#then its also managed to Not be from noticeable muscle damage while still lasting that long

[lokh]

at this point i have to assume the ongoing chest pain is from living in this fucking house

[tailwindpets]

Don’t Ignore Dog Knee Pain: How to Protect Your Pup’s Mobility

It was a sunny afternoon when Sarah noticed her Golden Retriever, Max, limping across the yard. Max, usually so playful, seemed to be walking with a slight favoring of his back leg. At first, Sarah brushed it off, thinking maybe he had just twisted it while playing. But as the days went on, Max’s limp worsened, and Sarah began to worry. She took him to the vet and learned that Max was suffering from dog knee pain due to an injury to his ACL (anterior cruciate ligament). Sarah was devastated—but also relieved that it wasn’t a more serious condition. What she didn’t expect, however, was how long this injury would affect Max’s mobility and quality of life.

If your dog has shown signs of dog knee pain, you know how heartbreaking it can be. But did you know that ignoring it can lead to even bigger problems down the road? Unfortunately, many dog owners overlook the significance of knee pain, assuming it will go away on its own. In reality, untreated dog knee pain can lead to chronic conditions that cause lasting discomfort for your furry friend.

The Hidden Impact of Dog Knee Pain

Knee pain in dogs can be caused by a variety of conditions, including ACL tears, luxating patella, or arthritis. According to the American Kennel Club, around 20% of dogs are affected by dog knee pain due to ACL injuries. This injury often occurs when a dog’s knee joint experiences sudden stress, like jumping or twisting, which leads to instability and pain. Over time, untreated ACL injuries can cause further damage to the joint and cartilage, leading to arthritis and severe mobility issues.

While surgery is often recommended for severe cases, there are other options that can help manage the pain and provide stability during recovery. One of the most effective ways to help alleviate dog knee pain and prevent further damage is by using a dog knee brace.

Why You Should Consider a Dog Knee Brace

A dog knee brace is a non-invasive way to support and stabilize the knee joint. These braces are designed to limit movement and reduce pressure on the injured area, allowing the knee to heal while still permitting the dog to walk, run, and play. In fact, studies have shown that using a knee brace can speed up recovery time and improve comfort, especially for dogs with mild to moderate knee injuries.

But here's something most people don’t talk about: dog knee braces can be used not just for post-surgery recovery, but also for long-term management of chronic pain or injuries. For example, a dog that suffers from arthritis can benefit from wearing a knee brace, which will reduce inflammation and relieve discomfort as the joint degenerates over time.

A Solution for All Sizes and Breeds

The best part is that dog braces aren’t one-size-fits-all. Whether you have a small breed like a Dachshund or a large dog like a Labrador, there are braces specifically designed for your dog’s size and injury type. Some dogs may need a dog leg brace that covers the entire limb, while others may only need a knee brace to support the joint. This customized approach ensures maximum comfort and effectiveness.

Additionally, using a dog leg brace can help support a dog recovering from a fracture or sprain. It can also provide added stability for older dogs whose muscles and ligaments have weakened over time. While dog knee braces aren’t a replacement for professional veterinary care, they can be an important part of a comprehensive treatment plan.

Don’t Wait—Act Early

Ignoring dog knee pain can have long-term consequences for your dog’s mobility and overall health. If you notice your dog limping, struggling to rise, or avoiding physical activity, it’s crucial to take action quickly. Visit your vet for an accurate diagnosis and discuss options like a dog knee brace or dog leg brace to help manage the condition.

Your dog’s health is in your hands. Don’t let dog knee pain slow them down—take the necessary steps to ensure they stay happy, healthy, and active for years to come.

[brooklynislandgirl]

For all that she'd like to think that what Ben says is true, she knows it's not. She was not there to comfort and support him when he lost his brother. She'd not even heard the news from his family. And that serves to remind her that while her heart has been as steadfast as the years have waned, that maybe she doesn't know this Ben, the man rather than the boy, and that she needs to relent. Give him space to breath. To have better care of his thoughts as heavy as they are. She feels him flinch despite there being no twitch of muscle beneath her fingers. No blot of shame colours her perception of him. If anything she cannot help but notice how he seems to be a granite boulder amidst the bone-aching winter white. Would that she could bring life back into him but she suspects he's half in his grave already, spirit sheared away by circumstances that not even the Lord provides armour against. It's a wonder that he's tolerated her for this long. When he turns, she is soft as he needs her to be. Her face feels stiff where tears have dried in the cold leaving behind an almost silver sheen. She gives his fingers a squeeze where they are plaited with her own. She shakes her head to decline his sincerity. "There is no cause for there to be enmity between us. And I cannot make myself accept an offense that you've not given." He is no happier in her gaze than he had been in her thoughts and all of her wishes only to wrap him in an embrace. To let him weep his every sorrow. To share some of the burden if not remove it completely. If she knows him as well as she likes to think, he'd never allow for that. He does not enjoy the varied currents of life; they disorient his sense of self and his place in the world. Where she is a falcon soaring on wings of imagined freedom, he is mountains and he is earth; humble and solid. But with lonely aeries few can manage to scale. It breaks her heart. She allows him to settle her onto the tree stump. It must have been felled by an autumn storm for she can see no signs of hatchet work. Wood is a prized commodity in the harsh climes of winter's embrace, but not the only one so desperately needed. She makes note of more things to send for to help supply the camp and make up for the resources that she herself consumes. His kiss is too brief to properly savour but it warms her until he returns. "I should be so pleased I am accompanied by such a skilled hunter. I do wonder if perhaps you're going to turn your hand to whaling with Caleb, or toward the fur trade when the war is over. And it will, Ben if you'll hold that close to heart. Allow it to warm your heart and fill your belly." Ben is a Knight-Errant as he kneels before her. Chapped cheeks call out to her and she reaches for one, offering the warm softness of her palm for its soothing. "I trust you with the depth and breadth of me," she murmurs. There is no lie to be found in her quietude and words. A hint of a smile threatens to curve her lips because the impropriety of his actions and the emotional turbulence that it must cause him. She wonders if he were subject to the same sorts of morality tales from his father as she and Andrew had received from their priest. She also wonders if he'd fall stone dead if she asked him in the plainest words. His hands do not register at first when he takes hold of her foot, and then he's gifted a sharp hiss from between her teeth as pins and needles pierce her flesh along with warmth and sensation. She would have given anything in the moment or made any bargain if she could know his ministrations when she was not half frozen and near incapable of truly enjoying the feel of him. Fortunately, winter's bite have done no lasting damage beyond making her skin a berry red. Layers of skirt have prevented the worst of it. The twisted ankle swells and she will have a rough few days of recovery but she is still hale.

"My oath to God, but if you pray forgiveness once more I shall shamelessly tell one and all who will listen that I had you at my mercy and you lost our game. And you know I will do it, Benjamin." She would not, but she can't bear his dour self-recrimination. She braces herself with her other hand on his broad shoulder and pushes herself onto her feet. Hellion that she is, she gazes at him brazenly as she lifts her skirts and adjusts her stocking, tying its ribbon against her sleek little thigh. She dares him to drink in the sight. "Though perhaps you'd like to ensure it will not fall, because I can't be trusted to dress myself." She is only faintly disappointed when he insists they return.

There was always a peaceful quiet with every snowfall; tranquil, open, boundless, and yet as Benjamin stood there in defeat, shivering and refusing to face the woman he'd wronged, that quiet suddenly grew deafening and he squeezed his eyes shut, willing the accusing voices in his heart to silence. But then Beth's hand was suddenly on his arm and breath once more returned to his lungs, icy and needling into his chest.

There was a plaintive quality to her touch. Without looking at her, he could sense the heartbreak and wide-eyed desperation in her gaze, the unspoken plea cutting into him far worse than any blade.

"P-please…forgive me," she begged. "I meant none of it. Surely you know that, ma chuisle."

A stabbing ache formed at the back of his throat, and swallowing around the painful lump, Benjamin slowly turned to regard her, his own vision blurring as he caught hold of her hand on his arm. Gently, he intertwined their fingers. "I'm sorry," he whispered. I don't know what's wrong with me. "You know there's nothing to forgive...not ever. Not with you."

Fearful, he appraised her for any signs of visible harm, wondering if amidst his violent passions, he'd hurt her. As a boy, Benjamin had regarded young women like Anna Smith Strong with sensual curiosity, but never Elizabeth Riley -- never his friend -- and with his pulse fluttering madly in his throat, he drew her hand to rest over his heart. He didn't like change. Beth was a constant in his life, a rock and a solid oak, and to have her seem different and his feelings unsteady made him far worse than a sailor without his bearings.

"Let's get you seated," Benjamin suggested. "I want to retrace our steps to see if I can find your shoe..." Without waiting for a proper response, he took Beth by the elbows and steered her until she was seated upon a nearby stump. Once he'd pressed an apologetic kiss to her knuckles, earnest and yearnful, he began his search.

--

It took about ten minutes before he found both her stocking and shoe. Cheeks wind-kissed and ravished by the cold, Benjamin could scarcely hold her gaze as he presented to her his find.

Genuflecting, he explained, "Forgive me -- you know I would never ask, but I must insist..." Here, he shakily lifted the hem of her skirts, a strong dizziness taking over as he cupped her foot and started rubbing it between his palms in brisk, rough little circles. Her skin was cold to the touch -- freezing -- and fearfully, he prayed that no damage had been done to her toes. So many in camp had fallen prey to frostbite, and he could not allow the same to happen to her, propriety be damned.

Slowly, snow seeped beneath his left knee band while he continued kneeling, bleeding into his clothing while he fetched her stocking. Limbs jittery, he carefully eased Beth's foot into the woolen garment, and then fumblingly slid the fabric up over the gentle curve of her calf. The flash of skin was brief, but just enough to leave him dizzy and reeling. He dared not do the rest -- it would be obscene of him to tie the stocking around her thigh -- so instead, he lifted her shoe and slid it back upon her dainty foot. Earnest and apologetic, he gently skimmed his thumb over her ankle in a rueful stroke -- I'm sorry, I'm sorry, this is all my fault, I'm sorry -- and as he lifted his eyes to hers, he softly encouraged, "Let's get you back."

[thesunshinebunny]

When the world falls apart, the only thing we can hold onto is ourselves (Part I)

Series Master list

Pairing: Canon Eren Jaeger x reader

Content: Angst, unstable relationship, breakup, smut/nswf+18, major character death, violence, blood (obviously), war (pretty obvious)

Summary: War and hate. It’s what defined the world at this exact moment. You failed your comrades, and by failing them, you failed yourself. Your relationship is hanging by a thread and your enemies will not only be found on the other side of the sea, but also in the mind of the person you love the most. How will you take the reins in the face of so much destruction?

Chapter Summary: After watching their teammates die in battle, reader begins to question their sanity and of their so-called partner.

AN: let me say goodbye to my favorite girl, who got me the best laughs and relieved my anxiety while reading manga chapters. At the same time, let me succumb to the misery and enlarge the wound with an canon Eren. I won’t be against following this fic if I see that a lot of people like it, but my list of fandoms isn’t going to change, this will be a unique exception.

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The chill in the air from the airship rushed through my veins. Less than two hours ago, I had seen countless comrades die, each one of them struck by bullets in different parts of their bodys or eaten by a Titan. I had seen countless lives fall and had been unable to save any. I knew we were going on a suicide mission, but deep down inside of me, I hoped we would all come home alive.

I was very naïve to think of a happy ending in this rotten and violent world.

Inside the room I was in, my mind wandered looking through one of the few windows this war machine gave us. I wasn't paying attention to what Levi or Eren were saying, I didn't even have the slightest intention of asking why Zeke was with us. Although being a member of the Survey Corps and a direct and in training medic, I was not fully informed of the missions. Eren’s courtesy.

Bored and mentally tired, I left the room where my leaders were having a heated discussion with "humanity's last hope." I didn't have the strength to add more charcoal to the fire, but trust me when I tell you I wasn’t at all happy with Eren's plan, simply and exclusively because I was completely unaware.

I walked down the hall making a mental note to kick the brunette in the face like Levi did when we got back. If my so-called partner, who had the decency to slowly push me away over the last year without explanation, wasn’t confident enough to tell me whatever was going on in his mind, then we would be in front of the doors of a serious conversation back home.

I opened the door where the scouts were when I heard a rifle go off. My eyes went wide and fear washed over me. I instantly scanned my body for wounds, completely ignoring the situation happening in front of me. Finding no sign of impact, I looked up only to find Sasha falling on her back, with a bullet impact on her chest.

The world seemed to have frozen as did my body. No one was able to move. Blood was spreading around Sasha's body, staining the floor, and that's when I reacted. My body moved on its own, pulling the cloak off my shoulders and folding it to make a small pillow. My ears didn’t catch any screams or cries from my teammates, as if I was underwater and the only thing I could hear was my heartbeat accelerating, threatening to come out of my ears.

"I need a syringe with anesthesia, a pair of tweezers, a needle, a lighter, bandages and hot water, NOW !!"

No one was moving, everyone was in shock, including me, but I was layered enough to know that if we didn't do something, Sasha wasn't going to survive.

"Jean, Connie, I need surgical elementes! NOW!!"

The two boys came out of it, running around the room, even going to the continuous, looking for something that might serve, while I tore Sasha's shirt and took her equipment. Mikasa was next to me grabbing the pieces that were in the way.

"Mikasa, I need you to put pressure on the wound and don’t move your hands"

Connie came running back with the anesthesia in hand, trying to give it to me, but me failing. The syringe fell to the floor, but thanks to whatever deity was watching us it didn't break. My hands were shaking with adrenaline, making it impossible for me to inject the needle into the glass vial.

“Sasha… I need you to stay awake, ok? I need you to keep your eyes open at all time"

The dying girl in front of me didn't give me an answer, but I knew she heard me. In the background, I could hear the desperate cries of the others, apart from the fact that someone had hit the culprit in the face. I injected the anesthesia and proceeded to remove the bullet from the lung. Mikasa reapplied pressure with wet cloths.

"Sasha everything will be fine, I assure you, everything will be fine, so don't you dare die on me, okay?"

I couldn't tell who I was addressing those words to, the girl who gave us the best laughs in our training days, or me.

Lighter in hand I proceeded to cauterize the wound, but my eyes fell on Sasha's, noticing how the life had left her eyes. The light that was so bright in her pupils had faded, leaving nothing more than an empty countenance.

"Sasha?...Sasha? hey, this isn’t funny, Sasha wake up…Sasha?? SASHA?!!?!" ...

"SASHA!!!"

Again.

Again I’d been unable to do anything.

Again I’d to see how I was unable to save someone.

Again.

I had seen a mate die. Again.

My chest contracted, the air was impossible to get in or out and my lungs cried out to explode. My stomach wanted to regurgitate, but there was nothing in it, causing me to spasm. My vocal cords were damaged from screaming and my head was about to collapse.

My whole body was about to collapse.

"How dare you!? You son of a bitch, how dare you to shoot the person who forgave your life?"

My anger was now directed at the child they had wanted to bring with us. It was impossible for me to look at her without having the desire to break her face, to make her suffer ... to kill her. To take revenge for Sasha.

“SHE FORGAVE YOUR LIFE BY NOT GIVING YOU A SHOT IN THE HEAD AND IS THAT HOW YOU PAY HER? YOU HATE US SO MUCH? HOW MANY MORE LIVES DO YOU WANT TO TAKE FOR US TO BE SATISFIED?"

My legs got up, leading me towards the girl, but arms held me from behind, preventing me from continue walking, preventing me from taking revenge.

"HOW DARE YOU? HOW DARE YOU? YOU ARE THE REAL DEVILS"

In the end, my body collapsed, completely loosening and causing me to almost slide down Connie's arms. I fell to my knees when he released me, snuggling up and hiding my head in my arms. Tears flowed like waterfalls with no intention of stopping and my screams reverberated across the metal in the room.

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Connie opened the door where our commanders were still arguing. Both with tears in our eyes gave the worst news of the night.

"Sasha died"

Jean and Hange's faces were disfigured and Levi hid his grim outline from us. The room was silent, but all that could be heard were my sobs, spasm after spasm.

"She had a ... a bullet impact ... in ... in the chest ..."

It was difficult, almost impossible, for me to relate the precarious medical report of our friend's death, trying to help me with the movement of my hands ... but even so the spasms won me over. I fell back to the floor, tears invaded my face once more and my ability to articulate words was gone down the drain.

Hange approached with a slow step and placed their hands on my shoulders, giving me the help I needed to give the report. I took several minutes of deep breaths and when my lungs returned to normal, I spoke again.

"Sasha had a bullet impact on the chest, on the left lung ... There was no exit, so the bullet was stuck in there...it pierced two ribs, tearing the skin of the lung and causing internal bleeding... I managd to remove the bullet, but I didn't have time to cauterize and sew the wound ... she bled to death"

Every pause I took to breathe made it so much worse for me to speak back. If it weren't for the fact I was undoubtedly taking deep breaths, I would have passed out from distress and hyperventilation.

"I could have saved her ... I know I could have saved her"

Silence reigned over the room, sobs from Hange and Connie could be heard if we were paying close attention. Jean and Levi glared at Eren, who had not deigned to lift his head at any time.

I got up as best I could, running Hange's hands gently, and left the room once again. I needed to be alone for a while, I needed to let go of these horrible feelings, I needed some air, otherwise I doubted I’d do anything rational in the state I was in.

My legs led me to a room away from all the common ones. It was empty, but it had a couple of windows that chilled the already cold metal walls. Some windows were at my height, allowing me to appreciate the view from the air, but let's face it, it was impossible to appreciate the landscape when your mind and heart were breaking to pieces. The only thing that kept my mind intact from any collapse was the path of smoke and fire that could be seen in the distance... signs that Marley was still on fire.

"Are you ok?"

That familiar voice, all too familiar, echoed in my ears pulling me out of my entrance. Eren had entered the room quietly with the aim of… what? See if it was okay? Because I really wasn't, it showed on my face and that's what made me even more angry than I was.

"Oh, I don't know? Am I ok? Do I FUCKING LOOK OK TO YOU?"

I turned from the window too quickly causing me to stagger and fall to the floor. My head was spinning and starting to ache as was every muscle in my body. I put my hands to my head, hoping the pain would dissipate a bit, but the only thing I managed was to sink further into misery.

"I could have saved her ... if I’d been faster ... I know I could have saved her"

He hadn't moved from where he was, he just stayed there, looking at me. My blood-soaked eyes looked him up and down searching for something, whatever, to speak of, but all I found were non-glare eyes and a neutral gaze, as if he hadn't cared how many lives this mission had claimed.

"Do you want to know how I feel? Fine, I’ll tell you"

I stood up heavily, my muscles begging for a break. I turned my head to see the black smoke rising on the horizon, still clearly noticing an orange and red flare.

“I am tired…I am full of rage and hate. I saw our comrades die and I couldn't do anything, I was unable to save them ... to save Sasha...and all because of not having been informed like everyone else"

My eyes hadn't left the window because I knew, if I looked into those dull turquoise eyes, those same eyes that once shone with all the innocence and life that a young man could have, I would end up punching him.

"Are you happy? Did you accomplished your mission now that you have the power of the warhammer titan? What will be the next step? Go back to Marley in a few months, finish what you started and devour the jaw titan and Reiner? Assassinate the cart titan?”

Again, I got no response. My patience had already reached it’s limit and I looked back at the man who was now standing in the middle of the room.

"You're not going to tell me, are you? No, you never say anything to me, it's like I'm a burden to you" I shuffled on the metal, standing right in front of him "I'm with so much anger in my veins that I want to kill a child, a child Eren! ... A child who had her head washed all her life, a child who doesn’t know the whole truth and who only knows that by killing she can be free"

Unconsciously, my body moved everywhere, as if it wanted to release all the pressure by tiring the muscles. I stood back in front of the window and with all the accumulated anger I gave it a strong blow, slightly scratching the glass and probably breaking some knuckles.

"Sasha died because of my incompetence and the violence of this world...I want to save lives Eren, that's why I'm practicing medicine...I want to dedicate myself to saving souls, not killing them...and we have the culprit stuck in one of our rooms...why?" ...

“WHY DO WE HAVE TWO CHILDS ON OUR AIRPLANE? WHY IS YOUR BROTHER WITH US? WHY DON'T YOU LET ME KNOW WHAT IS GOING THROUGH YOUR HEAD?"

I was sure that my screams could be heard by our entire war machine. I was impatient for answers, but knew I wasn't going to get any, at least not now. My hands didn’t remain calm, they moved everywhere, a sign of my anxiety and my eyes turned around the entire room, looking at each screw, each metal beam... everything except the eyes of my supposed lover.

I was giving up, now I just wanted to rest and have a trip home in peace, even knowing that home was not going to sound the same or feel the same.

"If you have nothing to say Eren, you better leave"

I turned my back on him but didn't proceed to walk away from him. I needed to find an anchor point so as not to give up and throw myself into the arms that one day gave me warmth, the arms that wrapped me in the dark, the arms that reflected their love and affection ... into the arms that now wouldn't hold me from the waist or draw me to his chest. I wasn't going to throw me into some arms that weren't going to contain me.

I heard him take a few small steps towards me and his hand rested lightly on my shoulder. I put it aside abruptly and I distanced myself towards the remote window, seeing how little by little the smoke was getting smaller and I could no longer see the orange flame clearly; now I could only see a thin yellow line fading.

"Leave Eren"

His footsteps rumbled on the metal floor, leaving me alone once and for all.

The trip back was going to be a long one and, to be honest, I wasn't sure if there was anything for me in our home. Nothing was going to be the same anymore. Without Sasha, without Eren and with a war on our feet I doubted to even call “home” a piece of wet land in the middle of an ocean which is still the target of a world full of hate.

[ranger-rai]

Alright guys, A lot has happened in the last couple of days so let me catch you all up.

So we have been getting some reports of a "Swarm" of pokemon causing some problems around Sinnoh.

We looked into it and after a couple nights of steakouts, we discovered that our "Swarm" was actually a Purrloin who knew Double Team.

Apparently it had been stealing from alot of small homes, mainly trash.

This Purrloin was incredibly aggressive and seemingly protective of something.

We tracked it down to to a small den just outside of Solaceon Town.

Well we were expecting it to be taking care of its kittens, however we did not expect what we actually found.

-------

We found this Purrloin trying to feed the scraps it stole to a Lycanroc.

The Purrloin was very protective and tried attacking us.

It was surprisingly tough for a single Purrloin, however we managed to restrain it.

However we found it weird that this Dusk Lycanroc wasn't moving or reacting much.

I went and checked it out when it was clear and we found something really unsettling.

This Lycanroc has some spine problems, I know this because it struggled to get up but when it did, it got on four legs, then two legs.

Now a Dusk form Lycanroc is made to be on all four like this

However its back is arced upwards like it's slouching.

It's also shaking a bit, and is covered in scratches and bruises.

Every time I try and get close the Purrloin starts thrashing and clawing.

We let it go and it made its way back to the Lycanroc, and started to guard it again.

We knew this was bad, so we made a plan to try and help them.

-------

We managed to get Purrloin secure once again and Lycanroc into a cage very carefully, but we kept them close together as we transported them.

Lycanroc was surprisingly docile and just seemed tired and dehydrated, so we made sure it got plenty of water.

Purrloin was on edge the whole time, making sure that Lycanroc ate, and keeping us at a distance, but I caught her eating from time to time.

We had to hold her down once again, but she used her double team to evade us for a bit. She really knows how to use that move.

Eventually we restrained her when we got to the Ranger Base and we had a medical technician look at Lycanroc.

They said that it had some severe spine misalignment, not from an injury but from constant strain.

At some point during our conversation, we noticed Lycanroc trying to get up, and "stand up" again on two legs, like a Midnight Form Lycanroc.

It was really odd to see, and the tech helped put it him back onto two legs, but it almost seemed scared to be touched when in that position.

This wasn't battle damage, this was intentional trauma.

Purrloin was definitely upset, and managed to get free and started scratching at the technician.

Thankfully I restrained her so the technician could work more, and I calmed her down a bit.

The tech said that they would need to run some tests on the Lycanroc to see if they could fix his back, so we had to let him stay for a while.

However we couldn't leave Purrloin there in case she tried to attack the tech again.

-------

I didn't want to seperate them, but I needed her to be somewhere safe while the technician did his job, so I got her into a carrier and took her with me on my rounds.

She was hissing and scratching for a while but I sat and talked with her for a bit and she seemed pretty alert but much calmer.

Most of the day was just a usual trip around my areas, however I started finding alot more litter in some areas.

There was alot of trash on the ground in a park area just outside Veilstone City, and normally I would pick it all up, but there was alot, almost like there was a carnival recently there, but there was nothing planned as far as I knew.

I also noticed Purrloin getting really upset and hissing a lot.

I looked around the trash and found a bunch of flyers for some kind of venue.

"Mister E's Enigmas"

The flyer listed a sort of sideshow of oddities.

Things like:

The Fire Breathing Treecko Brothers, Dancing Donphan, and their star attraction-

"The Were-Lycanroc" a pokemon that could switch between forms.

That's when it hit me, and I knew someone was going to get in trouble.

-------

After bringing this information to the technician and my boss Jo. Me and my Ranger Team decided to attend the show incognito to see if we were right, and boy we wish we weren't.

We attended what could only be described as a shifty, pop up carnival.

There were a few games, a couple food trucks, and a large tent that held the "main events".

There were some "exotic" holding cages that people could interact with like a small cage for two Emolga to live in, they could barely get into the air before smacking into the roof.

There was a small area that had a large heat lamp for "desert" pokemon, but it was mostly a browning Cacnea, a Trapinch with barely enough sand to cover its body, and a Salandit which didn't belong there.

