#when in reality. it was months of me looking forward to the little spurts of conversation wed have in class

[munamania]

ok abby i HAVE 2 ask ... who is this she/her youve been speaking of as of late gimme the DETAILS 👀✨

oh em gee sia ily for entertaining this <3 esp since i’ve been keeping up on your he/him for so long… UHM! i do have this post that’s basically a summary rant of things that happened that made me insane. but i’ll rehash some other stuff because i see her again soon and i’m really not prepared for that fact lol.

basically i saw her on zoom and was like oh she’s cute :3 (btw i think she’s also a marketing/business major) and so we followed each other and then she volunteered to be my assistant in our first in person (film) class and when i saw her irl i was like. god idk i’ve never had that. instant attraction before? and that would be one thing but we clicked SO well. like ofc it was a little awkward at first and i was so so nervous but we eased into a silly banter and any time we spoke the energy was just very !!!!!! like. like we were all eye contact and teasing and it’s just one of those situations where something feels really right yk… not to be corny. but LIKE yeah she chose to sit by me when she could and we’d easily talk and joke around and during our last few classes i had her laughing across the room face down head in hands more than once so i was fr like was that funny babygirl…

ugh and during our last class we sat together and we talked. So much and she went red in the face bc i leaned into her to talk to someone else and she kept saying she wished she had spent more time with our crew and then we all went to get ice cream and i find out. SHE HAS A BF. and again i have a little bit abt what happened with him in that post but basically i was nice…. but also he Clearly saw me as a threat bc as much as i was trying to be chill she was being a fucking FREAK!!!!! (she was talking to me a Lot and stuttering and then he called us ‘besties’ and we were silent. yikes) and then i had to approach them while they were hanging out on campus bc she wasn’t answering anyone about smth that had to do with our class and he was so pissed he refused to say hi and just glared at me lol it was SO awkward but like. it was basically my Job for the class whatever and then shortly after i was blocked from viewing her story and stuff but she still looks at mine and i’m just like. why don’t you just block ME.

anyway we’re going to basically be neighbors and she already invited me over but that was pre-bf meeting so i have no idea if we’ll uh. talk. but we have one shared class and potentially two if i get off a waitlist (which she was Very enthusiastic about) and i’m sort of friends with her best friend now??? so she must not hate me. and there are just a lot of silly coincidences that happened along the way that made me feel like. im supposed to know her. and ik that sounds goofy. anyway i don’t want to pursue someone that’s taken but well. ig i’m a horrible person and it Was a new relationship and yk. i just haven’t ever felt that way before and i think i confused her too lol. so im just chilling thinking about how to handle this year, i think i’ll see if she talks to me or ignores me in class and one way or another try to approach her and just ask what happened... lol

[corner-stories]

bathed in the light of the greenhouse

Rose Wilson. Bart Allen. Watercolor Paintings. Gardening. Pots of White Flowers. 1184 words. (ao3.)

For the last few months, Bart Allen had been tending to the greenhouse in Titans Compound. 

The place had started as a home for all of Kory’s flowers, some from this planet and some not. But when the Compound was left in the hands of the next generation, Bart found it in himself to care for the plants. He was surprisingly diligent about watering every flower or tracking every berry as it grew. Perhaps someone in his position — a person capable of breaking the sound barrier in a single step — could see the beauty in things that needed time to grow. It was certainly not the strangest way to teach a person the concept of patience. 

Also for the last few months, Rose Wilson had been taking up art as a hobby. 

While she was lightyears away from having her own wing in the Louvre, Rose found comfort in watercolors and gouache. It started with her doodling in her notebooks in the midst of Titan meetings, then blossomed into sketchbook paintings and charcoal drawings. She freed herself from the concept that her art had to be “perfect” or “proper,” allowing herself to smile every time she broke out her brushes and half-pan set. What mattered to her was never the color remaining inside the lines, but if what she created made her feel something. 

And somehow, the greenhouse became Rose’s favorite place to paint.

In the pages of her sketchbook were countless interpretations of peonies, lilies, and plants she couldn’t even name. She often sat on an upside-down bucket as she sketched, inked, and painted her pieces, utilizing brush pens and her trusty watercolor kit to get the job. 

And more often than not, Rose wasn’t alone as she worked.

Bart would often tend to the plants as Rose painted them. Unsurprisingly, the team’s resident motor-mouth chatted her ear off as she tried to apply a softer shade of cyan to the petals of a forget-me-not. He spoke about whatever was on his mind — college applications, family adventures, or that time Kon entered a Superboy Look-Alike Contest and lost. 

Rose was only half-listening as Bart watered a bush that was meant to bare strawberries. For a reason he didn’t know, the poor plant was struggling to keep up with its siblings. 

As Rose let her painting dry, she looked up and noted how rare it was to see Bart to be so calm about something. He was standing on a step ladder as he watered the hanging planter, talking to the plants they were puppies that just needed a little pep talk to stand on two feet. 

Rose looked forward and took in how Bart looked when tending to the plants. As per usual, his hair was a mess of reddish-brown curls, the strands of which hung gently on his forehead and framed his bright eyes. Even with Bart approaching the end of teenhood, he still looked as boyish and pretty as ever — the only difference seemed to be that he was getting taller. 

Speaking of which, Rose wondered just when this little “growth spurt” of his was going to end. The concept of Bart potentially being tall didn’t sit well for her for petty reasons. The part of her that loved toying with him was unprepared for the possibility that he could tower over her in the future. Another part of her also hated being reminded that she wasn’t that tall in the first place and could very likely remain where she was for the rest of her life. 

Fortunately, Rose managed to distract herself from the reality of her height by looking at her now dried watercolor painting. Grabbing a black marker from her pencil case, she carefully outlined her creation to give it a cleaner look, which was admittedly one of her favorite parts of the process. There was just something so satisfying about putting the final touches on a piece that she absolutely reveled in. 

Once her painting of a forget-me-not was done, Rose gave it a final look before smiling and turning the page in her sketchbook. She then looked around for the next thing to draw. 

By now, Bart had finished watering the strawberries and had moved onto other things. Rose saw him picking a pot full of flowers, then walking towards her end of the greenhouse. He was only a few steps away from her when she realized that he was holding a bundle of white roses, fresh and in bloom. 

Rose raised an eyebrow at him, causing Bart to do the same. It only took a quick glance at the flowers in his grasp for him to realize what she was reacting to. Clearly, the situation was unintentional, but that didn’t make it any less… serendipitous. 

Bart smiled and his pretty eyes practically lit up. “Fitting, isn’t it?” 

Rose’s mouth remained in a flat line as she crooked her head to the side. “That’s one way to put it.” 

The irony was that Rose herself wasn’t too fond of her namesake flower, even the ones that reminded her of the shade of her hair. To be frank, her favorite flowers were actually lilies. 

While Bart continued to beam and savor the moment, Rose got a better look at the scene in front of her — Bart Allen standing in a greenhouse, holding a pot of white flowers, all while dirt clung to his hands, face, clothes, and even the curls of his hair. For a reason Rose couldn’t understand he seemed to be on cloud nine, whether it be because he was in his happy place or the humor of the scenario had yet to wear off. 

Yet as Rose looked at him, she raised her left hand and stuck out her index and middle finger. 

Bart's smile wore off and was replaced with a look of mild confusion “Whatcha’ doin’, Rose?”

Rose kept her hand up and used the l-shape of her fingers to frame the sight in front of her. More and more she was able to imagine the image of Bart Allen holding a flower pot being immortalized in her sketchbook. 

“Could you stay there for a second?” asked Rose. She grabbed a pencil from her case and held it over a fresh page in her book. 

Bart looked amused and decided to play along. A more subdued grin came onto his face as he straightened his back. If he was getting painted like one of Rose’s french girls, then he hoped that she could get his good side. 

“Okay, just like this?” 

Rose nodded and held up her book. “Yeah, just like that.” 

She spent a moment taking in the sight of her teammate’s hair, eyes, and pointed jawline. Under normal circumstances, Rose would make a sarcastic quip or crass dig about his boyish looks, but seeing him now bathed in the light of the greenhouse, she was compelled to appreciate the moment as is. 

As Rose began sketching Bart Allen holding a pot of white flowers, she was happy to have a reason to be around him for just a bit longer. 

