seemed so carefree, so smug and content, always a smirk hanging crookedly off his face, a fag sitting half smoked behind his ear. And Ethan admired him, at first, because Corbin had the sense of freedom Ethan had been looking for; he was everything Ethan thought he wanted to be.

So he fell easily under Corbin’s wing, fast friends and attached at the hip. It was only a matter of weeks before he realized the true source of Corbin’s cash and way of life. ‘Got my start just on cam, y'see,’ he’d told him. 'It really ain’t so bad. Who could turn down gettin’ paid to toss off? Everyone wants to love what they do, mate—and I get 'ta.’

Corbin had since moved on to hustling via an ‘escort service’ online, and Ethan, under his friend’s encouragement, started the same way Corbin had. Harmless, online servicing. There was no true trouble in that, right? And though Ethan was hesitant at first, Corbin had been right about one thing—those feelings were quick to melt away as the money started pouring in. Being self-sufficient and showered in attention was startlingly effective in feeding Ethan’s confidence and ego.

By the time Ethan was just rounding the corner to his eighteenth birthday, he and Corbin were inseparable; partners in crime, sex and minor but illegal activity. And Ethan had been on the tube, heading back to his shared flat with Corbin from a particularly well-paying job, when D-Day had struck. And though it would be years before he saw Corbin again, he’d believed since that fateful day that Corbin had survived; swore he could just feel it. Corbin had been so alive, so full of spark, despite his dark and twisted interior, that if he were dead, Ethan would know. He’d just know.

Ethan Today

At first, Ethan had made it his mission to get back to the remains of Manchester to find Corbin, but waves of looters hanging around the borders of the cities made it impossible for Ethan to get through on his own. He’d almost takena. shiv to the gut more times than one, so after a few months, he put those efforts on the back burner.

When an opportunity arose to join a traveling clan of about ten, Ethan took it out of desperation, despite the fact that they were traveling in the wrong direction. He needed the support system, the safety and sense of community—not only to keep him from wasting away on his lack of resources, but also to keep him sane. It’d seemed a wise decision at the time, and he’d told himself that he’d still make his way back to look for Corbin again when the time was right. 

Unfortunately, he’d misjudged the passersby. They were proving less trustworthy than he’d have hoped, frequently betraying each other and leaving others to fend for themselves when trouble with looters arose. Ethan, who couldn’t bring himself to be so cruel, became the helpful and compassionate one of the group, and though he hoped this would help secure his safety among them, in the end it only made him a target for vulnerability. When they found out what he’d done for a living, stories he’d let slip when he’d thought he was settling in, they taunted him with it, turned him into a tool for their loneliness and threatened his life should he disagree.

Ethan still doesn’t know if he considers it rape or not. He feels morally confused based on his previous choices and his uncertainty on whether or not he’d truly been forced. Physically, he never had been, though verbally and emotionally, it was a different story. But something Ethan is troubled with now is the question as to why he hadn’t run. He’d spent his whole life running, why then had he not turned around and escaped the toxic environment just like he always had before? Had his life with Corbin taught him to be placid, to make lemonade rather than just throw the blasted things out and get oranges?

To this day, he still isn’t sure where he stands. His Infection had developed sometime after the worst of the abuse, and he’d begun disappearing into its protective abyss more and more often. When the Colony 22 crusaders eventually found him wandering not far from his clan’s camp and offered him a one way ticket out of there, they’d asked him if he was alone, and he’d said yes. Despite knowing he was only protecting himself, he still battles confusing feelings of guilt about the whole thing. Had it been cowardly to let the people he’d lived amongst almost three years continue to barely survive while he was taken to safer refuge? Or were his actions justified—smart, to save himself and never look back?

In any case, he’d had no way of knowing that this decision would eventually lead to his reunion with his long lost friend, Corbin. Sometime before the New Wave, Corbin would be transferred to Colony 22 from one further up North, and Ethan would freeze in his tracks at the sight of him, staring as though he’d seen a ghost. Because in many ways, he had done just that.

For the most part, they picked up right where they left off with their relationship—but Ethan’s experiences post D-Day had changed him. and learning to navigate this new, more skittish side of Ethan Kerr proved to be quite the learning curve for Corbin. Time has helped, but there are still areas they tread much more carefully than they used to, despite how close they are.

RELATED BIOS: CORBIN EALY

OPEN

[linkade]

headcanon: ryan & lance were kinda friends in the garrison but not really but ryan had the Biggest Crush and he decided to tell lance w a letter & a rose but the day he shows up a lance's door to give it to him was the day lance disappeared. then when the paladins come back to earth, after the war & all lance is hanging out w ryan or whatever and he finds the letter & a pressed rose while looking for something else in a drawer, not knowing what it is he reads it & thats the day they get together

My apologies for this taking so long to get too!! I absolutely adored this prompt, and wanted to make it as perfect as possible. The writer’s block didn’t help not one bit, but I finally present to you the finished product! 

Words: 1,882

He first met Lance when he was thirteen years old and still questioning who he was as a person. Well, was questioning. The moment Ryan layed eyes on the Cuban after walking into Introduction to Aviation he knew. He knew that he preferred boys over girls, because Samantha Rogers kissing his cheek didn’t make butterflies flutter like they did when Lance smiled at him after he dropped his pencil and Ryan picked it up for him.

Back then, Lance didn’t even have his infamous glo up. He was short and skinny and had a squeaky voice, but God did Ryan crush on him so hard. It was almost stalkerish, with him taking routes to classes that purposely overlapped with Lance’s just so he could get a glimpse of him. He’d sit as close to him as possible without being directly next to him in all of their shared classes, and he even found out where his dorm was purely on accident.

Despite going through the extra effort to do all of this, Ryan never gets the balls to actually have more than a four sentence conversation with him. (Even if every “Hey, did you do your homework?” did happen to make him blush like crazy. On one instance, on a free day where they didn’t have to wear uniforms, Lance complimented his shirt. “I love Naruto dude!”, Ryan would have fainted right then and there if he was a weaker boy.)

It continued on like this for four long, agonizing years. Until finally, he got sick of being lovesick. Go big or go home, his little sister would say during softball games, and that’s just what he decided to do. Just like it was straight out of some stupid love story, Ryan buys a single rose with his allowance money and writes a letter.

“My dearest Lance,” He starts, but then crosses that one out. Way too cheesy, he decides, grabbing another piece of paper and starting anew. “Lance,” Satisfied, the teenager begins to pour out everything he feels onto paper. In the end, it’s three pages long and full of nothing but rambly thoughts and cheesy metaphors, but it’s good enough for him because it’s a reflection of his raw emotion.

He feels like he’s floating as he makes his way to Lance’s dorm. There’s nothing stopping him, he’s on top of the world, and even if he gets rejected he finally, finally confessed. However, the letter never makes it to Lance. He knocks on the door, and waits. And waits. And waits. But he never does come.The following day, it’s revealed that Lance, along with a few other classmates he never bothered remembering the names to, has been deemed missing. Ryan doesn’t attend class for an entire week. In the very bottom drawer of the end table that sits rights next to his bed lays the letter, and the rose, waiting lonely and never to be read by the one he cherished so dear to his heart.

Ryan learns what heartbreak feels like at the impressionable age of seventeen. He never forgets it, and never falls in love again. Not until four years later, when he lays eyes on the sunshine boy he never could get over one more.

Lance vaguely remembers Ryan Kinkade from second period ItA. He sat next to him the whole year, yet hardly ever had a full conversation with the shy boy. He was cute, and he had braces back then too. Lance had them too, at one point when he was eight years old. Thank God they were removed before the Garrison, because they might’ve looked adorable on Ryan, but they look awfully horrendous on him. Anyways, Lance had always thought he was the king of Glo Ups before meeting the older, more mature Ryan. Hot fucking damn.

With that more than pleasing point aside, he can also recall always seeing him in the hallways, and Lance never failed to give him a polite smile. They didn’t talk, but Lance never felt an air of animosity. Only…something strange. Something he could never quite put his finger on. But he never did dwell on it, something more urgent popping into his head like planning his and Rachel’s birthday party, or begging Veronica for her notebooks from her years as a freshman Cadet.

Now, he sort of wishes he did. When Ryan suggested they hang for a little while, Lance was all on board. He loved making new friends, and he loved the idea of getting to know the stoic man a bit better. So they lazed around the other’s dorm and talked, until Ryan got a phone call from his mother and excused himself from the room for a few minutes. During that time, Lance managed to give himself a paper cut whilst thumbing through the most recent fashion magazines. (Which weren’t all that recent, seeing as that thing with the Galra happened.)

He bemoans the little cut, and searches for a box of bandaids. Had Lance previously thought about it, he might’ve realized it was a little rude to look through people’s belongings. But Lance wasn’t a thinker, he was a doer. That is, until after the doing was done, and he had time to think about his actions. And not only is Lance a doer, but he’s nosy as hell too. Having four siblings and being the technical youngest (by two minutes and twenty six seconds, but Rachel never lets it go) does that to a person.

So, of course, seeing a letter with an old, withered pressed rose would certainly insight some degree of nosiness from Lance, and seeing that the Letter was addressed to what seemed to be him did the trick. Maybe there’s a different Lance walking around the Garrison, but what are the chances? He picks it up, delicately, and notes that it was written four years ago. What was happening four years ago, for him to have a whole ass letter written for him? With a grin, he begins to read the contents with excitement.

By the end of it, Lance is no longer grinning ear to ear, rather far more flushed than he should be. Outside, he hears shuffling, and he quickly places the objects back into the drawer and nearly trips in his hurry to get back to the chair next to Ryan’s organized desk. The man in question walks in, a fond expression on his face. This causes Lance’s face to heat up even more, and he wonders what causes that look on the other’s face.

Was he reminiscing with his mom? Did she put annoying relatives on the phone with him? Lance wants to know. He realizes, quite embarrassingly, that he wants to be able to cause such soft expressions. Was he a little biased after reading that letter? Yes, he really was, but the things Ryan had to say were so sweet. He never expected it from him, and it makes his insides feel all gushy.

No one has ever said those kind of things to him before, not unless they were trying to get into his pants. And hell, he was so affection starved that half the time it worked, and he got left feeling sort of used and even more lonely than before. But he doesn’t get that vibe from Ryan. The feelings felt too raw, too genuine. And even if it was four years ago for Ryan, the letter was still in peak condition and on plain sight, even if the rose has seen better days.

Lance, very suddenly, feels guilt for reading such an intimate, private letter. And Lance, never, ever handles guilt well. So he’s going to have to suck it up and admit that he found the letter, and read it, and possibly not mention the fact that it’s caused Lance to crush on him. What a wild ten minutes it’s been.

“You okay man?” Ryan asks in that smooth, amazing voice of his. His eyes, oh god, his eyes, shift from fond to confused and concerned and Lance absolutely hates that. He hates that soon they’re going to be filled with humiliation and discontempt for Lance because he was nosy and just wanted a fucking band aid, which, by the way, he never did find,

“Yeah.” He croaks out. “Peachy. Well, not peachy.” Very not peachy, Lance thinks bitterly. Ryan raises an eyebrow.

“Care to elaborate?”

“Uh. Sure. Have a seat, my dude.” He cringes at the use of ‘my dude’ because that’s not what you say to a recently developed crush. It doesn’t seem to faze Ryan, because he easily goes it have a seat at the edge of his crisply made bed.

“All right, what’s bothering you all of a sudden?” He asks kindly when he’s settled, toned legs hidden beneath a pair of sweatpants crossed.