There were others but we already knew what those cages would be like as well.

The show kn the main stage was getting ready to start, so we decided to check it out.

"Mister E" took to the stage, he had your typical big top attire, top hat, long tails, but he had a stripey pattern that made him look like a hypnotic wheel.

He introduced his first act, which was "The Fire Breathing Treecko Brothers". I was worried.

Now Treecko is a Grass Type, and it only learns one grass type move naturally: Sunny Day.

They also don't have any natural immunities to fire types, so this didn't make much sense for normal Treecko.

From what I saw in the act, they learned how to eat fire and pretend they were using flamethrower. However you could tell they didn't like it. Treecko are calm and collected pokemon, but those two looked stressed out, and they were molting a bit in certain areas near their face and tails, probably due to the flames and stress.

After them was the "Dancing Donphan". Donphan is a very heavy pokemon, and it's main skill is rolling like a tire.

This Donphan looked much lighter, like it hadn't been fed its regular amount to keep it healthy.

Minnie also mounted out that the music playing during the dance had a weird sound mixed in. Basically, whenever we heard the sound, Donphan would do a move like jumping or rolling over. The sound was similar to a sort of crash, but it was clear that it was a sound that Donphan was afraid of.

Now came the finale, "The Were-Lycanroc" however that part didn't happen, and instead they brought out some clowns and the Treecko Brothers again.

Thats when we knew what was really happening.

-----

I went back to check on Lycanroc who was sleeping like a log with Purrloin right next to it.

I didn't remember any cages with any feline pokemon in them so maybe it was just a wild Purrloin, but I wasn't going to disturb them to find out.

The doctor told me that it might take some time, but Lycanroc's spine and back legs were forced to move in positions they weren't supposed to for so long, that it would take some time, therapy and equipment to help it.

If there was a chance to help this poor pokemon I knew we would take it, but we also couldn't leave all of those other pokemon to suffer.

We were about to get really busy at the Ranger Base.

------

The next day, Me and Minnie went incognito one more time and we had to sit through that horrible show once more.

We had Skip with us, helping to send info and let us know of any devices or intercept their communications.

Turns out we didn't know that was happening because they had police scanners to avoid getting caught and they had wireless security cameras inside the tent.

They were prepared, but so were we.

My whole team was on board, both Humans and Pokemon.

We had a plan that began with Kuriboh knocking out some generators by sneaking around and unplugging everything he could.

That caused some confusion for a bit while we got in place. While they went to secure their "precious cargo", we made our presence known.

Eddie was outside the tent, dealing with the muscle and moving crews, his Bewear is very strong and pretty quick too, so we didn't need to worry about them much.

However we still had Mister E.

I told Bliss to keep an eye on him so we wouldn't loose him in the panic, but we had a delay as some of the Treeco Bros fire got out of control and some of the tent started to catch on fire.

Minnie and her Cloyster were immediately ready to deal with it and she was ready to help the Treeco Bros as well.

Bliss was able to keep tabs on the ringleader who was trying to get into his van and split, most likely with his cash.

However, Sylvester doesn't like people who mistreat pokemon, and Jo's Tangrowth has some really strong vines. Strong enough to rip car doors off hinges.

------

We had caught this terrible man, and we discovered he had been doing this for a couple of years, just now making his way through Sinnoh, and he was looking for some pokemon to add to his show.

We also watched some of his security tapes and we learned that "Were-Lycanroc" was really just a Dusk Form that he forced to stand up and slouch over by constantly whipping with a flexible stick. And with the assistance of red lights, smoke machines and music, hey could make people think it was changing forms.

We also learned that Purrloin was tossed into Lycanroc's cage, possibly as a "play thing" but I guess he actually made a friend either her and hiding her from Mister E, and she had been caring for him as well, stealing food and causing trouble for them whenever she could.

Needless to say, we were able to get them arrested, and we are now in the process of evaluating some of these pokemon, but we may have too many to deal with here.

We might need to reach out for some help.

------

In the case of Lycanroc and Purrloin, they are comfortably resting in holding, and Lycanroc is be getting fitted for some equipment to help its spine and legs heal.

I'll be checking on them soon, but for now me and my team need to rest after this long day.

[saffron-nova21]

X. Meeting the Team Pt. 2

The Next Chapter Masterlist

< Previous Chapter • You Are Here • Next Chapter >

Warnings: Strong language, a depiction of a panic attack and the reader's panic, mentions of Oikawa having a knee injury and panic attacks, reader yells at Kuroo.

A/N: By the way, please don't hate me for giving Kuroo a Camaro, I know literally nothing about cars, I'll call myself out so you don't have to.

Stepping out of Kuroo's sleek black 2013 Camaro, your eyes look at the large gym, the sound of volleyballs hitting hardwood floors bringing back memories for you. Glancing out of the corner of your eyes, towards your taller friend, you remembered the last time you'd walked into an unfamiliar gym. You'd met people who you'd made life-long friends with and he'd helped you get out of an awful situation.

Kuroo, Kenma, Lev, and... Well, really, the majority of the Nekoma High and Fukurōdani Academy volleyball clubs... They'd helped you realize when you needed to put your foot down and start looking out for yourself, rather than worrying about stepping on people's toes. While yes, you had lost two of the most important people in your life, by doing so, you also met quite a few people who truly were looking out for you and your happiness.

Did you hate Atsumu and Suna for the way they treated you? No. They both did a lot of damage, through their words and actions. But, at the end of the day, you'd all been so much younger and you weren't going to waste the rest of your life, hating people who weren't even in the picture, anymore. Or so, you thought.

You didn't ever intend or want to see them again, after the emotional turmoil they'd put you through. Little did Kuroo know just how badly you would respond to seeing them again.

"Are you going to stand there and keep reminiscing over when you met me, or are you going to walk inside and make some new friends?" The teasing smirk on Kuroo's lips only reminded you of the fact that even though he was pretty much a mother to you and Kenma, he was a teasing asshole. He knew how to press all of the right buttons and it would never fail to piss you off.

Walking forward, Kuroo walks forward and grasps the handle of the door, opening it for you. You don't hesitate to begin walking into the gym, flipping Kuroo off on your way. "You talk to me like a preschooler, y'know. And you wonder why Kenma calls you mom behind your back."

Stepping into the gym, you were in awe of your surroundings. Sure, this was an Olympic-level gym, but it looked far too pretty and clean to be a place for as grueling a training regimen as you could assume these athletes were put through.

What you were most pleased to find was that it didn't reek of sweat and floor mats. Instead, it had an almost fresh smell to it. It was partitioned up into three different rooms, as far as you could tell. The largest room was the one you were standing in currently, a weight room; different machinery is scattered neatly around the room and you notice that several ceiling-to-floor mirrors are lining the walls for the boys to observe their form while they work. Across from the door you'd just entered through was a wall of glass, which you could only hope was reinforced, and on the other side was a true volleyball gym, where you could see a few people working on their spikes, even if you couldn't quite make out who they were yet. The last room was closed off and much smaller than the other two, so you assumed it to be where the showers and changing room were located.

"Your highness!" You hear a familiar voice, turning to see Iwaizumi approaching you with a snarky grin, a small white towel hanging from around his neck. He wore a sleeveless grey shirt, only bringing more attention to his defined biceps. Sweats drip down his temple and you find yourself a bit embarrassed when you notice his lip still shows signs of the damage you'd done, the day prior. "So kind of you to finally join us."

Despite the lack of a real smile on his face, one of your own tugged at your lips, knowing that he was only teasing you. "You know, Iwa, you could always just admit that you missed me." Sending a wink his way, you notice that a few of the men are stopping what they're doing to look towards you, their attention captured by how loud Iwaizumi had previously been.

"Baby owl!" You can only brace yourself as you hear the former captain shout to you, knowing he was one for hugs. You didn't quite expect to be scooped up off of your feet. Laughter escapes you as Bokuto spins you around, practically bouncing up and down in joy that you were here. "You missed my spikes, earlier! They were so good, they were so good! They even would have made Akaashi proud!"

As Bokuto places you back down on the ground, some of the other boys are starting to approach, a few looking concerned by the way you gripped Bokuto's shoulder to steady yourself. And though you weren't paying attention to who it was, the three who'd been in the area of the gym and net had entered the weight area and gone for their towels and water bottles.

After you manage to shake yourself out of your dizzied state, you look at Bokuto with a smile. "Yeah, Bo? Well, you'll have to show me some more, later, yeah?"

Feeling a hand on your shoulder, you spot Iwaizumi staring at you, brows pinching together in slight concern for your wellbeing. He places a bottle of water in your hands, before looking a the excited, silver-haired volleyball player, "Let's be careful, Bokuto. It's only their first day."

"They're looking a little dizzy, Bokuto. You might want to refrain from doing that in the future." The deep voice catches you off-guard, eyes flicking towards the very, very tall, scary man, now standing beside Bokuto.

He wasn't just tall, but he had quite a lot of muscle to his frame, giving him the build of a fucking giant. With wide eyes, you look him over. Despite his size, upon closer examination, he seemed a lot gentler than you might've previously mistaken him for. Kind eyes like that didn't belong to someone who would snap you in two... Right? Your eyes move away from his face, trailing down his body. From strong-looking biceps to defined thighs, the man seemed like a machine, more than anything. He couldn't actually be real, right?

"The fuck are you guys feeding him? Holy shit, hi there, B-F-G." You nod towards him, "Is your hair green or brown, because I'm looking at it and I'm gonna be honest, it's confusing me about as much as that Karasuno kid's did. Holy shit, I think I'm haunted by those memories." A mock shudder runs down your spine.

While Bokuto and Kuroo are used to your trailing off-topic, Ushijima looks confused, the poor thing. "What is a... B-F-G?"

"Big friendly giant. It's what they used to call this tall-ass first year who went to volleyball club with us, as well. You should feel special, Ushiwaka."

"Oh my fuck, Yaku, is that you? You got taller! That's criminal. You were my short king!" A pout graces your lips, while you step forward to give your old friend a large hug.

While Yaku hasn't found himself looking an insane amount taller, he did gain a bit of height since his time in high school. He stood in front of you, a hand resting on the back of his neck and his shoulders drawn back. He'd always had this feel-good, confident aura about him and it was something you'd always deeply respected about him. It was good to see that hadn't gone away.

After a brief hug, Yaku opens his mouth to speak, only for Kuroo to beat him to it. "I thought that was Kenma?"

Sighing, you roll your eyes. "I had to put Kenma in a different bracket, or else he would very easily surpass all of you in everything. I mean come on now, this is Kenma we're talking about," you muse with a self-satisfied smirk, making Kuroo raise an eyebrow.

Though, unbeknownst to you were the thoughts going through Kuroo's head. If only you knew why Kenma did all of the things that he did for you.

"I'm so excited to be working with you guys," a grin makes its way onto your lips as you clasp your hands together in front of you in excitement.

The smile that spread over your lips was contagious, even making Ushijima crack a small smile of his own. Out of anyone Kuroo had known, even with your aggression and the talking you'd do when you got excited, you were one of those people who people couldn't help but find themselves drawn to. And none of the men in the gym were able to quite explain why they found you as endearing as they did. Maybe it was the fact that you most certainly had no filter, whatsoever.

Bokuto places his hands on your shoulders, looking at the others on his team, "They're such a good player, guys! They could have gone pro if they wanted to! They have the best jump-float I've ever seen!" His loud bragging unknowingly catches the attention of the three final members of this group, who'd been caught up in conversation and getting a drink of water.

Yaku juts his chin out a bit and if you hadn't known him as well, you'd have thought the look he gave you was downright scrutinizing. But, being the person you were, and him being the person he was, you knew that he only took Bokuto's words as a challenge. "Oh yeah? Then that should be good practice for our receivers and I."

"If you needed service aces to practice on, you could have just asked, Mori! I wouldn't have minded helping you out, outside of my work hours." You smile as you look towards the libero, "I've been needing to get out of the apartment, for a while. Even Kenma can only handle so much of my dumbass."

Ushijima's curiosity gets the best of him and he cocks his head to the side, wondering what profession you'd chosen, rather than a career in volleyball. And so, yet again, Yaku is beaten to the chase, Ushijima speaking before the smaller man can get his mouth open. "What do you work as?"

"Youtuber some days, but twitch streamer, more often than not." Shrugging your shoulders, you continue to smile, "My roommate got me into it, actually, and from there, it became a profession for the both of us. Though he's got a dozen other jobs as well, it's pretty amazing."

A hand comes to ruffle your hair and after quickly identifying it as Kuroo's you lean into the display of affection. "We're talking about you, not Kenma."

"Speaking of," Bokuto speaks, even though it has nothing to do with the topic at hand, and his hands come up to guide your shoulders in the direction of the gym, "You need to set for me!"

Iwaizumi raises his eyebrows, looking impressed, "You can set, as well?"

Nodding excitedly, you dive into an explanation, stopping before Bokuto can steal you away, "Yeah, I play a lot of different positions, actually. My ex-boyfriend was a middle blocker, my childhood friends were a setter and a spiker, and my older brother was an outside hitter - plus, he was amazing at defense, so he helped me a lot with perfecting my service aces when I played in high school. So you can say I was always a well-rounded player."

"Not to mention that you and that ex-boyfriend of yours were almost unbeatable, together. Almost." A warily familiar voice came from behind you, making you look back and grin from ear to ear.

The germaphobe had hardly changed, since high school. He was as tall as ever with a good build to him - only befitting for a volleyball player. As well kept as ever, he stood in front of you, reminding you of the number of times you'd ended up facing him across a net, years before. Though, unlike back then, now you were able to look towards one another for a friendship rather than a healthy rivalry.

"Why if it isn't Sakusa Kiyoomi. It's been forever!" With a questioning glance thrown your way by none other than Bokuto, you explain. "When I was at Inarizaki, we played against Itachiyama all of the time. Kiyoomi and I traded numbers after we bonded over our hatred of large crowds."

Sakusa lets a small uncharacteristic smile slip onto his lips as he glances towards Bokuto, "We haven't really kept in contact, but they'll be a welcome challenge, on the court, again."

"Is that a certain germaphobe of ours... Smiling? Omi! I didn't know you could do that! I guess you can teach an old dog new tricks!"

That voice. Why was he here? Your body goes stiff underneath Bokuto's touch, making the large male draw back to check on you, eyebrows pulled together in concern, until he spots what, or rather who you're staring at.

Because there the two are, standing in all of their glory. Suna Rintarō and Miya Atsumu. They didn't look all that different from the last time you'd seen them. Even though, it'd been what? Nine years?

By the way you go rigid, Suna's eyes drop to the floor, almost guiltily. It had been nine years and you still hated them. Though, he supposed they both deserved it. When you'd told them that you were leaving Inarizaki, they made your life even worse than what it had been. They gave you absolutely every reason to leave, rather than try to convince you to stay.

Before anyone can say anything, you catapult yourself into the air in an attempt to flee the building, much resembling a cat. You just, bolted in the first route you saw working and that was apparently through the air. Kuroo had to jerk you into his chest before you could face-plant to get you to calm down for a second. Sakusa narrowed his eyes as he looked between Suna and Atsumu - had they really been so awful to you?

"I quit. I'm not gonna do it." Your words sounded childish, you knew that but you didn't care, shaking your head as you pull yourself away from Kuroo, having half a mind to leave and not talk to any of the men here ever again. Well, more two of them, than anything else. Though, as you pull away, it dawns on you: was this why he had been so dead-set on you coming to 'help the team out?' With this question in mind, you turn around to face Kuroo. "Did you know they were going to be here?" When he doesn't respond, you feel your breath catch in your throat. The air you were breathing felt heavy inside your chest. He couldn't do that to you - he wouldn't. You flex your hands a bit - everything wasn't actually crumbling. Just remember what Kenma said... Breath...

You can't find the words or guts to continue until he reaches for you, anger quickly rising. What made him think he had any right to comfort you when he'd put you in this situation? "Do you not remember any of what happened in high school? Do you not remember how he," pointing a dramatic finger at Suna, "manipulated me? How bad he hurt me, more than once?"

"Do you not remember what he let happen?" After pointing towards the faux-blonde briefly, you drop your hand back to your side, "Oh no, I forget, you weren't there to see the damage they did, right? Because you went off to University and forgot all about Kenma and me, until we got out of high school, as well, right? Right?" You were hardly able to speak, trying to catch your breath in between words. Your voice was growing faint and strained, due to your lack of oxygen in your lungs.

You knew that everyone's stare was on you, only worsening your panicking. Your hands come to your shirt, wringing the ends of it as you try to ground yourself. But you couldn't stop. You just kept talking, needing Kuroo to understand why you were angry, why you were upset. He needed to understand what you were feeling and what he had done.

"You left me, with strangers, in a big city, after promising me it would all be okay. I wasn't welcomed back with my grandmother and brother, after the falling out. But did you even bother to check up, once, after you left? Did you even care, after promising me it was going to be okay? Come on, give me an answer, huh?" You weren't quite sure what brought up all of these old feelings. Maybe it was having to see the two that caused you all of that distress. "Fuck you, Tetsurō."

Kuroo couldn't deny the fact that he was surprised by the way you lashed out at him. He was wondering where all of this anger had been, years ago. Why hadn't you or Kenma ever said anything to him about this? He was fumbling, no words would escape him, no matter his efforts to get something out.

An uneasy silence hangs in the air for a few long moments, everyone looking between you and the former Nekoma captain. Truthfully, you'd never really dealt with everything that had happened, emotionally. You just kind of shoved it down and distracted yourself with being at a new school and video games.

"Bokuto, take Miya, Ushijima, and Suna and go and practice on the court, for a while." A firm voice saves Kuroo from having to respond, making everyone look towards the athletic trainer. "Yaku, I think you should escort Kuroo out. I'll take Y/N home, today." Iwaizumi walks over to you, looking at Sakusa, "Go get me a cool, damp towel, okay?"

You aren't quite sure if Kuroo leaves willingly, or if Yaku has to force him out, but you don't really care, at the moment. Iwaizumi places an arm around your shoulders and brings you over to a bench to sit on, uncapping a water bottle for you. He crouches down in front of you and hands it to you. "Hey, look at me. It's going to be okay, can you focus on breathing for me, right now?"

You weren't crying, were you? Why was it so hot in here? Why couldn't you just calm down? Everyone was looking at you, weren't they? Had you acted irrationally? They were going to hate you for being so dramatic, weren't they? So much for a good first impression with the boys...

"Did you hear me?" Iwaizumi's voice cuts through your thoughts, making your eyes shift to his. Without a word, you move your eyes back down to the water bottle in his hands, "Breath, Y/N."

Easier said than done. "Al -," you swallow shakily and nod, "Alright."

You move your eyes away from him - bad idea Y/N. When you spot the men glancing over at you while they distractedly get to work, you don't quite register that they wanted to check on you, because they were worried about you, mistaking it, instead, for judgment. You opt for closing your eyes, tapping your fingers together rhythmically to help you calm yourself down.

Looking you over, Iwaizumi is reminded of all the late practices that he would find Oikawa collapsing from exhaustion or due to his knee injuries. Though, Oikawa only got this bad when he held the weight of not making it to nationals on his shoulders. Was this a panic attack that you were having, like Oikawa use to have? Or was it something else? He noticed you reach out to him, after a moment of his thinking, and he offers you a hand, silently nodding when you flash him a grateful, weak, but grateful, smile.

Slowly, your breathing mellowed out and the tears pricking your eyes slipped down your cheeks, your head hanging as you attempt to withdraw your hand from Iwaizumi. Though, your eyes move back up when he gently grips your hand, holding it in his, still. It isn't long after that when you feel nimble fingers grip your chin, tilting it up so that Sakusa can gently pat your cheeks and face with the cool cloth. You knew he didn't like touching people much and you were tempted to tell them that they didn't have to do this for you. But their touch was so gentle and their presence so calming that you couldn't bring yourself to open your mouth.

Instead of saying anything, you relax against Iwaizumi and Sakusa's touch. Normally it was Kenma who'd be doing this for you, just as you'd do it for him, but Kenma wasn't here, right now. And you were left to depend on yourself and these very kind, very gentle men.

It doesn't take Yaku long to make his way over, sitting on the bench behind you and gently rubbing circles against your back. "You okay there?" He asks you after a few moments of silence.

Letting out a breath, you open your eyes and nod. You pull your hand away from Iwaizumi and pull your head from Sakusa, turning from them, "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine."

Though, you aren't expecting Sakusa to grasp your chin once again and tilt your head in their direction again, "You aren't and we all know it, so cut the act."

Yaku sends a glare towards the taller man, "Sakusa!"

"What?" He snaps back. "I'm right, aren't I? They're not okay and they have every right to express it."

Iwaizumi sighs and looks at you, ignoring the other two, "Drink some water, okay? Look, after today, you don't have to return, I think we'll all understand if you don't want to... But, and you can ignore what I'm about to say if you want, I think that you need closure. Even if that comes from just having to tolerate occupying the same building as them."

Glancing over his shoulders, you find Suna and Atsumu both glancing in your direction. They looked so guilty... Why did you care? You frown and give him a shrug, "Whatever..."

Looking at you, Yaku nods slowly, "We'll try and keep you away from them, alright?"

After a nod of confirmation from Sakusa, you sigh and take a sip of the water bottle Iwaizumi had offered you. "Okay. Fine, yeah, I'll... I'll keep helping out." You confirm. "But, I'm going to bring Kenma for the next few days, just to make sure... This doesn't happen again." Gesturing to where the three sat, doting over you, you lower your eyes again.

"Whatever is going to make you feel most comfortable," Iwaizumi tells you, bringing a hand to affectionately ruffling your hair, watching the way you immediately lean into the affection.

"Let's get to work, what do you say, Y/N?" Sakusa hums, tone surprisingly gentle with you.

You finally stand up, capping your water bottle. "Yeah... Yeah. What can I do for you boys?"

Kenma and you both have a history of having panic attacks and you both are very good at calming one another down, due to your years of experience.

The boys might have just met you, but they all quickly developed this sense of 'I need to protect them' after what happened in front of them.

Atsumu let someone blackmail you, while you were both in high school and Suna continuously used you for his own amusement after he lost his memories and before he got them back. And they both said hurtful things when you announced you'd be leaving.

I am so sorry for how late this was, honestly. I just couldn't get it written how I wanted it. And even still, I don't really like the end result. But no matter, here it is, now, I hope you guys enjoy it. I hope you guys are having a great day, as well! Remember, sweetheart, I'm proud of you. You deserve to eat, get a good amount of sleep, and drink some water, I am so proud of you. Have a great day, alright! I'll have another chapter out tomorrow 🤍 I love you guys.

General Taglist:

@kookie-doughs @halesandy @ermahgerd-larry-and-ziam @its-the-aerieljeane @onlyonew @kac-chowsballs @saltylettuce @thathoneybee3 @daninaninani @akkeyomi @vintagexparker

The Next Chapter Taglist:

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[justheretobreakthings]

Whumpmas in July: Day 12

@whumpmasinjuly

Warmth

Also my fill for Hypothermia for @badthingshappenbingo

Read on AO3 My house, my rules, my ko-fi

When Coran had been doling out supply-gathering assignments to each of the paladins, Keith had thought nothing of his. Telrov was cold, yes. He wasn’t used to cold climates, sure. But he had his armor, and he had dealt with extreme weather before, so when Coran had asked whether Keith was up to the assignment, of course he said he was. In fact, he was almost insulted that the Altean didn’t think he could handle a bit of cold.

And sure, maybe ‘a bit of cold’ was a bit of an understatement, since it seemed that the entire dwarf planet was covered in a layer of ice that he had to hammer through with his sword in order to get to the fungi growing under the frozen soil that he needed to collect. And sure, maybe after the team’s previous mission yesterday, he should have mentioned that he had taken quite the wallop to the chestplate, but it hadn’t looked like anything had been damaged any worse than a bit of denting, and he had walked away from it with just some soreness and a bit of bruising.

How was he supposed to have known that the temperature control valve had been damaged? There had been no warning signs. Nothing but a few ticks of high pitched beeping started up while Keith was already nearly a varga’s walk through the rocky, frozen wasteland from Red’s landing site. The next thing he’d known, the heating that usually flowed evenly through the armor had disappeared.

He had tried his best not to panic. He knew where Red was, and even without the temperature control mechanisms, his armor and suit were far from flimsy. Surely he could hold out for long enough to make it back. He hadn’t gotten quite as much of the ingredient as Coran had requested, but hopefully he would be forgiven that shortcoming in light of the circumstances.

Shoving the last of the fungus he had managed to collect into the bag he’d been given to store it, he turned to start making the journey back to Red. It should be a shorter walk getting back to his landing site, in terms of time, since he didn’t have to collect anything on the return journey and he’d already broken through the spots where icicles had been thick enough to block his path. Still, despite those advantages, the return trip was slowly revealing itself to be more difficult than he would have liked.

For one thing, it was a lot harder to trudge across the ice while shivering, and that shaking worsened the longer Keith was out in the cold. The boots of his armor gave him some traction, but not enough to always keep him from slipping in places where there was no rock wall or frozen shrub to hang onto for support. More than once he lost his footing and wound up gracelessly splayed across the ice, and each time he dreaded the bruises he was likely gaining from the impacts. During one fall, a slip over the edge of a path and down a good ten feet only to land on his rear, he was certain he heard his loinguard crack – he could feel a particularly biting cold sneaking into that spot as he went on, which he tried his damnedest to ignore.