[takamikeiigos]

• though keigo tends to be loud, seemingly carefree, and outgoing, he's convinced himself that hero work is his #1 priority and he has zero time to be getting all up in a tizzy about feelings

• this man probably doesn't even know what a long, meaningful hug feels like. but what does it matter because he's a hero, he doesn't have time to be mulling over that kinda stuff

• now don't get me wrong, keigo has all of the basic human wants and needs for love, affection, companionship, etc. but has managed to tuck those thoughts away deep in the back of his mind

• so he spends his free time alone watching movies by himself while eating takeout, or finding somewhere high on the skyline to perch upon while the breeze caresses him and gives him comfort while he's deep in his thoughts

• when it comes to his avian characteristics and needs, he knows many people don't understand so he tends to them himself

• long tiresome processes of preening his own wings, often getting aggravated when he can't reach a spot or can't get certain feathers to lay flat

• or when it's that time of the season and he continuously chooses to go through his ruts alone because he hasn't allowed himself time to slow down and properly take care of it, because he grew up too fast and exploring his own wants and needs was never an option

• let's talk about keigo nesting during a rut bc of pure instinct but suddenly coming to the harsh reality that he has no one to share it with

• ouch

• imagine the first time he meets you

• you think he's probably the most loud and obnoxious motherfucker you've ever met but he grows on you over time

• its only after spending a bit of time by his side that you realize little things about him that kinda break your heart

• he smiles and jokes around a lot, but when you catch him deep in thought or slipping you notice the vacant stares that make him seem far, far away

• or the fact that he doesn't touch people unless they prompt first, whether it's a high five or a pat on the shoulder, but his hands mostly remain in his pockets or by his sides otherwise

• so it breaks your heart even more when you go to give him a quick hug before checking out for the day and he completely tenses up, clearly not sure how to react

• it occupies most of your thoughts that night, before it finally dawns on you that keigo didn't reciprocate because he didn't know how to (not literally, of course)

• from then on you touch him more often - like gently putting your hand on his shoulder when you're reaching over him, or placing your hand on the small of his back when moving around him

• over-all you're in his space more, always standing a few inches closer so your shoulders touch or your hands brush

• but let's talk about that one time you both go on a mission together and keigo gets knocked around a lil bit

• you're finally able to catch up to him and the idiot is standing there covered in bruises, feathers missing and his hero outfit almost torn to shreds, and he has the audacity to smile at you like he didn't just get knocked into next week

• he tenses again when you run up to him and pull him into a frantic hug, worry ebbing from your entire being but grateful that he's still standing and alive

• but the exhaustion finally catches up to him and its then that his wall comes crashing down, his arms wrapping around you like he's clinging to you for dear life, and his head is resting on your shoulder, coming free of all those heavy thoughts he's been carrying with him

• things slowly change after that

• months later you two end up together, like two pieces of a puzzle that were lost but finally found, a relief of a perfect fit

• he texts you constantly - whether it's of things that remind him of you, or a picture of a cat he saw while on patrols, or even just to let you know you mean the world to him

• when you’re both together he almost always ends up being the one to initiate physical contact now, staying close in your space and his hand always rest against you

• on nights after a long day of patrolling, he'll come over and you'll put a movie on, cuddling close together on the couch while eating the most unhealthy junk food you could find to take the edge off

• you catch him smiling to himself one of those times, and when you look at him curiously, he shakes his head and laughs quietly

• "'s nothing baby bird, just nice to finally have someone to do this with"

• on another tiresome evening of patrolling, he flies through your bedroom window (you always leave it unlocked and open for him) and perches on your windowsill

• you can instantly tell something is bothering him by the way he's holding himself, his wings twitching and his body tense

• so you beckon him to come sit on your bed with you, thinking maybe a back rub will ease the tension. but when he finally sits down in front of you, the disarray of tangled feathers is the answer to your unasked questions

• you tell him to relax and he does, but when you hesitantly run your fingers against his feathers he nearly jumps out of his skin

• you pull your hand away as if it was burned and when you ask if you accidentally hurt him, he flushes and avoids eye contact

• "no! no, you didn't hurt me. they're just.. sensitive. 'm just not used to people touching them like that. but it.. it feels good"

• so you continue running your fingers through his feathers gently, making sure they're all in place and pulling the loose ones from his wings

• he’s all breathy sighs underneath your hands and you swear you hear him cooing every once in a while and your heart melts at the amount of intimacy and trust

• it turns into a ritual after rough days, and neither of you mind it

《《 NSFW 》》

• so look, i’m not saying keigo is a virgin but we're gonna keep going with this little needy & touch starved trend we got going. to each their own

• keigo loves being touched, but he also loves touching you

• i’m talking always pressing up against you when you’re both alone, face nuzzled in your neck while biting and licking, hands on your hips and squeezing

• clinging to you when you’re about to get out of bed, or sneaking into the shower with you bc he misses your warmth and is craving some skin on skin contact, his head nuzzled into your shoulder and his arms wrapped around you from behind

• tbh he’s probably still half asleep as he does this, too. you basically have him completely limp in your arms when you turn to start scrubbing his hair

• i’m getting a little off topic, huh?

• he’s always trying to get your attention, especially when he knows you’re busy

• he’s almost always breathless when things get hot and heavy, nearly falling apart over a make-out session

• but when you finally get him out of his clothes and on the bed where you want him, the experience is one you want to relive forever

• he’s got this wonton facial expression, chest flushed and wings puffed out, lips parted with unspoken pleas as you touch him

• the first time you even touch his dick he nearly loses it, head tossed back and fingers gripping the sheets

• "fuck.. fuck that feels so good dove, please don't stop"

• he’s so sensitive, his skin feels like it might burst into flames because of how worked-up he's getting

• the sight of him falling apart from a simple hand job is a sight to see, something you weren't expecting to get you going but it is

• you stroke him slow, your grip just loose enough where he ends up having to work for it, all the while you're gauging his expressions

• keigo is a talker, loud and completely unashamed of the filth pouring from his lips as he fucks up into your fist, his jaw slack and his brown pinched in pleasure and concentration

• "please baby, right there. god, you feel so fucking good, please don't stop. fuuuuck"

• when you decide to touch his wings out of sheer curiosity, you weren't expecting to his reaction to turn you on as much as it did

• keigo arching off the bed with a broken "f-fuck!", yanking you forward into a harsh kiss as he moans broken please and appraisals into your mouth, whining

• he finally comes in thick spurts over your hand, his hips stuttering as he thrusts upward to milk the final drops of his come, chest heaving and breathy pants falling against your lips, his hands tangled in your hair

• touch starved, needy, and sensitive

don't get me started on my man's going into a rut. whoo, good stuff.

sorry this is so long!! i got very carried away once i got into it.

if anyone wants to request anything, please do?? i would love that, especially since I'm trying to learn more about this beautiful bird-boy. nonetheless i hope y'all enjoyed!!

♡ ky

[stolen-pen-name23]

19 for the angst and h/c prompts

Hello! Thank you so much for the prompt and I'm SO SORRY it took so long!!!

(prompts now closed)

Ao3 Link

Here ya go!

---

Anakin nervously tugs on his braid as he awaits his turn to compete.

He can’t stop himself from glancing back at the door no more than he can stop himself from hoping Obi-Wan will walk through it.

He’s just late. He’ll be here.

Anakin says this to himself knowing full well that Obi-Wan is never late. Anakin begins to face the fact that Obi-Wan will not be showing up for him today.

He pulls on his braid again, a little more bitterly this time.

Obi-Wan is away on a solo mission — an important one supposedly. But this is important too. Anakin is competing in one of his first Padawan tournaments and Obi-Wan is supposed to be back by now so that he can watch. If Anakin wins the tournament, Obi-Wan is supposed to be the one to weave a brand new bead into Anakin’s braid.

It’s a big deal.

The Padawan Tournament consists of three rounds: an obstacle course, the Show of Force (pun very much intended by the Jedi Council who all thought they were so funny), and a lightsaber duel.

The obstacle course is difficult for most of the Padawans, but Anakin always breezed right through it in the many practice rounds Obi-Wan made him do.

The Show of Force, AKA, lifting various objects for various amounts of time with only the Force was a little more challenging for Anakin at first, but Obi-Wan drilled him over and over until he got it.

One time, Obi-Wan had drilled him on it for so long, his nose started bleeding and he almost passed out. Anakin remembered sensing Obi-Wan’s overwhelming guilt through their bond, but Anakin didn’t really mind. It was only a minor headache and he got a couple of milkshakes out of the deal. Not to mention, the smug feeling of satisfaction he got from Obi-Wan admitting he was wrong. Besides, he did get pretty good at using the Force in ways he never had before, despite the minor case of Force exhaustion he got out of it.

But out of all the events in the Padawan Tournament, the lightsaber duel is Anakin’s favorite part. Mostly because it meant he got to do extra lightsaber training with Obi-Wan which is his favorite thing ever. Though Anakin is excited about the duel, he can’t help but feel nervous for it.

The lightsaber duel is the main event of the Padawan Tournament. Everyone in the temple stops what they are doing to come watch it.

For months, Anakin has been practicing extra hard with Obi-Wan, but now he is worried that was not enough. Obi-Wan said he was ready, but Anakin had never even beat Obi-Wan. Anakin rarely fought against Padawans his age, so he is not sure what he is up against.

A blaring timer goes off, signaling that the Padawan before Anakin has finished his obstacle course. Anakin looks back at the door one more time. It remains closed.

Fighting back his anger and his disappointment, Anakin steels himself for the obstacle course.

“Are you ready, Padawan?” Master Windu asks quietly. Anakin can hear the faintest hint of sympathy in his voice and it makes the rage bubbling inside of him spike.

“I’m ready,” he growls.

“Alright then,” Master Windu says, stepping to the side.

A whistle blows and Anakin takes off. He soars through the obstacle course like it isn’t even there. He leaps from rope to rope and climbs over walls purposely slicked with oil.

It is nothing to him.

He gets through the obstacle course in record time, easily overtaking the other Padawans and then some. He has hardly broken a sweat by the time he gets to the Show of Force.

Anakin must lift weights onto pressure-sensitive platforms in order to release the next weight from its hold. Anakin repeats this process over and over until finally, he is at the last, and heaviest, of the weights. The final weight is small in size, but dense. It weighs roughly the same as a standard Republic-issue starfighter. Anakin splays out his hands and concentrates all of his will into the heavy object. He feels its weight in the Force and rejects it. He bends the air around it to his will and though sweat beads upon his brow and his arms tremble with exertion, he does it. The weight lifts into the air and lands gently on the final platform. No more weights are released and Anakin lets go.

He pants heavily even as the gathered crowd applauds his success. Most Padawans did not make it to the end, let alone complete the final challenge successfully. He allows himself a moment of pride and glances at the stands in search of Obi-Wan’s face, only to remember the crushing reality of his absence.