“I read the letter.”

Ryan doesn’t have much of a reaction, at least that’s what Lance thinks until he sees the fear painted in those beautiful eyes of his. “Oh?” The other breathes out.

“Y-yeah. I was looking for band aids and…I stumbled across it and I’m really fucking sorry for reading it, but, before you kick me out or get mad at me I just. Wanna know…do you still feel all those things? About me?” The fear is still there, but something else appears too. Lance would like to call it hope.

“Do you want the truth?” Lance bites his lip and nods hesitantly. “Yeah. I do. Never could stop feeling them, no matter how hard I tried.”

It’s his turn to breath out a soft oh. He focuses on the throbbing of the paper cut on his thumb, attempting to find the right words before he opens his mouth and blabbers something stupid. “And, what would you do if I said that I felt the same way?”

“Do you?” He tosses back at him.

Lance pauses for a moment, before speaking slowly. “…Do you want the truth?”

Ryan, who’s looked calm and composed despite his wild eyes, finally starts to break a bit. A fierce, cherry red color explodes across his lovely skin. “Yes, please.”

“Then..yeah. I do.” Lance smiles at him shyly, and Ryan looks positively shocked. “So I was wondering if perhaps, since this is all out in the open now, you’d like to go out sometime?”

Ryan stares. And stares. And stares, for what seems like forever. Maybe asking him out wasn’t a good idea, Lance thinks fearfully, until Ryan his chuckling. “You- You’re asking me out?”

“Was I not supposed to?” He asks nervously. The other’s chuckling dissolves quickly, left behind with a smile that Lance never wants to stop seeing.

“No, that’s not it at all. I just, never thought this would happen. Lance, I’d love to go on a date with you.”

“I, well. Good! That saves, like, a fuckton of awkwardness.”

Ryan nods in agreement, and stands. “C’mon, let’s go get you a band aid.”

With his finger finally treated, the two continue on talking comfortably. The air surrounding them is nice, and a content feeling bubbles up in his chest. This is the happiest he’s been in a while. He feels that maybe, this is the person he can fall in love with.

Requests are still opened! 

[ultrakeystotheheartblog]

Popstar Pipes (Dick Grayson x Reader)

Request: “Can you do an imagine with Dick from Young Justice singing Jesse McCartney songs?” - @nyntendoh44

Song: Better With You (Acoustic Version) - Jesse McCartney

A/N: A long one again, I hope you all enjoy! :) I apologize if there’s any grammar mistakes or if Dick seems out of character in any away (it’s been such a long time since I’ve watched Young Justice. I definitely need to re-watch before the new season starts lol). Also, the next imagine I’ll be working on will be a Starfire x Fem!Reader. Look for it soon!

Warning: swearing, and cheesy-cheesiness 

*********************************************************************************

Thirteen texts.

In counting.

And still nothing back.

You stare dejectedly at the open messenger of your phone, anxiously swinging one of your legs and tapping the toe of your boot against the sturdy oak siding of the bar. The wood is scuffed and aged, just like most of the furniture pieces and features that make this place feel kind of homey and lived-in and real. Like a little slice of domestic bliss that’s hard to find in the fast-pace of the outside world, a comforting haven dressed up as a small, semi popular bar near the centre of the city. 

There’s a cute juke box in the far right corner of the bar area, with peeling red paint and a minorly cracked plastic casing. A large, scratched up pool table in the far left that no one really seems to gravitate towards anymore—if the layer of dust settled in the green bed cloth is any indication. And a cluster of worn round tables and wicker chairs bordering the small raised platform at the very back. 

The platform itself lies beneath a row of remote controlled spotlights that flood the stage in hot, bright beams, bolted along one of the many heavy beams crisscrossing in a grid along the ceiling. The stage is tiled with flashing squares of multi-coloured lights that are reminiscent of a disco dance floor. An upgraded DJ booth sits just beyond it, and is evidently what most of the money seems to have gone towards. And for good reason you guess, as this place saw a lot of business for their involvement with anything music—be it local bands or starving singers, or more recently (and maybe hilariously) the open mic karaoke nights. 

It’s a nice place—rare in the city you live in—with an even rarer handful of pleasant staff and a good vibe that usually attracts good, friendly people. It’s probably why you and your friends like to come here so often to de-stress. Though right about now you think the warm environment is lost on you for the night, because you do not feel one bit de-stressed.

You’re one of the few people sitting there at the bar (the rest of the patrons already crowded in the seating area around the stage), perched on a cushioned, yellow bar stool with thin metal legs that creaked with any amount of shifting weight. It’s cooler there and quieter, a sweet couple sitting to your far left at the end of the bar. They’re swapping stories about their days, hands intertwined over the top of the bar, and there’s a much older man in his early 40’s just down a couple of seats from you. 

He’s unshaven and blinking rapidly through bloodshot eyes, already on his sixth drink of the night. He’s also clad in a stylish blue business suit that’s crumpled like he’s slept in it for days, obviously here to drown his sorrows in alcohol. Well, suit guy, look at you go.

You think you can surely understand him on a spiritual level.

On that note you frown and lock your phone, placing it face down before turning back to your own drink. You squeeze the cool glass between your fingers and take a rather large gulp from its contents. It’s still only your first one, so the burn as it hits the back of your throat is not numbed in any way by a drunken haze, and is still sort of painful when you swallow. But it’s good enough to take your mind off your own problems for a minute.

You peek at the couple again when the no-nonsense, heavily tattooed bartender passes in front of you to refill their drinks (taking a moment to throw you a sympathetic smile and playful wink over his shoulder on the way—thanks Joey, you’re kind of best friend material), feeling bored and sad enough to continue in your people watching. Both women are dressed in matching red and black motorcycle jackets that reminded you of something straight out from Grease, the emblem of a team or group (maybe a gang? There were a lot of those still operating in Blüdhaven lately, regardless of a certain bird’s frequent visits) stitched in white across their backs. God, you wish that were you.

And by that, you meant enjoying those cheesy, delicious nachos sitting between them. Because it seems that your ‘date’ for tonight—this definitely isn't a date though, just two friends hanging out after a stress-filled week of work that literally (metaphorically) burned out a piece of your deadening soul, just two pals out for a casual drink in a casual bar with a causal amount of anxiety (okay, an abnormal amount of anxiety because you were having some really weird, certain feelings about this friend lately, but that was nothing to really worry about, right?). Besides it’s not like anything is going to happen tonight…because he isn’t even here to see you potentially embarrass yourself like the walking disaster you are—has decided that 8:00pm was more like a suggestion, than the actual meeting time you’d both put effort into setting up like responsible adults (ha! what a fucking lie). And here you were at 8:45pm, planning the best way to throttle one of your best friends in this whole stupid world with only your bare hands.

You seemed to be resorting to that plan a lot today, but that’s just because people suck and you want to live like a hermit in your bedroom until you get old and wrinkly and eventually die covered in something both tasty and respectable—like chocolate. Was that a little too weird? Probably. Are you going to take back any of what you just conjured up in a moment of frustrated self-reflection? Nope, you decide that you’re committed to that vision, as long as you don’t have to deal with how shitty the world was becoming anymore. Or staying…it’s been pretty shitty for a while. And does that make you a coward? You don’t like to answer that question. 

But you can’t help but admit that part of you is worried too. Worried if he got sucked into dealing with more vigilante stuff, or team stuff, or bleeding out in an alley somewhere alone stuff, and just lost track of time. All three have happened before. You tap the screen of your phone again and sigh in defeat when you see there are still no messages from him.

And then you very nearly lose what’s left of your crap when two hands clap over your eyes from behind and eclipse you into semi darkness. You tense, spine locked straight as you shoot up in your seat and are unceremoniously ripped from your depressing musings, gripping the edge of the bar so hard it hurts your knuckles. You have to learn how to be more aware of your surroundings, because holy shit you can only take so many heart attacks during your young life. 

There are lips at your ear, minty fresh breath soft against your skin as the person chuckles, the sound comforting and warm and familiar in a way that has no issue bringing peace to the drowning, dark places in your mind. And as damningly cliché as it can get, the world just seems to fall away into the background—the sounds of clinking drinks, the clunk of cheap shot glasses striking wooden tables, crappy pop music, boisterous, annoying loud-talking and off-key singing from the group of bachelors partying it up on that open mic, and the laughing couple still sharing that damn plate of nachos they’d ordered over an hour ago, all becoming this muffled sort of white noise in your ears.

You can only focus on the feel of his hands, roughened and calloused from his work as a hero, but you can feel the strength in them too. A strength that always makes you feel protected and insanely wired in the best possible way, a heat pooling into your abdomen that you can never quite discern as one thing or another. All you know is that it makes you truly alive. And maybe a bit annoyed, especially when the owner of said hands is almost an hour late. 

Prickling irritation makes your chest grow tight, and you take a steadying breath in, immediately inhaling the muddled scent of his sharp cologne and a clean, citrusy body wash that makes you feel blissfully dizzy. But only for a moment.

"Guess who?" He whispers with a ridiculous amount of charm seeping into his voice (looks like someone knows they’re in trouble and is now trying to get on your good side), the front of his body pressed up against your back. So close, that if you weren’t just a little ticked, you’d have probably leant back against his chest to seek out some semblance of comfort—like you always do when around him—especially when thinking about what you’d had to go through during your work week. So, you settle for being a little petty instead. 

The night is still young after all. 

You reach up to touch the back of his hands, slouching back down in your seat a little. "Hmm let me see—sweaty, calloused hands and the smooth timbre of a teen popstar. It could only be my dork of a birdbrain."

He snorts in laughter and his arms drop like dead weight to his sides, moving to your left side to lean against the bar. His eyebrow lifts in amusement as he stares at you. "Ouch. Just going straight for the throat tonight, huh?"

You blink at the sudden return of light filling your vision, sliding around on the bar stool to face him with a pointed, narrow-eyed gaze. “Would you rather me go for something else?”  

Dick Grayson ever rarely, and so outwardly, reacts when it comes to threats of his own well being (though if it were ever turned on the people he cares about…than that’s a whole other room you don’t want to spend time unpacking right now)—a testament to his time raised and trained by the scarily stoic, and maybe slightly emotionally constipated, father figure (THE freaking Batman you’d come to learn recently, and kind of wished you hadn’t, because that’s super intimidating) and then his time spent as a highly-skilled vigilante hero—and this time was definitely no different. 

But you’d gotten good at reading him over the years without much to go on, almost just as well as he can read you, because you can see the flicker of something akin to concern in his gaze—but for you or his situation, well, it’s kind of hard to truly distinguish with how fast it comes and then melts away into uncertainty—and then he’s slowly moving to cover his crotch with a one hand. He never breaks eye contact with you, awkwardly clearing his throat in a way that tells you he’s now a little nervous.

“Not that I don’t appreciate our playful banter, but that one, uh, seemed a little hostile.” He observes with a furrowed brow. You choke back another mouthful of your drink, eyes shifting to admire the high, open shelved liquor cabinets that line the wall behind the bar. The shiny different colors of glass and alcohol give you something else to focus on for the moment, while you steel yourself for the night ahead.

Or maybe you should just head home.

“Did it?” You ask casually, unable to keep the bitter edge out of your tone. You can feel Dick’s burning eyes on you, and know that he’s already analyzing your emotional state with his well-versed detective skills.

“What’s up, (Y/N/N)?” He begins quietly, “You know you can talk to me about anything.”