His helmet, too, was causing him trouble. His breathing, which grew steadily heavier the longer he walked, would fog up the visor with every exhale. It wasn’t completely impossible to see through – the material wasn’t quite glass, and didn’t fog up quite so badly as, say, a window or pair of glasses on Earth would – but he still had to squint through the blur enough to give him a hell of a headache to avoid walking into ice pillars or off of cliffs. He debated simply removing the helmet altogether, but exposing his bare face to the cold didn’t seem like a good idea.

So instead, he powered through, tripping and sliding across rocks and ice. His movements slowed as he grew steadily more numb, not to mention more exhausted by the minute. What he wouldn’t give right now to be back in his room on the Castle of Lions, wrapped up in as many blankets as he could find. Maybe with some of Hunk’s hot cocoa or Shiro’s tea. Not Pidge’s coffee; it was hot, sure, but it was as bitter as Lance after losing a round of sparring during training.

Heh. That was a good one. He’d have to remember it, find some point where it would be natural to use it. Lance always claimed that he had no sense of humor whatsoever, but Hunk actually said that Keith was getting better at –

In his distraction, Keith didn’t notice the thick crack in the ice in front of him until the toe of his boot was already in it, and he was sent sprawling to the ground, his vision whiting out for a flash when he landed on his chin and his jaw was knocked together.

He let out a groan and slowly rolled onto his side, curling inward. He needed to get up, keep walking, get back to Red. But God, getting up was so hard. His muscles were stiff as he could ever remember them being, his hands and feet throbbed. On a whim he tried to curl his fingers – he had no idea whether or not he succeeded, which was concering on its own.

The Garrison had covered first aid pretty extensively, and definitely had at least touched on what to do in extreme cold, considering the low temperatures that could be reached even within their own solar system, but admittedly, first aid hadn’t really been his forte. Especially not first aid related to cold. He was much more accustomed, after all, to weather that was too hot than weather that was too cold. If Telrov was a desert instead of a tundra, he’d surely be having no trouble at all. He knew what to do about overheating, and what signs to look out for.

And he knew that fatigue was a danger sign of heat exhaustion. If freezing was anything like heatstroke, his current sleepiness was probably a bad omen.

The shivering had stopped too, he noticed as he fought to keep his eyes open. Shivering was likely the cold equivalent to sweating. Another bad sign, but he found that he wasn’t quite as concerned as he was a little while ago. He was just too sleepy to be concerned.

He had never noticed before just how pillow-like permafrost was…

His oncoming sleep was interrupted suddenly, with a low, rumbling noise. Not from the world around him – Keith hadn’t encountered a single animal so far on Telrov, and it was unlikely there were any nearby that had managed to hide from him, at least none big enough to let out that low a growl – but seemingly from inside his head, echoing in his ears and worsening his headache.

I’m fine, he thought back to Red. Not because he was, but because that was his automatic, knee-jerk response whenever anyone was concerned enough about his wellbeing to actively check in on him, which the Red Lion usually only did in the direst of circumstances. When he’d spent hours getting beaten up by Blade agents, for example, or when he threw himself out of the airlock of a Galra ship and into the void of space.

He knew, on some level, that he wasn’t, in fact, fine. But at the moment, he couldn’t quite recall what exactly was wrong, besides just being very tired. So he didn’t bother answering any further.

Another growl in his head followed, this one laced with skepticism. It was a weird sensation, having a giant robotic lion inside his brain. Almost humorous. Keith didn’t have the energy to laugh right now, but if he did, he would have.

Red reached out again, this time sending a mental image his way. Well, more a mental sensation than an image. A feeling of icy, sharp and wet and seeping through his skin as if frost were expanding from the inside out and melting into slush to drip off of his fingertips. A sort of questioning lilt at the end.

Cold. Something about cold.

…Are you cold, Red? Keith thought at her.

The frustrated growl that she returned seemed to be as close as a lion could ever get to saying ‘You are an idiot’ in plain English. Rude.

He tried to think of some retort, glad that he could express it telepathically rather than speaking it aloud since he was pretty sure his teeth were frozen together, but before he could come up with anything at all coherent, another sensation was sent his way. At the edges of his mind, he could see the flickering of flames. Not much – the last embers of a fire in a fireplace that hadn’t been properly stoked, but that was still fighting for life.

And just as he saw it in his mind’s eye, he felt it. Sometimes in the heat of battle, Red would send him fire. A heat that would act like a sort of fuel, pumping throughout his body like blood and granting him a boost of adrenaline that could make him feel faster and stronger than he had ever been in his pre-paladin life.

Now, she was giving him that fire again, but it was different this time. It wasn’t a sharp and focused flame propelling him into action. Instead this fire was softer, more diffuse. Spreading slowly from his chest, moving more like water than like fire. Gradually melting the frost in his veins. Warming, but not burning.

Keith shivered, noticing once again how cold the world outside was compared to his insides, but that noticing came as a relief. The aches were returning – he wasn’t numb. As his blood started flowing again, he grimaced at the throbbing sensation that began in his fingers and toes, the skin stinging bitterly where it touched against the fabric of his gloves and socks, circling the silicone of the black and white rings on his middle fingers, always tucked into the safety and privacy of his gloves. He hoped it wasn’t frostbite. He didn’t doubt that a trip to the cryopod could fix it if it was, but he dreaded the way his hands and feet looked right now if they were frostbitten.

Red huffed in his mind, warm breath seeming to hit his face as the sound seeped into his ears. He curled in on himself further before blinking his eyes open, relieved to find that they were no longer stinging from the piercing cold. For several ticks, all he saw was gray, the gray of the sky fogged up by the paler gray of his breath against the helmet’s visor. Even as he watched, though, the fog was clearing, thick water droplets cutting through like rain as he warmed.

And minutes later, the world beyond the visor wasn’t gray anymore. In an instant the cloudy gray was replaced by a mass of red and white, and he found himself staring up at the Red Lion floating above him.

She let out a sound halfway between a growl and a purr, and although the Lions of Voltron had fixed, robotic faces that couldn’t show expression, Keith could swear she was looking at him with that sort of fond exasperation that a parent would give to a kid who had wandered away and later been found. The look his dad had given him as a kid when they’d lost track of each other at a zoo and security had found him trying to figure out how to climb into the hippopotamus exhibit before dragging him to the information booth and reuniting them.

A look that said, “You just did something very stupid, but I’m just glad you’re safe.”

Her mouth was agape, waiting. Not scooping him up on her own, just certain he would climb into her on his own. Keith took a deep breath before finally beginning the arduous struggle to his feet.

It took several attempts to get upright, but once he was standing on trembling legs, the ramp descended from Red’s mouth, and Keith’s hauled himself up it, against all odds making it into the cockpit without falling. Once there, he collapsed instantly into the pilot’s seat. He had never before fully appreciated just how soft the cushioning of the chair was, or how pleasant and soothing the hum of the engine, or just how cozy and warm the entire interior. Never again would he take it for granted.

One more sensation sent his way from Red, a softness added to the weight of his armor and his clinging undersuit, making them feel just a hint more like a blanket. Then she sent one more mental nudge, this one questioning.

“Yeah, Red,” Keith said softly. “That’s better. Thank you.”

With a final purr of approval, and apparently having decided Keith was too busy getting cozy and warm to pilot her himself, Red took to the air, leaving the ice behind.

[saphirered]

HI, Its me again! I was wondering if you could kinda do a another part of the Eldritch Knight fic. Something like some more scenarios of essek fanboying over reader? ( Watching reader save a bunch of civilians by catching/lifting up a HUGE boulder that was about to crush the civilians, out smarting a evil wizard, helping essek with a spell he couldn't get right?) Sorry if this is long! Do whatever you want with this and I hope you have an amazing day ( pls drink some water!)

Hya! I hope you like this one and sorry it took so long (Hope the word count makes up for that part 😝). I tried to incorporate as many of these aspects as I could and keep it consistent so I hope it worked and you like the outcome. Thanks and have an amazing day yourself and stay hydrated! 😘

“So what is it about this spell that’s so difficult? You’ve never had any trouble transcribing spells in the past.” You walk beside Essek as you go down the street, or float in his case. 

It’s a lovely evening in Asarius, the darkness of night a necessity to those sensitive to sunlight. The City of Beasts leaves much to be desired, especially compared to Rosohna to which it doesn’t even hold a candle but it’s a nice evening no less and you get to spend more time with your favourite Shadowhand wizard so you’re not complaining. 

“I don’t have any trouble transcribing spells. If I did, I’d seriously question your faith in me and my credibility as a praised magic user prodigy.” You smile at the last part. Whereas to anyone else those words may have pinged as arrogance and an ego beyond a healthy standard, you clearly hear a slight gulp and sense of defensiveness to his wording, a sense of doubt. 

“Essek, if anything your capabilities have spoken for themselves. As a humble student of Dunamis with a limited understanding of the beauty of the craft even I can say so. I don’t question your skills.” From the corner of your eye you can almost see him let out a breath of relieve as you continue. 

“However, I must question your sanity slightly for willingly coming to Asarius. What is it you so desperately need you couldn’t get in Rosohna and don’t get me wrong, I like spending time with you, but why am I here?” A smile creeps onto his face but quickly turns neutral at the realisation you’re in a public space with watching eyes all around. You understand. 

“I’m in the process of creating a new spell of my own device. I’ve run out of materials and bought up the last of the stock in Rosohna, which I’ve also already gone through. Now why I asked you to come along, I cannot carry everything on my own and do not trust the careless hands of guards and servants to properly handle such delicate materials with proper consideration and gentleness.” 

“Oh, so you need me to look pretty and flex so you can ogle and admire me again? You should have just asked. I’d happily let you watch another sparring session or training. The company would be much more selective and you wouldn’t need to fight to keep that expression on your face like your life depended on it.” You try to whisper in all seriousness but can’t help some giggles cracking your voice. Essek’s eyes go wide for a second and the faintest blush creeps onto his cheeks, something he cannot hide. He quickly glances to the left and right to make sure no one’s noticed. Luckily no one did. 

“Perhaps you could save such proclamations in more private company… for my sake…” The last part he speaks under his breath but you can still just barely hear the words.

You finally find the shop. Essek immediately approaches the person behind the counter as you look around. There are some magical items placed on what once may have been plush velvet pillows but the velvet is crushed in places. The glass displays show finger prints and dust and grime at the corners, not properly cleaned for a long time. The wooden floor is sticky in some places and this is one of those moments where you wish you could float like Essek. You browse while he finishes up. 

While you browse and get to one of the larger displays another customer at the display next to, still quite some space away from you suddenly moves away to an entirely different display case on the other side of the room. Weird. You glance over but don’t think anything serious of it but keep an eye out regardless. 

Essek signals for you he’s done and on the counter you see several huge stacks of paper and an the equivalent of a bucket worth of ink in several bottles. Mentally figuring out how you’re going to carry this much, not because of the weight but solely the awkward size and shape of the stacks of paper you undo your cloak and begin to stack up the paper in one large stack onto the centre of your cloak and one smaller stack, compared to the bigger one that is, that you put to the side. The shopkeeper offers you some twine rope to keep the pages secure in their stack. and you begin folding your cloak around the bigger stack so it’s fully covered. You take the corners and tie them securely in a knot around your waist while using the closure ties to cross them over your chest and around your back where they tie. A makeshift backpack but secure and safe in a way the paper won’t get damaged. You grab the remaining stack from the counter and carry it in your arms.

“You carry the ink. Let’s not risk it spilling over the paper or this will all have been for nothing.” Essek picks up the ink and you let him take the lead out of the shop holding the door open with a quick mage hand. Outside you walk side by side once more. 

You see Essek side glance you several times but you’re unsure whether it’s because he’s making sure you’re not falling behind, you’re doing alright, if the paper isn’t getting damaged or simply watch the defined flexing muscles of your arms and shoulders as you walk, unbothered by the weight of what could by far exceed a person’s weight in materials. 

You’re nearing the Aurora Hold, your way back to Rosohna when you see something from the corner of your eye; the same person you saw in the shop… they’re sticking to the shadows moving from building to building and blending into the crowd when possible to avoid detection, their eyes trained on you or more like Essek. Essek seems to have caught on to the person trailing you too. 

“We’re being followed.” Essek states under his breath so only you can hear. 

“That we are. Same person as from the shop. What’s the plan?” You say back, the both of you acting none the wiser to your stalker. 

“Get to the Hold. Aurora Watch will be more present the closer we get. They’re less likely to try anything in the open.” He floats along eyes trained on your destination. Though, he doesn’t sound too sure about it stalling whatever your follower is planning. 

You glance around briefly having lost track of them but find them picking up pace towards you. Deciding not to wait and see what’s coming next you move the heavy stack of paper over balancing it on your lower arm, between your hand and body while grabbing Essek’s arm with your now free one, you pick up pace and run pulling him along with you as you push people aside and weave through them for the quickest path to the Aurora Hold. 

“Let’s hope your right.” You tell Essek as the person follows behind you picking up pace as well. By passing and pushing through certain people you manage to make it more difficult for them to follow and hope to draw enough attention from the Aurora Watch or really anyone bothered enough to pick a fight so the stalker will lose interest or opportunity. Casting anything major right here is a big no go with the amount people in the street and you’re still too far away for anything targeted specifically towards them. Luckily for you, they’re in the same boat when it comes to targeting the two of you yet you’re hoping they’re not stupid enough to cause severe collateral damage. 

You’re approaching the square to the Aurora Hold and see more guards. You shout for one of them to stop as they pass by you and hand them the stack of paper in your one arm, the guard buckles under the weight as you untie the fastenings of your cloak and then the one around your waist setting it down besides them. The Aurora Hold is still aways away on the other side of the square and with how busy it is you’d never make it there without them catching up. 

“What are you doing?” Essek asks you as he shushes the guard. The guard recognises Essek’s station and immediately obeys his command. 

“We’re not going to make it in time. Not without them getting to us first. Confrontation it is.” You take out your sword and toss the sheath to the side. Essek nods and tells the guard to get call reinforcements to subtly clear the square as much as possible. Luckily conflicts and fights in the open in Asarius are about as common as the rain falling from the sky so no one will bother to get in the middle of this. 

You take place a few steps in front of Essek to the side and wait. Both of you keep an eye on your chaser watching them draw closer as you stay put. Once within range Essek attempts to cast hold person on them but it fails. 

You can see their eyes narrow as they continue to approach determined. They take out some components and begin casting a spell before you can do anything a bright streak fires from their finger. You manage to dodge into a dive roll avoiding most of the impact but others around you weren’t so lucky. Essek barely managed to get out of the brunt of it too. The buildings and watchtower to your side have begun to catch fire. The people who managed to get out of the explosion quickly begin dragging people out of the way to safety clearing the way between you and the person. 

“Worry about your paper. I got this.” You look at Essek over your shoulder who manages to quench the flames of your cloak protecting the precious paper. You twirl your sword twice to feel the familiar balance and pull of gravity you’ve grown accustomed to. 

Approaching the caster after you and Essek you keep a safe distance between you and them. At least, as safe as it can be when someone is clearly capable of some ranged attacks. 

“I’ve nothing against you. Get out of my way so I can finish my job and I might let you live.” You hear the faintest hint of a Zemnian accent. Volstrucker. Great. Now you’re dealing with an assassin. 

“Sorry. Not gonna happen. Go back to wherever you came from and tell your superiors to stay away and I’ll let you live. If you don’t, I’ll make sure your remains will be returned to your next of kin for a proper burial instead of being fed to the moorbounders.” They step closers to you and you step back keeping the same amount of distance between you. 

“How very kind of you. I think I’ll pass.” They sneer. You take that as your cue and run close sword swinging. They manage to deflect the first blow with a shield spell but the second one strikes true and sends them off their feet. They get up quickly and send a firebolt your way but you’re quick enough to avoid that one. You swing again and hit their side, coming around with a second hit you step in close and use your momentum to shift to the side and swipe at their legs sending them to the ground once more. 

A blade apparates in their hand, getting up they slash at you. You try to block the first blow but it still hits cutting across your shoulder. The second hit comes for the side of your leg. You have no way of deflecting this one so you take it and use the opportunity to elbow them in the face, sweeping their feet from under them. They look up to you blood beginning to stream out of their nose. 

“Why don’t you just help me? You seem friendly enough. I could use an ally right now.” They speak in a sweet voice, trying to cast some kind of charm on you and you feel it take in your brain but fight it off. You’re not so easily charmed. You stab down through their abdomen and they cry out in pain. Removing your blade the Aurora Watch rushes over to the two of you and you take a step back. People fill back into the square to see what happened and you walk back over to Essek. 

You let the Watch deal with the assassin as you inspect the paper covered by your cloak. The cloak is partially scorched but the paper survived. 

“You know, when you said sometimes people send assassins after you and they occasionally manage to make it past defences I thought you were joking.” Essek gives you a deadpanned expression. 

“I wish I was. My apologies. I should have been more careful and many thanks for valiantly protecting my life and my materials. I do not think I could have wished for a more capable and amazing protector.” You give him a wink.

The conversation is cut short by ruckus from the Aurora Watch and the assassin. The assassin is fighting back and manages to cast a spell aimed at Essek. You’re quick enough to cast the resilient sphere spell on Essek providing a shimmering protective barrier around him. A second attack from the assassin goes wide and strikes the burning watchtower. 

The watchtower begins to fall overhead. Thinking quickly to keep yourself, the guards and the people having gathered around from being crushed by a flaming building you hold your sword horizontal above your head, take out your gold dust and throw it into the air onto the sword and speak the words. You let go of the sword and duck down yelling for everyone to do the same. As a reflex you use your arms to protect yourself from the impact but the impact never came. 

You feel the scorching heat of the flames and looking up you see the burning watchtower stationary in the air balanced on your sword high above your head. Quickly rushing out from under. You see the assassin trying to get one final attempt the protective sphere around Essek gone. You grab a dagger from the belt of one of the nearby guards and toss it at the assassin. The dagger strikes true and the target drops. 

Walking up to Essek you reach down to the fallen assassin, twist the blade and pull it out dropping it to the side. 

“Told you to leave while you still could. No second chances.” You mutter as you look over Essek.

“Are you alright?” You ask Essek whose gaze is trained on you. He’s covered in soot and ash greys his usually pristine white hair but seems otherwise unharmed. He didn’t have time to react and retaliate the attempt made by the assassin. 

“I seem to once again have you to thank for saving my life. You are absolutely magnificent. Your clever use of your resources is unrivalled. As is your care and willingness to protect those around you. You truly are an angel in disguise.” He composes himself brushing the gathered ash from his cloak as the guards and people work to heal the wounded and quench the fires. You pick up the wrapped stack of paper and look at Essek.

“Let’s go inside and get your paper secure and safe away from the scorching heat. I want my sword back once they’re done or the spell ends and they have another solution.” You begin leading the way to the Aurora Hold but stop until Essek catches up to you. 

“And you can keep those compliments coming. I’ll consider them payment for saving your life twice? On this day alone? How many is that total now?” You give him a wink and blow him a kiss as you watch the all too familiar blush come back on his cheeks as his back straightens and you continue on your way side by side. 

[atmostories]

Johnny Lawrence x Reader

Matter - Chapter Three Tags: Angst, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Alcohol Abuse, Depression   That was how you found yourself falling into the routine. Each week you'd go to the dojo and work on all of the administration that needed to be done. Johnny would always call and say when he needed you to come in. Most of the time you'd be there while a class was going on, or when Miguel was training with Johnny by himself. Occasionally it would just be the two of you late in the evening. At least with the kids there was something to distract from his company. He was nothing but civil and polite, and that was the problem. You were beginning to hate how he spoke to you. The warmth and the intimacy your conversations used to have wasn't there anymore. It was like it had never existed.

There would be times when he'd make a joke, but there was always something reserved about it, like he was holding back, like he couldn't be himself with you.

It was devastating.

Sometimes you tried to convince yourself to tell Johnny that you couldn't make it, or that you were busy. But he wouldn't ask for your help if he didn't need it. In a way going to the dojo had become your punishment. You couldn't simply walk away from all the hurt and the damage that you'd caused. You had to watch firsthand how little you meant to Johnny now.

It was getting harder to sleep. No matter how tired you were after work your mind kept racing, endlessly imagining what could have happened if you'd stayed with him.

At least the kids started to warm up to you. They'd come into the office and give you their forms, most would smile or say hi. They seemed to be getting used to you being there. Miguel and Aisha would interact with you the most. They'd make small talk when the opportunity arose, ask how things were going, how much work you had to do. It was rather sweet of them. The kid with the mohawk, aptly named Hawk, preferred to keep his distance.

One day during the advanced class, the students were doing some practice fights. Johnny had got the medkit out in preparation and left it on the desk. Fifteen minutes passed without incident until one of the students got kicked in the gut and threw up on the mat. The class groaned in disgust. Looking through the window, you watched Johnny kneel down by the kid and help him up. He told Hawk to go fetch a mop. It looked as if he was the one who had kicked the other kid. Hawk wasn't happy about it but he did what he was told.

Johnny came to the office door with the kid, asking whether you could grab a spare shirt from the filing cabinet. There was some vomit on the kid's gi. He didn't wait for a reply before taking the kid to the bathroom. When you found the shirt, the smell of sick hit your nostrils and your body stiffened.

Suddenly your chest started to hurt, your heart was beating too hard. As you forced yourself to go to the bathroom, your hands started to shake so much that you dropped the shirt onto the ground. You were unsteady on your feet as you picked it up and had to brace against the wall for a brief moment. The door to the bathroom was open, the kid was washing his mouth out in the sink. Johnny barely glanced at you as he took the shirt and thanked you for getting it. He immediately turned his attention back to his student.

Rather than returning to the office, you managed to go out through the back of the dojo. You gasped in the fresh air, not quite able to get enough of it. Your back hit the wall and you slid down onto the ground. That smell, that smell, it was there for hours, all through the night, all through the fucking night. You couldn't leave Johnny to go clean it up, you couldn't leave him, you were too scared, you were terrified. His body started to convulse, he made that strange sound as he choked on his own vomit. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't fucking breathe.

He was okay, Johnny was okay now. You'd held onto him for hours, you had felt the constant rise and fall of his chest, you had made sure he was fine. But what if you hadn't? What if you hadn't gotten out of bed? What if you had woken up in the morning and found him lying there cold-

No. No, you couldn't think about it. You couldn't. He was fine. That's all that mattered. He was fine. He was helping one of his students, he'd probably be resuming the class by now. Focusing on the cars driving past and the people walking on the other side of the street offered a much needed distraction.

Your heart didn't seem to be beating as hard now, it was easier to breathe. A muscle car drove past, its engine loud and bassy as it stopped at the lights. Johnny would love to take a spin in that, thrash it down the highway to see what it's made of, turn up the music to full volume to see how the speakers-

“Are you okay?” You looked up and saw Miguel standing next to you on the sidewalk. He wasn't wearing any shoes.

“Yeah,” you mumbled. He didn't look convinced, if anything he seemed more worried. “I'm not good with sick,” you lied, hoping it would be enough of an explanation.

“Oh, that sucks. My Yaya's like that, a slight whiff and she's out of it for ages. Do you want some water or something?”

“No, I'm alright. I'll be back in a minute.” He went back inside before you could thank him. He was a good kid, you felt bad lying to him. Did you really say you'd come back in a minute? You supposed your hands weren't shaking that much now, your lungs still hurt but it wasn't as bad as before. Getting up off the ground, you were a little unsteady so you waited for a minute or two. When you walked back into the dojo, Johnny had his back turned as he watched his students practice. The mat had been cleaned. The kid who'd thrown up was sitting on the edge of the mat and was wearing the clean shirt.

You sat down heavily on the office chair. You hadn't thought about what happened that night for a long time, it had been buried away. You'd never really come to terms with it, you didn't think you could.

Not having the focus to do any work, you stared blankly at the forms on the desk and shuffled them round every now and then. Even though you'd calmed down from earlier, you couldn't settle. As soon as the class finished, you left the dojo, saying goodbye to Johnny with a glancing wave. Hopefully he wouldn't notice how little work you'd got done.

Later than night, you bought some weed which managed to calm you down and it helped you get some sleep. When things got bad, you figured you could smoke some. It would take the edge off.

Johnny called you only a few days later, explaining that there'd been some changes with the requirements he had to supply to the insurance company. Each student required two additional copies of their forms. You agreed and went back to the dojo later that day, unable to say no to him even though you were exhausted from work.

You were back in the office, trying your best not to yawn when Johnny or any of the kids were around. You sorted through the forms for the next few hours, with no end in sight. The phone finally rang, offering a welcome distraction.

“Cobra Kai Karate, how can I help?” You answered.

“Are you that teacher?” A lady questioned, annoyance heavy in her tone.

“No, Sensei Lawrence is busy with a class at the moment. Can I help you with something?”

“Help? You've gotta be joking! You can tell Mr. Lawrence that my lawyer is going to be in touch with him after what he did to my boy!” The woman on the phone angrily described how her son had come home one day with a bloody nose after Johnny elbowed him in the face because he was texting.

You tried not to swear under your breath, wondering how Johnny had done something so stupid. Holding your head in your hand, you kept pulling the phone away from your ear when she got particularly loud. She went on for the better part of ten minutes before she began to go through the story all over again. You half-listened as you searched through the files to find the consent form she signed.

“He shouldn't be allowed anywhere near children let alone teaching a class full of them!” While she was catching her breath, you took the opportunity to tell her that Sensei Lawrence doesn't use corporal punishment. You then began to cite the due diligence and individual liability clause on the form and personal injury waiver which states that the student agrees to be responsible for their own well-being.

You explained that if she was confirming that her child intentionally broke the liability clause by texting and not paying attention during class, then she has broken the agreement she signed on his behalf. She became even more agitated and continued to raise her voice. You pressed against your temple to try and relieve the growing headache to little success. She kept threatening to sue Johnny for aggravated assault and grievous bodily harm, saying that she'd make sure Cobra Kai was closed down for good.