Whatever.

He doesn’t need Obi-Wan. He is winning this tournament with or without him.

Anakin marches over to the makeshift ring they set up in the gym specifically for this event. His new lightsaber is waiting for him. The power settings are adjusted to a low frequency to avoid any serious injuries, but a touch from the blade would still sting the opponent. Today, Anakin’s opponent is a Padawan who is thirteen like him, but unlike him, this Padawan is tall. He has clearly hit some sort of growth spurt that Anakin has failed to reach, and the other boy towers over him in the ring.

Anakin hides his fear behind a careful mask. He will not show this other Padawan his nerves.

The two Padawans circle each other.

“So, they put me against Skywalker,” the boy taunts. “How come you never spar with the other Padawans? Too scared to fight with anyone except your Master?”

“I’m not scared!” Anakin says. “You’re lucky I only spar with my Master.”

“Oh, and where is your Master now?” the boy asks, looking around the gym. “It’s Kenobi, isn’t it? I don’t see him around here.”

“He’s on a mission!”

“And that’s more important to him than you are? I think that says enough.”

The whistle shrieks and Anakin growls, lunging forward at the other Padawan. Anakin’s strikes are blocked with ease and with a surprising amount of power behind them.

“Center yourself.”  Obi-Wan’s teachings reverberate through Anakin’s mind.

Even when he’s lightyears away, Obi-Wan still has a way of getting in Anakin’s head.

Anakin takes a deep breath and changes his strategy. He switches from offensive to defensive and lets the other Padawan tire himself.

“Your blade is an extension of your arm. Wield it.”

Anakin twists his blade around the other Padawan’s blade, confusing him and giving Anakin an opening. Anakin lunges forward and delivers what would have been a killing blow if his lightsaber was not set merely to stun.

The Padawan looks at Anakin with surprise.

“Skywalker wins the Padawan Tournament!” Master Windu’s voice carries with a subtle sort of excitement throughout the gym. Anakin lowers his blade and turns to the crowd of Jedi and Padawans, all cheering for him. He smiles hollowly. He doesn’t want them to know that he doesn’t care about any of their opinions of him. There’s only one opinion he cares about and he is not here to offer it.

Master Windu joins Anakin in the ring and escorts him to a platform.

“Not only has Padawan Skywalker won this year’s Padawan Tournament,” Master Windu announces to the crowd, “but he has also broken records for time spent on the obstacle course and weight lifted in the Show of Force. All Padawans performed very well today, but only one has earned the title of champion. For that, Anakin will receive this bead to commemorate his victory.”

Master Windu holds up a bright red bead to the crowd. He stands behind Anakin and silently undoes his braid.

This is wrong. It should be Obi-Wan, not Master Windu.

He can feel the pity from the other Padawans and Masters and he wants to squirm under their sympathetic stares. His eyes burn and he blinks rapidly while Mace weaves the bead into his hair.

This part is harder than anything else he did in the Padawan Tournament today.

“Congratulations Padawan Skywalker,” Mace says as he finishes tying up the braid. Anakin bows politely and tries to refrain from racing off of the stage.

Slowly, he mixes into the crowd until he is camouflaged enough to make his exit. He slips out of the door and into the deserted hallways.

Anakin walks dejectedly back to the quarters he shares with Obi-Wan, fighting back tears the whole way.

***

Anakin spends the remainder of his afternoon slumped rather lazily on the couch. His peers are all out celebrating the day’s events with their Masters, but Anakin sits alone. He tries watching the holo but can’t pay attention. Frustrated, he switches to his datapad and tries to play a few games. His interest is not captured. He sighs and flops backward, staring at the bare white ceiling.

The soft whooshing sound of the front door opening is the only thing that pulls him out of his current thoughts. Anakin sits up straight and watches Obi-Wan shuffle through the front door.

“You’re back,” Anakin says plainly like he doesn’t care at all.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, dropping his bag heavily in the foyer. “Anakin, I’m so sorry.”

Anakin rolls his eyes and turns away from Obi-Wan.

“Anakin, Padawan, please look at me. I’m so sorry. I tried. I tried to get here in time, but the situation on Corellia got unexpectedly dicey.”

“You should have expected it. You should have planned for it,” Anakin says, still not looking at Obi-Wan.

“I know and I’m sorry.”

Somehow, these apologies did not feel as good as the time Anakin got Force exhaustion.

He doesn’t have to take this. Anakin stands up and starts to make his way to his room.

“Anakin wait,” Obi-Wan says a little breathlessly. “Ana– Anakin can we please just sit and talk about this?”

“No!” Anakin shouts angrily, whirling back around to face Obi-Wan. “I don’t want to hear what you have to say! You weren’t there for me. Why should I be there for you?”

“I understand, Padawan, but—”

“No, you don’t! You don’t understand! All of the other Padawan’s Masters were there and they didn’t even win. You were supposed to be there! You were supposed to be there for me and you weren’t . We’re a team Master and you weren’t even there.”

“Anakin, I don’t know how to make this up to you,” Obi-Wan says. If he looks a little pale, Anakin doesn’t see it through the red-hot filter of his rage.

“You can’t. It was embarrassing. Master Windu had to put my new bead in. It should have been you!”

“Anakin can we please sit down?” Obi-Wan asks, sweat beading on his forehead.

“No,” Anakin says. “I’m done talking to you.” Anakin begins walking back towards his room.

“Ana— Anakin,” Obi-Wan whispers, and this time, Anakin catches the breathlessness in Obi-Wan’s quiet plea.

“Master?” Anakin turns to see Obi-Wan’s knees buckling underneath him. His face is pale and lax as he crumples to the floor. Anakin lunges forward to catch him, but Obi-Wan is heavier and he drags Anakin to the floor with him.

They land in a pile of tangled limbs and Anakin has to put all of his strength into rolling Obi-Wan off of him and onto his back.

“‘m sorry,” Obi-Wan slurs.

“Master? Obi-Wan?” Anakin says quickly. “Obi-Wan, what’s wrong?”

Obi-Wan groans. “‘m sorry,” he murmurs again. “Sorry I wasn’t there. Shoulda been there. Shoulda found a way.”

“It’s okay,” Anakin says, his panic making him forget about his anger completely. He peels back Obi-Wan’s dark outer robe to reveal a large red stain just under his rib cage. “What happened?”

“Told you,” Obi-Wan mumbles. “Told you things got dicey on Corellia.”

“You didn’t tell me you got shot !” Anakin protests. He pulls back Obi-Wan’s tunic to reveal the skin underneath. There is a makeshift bandage affixed to the wound, but it has been bled through. The skin around the wound is red and hot to the touch. “Master, what? When did this…? Why didn’t you go straight to the healers?”

“Needed to see you,” Obi-Wan says. “I was trying to get to you the whole time, but I couldn’t.”

“Master, this is bad . How long have you been—”

“I’m sorry, Anakin,” Obi-Wan whispers, blue eyes shut behind closed lids.

“No, no, wait. Stay with me, Master. You just got here, you have to stay with me.”

If Obi-Wan hears Anakin’s pleas, he gives no indication. Anakin shakes his shoulders and receives no response.

Anakin scrambles to his feet and heads for the door. He has to go find some help. He knows everyone is out celebrating, but someone has to still be in the temple.

As Anakin opens the door he jumps back in surprise. As it turns out, someone still is at the Temple.

“Master Windu?”

“Oh, Anakin! I was hoping I would find you here. I just wanted to check in on you. You seemed a little upset after the—”

“Master Windu,” Anakin interrupts. “I need some help!”

Mace stiffens. “What’s wrong, little one?”

“It’s Obi-Wan! He just got home and he collapsed. He’s over here.”

Mace rushes in behind Anakin and kneels by Obi-Wan’s side.

“Oh, what have you gotten yourself into now, Kenobi?” Mace says more to himself than to anyone.

Mace manages to pull Obi-Wan up and throw his arm over his shoulder. He begins dragging Obi-Wan towards the door.

“Where are you taking him?”

“To the healers,” Mace says patiently.

“Is he going to be okay?” Anakin asks nervously.

“We need to get him to the healers.” It’s not the reassuring response Anakin is hoping for. Still, he follows along dutifully until they reach the healers.

The halls are busier than usual. The Padawan Tournament has always warranted a few superficial injuries and this year is no different. Masters hover around their injured Padawans and Padawans try to hide their wounded pride. At the sight of the Master of the Order dragging Obi-Wan along with a very frightened Anakin in tow, the crowds part.

“Bring him here,” Vokara Che says, calm and collected as ever.

Anakin watches Master Windu carefully lay Obi-Wan down on a gurney.

“Mace?” Obi-Wan says weakly. “Where’s ‘kin?”

“He’s here, Knight Kenobi. He’s alright. Now let Master Che take care of you.”

“An’kin?”

“I’ve got him, Knight Kenobi. Just listen to Master Che now.”

Obi-Wan lets his head fall back on the pillow and his eyes close. Anakin watches healers swarm around him and take him to a back room.

The young Master and his Apprentice are separated once more.

***

A sharp elbow to his rib cage is what wakes Anakin from his light sleep.

“Ow,” he complains.

“Anakin?” Obi-Wan murmurs. “What...?”

“Master!” Anakin exclaims, sitting up so he can turn and look at Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan rubs a hand over tired eyes before he focuses them on Anakin.

“You’re in my bed,” Obi-Wan observes.

“I was tired,” Anakin says defensively. He, of course, can’t tell Obi-Wan that he had squeezed himself into the tight medical bed because he just wanted to be as close to him as possible. He can’t tell him that he needed the physical confirmation of his chest rising and falling to know that he still breathed, still lived, even after the healers insisted he would be fine.