The concern is back in that searching gaze of his when you turn to look at him, his eyes so honestly earnest and deeply worried and beautifully blue as he leans towards you—goddamnit how can a person even have eyes like that, it’s unfair—that you not only lose your breath for a second, but the entirety of your precariously constructed iron will. So, now it’s also unfair how fast you find yourself forgiving him for his appalling tardiness, just leaving you happy that he’s finally here now.

The things you go through for this man.

You sigh and deflate, leaning the rest of the way into him to press your check against his shoulder. The fabric of his dark blue jacket is smooth and cool against your skin.

"I know, Dick, I--It’s just…been one of those days. I’m sorry."

Dick drops his chin to the top of your head, releasing a shuddering breath that tells you he’s just as exhausted as you are. "I know what you mean. But I'll have you know that I was just trying to be adorable."

"You don't have to try." You say with a laugh, almost tipping right off the bar stool when he abruptly pulls back from your body to flash you a cheeky grin. You roll your eyes at him, "I mean you don't have to try so hard around me.”

“Oh?”

Dick reaches behind you for your drink. He brings it up to his lips, watching you over the rim as he takes a long sip. You poke his chest with a teasing smile, coyly arching a brow in challenge.

“No matter what you do or say for the rest of your life, I'm always going to see that tiny 13 year old boy who not once, but twice, answered the door to the manor half asleep, humming some old ABBA song, and wearing nothing but those majestic little black and blue Batman ‘undies. You know…the ones with the glittery gold bat signals on the butt?"

Dick definitely remembers.

He sputters instantly, a clear, resounding yes, choking on the burning liquid with a grimace. His reaction makes you laugh harder than ever before (yeah, you’re definitely not going home yet, you kind of really needed this). Dick swallows a desirable amount of air into his lungs in one gasping breath, quickly depositing your drink back onto the bar. He playfully narrows his eyes at you, reaching out to firmly clamp his hand over your mouth when you go to say something else. You’re sure he can feel the undeniable way your lips curl into a triumphant smirk underneath the skin of his palm.

“You said you’d never bring that up ever again.”

You reach up to grip his wrist, drawing the offending hand away from your mouth so you can speak. “I lied.” You counter, humming in amusement as you recall the hilarious image of a very mortified boy wonder making a dash for the manor’s grand staircase—bat signals sparkling under the lights of the hall. Ah, the memories. 

“By the way, do you still have those?”

“No.”

“Shame.”

Dick straightens, sets his hands on his hips, and smirks, staring down at you thoughtfully. His eyes dart to look out over the crowd still gathered around the stage, and then at the people lingering closer to the bar, gears turning behind his gaze when he catches sight of Joey rinsing out empty beer glasses at the bar’s sink. "Hmmm I guess I'll have to try harder then." He says a little too casually for your liking.

And with that you suddenly feel something horrible creeping up over the horizon, the changing winds of which it wrought bringing a chill so foreboding in its wake. Meaning he was irrefutably planning…well, something, and you were screwed (trapped by social convention and the sacred promises of ride-and-die friendship law to participate in whatever it was, curse it all). But there was also no way you were letting that smug face win tonight without some sort of fight. So you simply stare him down as well.

"Do your worst, Fingerstripes." 

"I will."

You scoff and pick up your nearly-empty glass again, "Then I'm really going to need to finish this drink first."

"Nope." He merely says, plucking the glass right back out of your hands despite your protests, and then he’s moving it to sit behind him—despairingly far from your reach. You pout at him like the sophisticated young adult you are.

"No?" You question unhappily.

"We're going to do something else first."

He lifts his hand to get Joey’s attention, the bartender sauntering over within a moment to warmly greet another one of his favourite regulars. Dick claps both hands over your ears then and leans in over the bar top to speak quietly to him, ignoring the way you squirm and curl your fingers under his palms to try and wrench them away from your head. But his hold is strong and your attempts are fruitless. Joey only nods once Dick finally finishes and releases your head, grinning at you mischievously from behind the bar.

You eye the both of them suspiciously, "I don't like that look in your eyes, Grayson."

Dick’s smile is nothing but charming as he pulls you to your feet, “It’ll be good, I promise. Besides…you need to loosen up.”

“I am loose—wow that came out wrong.” You wince, already knowing Dick’s mind went straight to the worst place imaginable with that little slip up, especially when you hear him snort in laughter. What a dirty boy.  “Hey! Don’t you dare start laughing at me, you asshole, I didn’t mean—stop it. Dick!” You whine, and your friend only laughs louder.

“Was that a Freudian slip?”

“You’re a Freudian slip!”  You retort without any real malice, shoving at his shoulder in embarrassment. “Ugh, that’s it, I’m out. I’m still too sober for this.”

His sets his hands on your shoulders when you go to turn away, keeping you still and somehow managing to sooth you considerably, thumbs rubbing gentle, tiny circles into the dips between your collarbones. “My point remains. You’re stressed. I’m stressed. We can release that stress together.”

You squint at him in disbelief, “For the sake of our fucking friendship, I am maintaining that I heard absolutely nothing come out of your mouth within the last 10 seconds.” You pause, smirking and tilting your head in mock curiosity. “But I do have to know one very important thing before we move on with our lives....did Wally teach you that line?”    

He rolls his eyes, and doesn’t answer the question. 

Oh my god, Dick. 

“Come on, get traught and follow me.” He practically sings. And now that should have been your first clue. He takes your hand and starts dragging you through the crowd around the stage, circling around tables and weaving in between groups of people in such a roundabout path, that it throws you off any possible trail of where he might be leading you.

“Where are we going?”

“Need to know basis.”

“I need to know.”

“Just wait a second.”  

And then you realize exactly what he’s planned when you both tumble out of the crowd and come face to face with a nightmare just waiting to happen. You stare at the now empty, mocking stage with wide eyes, gaze zeroing in on the lone mic stand. The silver metal glints under a circle of white light and you yank your hand free from Dick’s grip in a bout of panic. Fucking NO.

“Dick—”

“It’ll be good, I promise.”

You might just stomp your foot a little, “No, absolutely not, there is no way in demon-shitting hell I am getting up on that stage. You’ll have to drag me kicking and screaming.” You threaten seriously, taking a few steps back.

“Oh, come on, it’s not going to be that ba—”

“I’d rather die.”

Dick sighs, running a hand through his hair. He reaches out to take your hand again—his touch never failing to calm you—and squeezes it in reassurance. And then he’s drawing you back towards him, his smile soft and kind and all sorts of crazy attractive. You let him throw his arm around your shoulders, and he leans in to mutter. “Dramatics aside, how about we make a deal.”

It’s a trap and you know it. But the fondness and playful determination in his eyes intrigues you enough to throw caution to the wind.

“What kind of deal?” You ask slowly, brows furrowed as you gauge his expression.

Dick gestures to the stage with a flourish of his hand, “I get up there first, and, uh, hmm—averagely bring the house down with my sweet, teen popstar voice—” You heave an exasperated sigh at that, and Dick begins to guide you towards an open seat near the front, continuing his proposal eagerly. “—and then you go up there and smoke me.”

“You know I’m not a very good singer, Dick.” You remind him, refusing to sit just yet as you maul over his words. He waves away your worries, increasing pressure on your shoulders until your lowering your body into the heavy wicker chair.

“That doesn’t matter. You’ll still be amazing, and more importantly it’ll be fun. Now, sit.”

“I’m not a dog.” You scoff, glaring up at him as you slump back and cross your arms.

“Oh, I know, you definitely don’t have to tell me that. I’ve already decided a long time ago that you’re more like a whining, middle school child.”

“Says the edgy, bird-themed child.”

Dick leans down awful close, hands gripping the arms of the chair so that you’re caged in and can’t make any last minute escapes. “I love how you get me.” He quips in answer.

“I’m going to regret this.” You groan, a hand pressed to your forehead in frustration. Damn him and his damn smile. “Fine, go, get on with it.” You relent.

“You’re going to love it.”

“And you’re going to have to convince me.”

“Challenge accepted.” He declares smugly.

With that, Dick shrugs out of his jacket to uncover the plain gray tee underneath, the hem of which is smoothly tucked into his jeans. He tosses it to you as he turns and bounces up the three steps to get onto the stage, striding towards the mic with purpose. You grumble as your bunch the jacket in your lap, fingers tangling in the fabric to ground yourself from the creeping nervousness you feel. 

He slips the mic from the stand and steps a few feet to the edge of the platform, a single spotlight following him as he brings the mic up to his mouth. His voice resonates through the room, strong and enthusiastic. He’s ready to put on a show, and you’re just about ready to sink into the floor and disappear from this situation altogether.

“Hello, everyone! I think I’m going to—” He gestures to someone at the back of the crowd (you have a sneaking suspicion that Joey is now playing his part in all of this and—yeah, there he was, tapping away at the tiny square remote clenched in his fist as he makes a beeline towards the DJ booth and the young goth-inspired girl seated behind it) and the main lights in the bar immediately dim. 

Dick’s surely gotten everyone’s attention now. 

People quiet as they turn to watch him, and he sweeps his gaze across them as though deciding on how to properly entertain. “—slow it down a little now if you don’t mind,” Dick continues unhurriedly. “I have to admit...I don’t usually do this kind of thing very often, but as it turns out, I was double-dog dared to get up here—” (what a little shit) “—and sing a song for you all tonight. And I’m never one to back down from a challenge. That being said, I’d like to dedicate this little number to someone special—right here in this very audience. (Y/N)? Can you see me? No? That was a no, folks. Can I get a light down there? Yes—a little, yes! Right there. Perfect, perfect. Can you see me now?”

You blink quickly in the sudden harsh light washing down upon you, a second spotlight now trained on you intently. You glare up at him, “Unfortunately.”

There are laughs from the people around you, and Dick—all show-business now—sends you a teasing wink. “And you tell me to stop flirting.”

You try and glare harder at him, but you don’t think its working. He seems to understand all the same though, throwing up a hand in mock defense. “Okay, okay, I’m going.”

The pretty guitar of an acoustic song fills the silence right on cue.

And then he opens his mouth to sing.

I know it's ugly turning on the news There's people fighting over point of view Sometimes it's like there's nothing left to lose And I don't know what to do But I know it's better with you

Dick moves to sit on the top step of the stage as he continues, refusing to break eye contact with you for even a second. And, huh, you’re not sure why your heart is trying to escape from your chest all of sudden.

I was a wreck when you came along When there was nothing left You showed me the best I'm still a mess but you hold on Don't know just why you do But I know I'm better with you

But I know I'm better with you But I know I'm better with you But I know I'm better with you

Okay, you were not expecting to feel this way—dizzy and confused and slightly embarrassed—or for him to stare at you as intently as the spotlight on you both. But you find yourself liking it regardless of your feelings on the situation—just entirely awed at the talent of your friend. You knew he could sing, sure, but damn, it never fails to surprise you.

And make you smile.

For every laugh there is a silent cry For every day there is a darker night Sometimes this life doesn't treat us right And I don't know what to do But I know it's better with you

He rises to his feet with something like fire in his eyes, drawn with an invisible string down the remaining steps and short distance to where you sit, and you wonder why this all seems so personal all of a sudden—like he’s earnestly trying to say something and nothing all at once. You follow his movement with a confused tilt of your head.

I was a wreck when you came along When there was nothing left You showed me the best I'm still a mess but you hold on Don't know just why you do But I know I'm better with you

But I know I'm better with you But I know I'm better with you But I know I'm better with you

There’s a brief interlude in the song, guitar ringing pleasantly in your ears.