You explicitly stated that there were no legal grounds for her to sue as she was responsible for the agreement being broken. Whether that was true or not you didn't know. You tried to calm her down by apologising for the incident several times over and insinuating that Johnny had done it by accident.

“I understand that it is distressing to see your child hurt, but there is always that element of risk in a martial art,” you told her. “That risk also exists in the real world and Cobra Kai is about being ready for the challenges that your child may have to face. I can assure you that the welfare and safety of every student is of paramount importance to Sensei Lawrence.”

Rather than mentioning her lawyer again, she said she would be writing a letter of complaint to the martial arts board, whoever they were. She continued to complain about Johnny's behaviour and made sure she got in the last word before hanging up. You put the phone down and huffed out a breath. The main class was over, through the window you saw only Aisha, Miguel and Hawk practising their kicks. Johnny had his arms crossed as he watched how they were doing.

You waved at him to get his attention and signalled him into the office when he looked your way.

“You need something?” He asked when he came in.

“Can you close the door?”

“What for?”

“I need to speak to you.” He didn't move and simply continued to stare at you curiously.  “About something private.”

Thankfully he listened and closed the door behind him.

“Did you elbow a kid in the face because they were texting?”

“It's not like he didn't deserve it. He was disrespecting my class,” he shrugged nonchalantly.

“I've been trying to convince that kid's mother not to sue you for bodily harm. What the fuck were thinking?”

“I barely touched the kid.”

“Things aren't how they used to be, Johnny.”

“They're just a bunch of pansy ass-”

“You can't pull this shit again,” you interrupted him angrily. “You can get sued, or they'll have you arrested for assault and they'll make sure you never go near kids again. And that includes Robby.” He stood silently. He clenched his jaw and pressed his lips together. Eventually he nodded in understanding. Johnny's eyes dropped away from you.

The frustration and the anger quickly faded as you realised how you had just spoken to him. You didn't stop to think how it wasn't your place. Rubbing your hands over your eyes, you stood up from the desk, knowing that you had to leave.

“I didn't. . .I didn't mean to raise my voice,” you told him honestly. He wasn't going to call you again.

“I just. . .” you trailed off. I care about you, was what you wanted to say, I care about you so much you stupid fucking bastard. “I should go.”

He didn't move from his position by the door as you approached him. Reaching around his body, you grabbed onto the handle but he placed his hand on top of yours.

“It's okay,” he murmured. You stared at his hand, unable to pull away from him even though you knew you should. “You're right.”

He gripped onto your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours. Neither of you moved for a long moment as you stood right next to him. He sounded so sincere. You wanted to close your eyes, savour the feeling of his touch. The urge to put your arms around him was growing more intense with every second. This had to stop, you didn't trust yourself. Wrenching your hand away, you moved back to the other side of the desk, putting as much space between you as possible.

You didn't sit down, you didn't know whether to leave or to stay. At least with some distance from him it was easier to think clearly. He seemed to have listened to you. It was unfair that he had to be threatened with the prospect of not being able to visit his son for him to actually see reason. He found it so difficult to navigate past the depths of his rage, it always held him back. But in a way it had been the only thing that had protected him for so long.

“I'll be more careful,” he said wearily. “I should get back.”

He opened the door and resumed his teaching, telling Hawk to adjust his footing. You leant against the wall by the window so no one could see your hands covering your face. You were so fucking tired.

- - -

The tension with Johnny got worse. He seemed to be keeping his distance more than usual. You tried your best to ignore it, to put a polite smile on your face and keep focusing on the work at hand. But it was becoming exhausting. Each time you came back from the dojo, you smoked some weed, otherwise you wouldn't get any sleep.

You weren't able to keep up with the paperwork like you used to and frequently making mistakes certainly didn't help either. Sometimes you wondered whether there was a point in you being there at all. Johnny didn't say anything about it. But the fact that he was regularly asking you to come in twice a week rather than just the once, said more than enough.

You'd been in the dojo for about fifteen minutes and had made a decent start on processing a batch of student fees. Class wouldn't start for another half hour, but Miguel was already there doing some stretches. You heard Johnny tell him he was going next door to the mini-mall. A few moments later, Miguel was in the office saying hi to you again like he hadn't said it earlier when you came in. He didn't quite seem to know what to do with his hands.

“Are you um. . .you know. . .dating anyone?” He asked, trying to sound as casual as possible. You raised your eyebrows at him. “I mean I know you and Sensei used to. . .be together.”

“He told you that?”

“Uhh yeah.” Your hunch was proven right, it explained those meaningful looks Miguel had given you after first meeting him. “So. . .are you?”

“No. I'm not.” Miguel nodded and pursed his lips together. There was a weird sort of brightness in his eyes.

“Sensei isn't either,” he informed you. “In case you were wondering.” Before you could reply, the bell above the front door rang and Miguel promptly left the office without another word. Through the window you saw Johnny hand him a bag of ice to put away. You turned back to the paperwork, trying to convince yourself that he wasn't purposefully keeping away from you.

Miguel tucked the bag of ice into the freezer compartment of the refrigerator. Johnny called out to him from the dojo, asking him to grab his bag. Johnny had left it on the fold out chair on the other side of the desk, his black gi was in there. Did he want to avoid you that badly? You rankled at the thought and managed not to heave out a sigh until Miguel had left.

Over the duration of class, little progress had been made with the student fees. You couldn't focus on the numbers, only on the bleak thought of Johnny actively avoiding you. The next time he called, you needed to tell him you couldn't make it. This wasn't working out, maybe you could go once every couple of weeks, or once a month, it wouldn't be as bad then. You didn't know how much longer-

The sound of a hushed argument interrupted the thought. Hawk was almost brimming with anger as Miguel and Aisha spoke to him. Class must have finished a little while ago, a fair number of the kids had already left. Hawk then turned his attention to you and he glared. His body was tense, his hands were twitching like he was going to ball them into fists. The other two spoke to him for a few moments until he brushed past them to grab his bag.

Returning to your work, you briefly wondered what he was upset about, dismissing the idea of his anger being directed at you. It wasn't long until Aisha and Miguel came into the office and stood in front of the desk, neither of them bothering to take the lone seat.  

“Is Hawk okay?” You queried, glancing through the window and noticing that he seemed to have left.

“He's fine,” Miguel replied but he didn't elaborate any further.

"We're all having a movie night next Saturday here in the dojo, and we were wondering if you wanted to join us?" Aisha asked, a hopeful expression on her face.  

"Here?"  

"Yeah, my dad's letting us borrow his projector.”

“It's kind of you to ask but-”

“Oh and we're gonna bring pillows and blankets for the mats rather than using chairs and Sensei's going to order pizza for us,” Miguel chimed in, doing his best to convince you to accept the offer. You wondered whether this was their way to try and break the tension between you and Johnny. Had they been picking up on it? You hadn't even considered whether it might be affecting them.

“I'm sure you'll have a great time,” you replied, wanting to let them down gently. “I won't be able to make it but thanks for asking.”

“Why? Are you busy?” Miguel questioned, he wasn't going to make this easy for you. There was a smug expression on his face when you hesitated to answer, as if he had caught you out and you supposed he had. You had to be honest with these kids.

“It's really not my place. If your Sensei is okay with me being there, then he can ask me,” you told them, hoping that they'd understand. Thankfully they appeared to and Miguel nodded before the two of them went back into the dojo. They were trying to clear the air. Were things really that bad? Was it that noticeable? Maybe coming back once a month was too optimistic.

You finished things about half an hour later and hoped you could leave without another awkward encounter with Johnny. He was holding up some pads for Miguel to kick. You waved them goodbye as you walked past and left the dojo. Before you could open up your car, Johnny called your name. You turned around and saw him approaching you, he stopped on the sidewalk.

“You're coming to movie night, yeah?” He asked obviously expecting a yes. You nervously played with the car keys, unsure of what to say. “The kids asked you, didn't they?”

“Yeah, they did.”

“So?”

“Um. . .I don't know.”

“We're watching the Last Dragon. None of them have seen it, can you believe that?” Johnny grumbled jokingly. He'd made you watch that cheesy action movie with him before, it must have been a couple of times at least. He moved closer until he was standing only a few feet from you. “Come on, it'll be fun.”

“The Last Dragon, huh? How many times have you made me watch that now?”

“Clearly not enough if you haven't said yes already,” he countered, you couldn't help but smile. The smirk that pulled up his lip made your heart ache pleasantly. He wasn't politely asking on behalf of the kids, he wanted you to be there.

“Next Saturday?”

“You can make it?”

“Yeah. . .I think so.”

“Great. I'm ordering pizza, you want your usual right?” For a moment, his casual question took you back but you were able to thank him. He said goodbye after that and your eyes followed him intently as he walked back into the dojo.

- - -

You were nervous.

It was stupid really, you were only going to watch a movie with a bunch of kids after all. But you hadn't done anything casual with Johnny for months, not since. . .before.

The work you did in the office held a level of civility and professionalism that you could hide behind. Now there would be nothing. On the way to the dojo, you stopped off at a grocery store and bought seven big bottles of soda for the kids and a couple stacks of soda cups. If they were having pizza, you figured soda wouldn't do too much damage. It wasn't as good a contribution, but at least it was something.

The Firebird was already there when you parked up. You hefted a few bags with all of the soda in and elbowed the front door open without dropping anything. Miguel and Aisha noticed you coming in and said hello, it looked as if they were in the process of setting up the projector and a laptop. Johnny's voice was coming from the office, but there was no one else around. Were you early? You got chatting to the two kids as you put the bags down in the corner. While you unpacked the soda and the cups, Miguel complimented the selection and joked whether he should hide a bottle or two from the others.

Before you could ask if they needed any help setting up the movie, Johnny walked into the dojo.

“Pizza's gonna be ready by the time I get there,” he announced, stopping when he spotted you. “Hey.”

“Hey, Johnny.” You offered something a little warmer than a polite smile as he came up to you. He was wearing jeans and a Zebra shirt with the sleeves rolled up. It had been a while since you'd seen him wear anything aside from the gi.

“You got all this?” He asked after he came up to you and took in the soda.

"Yeah, it's not much."

"Not much? This will keep them on a sugar high for a week," he joked. Johnny pulled out his car keys and went to move to the door but he hesitated. "Would you. . .mind coming with me? I could use all the help I can get."

"How much did you order?"

"Ten. . .extra large." Your eyebrows raised at his admission.

"You trying to feed them all week too?"

"I don't know how much these kids can put away." You were amused by the clueless expression on his face. “Let's go.”

You followed Johnny out to the Firebird and got into the passenger seat. It wasn't until after he'd pulled out of the lot that you remembered what happened the last time you were here. You had met him at some diner. He didn't say anything for a while, and when he did, he never apologised. After a brief look of guilt, he got angry at you, angrier than you'd ever seen him. You hadn't thrown away his apartment key like he'd suggested, how could you? Instead you'd kept it, for some reason holding out hope even though it was futile. Forcing your leg to stop bouncing, you concentrated on Johnny.

He was driving fast as usual with one hand on the wheel, he had some music playing at a rather low volume. For the most part he seemed pretty relaxed, he was strangely being more friendly with you than he had been for weeks. Slowly shifting in the seat, you tried to angle yourself slightly in his direction so you could see more of him. As it was almost dark outside, you hoped he wouldn't notice.

He looked good, much better than he was the last few months you were together. Part of you felt distraught, knowing that he was doing better without you, but those selfish thoughts needed to be ignored. His happiness was far more important. You just wished you could have given him that, you wished you could have given him the life he deserved. Maybe you'd been the one holding him back the whole time. Listening properly to the music, you recognised the song was one of Van Halen's, you couldn't quite remember what it was called but Johnny had played this one before.

The streets weren't busy so he could stretch the Firebird's legs out. The silence between you wasn't uncomfortable, but you were already missing that easy flow of conversation from earlier.

“What, no Zebra?” You wondered out loud. He glanced at you briefly before turning his attention back to the road.

“Huh?”

“Your shirt,” you explained. You almost laughed when he looked down at himself, like he'd forgotten what he was wearing. Automatically you reached over to the glove compartment, but stopped yourself to check whether he minded.

“You don't need to ask,” he replied, something a little off in his tone. Did he catch the amusement on your face? You didn't want him to think you were mocking him.

After rifling through the cassettes, you found one of Zebra's and got 'Tell Me What You Want' playing. Johnny turned up the volume and that was all the confirmation needed to know that he approved. Your feet started tapping in time with the music, the bass from the speakers was reverberating through your chest. You kept wanting to look over at Johnny to see whether he'd start singing, he couldn't help himself when a good song came on.

When he used to take you on long drives down the coast, he'd sing his heart. Sometimes he'd over do it and his voice would be hoarse by the end. He used to encourage you to sing and gently prod you if you clammed up with nerves. He was carefree, he didn't give a shit about keeping in tune or staying in the right key, it was about enjoying the moment.  

You didn't realise how much you missed this, the open road, the music, just you and him. After the guitar solo, there was something about the shift in the song's rhythm and the lyrics that made your chest ache in longing. Somehow you always seemed to miss him the closer he was. Looking out the window, you tried to imagine that everything was okay, that you were still together and he had convinced you that he could splurge on some pizza tonight and when he took you home you'd have an Iron Eagle marathon long into the night.

“How are you doing?” He asked, pulling you out of the daydream. He'd turned the music down so he could hear your reply.

“I'm alright, how about you?”

“Just alright? Work causing you trouble?”

“It's not too bad at the moment. And you?

“Are you taking it easy like I said?”

“When I can, but how are you doing?”

“Hungry.”

“Not for long.”

“Those kids are Cobra Kai and they work hard so they're gonna have big appetites. Come to think of it, maybe ten wasn't enough. . .”

“We'd struggle to eat one large pizza between us, so I'm pretty sure there'll be enough.”

“Yeah but we had popcorn too and those stupid little candies that you like.”

“They're not stupid.”

“Yeah, they are, and don't even get me started on your pizza toppings.”

“My taste buds are just more developed than yours.”

“Developed huh? Isn't that what kids these days say to mean stupid?” You couldn't help but laugh heartily as Johnny pulled up to the pizza place. After he turned off the ignition, he gave you a strange look before getting out of the car. Though he didn't ask for you to go with him, you went anyway, figuring he'd need help carrying everything. He was walking a few steps ahead and you weren't sure if it would be weird to hurry up and match his pace.

There wasn't much of a queue in the pizza joint so it didn't take long before Johnny was taking out his wallet and paying for the order. You knew ten pizzas would cost a lot, but to see him hand it all over made it hit home uncomfortably. There was a crumpled up twenty in your pocket, it would barely make a dent but it was better than nothing. He wouldn't accept it so you'd have to find a way of sneaking it to him, maybe you could shove in the glove compartment when he wasn't looking.

Rather than putting the pizzas in the trunk, you offered to hold them as you got into the car. Johnny didn't protest and balanced the rest on top of what you had. Though the boxes were hot, they smelled damn good. He turned up the music and he drove to the dojo without striking up another conversation. You couldn't help but feel disappointed by that.

After parking up in front of the dojo, Johnny took half the pizzas from you and headed inside. You quickly grabbed the twenty dollars from your pocket and tossed it into the glove compartment before following him. He held open the door for you and your quiet thanks was drowned out by the sound of cheering.

All of the kids had turned up and the mats were covered in blankets and pillows. The soda had already been divvied out, the cups were everywhere. You wondered whether to get the mop out ready for the inevitable spill. Miguel and Aisha had set up the projector and the movie was paused on the opening credits. There were a couple of speakers on the floor too which you hadn't noticed before. Johnny coordinated handing the pizza out to everyone and made sure each of them got a slice of their choice.

With most of the kids settling down on the mats, you moved towards the empty space behind them. Hawk bumped into your shoulder, giving you a sarcastic woops before sitting down close to the front. You tried not to think much of it. He was being protective of his Sensei after all.

Sitting down behind the kids, you leant up against the wall. Johnny gave Aisha the go ahead to start the movie and turned off the main lights. The kids were still chatting amongst themselves whilst the credits played.

Johnny came over with a box of pizza, a blanket and two pillows. He didn't hesitate to settle down right next to you and hand over one of the pillows. Weren't they from his bed? While you eyed him questioningly, he went in for a slice and then encouraged you to do the same. As the movie got going, both of you made good progress on the pizza before you had to call it quits. You couldn't remember the last time you'd eaten this much.

When Johnny had finished, he put the box to one side and unfolded the blanket. He covered up his legs before doing the same to yours. For a moment, your body stilled, but you soon realised from the neutral expression on his face that you were assuming an intimacy that wasn't there. He was just being courteous, there was nothing more to do it. After taking off your shoes, you laid down on the floor to get more comfortable. You breathed in the smell from the pillow and barely stopped yourself from groaning. That was all Johnny, that was his smell. Fuck, you'd missed it, and the blanket smelled of him too.

Pulling up the blanket to reach your face, you watched Johnny as he enjoyed the movie. He'd have to turn his head and look down to get a proper look at you. A particular loud scene had you focusing on the movie for a while. You tried to appreciate the fight scenes, but it was a struggle to keep your eyes open. You were just too comfortable, and you were in that haze after eating too much food.

You closed your eyes and figured you could rest for a little while. When another particularly good scene came up, the kids would wake you up soon enough with their hollering and cheering and their oohs and ahhs. You snuggled against the blanket, more relaxed than you had been for a long time.

Johnny was close enough that you could feel the heat coming from him. He was warm. He always had been so warm. He'd never let you get cold. Even when you couldn't afford the heating bills.

On those rare cold winter nights, he made sure you were wrapped tight against him. . .tucked under the blanket and the bed sheets.

He always kept you warm. . .kept you safe- z z z Hope you enjoyed this one! I had originally planned to write my own story for Nanowrimo, but I figured I would get this one finished for you guys instead. Thanks for your support, it really helps me focus on getting each chapter finished. Was the angst sufficient for you? Hehe x Taglist: @whyhaveyouwritten-mehere @lacontroller1991 @stressedstark @wndrcarol @carissakingofthecastle92 @witchcraftandwit @magicwithaknife @80strashbag @jem-my-greatest-sin @masonsbitch @wholesomehen @chlqefrazer @actuallydrew @jem-my-greatest-sin @masonsbitch  @wholesomehen​  @deadpoolgirl23​  

[silkylious]

Of Cold Soba and Rose-gold Vows (Todoroki Shoto x Fem!Reader)

Pairing: Todoroki Shoto x reader Warnings: ANGST, mature themes, suggestive content, fluff A/N: ughhh its finally here, honestly this took way too long to finish because im a lazy cunt but here it is finally! Hope you enjoy!

Also feel free to request stuff!

Click. Clack. Click. Clack.

The footfalls of heeled shoes propagated throughout his office, each echoing step flooding his chest with dread and accelerating the previously calm rhythm of his heartbeat. Three consecutive knocks sounded before her sickly-sweet voice followed suit. “I have more paperwork for you, sir,”

Despite the lump accumulating in his throat, he managed to croak out a response, ushering his secretary into his office. The door clicked open, closing shut after she stepped in. He didn’t dare lift his eyes from the sheets of paper lining his desk, grasping on what little self-control was left in his morale. A hefty stack of paper was slammed right in his field of vision, causing him to snap his head up, ready to berate his assistant on her lack of professionalism. The lecture he was prepared to give her was shoved to the back burner in his mind once he made eye contact with her figure. Shit. A dress shirt way too tight around her bust, the first couple buttons left open and a body-hugging pencil skirt, accentuating her already exaggerated curves. Fuck. He winced at the audible gulp he couldn’t help but take, hoping she didn’t notice his frazzled reaction. His fleeting attention was brought back to her face, mentally cursing himself when he caught sight of her smug visage. She definitely noticed.

She took his silence as compliance, deciding it was finally time after so many failed trials to raise the stakes a bit more. Her self-satisfied attitude only augmented as she made her way around her boss’s workbench, stalking the way his shoulders tensed and the formation of sweat beads on his temples. With the pen now long forgotten, his hands clenched into fists atop his desk, two contradicting thoughts wreaking havoc through his conscious. He felt her feminine stature press into his back, her dainty fingers hugging his broad shoulders, compressing the taut muscle. All hell broke loose in the corners of his mind, his vision blurring at the peripherals. He could almost hear his subconscious screaming at him to push her away, to do something! But right now, he could only focus on the soft touch encasing his shoulders, the short breaths enchanting his ears.

“You seem a little tense, sir,”

Todoroki was well aware of the flirtatious lilt in her words, well aware of how wrong this was, but he couldn’t help but silently indulge in the prohibited intimacy. His resolve was rapidly cracking, her heinous antics doing a number on him. He’d resisted so many times before (her little game of cat and mouse lasting way longer than he should’ve allowed) but something about this moment propelled him to the edge of caving in. Just as he was about to pluck the thinning thread holding his restraint together and finally fall victim to her adulterated wishes, his phone rang, snapping him out of his indecent trance, giving him an exit out of this situation and he damn near bolted out of it. He wasn’t a religious guy, yet he still internally thanked whatever higher being was looking down at him right now.

He took the cue handed to him by the heavens gladly, his scarred hand darting out to clutch his cellular device. Urging his frisky secretary out with the excuse of taking this phone call, he watched as a sour expression overtook her features. She clearly wasn’t pleased about this, making it a point to stomp her way out, slamming the door behind her retreating figure. With her presence far away from his personal space, he let out a breath he’d been holding for way too long, taking a moment to steady his pulse. Mismatched eyes tiredly descending onto the device that had saved him, sliding his finger across the screen to accept the incoming call.

“Pro-hero: Shoto, we need your backup right now,”

The villain he was called in to capture had caused a ruckus in the city’s mall, one thing lead to another and devastating damage had been dealt to the city square. The villain was arrested with the help of the many Pro-heroes on sight, Shoto doing most of the dirty work with little to no harm inflicted to the surrounding area. Not many civilians were injured and there were no fatalities, the rest was smooth sailing from there (aside from a little squabble with a certain explosive hero claiming he had stolen the last blow, which Shoto honestly couldn’t give less of a fuck about). He couldn’t wait to take a shower, clock in and call it a day. 

The hero carved his way through his agency, muscle memory dragging him to his office while taking off various support items during the short walk. He paused in his steps when a dire thought crossed his mind. Would she still be here? It wouldn’t be the first time she’d tried to get some alone time with him by staying well past her work hours. And if she was here, what would he do? He wouldn’t know how to respond after what happened earlier that afternoon. Whatever fucked up odds were in his favor for the second time that day as he didn’t hear a single noise in the agency, save for a lone janitor mopping the floor. Relief brought him back down to earth and away from his anxious thoughts. He briskly made his way into a stall, thoroughly enjoying the cold water enveloping his skin.

While under the showerhead, his thoughts ran amuck. That afternoon had been a close call, he despised himself because he knew that had his phone stayed silent, he would have indulged in the disgusting fantasies she’d created. A concoction of guilt and self-deprecation settled deep in his gut, he knew he had to stop these risky incidents, it wasn’t right. But every time he found himself ready to pull the plug and repent, she lured him back in like a sailor to a siren’s song. These sordid happenings had to come to an end, he knew that like the back of his hand, he just didn’t know how to stop luxuriating in the bittersweet taste of this forbidden fruit. He briefly contemplated firing her, frankly her skills weren’t even all that awe inducing, he could easily find a less problematic, more efficient replacement for her. But the wicked part of his being quickly squashed that option, even though he was fully aware that it was the correct option, the right thing to do.

The half and half Pro shut off the faucet, cutting his train of thought short in the process, and stepped out of the stall into the locker room. What was supposed to be a nice quelling of his worries had only spiked his self-hatred up a couple notches. Diligently drying off his candy cane hued strands, he could only hope that his mind would ease up with time.

By the time he’d made it to his surprisingly humble apartment, he’d relaxed enough to not look like he had a stick shoved up his rectum. All his tranquility was defenestrated the second he heard the voice that had been causing him so much inner turmoil the past few weeks.

“Welcome home, Shoto.”

The words that would typically soothe him, now caused him immeasurable pain. The guilt he’d been able to muffle, now ringing louder than any alarm ever could in his brain. Oh, how badly he wanted to tug you by the waist, desperately hold you against his larger frame. Yet Shoto couldn’t bring himself to do that, hell he couldn’t even meet your eyes, too afraid that he’ll taint your being with his grimy hands. The shame welling up was eating him alive, that vile scene playing on repeat before his heterochromatic irises as he tried to match your stare, a singular thought plaguing him. You don’t deserve this; he doesn’t deserve you.

He hadn’t been expecting you to be at home as you usually be snoring peacefully in bed right now. The uneven timing between both your careers had made it near impossible to spend time together, but you’ve coped with it throughout your relationship.  

“Sho, you okay?” He was pummeled back to reality when he heard your concerned voice, lord knows he didn’t deserve your sympathy. He managed a small smile and a kiss to your forehead.

“‘M’ fine, just tired. Long day at work.” Was his simple response, leaving out all the details that would surely bar him from sleep that night. You hummed lightly, enjoying the sensation of his puckered lips on your forehead, which had become quite scarce lately.

“I made dinner, your favorite. You want some?” The hopeful glint in your stare amplified the hurt in his chest. How could he do this to you? Shoto didn’t take long to decline, ignominy brutally killing his appetite. He resigned to bed with you in tow, he could practically sense the disappointment radiating off you, but he wouldn’t be able to bear looking at your face a moment longer.