“Fair enough,” Obi-Wan says mildly. “Though, you could have slept in your own bed.”

Anakin remains silent and looks away.

“But I’m glad you’re here,” Obi-Wan amends.

Anakin’s chest warms and he perks up to meet his gaze.

“You didn’t have to be here. Especially after I… Well, I’ll make it up to you. I promise,” Obi-Wan continues. Anakin can feel the guilt through their bond.

“Am I sensing more milkshakes in my future?”

“Your senses have become quite attuned, my Padawan.”

Obi-Wan gives him a conspiratorial grin and Anakin giggles at him.

Anakin lays back down and rests his head in the crook of Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “I’m glad you’re here, Master,” he says softly.

“I’m glad I’m here too, Padawan.”

[guqin-and-flute]

Holding Me Holding You--Ch. 5

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4]

[Ao3 Link]

[This should be the last one of heavy, unabating angstiness--next chapter should the comfort part, finally. If all goes according to plan 😬 But we are mostly through the woods! TW: Dissociative state, mild (dream) unreality, Emetophobia warning--nonexplicit, starts at 'it threatens to curl him over', just lasts for that paragraph line.]

Wangji is wasting away in front of him--like their mother, like their father. It strikes Xichen as he carried his brother back in his arms, blood seeping into rain soaked robes. Wangji remains glazed while he is brought into the bright chaos of his own home, filled with two panicking young boys and the small cadre of confused night guards that had been brought running by their cries. 

Even when the doctor he summons rebandages Wangji's wounds and talks seriously over his body about infection and spiritual energy and scars. Even while A-Fu keeps sobbing and sobbing, wild and lost against Xichen's chest as he mechanically apologizes and apologizes and holds him. Even as they coax Wangji's son from out of the corner where he is cowering from the noise in feverish half-consciousness, Wangji is glassy and unseeing, eyes fixed on the door. As if uncomprehending. As if he doesn't understand how any of this has happened. 

Xichen doesn't understand either. He can't identify when the decay began.

He just knows that he has seen that look on his father, staring into nothing in the dimness of the Hanshi. Has seen it on his mother, near the end that he hadn’t known was the end. Has seen it on countless cultivators lying broken on the battlefield as they bled out.

Death. The end.

Xichen is losing him, as he had lost them. This was never supposed to happen again. He had promised himself he would be better next time. He knows Wangji better than anyone else. He should have done more.

The horrid crimson of Wangji’s wounds flash in the dressing of his back. The sound the strikes had made against his flesh echoes in Xichen’s ears.

He should have done less.

When the other adults leave, finally, the glances that they cast behind themselves are shaken and dubious. The Twin Jades of Lan, soaked and blood smeared and hollow eyed. Fallen so far.

What is jade?

Xichen is shivering and staring at the same blank, white wall as Wangji. A-Yuan has been taken to sleep in the infirmary in a medicated stupor that is supposed to keep his temperature down where the doctors can closely observe him. Wangji is not aware enough to know that he is gone.

 A-Fu refuses to sleep at all, now that he has stopped crying. He digs through one of Wangji’s potted plants and there is just not enough left of Xichen to stop him. Any time he moves, A-Fu’s head whips around to find him, dark gaze intense and panicked. Afraid he’s being left alone again.

He has done nothing but make the boy suffer. Cry.

What is jade? Jade is peerless. Valuable. 

Rain is thundering on the roof. The world has narrowed to this room.

It's wrong to attend to business and leave Wangji. Xichen can't abandon him again. He will stay here. He will let the world burn in penance for how it has failed his brother. 

It's wrong to stay and leave his post unattended. He cannot be selfish. The pain of Wangji's punishment is right to rest heavy on Xichen's shoulders as well, sharing the burden for his part in every crime against the cultivation world and the Lan. He cannot be his father and abandon his duty.

These truths somehow occupy the same reality, one he is unsure whether he himself occupies, right now. Rule number 1,276: Do not be of two minds. Broken.  

A-Fu tips the pot with a dull clank, flopping down with a surprised, “Oof.” Dark dirt spills over his feet. Wangji doesn't blink, staring sightlessly.

It is wrong to inflict the fallout of his inadequacy on this poor orphaned boy. His cowardice. This is irrefutable, singular truth.

Jade is noble. Jade is flawless.

Unbreakable.

When Wangji cannot find it in himself, Xichen can be jade enough for the both of them; for A-Fu, for all the Lan. Unbreakable. 

He will do what is right. 

Tomorrow.

A-Fu tracks dirt over, toddling and crawling until he pulls himself upright on Xichen’s sleeves. Little muddy handprints. His cheeks are blotchy. He garbles something. Xichen can only catch, "Wanna."

Words are...hard. Harder than they should be. So Xichen pulls Liebing from his sleeve. Wangji's drying, bloody handprint glares from its translucent skin from where he had tossed it aside. He plays, winding, low, and slow. 

A-Fu sinks down to squat, blinking slowly, fists still wound in Xichen's sleeves. 

A minute later, his eyelids flicker. Then, he tips himself over and lays his head on Xichen's thigh, glassy eyes hooded. 

He does not let go.

When Xichen pauses for a breath, the boy mumbles, “Again." So he plays songs of healing, of calming, stirs the sluggish sparks of energy through his meridians, for Wangji and A-Fu.

Wangji lets out an almost imperceptible sigh. Closes his empty eyes.

Good.

The music buzzes in his lips, under his lungs, methodical and numbing--meditative.

Until there is an overbright wringing in his core, flashing out through his meridians like wildfire. The note shrills up piercingly and chokes off. Blood spurts over his tongue, past his lips. Bright and iron-sour--ringing and burning and surging--

 He at least has the presence of mind to lean forward, avoiding A-Fu.

He stares at the scarlet splat on the rug by his knee. Feels a single drip from his nose make its way over his lips, down his chin. Overstrained. Qi mismanagement. 

Get a hold of yourself . 

A breath.

A breath.

Quelling. Controlling. 

Slowly, he wipes his face on his damp sleeve. Rule 783: Do not begrime your clothing without just cause. Broken.

He watches the stain sink, into his sleeve, into the rug, absorbed down into the weave of the fabric, drunk up until it’s indistinguishable from Wangji’s slowly browning next to it. Meditates on that. The abstract form of his emptiness blurring at the edges. Liebing is warm in his hand.

Wangji is asleep. A-Fu is asleep.

If Xichen dreams, he doesn't remember it.

When the sun rises, he unfolds from his post and bundles A-Fu into his blanket. He checks Wangji’s breathing (rough), his wounds (oozing), the acupuncture needles (still set). Takes his wrist and loses himself in his pulse. It’s there, bumping up against his fingertips, the nudging nose of a persistent minnow. I’m here. I’m here. I’m here.

Stay .

He calls for a guard to ensure Wangji cannot leave on his own again. He carries A-Fu back to the Hanshi. Sends instructions back with the disciple that brings them breakfast.

A-Fu insists on clambering into his lap as they eat. Xichen’s mouth is too dry to taste any of the food. He feeds A-Fu with hands shaking so badly, he spills half of it down the boy's robes--but doesn't seem to mind. In fact, he slushes it gleefully across the tabletop.

Xichen barely feels human. 

Then let me be jade.

Something displeases A-Fu about bathing, today, and he angrily tries to shove all the water out of the washing tub in a fit of toddler pique, scowling and hollering nonsensically. Soapy water splats to the floor and Xichen’s chest and lap when he thrashes. 

Xichen lays his forehead on his soaked arms on the edge of the tub and closes his eyes for a moment. Just a moment.

When he is changing his own twice-soaked and bloody clothes, he hears quick little, unsteady feet slaps come around the privacy screen. Then, "Owie." 

He turns. "Owie," the boy insists and raises a hand, eyes fixed on Xichen's back.  Numbly, he turns to the mirror. Finds long, purpling bruises crisscrossing across his shoulder blades and back. It's probably from hitting the shelves in the storage room.

 They don't hurt. Sometime in the night, his body has moved somewhat to the left of himself and sensations are...distant. It is a sign of how he has neglected his cultivation that they have not healed, yet.

“A-niang kissit?” 

Xichen shakes his head, mutely. A-Fu seems to consider this, brows furrowing in thought. Then, “ A-Fu kissit,” he decides, resolutely.

There is a pressure beginning somewhere in Xichen’s chest. Squeezing. 

He kneels down. The kisses are applied by A-Fu kissing his own palm and clumsily smearing them on like a healer’s balm to his shoulder. Xichen accepts them without protest.

When they are both presentable, Xichen takes the child by the hand and lets him totter beside him through the wet and misty grass, lets him pull up a clump of flowers out in the front garden of the Hanshi, lets him take the time to marvel at all the shiny facets of the rocks on the path, marvel at a crawling beetle. For when they come into sight of the temporary orphanage, A-Fu freezes, then scrambles to try to climb his leg. “Up! Up, p’ease!"

Xichen can’t move. When clinging doesn't work, A-Fu collapses like a hamstrung deer, dangling from his hand. And begins to plead.

"No p'ease! No p’ease! Nonono!"

The women have received instructions, sent from the disciple who had brought them breakfast, and they are ready this time. Two come out with sympathetic faces and words. They coax and coo and reason as they pick A-Fu up. Peel his little fingers from Xichen’s sleeve as he clutches and screams wildly, "Nooo!! Ahhhh!! Nooooo !!!" 

Jade. Cold. Flawless. 