It’s just as Dick reaches you—but he doesn’t stop moving—climbing up onto the table you’re closest to with a grace that you’ve only seen in action a handful times. The people around it scatter much to your amusement, pushing their chairs back to give him more room, and he lowers himself to sit at the edge facing you, legs hanging off to freely swing. What a dramatic dork, you think fondly.  He hunches over to take one arm of your chair, tugging you around to better see him and then closer still to where he’s now perched. The spotlights follow you both closely, various gasps from the crowd making your face burn hot.

Wherever you are, it's never as dark Whenever I start slipping, you make all the difference Been there from the start, no matter how hard Whatever piece is missing, you know how to fix it

I was a wreck when you came along When there was nothing left You showed me the best I'm still a mess but you hold on Don't know just why you do But I know I'm better with you

But I know I'm better with you But I know I'm better with you But I know I'm better with you

The music finishes and fades out into another moment of silence, the bar eerily quiet as people watch on in anticipation for…something to happen. But nothing does. Well, besides you staring at him, too afraid to say anything and break the spell that’s shrouded the two of you in a peaceful sort of daze. For that moment, you think you can see it—a dance of muddled emotions in his expression that tells you he feels it to, that ever present connection that runs deep in your bones, and now he’s trying to make sense of it. Just like you’ve been attempting to do for days. 

And then the corners of his lips lift up into that beautiful, kind smile that squeezes your heart, any knots of tenseness in the atmosphere unwinding into the familiar reality of the bar, and he’s pulling the mic away from his mouth with a grin so boyish and blissful it makes your toes curl in your boots. Okay, so, evidently those ‘certain’ feelings you’d been hesitantly circling around for weeks like a frightened, wild animal are still as strong as ever. And you can’t help but hope that this soft, new affectionate glint in his eyes reveals a hidden truth—that this particular moment means something more to him too. 

The main bar lights get brighter again, the spotlights sliding back to train on the stage instead of on the pair of you. He leans towards you from his spot on the table, so only you can hear what he says next through the light applause that picks up around the room—once people realize that the show is indeed over.

“So, was I able to convince you?” He questions still smiling, swinging his legs on either side of you as he waits expectantly for your answer. You take a deep breath, slipping right back into easy banter when you crack a smile of your own.

“You’ve intrigued me.”

Dick nods with a chuckle that envelopes you in warmth, tapping the mic gently against your nose. “Mmmm good—because now it’s your turn.”

You freeze.

“Ah, crap.”

[dyde21]

Pressure

So Spiderman became my favorite PS4 title pretty quickly I think. I love it, and I’ve always had a soft spot for him. I also absolutely love how MJ was portrayed in the game, and I had this idea so I ran with it.

XxXxXxXxX

Hearing her phone buzz, MJ was turning her head before she managed to pry her eyes from the article she was writing. Finishing off another sentence, a small smile graced her lips as she finally picked up her phone. She was in a good groove, and she was pretty sure this article would go over well. Things had been oddly quiet in the city, so she actually had a chance to report on a massive charity effort that had had a noticeable impact on the homeless population, and had lead to a ten percent decrease in the population as more people were connected with jobs to help them out.

Turning on her phone, she'd be lying if she didn't admit that seeing Peter's name and the little spider emoji didn't bring a smile to her face.

Can I swing by for a bit?

Pausing, she tried to suppress the sinking feeling in her gut. Something about his text just felt wrong. She wasn't sure if it was just from years of knowing him, and being in an on and off relationship with him, but she had a sixth sense for when something was wrong with him.

Of course. She quickly replied, before she turned back to her article, trying to get through it before her night was derailed by Peter in either a wonderful or awful way, depending on how lady luck seemed to be feeling tonight.

Be there in five.

She saw the message, leaving it as she went back to writing. She knew she had about ten minutes before he got here, figuring the odds of him not passing a crime on the way to her apartment was slim to none. Pausing after the end of a paragraph, she quickly dialed her phone as she ordered a pizza for them. She knew crime fighting had a habit of making her unfortunately under-fed boyfriend starved, and she wasn't really in the mood to cook and judging by his odd text, she doubted he was either.

When fifteen minutes, MJ was seriously starting to get worried. While Peter being late was definitely more a normal situation than him actually arriving on time, there definitely felt something wrong about tonight. Part of her wanted to text him again, but she figured if he was in the middle of being shot at, a text was the last thing he needed at the moment. Doing her best to focus on finishing up her article, she pushed thoughts of her crime fighting boyfriend from her mind. He could take care of himself, he had been doing it for years after all. If she started worrying every time he was in danger she'd go insane.

When she heard the window slide open five more minutes later, she let out a sigh of relief. She closed her laptop, having just finished the last edits on her piece before she heard the loud thump. Racing across the room, she turned the corner to see Spider-man laying on the ground, clutching his shoulder.

“Peter!” She called out in a worry as she ran to his side, helping him sit up as he groaned. He ripped his mask off with one hand. “I'm okay.” He muttered, but she could tell he was the farthest thing from it. He just looked... horrible. There were no other words for it, and she didn't even just mean the fact he had a wound in his shoulder.  “Come here, get to the bathroom!” She ordered as she began to pull him along. He managed to drag himself to his feet, and as she watched him she could see just how beat up he was, his suit was torn all over and he had a slight limp. Which was even scarier, because the news hadn't released any reports of a supervillian attacking. Just what had caused all of this?

A minute later and she had Peter sitting on the edge of her tub as she pulled off his shirt, starting to dress his wounds like she had done too many times in the past. For once he wasn't making any quips or attempts at humor, and that scared her more than the blood.

“What... what happened?” She asked after a moment, her curiosity and concern eating away at her.

“I... failed.” He said after a moment, his head dropping into his hands.

Pausing her first aid, she looked at him. Peter was damn good at his job, especially after all these years. Sure some things were out of his control, but he usually could soldier on. She hadn't seen him this down in years, since she had first found out his secret and found out the toll it took on him. Setting down the bandages, she sat on the tub next to him, looking at him patiently. “What happened?” She asked after a moment.

Peter just looked at her, opened his mouth to say something that she was pretty sure was a joke before he sighed.

“It was supposed to just be a simple mugging. I swung in, stopped it without issue, but before I could web them up properly for the police, a getaway driver nearly ran me over. They sped away and I chased them... but...” His voice trailed off as she saw his eyes darken. “Pete...” She offered gently, running a hand through his hair.

“He shouldn't have been there!” He burst out suddenly. “He should have waited for a cross walk. But the boy was just running across the street, and the muggers weren't interested in slowing down. Before I could stop the car completely it...” Peter's voice cracked as he fell silent. “I was so distracted I didn't notice them pull a gun and point it back at me until I was hit. After that it's a bit of a blur. The boy's in the hospital... and it doesn't look good.” Peter finished his story.

MJ felt a fist clench around her heart as she stared at her broken boyfriend. She could tell he blamed himself completely for this, once again ignoring that it was the criminals who did it.

“Peter...” She said softly as she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a hug. She felt him wrap his arms around her, hugging her tightly as he buried his head into her neck. “It's not your fault.” She whispered softly, rubbing the back of his head.

She knew peter felt responsible for every death since he put on that mask, and everyone added just a little more weight to his shoulders. She hated nights like this, when it seemed like Peter was incapable of seeing all the wonderful good he did, all the lives he saved, for the few he failed.

After a few minutes, he seemed to get himself back together and MJ went back to work with bandaging his wounds. Luckily he healed quickly, so she knew he'd back up on his feet in no time.

“Look at me Pete.” She asked after a moment, waiting for him to meet her eyes. His eyes met hers and she smiled, before she leaned forward and kissed him briefly. She laughed slightly at his bewildered expression, still glad that even after all these years he was her lovable dork that preform precise movements of acrobatics in the middle of a fight while dodging bullets, but he still got flustered with a little personal affection.

“You can't blame yourself for this. The driver was the one who ran, after committing a crime in the first place.” She explained patiently. She already knew how he would respond.

“But it's my jo-”

“Peter!” She said, reaching up and cupping his face, making him look at her, cutting off his denial. He just stared at her, finally giving her his full attention again.

“You're not a god. You're a man in a mask. You do amazing things. You've saved so many lives, you've inspired so many people. But you're still just a man. You can't blame yourself for everything.”

MJ saw his shoulders slump as a look of resignation overcame him. She had known him for years now, and she had seen his growth. From an awkward, unsure teenager who got powers out of nowhere, to a man who was figuring out his place in the world, to the hero standing on top of the city, to his low moments like how where he regretted ever putting on his mask. She had been with him through most of it, and she planned to stay at his side, because he no matter how many responsibilities had been shoved on his plate, he always made the time to be excited for her as she pursued her dream as a reporter, and even when they fought about her habit of getting into danger, he was always, always there for her. While she may get annoyed at how often he had to run off, it was clear he always felt guilty as well and rarely took her for granted. Despite their ups and downs, they were an important part of each others life by now, and nothing could change that.

Peter nodded after a moment. “You're right. I just...”

“Wish you could do everything?” She finished for him, offering a patient smile.

He returned the smile, nodding. “Yeah.”

MJ just nodded. “I don't blame you it's tough feeling helpless...” She muttered, thinking back on all the times she saw him fighting, or watching him come back from a fight in a similar condition that he was in to now. “But you have to realize sometimes things are out of your control. It's not easy, trust me. But it's important.”

Pete nodded. “You're right... as usual.” He said after a pause, making her smile. “I'll... work on it.” He offered.

Nodding, MJ felt satisfied. “That's all I ask. That hero heart you have is one of the things I love about you.” She confessed, making them both flush. They leaned forward, about to kiss again when someone was suddenly knocking on the door. “The pizza!” MJ exclaimed, hopping up and rushing across the apartment, leaving Peter confused and asking about pizza.

Standing at the door, MJ fished out money before she realized there was still a pool of blood right inside the window where Peter had fallen in. Cursing her luck, she did her best to open the door without letting him see too much inside. Luckily it was New York so she doubted the delivery boy would be weirded out by the person acting a little strange. He seemed a bit curious as to what she was hiding, but she tipped him ten bucks and shoved him away and he seemed content as he left as she closed the door and let out a deep breath. She had tried very hard to keep a relatively normal reputation with her neighbors, and she didn't need any rumors starting. Peter was standing near the doorway to the bathroom, still shirtless but he had finished bandaging his wounds. He just looked somber, there was no other way to properly describe his downtrodden expression. MJ's eyes flashed over his chest, still not quite used to just how good of shape Peter was in under his suit. Forcing her eyes upwards, she smiled and nodded her head. “You have some spare clothes in my room. Bottom drawer of the dresser.” She offered.

Ever since she had found out the truth, and he had occasionally crashed at her place when either injured or just too tired, she had kept a few sets of clothing for him. Not including the nights he just stayed over to be with her. By the time he had emerged again, he was in a comfy pair of sweatpants and a daily bugle sweater than just made him look cute. While she loved seeing him look heroic in his suit without a mask, or sexy when shirtless, seeing him all bundled up in casual clothes like that was probably her favorite. It was when he was really just Peter Parker. The geek she fell in love with. He joined her on the couch, the TV turned to some random movie as they both started eating a few slices of pizza, idly chatting about her new article or when they both had the free time to go see that new movie in theaters.

She noticed he was still quiet, but he seemed to have at least regained some sense of self. Just then, the distant echoes of a siren rang out as she saw him freeze, his eyes drifting over to where she was sure he left his suit.

“No.” She warned, causing him to look back at her.

“But...”

“No.” She repeated, setting down her mug to turn towards him and prepare for a fight.