This has been the formulaic dynamic of your relationship recently; he’d leave early, hurl himself at work in hopes of avoiding any interaction with the two causes of conflict in his life then arrive late into the night, either to find you cocooned with all the blankets in bed or on the rare occasion that you were awake, he’d forgo dinner and b-line it for the bed. The distance between you made you perturbed. Sure, you saw the amazing work he does daily on the news (and you were the proudest and loudest of his fans, supporting him from day one unconditionally), but that didn’t mean he had to marginalize your existence for the sake of his hero career. Besides, this only became a problem recently, you tried to brainstorm any shifts or events that could have birthed this unreasonable drift between the two of you, but you came up with nothing, unaware that what had caused the drift wasn’t an event, rather a person.

All sleep eluded him that night, sleepless and cloaked in despair. His mind going back to its chaotic state. He didn’t know why he was enabling his secretary’s inappropriate behavior, maybe due to the lack of intimacy between you two? No, he couldn’t lie to himself, he was painfully aware that he was the one to cause the shortage of affection in your relationship. Todoroki didn’t understand why he wouldn’t just stop her like any good-natured, faithful boyfriend would. No matter how hard he berated himself, he could never find the will to stop wallowing in her passion, the passion of a woman that wasn’t you. God, how pathetic he was. He, at the very least, prided himself in being able to reject her advances up until now, but he knew that was the bare minimum of what he should do, but what he didn’t know was much scarier in contrast. He didn’t know how long he’d be able to turn her down. He watched the rhythmic rise and fall of your chest, which eventually lulled his mind into a turbulent slumber.

Todoroki woke up at the ass crack of dawn the next morning, as per usual, yawning while he went through the motions of his morning routine. Now fully dressed and presentable, he paused beside your side of the bed. His cold knuckles brushed over your face, smoothing some of your follicles away to get a better look at your expression. Even in your sleep, you leaned into his touch, longingly seeking out his comforting, cool caresses with a soft, dopey smile. His heart stuttered violently, both with mirthful adoration and overwhelming penitence. With that, he abruptly halted the loving contact and headed towards his agency.

His day had been going pleasantly for the most part, a fairly easy patrol with some small-fry villains here and there, and barely any run ins with his dreaded secretary. All was looking well, he could finish paperwork and surprise you with an early visit, you’d absolutely love that! At least, that was the plan until she came barging into his office. His eyes expanding as he took in her disheveled figure. Her top buttons all undone, giving him an ample view of her cleavage, she had ditched the thigh-high stockings deciding to go bare-legged, her pencil skirt skin-tight around her curves and he could have sworn it was hitched up a bit. She wasn’t messing around this time. He prayed, begged for a way out like what had happened last time, yet he could somehow tell that wasn’t going to happen. Fate had already dealt its cards, giving him chance after chance, and now he was all out of chances, all out of luck. He gulped in preparation of what would come, for better or worse.

Meanwhile, you were sat at home, with a laptop in your clutches. After typing out a few overly formal and redundant emails, you stretched your arms above your head, hearing a satisfying pop. Unlocking your phone, your eyes scanned the number displayed on the lock screen. 5:32 PM. Shoto had informed you that he would be arriving early, the mere thought bringing a smile to your face. Your attention diverted from the numbers on your device to the background picture, a picture of you and Shoto on the beach, your lips caressing his cheek as he held onto the phone, a serene smile lighting up his expression. You missed those days, you knew you had to have a talk with him about the direction of your relationship, you just didn’t know when. You’d rarely see him throughout the day. And when you did, he was either too exhausted to function or already knocked out in bed. Your faith was firmly planted in him, it really was, yet you couldn’t help but speculate why his absence was more frequent these days. Shaking those thoughts away, you head to the kitchen to start preparing dinner.

Shoto eyed her with a mixture of anticipation and fear, the way her hips swayed purposefully, her petite fingers curling around the lock and clicking it shut. She stalked her way over to his desk, leaning over it and bringing herself face-to-face with the object of her desires. Her pride was wounded way too many times to count, each rejection only increasing her sense of entitlement. She knew that her boss wasn’t single, he had a goddamn picture of you on his desk, yet that didn’t hinder her in the slightest. In fact, she took it as a challenge, at first it was fun to get a reaction out of him but his consistent refusal to her advances was getting tiring. She was treading on thin ice, one small slip up and she’d be engulfed in icy waters, but she confided in the fact that he hadn’t fired her yet (for whatever goddamn reason). Her stern expression met his own stoic one, a façade he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep holding up much longer.

“You left me hanging last time, sir. Let’s continue where we left off, shall we?”

She slid behind him, noiseless as a cat, taking the position she had been in the day before, this time with no interruptions. And there were no objections coming from him, which surprised both of them. She’d been expecting even a little bit of resistance on his part, yet there was none. Her abhorrent hands snaked their way down his built pectorals, relishing in his lack of defiance, whispering to him all the foul fantasies she’d dreamed of, and he didn’t say no.

“See, sir, once you let go, it’ll feel a lot better,”

As her fingers danced across his abdomen marveling at his muscles, she shifted a bit so she can stand beside him, watch all the resilience drain from his face as he gave in to her sick pleasures. God, he wanted to stop her, to shove her away, to do something, anything! But despite his subconscious crying out for him to take action, his body didn’t budge an inch. He felt sick to his stomach, he was enjoying this. He reviled himself over and over again in his head, yet he couldn’t deny her sensuous touches. He was already planning to penance for his sinful consent, never in his life did he think he’d ever be a perpetrator of infidelity, yet here he was letting a woman who wasn’t his lover touch him in ways he’d pledged were for only for your hands to execute.

His muteness was getting her drunk on the control she had over him -over the number three Pro-hero, she couldn’t help but test the waters and push her luck. Her digits scraped a path from his rock-hard abs to his inner thigh, kneading the muscle in her hands, inching closer and closer to the point of no return, the point where he’d officially be classified as an undignified cheater. His head snapped up, the haggard shouts of his subconscious finally proving fruitful in their effort to make him move. His eyes searched her grinning face, shit-eating and riddled with malice, and in a flash his mind compared her power-drunk smirk to your soft smile that he had the pleasure of witnessing that morning. All of a sudden, the frayed old thread holding his restraint together was restored to its original state, resewing and stitching itself back together to form a robust lasso that would hold his heart and spirit tightly, only yielding to your will and wind. She wasn’t you; she’d never be you or even come close. That small revelation prompted him to grip her wrist, which had been itching towards his semi-hard member. With newfound resolve, his voice as stern as he could muster, he made a demand- no, an order.

“Get out.”

“Wha- But-”

“Out. Now.”

His austere words left no room for discussion or complaints, her previously smug smile vanishing, replaced with pure fear at his staunch appearance. The tables were completely flipped, he had finally regained control over his traitorous body. She quickly heaved up, trying to fix her debauched state frantically before she booked it out of the room. With her villainous aura gone, the IcyHot Pro-hero dramatically sighed out, slumping in his office chair as he recounted the events of the past thirty minutes. He loathed himself for letting that continue on longer than it should have.

Before Todoroki can drown in his sea of self-loathing, his cell phone buzzed, indicating a notification. Opening the device, his breath hitched once he saw who had texted him.

Babe ❤️❤️: Sho r u still coming home early tonight? ps love ya Sent 6:13

Given the events that had just transpired in his office, his heart was racing. Mostly out of left-over adrenaline, but a part of him was happy he could still call himself loyal to you by minimum measures. Todoroki’d been so close to tipping over, he promised himself that he wouldn’t repeat his past mistakes. with the ache to see you blooming in him, he shot you a short text confirming that he’d be home in a bit and took a brisk shower to scrub off any lingering sensations from his sleazy assistant, both figuratively and literally.

When Todoroki arrived home only to be greeted by your patient smile, he couldn’t help the exasperated look overtaking his features. He truly didn’t deserve you, but he’d be a fool to let you go. Before you found the chance to even address him, he pulled you into a bone-crushing hug, savoring the aroma of your shampoo. He abruptly let you go to get a hold of your cheeks, gingerly patting them with his thumbs as he reminded himself over and over again that your were his and most importantly, that he was yours and only yours. Mental exhaustion crept up on him, the aftermath of his ongoing misdeeds finally catching up to him. Shoto could barely handle the fact that he had been so close to giving you up for some office skank, rubbing at his temples to ease the oncoming headache. You didn’t comment on his odd demeanor, opting to give him a serving of his favorite dish instead. With his head down, eyes focused on the coffee table in front of him, Shoto didn’t notice you leaving and returning with a tray in hand. His grey-blue hue flickered between the bowl of cold soba and the small glass of sake that were pushed into his line of vision then up to your playful grin. So pure, so loving. Nothing like the one he saw mere minutes prior in his agency.

“Eat up, I won’t be taking no for an answer this time!” Were your endearingly light-hearted words, that cheeky smile never fading. Shoto cemented this moment in his mind forever, ridiculing his past self for the umptieth time that day. How could he even bestow his stare on another creature when you were right by his side? Regret, repentance and unhinged love inundated him. He uttered out three simple words.

“I love you.”

You’d heard those same words come from his mouth dozens of times before, yet somehow this time felt special. You could tell the words carried more weight than they typically did, though you couldn’t pinpoint what kind of baggage they were upholding. Without even realizing it, tears had begun to trickle down your face, all your doubts and worries extinguished in an instant. Oh, how you longed to hear those words in recent days, they shook your entire world to its very core. He loves you; he still loves you.

Honestly, he hadn’t been expecting that reaction from you, but he understood the implications behind it, and it only added to the overbearing guilt weighing on him. Had you been so starved for his affection that those simple words made you cry? Shoto shot up from his seat, he made up his mind.

The cold soba was abandoned that night, he’d grabbed you by the waist and pulled you with him to the bedroom where he indulged in the throes of passion with you, worshipping you and locking every sound, every expression and every word you made forever in his heart which you mercilessly tugged at using the lasso holding it hostage. Despite the less than pure nature of your acts, Shoto considered this his confessional, where you were the priest, ridding him from all his past sins and engulfing him in your warm light.

When you were both tuckered out, he pulled you into his bare chest, petting over your head and silently planned the coming day. Promising that he’d be better for you.

The next morning you were dejected to wake up in an empty bed, but you wouldn’t let that shake you up. Shoto was clearly trying to reignite the spark between you two, and you were going to put in the effort too. While making your morning beverage before heading to work, a neon sticky-note caught your eye. You plucked it from its place on the fridge. In neat handwriting, it read:

Hey love, Sorry for leaving early again, was called in for an emergency I’ll try to clear the rest of my schedule to come home early today Love you

~S

The sweet words served to strengthen your faith in him. He was trying, and you would be sure to show that you appreciated his determination.

After dealing with the emergency, Shoto patrolled around the city, helping out here and there when needed. When he returned to his agency, his steps carried a steadfast feel to them, he knew what he was going to do next, and he was going to make it quick.

“Sir, you called?”

The duel haired hero didn’t even spare a glance at his secretary, finding the monotonous emails on his screen far more interesting. He encouraged her to sit down in the chair parallel to his bureau. She wordlessly took his offer and sat down, her heart beating a mile a minute. They both knew where this is going.

“You’re fired. Pack up your supplies and leave as soon as possible. And please leave your desk at pristine condition.”

She shouldn’t have been surprised really, if anything this was an expected outcome from her unprofessionalism, she didn’t dare voice her disapproval though, even she wasn’t dumb enough to poke the grizzly bear. Just as silently as she had entered, she left without making a fuss. Irrepressible relief calmed the Pro-hero’s senses, he’d done the right thing. And he would continue to walk the right path for you. He was able to clear the rest of his schedule, noting mirthfully that he still had time before he’d head back home. He settled for making a couple detours before coming home to your adoring gaze.

“I’m back.” Shoto called out blissfully, he missed the feeling of having an embrace to call his home. When he didn’t receive an answer he got a wee bit skittish, though his worries were subdued when he noticed your sleeping figure huddled up on the couch, a bowl of half-eaten popcorn on the table and a shitty romcom playing on the TV.

He crouched so he could properly take in your pacific visage. He vowed to himself that from then on out, he’d better himself in every aspect to truly be worthy of being yours. And he was going to forevermore eternalize that vow with the rose-gold band residing in his pocket.

[thegoodgayshit]

Luz’s mother really doesn’t want to send Luz to camp. She knows once she leaves, there is no going back. But Luz has a knack for getting into trouble, and one day she stumbles into the same type of people her mother would have preferred she avoided. After helping Luz dissolve her high school bully into dust, Eda and Lilith know right away that this kid is just like them - a child of the gods. So Luz hops on a Pegasus and heads to Camp Half-blood, where she embarks on a dangerous quest that makes her both friends and enemies... and she might even save Olympus along the way.

Chapter Thirty-Three: I Partake in a Really Stupid Full Frontal Assault

For a couple of minutes, she had been doing great.

Aletheia blended in seamlessly with the weapons of the other dead demigods. Her helmet was old enough that it didn’t raise suspicions, and the chest plate covered up her mortal clothes just right. She was able to scream and sprint right through the crowd which parted for her as they continued their battles with one another.

The trick was so simple but so dangerous, she had to believe nobody would think twice. There was really no other option.

“AUGHHHHH!” She shouted, ducking under a spear and continuing her sprint. One demigod scuttled backward in shock as she waved her sword around furiously. Another cheered alongside her, excited to see the shedding of more blood.

She blocked a spear, pushed away a smaller demigod's shield, and kept charging. Swords swiped over her head in passing as other demigods clashed with one another, screaming just as loudly as she was.

Holy Hermes. This was actually going to work.

Soon, she was just another blip in the field. Another helmet-covered face in the crowd. Her own human flesh was hardly any different from the revived bunch, and they couldn’t see much around her covered face. Her hands were moving too quickly around her sword to zone in on. Most of them were too focused on staying alive. Or… less dead?

She was starting to feel much more confident. Between her secret weapon buried in the straps of her armor and the rush of adrenaline from throwing herself into battle, she easily crossed two or three football fields through the rush until she was really neck deep in the battle. The portal was barely visible on the top of the hill around the swarms of demigods.

Just for a moment, she faltered. She’d run straight through the thick of it and had been for at least a few minutes to cross that much space. Was Amity still behind her? She turned, ready to spare a glance when a horrible roar shot a chill right down her spine.

She knew that voice.

She turned back towards the portal and the ongoing crowd, watching as a demigod right in front of her was sliced through the chest, his body being thrown back into another demigod with a horrible crash.  

Right in the middle of the chaos was a demigod she was hoping to never see again. Achilles.

He’d swapped out of his muscle tank for a bronze chest plate, and if he’d had a helmet at some point he didn’t anymore. His eyebrows were knitted together and narrowed in focus as he slashed and hacked. But this wasn’t like the Achilles who’d been scoffing at Theseus by the mine or picking fights with Luz and her friends back in the mountain.

This Achilles felt much more serious. Almost like he actually feared the battle. This might have reassured some, especially since Achilles was known for his arrogance and power, but to Luz, this only made him seem that much more deadly.

It looked almost effortless the way he lifted his sword, slashing down another demigod barely taller than her. He’d obviously swapped his spear for a far more deadly weapon, a five-foot bronze falcata. Luz couldn’t help but feel a twinge of satisfaction that Amity had been the one to kill him again, but right now all she could worry about was trying to get around him without being noticed.

As she tried to skirt around the edges of the battling demigods, she almost had her head knocked clean off by another sword. She raised her own to deflect it, meeting the gaze of a young demigod who couldn’t have been much younger than Achilles, though he looked nothing like him. While Achilles had layers upon layers of muscle, this demigod was almost skinny, with mischievous brown eyes behind his helmet, and smooth tan skin despite the half-dead, half-alive look the revived demigods had. He swung with his own xiphos, and Luz barely had a second to deflect before he swung again.

This demigod was fast. He was also cocky, and he turned his head to eye Achilles with an almost devilish smile.

“Just like old times, eh? Is this what you’ve been getting up to while I’ve been waiting my turn for revival?”

Luz had a moment to jump away when another demigod slashed forwards, and he had to deflect. She did her best to blend back in the crowd at the distraction, especially when she heard another sharp cutting of metal and a scream, followed by Achilles' angry shout, “Patroclus, be more careful!”

Luz continued to slash and hack her way through the crowd, her only thought to put as much distance between her and Achilles as possible. She was draining fast, and not just because the demigod Patroclus had been stronger than she’d thought. Her arms ached from working in the mines and then charging into battle, and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had any sleep at all.

If she didn’t get to the other side soon, she’d drop from exhaustion.

She continued the charge, deflecting swipe after swipe and making sure her face covered by the protection of the helmet. She didn’t know if any of these demigods had fought her inside the mountain, but she did not want to be recognized here.

She could see the portal in sight now. It was maybe less than a hundred feet up the mountain, surrounded by demigods, yes, but at least in her line of sight. If Amity was already at the top, she would just have to wait until she spotted her before she used the flame to open the portal one more time and pull Amity through with her.

But that wasn’t the plan. And as much as it pained Luz to admit that she couldn’t just sneak her way out of this one, Amity had made a really good point. The quest couldn’t end until Belos was taken care of for good. And Luz had the closest thing to a plan strapped to her back.

But he wasn’t in sight. And Luz had no idea where he would be if not by the portal.

As she met another demigod's strike, she scanned the crowd desperately for Amity. She would know what to do and where to go. She just needed to find her.

She was so focused on scanning the crowd she had no time to react as another demigod lunged from her left. She had no choice but to lean as best she could, and white-hot pain seared across her side as the sword split the armor and grazed her ribs. The pain was excruciating, doubling by the tenfold just from being in the Underworld. Blood spilled down her side, and the demigod who’d cut her froze, his mouth dropping at the sight.

In between painful breaths, Luz realized revived demigods weren’t supposed to bleed. Before he could sound the alarm, she lashed out, spearing him right through the chest with Aletheia and watching as his body disintegrated.

If she didn’t close the portal soon, he’d be back.

Stumbling through the crowd half-blinded by the pain, she scuttled behind a group of boulders nestled about fifty feet from the portal. Hiding behind them, she dropped to her knees and inhaled sharply, clutching at the wound with her hand and hoping the pressure would stop the bleeding. When she looked down to assess the damage, her head spun.

It felt bad because it was bad. It wasn’t deep enough to kill her right away, but it was long enough and bleeding enough that it was soaking through her shirt and down her armor. If she had nectar or ambrosia, she’d have been fine, but she didn’t and she had a mission to complete.

She needed to pull herself together. But right now, all she could think about was the pain in her side.

She pictured Amity, rolling her eyes at her stupidity. “What did I tell you, Luz?” She’d say with an annoyed sigh and a crinkle between her brows. “Don’t look back!”

She’d be right of course. Luz did look back. Exactly what she told her not to do. Her nose crinkled, thinking about the last demigod in the Underworld who wasn’t supposed to look back. She didn’t like the idea of making the same mistake Orpheus had.

As she struggled to catch her breath, breathing through the pain, she realized that the shouting and the brawling from behind her had quieted. Completely quieted.

“Oh no,” she whispered, already dreading what that meant.

She had to get back out there. Pull herself to her feet and climb to the portal. But every time she tried to stand, her vision went fuzzy. She leaned against the rock for support, eventually managing to use the ridges of the boulder to stand.

Behind the rock, the gathering demigods were sheathing their swords and turning to face the portal. As Luz’s eyes trained upwards, her lip curled on its own accord.

Belos was standing at the stop next to the portal, his white cloak shimmering and his neon eyes boring down on the gathering demigods. The crack in his mask from where Luz had stabbed him was still there, and in his hand, he was holding his pointed staff.

He was waiting for the crowd to settle. He must have called for their attention. Luz saw Theseus standing with a man in white robes and a golden chest plate, and then Achilles and Patroclus moving forward to take a position just to their left. Orpheus was on their right, still without a bow, his hand wrapped tightly around the shoulder of a woman wielding a dagger.

“Children of the gods!” He called, extending his hands as he spoke. His voice echoed around the clearing of the Underworld, rattling inside Luz’s ears. More magic. “Today, we rally together for the last time. With the strength of the portal I have created, we will charge onto Mount Olympus and tear it down brick by brick!”

There was a chorus of cheering from the gathering demigods. Spears slamming into the earth, swords clacking against shields, it was chaos. Belos lifted his hand again, and it was silent once more.

“Every one of you is here for a reason. Whether you were scorned by the gods for your skill, bravery, or passion, I have lifted you all from the darkness of the Underworld and brought you life once again! I have revived back your allies, your friends, your loved ones, and together we will grant ourselves a new life on the mortal world. It will be ours for the taking, and I, your Emperor, will lead you in glory and rid the world of the gods who have wronged us!”

Luz swallowed as cheering erupted once again. So that was why the demigods joined up with Belos. It was about more than revenge. In payment for his service, Belos had brought back Achilles’ boyfriend Patroclus. That man next to Theseus… that was his father who’d leaped off the roof of the palace when he returned home. That woman with the dagger was Euridyce, the woman who’d faded after Orpheus looked back.

Belos raised his hands again. “But children, we are not done yet. There is one more demigod who must join our ranks, and lead the charge on Olympus beside us as an ally!”

He waved someone forward, and from behind his shoulder came a shadowy spirit. The misty figure of-  

Luz’s heart stopped.

Amity crept forward, and the crowd erupted into jeers.

“Aphrodite’s brat!”

“What is she doing here?”

“Send her to the Fields of Punishment!”

Luz lunged out from behind the rock and towards the crowd, falling into rank as she lurched forward with the rest of the demigods. Her side screamed out at her and she stumbled as she charged, leaning on her sword for support. Had the whole crowd not erupted into fury, she would have been caught for sure.

“Now, now! Hold my children!” Belos called, his voice silky and smooth. The crowd came to an uneasy but eventual stop. Luz didn’t move, now between the second row of demigods less than fifty feet from Belos. Her heart was hammering with questions. How did Amity get there? What did Belos want with her? But as the misty face of Amity scanned the crowd and found her, there was something almost pleading in her gold eyes that made Luz want to charge forward and forget the plan altogether. She had to get to her, had to get her out of Belos’ slimy gloved hands and through the portal-

“We all know what the gods are capable of. They use us as their pawns, and very few of us ever learn that in life. Some of us die painful deaths and only then do we learn the truth. We mustn’t hold that against every demigod that wants to join our ranks.”

He gestured Amity forward, who took a few more tentative steps towards the crowd.

“Amity here has repented to me, and seeks to join us, just as many of you have before.”  

Luz sought to meet Amity’s eyes again, and though her face was neutral, hiding most of her fear, Luz could see right through it. This was a desperate act. A distraction she was praying Luz understood.

She scanned the clearing, looking for any kind of out for them. She was hyper-aware of the blade on her back, pleading with every god she could think of that she would find a way to get to Amity and kill Belos, all while running through the portal without being killed by the swarms of angry demigods.

The odds weren’t great.

“But, I am favorable to the feelings of those I have revived,” Belos continued, his voice dropping dangerously. Chills shot up Luz’s spine, already dreading what he was going to say next. “I require that one of my soldiers vouch for the strength and dedication of Amity Blight. Should any hero welcome her into my army, she will be rewarded with life. Should nobody volunteer… well, the Styx always welcomes new souls into its depths.”

Amity’s misty face, if possible, paled even further. Laughter range out around the gathering demigods, many of their faces twisting in malicious delight.

“Oh gods,” Luz hissed under her breath. Panic was quickly rising in her chest. She needed a plan, and fast.

When nobody stood forward, Belos tisked, but it was almost like a cat ready to play with its prey. There was nothing reassuring about it.

“Come now, nobody vouches for her? What about you, Achilles? This Blight did best you on Mount Pelion.”

More snickering rose, especially from Patroclus on his right, and Achilles stepped forward, his face red with both embarrassment and barely concealed anger.

“Beating me once is simply a fluke. This Blight will bring nothing to our table.”

Belos hummed as the crowd broke out into more cheers. “Very well. And you, Orpheus?”

The demigod stepped forward, turning up his nose at Amity. “I would hardly call this one strong. At my manor in Kansas, she could barely stand, never mind tear down Olympus.”

Luz grit her teeth in fury as the crowd cheered again, clenching her sword tight in her hand. Her rage was rising in her chest, so quickly she was easily able to block out the horrific pain in her side.

“My, my, this sure is a tough crowd,” Belos chuckled, leaning into his staff. “What about you, Theseus? You had quite the hand in this quest.”

Theseus shot Belos a cocky little smile, stepping forward almost too casually. “I was more invested in the little Noceda girl. While I’m sure she would be devastated to find out her friend is a traitor, I see no need in keeping her around. All loose ends should be tied if you truly want my opinion.”

Luz was seeing red as the crowd burst into more cheers. She took a few more steps forward, so infuriated by the arrogance of the revived demigods she wanted to just shank Aletheia right through all of them.

The second she thought it, Luz came right to a halt, an idea bubbling forward before she could stop it. Arrogance. That was all of their fatal flaws. These demigods were all so arrogant, their pride came before everything else. A demigod would sooner die than admit they were wrong, or that their actions were their own faults. It’s what had brought every single one of them here, to this clearing in the Underworld.

Maybe all Luz had to do was blow it up. Fight fire with fire, arrogance on arrogance.

Belos was still chuckling, clearly amused by the gambling of Amity’s afterlife. Next to him, Amity was standing completely still. Luz would do whatever it took to get her out of there, and she had a pretty good feeling that if done right, this would work.

“Come now, children,” Belos cooed, “will none of you vouch for Amity Blight?”

Luz gathered up all her strength, and with a deep breath, charged straight out of the crowd and towards Belos. There was a series of shocked gasps from the demigods as she did, and Belos’ eyes watched her curiously as she stepped forward, reaching for her helmet and throwing it off her head and onto the floor. For just a moment, deep satisfaction ran through Luz as she watched Belos’ eyes widened, obviously floored she was standing in front of him.