Tiny, wickedly sharp nails rake down his hand, scrabbling. 

"A-Huan, you are the eldest. You need to set a good example for A-Zhan. That's enough, now, you're too old for this. Collect yourself. When you are like this, he gets uneasy and unruly. Come, now, show him how it's done. Deep breath."

That pressure is growing. 

Jade. He is jade.

The boy abandons words, just shrieks of raw sound as they carry him away. Echoing off the trees. Reaching back for him.

"Huan-er, don't cry, you have to go with shufu. Oh, I know, I know, I don't want you to go either. I'll see you in a month! Next month-- don't cry, I'll see you then. Don't cry, Huan-er, please don't cry--"

It's for the best. It's for the best. It's...

He looks so scared.

Wangji screams Wei Wuxian's name. He hears it from halfway across the battlefield, despite the din. Hooks in his soul…he is so afraid--

The door shuts. The screams muffle.

And Xichen is left standing alone on the grass. He feels nothing but that intense, crushing pressure. It threatens to curl him over. He makes it to the tree line before he throws up bile. Barely.

A crack. A flaw.

Rule 589; Do not be ill mannered.

He coughs. Breathes. 

Rule 712; Be strict with yourself

He does not know how long it is until Uncle finds him there shaking. “Who is making so much noise?” There is a silence when Xichen doesn’t respond right away--he can’t. He just can’t. A hand comes, squeezes his shoulder. “Are you well?”

He just shakes his head. He should be asking after Uncle’s health. Reassuring him. He should be….

“Xichen. You help no one if you do not rest properly.” Uncle’s voice is low and persuasive--gentle.

He is failing. 

Uncle moves closer, presses the back of his cool hand to Xichen’s forehead, then sets his fingers on the pulse in his wrist. That alien pressure squeezes Xichen’s throat until it’s choking him. 

“You cannot go on like this. I will head things until you have collected yourself. Go. Sleep.” 

It is familiar command that draws him up by puppet strings to standing straight, to bowing woodenly. 

“Look at me.”

Xichen does. His uncle looks the same as he ever has, save hints of darker circles beneath his eyes, the skin thin and bruised. His severe expression holds concern and disapproval and a glimmer of something that looks like fear. “You mustn’t do this,” he says with insistent force. “Your people are looking to you and you mustn’t allow yourself to do this. You are to return to the Hanshi and sleep until you wake naturally and then you are to meditate until you are fully within your own control. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, shufu, ” he says, hoarsely. He has failed in his every duty in every way. He is...He is….

Uncle regards him with growing consternation, his mouth tightening. “What on earth is the matter, Xichen?”

Everything. Everything I have done and have not. “I….Wangji.”

Deep lines appear beside Uncle’s nose, his lips whiten and his jaw works. Rage. Grief. Betrayal. Regret. “Wangji is experiencing the consequences of his actions,” he says, stiffly. “He was given ample time and ample guidance and yet he throws it all back in the face of the Clan who has raised him.” His nostrils flare as he glares down the mountain. “How are his wounds.”

Xichen’s breath is tight and burning, as if he is crying, but he’s not. He’s shaking. He’s empty. “...Will you not go to him?” He whispers.

Pain and anger flicker. “I will not. There is work to be done. He is in the doctor’s hands.”

Xichen bows wordlessly. 

And disobeys. 

He returns to Wangji’s home, down the mountain on locked kneed legs. The house smells of char and hemostatic and antiseptic and rain. It burns his nose. Wangji is pale and haggard and alone, somehow rendered small in his own bed by his bandages. Xichen rinses his mouth, sheds his boots and his guan and crawls up to collapse next to him, as he had when they were small and Wangji couldn’t sleep. Just like then, he finds one of Wangji’s lax hands and wraps it in his own.

You have me. I’m not leaving you.

Leaving. The memory of A-Fu’s screams tighten his gut and his throat until he is sure he will vomit again. However, the sound of his mother’s voice soothes it away. “How is he doing?”

When he opens his eyes, he finds her kneeling beside the bed, stroking Wangji’s hair with concern. Sitting up, he scrubs a hand over his face and offers her a weak smile. “ Niang, you should be asleep. Don’t worry, I have him.”

Wangji sleeps, his face turned away, back rising and falling.

Their mother stands and rounds the bed, taking Xichen’s face in her warm, dry hands and kissing his forehead, right over the cloud pendant of his headband. “I know you do, Huan-er. You are the best gege anyone could ask for. Don’t you think you should be sleeping?” She teased, tweaking his nose. 

“I’m not tired.” And he wasn’t, just very curiously heavy. Every movement of his head seemed to take twice as long, every movement of his hand twice as much effort. “I shouldn’t be sleeping anyway. I need….” 

“Oh?”

The words were escaping, jumbling up like mush, and he frowns politely. “Hm.”

“Yes?” 

Looking up into her face, he finds it round and sweet and familiar with glittering mischief in her eyes, waiting with a small smile. “I can’t...think of it.” It doesn’t bother him particularly, not truly--a minor frustration--but moisture buds in his eyes like pebbles of rain. Xichen blinks in surprise and wipes them with the back of his hand.

“Oh no, save those!” His mother gasps in alarm, searching about for something. “No, you need those, don’t, Huan-er!” 

“I’m sorry,” he says, her frantic energy seeping into his chest. He tries to breathe deeply, to center his qi, to close his eyes, but they will not recede, threatening to spill over. “I’m trying, I don’t...I’m not….”

“It’s alright, love, but quickly, try to remember--who was the last person to have them?”

As hard as he can, he tries, fumbling for the memory. “Was it...was it A-Yao? Or Da-ge….” He remembers them holding something, something warm, something familiar. 

“Oh, that sounds right. Here,” she has produced a piece of white silk, though the long ends have been dipped in blood. She hurriedly dabs at his eyes. “Mind your robes.” 

“Yes, a- niang, ” he replies dutifully, taking it and soaking up all the tears into the fabric before they fall, holding the blood away from him as she beams down at him.

“Perfect boy. Do you remember properly, now?”

“I think it was A-Yao. I think...I think it was when I ran….”

Her dark eyebrows rise and she pets over his hair--it’s so light that he can barely feel it at all. “That long?”

“I’m not quite sure….” 

She sighs, shakes her head. “Wangji needs them, remember, love.”

“Of course,” he says, though he can’t quite remember why. He knows that it’s true, though. “More than I do.”

“Exactly. You have to be strong. He’s so much younger.”

Xichen smiles and takes the fabric away to inspect his progress. Only half of it is soaked and the tears have diminished to just hazing his vision. He feels abstractly proud. “Oh, well, he’s grown since you’ve--” When he looks up, the room is empty.

But reality is seeping in the edges with cold fingers, the feeling of waking from a dream. She has been gone from here for a while. He can feel it. He is alone and has been for a while. How long has he been talking to himself? 

 When he stands, slowly, weighted by rocks, he is in his mother’s home, in the center of the dark floor, surrounded by a layer of dust, cleared of furniture. The lanterns are all cold and wickless, the windows stuck shut. It is dim, the air thick and stale on his tongue. Had he decided to stay here? He can’t remember.

A deep unease threads through his chest. He cannot stay here. He knows the rules. He cannot be away too long. 

When he steps forward, he realizes the door is so much further than he had initially thought and with each step, it seems to fade. When he reaches it, it is a smooth, impenetrable wall and no matter how many times he moves around the edges of the room, it does not reappear. 

Did they leave him? Would they be back? 

...Did he do this?

He opens his mouth to call for help when--

Raw sound crashes over him, bolting him up in bed. His breath is heaving, icy adrenaline rushing through his veins. It’s pitch black and smells wrong. Rain hisses over the roof, but the windows and door are in the wrong places and for a moment--is he in--was it--

Silent strobes light Wangji’s room as bright as day. Weak relief trickles through him, even as the thunder immediately follows with a boom of wall shaking fury. Not the Jingshi. The middle of the night, with Wangji. Safe.

Another flash, overlapped by another boom that makes him jump, even though he had been expecting it. The storm must be directly over them on the mountain from the strength and instantaneousness of the thunder. Through the dimness, he peers down at his brother, heart still hammering. He seems to have remained motionless in his needle-assisted unconsciousness despite the noise. As the tail end of this last salvo grumbles away, Xichen’s adrenaline slowly bleeds away as well, leaving him watery and exhausted, even as his breath and heart still speed. Laying back, he stares at the bruised shadows lashing in the ceiling in bright purple flashes and finds himself hoping--though he has no right--that across the Cloud Recesses, A-Fu isn’t afraid.

[amyscascadingtabs]

rare as the glimmer of a comet in the sky

It’s the perfect little getaway, exactly what they needed. It would be even better if she could only stop thinking.

“So, tell me.” Jake holds her hand over the table, forcing her back to reality. “Five top moments for us 2019, go. Countdown-stylez.”

Three different New Year's Eves, as celebrated by Jake and Amy (and Mac).

read on ao3 💕

december 31st, 2019.

The hotel guests checking in before Jake and Amy are a family. A little girl with blonde hair, maybe four or five years old, is carrying her own pink backpack and making up dance steps around her father’s feet as he goes through the information with the receptionist, and an even younger boy is hiding behind his mother’s legs as he watches the people in the lobby with wide eyes. Looking up, Amy realizes that the mother’s open coat is revealing a baby bump, too. She’d put her at six, maybe seven months pregnant. Three kids. Amy feels a pang of jealousy.

Even with the observation skills of an experienced detective, it shocks her how good she’s become at picking out families and pregnant women in any crowd. It’s an interesting talent, but measured against the pain it causes her, Amy wouldn’t call it a very useful one. She notices Jake looking at the kids as well, a daydreaming look on his face, and somehow, that makes her pain worse.