“I can't just...”

“Yes you can.” She snapped, before toning it back for a moment. “Peter, for tonight, for me. Just stop. You're not in the right head space for this. If you go out there now, you could make a mistake, someone else could get hurt. YOU could get hurt. Don't do that to me. Don't do that to yourself.” She said, reaching up to cup his face gently. “There isn't a super villain out there. The cops exist for a reason, and they can cover things for a few hours.”

She could tell he still wanted to get up, but she saw her words spinning around his head, slowly convincing him. Reaching down, she grabbed another slice of pizza, holding it up for him, her eyes pleading him to take it.

He stared at her for a moment, then the pizza, before he sighed and nodded. He took the pizza and settled back into the couch, taking a bite.

Proud, she leaned over and kissed him. The world could wait for a night. Standing up, she made her way over to the window and shut it properly, they didn't need sirens interrupting them for once.

Moving back to the couch, she sat down on it and looked over to see her Pete chilling out eating Pizza for once. Grinning, she beckoned him with a finger. “Come here, Tiger.”

MJ was pretty sure she'd always prefer kissing her boyfriend to worrying about him.

XxXxXxXxX

Hope you enjoyed this little story! It was pretty fun writing it, I love this couple and I hope we can see more of them in future games.

[whatisloyalty-blog]

reminder │ park jihoon

➸ genre; fluff, humor

➸ warnings; bullying, degration

➸ summary; he always reminded you of the things you needed to know.

➸ word count; 1.7k

➸ au; soulmate au: what you write on your skin appears on your soulmate’s skin

- saying you were shy would be an understatement

- so interacting with your soulmate didn’t really cross your mind

- it wasn’t like they tried either, so you assumed they weren’t that much a fan of the idea of soulmates, whereas smitten wouldn’t be enough to describe you

- you had always been a romantic, courtesy of those princess movies typical little girls liked to watch

- the prince was always perfect, just like how you wanted him to be—handsome, smart, talented, funny, nice and had abs

- so it wasn’t that much of a surprise your fantasies consisted of a gorgeous prince with a white horse, holding out his hand for you to hold

- but of course they were nothing more than fantasies

- reality hit you like a truck—most people like that were playboys

- someone perfect didn’t exist anyway

- and there was a chance your soulmate could be,,,someone unlikable

- so your dream of having an ideal prince was quickly thrown out the window

- in fact, so was meeting your soulmate

- you see, people usually meets their soulmates when they reach the age of fifteen to seventeen

- the luckier of the bunch met their soulmate when they were just children

- but the unluckier of the bunch met their soulmate when they were already old and wrinkly

- and unfortunately, you most likely belonged to the latter

- it was an absolute nightmare—you had been anticipating to meet your soulmate for so long; just imagine how much panic you felt, especially for someone who couldn’t survive without someone to rely on

- thus, even now in your late teens, you were absolutely horrified at the idea of living alone for the rest of your life

- and at the teacher currently screaming at you

- “you didn’t do your homework again?!” your professor asks sharply, hand already littered with veins as he gripped the sheet of paper that was nearly blank, save for a few sentences

- you could only nod meekly, beads of perspiration rolling down your forehead as you grew more and more anxious

- you were clenching your fist so tightly—you already felt your nails digging into your palms deeply to the point it started bleeding a little, but the words he spat hurt more

- “you’re so useless!”

- “do you really expect to graduate with this?!”

- “your parents are wasting so much money on you”

- as more and more words flew out of his mouth, you felt more and more degraded

- it wasn’t that much of a surprise that he got mad and would scold you for it, but he wasn’t exactly in a good mood that day

- and of course you made him angry on that one day

- “you know what,” he sighs, rubbing his temples in circles, “I’m too tired for it. you’re dismissed.”

- you immediately bow politely, letting out a barely audible “okay” and exited the faculty room

- letting out a dejected sigh, you can only lean on the wall, staring blankly at your bleeding palm

- you nearly lost your sense of reality until a classmate of yours notices the wound and panics to get you to the nurse’s office

- honestly he was the only one probably kind enough to do that

- guess what?

- not only do you have an injury, but you have a pile of homework to do! isn’t that great?

- you could only sigh, asking yourself why were you born in the first place if you were going to die anyway

- you wince when you try to write, the pen digging through your wound and opening the cut once again, blood flowing freely to the gauze wrapped around your palm

- what a waste of your classmate’s effort of tending to you

- it was real awkward, like, no one says anything and you’re kinda wary of skinship and someone you barely know holds your hand

- seriously the nurse is so useless she’s always gone

- groaning, you remove the cloth

- as a last-ditch attempt to save yourself, you try to withstand the pain as you write your ideas for the essays on your skin

- hopefully the cut would be better by tomorrow

- a mIRACLE HAS HAPPENED

- YOUR WOUND DIDN’T HURT AS MUCH YAY

- but you know what sucks?

- your note was washed off

- it must’ve been when you were washing your hands

- “wHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO NOW I DON’T REMEMBER ANYTHING”

- you’re literally screaming

- but???

- you notice something written on your forearm and??? it’s not your handwriting???

- and you’re o h

- it was your soulmate’s handwriting

- you can recognize it because he often writes reminders too

- but it wasn’t a reminder

- it was the note you wrote

- a few weeks had gone by but you were still grateful to your soulmate

- if it weren’t for them, you wouldn’t have any essay to pass

- not only that, but you easily got an A !!

- the professor that was mad at you forgave you and even offered to treat you to a snack at the cafeteria to apologize for his actions !!

- while you were happily shoving junk food down your throat, you saw a message on your wrist

- trying to lose weight is so hard :”( abs are hard to get

- it wasn’t anything special—just a rant

- but somehow, it,,,felt attacking

- it felt like they were insecure about their appearance

- so you quickly grab a pen and jot down a note, disregarding the stinging pain on your hand

- you don’t need to have abs!! you’re perfect the way you are! if you really want to, you can, but don’t starve yourself!! :)

- and even if you couldn’t see them, you had a feeling they were happier

- remember when you said you were perfect the way you are?

- apparently, that can only apply to those who are perfect

- “you’re so useless,” a girl snarls, putting her hand on her hip. “all you had to do was to make a presentation—you can’t even do that?”

- you only blink at her remark, not exactly affected

- ‘you can’t even do that’? can you even say that when you didn’t even do a single slide? you thought, having an inner conflict on whether you should calmly disregard her or rip her hair out

- you had a group project, where you had to do a presentation on a segment of your lesson on history. you took the initiative to be the leader, seeing as your groupmates were absolutely useless and only cared about caking their faces and bragging their accessories to other girls. you know, the spoiled brats.

- you already assigned them to a specific task, yet in the end, they never did them and you had to do all of it all by yourself, thus you had too little time and had mistakes here and there.

- but they weren’t satisfied with a grade of B

- “you were already hopeless with that face of yours and with anything, and you can’t even have a good grade?” one states, eyes piercing through your soul. “you’re pathetic.”

- “your soulmate is so unlucky.”

- “soulmate… huh…” another murmurs, an idea popping in her head.

- “do they even know how unlucky they are?”

- a smirk like that never meant anything good

- soon enough, your body was covered in scribbles

- fat

- ugly

- pathetic

- stupid

- useless

- all written with a permanent marker

- because I’m permanently useless, huh?

- insecurities ate away your confidence, bringing you to the verge of tears

- though you appeared to be tolerant to insults, you always took them to heart. each and every word shot through you, cutting what you thought to be a shield. 

- your façade had finally cracked.

- you can only gaze at your reflection, disgusted by yourself

- how ugly

- ...and you did truly think so.

- but then you see the word ‘ugly’ disappear

- then ‘fat’

- then ‘pathetic’

- then ‘stupid’

- then ‘useless’

- and one by one, they disappear

- disappearing into nothingness as if they weren’t even there at all

- but one remained; a simple sentence that didn’t appear to be meaningful and merely consisted of two words yet those two words meant the world to you at the moment

- you’re beautiful

- after that incident, words being written on your arm became more often

- they were all messages written by your soulmate

- and they seemed to be really worried, seen as they made the effort to write no less than five notes each day

- each note had something positive; to make you more content about yourself

- you’re perfect the way you are!

- don’t starve yourself!!

- please don’t degrade yourself

- you’re really smart!

- I hope you’re not belittling yourself again

- it was extremely thoughtful of them, considering the fact they knew almost nothing about you yet they cared so much

- but you never really had the chance to thank them

- so you grab your pen, eager to write a message

- but then your classmate runs to you

- “do you have an extra pen?!?!”

- they really looked panicked so you couldn’t really help but lend him yours, not to mention they were the same person who helped you with your injury

- “here”

- “thank you so much!”

- how could someone be that happy from borrowing a pen???

- but then you remember that was the only working pen you had

- oh well… maybe next time

- you may or may not have fallen asleep again from staying awake

- and you may or may not have no idea of the answer to your teacher’s question

- unfortunately, she caught you and, being strict, asks you a question about the lesson to embarrass you to the whole class

- you can only blink

- fuck

- “uhh…” you look around the classroom, nervously playing with your fingers

- you notice your seatmate, who was also the same person who borrowed your pen, scribble on a piece of paper, cursing when the pen slipped and writing on their

- they then show the answer to you, away from the teacher’s view

- “…17?”

- she seems shocked

- “oh… uh… very good… let’s continue.”

- you held up a thumbs up, mouthing a ‘thanks’

- they simply flash a smile

- and class goes on

- class has finally ended and you could finally breathe

- “thanks, [name]!” your seatmate smiles, tapping your shoulder

- “no problem. it’s just a pen.” you shrug.

- “but really, thanks. you have no idea how much it helped me. her-” they pause as if remembering something.

- you raise an eyebrow in question. “is… anything wrong?”

- “n-no, I…! sorry, one minute…”

- he hurriedly scribbles on his palm, putting down your pen on your desk when done and dashes off

- “o…kay…”

- you sigh, picking up the pen and noticing something new

- wasn’t that the line he accidentally drew on his arm?

- and…

- I love you

He always reminded you of the things you needed to know.

[galfridus1]

Doctors In Waiting Published

As part of NNT Week, I posted an extract of a story I was working on set in 21st century Oxford. Doctors In Waiting is now finished and is up on FFN and AO3. Meliodas and Ban are PhD students and the early chapters focus on their friendship (and yes they do arm wrestle). Zeldris, Elizabeth and Gelda are also studying at the university (History, Medicine and Medieval English respectively) while Merlin and Arthur are faculty staff. Estarossa, Melascyla and Elaine show up too, as does a human version of our hero’s father.

I know these types of AU are not everyone’s cup of tea but I worked hard on this story and I hope it’s entertaining enough. It was 2.5 month’s solid effort, every section has been re-written at least twice and it got to the point where the characters were telling me what to do, especially Gelda and Estarossa who radically changed the plot.

Here are two extracts which give a flavour for the story. First is Meliodas and Ban celebrating the end of the Michaelmas term. Second is the full transcript of the rather nasty conversation between Zeldris and Elizabeth which featured in NNT week.

If you have some spare time, I’d be honoured if you’d check it out and let me know what you think.

***

Meliodas and Ban from Chapter 2

“Here you go, thanks for waiting. Five pints of lager. Drink up!” Meliodas said brightly plonking the foaming cups down on the table in front of his friend, the glasses clinking slightly as they knocked together.

“Wow. You rock!” shouted Ban, grabbing two of the glasses and pouring the contents of them straight down his throat, one after the other.