“I will, Belos,” she said, pointing her sword at him. “Amity is the strongest, bravest, and most honest demigod I know, and anybody would be honored to have her fight alongside them. That’s why I’m going to kill you and destroy this portal once and for all. I challenge you!”

There was half a second of complete silence. Most of the crowd looked stunned, mouths open and shoulders hunched in awe. Next to Belos, Amity shot her a proud little half-smile that sent butterflies right through her chest. Then, a furious roar began to take over the crowd. Luz braced herself, ready to be run right through by a hundred swords when Belos’ eyes narrowed and a deep shout, louder than anything she’d ever heard in her life, belted across the clearing.

“THAT IS ENOUGH.”

An eerie hush fell over the crowd. Luz couldn’t see behind the dark narrowing of his neon blue eyes, but she imagined that Belos’ jaw was grinding his teeth together. She’d put him in a tough position. Ignore the challenge, and he looked weak. Accept, and there was a chance he would lose.

“You think you’re special, demigod?” He hissed, stepping forward and gripping his staff. “You think that some prophecy will save you? A new age will dawn, whether you like it or not. And here you are, bleeding out on my soldiers field, ready to die for this cause.”

“I’m not special, and neither are you!” Luz retorted, taking two confident steps forward. “All I see is a cowardly demigod unwilling to fight his own battles and command his army. You hide behind others to do your dirty work. What makes you better than the gods?”

There was an uncomfortable shuffle in the crowd as they processed what Luz was saying. Belos laughed, shaking his head.

“I brought them life again! I will bring them a new world of peace!”

“You scare them into submission,” Luz said certainly. “You’d make no better a leader than the gods. That’s why I’m going to stop you for good. Right here, right now.”

Luz didn’t have to look behind her to know that the gathering demigods were considering what she was saying. It was all over Belos’ face. Right there, for just a moment, she was more arrogant than him. She had control, and he was going to fight her tooth and nail to get it back.

“Alright, little demigod,” he hissed, spinning his staff into a sword. “Let’s play.”

He charged right at her, and Luz met his first strike furiously with one of her own. A deep metal clang echoed around the clearing, and for a moment, both of them strained against one another. Luz ducked, letting the force of his sword throw him off balance, and aimed a stab at his calf. Belos deflected, and Luz had no choice but to step back as he swung again.

“Sloppy work at best,” Belos spat, and Luz grit her teeth, reading her next swing. Behind them, the roar of the crowd spurred her on, and she made brief eye contact with Amity, who was discreetly trying to make her way towards the portal. Her expression told it all to Luz: make it quick.

She was right. Luz might have been angry, but so was Belos. She needed to keep matching him, arrogance for arrogance until he let his guard down just enough…

Metal met metal again. Luz kept at him, swipe after swipe. But she was weakening, lightheaded, and exhausted, and she had no idea how much longer she could keep this up. The only reason she was still alive was that Belos was taken aback because she had been the one to issue the challenge. He was surprised, but she was out of his depth.

It didn’t take long. He smacked the flat end of his blade hard against her shoulder, and she stumbled backward and hit the ground on her back. The crowd jeered behind her as she struggled to sit up, but Belos kicked her back down with his boot.

Her side screamed at her as she rolled, and she lay on her back in the dirt gasping for breath. Aletheia skidded towards the portal, leaving her unarmed. But behind her, the straps on her armor had loosened, and she felt ice-cold metal slide down her back. The blade.

Belos marched over to her, shifting his sword back into a staff and pointing it down threateningly at her. “Did you really think you could kill me here, demigod? I am their Emperor.”

Luz carefully adjusted the straps on her armor, feeling the dagger slide further down her shirt. With her back to the portal and her eyes to the crowd, nobody would have noticed the little action, especially since genuine agony ripped across her face.

She just needed one more little shimmy, and it was out.

“You come to my camp, antagonize my army, and you think I’ll just bow and cower?” Belos continued, and Luz looked up and met her brown eyes with his cold neon ones.

“I mean, I was kind of hoping you would.”

Belos growled, quickly losing his patience. He reached down and grabbed Luz by the strap of her chest plate, and Luz took that opportunity to shimmy one more time. With a satisfying plop, the knife hit the dirt behind her.

“You are every bit as loathingly arrogant as your father.”

It took everything Luz had to not scream in agony has Belos pressed further into her armor, and then into the wound. But with every last bit of strength she could muster, she leaned up towards his face.

“Do you want to hear a fun fact?”

“What?” For a second, Belos was completely taken aback, and Luz used that moment to reach behind her, gripping the hilt as tightly as she could.

“My dad wasn’t just the god of travelers and merchants,” Luz said, unable to keep the smile off her face. “He was also known as the divine trickster.”

And with all the force she could manage, Luz spun the dagger around and sunk it right into his chest.

[keys-to-the-kinkdom]

Head empty, just lactation+medical examination+(oh idk *spins wheel*) yennefer or ciri or eskel, someone with lovely tits

Wish I had something better for you for an inaugural prompt set but my brain clocked out early for the weekend - 💛

Your prompt is wonderful even if your brain took off early because it has been living rent free in my head since I got it. I hope you enjoy this filth <3

Eskel squirmed on the hard wooden chair. The door remained firmly shut, no matter how he stared at it. They were using one of the old tower rooms having decreed that Yennefer’s room was too familiar and the old medical suite held too many past terrors. Instead, they’d set up this room. Eskel had helped her to carry in a variety of furniture then left her to it. Really, he had very little idea what lay behind the door and every minute he sat waiting to find out was another moment of torture.

The door opened and Yennefer stepped out. She was wearing a very plain black dress with practical boots and no jewellery. Her hair was pulled back into a severe bun. She looked even more intimidating than normal. 

‘Eskel?’ she said, sounding bored.

He stood and made his way through the door behind her. The room was brightly lit by torches and there was a cheerful fire burning in the hearth. One side of the room was taken up by a large, paper covered desk with an uncomfortable looking chair behind it. There were a couple of bookshelves that were filled with esoteric texts on medicine and anatomy. On the other side of the room was a bed, covered in a  sheet of linen that had been treated with beeswax to make it water resistant. It was something he’d only ever seen court physicians use. Beside the bed was a table with a tray of various implements resting on the top. Other implements were arrayed on shelves around the room. He swallowed thickly.

‘Take a seat,’ Yennefer ordered, gesturing to the bed. 

He sat.

‘So. What are you here for?’ she asked.

‘Umm…’ Eskel murmured, ducking his head so that his fringe flopped over his face. 

‘Spit it out. I have other patients to see. I doubt it’s anything I’ve not heard before.’

‘Well, it’s my chest,’ he said, trying to spit the words out as quickly as possible. Even though they’d spoken about this, even although he knew she knew what he was going to say already, a tendril of humiliation still snuck through him. 

‘What about it?’

‘It’s… well, it’s odd. I seem to be… well… I seem to be lactating.’

‘I see,’ she said, looking him up and down. ‘I assume there’s no chance of pregnancy?’

‘No, I mean, I don’t really have the right plumbing.’ To his embarrassment he let out a ridiculous stangled laugh. 

Yennefer simply looked at him until he flushed and bowed his head. 

‘So, I am to understand that you are a male, with a penis and testicles and you have begun experiencing lactation?’ she asked.

He felt a burst of embarrassed arousal at the clinical way she discussed his body. He nodded at her, temporarily unable to find words. 

‘Well, that is unusual. Perhaps this won’t be a complete waste of my time then. Take off your shirt and I’ll have a look.’

He had known he was going to be asked for this. He had specifically worn a soft, loose shirt that was easy to remove, just for this purpose. Yet, still his face burned as he undid his buttons and pulled the shirt over his head. He sat, twisting it in his hands. Yennefer looked down her nose at him. 

‘Set it on the chair,’ she ordered, waving a hand at a low stool that sat by the bed. 

He folded it carefully and set it down. She was kind enough not to call him on the fact that he was blatantly stalling for time. He felt suddenly too big for the room. He hunched over, trying to avoid Yennefer’s gaze. His chest ached lightly and there was a slight draft winding its way under the door making goosebumps shiver into life along his arms. Yennefer stepped closer to the bed and adjusted the thin pillow that lay at the top. 

‘Lie down,’ she said. ‘Have you experienced any pain? Swelling? How often would you say you are discharging?’

He kicked his boots off and lay back on the bed. The sheet was cold and a little tacky under his back. It was surprisingly difficult to resist the urge to cross his arms across his chest. It was an incredibly vulnerable feeling, lying half-naked under Yennefer’s penetrating gaze. For all she was slight, she wasn’t a small woman and his position only emphasised her height. 

‘They ache a little,’ he admitted. ‘They’re larger than they were, but there’s no lumps or anything. I need to discharge at least twice a day, but…’ he trailed off for a moment. ‘Sometimes they leak a little, in between,’ he whispered.

‘Hmm.’

She stepped closer to the edge of the bed, close enough that he could feel her warmth against his arm, even although she wasn’t touching him. He drew in a lungful of her scent, warm and feminine and overlaid by her characteristic perfume. It was familiar, but not particularly comforting. He had no expectation of her being kind.

Her hands were cold when she placed them on his chest. Her fingertips were like little points of ice that made him hiss in a breath through his teeth. She was unsympathetic. First, she palpated the skin around his collarbone, moving out towards his shoulders and down. She worked her way towards the soft mound on his chest and he groaned as she touched them. The coolness of her fingers felt good against the light ache of being overfull. She pressed, gently at first and then harder, and he watched as small beads of milk welled up. 

She pressed her finger to one, sending and electric jolt through him, and then lifted it up. She smelled the liquid and rubbed it between her fingers. 

‘You do, indeed, appear to be lactating,’ she said. ‘How odd.’

She returned her hands to his chest and pressed against the nipple. He groaned. She pinched it between two fingers and pulled. It did very little, other than causing his cock to begin filling in his breeches. She did something, changed the placement of her fingers in some way and tugged and Eskel felt the distinctive sensation of his milk letting down in a stream. He whimpered.

‘Doctor Vengerberg,’ he protested.

‘Hush. It is necessary for me to see exactly how your body reacts to stimulus in order to give you the most accurate diagnosis.’

Eskel rolled his shoulders against the sheet, which had quickly warmed to his body. He endured as she pinched and pulled and tugged and occasionally wiped up a stray drop of milk that threatened to get too near her neat sleeves. Otherwise, she left them to run down his chest and make a wet, sticky mess of his stomach. He breathed through it, trying desperately not to show how much it was affecting him, but there was no way she hadn’t noticed the tent he was pitching in his breeches. Every tug of her fingers felt like it went directly to his cock. 

‘I believe I may have discovered the problem,’ she said eventually, standing back and staring down at him. ‘When was the last time you engaged in intercourse?’

‘Pardon?’ he squeaked. That wasn’t what he had expected her to say at all. 

‘When was the last time you engaged in intercourse?’ she repeated, in a voice that implied she thought he was simple. ‘Have you ejaculated recently? Been fucked?’

The sound of the word ‘fucked’ in her perfect, calm voice nearly undid him, but he held it together long enough to answer.

‘It’s been… some time,’ he admitted. ‘Three months or so,’ he continued when she simply raised an eyebrow at him. 

‘As I thought. You are putting your body under undue strain by not attending properly to your needs. It is expressing those needs to you in unconventional ways. I can cure this, but you must make sure to pay more attention to yourself in the future. I will need to drain the lactate and I will also need to stimulate the prostate in order to clear the build up of hormone that is causing this. Stand up and remove the rest of your clothes.’

His head spun with the technical terminology. He peeled himself off the bed and stood, ducking his shoulders and averting his eyes. Yennefer busied herself over by the shelves of medical supplies while he stripped out of his boots and breeches. He hesitated with his hands on the top of his underthings. It was ridiculous, but he didn’t want to take them off. It felt like clinging to his last little piece of safety.

‘It’s nothing I’ve not seen before,’ she called over. ‘Hurry up.’

He swallowed hard and slid them down his legs. He folded his trousers and placed them on top of his shirt. He paused for a second, then hid his underwear underneath, face painted red with shame. He’d thought he was long past any body modesty he’d once had, but now, for some reason, he felt keenly every little imperfection of his flesh. She was going to be looking at him. Worse, he knew she was going to see him. 

She sauntered back over with two pieces of glassware and a tin in her hand. She looked him briefly up and down and put the things she was holding on the table.

‘Good. Now, I’m going to need you to bend over the bed.’

He stepped up to the bed and bent, so that his elbows were pressed into the tacky sheet and his arse was pointing up. He tried not to think about how stupid it must make him look to her. 

‘Can you hold that position without allowing your chest to touch the bed?’ she asked. ‘If not, I will need you to adjust so that you can. It will damage the equipment if you do.’

He wriggled a little until he knew he could manage what he was asked. He locked his muscles and pressed down into his elbows, determined not to move, regardless of what she did to him. She reached over to the little table and picked up one of the glass things. It looked a little like one of their alchemy flasks, but not entirely. The bottom was a bulbous sphere which tapered into a narrow cylinder with a thick, round lip. She held it in front of his face. 

‘I will attach these to your nipples in order to drain the lactate from your breasts,’ she explained. He flushed at hearing his chest referred to in such terms. ‘It should not hurt, but it may feel uncomfortable. If you experience pain at any point, it is imperative that you tell me at once. Do you understand?’

‘Yes,’ he mumbled into the silence. 

‘Good. Now hold still.’

The glass was smooth and cold against his skin. She reached underneath him and rubbed at one nipple until it was standing at a stiff peak. Then she slipped the opening of the flask over it and held it in place. Her fingers flared briefly purple and he felt a tight suction as it adhered to him. 

‘Do try not to dislodge it,’ she said flatly. 

He understood the order for what it was and held still as she repeated the process on the other side. Once both were attached to her liking, he saw another brief flare of violet chaos and then he inadvertently moaned as they began milking him. He didn’t know how it was doing it and he didn’t much care either, but he could feel his milk let down as the suction increased and decreased rhythmically, pulling at his nipples and draining them into the empty spheres. He had never quite felt relief like it before. 

‘Excellent,’ Yennefer said. ‘Those will drain your breasts. As they work, I will need to perform the prostate massage to release the build up of unnecessary hormones. It is liable to feel pleasurable. There is no need to be embarrassed if you become erect or even ejaculate. It is a perfectly natural reaction.’

He nodded, still a little distracted by the tugging sensation around his nipples. It felt almost like a mouth, latched on and drinking from him, except it was missing the warmth. Somehow that tiny bit of impersonality made it even better. He was so focused on that feeling that he flinched when Yennefer touched his thighs, encouraging him to spread his legs. Her finger brushed his hole, dragging something slick and silky over it to create a smooth glide. She rested it there for a moment as he consciously untensed his muscles. He wanted this and he trusted Yennefer, but having someone at his back when he had been forced into such a vulnerable position was terrifying. Especially knowing that she was looking at him. His cock twitched and her finger pressed forward. He choked on a groan. It felt so good. He hadn’t lied when he’d told her it had been a while. The Path had been long and hard that year and he’d been reduced to the company of his own hand for much longer than he really wanted to admit. The feeling of her pressing her long, slim finger into his most intimate place was a heady one. 

She pressed gently for a moment longer, then began working her finger in and out, thrusting slowly. The drag of skin on slick skin lit up his nerves and he felt the tip of his cock begin to drool with precum. He felt the tightness beginning to ease, his body accepting the intrusion as pleasurable rather than something to be rejected. Once her finger was moving steadily inside him, she added a second, making him whine and push back against the stretch. She repeated the process of slow thrusting and stretching until he had relaxed enough to take them easily. 

‘Good,’ she said. ‘Now, I will begin the prostate massage. Remember, you must stay still.’

He nodded. He had no intention of doing anything to disrupt the perfect pressure around his nipples. He’d never before considered them particularly sensitive, but ever since he’d started producing milk, the barest brush against them could get him hard. This focused suction was driving him insane. He wanted more. As Yennefer’s fingers pressed deeper inside, he got it. She crooked them and pulled, pressing forward and finding his prostate unerringly. A garbled noise of pleasure fell from his mouth without restraint as she pressed insistent circles into it. 

The torment seemed to go on forever. The suction around his nipples was steady and predictable while the pressure on his prostate was constant but varied in both pressure and speed. He could feel his pulse in his cock, could feel it dribbling a puddle of precum onto the floor beneath him. He wanted to blush, wanted to hide his face and pretend nothing was happening, that he wasn’t getting off on a necessary medical procedure, but it was undeniable. It would have been easier if Yennefer were a less attractive physician, or if he were less pent up and desperate, but she was gorgeous and he needed. The pressure and pleasure built and built until all he could think of was the desperate ache between his legs and the hard press of her fingers deep inside. He could hear the constant dripping of his milk as it splashed into the collection device and it just spurred his pleasure higher. It was all he could do to stay still, to not give into the trembling of his limbs and fall forward or give into his instincts and thrust back, fucking himself on her fingers until he came. He had to do as he was told and hold still though. 

In the end, it was inevitable. One hard press of Yennefer’s fingers, combined with a well timed increase in suction around his nipples and he was lost. His vision whited out in a flurry of sparks and he shouted, his muscles locking up as his cock emptied itself across the flagstones. Yennefer gentled him through it, one small hand pressing between his shoulders, the other continuing to finger him gently. She stopped pressing on his prostate, but left her fingers in his arse to give him something to clench on. As he started to come down he groaned at the feeling. Her fingers were so long and slim and competent. He loved watching her work with her hands, the purple of her magic sparking around them and limning them with light. It accentuated the delicate strength of them. He burned with the knowledge that her hands, hands that casually wielded the power to topple cities and burn empires, those hands were being turned to his pleasure. As the aftershocks of his orgasm rolled through him, he bent his head forward and panted.

‘There now,’ she said, ‘No doubt that will feel much better. Stay where you are for a moment and allow me to properly detach the lactation aids.’

She withdrew her fingers slowly and carefully and he heard her cross the room to the small basin and pour some water out. There was splashing as she cleaned her hands of the slick. He focused on following her movements to distract from the tugging on his chest that was slowly edging from pleasurable into painful on his oversensitised nipples. It didn’t take long before she was back by his side and the pressure ceased. She detached each one with another quick flare of chaos. They were around three quarters full with his milk, the white liquid sloshing slightly as she set them aside. He whimpered and reached one hand up to press at his chest. It was flatter now, no longer quite so full, but it was still tender and aching from the stretch. 

‘You can get dressed again,’ Yennefer said, crossing to her desk.

He stood and began the process of putting his clothes back on. His underthings were first, covering his rapidly softening cock from her sharp gaze. As he redressed, she continued speaking.

‘It seems that the problem is slightly worse than expected. Your breasts are producing a large amount of lactate and your prostate was rather engorged. It is likely that you will require repeated treatments to deal with the issue. You should take care to drain your own breasts at least daily, if not twice daily and you should engage in frequent masturbation. I would like you to return again next week for a follow up appointment. I will assess your condition then, but it is likely that you will require at least one further prostate massage at that point. I would recommend that you take better care of your sexual health in future to prevent issues of this nature arising,’ she said, staring at him over the pile of papers she was looking at. 

‘Thank you, Doctor,’ he mumbled. 

‘Yes, quite. Now, off you go. I have other patients to see today.’

He nodded and let himself out, closing the door firmly behind him.

[cptnbvcks]

Okay but imagine Mando catching you masturbating to a fantasy of him and he leaves you to it, but later he has you cornered in the cockpit and tells you to explain what you’d been thinking about. You try to be a smart ass, but he just doesn’t react till you tell him the truth. When you do, he leans forward, grabs you by the back of the neck, and pulls you close as he says “good girl”

how the fuck does a drabble turn into a full fic i just— i’m gonna quarantine myself. 

It’s been… a long fucking week.

The air of the Razor Crest is thick with the metallic scent of fresh blood and there’s a wad of bandages collecting on the ship’s floor that you really need to get rid of before the little one can get into them.

You slump back against the ship’s steel wall with a quiet grunt, sinking down to the floor as the exhaustion finally began to creep into the corners of your vision in hazy pulses.

On the floor, clothes half ripped to hell and deeply unconscious, is the Mandalorian. The proof of your medical work is all over him; messy bandages that crisscross over golden skin and an ugly patch of bruised skin from a shoddily delivered emergency bacta shot.

You stare at his chest and you feel your own breath slowly fall in rhythm with the gentle rise and fall of it. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him this… exposed before. His bareness had hardly registered in your head when he came staggering in, shoved the quarry into the carbonite chamber, and all but fell into your arms — his beskar hanging half-unclasped and his shirt torn and burnt where blaster fire had managed to hit skin. There had only been the acrid taste of fear on your tongue as you tore off the heavy armor and got to work cutting away his shirt to assess the damage. 

The adrenaline high is crashing at your feet and even though you’re exhausted, you can’t help but stare. 

His stomach rises and falls slow and your gaze is transfixed on the firm ripple of muscles that felt so firm under your shaking fingers. Scars overlapped, ugly and jagged from all the times he had patched himself back together again in the loneliness of the ship. 

Your fingers twitch slightly around your knee at the memory of his skin; soft everywhere, warm when you pressed against it, rough where the soft dusking of hair trailed up from his hem of his pants.

You dropped your head back against the ship’s wall and almost moaned when you let your eyes slip closed, exhaustion creeping at the edge of your consciousness.

Behind your eyes, your imagination eagerly pulled the image of his broad chest back to the forefront, demanding you finish your meandering thoughts. 

He had grabbed your arm when you first began taking off the beskar, his grip frighteningly unsteady as he reminded you, as urgently as he could manage, “Not the helmet.” 

Your fingers flexed into a fist, dropping lightly into your lap at the memory of his touch. The Mandalorian never touched you, not once since you stumbled into his life on the Razor Crest and failed to leave.

“Don— Don’t remove my helmet.” He grunted softly, the noises pained and tight through the modulator as you got to work.

He had grunted and groaned and grimaced through all of it, his breaths falling hard and ragged, and the sounds had been scary granted the context. But now, in the quiet calm of your own imagination, the context was much less terrifying.

Slowly, you peaked an eyelid open. 

His helmet was turned upwards, visor to the ship’s ceiling. The side of the helmet reflected an obscure version of your sitting form and you granted yourself one last peak at his stomach, still rising and falling with easy breaths. 

Yep, still sleeping.

The emergency shot must have kicked in harder than you expected and you secretly thank the Maker for the small mercy of the Mandalorian’s deep sleep because you really don’t think you have the energy to crawl up into the cockpit to do what you’re about to do.

Besides, you really shouldn’t leave him alone in this state. Not when the child could easily open the bunk hatch and stumble upon his caretaker like this.

Your cheeks flush slightly as you let your eyes fall shut again, loosening your knees slightly as your fingers quickly tug open your belt. 

You promise yourself you won’t take long. It’s been a long week and you can’t even remember the last time you had a moment to yourself. Between the little green bundle of trouble and his ever so stoic caretaker (Or was father more appropriate?) — the Razor Crest is always at full capacity. You couldn’t turn around without the little one peering up at you from your ankles with those big brown eyes and making uppy hands in a quiet plea to be lifted.

Yeah, you think to yourself, I won’t take long.

— 

The Mandalorian’s chest hesitates in its usual rhythm but your eyes are wrenched shut and you don’t notice when the beskar helmet turns, eyes fixing on you through the dark tint of the visor.

For a moment, he thinks he might be hallucinating. 

Your hand is clasped over your mouth, holding hard and digging into your cheek in a desperate attempt to muffle the soft noises you’re making. 

He can smell his own blood in the humid air and the punchy sterility of antibacterials, but what he smells most prominently is the heady scent of arousal. His eyes follow the tense length of your arm to where your hand disappears down the front of your pants. 

The Mandalorian feels his mouth go unbearably dry at the urgent shift of your wrist beneath the material — the way your head falls back and your knees tremble when you touch something undoubtably soft and sensitive and so so wet.

He can hear it through the sensitive registers of the helmet’s earpiece and he struggles to keep his breathing as even as he can while the soft wet sound of your fingers on your cunt slinks right down his body and straight to his cock. 

“M-mando—”

Every thought in his head crashes to a screeching halt and his heart all but leaps into his throat at the thought that he’s been caught watching you pleasure yourself. 

Your eyes are open and they’re half-lidded, unseeing, though Mando knows you’re looking dead at him. 

For a split second, the wonders if you wanted him to catch you. Were you carrying on in this way, so close yet just out of his reach, in the hopes that he would see? 

Your fingers pick up their pace, failing to register the change of his helmet’s angle, and you’re struggling to keep the noises in but the bounty hunter hears you loud and clear — the sweet voice that always welcomes him back and teases him mercilessly — moaning his name.

“M-maker, Man-mando— mmf!” 

The Mandalorian stares in awe as you cry for him, his nickname never once having sounded like that in your mouth. It rings in his ear like gun fire — loud and devastating to its recipient. 

His gaze eats up the way your body suddenly tenses and shudders as you sink your teeth into the back of your hand to muffle yourself. The fingers between your thighs don’t still but their fervour slows to a sluggish pace that keeps pulling soft trembling noises from your throat; ones he’s never heard you make before, and ones he doesn’t think he’d soon forget.

Your eyes fall shut again as you slump back, spent and exhausted, and the Mandalorian finally realizes that you still think he’s fast asleep. 

Slowly, you slip your hand out of your pants and the Mandalorian dare not blink when you lazily press your own cum coated fingers between your lips and moan his name again.

The Mandalorian closes his eyes and tries not to imagine your mouth around something a little more substantial.