The idea behind going away to a hotel upstate for New Year’s was so they could get away from the stress for a moment; go somewhere else, rest and relax, forget about the pregnancy master calendar they’ve stared themselves blind at for a few days. Amy didn’t realize how impossible it would be to get away from all the other reminders.

She draws a breath of relief when the family in front of them gets the keys to their room, the little girl running first towards the elevator and her brother laughing as he chases after.

“Cute kids,” Jake whispers, watching them longingly.

“Yeah.” Amy tries not to think about the negative pregnancy test she threw away in the bathroom trashcan before they left. “Really cute.”

//

“I’m excited you said we could drink tonight.” Jake toasts his White Russian with her glass of Sauvignon. “It’s been a while.”

“I know, “ Amy feels the guilt wash over her. “Well, it’s not New Year’s Eve every day. I think we’ve earned it.” And I already took a negative test, she thinks.

“We sure have.” He gives her a closer look, pressing his lips together like he always does when he’s worried about her. “Hey, are you okay?”

“Just tired,” she says. It’s not technically a lie. “I didn’t sleep that well last night.”

“Lucky we have a huge hotel bed to help with that tonight, then. Seriously, this place rocks.”

Amy’s prepared to agree on that part – she did her research the moment it stood clear they would both get New Year’s Eve off. After getting their room, they’ve spent the evening getting massages in the hotel spa, dining at the surprisingly nice restaurant, and now they’re admiring the view from the bar on the top floor, waiting for the fireworks. It’s the perfect little getaway, exactly what they needed. It would be even better if she could only stop thinking.

“So, tell me.” Jake holds her hand over the table, forcing her back to reality. “Five top moments for us 2019, go. Countdown-stylez.”

“Number five!” She rolls the r and holds on the i, earning herself an amused look from the older couple next to them. “Okay, I’m going to go with… that date you took me on for my birthday. I can’t believe you got into the puzzle bar this time!”

“I might have convinced the guard to let me in because it was your birthday, but still a good one. Number fooo-uur… the Cinco de Mayo-heist. God, that was fun, even if the tasing hurt like a bitch.”

“Agreed. Number three – when Holt finally invited us to that dinner party and I almost didn’t lose my cool once.”

“You keep telling yourself that, babe. Number two… the Jake way. Seriously, I still think we should try that again. It was awesome.”

“It was, but also way inappropriate,” she reminds him, but he just shrugs. “Number one, then.”

“I know which one is mine, but you go first.”

Amy swallows, then sighs. “Mine is after the manhunt. When we decided to start trying. That’s still my favorite moment.”

“Mine, too.” Jake looks her in the eyes, and she knows the bittersweet feeling is shared. “It’s going to happen, Ames. I know it. Maybe this month’s the one.”

Amy doesn’t have the strength to correct him, tell him she’s already taken an early test and that she’s lacking any confidence there’s going to be a second line when she tests again in a couple of days. Luckily, she doesn’t have to, because right then, the fireworks that have been going off a few at a time in the distance begin to multiply as the countdown starts.

Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four…

Amy leans forward so she can be kissing him already when the new year begins.

Three, two, one… happy new year!

The crowd around them erupts into cheers as the sky glows with colorful explosions when burning bits of metal lighting up the darkness outside. Jake kisses her deeper, seeming to forget that there are people around with a bit of alcohol in his system and his hands cupping her face. For a moment, Amy lets herself just be happy.

~

december 31st, 2020.

The instant Amy closes her eyes for the more-than-well-deserved nap Jake told her to take while he made dinner, Mac begins to cry from his crib again.

“McClane, please,” Amy pleads, as if reasoning with her two-month-old would solve his discontent. “You can't seriously be hungry again, that’s insane.”

She tries with the pacifier first, checking his diaper, even standing up and walking around with him for a bit to eliminate anything else, but Mac is still clenching his fists and only looking even more furious with her, so Amy gives in. She sits down with him again, unhooks one side of the bra and lets him find his grip, exhaling when the peaceful suckles begin and the desperate crying finally ceases. She swears it looks like her son is side-eyeing her for taking too long, but to her defense, she fed him for a good forty-five minutes only a little over an hour ago and it's exhausting being used like a human pacifier. Growth spurt, Camila Santiago said when Amy called her in tears yesterday, and the problem-shooting section in the 0-3 months baby-binder had agreed. Amy would argue that sounds way too innocent for something which is turning her otherwise happy and smiley baby into a constantly hungry and crying mini-monster who won't close his eyes for more than twenty minutes at a time.

There's a soft knock on the door after a few minutes, and Jake peeks in. He’s wearing his fancy kitchen apron, which Charles gave him for Christmas with the comment that there’s nothing sexier than a dad who can cook. It hasn’t magically improved his cooking skills, but Amy’s willing to admit that it does look good on him.

“You guys doing okay?”

“He is, for now. I’m going crazy. How’s our dinner going?”

“Well, I haven’t burnt it yet, but there’s still time,” he grimaces, sitting down at the foot of the bed. “Do you need anything, babe?”

“Sleep, but that’s not going to happen.” Amy rubs her eyes. “It’s fine. He’s got to fall asleep at some point, though, this is nuts.”

“Don’t challenge him, he’s breaking records,” Jake says, leaning forward to tickle Mac’s feet. Mac reacts by kicking at the boob he’s not currently feeding from, making Amy curse. “Oops, sorry. Anyway, I’m sure he will fall asleep at some point, and we can have a nice, calm New Year’s dinner. I mean, he has to be exhausted, right?”

“God, I hope so. I’m starving.” She can see Mac’s eyelids getting heavy, but every time she thinks they’re about to fall closed, it’s like he twitches and stares at her, wide awake. “He’s lucky he’s cute.”

Jake grins. “Lucky indeed.”

Mac starts pulling away at that moment, a little bit of milk still dribbling from his cheeks. Amy reaches for one of the muslin blankets that’s never more than a few feet away in their home nowadays, lifting him so he’s upright against her shoulder and patting him on the back. She expects a burp, but instead, she gets an unpleasant surprise when he spits up, managing to get sour baby puke down her back and in her already greasy hair. She groans, giving Jake an exhausted look when she sees him stifling a chuckle.

“Hey, I’ll take him. You go take a shower and I’ll put him in the BabyBjörn. Maybe that will do it.”

“That’s the hottest thing you’ve ever said,” Amy mumbles, and she’s not entirely kidding.

She makes the shower as long as she possibly can. Most days, she has to shower with Mac in the baby bouncer on the bathroom floor, so even the chance to be alone in the bathroom for more than five minutes feels like a luxury. She lets the shampoo really lather and the conditioner take its time to sink in, trying to massage the knots in her neck and shoulders under the hot water. She can hear Mac still fussing from the kitchen, and it makes her feel guilty even though he’s barely left her arms today.

“He’s fine,” she whispers to herself like a mantra. “He’s fine. Jake can handle it. He’s perfectly fine. Everything’s okay. You deserve this.”

She still skips the make-up and nicer clothes she had been planning to put on, throwing on a pair of maternity leggings and one of Jake’s old hoodies instead.

The dinner looks fantastic, some sort of chicken baked in the oven with rice and a lemon sauce, and Amy’s actually impressed. She imagines it would have been even nicer if she could have eaten it warm and together with Jake, but they only make it through toasting in orange soda and the first two bites before Mac wakes up from his ten-minute-nap, wailing as if he truly believed he’d just been abandoned. They end up having to take turns eating and walking laps around the living room with him, because he starts crying again if they stop moving for a second or as much as make an attempt to put him down. Amy is suddenly relieved they said no to her brother Tony’s New Year’s party-invite.

She can barely believe it when after what feels like the fiftieth or so feed of the day, Mac falls asleep. Curled up like a little frog on her chest and letting out the cutest of baby snores, he finally seems to relax, and Amy doesn’t even dare to breathe too sharply for the first ten minutes. Eventually, though, once it seems like he’s not going to wake up from the slightest movement or a raised voice anymore, Jake tucks them both in under a blanket and gets the Ben and Jerry’s from the freezer and orange soda from the fridge. Then he gets another blanket for himself, and they snuggle up together in the corner of the sofa in front of the tv. From live footage at Times Square, Amy can see crowds of people waiting for the ball to drop.

“Wishing you were there?” Jake winks, but she just laughs.

“Are you kidding? Cold, crowded, and you can never even get a good view. This is better in every way.” She strokes her thumb over Mac’s dark hair. “I have this one and you. That’s all I need. And ice cream,” she adds, digging out a piece of cookie dough from the tub.

“You’re right, it’s pretty damn close to perfection. Top five moments of 2020?”

Amy shakes her head, pointing to Mac. “No point. They’re all about him, anyway, and they’re all too good to compare.”

“True that.” Jake shakes his head. “Hey, isn’t it crazy that although he’s been kind of a nightmare today, I’ve already forgiven him?”

“No, it makes perfect sense, because I’ve almost wanted to give him away several times and now I can’t even remember why.”

“Having a baby makes us kind of crazy, huh?”

“Oh, absolutely. I wouldn’t change it for the world, though.”

“Me neither. Not even if I was offered a role in the next Die Hard-movie and Taylor Swift did the soundtrack.”

“That’s pretty big,” Amy laughs, leaning in for a quick kiss. “Would Taylor Swift do the soundtrack for Die Hard, though? Realistically speaking?”

“It’s a daydream, Ames!”