“He, he. There was a special offer on, five for the price of four,” Meliodas sang out with a smirk. “Way too good to pass up.”

“How did you even carry them all over here?” Ban asked with difficulty, his words slightly slurred. “Your hands are tiny.”

“I was a bartender in a previous life.” Meliodas grinned back, copying Ban and drinking two pints himself.

“So who gets this one?” Ban asked, gesturing at the remaining pint, a definite hic showing he was beginning to feel the effects of intoxication. Normally it would take Ban more than this to show he was drunk, but the club did not open up until ten so they had shared a couple of bottles of wine over dinner and downed two shots of vodka for luck before setting off.

“Wanna arm wrestle for it?” Ban asked, leering with the effects of the booze.

“Nah, we’ll bust up the place and I don’t wanna leave till I can’t see straight,” Meliodas replied, also beginning to slur his words slightly. It took a lot for him to get truly drunk, but even he was on the way to reaching his limit.

“Tell you what, I got paid yesterday. Next round’s on me,” Ban said, rising unsteadily to his feet and making his way towards the bar, swaying slightly with the effort.

Meliodas sat back and watched his friend as he disappeared off into the crowds. He looked around. The idea of tonight was to get laid or get wrecked and Meliodas wondered if there was any prospect of taking someone home for the night. It had been ages since he’d spent time with a woman romantically and a sexual liaison was long overdue. It was easy enough. With a certain class of female the mere mention that he was Lord Lorimer’s son was enough to bring them around to the idea. Most people knew his family was loaded and that was all it took for some, the thought of the wealth outweighing any distaste they felt. While he did not like flashing his family name about he was more than prepared to do it to secure an easy one night stand, however crap he felt about it afterwards. The thought made him impatient for Ban to return so that he could go and take a proper look round.

Ban came back, multiple glasses in hand.

“Great offer!” he said unsteadily as he set five more pints down on the table.

“Cheers to that!” Meliodas replied downing another two pints. “It’s been too long since I’ve got wasted like this.”

“So are you going to go home for Christmas?” Ban asked matching his drinking partner pint for pint, the words only just distinguishable. “Coz I’m staying right here.”

“I’ll go to my father for the day itself, but otherwise no. Estarossa and I spend as little time as possible at at the ancestral place,” Meliodas replied. “Father takes us to church to show us off, well to show Zeldris off anyway, and then we spend the day drinking and avoiding each other. I’ll come back here on Boxing Day.”

“Wow, that’s rough,” Ban replied. “Don’t you ever go home to visit properly?”

“Nah. Zeldris goes back sometimes but Estarossa and I avoid the place like the plague. We only go to my father’s twice a year, for Christmas and February fifth”.

“What’s so special about February fifth?” Ban enquired, his eyes glazing over.

“We all go to put flowers on my mother’s grave. She died when I was seven. Placental abruption,” Meliodas said quietly. “I remember looking out of the window and seeing her being lifted into the ambulance. She was bleeding so much I thought the white blanket they’d put over her was red…” Meliodas shook himself. He must be more drunk than he realised to have said all that out loud.

Ban put his pint glass down. “I’m really sorry,” he said, the slurring a bit less evident, his red eyes unusually soft. “My mum’s dead too. Died when I was eight.”

Meliodas waited. They’d been living together for nearly three months now and in all that time Ban had not revealed a single thing about his life. Meliodas had respected his privacy, but admitted to himself that he was curious. He’d watched Ban as he embarked on his PhD, dragging Ban along to the seminars the Social Policy research students put on to showcase their work. Ban gave off the impression of being less than astute but Meliodas had long since discovered that this was a facade. When he got talking, it was clear that Ban had an easy command of the broad discipline which was home to students studying everything from international development to demography, from poverty measurement to spending on pensions. He’d made intelligent enquires of Gowther’s complex examination of demand for brand-named drugs when generics came on the market and found a serious hole in King’s plans to look at adult social care. His own work had however remained shrouded in mystery, though Meliodas had weedled out of Ban that it was something to do with higher education policy.

Meliodas could not believe Ban had not secured funding for his work, but then the availability of grants had dropped dramatically since the economic crash. He felt a hot flush of shame when he thought about this. He had funding himself, receiving an annual stipend from one of the UK’s research councils thanks to his supervisor’s recommendation. Merlin knew how to pull strings for her students. But Ban both needed it and deserved it more than he did.

“My dad killed her,” Ban blurted out, and instantly Meliodas felt the warmth being sucked out of his cheeks and his heart miss a beat. “He was a nasty drunk, could never keep his fists to himself. That night he gave me this,” Ban slurred as he gestured at the gash on his face. “She stood in front of me, tried to protect me and I was useless, I couldn’t do anything…” Ban trailed off into silence.

“Oh, Ban!” Meliodas cried. He wanted to reach out and hug his friend tight but knew Ban well enough to anticipate that this wouldn’t go down well, even in his current state of inebriation.

“My sister was four when we went into foster care. She was ill and starving. We only ate what I could steal and I was crap at it. I kept getting caught. They tried to save her, but she died too…” Ban trailed off again, his head bowed and his eyes fixed on the wooden table, scarred with white rings from alcohol-soaked glasses.

“She should have been taken into care years before, and your brother thinks too much public money is spent trying to protect the likes of us,” Ban spat angrily, his eyes still looking downwards.

***

Zeldris and Elizabeth from Chapter 3

“You all go on ahead. I have some business to attend to here,“ Zeldris ordered, his voice ringing with authority. Elizabeth was surprised to see the others immediately comply with his instructions. They moved quickly to the staircase which led to the dorms, leaving Zeldris standing alone in the quad.

"You can come out now,” Zeldris barked as he spun round to stare at the place where Elizabeth was hiding. “I know you’re there and that you were listening.”

Elizabeth unwillingly stepped out into the open, her face showing plainly her nervousness as her hand went to play with the scarf round her neck.

“Elizabeth Liones. If you want to hide I suggest you learn to control your breathing.” Zeldris stared at her coldly, his raven eyes flashing with anger. “You want to explain what you were doing?”

“I… nothing. I just came back from my shift…”

“Don’t lie to me! I saw you leaving my father’s apartment and there’s only one reason you’d be there at this hour. You’ve been stupid enough to let yourself become one of my brother’s many conquests now he’s back on the market. Even I would not have thought he’d be so desperate that he’d sleep with the enemy, though he evidently doesn’t care about you enough to let you stay for the night.” Zeldris snarled, his words sounding rich with the honey of pure loathing.

Elizabeth flushed up to the roots of her hair and her mouth fell open as she struggled to find her voice. She felt like she’d been slapped.

“It… it’s not like that at all…” she flustered.

“Oh really? Your face says otherwise,” Zeldris shot back.

“We were only talking.” Elizabeth managed to squeak out.

“Just as well. I advise you not to get too attached. Meliodas will happily use you, as he has so many other women, but he will never do more for you than satisfy his own needs.”

“I don’t believe you,” Elizabeth said coldly, her nervousness gone. “He’s not like that at all.”

“Seems you know more about my brother than you were letting on, or at least you think you do,” Zeldris crowed triumphantly, a smirk spreading over his face. “Proof enough of your feelings. But did he tell you what he did to his ex?”

Elizabeth paused, a question about what Meliodas had done that was so bad was on the tip of her tongue, but she suppressed it. It was his secret to keep and she would not give his brother the satisfaction he was obviously craving. She returned Zeldris’ gaze, her jaw clenched hard and her hands balled into fists at her sides, determined not to show him how much he frightened her.

“He threw her out. He got what he needed, then cast her aside with nothing to her name. They were talking marriage and children, and she thought everything was fine. But did he care? He’d had enough, so that was the end. That’s what he does. Everything is always about him.

"Still, it was for the best. She was not good enough. She would never have held her own with my family. We used to laugh at her. Even Estarossa thought she was thick. The only reason father put up with her was her title, and you would be no different. I know all about you. Your grades are reasonable but you work like a dog for them. You have no verve, no genuine intellect. Without your family connections you would not be here at all. Oxford is for people with brains, not cart horses like you. For all his faults, Meliodas is brilliant. No one can hold a candle to him. How can you of all people ever hope to keep up? Once he’s done with you physically, how could you possibly hope to hold his ever-wandering attention?”

Elizabeth felt herself flushing profusely, her face and neck flaming with uncomfortable heat as she gave into the urge and dropped her eyes to the floor. Try as she might, Zeldris’ words were upsetting her deeply. She did her best to take even breaths of the cold December air in an attempt to control the adrenaline coursing through her. The last thing she wanted to do was burst into tears. But his words hurt. He was right, she wasn’t that clever. She had enough intelligence to get by, but unlike her colleagues she had to study hard. She enjoyed the work, but it did not come naturally. The thing she liked about medicine was putting the patients at ease, helping them understand that she would do her best, building their trust and reaping the rewards when their health slowly recovered. She was not an academic and never would be.

“You will leave my brother alone if you know what’s good for you,” Zeldris warned quietly, taking a menacing step towards Elizabeth, seeming to tower over her despite his small stature as he pressed into her personal space. “If nothing else, do you know what my father would do to him if he found out about this? He hates Bartra Liones and will hate you just as much. And enjoyable as it would be to watch my brother get the discipline he deserves, I give you fair warning it will not be pleasant. If you know what’s good for you both, you will stay away.”

[battystumutchildren-blog]

RYAN: -back at it again at the silvah dollah. it's kinda nice to have someplace new to stalk around the later hours of the day. she knows it's not exactly advisable for various reasons to transportalize out onto the satelite isolated far from her home. but... whatever. it's comfortable here and finding comfort elsewhere, somewhere more familiar, is a difficult task for her.-

RYAN: -she's hanging out at the counter again, poking at the remaining contents of a strawberry milkshake and being far less chatty than she was yesterday.-

SILVAH: -Given that there's not really much ON this station other than Skaianet research facilities, private research facilities and basically....the one resturaunt at least there's not much trouble Ryan can get up to up here. Silvah is just finishing cleaning and restoring his stocks from last night. He stayed up far too late and got a little drunk himself, but he's in good spirits. He's fairly sure the reopening was  rousing success and that he's gonna make back the money he spent on the deck. Big man is boppin with the radio as he works until he finally makes his way back behind the counter and sees Ryan there. His fins flick.-

SILVAH: Blondie!

SILVAH: I thought I made a regular outta you.

RYAN: -perks up, immediately putting on a smile when she hears his voice, but it's definitely half hearted.-

RYAN: naturally??? youve got some great vibes going on here. :blush:

SILVAH: I built it that way babycakes, but that don't mean it ain't nice to hear.

SILVAH: -starts restocking the baked goods displays as they chitchat.-

SILVAH: You had some pretty good vibes yourself last night. -Not so much today though, huh? He's peepin on her.-

RYAN: again. naturally! as a new regular youll soon discover im always the life of the party. :wink:  -leans on the counter, chin in her hand.- SILVAH: That's quite a claim. Maybe I should think about buyin a leaderboard. Huh huh.

SILVAH: Sure are cute though. Feel like I should be payin you to sit there and look pretty.

RYAN: well im not about to turn down that offer. :hugging: 

RYAN: ive got a pretty lengthy resume as a professional cutie. you wouldnt regret the decision.

SILVAH: Now, now. I'm not totally sold.  You strike me as a troublemaker too.

SILVAH: Acutally now that I'm thinkin about it, the round robin never made it to ya.

SILVAH: What's your story?

RYAN: :scream: 

RYAN: its not polite to ask a lady such questions...