— 

You really don’t remember falling asleep, but you wake up to the soft warmth of a blanket and the gentle jostle of the ship. Your eyes fall to the space on the floor where Mando had once been; a body-shaped pile of torn clothes and bandages the only hint that he had even been laying there. A blush threatens to creep up your cheeks and a shiver trills up your spine as you try your best not to remember what you did last night. Or better, who you thought of while doing it. 

Both of those options are hard to do when there’s a soft wetness that still clings to the seat of your panties, which you also try hard to ignore.

Your body is heavy and sluggish and there’s a ghost of a tremor in your thighs as you drag yourself across the main galley to the cockpit hatch, taking one heavy foot to each rung.

“Hey,” you announce yourself, the word coming out husky and drawling as you scoot your butt across the corridor’s floor and swinging your legs up into the space. The sliding doors open and you make out the shiny beskar helmet tilted over the ship’s controls. The child’s pram sits behind him and to his right, the doors of it sealed against the glare of hyperspace. He must have moved him from the bunk while you slept. 

The Mandalorian tilts his head over his shoulder slightly as you step towards him. Your gaze involuntarily drops to the fresh shirt and the fixed armor that obscures the body that you know exists beneath. 

You don’t mean to stutter, but your mind is pulling the images out of storage and playing them on a slideshow in your head before you can stop it. He shifts back in the chair and your gaze drops to his thighs and oh, maker, you’re thinking about the soft trail of dark hair that’s hidden under his new shirt and— 

“I don’t – I don’t think you’re supposed to be up so soon, after the shot—” 

“Thank you,” His words are low and his voice crackles slightly in the helmet’s modulator and it sounds like he hasn’t been awake for too long, “For taking care of me when I came in.” 

The gratitude in his voice takes you by surprise and you have to double check that your chin isn’t on the floor. He’s never thanked you before, and he never really struck you personally as the ‘thank you’ type.

“I— oh, you’re welcome? You’re welcome.” Your cheeks grow hot with embarrassment and you can feel yourself grasping and failing to reach for the typical relaxed banter that usually falls between you. Something’s sitting in the air and you feel the odd pang of guilty nerves that make you feel like you’re hiding something.

“You could use some work on your shot delivery though,” he spoke and the deep scratch of his voice makes you distinctly aware of the slickness that remains between your thighs, “Not a fan of the bruises.” 

It takes a second for you to register what he’s talking about, but your mind readily draws back the image of his bare chest and the hideous crimson-maroon circular bruise that sits a few measures beneath the firmness of his right ribcage.

“Well, it’s not like you dragged me halfway across the galaxy because of my advanced medical training.” 

You see the small downward tilt of his helmet though he does not move the chair an inch.

“I dragged you?” 

There’s a small humor in his voice and you know he’s pulling on the fact that you had practically sat on the ship with the child on your lap and refused to let him leave your home planet without you in tow. But there’s something in the inflection of his voice when he hits the word ‘dragged’ and you always hated it when he served your words back to you and you really, really need to take a shower right about now. A cold one, preferably.

“I’m not going to dignify that with a response, Mando.” 

You’re already stepping away and you don’t notice that the careless toss of his name on your tongue has drawn the bounty hunter’s muscles taut in his pilot’s chair. You hear the soft click of a switch or two and don’t think anything of it as you turn on your heel to head to the hatch doors.

You pause in front of it when the doors don’t automatically reopen at your presence.

Raising a hand, you wave it around to trigger the sensor. It stays shut.

“Hey, Mando— I think the door’s broken.” 

“Not broken,” he corrects and his tone lazes slow through the helmet’s modulator, “Locked.” 

His voice and his words sear you to that spot and you try real hard to ignore the low hum that’s starting to grow like incessant static between your thighs. You know the sound of his voice when he’s up to something. You’ve heard it far too many times when he hauls his quarries onto the Razor Crest — that quiet conspiratorial tone that says he knows more than you in any given situation. 

Right now, you felt like one of those quarries and the thought of it raked every thought clean from your mind except for that fucking static. 

You look over your shoulder at the sound of the pilot’s chair shifting with the familiar swoosh noise as its occupant rotates forty-five degrees around, though he only tilts his helmet slightly over his shoulder when he addresses you. His next words are quiet but they hit you loudly, amplified by your own shameful guilt.

“Last night,” he starts and you know what he’s going to say before the words even come out of his mouth, “You called my name—” 

That familiar hum returned with magnificent urgency, spiralling quickly across your limbs — from your fingertips to your toes and coiling determinedly between your thighs. The pilot’s chair creaks and a heavy footstep follows and your eyes refuse to move from the sealed doorway, your feet equally glued in place.

You open your mouth to begin reading your defence but he keeps speaking in that deep tone with the modulator-clipped vowels that sounds far too close behind you now.

“— Did you think that I was asleep? Or had you been hoping that I was watching?” 

The space feels smaller when he’s standing up and you suddenly have to try really hard not to think about what you were thinking about a few hours earlier while he was passed out and you were— 

Your legs feel like lead when you finally turn to face him and your mouth runs drier than a Tatooine summer. 

“Why didn’t you say something?” Your cheeks burn hot as you tilt your head up to where his visor is angled. The star light glitters magnificently off of the beskar but you stand in his shadow, half blocked in. “To st-stop me, you could have—” 

“Why would I want you to stop?” 

Every single coherent thought dashes right out of your head and that static has finally reached your ears because there’s no way he just said that to you. His words wane playful and you really think you might vibrate out of your own skin at the anxiety-muddled revelations that’s welling inside of your belly now. 

“You’ve gone quiet,” the Mandalorian hums out, “You weren’t very quiet last night.” 

Your eyes must have been saucer-wide and your jaw hangs loose as he tilts his helmet slightly and you press your lips together at the small nagging feeling that he’s watching your mouth. A pair of gloved fingers touch your right elbow and the unexpected touch startles you, goosebumps immediately peppering your skin. He opens his grip around your arm and it takes a moment for you to realize that he’s lifting your arm from where it rests, fingers clenched, at your side.

“I want you to show me.” 

You swallow hard and find the weak sound of your voice again as his hand lowers down to your wrist, then your hand, turning it palm-up before slowly uncoiling your fingers. “Show—show you?” 

“Show me how you tasted when you came on your fingers. And—” The words strain through the helmet and you shiver again at the demanding heartbeat pulsing wetly against the seat of your panties. He drags a leather-covered thumb across the meat of your palm and across the narrow length of your middle finger, his thoughts easily returning to the sight of that hand wedged and flexing under the fabric of your pants,  “—and tell me what you thought of when you called for me.” 

The Mandalorian notices the small release of tension from your arm, allowing him to turn your hand in his grip and face your palm downwards. You know the path he’s guiding your hand on, yet still, you jump when he presses your palm firmly into your clothed cunt. 

“And—,” you pause to swallow the sudden hitch of your words, putting some spine in your voice as you continue, “And if I don’t?”

Your tone is shy but something so eager and repressed simmers beneath, growing bolder as he coaxes you away from embarrassment and into something more welcoming, something you’ve quietly been aching for for much longer than you’re willing to admit.

His breathing drags through the modulator as his fingers flex against yours, pressing them deeper into the thick fabric until he sees a small reaction twitch across your features. 

“I can always make you,” he offers and you can’t tell if his voice wanes threateningly or jestingly, but he demonstrates the strength of his insinuation when he drags his palm off of yours, over the hem of your pants, and then burying his gloved hand down beneath. 

You purse your lips and try not to let your eyelids flutter when he cups his hand over your slick panties and grinds the heel of his palm right into that bundle of nerves that has been buzzing urgent static through your system from the start of this. Your knees almost buckle as he steps forward, pushing you with him until your back thumps heavily against the cockpit doors. “Is that what you want?” 

“Is this—mm, how you interrogate your hostages?” 

He exhales sharply and you think it might be a half-laugh, “Only the pretty ones.”

The compliment doesn’t miss you and a shudder rakes hot down your spine as he drags his middle finger across the outline of your slit. Your shoulders slump against the cold metal as you arch your hips out and into his touch against your fleeting judgement. You bite back a whimper between your teeth because even with the gloves still on, it’s still him. Every inch of the uniform— the armor, the helmet, the beskar— it’s all him.

But you can’t help but quietly think about what’s underneath. The tanned skin, scarred and bruised, and the soft dust of hair that trails up— 

“I can put you in binders until you answer the question.”

The thought drags a moan from your chest as you grind yourself down into his palm. 

“Is that it?” He asks, his free hand dropping onto your waist to hold your hips out against his hand, “The binders?” 

Your eyes finally fall closed and your brow furrows as he picks up the pace of his minstrations and you swear he must have watched you closely last night. Slowly, you shake your head in response to his question, though the idea of him locking your arms down the way you’ve seen him do so expertly to all the unfortunate quarries certainly does hit you right in your core. 

It’s not what you want. It’s not the answer to his question. 

He presses into your clit and your head falls back against the doors with a hollow thump. 

“Take off your gloves,” you moan out, the sound airy and half-whispered, arching into a high whine in your throat as he presses eager little circles against your clit, dragging the material of your panties over your soft flesh, “Please—”  

You’re still reeling from his touches when he yanks his hand out the front of your pants and tears off his glove. Your gaze drops immediately at the flash of exposed skin as he spreads his palm across your hip, letting his fingers slip beneath your shirt to drag over your stomach.

His helmet tilts to follow your gaze as he slowly traces the rough pads of his fingers over the soft curve of your belly. His skin feels more foreign than the gloves and you bite down the moan that threatens when he flattens his hand into your abdomen and sinks below your pants again. This time, he pushes his fingertips into the elastic of your panties and lower.

“Th-this,” you finally whimper, the words barely registering in your own ears but he seems to receive them clearly. Your fists dig into the soft canvas of his undershirt wherever you can catch a hold of it beneath all that beskar, “Maker, it’s this.” 

“My fingers?” His question is punctuated with a soft press of your clit that leaves your mouth hanging open and your brows neatly furrowed. You nod your head jerkily as he lazily touches you, his fingers in no rush to take you where you desperately ache to go. His helmet tilts up and he’s watching you again. 

It might have been a little lie. The easiest lie. How else could you tell him that it was the fucking contact. The skin-to-skin closeness that you had felt tending to him; that ache it had put in you.

A pair of leather fingers reach around the back of your neck and you mindlessly tilt back into the grasp as he pulls your head forward. Your body follows the movement, leaning into him rather than the doors as his fingers draw urgent little thrusts of your own hips. 

“Good girl.” 

—

Tag List 

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[abluescarfonwaston]

Shapeshifter Au 6

Heads up at the top this one is our “Last Wish Special”. It’s extra long and what should be no surprise to anyone- Jaskier does not have a good time! Please take care of yourselves as we move into plot territory.

Part 1   Part 5 Inspired by @spielzeugkaiser art here And Also now on Ao3 cause that’s probably easier for everyone.

Sometimes, when Geralt got hurt, he’d use his shapes against him.

Help was the word he’d use. To help him. But if Geralt preferred to think of him using his shapes against him then so be it.

“Get off me Jaskier.”

He looked down his snout at Geralt and grumbled his reply before returning to his composing. They would at very least wait until the bleeding stopped to ride back. Since Geralt insisted the injuries were not so grievous as to require proper attention.

He might very well have been right about that. Which meant they could afford to wait for it to stop before returning for the reward.

If Geralt wanted to treat his wounds then he’d let him. But he wasn’t going to let him ride off and make everything worse because he was a stubborn ass. That was Jaskier’s job. Being a stubborn ass. Not that he made a habit of being farm animals. The risk it would sour him to the taste of their meat was far too great. He refused to be vegetarian. Grass just did not taste very good. No matter what Roach claimed.

“Jaskier get off me or I will throw you off.”

He shifted more of his near 400 pound weight onto Geralt’s torso to demonstrate exactly what he thought about that.

“I can.” He growled.

He puffed up his fur telling him exactly what would happen if he tried.

He had bigger forms yet. If that’s how he wanted to play- well. He wouldn’t bet on Geralt winning. Witcher enhancements be damned.

Geralt, seemingly having realized this, ceased his struggling and ventured a new tactic.

Insulting him.

Which got him grumbling and growling at Geralt. But didn’t get him off him. Geralt knew well enough what he was saying. He didn’t need to transform to express his displeasure.

Geralt, a versatile and clever man, switch tactics yet again.

Reciting history facts but slightly wrong- the year was 1123 and he was a duke not a prince Geralt- asking questions about agriculture – cereal crops deplete the soil of nitrogen. Legumes fix this. A fallow field is left for weeds and grazing. The three fields are rotated. Together this system allows farmers to plant more crops and increase production. – and finally just asking him to play for him.

He, personally, admitted that his bear vocals left something to be desired but he didn’t let that stop him from belting out a few heavily modified versions of his favorite tunes.

Geralt covered his ears and glared at him.

It was only after three verses of Fishmonger’s daughter that he finally popped down into his human shape to do the finale justice.

Geralt shoved him off breaking his sustained note.

“Rude.” He squawked from the dirt as Geralt stood.

“I stopped bleeding three songs ago!” He growled at him.

“I’m well aware.” He grinned. “But I do so enjoy a captive audience.”

Geralt threw the bedroll at his head. Which did hit him. But he managed to catch it on the rebound, which counted as a win in his books.

“I don’t need you mothering me bard.”

“Is that what you think this is? I’m trying to keep Nenneke from murdering me next time you need her services. The woman terrifies me Geralt.”

She did. A little. Not in the way he suspected she expected to be feared though.

It was because her eyes always held too many questions about why he’d arrived before Geralt, knowing exactly the condition of the man’s wounds, even though he lacked a horse while Geralt road in on Roach.

He’d fly ahead, unhampered by the twisting of the roads, and set them to prepare for Geralt’s arrival. Or, when the situation was far graver, have them send a cart to meet him. Transforming on the road just outside of the temples view.

His skin itched when she stared at him too long. Like she almost knew what he was and if she watched him closely enough she might figure it out.

Luckily, “I mean the woman already hates me Geralt.” She was easy to annoy into not looking closely. “No need to worsen her to me by damaging the one reason she even tolerates my presence at the temple.”

If all she wanted to see was an airheaded flop of a bard that was all he would show her. Staying within the confines of expectations worked well enough to keep people from digging.

“She does hate you.” Geralt agreed with a smirk. Pleased he’d befriended someone Jaskier had not.

“Naaaah deep down she likes me.”

Geralt bobbed his head, half conceding the point.

People were complicated like that. She hated Most of him. But she liked that he cared about Geralt. Even if she didn’t always agree with how he cared about Geralt.

With how they cared for each other.

So maybe he shouldn’t have poked the insomniatic bear that was Geralt as he dredged up the lake at Rinde. But he was a bear often enough and he didn’t mind being poked. Sometimes Geralt needed to buck up and face his problems head on!

Then his throat started closing.

Which was scary. Sure. But there were plenty of forms that didn’t need his throat to breath. He’d play catfish or pike or bream or – he was just listing fish again- something while Geralt sorted out the curse the djinn smacked him with.

Except.

Except none of them would come.

He tried to shift bigger and his skin pulled too tight like it was yanking away from the muscle and he tried to shift down and his organs compressed in his chest. And he was left folded over in pain from his throat and his lungs and from being trapped.

Trapped in one form. Perhaps forever.

“Can you shift?” Geralt asked him, looking between him and Roach. Debating.

He managed a ragged sob that Geralt translated as the ‘no’ it was.

There was the bumpy ride on Roach- poor girl they weighed far too much together- and the elf with the painkillers – which helped a little. But the world continued its painful descent into darkness.

Geralt was scruffing him by the doublet. Dragging his limp form. Somewhere. He liked being scruffed. It reminded him of the old mouser in the kitchen who’d claimed him as kin when he was barely a boy. Whenever he got in trouble, or was lonely, or scared he’d just run to the old tom and pop down into a kitten. Instantly be scruffed and pulled under the cabinet for a bath and cuddle.

Scruffing meant that soon everything would be okay. He was in pain and terrified but soon. Soon everything would be alright.

 Everything was not alright.

There was a very scary woman with an amphora on her belly and-

And she was a mage.

A powerful mage.

Something in him was singing. Singing at her notice. Her attention.

He didn’t much like that part of him.

His knees near buckled under him as she gripped his nethers and pressed a knife to his throat.

“If you want to keep all you have familiar,” She squeezed him tighter. The singing and terror crescendo-ing in his ears. What do you want me to be? It sung, heart racing in his chest. “Make a damn wish.”

He reached. Reached for. Something. Some shape that would get her away. Small or big or cute or monsterous or something.

Her magic threw him to the floor and it crackled over his skin- she wants you to be human so that is what you shall be – lighting up every nerve with delicious power – do as she says. So that the powerful one might keep you – and burning the tapestry of thread he didn’t know was woven underneath his skin.

“Make your damn wish! Do it now!”

This one is better. Powerful. Be what she wants. “I don’t- I don’t know!” Lightning ran through his veins and fire blazed through his chest and- and- Be her’s. Wish to be hers. Exalted one.

He didn’t want that.

“I wish very much to leave this place forever!”

She turned from him, the burning fading. The singing loud in his ears. Scolding, screaming, begging him to go back to her as he scrambled from the building.

And Geralt was there.

Geralt was alive.

Geralt left him to that witch.

“Jaskier. You’re okay.”

“I’m glad to hear that you give a monkey’s about it.” He fumed.

The singing was quieter now. The smoldering in his chest easing next to Geralt-

Geralt was going back inside.

The building collapsing.

“She could not have survived it.” The elf from earlier- Chireadan- said.

There was coldness in the shape of the lightning flowing through his veins. Ashes in the stitching of his soul where Geralt once resided.

“Why did Geralt go in there? It doesn’t make any sense. What, to save a mad fucking witch?”

“Because she was magnificent.”

She was. The song wept.

His knees hit the ground, the pain of the gravel collision distant, over the shapeless void that pulled him to nothing.

“What am I supposed to do now, hm?” What would be left when this form collapsed into the emptiness in his chest? “It wasn’t supposed to go this way.”

You should have died with him.

No.

“I’m gonna write you. The best song. So that everyone remembers who you were, what we did, everything we saw.” There was a lifetime there. In the spaces they shared. Not a human lifespan perhaps. But it wasn’t like he was human anyway. “And I will sing it. For the rest of my days.”

“He always said I had the most wonderful singing voice.”

A joke. Between him and a dead man.

If he wanted to correct him he should have stayed alive.

Chireadan knelt before him, laying a hand on his shoulder. A tiny beat of comfort in a symphony of pain.

“They’re alive.”

They were very alive.

He ran his fingers down Roach’s neck, unsure how he was supposed to feel.

Relief that Geralt was alive? Jealously that he’d gone to Yennefer? Jealously she choose him over you?

Anger?

Joy?

Hollow. He felt hollow.

Roach nudged him.

He was nearly draped over her.

He wanted that old tom cat to scruff him and pull him under the cabinet. To lick and squish and purr him back to whole.

What would he be if he shifted now?

Nothing. It called to him that nothing.

Nothing wasn’t a shape. Nothing wasn’t Jaskier. Jaskier wasn’t nothing.

Still it called to him.

Roach lipped at a saddlebag. The one he’d nested in as his wing healed.

He shoved his bloody shirt in as a makeshift nest and fluttered in.

If Geralt wanted his peace he could dump him on the side of the road.

Until then. He breathed in the way the leather bag blended Roach and Geralt into itself and fell asleep.

 He drifted back to the shores of sleep welcomed by the gentlest smoothing of his feathers.

He readjusted, further nesting into the callouses of Geralt’s hand.

“I thought.” The pain in Geralt’s hesitating voice forced his eyes open. “That the djinn took your voice and your shifting from you.”

Geralt was laying down on their bedroll watching him with those big sad eyes. Which hurt.

But not as much as the fact Geralt had stopped petting him. He shifted into Geralt’s petting hand demanding he get back to work with a sharp chirp.

Geralt resumed his gentle stroking, lips twitching slightly upward. “So bossy.” He complained.

They laid there as the sun went down; quiet and exhausted.

“We used to do this a lot. When your wing was broken. It was nice.”

He softly trilled an agreement.

“I could smell you on Roach when I got back you know? I thought you had left. I understand if you’d left. After what I did.”

He blinked tiredly at Geralt before standing to shift up. He didn’t want to have this conversation now but if Geralt did then. Well then they’d have it now.

“Don’t.” Geralt’s hands shifted slightly, like they were caging him in. They weren’t. He knew he could get out. Knew that if he wanted to leave Geralt would let him.

He settled back into Geralt’s fingers, more than happy not to.

“Tonight. Can we be that again? Just for tonight.”

Be simple. Be easy.

Nenneke always scolded Geralt for thinking he could deny destiny. Because she cared about him and knew destiny would have her way, willingly or not. It would he agreed. Geralt couldn’t run away from her forever.

But he did help him run away from it. Sometimes. Like tonight?

Tonight destiny could go fuck itself.

Tonight they were just a bird and a man sharing each other’s company.

Tonight they were easy.

[thespianbooks]

A Court of Nightmares and Starlight //Chapter 18//

Masterlist

(tags: @thron3ofbooks, @df3ndyr, @courtofjurdan, @art-e-mis, @herondamnn, @the-third-me, @im-still-trying-here, @emikadreams, @paytin77, @mis-lil-red, @sleeping-and-books, @lucieisabooknerd, @amandaraey-sunshine, @easy-p-lemon, @azymondias05, @dagypsygirl, @makeshift-utopia) *bold tags don’t work ;-;

“Only you can decide what breaks you.”--ACOWAR

XXX

A myriad of voices and faces faded in and out of darkness—surrounding me as I fought desperately to make sense of it all. Excruciating spasms ebbed in and out, leaving me unable to focus long enough to figure out where the pain was coming from. Perhaps it was all over my body, but during a particularly brutal wave; when I could hear myself crying out, I knew it came from my core. I saw Rhysand's face in the midst of my agony, his violet eyes like shattered glass and lined with silver—glimmering starlight falling down his face. It was so beautiful, but it seemed the night itself was weighing me down and I couldn't ask what caused him so much despair.

Twilight continued to envelope me, and I couldn't discern it from anything else. From the moment it took hold, it felt as if I were floating—images of concerned faces flashing across my vision every so often as my abdomen continued to throb. I knew those faces, knew their voices, but couldn't recognize anyone but my mate. He was my tether among the stars I drifted along in, until my world went dark once again.

XXX

Sunlight peeked through half-closed curtains—my curtains, I realized, as I made out the details of my bedroom. I blinked slowly as I looked around the familiar settings, my breath hitching in my throat as images of blood and pain came surging back to memory.

You're all right Feyre, it's okay

I turned at the sound of Rhys's voice, even through the bond, as he moved from the chair at my bedside to sit beside me. He looked like hell; his hair a disheveled mess with dark circles under his red-rimmed eyes, face still stained from those beautiful tears I remembered. My eyes went wide as I recalled where the pain had stemmed from and my hands flew to my stomach, gripping the fabric of my dressing gown.

"He's okay," Rhys breathed. His hand held mine, both of ours holding my stomach.

I was still pregnant. My son was alive.

I felt that all too familiar glimmer, my eyes slipping shut in relief as I sobbed. I gripped my stomach with both hands and sobbed again as I felt him move. Rhys bent down to press a kiss to my forehead before pressing his against it gently. He held my face as I cried, relieved, and I moved my hands to grip his shoulders as they shook lightly—his own tears mixing with mine as we held each other.

I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry, Rhys. I said down the bond, prepared to plead for forgiveness.

"Don't apologize Feyre. You have nothing to be sorry for," he said as he pulled back just enough for our eyes to meet.

"I put him at risk," I whispered as I stifled another sob in my throat. "I-I used my powers, and not even five minutes later I started cramping. I-I shouldn't have-" I sobbed again, and he shook his head, brushing the tears from my cheeks.

"You acted as High Lady. You did what you had to do for our city while I was away," he said, but I could hear the same anger that I held against myself laced in his voice. It was subtle, but it was there.

I opened my mouth to argue, but there was a gentle knock at the door followed by the voice of our healer. "It's me, my lord. I've felt the High Lady wake and need to reevaluate her current state."

Rhys pressed another kiss to my brow and straightened, waving a hand to unlock the door; allowing Madja to let herself in. The dark-skinned female smiled warmly at me as she approached my bedside.

"How are you feeling, lady?" She asked.

I sniffed and did a quick evaluation of myself. I was sore and weary—my usual fatigue exemplified by whatever my body had just been through. "Tired...and aching, but no pain." I answered, deciding that honesty would be my best course of action. I wouldn't take a chance on my son's safety again.

She nodded in understanding. "That's to be expected. You've been through a tremendous few days," she said.

My eyes widened. "It's been days?"

"Just two. You were out after the initial attack, which took place in the afternoon. You slept all day yesterday after Madja healed you," Rhys explained, taking my hand and squeezing it reassuringly—though I could hear the lingering ache in his voice.

"I was able to put you in a trance of sorts, while you healed, in order to allow your body the ample time it needed to recover before you regained consciousness," Madja said, her tone growing serious as she met my gaze.

"However, my lady, the extraordinary use of your powers that day; noble and vital as they were in saving our city, did cause a strain on your womb. The muscles that line the area holding your youngling contracted, causing some minor tearing and bleeding."

I felt Rhys's agony flicker through our bond as he heard the words, no doubt thinking back to what those initial moments must've been like—when I was floating in and out of consciousness and crying out from the pain. "This caused your body to enter premature labor, but I was able to stop it, heal the tear, and stop the bleeding in sufficient time," she finished explaining.

A few more tears slid down my face as I closed my eyes, returning a hand to hold my stomach gently—afraid that even the slightest touch would reopen the wound in my newly repaired muscles. The healer placed a reassuring hand over mine.