She has no time for a comeback, though, because right then, the countdown starts on the tv and Jake raises the volume a few bars so they can hear.

Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four…

p;

“New Year’s kiss,” Amy says, holding Mac up slightly so they can both reach him.

Three, two, one… happy new year!

They both smother his cheeks with kisses at the same time as the fireworks explode over the sky in the distance outside their windows and the crowd begins to cheer on tv. Mac doesn’t even flinch, completely oblivious to the celebrations going on outside. Amy sighs.

“How can he magically sleep through all of this, but wake up the second I put him down in his crib at night?”

Jake shrugs. “Babies, man.”

~

december 31st, 2021.

Amy has only started to take off Mac’s winter overall before he starts trying to flee, kicking wildly with his boots and pointing towards the kitchen where he’s already spotted Rosa. Jake notices her struggle and is quick to help her, and the instant the toddler is free, he hurries off towards his best friend.

“Wo-wo-wo-wo-wo-wo!”

“Mac! Hey, happy new year, man!” Before Amy can even take off her own jacket, Mac is already in Rosa’s arms and babbling excitedly as he plays with her gold necklace. Amy wonders how much of what Mac’s saying actually makes sense to Rosa, but she’s nodding and smiling and seems to have abandoned whoever she was previously talking to in favor of the one-year-old.

“Jake. Amy.” Kevin appears to take their coats, shaking their hands. “Welcome. Drinks and hors d’oeuvres are in the living room, and I see your small child has made himself at home.”

“He found Rosa, yep.” Jake grins. “And he has a name.”

“Ah, yes… McClane.” Kevin nods. “Very well. I have to go check on… the kitchen. Enjoy your evening.”

  “He’s never going to like me,” Jake whispers to Amy the moment he’s left.

“Well, I think we both might have lost a few points with the name choice, babe.”

“He’s one to talk names, he’s got a dog named after a cheese!”

“I know, but we can’t tell him that. Come on, Jake, I have to find something to chew on before I get sick.”

“You can always blame it on the alcohol, if you do.”

“Jake.”

“Just kidding,” he grins. “You go check on Mac and Rosa and I’ll locate the snacks.”

 It turns out Rosa is more than willing to guard Mac for the evening, currently showing him the model train she's found in the library. Mac is watching with focus as Rosa helps him turn on the button that makes the train drive around the tracks, laughing as it lets out a choo-choo sound.

“Your son is much cooler than the rest of these lame partygoers,” she shrugs when Amy asks her if she's sure it's fine. “He says what he's thinking, unlike the rest of all these dum-dums.”

“Dum-dums,” Mac repeats, proud. Rosa nods.

“Exactly. I’ll call you if something happens.”

 And so, in an unexpected turn of events, Amy finds herself able to sit down for most of the evening without having to chase a wild toddler around to keep him from whatever dangers he could somehow manage to get himself into in Holt’s and Kevin’s house. She supposes it looks quite antisocial of her, and maybe it is, but she’s six weeks pregnant and the early symptoms of nausea and fatigue seem to be coming on both stronger and faster the second time around, so Amy doesn’t really care. She’s got lemon sparkling water for a non-alcoholic drink, a paper plate of carrot sticks, salted crisps and almonds, and she’s not going to talk to anyone unless they sit down next to her. It’s practically heaven. Jake checks on her from time to time, assuring her multiple times that they can just leave early if she wants to, but however tired she feels, Amy doesn’t want to insult Holt that badly. They’re staying until midnight as per proper New Year’s party etiquette, and then — and not a second later — they can go home so she can crash in bed.

 Rosa finds her again when Mac begins to get sleepy, rubbing his eyes and yawning but still shaking his head when Amy asks if he's feeling a little tired. He crawls over to her arms anyway, laying his head on her shoulder and hugging his arms around her chest.

“Thanks for looking after him,” she tells Rosa, but she just shrugs.

“No worries. I don't get to hang out with him enough. Your kid is dope.”

“Douh,” Mac whispers, mimicking her, and Rosa laughs.

“Repeats every word you tell him, too,” Amy says. “Yeah, he’s pretty awesome. Come over to our apartment at five-thirty in the morning on any weekend and you can hang out with him all you want. I won't stop you.”

Rosa scrunches her nose. “I’ll consider it.”

“He’s in a great mood then, I can assure you that.”

“I'll take your word for it. Also, Jake was tipsy talking baby names with some etymology professor when I saw him last, and he seemed very intense about it for a guy who's not currently thinking of naming any new babies. Or?” She raises an eyebrow.

“No, he just get thats intense when somebody implies McClane is a weird name,” Amy says, and makes a note to herself to remind Jake about their agreement not to tell anyone else at least until the twelve-week mark. “Which, to be fair, I warned him that people would think. But here we are anyway.”

“It is a weird name. Couldn’t imagine him being called anything else, though, even if I still don’t understand why you agreed to it.”

“There was a really good PowerPoint involved.”

Rosa looks at her questioningly, but Amy shakes her head, knowing there’s no point in explaining the unexplainable.

“Hmm. You guys are weird. You make pretty great kids, though.”

“Yeah.” Mac has fallen asleep by now, drooling a little bit on Amy’s shoulder. She kisses the top of his head and thinks of the abstract idea of her second kid, the thump-thump of an already present heartbeat they got so lucky as to hear on an early ultrasound yesterday. “The best.”

 As midnight draws closer, most of the guests take on jackets, scarves and shoes to venture out into the garden to watch fireworks. Not wanting to be left out, Amy and Jake manage to get a half-sleeping Mac, who wakes up suddenly interested when he hears about the promise of fireworks, into his overall and join them. It’s a surprisingly good view from the garden, the cold winter air waking them up, and Jake points out the vibrant displays in the sky to a drowsy Mac, who blinks at them dazedly. It’s so cute it makes Amy tear up. Being both a mom and newly pregnant does that to her; she’s given up trying to fight it.

  It’s hard to believe that two years ago, she was toasting in champagne in a hotel bar and wondering if they would ever make a baby together, and now she’s standing in a garden watching Jake with their one-year-old son and knowing that next New Year’s, if all goes well, they’ll be parents of two.

“What are you thinking of?” Jake must see her tears, because he looks worried, but Amy just smiles.

“Just how quickly things can change. How happy I am. And how much I love you.”

“Love you, too. Top three-hundred-and-sixty-five moments of this year,” Jake says, hugging her close so they’re standing in a little family bubble. “Every single day I get to wake up with and then come home to my family.”

  Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four…

  They both lean in so they can smother their son with kisses, and he laughs as he figures out what’s about to happen.

 Three, two, one… happy new year!

  The sky explodes with color, Jake and Amy attack their son with kisses, and as the new year begins, Amy thinks she might just be the luckiest person in the entire world.

~

[faangirl101]

Burning Heart: Pt 4

Burning heart masterlist

Pairing: Zuko x reader, Zuko x y/n

Tags: Enemies to lovers, slow burn

Summary: Raised mostly by yourself, you made a living for your youth years as a maid in one of the richest families in Ba sing se, Beifongs. There Toph, a blind young rich girl, taught you earth bending and also became your new family. Not that you would admit that to her. Together you escape Ba sing se on the back of a flying bison with the Avatar, in a mission to take back the world from the fire nation. But on the journey you didn’t plan to team up with the Fire prince himself, and you definitely did not plan to get butterflies around him. But you couldn’t possibly catch feelings for a fire bender right? They ruined your life and took everything of value from you. But you couldn’t lie to your burning heart.

Warnings: swearing, Sexual tension

The next morning Zuko and Aang were up early, excited to fire bend. I took a lie in. I was exhausted after a full night of brooding. But now I had forgotten all about last night and wanted to have a lesson together with Toph. While the others were fire bending on the other side of the temple me and Toph was placed on a protective platform.  After months of complaining, toph finally agreed to teach me how to see without my eyes. 

(BUT I GOTTA KEEP AN EYE OUT FOR SELenEr.)- Authors note

With spread legs and deep breathing I tried the best I could. But I came to the conclusion that it was impossible. I was so used to the privilege of using my own eyes that the idea that I could create a vision from the sense around me was laughable. I kept myself busy the entire afternoon, sweat dripping down my forehead. Toph was laughing at me “wow! you suck”. I growled, annoyed at the lack of improvement “isn't it your job to teach me? Is there not a way to make my feet open their eyes or whatever”. Toph threw a pebble at me “No. that's the problem.  You've got to stop thinking like a moron with working vision.There's no different angle, no clever solution, no trickery-trick that's going to make you see. it's not actually eyes you dumbstruck bison, its feet and it's always going to be feet ''. I was growing a temper “well it's kind of hard to see with my feet when i have perfectly working eyes unlike your blind ass”. Toph jumped down from the pillar so she stood in front of me. Still lifted with a rock beneath her she was a head shorter than me. “I'm glad you said something Jerk! We don't need them”, before I could protest she blindfolded me “This way, you'll actually have to sense the vibration of the earth around you”. I rolled my eyes forgetting she can't see them because of the blindfold. And yeah right,also  because she's blind. “I still don't actually have to sense my surroundings'', I muttered mostly to myself but somehow Toph caught it. “ You have to if you want to live”, I could hear the smirk in her voice. Finally catching up on words I struck my hands forward in a protective manner “No. No, Toph! We are not doing the bolder thing again”. She blatantly ignored me and laughed as an answer. I sighed, as I spread my feeting again. I tried to focus on how the ground felt under me. How hard the stone was, how my balance on the left foot was worse because a crack slit the ground open. I focused on the vibrations from Toph's steps. Then with a deep sigh I let myself completely into my earth's bending control. I imagined my surroundings, I could feel the wind move pebbles over my feet. And I could also feel the rumpling of something the doubled size of me. The boulder. And just then I understood what Toph meant. It wasn't like looking with eyes at all. I couldn't see colors or the direction of the sunlight. I couldn't see details like leaves on the vines. But I still knew, I knew what was around me. I knew that the temple was on my left, Toph was on my right. And that the quick moving boulder was rushing in my direction from behind. So I threw myself to the side just when the vibration was next to me. I quickly eartbended a sharp piece of the cliff at the boulder so it broke into pieces. “Surprised that it took you that long!”Toph yelled at me in which I earth bended a pebble towards her in response.