RYAN: which is definitely NOT something a troublemaker would say. :thinking: SILVAH: Keepin it close to the vest I see. That's fine. I'll get it out of ya eventually.

SILVAH: Food is great at makin people talk. RYAN: -chinhands intensifies.- yeah? what do you find is the best thing to feed a person to get them to share their life story? SILVAH: Somethin' caffeinated.

SILVAH: I'll tell you what- I'm crossin strawberry milkshakes off the list as of today.

RYAN: -giggles. geez... it feels good to laugh.-

RYAN: okay fine. youve fed me enough lines to change my tune. :stuck_out_tongue: 

RYAN: youre right about me... i am a troublemaker. but im trying to cut back these days. SILVAH: -Seems satisfied at getting her to laugh. And to crack.-

SILVAH: Respect, little lady. It's not easy.

SILVAH: I'm also one of those.

RYAN: yeah? what are your vices?

RYAN: mine incluuuuude... -checks them off on her fingers as she says them in an attempt to keep it light.- running away. all manner of narcotics. and beautiful sad men and women that only break your heart.

RYAN: so you know. the standard really.

SILVAH: You're right. That is a hell of a resume. -Scratches under his  fat chin with Robut hand.-

SILVAH: Lesee....I'm right there with ya on runnin away. Dissapointin my family. Sexual deviancy. An you may have noticed that I like to eat a lil bit.

SILVAH: We already got the makins of a pretty good country song. Too bad that's not my favorite genre.

RYAN: hehehe. id love to inspire any kinda song really.

RYAN: but other than that it seems weve got a lot in common. -sips milkshake.-

RYAN: ive been... disappointing a lot of people for a long time. but i feel like i really dropped the fucking ball again recently. :weary:

SILVAH: -Now he's got both fins angled towards her.- You wanna get into it?

SILVAH: Don't gotta. But if you feel like you need to I have time.

SILVAH: That's how I got so fat. I'm full of secrets.

RYAN: -snickers and shrugs, swirling the straw around in the glass thoughtfully.- well... guess theres no harm in it.

RYAN: since youre being so nice and charming. :wink: 

RYAN: things have just been... i dunno.

RYAN: first i fell off the wagon.

RYAN: definitely disappointed my family... and probably my boyfriend. or like. whatever our deal even is. -sighs.-

RYAN: then my ex comes along and starts pulling some burn book bullshit... spilling all my secrets. pissing off my friends. making aforementioned romantic relationship all the more complicated. i think.

RYAN: ugh. -just sighs. it's hard to really dig deep when it's all so frustrating, so she just kinda slumps a little.-

SILVAH: Mm. Did ya say some things you regret?

RYAN: -nods slowly, pouting a little.-

RYAN: yeah. so much stupid shit.

RYAN: im trying to fix things but... i dont know--

RYAN: i dont know what im doing half the time.

SILVAH: -Pauses for a minuite, and while he's processing all the vibes he's picking up from her he's making himself look busy, which is something he's pretty practiced at by now.-

SILVAH: It's not the easy route. It's easier to keep cuttin out. Start over somewhere where they don't know ya. But that would be a waste in the long run.

SILVAH: If you keep tryin eventually they'll see the effort and appreciate it. Even if you're graspin at straws and you say all the wrong shit. RYAN: -peers up at him, finding that answer... strangely comforting. she gets the sense he understands. maybe because of his own experiences, or just because he's used to dealing with sad sacks like her. it was kind of a cliche. in any case, she's quiet for a moment as she thinks it all over too. her voice is a little hushed when she does speak, a bit embarrassed by admitting the things she is... but knowing full well she needs to say it.-

RYAN: i feel like my efforts are pushing him away.

RYAN: alienating him cuz he feels guilty too. hes always stuck in his own head.

  RYAN: i think he feels like hes not good enough. but i dont really get it. im the one who kept running away.

RYAN: he never did anything wrong. at least i dont think he did. it just-- a shitty time. and i dunno if its ever gonna pass so long as im around to remind him that-- fuck.

RYAN: -puts her head in her hand with a sigh.- sorry im not making sense anymore.

SILVAH: -Frowns as he takes this in, and at the same time takes in extra information. All her good intentions, the desperation that go along with them.- Y'know most of the time tryin to anticipate what someone's gonna do or why they feel the way they feel is real misleadin. Unless you have a real blunt discussion about it, you could never know. You might've fucked up, but it don't mean every bad thing that person's feelin is your fault.

SILVAH: The stuff you can pin down as yours is what you should concentrate on, is what I'm sayin.

RYAN: -peers up from behind her hand, eyes glossy with sadness but... there's some hope too. she laughs a little, trying not to seem too broken up about the stuff going on in her head.-

RYAN: i hear you.

RYAN: i just...

RYAN: wanna know im making someone happy for once.

RYAN: you know?

SILVAH: -She seems so vulnerable, it almost hurts to look. They're barely acquaintances at this point, but he doesn't care, he's gonna lightly reach out and touch her hand with his non robotic one.- You got yourself a super acheivable goal there, blondie. I think you're gonna be ok.

SILVAH: -Backs it up with a warm smile too. Believe him. He belives in you!-

RYAN: -well... it's hard not to smile when it feels like someone believes in you. and for some reason, in this moment she kind of believes it too. she doesn't mind the touch. she welcomes it in fact, feeling a little bit touch starved lately.-

RYAN: ill definitely be okay if i keep coming back for these milkshakes...

SILVAH: Hah! You think I'm gonna let you keep orderin just milkshakes.

SILVAH: -Pats her hand, gives it a gentle little squeeze and then releases her.-

RYAN: -giggles again. what a big softie...- i thought the customer was always right???? rude ass...

SILVAH: -Laughs with her. Huh huh huh.- I'mma personally fight whoever came up with that horse shite. The customer ain't right even half the time, let alone always.

SILVAH: This is the only place in the goddamn world where I control everythin. It ain't a fuckin democracy.

RYAN: -snorts and then full on cackles.- geez!!! then i guess ill have to refer to your expert opinion every day im here. :wink:

  SILVAH:  Heh heh. S'long as its real food some of the time I'll be a happy clam.

[misssophiachase]

not sure if you are taking prompts, but if you are...klaus doesn't back down from a challenge. it was how caroline ended up lying naked on the kitchen table, not able to do anything about the bowl of her homemade caramel that he's just dumped all over her naked body. if you're not taking prompts or this isn't one you want to do, that's totally fine.

Thanks nonnie, sorry for the delay in writing this. Hope you like my take, it’s set in the post TVD finale world where I am happily living since our endgame. Also I’m tagging you Angie luv @thetourguidebarbie, my smut enabler! NSFW.

Pour Some Sugar on Me

New Orleans - 33 months post TVD finale…

According to the Original siblings, Klaus and Caroline were insufferable nymphomaniacs. Given their sensitive hearing and those thin walls, according to Elijah, they’d left the compound for the weekend to escape the ‘noise pollution’ as Rebekah put it. Kol had tersely told them not to enjoy themselves as they left bags in hand, Klaus had retorted that he was just jealous. The resounding groan he heard from all his siblings only proving his point.

“I can’t believe it actually worked,” Caroline grinned triumphantly, looping her arms around his neck and playing with a stray curl at the nape. “We have the compound to ourselves for forty-eight whole hours.”

“What worked?”

“Oh come on you don’t think I was extra vocal by accident, do you?”

“I just assumed you were enjoying yourself, love,” Klaus replied, his slightly hurt expression not lost on Caroline. “You better not have been faking those orgasms given all the effort I put into pleasuring you.”

“Oh I was enjoying myself plenty, Klaus,” she purred, leaning in and placing a lingering kiss on his crimson lips, her tongue darting into his warmth briefly. She pulled back just as Klaus moaned into her mouth desperate for her to continue. “There’s no need to worry, you’re doing just fine in that department.”

“I wasn’t worried,” Klaus scoffed, although his tone was telling her something different. “I know what an amazing lover I am.”

“Well, to be fair you’ve had over one thousand years of experience,” she teased. “Do you realise we’ve had the place to ourselves for five minutes and we’re still talking?”

“Not that I’m complaining at all but has anyone ever told you just how insatiable you are?”

“I’m trying to make up for lost time, you know given however long it takes and all.”

“Hey, that was all you, love. You could have been in my bed, writhing beneath me for a lot longer if not for that stubborn Forbes determination.”

“I am not stubborn,” she pouted.

“Now that there is case in point” he joked. “It’s okay Caroline, in fact your obstinance is one of the many things I love about you. Your outstanding skills in the bedroom is one of the others.”

Caroline had shown up in New Orleans a month earlier. They’d had minimal contact since Hope started at Caroline’s magic school a year ago but she’d arrived to personally return his cheque. Klaus knew it hadn’t been cashed yet but wasn’t expecting her or it to arrive so unexpectedly on his doorstep. Their banter and simmering sexual tension had returned with full force as they bickered back and forth over possession of said cheque. The Mikaelsons, who were standing transfixed on the surrounding balconies, had all commented that it was the best show they’d seen in a while. Well, that was until it got extremely heated and not at all G rated.

“Stop being a baby Mikaelson and just take it,” she’d growled, shoving it at him for the tenth time.

“Oh, I’m being the immature one here?”

“I can’t accept this, the least you can do is let me return it to its rightful owner.”

“I don’t see my name on it,” he baulked. “You know it’s called a gift for a reason, Caroline.”

“It’s too much for me.”

“Caroline, you’re entirely missing the point here,” he lectured.

“Oh really, and what is that?” She scowled, hands on hips as she waited for his response.

“This isn’t for you, it’s for your school and your students, Hope and the twins included. Don’t you think they deserve to have this so they can enhance their learning experience?”

“Oh, so now you’re going to try and guilt me into accepting this money?”

“Why? Is it working?” He quipped, continuing before she could interrupt. “Think of the children, love.”

“I forgot just how infuriating you can be,” she huffed.

“Trust me, you’re no picnic yourself, sweetheart.” She paused, obviously trying to work out what she was going to say next but there was something else building between them, something very familiar. That tension that had the ability to take hold and override anything in its path.

“How about we revisit this later?” Caroline rasped. Klaus couldn’t remember who made the first move, all he could recall was their lips hungrily attacking each other, shedding their clothes hurriedly and their sweat coated limbs entangled beneath the sheets. They hadn’t left his bedroom for three days straight, something his siblings wouldn’t let him forget in a hurry given their resulting insomnia.

Needless to say she hadn’t left. After all this time apart, the pent up desire between them wasn’t unexpected. Klaus had tasted her once in those woods and he was desperate to do it again, preferably somewhere more comfortable than against a tree trunk. Rebekah compared their urgent need to fornicate at all times to a pair of sex starved rabbits and she was probably right but Klaus didn’t care. The fact that Hope and the twins were at the magic school with Alaric was another reason they’d taken full advantage of the situation.

The cheque, however, was still a bone of contention. Almost like she could read his mind, Caroline spoke. “How about you do something for me and I might consider cashing that cheque.”

“Are we playing out some Pretty Woman fantasy of yours, love?” Klaus teased, his interest well and truly piqued. “I’m listening…”

“Well, since we have the place to ourselves, I’d like to christen every room, starting with the kitchen.” Klaus decided to consider this challenge a win-win, especially given the impressive size of his compound.

“That can be arranged,” Klaus agreed, spinning her around so that her back was flat against his chest. He attached himself to her neck, nibbling along its creamy length as he walked her towards the kitchen.

“I hope you have an appetite,” she moaned in response.