"You are resilient my lady. You and your youngling are strong. Not only did you fight for his survival, your healing blood doing what it could at the time, but your youngling did as well. As I was tending to your wounds, I felt the power in his blood attempting to sustain his environment—that healing power you have passed onto him. Part of the agony you felt was not only premature labor pains, but also your youngling restoring the injury to your womb."

My eyes widened at the revelation and I looked at Rhys, who also looked as if this was the first time he was hearing it. "But this does mean you will need to remain on strict bed rest until further notice. My medicinal process will continue over the course of the next few weeks. It is slow, but successful. Your youngling is safe now, but your body and his need this time to continue to rest and recuperate. I also want to ensure that the muscles I repaired remain intact and regain its strength. Allow me to check on that progress now," she continued before placing her hands on either side of my stomach. Healing magic flowed through those hands as I turned to face Rhys.

He squeezed my hand again. He has your healing powers. He...was healing you

I covered my mouth to stifle a sob. Everything she warned us of, all the risks and complications...I've brought them on myself, and on our baby.

Don't say that Feyre. This is not your fault.

Of course it is! I winced as a light spasm flowed through me, but Madja's restorative touch gently dissolved it.

Her weary eyes met mine. "My lady, it is imperative that you do not put any additional stress on yourself at this time. Physically, or emotionally."

I nodded and breathed in a deep sigh, both of Rhys's hands gripping mine as Madja went back to her work. Please Feyre. Don't blame yourself for this

I saw the hurt sparkling in his eyes, the heartbreak, and realized the anger I saw earlier wasn't directed at me. It's not your fault either, Rhysand.

I shouldn't have left you here in your condition. It was a mistake assuming you and Velaris would be safe with the threat of a coup on the horizon

Through the bond, I could feel the remorse he had spent the last two days ruminating in—believing himself to be at fault for my current state. We were blaming ourselves, when in truth the accountability lied in our attackers; each of us having to respond accordingly. A seed of blame still lived in me, because deep down I had known using my powers to such an extent was a risk. I didn't anticipate it causing as much damage as it did, and I would never forgive myself for it. The regret that resided in Rhys, however, was from leaving his pregnant mate behind.

We can't be racked with this guilt, Rhys. We had no idea this would happen. I said through the bond, brushing my thumb along his lightly as I curled against his mental shields.

I saw the inner turmoil he battled with in his violet eyes as he kept himself closed off for the time being, fighting his male-bonded instincts that caused him to be vehemently angry at himself for believing he abandoned his weak and vulnerable mate—all the while trying to convince himself that he hadn't. Finally, I felt him lower his shields and let him hold me through the bond; felt his engulfing warmth and security.

You're right

It was all he could manage as I felt the emotions swirl through him, and on that bridge that connected us, I held him just as securely as he held me.

Madja moved her hands from my stomach with a satisfied nod. "Everything is as it should be, the recovery you made while unconscious was substantial, but for the next week or so, you are to remain in bed and must pass over your duties as High Lady for the time being. I will be in daily to monitor your condition, and after this initial period of strict confinement, we'll see about you returning to some of those duties."

I nodded my understanding and so did Rhys. "I'll make sure she gets more than the adequate amount of rest she needs," he said, voice still strained.

"I have no doubt about that my lord, but you must also allot yourself some time to rest," the healer said, turning her full attention to my mate. "You haven't gotten a wink of sleep since I arrived. I understand your mating bond is very fragile, and I can't imagine the stress you must be under as High Lord, mate, husband, and now the expectant father."

She placed a gentle hand on my mate's shoulder. "You must also take care of yourself for your mate's benefit. Sleep, eat, and allow yourself to attend to your duties as High Lord and turn her care over to the others. They worry for both of your well-being and would be glad to do whatever they can to help."

I frowned as Rhys's shoulders tensed a bit at her words, and for clarification he allowed me past a layer of his adamant walls. There I saw the memories of the time I remained unconscious—how he guarded my side night and day and locked the rest of our family out; physically and mentally. He passed messages through the healer as she was the only one allowed in and out of our room, and the others didn't push—despite how distraught he knew they were over my condition. They tried to bring him food and water, but he remained closed off, locking himself away with me until now.

I shouldn't have shut them out. He admitted through the bond. But until you were awake, until I knew everything would be okay...I just couldn't bring myself to face them or let them near you, or do anything else for that matter

I sighed and squeezed his hand gently. "I'll take care of him, Madja," I reassured the healer.

She nodded. "That's good to hear," she said before turning to her bag of supplies. "Now, I'm prescribing an herbal tea mixture for you to consume twice a day. Once in the morning, and then at night. This will aid in your recovery and work to help you slowly regain more energy. I'm mixing it with your prenatal herbal mixture to continue supplementing your youngling as well." She mixed together the concoction on the spot, using her own powers to brew a cup for me and handed me the mug.

I cringed as I attempted to sit up on my own, but Rhys already had an arm around my back to keep me upright. The healer offered me a wry smile, "You'll continue to be sore for the next few days, so please, take even the slightest movements with great caution."

I nodded and held the cup of tea to my lips, taking a sip. "Thank you Madja, for everything," I said, hoping she saw the sincerity in my eyes.

She nodded again with a slight bow. "Of course, my lady," she turned to Rhys. "I'll go inform the others of the Lady's recovery and return tomorrow afternoon."

"Thank you." Rhys said, placing a hand on her shoulder and squeezing it. She smiled again before excusing herself, leaving my mate and I alone.

I took another sip of my tea as Rhys adjusted himself to sit on the bed, keeping me upright. "The city is secure," he said softly, and my heart skipped a beat. "Your wall of water put out all the flames, and the palace lords were able to arrange for repairs to the damaged buildings right away."

Tears of relief slid down my cheeks as I held my brew at my lips, allowing the steam from the cup to warm my face and keep me at ease. "Our home is safe again...?" I whispered.

He pressed a kiss to my temple. "Everyone is safe, Feyre. Everyone," he reassured. He knew my worry for Ressina and my other painter friends; the younglings we taught in my studio and their parents. The innocent lives I fought and would always fight to protect.

Defender of the Rainbow

I sighed heavily and slowly turned in his arms to meet his gaze. "What happened...in the Mortal Lands? Why did Vassa come here?" I asked, knowing she had not done this willingly.

Rhys sighed as he brushed a loose strand of hair behind my ear, his violet eyes going distant as he recalled the details. "Cassian, Azriel, and I arrived at the queen's palace up in flames. Lucien was doing his best to calm them while he ordered the guards to put them out. He said it happened so fast," he began, and I frowned.

"Beron arrived with one of the generals of his armies, and with the sorcerer who cursed Vassa. We don't know how he managed to find him, but he forced Vassa into her firebird form and cast her to the skies to begin wreaking havoc. He had complete control over her," He sighed as he closed his eyes. "Lucien and Beron had a confrontation before unleashing his army to attack and Jurian took over and led their armies to fight back. We arrived after Beron and the sorcerer vanished with Vassa, and Lucien doing what he could to put out the flames on the palace while Jurian and the mortal forces continued to battle against the Autumn Court army. He had already sent word to Tamlin for help, but we jumped in and started fighting on their behalf until they arrived. We were worried about where Beron would take Vassa next, and I...I had a bad feeling. I wanted to come back to Velaris as soon as possible; wanted to come back to you. Cassian was about to send word to Devlon, to gather our legions that haven't turned yet, when I felt it-"

His breath hitched and I saw his throat bob before he went on, voice hoarse. "I felt a tug on the bond...not from you, but from our son." He touched my stomach with a gulp. "That normal glimmer was a hot spark, a cry for help, and I knew something was wrong. I winnowed back to Velaris immediately, right at your side, only seconds after you collapsed...and then I saw the blood..."

I reached my arms around his shoulders as he collapsed into tears, the memory of me lying in the grass unconscious and bleeding now overwhelming him. I wrapped my arms around him as he buried his face into the crook of my neck, his arms encircling my waist as he cried. Dropping my emptied mug to the floor, I held him—my own tears falling as I buried my face in his hair and rubbed soothing circles on his back.

After a few minutes he pulled back to meet my gaze, a hand going to hold my stomach gently. "I thought I was going to lose you, and our son, and I couldn't bear it. I brought you inside the estate just as Mor arrived with Madja. She knew you would need help, but she was horrified when she saw your condition. I laid you down right there, in the foyer, so Madja could get to work, but you were fading," he squeezed his eyes shut at the memory.

I brushed against his mental shields, asking him to show me rather than tell me of the events that transpired, and he hesitated before letting me in. I saw myself lying on the marbled ground, pale, as the healer had her hands pressed to my stomach—hands glowing with her healing magic. I heard the voices of the others—panicked and yelling as they arrived at the estate. Then I heard myself groaning and whimpering in agony, and I remembered from my own harrowing memories that I thought I had been screaming. Instead, I was on the floor, crying and pleading incoherently as Madja healed me and then met Rhysand's eyes. I looked into my own dull grey-blue eyes and was overwhelmed with a sense of helplessness that my mate had endured.

I pushed away from his thoughts, unable to look at myself any longer and sobbed. "I'm sorry I put you through that Rhysand. I...how can you ever forgive me?"

He captured my lips with his, pleading and adoring and forgiving as he kissed me. "You and our son are safe. That's all that matters to me now," he whispered before kissing me again.

I kissed him back, holding his face and brushing away the tears from his cheek with my thumbs as he did the same. "I would be so furious...how are you not furious with me? How are the others not-" I choked.

He met my gaze meaningfully. "I couldn't be furious with you for doing what you have always done, Feyre. I was scared, I still am, but I spent the last two days praying to the Mother, that you would just wake up."

His thumbs stroked my cheeks gently as starlight danced behind his violet eyes. "I can't tell you how relieved I am that you and our son are safe," he kissed me again. "For that reason, I can't be angry."

I sniffed as I kissed him back, holding his wrists gently as he held my face. "I'll be careful from now on," I promised. "I'll let you coddle and fuss over me all you want."

A tired laugh escaped past his lips and my heart fluttered at the sound, glad to see a smile return to his handsome face. "I'll hold you to that, Feyre darling," he said with quiet amusement.

We held each other; brows pressed together as we moved to stare at my stomach. Our son was quiet, but I could feel his subtle movements. Rhys caressed it gently, earning a kick to his palm and he smiled again. "Still so strong," he whispered.

"He's amazing...and he's still growing," I said as I brushed my fingertips along the expanse of my belly.

"Thank the Mother," Rhys said as he moved down to press a kiss at the apex of my stomach.

I brushed my fingers through his hair as he stayed by my belly, restoring it back from the mess it had been from his stressed hands mussing it up. "I think I know what we should name him," I mused.

"What's that?" he asked.

"Sebastian."

"Sebastian?"

I nodded and ran a hand along the top of my stomach, "It suits him...don't you think?"

Sebastian. Venerable, and strong—which our youngling most certainly was. Rhys's eyes warmed as his hand rested atop mine. "It's perfect."

Our son must've agreed, because rather than a kick of protest under our palms, we felt that intimate glimmer flutter through our bond—strong as ever. Rhys let out a long breath, and I noticed the tension finally leaving his shoulders as he laid beside me; our joined hands lingering on my stomach as we stared at it until we both slipped into an easeful sleep.

[faustrinus]

Warm

* Drarry (TW: mentions of blood and injuries). This is my second time posting this haha I am sorry. “Bloody hell, Potter.”

Harry lifted his head, staring at the blood pooling from his torso, “Yeah, it’s really bloody,” he agreed, “in case you couldn't tell.”

“This is no time for jokes, you git!” Draco rushed over, fumbling for his wand. “What did you do?”

Draco staunched the bleeding with a flick of his wrist and sighed, trying to assess the damage. How did I end up here? He asked himself for the hundredth time. Finding your Auror partner bleeding out on your driveway should be a strange sight, but it was one that Draco was all too familiar with.

“Where is the injury?” he asked, siphoning the blood off the ground with his wand.

“'m fine,” Harry slurred, mumbling something incoherent under his breath.

“Bullshit, where is it?”

Harry huffed. “Torso. Right side.”

The injury was starting to bleed again, so Draco didn't waste any more time. The slash across his ribs had torn a hole in Harry’s robes, so Draco used his hands to widen the hole to get a better look at the area. By now, the blood was pooling again- and the way Harry was squirming like a fish out of water was making it worse.

“Stop moving!” Draco snapped, using his hands to press on Harry’s ribs.

“It hurts.”

“I know, but it will hurt a lot more if you keep moving. Just listen to me for once in your bloody life.”

“Fine, just-” Harry gestured with a limp hand. “try and make it quick.”

Are you really in the position to be bossing me around? Draco shook his head, trying to remain calm. Healing was easier when you were calm, and Draco needed a steady grip on his wand for this to work.. He couldn't let Harry die, not like this.

Draco pointed his wand at the wound, forcing his arm to stop shaking as he began muttering an incantation that made Harry wonder if Malfoy was singing to him at that moment by the tone every word was pronounced, the wand tracing the long injury slowly, it seemed like he knew exactly what he was doing, coming from some knowledge buried deep down in his memory. The flow of blood got slower and there was less, provoking a breath of relief from Draco, the spell was repeated one more time before the wound started to knit itself, making Harry flinch in discomfort for the suddenly burning sensation in the area. At least he's alive. “Now that you're not dying, could you tell me what on Merlin's beard happened here?”

“Thieves. They were trying to get into your house.”

“Potter. While I appreciate the concern,” and Draco coughed to hide the fact his heartbeat was louder than he expected it to be, “I am, in fact, fully able to defend myself.”

“Even without magic? The Ministry wouldn't like knowing you performed magic in front of muggles.”

“I would have managed.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, “Really?”

“That doesn't matter. Why were you outside of my house?”

Harry tried to shrug, wincing from the movement and biting back a whimper, “I was just checking on you.”

“Checking on me? Why?”

“I haven't seen you at work in a few days. I wanted to find out if something happened to my partner.”

My partner. Draco was thankful that the streetlights were dim enough that this blush was hidden. "Luckily, it seems like no one saw anything," Draco changed the subject, "so if you could get up-" Draco cut himself off as he got a better look at Harry's face. "Is that a black eye?"

“Ehm.. yes?” Harry prodded at his eye, “I think so.”

“You think so?”

“Well, I dunno, you're the one who can see me,” Harry grumbled, he made no move to get up.

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. Did Harry have any survival instincts? He'd survived dozens of harrowing situations- both during and after Hogwarts- and yet here he was, bleeding and bruised on Draco's driveway. If Harry always acted like this when his life was at stake... it was a wonder that he hadn't been killed yet.

“Come on, let's get you inside," Draco sighed, "before someone sees.”

“You didn't mind that earlier. When I was drowning on my own blood.”

“That's because I wasn't interested in your blood staining my best rug, Potter," Draco said dryly, "besides, your life is a little more important than the Statute of Secrecy.”

“Thanks for that, I think. Can't wait to see your fancy rug.”

Draco huffed and slipped an arm under Harry's back to help him sit, cringing inwardly at the blood that soaked through his robes. He just needed to get Harry inside and make sure he wasn't about to die- and then he could worry about the states of his clothes. “I think I'm okay,” Harry grunted, relying heavily on Draco to stand.

“Careful,” Draco said sharply, “the wound is only knitted. It'll still hurt. “

”'m fine,” Harry insisted, but he let Draco wrap his arm around his waist anyways, "What about my glasses?”

“Draco cast his eyes to the ground, but he couldn't see anything in the darkness. “I'll find them later." he said.

Harry nodded and shuffled forward, and he would have fallen over if it wasn't for Draco supporting nearly his entire weight.

“You alright?” Draco asked tentatively.

“Yeah,” Harry grimaced, "doesn't hurt so bad."

Draco nodded, pretending not to notice the way Harry was gritting his teeth. He resolved to use a pain relief spell as soon as they were inside.

They both started walking towards the black door that opened itself with a flick of Draco's wand. Harry felt a wave of warmth envelop him as they passed the threshold, like a welcoming hug for his shivering body. From the outside, Draco's house looked like it'd be similar to what time ago was the Malfoy manor, but on the inside, it was the total opposite. Rugs covered the dark wood floor under each piece of furniture, and despite the monochromatic (green, of course) colour scheme, it was still very home-like.

“Your house is much nicer on the inside," Harry said, trying to fill the awkward silence.

“I have a lot of wards to keep things warm,” Draco explained, slowly guiding Harry to the sofa, "mostly for when winter comes around since I'm generally a pretty cold person.”

Harry huffed a laugh, “cold, as in personality or…”

“Right, that too, Potter.” Draco rolled his eyes.

The candelabrum hanging above the living room was what reminded Harry the most of the Malfoy manor, with its expensive design and sparking metal accents. The sofa that Draco lead him was clearly expensive, too- and there was a certainly reason for its price. Harry sighed with relief when his body hit the soft cushions. It even smelled good- he sighed deeply as mil citrus scent- Draco's scent- surrounded him.

“I like your sofa,” Harry murmured.

Draco arched an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a smile, "I noticed," he said, rolling up his sleeves, and kneeling on the ground next to the sofa, "You look like a mess."

Harry tried to laugh, but he felt dizzy instead- like the world had stopped for a moment before getting back on route. His eyelids dropped, and the last thing he saw before losing consciousness was the worried expression across Draco's face. “Potter, stay here.” And then everything went dark.

...............

When Harry woke up he felt weak, the type of weakness where you move a little and your body sends a big alarm reminding you you're going to faint if you try to move a lot. It was annoying to feel so useless when there was probably someone out there needing his Auror services.

Well, the good thing was that he did faint once, so it wasn't that probable for him to do it again. And seeing how the wound was already recovering thanks to what seemed like Draco healing abilities, Harry's spirits lifted up, it looked so much better and it also didn't hurt half as much. It was a really well-done work.

But of course, his muscles were still aching like he had run some type of marathon.

“You're awake.”

His eyes tried to focus, but it was hard when his classes were nowhere to be able to reach them, “Did you get my glasses?”

“Good morning to you too, Potter. And yes, yes I did,”

“Morning...?” Harry mumbled, looking around for a window to check if it was truly a new day, “How much time did I sleep?”

“Like fourteen hours? It was a lot. I don't know how you can sleep so much.”

Harry yawned and looked at Draco, who was sitting on the ground next to him, a blanket covering his legs- it wasn't really clear, but Harry could see the pillow laying on the floor and the rug wrinkled under it. Connecting all the dots was easy.

“You slept on the floor?”

“Yes, I stayed to make sure you didn't die in your sleep.”

“Sweet,” He answered rolling his eyes, “Thanks. You are very good at healing.”

Draco searched for Harry's glasses and handed them over to him, they were shining clean and looked more new than ever, “I fixed and cleaned them. They probably broke when one of the … assholes yesterday hit you.”

“You're acting very nice to me,” He started putting on his glasses, “Is it because I almost died?”

Draco ignored the comment and cracked his knuckles softly, his gaze noticing how messy Harry's hair got. It was cute seeing it sticking out in different positions and falling in a funny way on the man's face, “You were saying I'm good at healing?”

“Oh, yes. You are, the wound almost doesn't hurt anymore.”

“I'm glad. I had a lot of practice, I guess I became good without noticing.” Harry knew exactly what he was talking about- the whole sectumsempra thing. He knew Draco could not have healed himself that time because of how badly injured he was at the time, but he assumed he had to learn how to treat his own wounds after it happened.

“I'm sorry about that.”

Draco tilted his head, “Sorry about what?”

“The whole... “ Harry coughed, “curse thing.”

“Oh.”

“You weren't talking about that?”

“Not necessarily. But I guess it came to my mind now that you say it.”

Harry tried to make himself more comfortable to carry on the conversation, shifting around the couch, “Did it… leave scars?”

“Why are you asking?”

 “Knowing if I left some mark on you thanks to how irresponsible my actions were is something I deserve to know. Right?”

“You want to make sure you have reasons to feel guilty?”

“Yes.”

“Potter…” Draco tried to convince him subtly to change the subject, but Harry was a stubborn bastard and he was about to start complaining again if Draco didn't tell him, “Yes, it did. Only one though, It wasn't healed fast enough I'm guessing..”

“I'm really sorry...Draco,” Harry tried to sit correctly, groaning when he felt a pull to the side due to the wound, “Can I see it?”

“What makes you so interested? I don't get it.”

“I don't really know. I guess…. to make sure you're okay?”

Draco couldn't help but laugh a little, “It was years ago. Why wouldn't I be okay?”

But Harry was still staring at him to what looked like his attempt of puppy eyes- how old was he again? ten?

“Please.”

“Just because you almost died doesn't mean now you get everything on a silver plate.”

“We haven't seen each other in a long time. As Aurors we need to have a bond.”

He really wasn't giving up.

“Fine.”

Draco mumbled something and grabbed his wand that was laying next to him and muttered some spell. It took a few seconds for Harry to see it, there was a long scar going up from his neck to what it seemed down his chest. It wasn't really striking, but it was noticeable at a close distance. That's why Draco used a glamour charm- they were always working side to side, Harry would have already noticed and asked about it.

“It reached your neck? Merlin, it had to hurt a lot.” Draco denied softly and sighed, maintaining the charm drained his energy sometimes, “It's okay. Stop worrying about stupid things.”

Harry furrowed his eyebrows, “I almost killed you. It's not stupid.”

“I think we can both agree it's too early to talk about this, Harry.”

Harry grunted but nodded anyways, letting himself relax a little. You almost die a few times and you get all sappy he thought, brushing the thoughts away. They stayed in silence a few seconds, and Harry could sense how his heart was beating a little bit faster than usual- how was he still paranoid after what happened yesterday? It was Draco's house, both of them were there, it was safe. Yet he still could hear his heartbeat bouncing around like it was a goddamn party in his chest.

“You know… Now it's my second bad memory with a knife, not really fond of them.”

“Well, I'm glad. I would be worried if you were fond of them.”

Harry giggled softly, making Draco smile a little when he saw he had enough strength to do it. “Well, what was the first memory?”

Draco decided to get up, stretching his legs while Harry was getting ready to say whatever he was thinking about. His eyes were squinted as he searched for the memory probably already forgotten, but when the light hit his eyes Draco saw it- he remembered.

And Harry swallowed, because he actually did not want to remember it. He was trying to keep an interesting conversation, but he had exposed himself without noticing.

“I remember that when I was living with my… The Dursleys, a lot of things happened, to be honest,” Harry started, trying to ignore Draco's stare, “clearly, they weren't the nicest people on earth. I remember this one time where I was cooking and my Aunt Petunia told me she would chop off my fingers if I messed up.”

“What?”

“It's not a big deal. But for some reason it stayed in my mind after all these years.”

Draco felt himself getting angry, “How old were you?”

“I don't remember. Seven? maybe eight.”

“Merlin's beard,” Draco eyes got wide, “You were a child, Harry, of course it stuck with you. And who in their right mind makes a seven-year-old cook?”

“I thought every kid had to do it. And I assumed Dudley didn't because well… he was their son.”

“And what were you? their servant?”

Harry shrugged, “I don't know. Something amongst those lines.”

Draco huffed, playing with the rings that adorned his fingers, “It sounds horrible.”

“But here I am,” Harry tried to play it off, but it was noticeable the subject was affecting him somehow, “all okay.”

Draco nodded and they stayed in an uncomfortable silence until he yawned, gaining Harry's attention- if he slept like fourteen hours, how many did Draco?

“...Did you sleep the same amount as me?”

“I can't hibernate like you, Potter.”

“So… you didn't sleep at all?”

“I slept a reasonable amount.”

Harry patted the empty space next to him, “How much is a reasonable amount?”

Draco hesitated a bit before slowly sitting next to the man- he would notice he was looking a bit tired. Well, it wasn't easy looking extremely bright when you spent most of your night making sure The Chosen One didn't die on your couch.

“...two hours.”

“What? Why? two hours is nothing. How are you even alive?”

“I have survived with less, thank you very much,” and with that the conversation was done, of that he thought until Harry tugged on his sleeve a little bit stronger that Draco could have expected, making him fall against Harry's body, he blushed instantly, pushing, “What are you doing?”

“Making sure you get some sleep.”

“And you are planning to hold me?”

Harry yawned, “Yeah, pretty much,” he tugged again, making sure Draco stayed laying on top of him comfortably, “C'mon. Sleep.”

“I'm not your dog, Harry.”

“Then stop barking and get some sleep with me.”

Draco tried to push again, but Harry was holding him strongly. If he wanted to, he could have used a spell to get free of his grab- but it was rather comfortable to lay there. For a recently injured person, it was surprising Harry wasn't complaining about how he was closely brushing his wound, “What about the wound?”

“It's okay. It doesn't hurt.”

 Draco accommodated himself, “If one Auror knows we…”

“Cuddled until we fell asleep?” Draco nuzzled his face into Harry's neck “Yes, that. If one Auror knows that, I'm going to hex you.”

“Sounds like a deal. Good night.”

“How are you still sleepy?”

Harry was already closing his eyes, “I save my tiredness in a little box in my brain and then I set it free.”

“Dumbass.”

“Sleep.”

At the end, Draco stopped trying to ignore the idea. “Fuck it,” he mumbled, closing his eyes and letting his head rest on Harry's chest, hearing his heartbeat.

“Draco..?”

“Oh, wow. Now you're the one interrupting my sleep.”

“It's not that.”

“Then what?”

“You lied to me about something.”

“...What?”

“You're actually warm.”

“I don't understand.”

“You're warm,” Harry repeated, sighing, “I like it.”

Draco rolled his eyes, but the faint smile drawn on his lips couldn't lie.

Maybe being warm wasn't that bad when Harry Potter was cuddling you.