“I’m pretty sure that’s obvious, we both know that’s not a pole rubbing against your thigh, love.” His burgeoning erection was unstoppable, Caroline always had that glorious effect on him.

“I meant hunger wise.”

“So, did I,” Klaus smirked knowingly, continuing his assault on her neck.

“I want you to lay me out on the table and cover me in some of that homemade caramel. Seems fitting given our location, don’t you think?”

“You know I’m more of a savoury fan,” he mumbled, against her skin.

“You’re really going to question me now?” She baulked, turning around to face him, her skin already flushed from his initial teasing. “I’m offering you the opportunity to get hot and sticky with me, Mikaelson and you want to argue over tastes?”

“On second thought, I might need some sugar to sustain me for our planned activity throughout the house given the number of rooms,” he murmured. Only pulling away briefly to collect the caramel in question from the refrigerator and place it on the table in readiness.

“Now, where were we?” He asked, surprising her by pulling her shirt open, buttons scattering in all directions at the sheer force he’d applied.

“That’s the tenth shirt you’ve ruined.”

“Well, given you spend your time practically naked or wearing one of my henleys, who bloody cares? But if you’re concerned feel free to take it out of that cheque once you cash it,” Klaus smiled appreciatively, admiring his impromptu handiwork. “Now, what exactly is this situation?” He looked towards her chest accusingly.

“They’re called breasts, Klaus,” she explained. “Do I need to give you a talk about the female anatomy?”

“I thought we outlawed underwear?” He indicated, ignoring Caroline’s sarcasm and gesturing towards her lacy, cream bra.

“Well, I think that was more your idea than mine.” Klaus didn’t argue, instead he cupped her denim clad cheeks and lifted her effortlessly onto the table. It didn’t take him long to tear off the rest of her clothing, ripping her bra off one handed and tugging down that short, jean skirt.

“Glad to see you paid some attention to the rules, love,” he observed, licking his lips in anticipation as he realised she was indeed panty-less. His white henley and jeans were off in an instant, his impressive length rubbing teasingly along her smooth, pink lips below.

“Now, how about we get dirty?” She only nodded by way of a response, obviously too turned on to verbalise her thoughts at that exact moment.

Klaus drizzled the caramel slowly over her body, watching as she arched her back in reaction to the cold, syrup like substance. He began with her delectable breasts and taut, rosebud nipples, making circular patterns with the caramel as he went, like he was the artist and she his blank canvas. Klaus had to remember to repeat this later with his assortment of paints when they eventually made it to his studio.

He continued his assault, pouring the caramel down her flat abdomen and ending at her quivering centre for now, Caroline now moving her hips upwardly from the sensations it was causing. Klaus hadn’t even touched her yet and could tell she was already climbing towards orgasm. He bent over taking her right nipple in his mouth hungrily, tasting a sugary hit of the sweet nectar while stimulating her senses with his tongue. Klaus used his thumb and fore finger to tweak the other nipple, her short, sharp whimpers telling him she was close. It had been a a few hours since their last tryst so it was hardly unexpected. Klaus could tell from the lust coursing through his body and the almost unbearable pressure stirring in his cock, that he wouldn’t be far behind.

Klaus continued to suckle on her as he ran his fingers along her smooth torso towards his destination, pausing along the way to make patterns with the caramel on her creamy skin as he did. She took hold of his wrist impatiently, obviously trying to hurry his journey. He stopped his attack on her breast, looking at her curiously.

“Now, now love. There’s plenty of time for that. Plus, I recall you saying you wanted to get hot and sticky.” He could tell by her unimpressed groan and accompanying frustrated look she didn’t quite agree with his assessment. He continued to massage the thick liquid into her skin, looking forward to washing it off in the shower when they made it to the bathroom. At this rate, Klaus wasn’t sure how they were ever going to leave the kitchen in the next two days.

He finally relented, finding her waiting pussy through the sticky, caramel path and slowly rubbing her lips, already slick from her arousal. He dipped his fingers inside, amazed at just how wet she was already as he massaged her silky folds, his speed only building. She was moving in synch with his fingers now, her hips bucking wildly to meet each stroke. Klaus knew she was ready to erupt, pulling his fingers free and replacing them with his throbbing cock. Caroline matching his thrusts as he slid back and forth, her cries only gaining in urgency and decibels as Klaus bent down to kiss her hungrily.

He could feel her tightening around him and Klaus stood again wanting to watch her impending orgasm as it hit. It was a vision he’d never tire of, after all. Caroline cried out, Klaus continuing to pump inside her so as to prolong her pleasure and heighten his. She began to convulse, as the waves of pleasure rippled through her and Klaus couldn’t contain himself any further, coming with full force inside her.

Klaus rode through the delicious dizziness, trying to stay steady on his shaky legs while Caroline moaned beneath him from the residual sensations of her orgasm. Klaus decided they really needed to include food more often in their sex life, even if it was a sticky mess. When he’d finally recovered and pulled out slowly, he looked down at her flushed face and beautiful, toned physique covered in caramel and splayed out across the table.

“Wow. That was…”

“I know,” she grinned wickedly.

“So, about that noise thing?” He asked curiously. “Were you faking it then because from what I could tell that’s probably the loudest you’ve been and we’re all alone.”

“Okay, maybe I was trying to avoid stroking that already inflated ego of yours, but what’s wrong with being a little noisy?”

“You won’t hear any complaints from me, love,” he smiled, bending over to place a chaste kiss on her lips. “Plus if it gets my siblings out of the house more often then I’m definitely on board. So, how about we take a shower, your breasts have my name and some soap written all over them.”

“Not just yet,” she said, sitting upright and placing her hand on his cock and stroking it possessively. Klaus felt a jolt from her unexpected touch, knowing that he was already starting to recover. “There’s a part of you I definitely want to lick some caramel off before we’re done.” Klaus wasn’t going to complain, handing her the jug and just hoping they had enough caramel left to finish the job.

Funnily enough the cheque wasn’t cashed that day or the next, its fate becoming a bargaining chip in the bedroom, or whatever room they chose.

Would love to hear your thoughts on FF HERE

[prettylaceything]

09/08/2018

Okay so I’ve had a lot go on for the past however long...

Everything is actually going well for once, but I can’t help but feel low all the damn time. New relationship, university and settled all seems great but they don’t half come with a price.

So new relationship, it’s only been a few months. But he’s great, he’s what I need. I feel comfortable, content and happy around him. I feel like I can be as weird and strange as I want to be. I can still do things I enjoy without being nagged at.

It makes a change from my last relationship, I can actually go out with my friends, see my family, even have a night in if I want. I’m not tormented to do things he wants to do, or told I’m not allowed to go see anybody. But I guess this is what a healthy relationship is like.

It’s nice that he’s into his cars, it gives him something to focus on. He actually has aspirations of what he wants to do in life. He actually wants to go visit places rather than going out to get drunk. This is all new to me. I’m not used to somebody wanting to spend time with me doing things, and having their own life too. It’s refreshing.

Getting on to the sour; I don’t feel like I’m good enough. I mean this ties in with a lot of my past when I was younger. But, I don’t feel like I look my best, I’ve put weight on, the pill has made me come out in spots, my eczema has flared up; and that’s probably one of the things I’m most selfconscious of. Due to it bothering me for how it looks, how does it make him feel?

For example; I have a free house this week as my sister has gone on holiday and I have the responsibility on looking after the cats. So I thought I’d put some lingerie in for him getting in from work. He ended up going and doing some stuff before he came so it was about 9pm. He walked in, never said anything and just carried on like I was just wearing clothes as normal. So that made me feel supper shit. Don’t get me wrong within about ten minutes we were upstairs. But it was like had hadn’t even noticed that I had made the effort. It’s probably just me overthinking things. But it’s rare that I have the energy to make the effort to do so.

Ive managed to put 1stone 6pounds on since I started recovery. Which is absolutely amazing. I actually have a shape again. I mean, it’s a good thing in a way and everybody says I look healthy now. But I hate it if I’m going to be honest, I don’t feel beautiful, curvey, healthy. I feel fat and ugly. I honestly wish I could look in a mirror and be like “I’m happy with this, this is me” but I don’t see me. I see this girl, who has a healthy figure, but I see the pain and that it’s not good enough for me. I want to be skinnier. Like, how did I manage to get this weight on. I know it was a lot of crying, forcing myself to eat until I got used to it.

It doesn’t stop me counting the calories on everything I eat and removing some things so it balances out.

I’m getting to a point with stress and being low that I’m starting to get old habits back. I’m starting to starve myself again, making options that cut all the calories out. Getting back onto living off Diet Coke, coffee and calorie free energy drinks. I can feel it getting worse, I’m trying so hard not to. I don’t want people to notice how I’m getting with my eating again. I need to do this on my own. I need to try and get a midway point where my body is still healthy but the weight falls off. Exercise just isn’t enough anymore.

I just want to be slim. I want to be toned. I want to be who I was before. I don’t want to cry when I see a photo of myself or when I go to bed at night.

I’m at a point where I just want to have work done too. I want to have my teeth done as they make me self conscious as much as my weight. They’re straight and fine. It’s just that when I was making myself sick when I was younger it’s stripped all the enamel off my teeth so they’re slightly discoloured. I’m tempted to have some lip fillers too. I mean, I’ll wait till I qualify so I have the money to actually do exactly what I want.

University... where to start here. So commencing September I start my degree in mental health nursing. I want to help other people who went through what I did. But I think I’ll probably go into a care home setting as the job I do now on a challenging behaviour, dementia and mental health unit is amazing. So I’m in two minds. I may go for the older adults about 45+ which various conditions and work with those.

Anyway, to the point; I’m so nervous. To a point I feel physically sick when I think about it. A new place, new people, new course. In the middle of town, where I get most of my anxiety (around people in crowds/rooms). So yeah, this is going to be fun. I’m absolutely petrified of goin. But at the same time it’s what I want to do and I need to keep the aspiration so I don’t end up living in my bed.

I feel like if I get things off my chest everything they’re on there I may just get into a habit of getting feelings out rather than bottling everything up until I end up cutting myself. I’m on an urge to do it right now, but I haven’t in about a year and a half and that’s amazing. But this has been a really low point for me. Also, I don’t think I want my new partner to find them and me have to explain the majority of my life to him.

I haven’t really told him much, just that I’ve had problems in the past. But how do you say; hi, I had an eating disorder from the age of 9, I used to starve myself and make myself sick. My parents used to cry and try and force me to eat. I used to be told to sit in the office at school until I ate. From the age of 11 I used to self harm, that’s why I have all the tattoos down my legs and arms because they cover the scars, it also prevents me to stop cutting in that area. I’ve been depressed for about 11 years of my lift with various ups and downs. I’ve attempted to commit suicide twice. I had to do college from home because I couldn’t get out of bed and when I do go in I had a pass so I could just leave. It’s slowly catching up on me again, you wonder why I have a problem with eating around you well that’s because I don’t want to eat. And when you do see me eat, it’s so you know that I do. But I assure you when I go home I cry because I’ve eaten something, but it’s okay because I stop myself from wanting to make myself purge. But don’t worry babe, you may not notice but I have all these little habits but that’s a good thing as I don’t want to be caught.

You always say I drink a lot. Well that’s because water fills the stomach. That’s because that energy drink is my lunch.

The funny thing about eating disorders is that you’re actually hungry all the time. Well, till your body gives up. Then the hungry just goes. That’s when you know it’s back.

I’m so adamant to loose this weight. No matter what it takes. I’m just not looking g forward to the side effects, I really hope my hair doesn’t start to fall out again.