“Okay..”, Toph began and I inhaled hopefully. “I'm getting a break?”, I interrupted her before she could continue her sentence. She snorted “as if you deserve a break, freak. What I was going to say was that I'm sending in someone you can spar with. Blindfold on of course”. Help? Since when did Toph need help. Before I could ask I felt the sudden vibration of a larger figure rushing towards me. I quickly moved out of the way. From the weight of the vibrations I was guessing Sokka since I knew Zuko was busy teaching Aang. “Missed me!”, I teased, as I felt the person rushing over to me again. With a smile I ducked what I guessed was the boomerang being thrown at me. But when I felt the familiar heat of fire above me my demeanor changed. “Toph I don't even know how to feel fire with my feet!”I yelled, suddenly scared of what could happen if I hadn't ducked. Toph shouted back happily without a care in the world “you just did!”. Angry that she was right, like usual, I quickly stood back in a defensive position. Zuko seemed to have changed his fighting technique since he wasn't spurting at me anymore. He was waiting for me to attack. And I did. I moved gracefully as I raised my hands, feeling the good vibrations of my earth bending creating a rock to shoot at him. I could feel him jump to the side and I cursed myself for missing. And like that it continued, we spared in a circle like a prey and predator. Which one was which i didn't know. I could feel his burning eyes on me the entire time. I tried not to think about how crazy I must look, hunting after him with a blind fold. My legs were exhausted from hours of training non stop. But instead of requesting a break like any sane person would, I used it in my advantage. I put on a fake show, dragging my feet a little extra or not attacking him as much. And when I felt him prepare a flame towards me I formed my plan. As it combusted towards me I made sure to jump just a tiny bit out of the way. I could feel the heat slicking up my arm, not close enough to burn my skin but close enough for me to react. I doubled over with a hiss, covering the skin with my hand so Zuko couldn't see that it was completely unharmed. I immediately sensed his demeanor drop as he rushed over to me. His steps were no longer careful but rushed. ‘“I'm so sorry”, his voice was deep of guilt but i didn't have time to feel bad.  The second his fingers touched my hand I went for attack. He didn't even have time to react when I tackled him to the ground. I threw my legs across the side of his body and nailed him to the ground with my entire weight shuffled to my hands. It was not until i could feel him grunt out a pust of air towards me when i realized the position i put him in. My backside was arched toward his lap. My exposed cleavage was hanging right in front of his face. But i knew if i moved i would most definitely lose. So instead I waited. I waited for him to react, to make a move. But he did neither. He was still as a rock. Annoyed that I could sense him but not see his reaction I shook my head so my blindfold slipped off my face. Little did I know that lack of sight was the only thing keeping me winning. The second Zuko is exposed to my eyes beneath me I drop the defensive act. His eyes are soft, sweet as honey. His lips parted and i didnt miss his tongue swiping across them. His chest raised with short breaths brushes against my cleavage and I feel his pounding heart and I know he can feel mine. The two front pieces of my hair fall down, shielding our faces from the rest of the world. And there, right there, I forget about the war. I forget about the fire nation. Right there, there is only Zukos and our breaths tempo starts to match. There was only the smell of his manly musk and new poured rain. For the first time in what felt like forever, I was calm at heart. I didn't worry about the outcome of the war, hell I didn't even care. His eyes roam over me, as if it's the first time he sees me. Uncomfortable from his intense gaze I shifted my position only to feel…

Both faces are immediately lit up in matching blushes as I feel something hard pressing against the inside of my thigh. My pounding heart didn't know what to do. What was best, to move or to avoid it. Too caught up in the heat of the moment I didn't notice how his fingers slipped up my hand. It's not until he had fully grasped my wrists and rolled me over that I was brought back to reality. He had done a “Y/n” and attacked in a weak moment. Nice. But this position made his hard problem much more noticable. The entire length was pressed against my crotch and it made a yearn start to pound. One I desperately needed to hide. His hair hung down in my face next to my wrist he had nailed to the ground. I needed to immediately distract myself from the contact between us “Deja vu huh?”. I was referring to how he had me pinned to a tree the first day we met. He smirks as he leans down to my ear and whispers in my hair “i have exactly where i want you”. I knew he meant that he was winning but it didn't fail to send a shiver down my spine. “Ummm, okay guys i think zuko won!”, We both push each other off at once  as we both remember Toph is there. Not only Toph but Sokka. They both look horrified.  “He cheated!”I burst out, anything to break the silence. Zuko tips his head towards me angry “You cheated first”. I rolled my eyes even though he was right “you should be happy I don't know fire bending because I would beat you in Agni Kai”. Zuko snorted as he stood up and brushed off his pants “you have no near the amount of self control Agni Kai demands”. I smile with a raised eyebrow, god he makes it so easy. “And what?”, I look down to his crouch before meeting his eyes “you do?”. His face becomes more red than a tomato as I brush past Toph and leave the scene. The second I'm out of sight, I finally let go of the breath I didn't know I was holding. I lost control today. I almost let the attraction I clearly have for Zuko show. The same one I need to hide, to dig down, do destroy. But more interesting, Zuko did the same thing. I cringed at the entire thing, praying to god that everybody would forget this by dinner.  

Neither Zuko or I spoke at dinner. We’re deeply concentrated on our food and both ignore the conversations playing out around us. That's until Toph shoves an elbow into my side. I make a groan from the sharp pain “what was that for?”. I didn't need to look at Top to know she was smirking “I was right”. I had no idea what she was referring to “yes you were,  now what exactly are you talking about”. Toph was very often right, it was like the blindness had given her a third eye so she just knew things. Toph nods to the other side of the circle and I follow her eyes to.. Zuko. Whatever was going to come out of her mouth was probably not good. “I've felt your pulse raise every time you've looked at Zuko so i knew i had to put it to the test”. I should've known Toph didn't need help from Zuko. I shook my head “Whatever you think you're right about, you're wrong. End of conversation”. Toph fell quiet against her will but i knew that she was going to go off and mock me for having the hots for a fire bender. Zuko at that. Sokka, who had been eavesdropping the entire time, sneaked next to me “so what's up between you and Sifu Hotman”. I wanted to punch that grin off his face. “I dont know”, I glanced threateningly at him “what was up between you and Azula when you fought at the eclipse?”. I was referring to how he pushed her up the wall and how she just let him. He was clearly done talking about me and Sifu hotman, because like the pull of a lever he shut up. That's what I thought.

The next morning Zuko and Sokka were gone. They had apparently gone fishing, as if any of us was going to believe that. So there were multiple reasons I was grumpy that morning. First, I didn't like how they kept me out of things like that. Second, once again I caught myself worrying for both of them. Worrying for Zuko. This was not going to end well.  

Taglist: @eridanuswave , @Whalerus, @keiko0, @emogril , @theblueslytherin , @bbecc-a , @riespage ,  @mochminnie , @mangoberry43, @riespage

[sheerfreesia007]

Swallow This

Title: Swallow This

Fandom: Kingsman

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x Moonshine Reader

Author: @sheerfreesia007​​

Words: 1,582

Warnings: Masturbation, exhibition, voyeurism, blow job, cursing

Permanent Tag List: @paintballkid711​, @fioccodineveautunnale​, @phoenixhalliwell​, @synystersilenceinblacknwhite​

Author Notes: Another water whiskey request:  Walking in on someone showering. Is it hot in here? My goodness my gutter brain is brilliant! Phew! I loved writing this one! Thank you for the ask. These two are turning into a mini series. 

Gif Credit: Google

         Blood and adrenaline are coursing through your veins as you walk through the locker room doors. You’re still soaring on that post work out high that you don’t hear the running water of the shower as you move towards your locker and eagerly pull out your shower caddy. With your towel slung over your shoulder and you high ponytail swinging against your back you move towards the showers. While you don’t register that the showers are being used but does register in your brain is the loud drawn out groan coming from that area.

         Halting in your steps you furrow your eyebrows waiting to hear the noise again. No one is usually up at this time of day; you’re a bit of an early bird and like to get your work out done first thing after you wake up so that you can casually ride that adrenaline high for the rest of the day. Plus it gets it out of the way and you don’t have to drag yourself to the gym after work. Just then you hear a grunt coming from the showers and grow concerned wondering who it could be and if they’re alright. With your mind immediately going to worst case scenario your steps are quick as you round the corner.

         “Fuck ‘shine just like that!”

         You had turned the corner just as those words rang out into the air and before your brain could process the words you’re presented with the sinful picture of Agent Whiskey leaning back against the shower wall with his hard cock in his hand as he pumps him to orgasm. Cum spurts out of the tip of cock in ropes as it sails through the air and lands on the tiled floor and quickly washed away by the shower water. Your brain has seemed to have melted and leaked out of your ears because your eyes dart up from where his release is washing down the drain to crawl up his naked wet body to watch the water run down his front.

         Your thighs are clenched together and you let out a soft whimper at the free show you just got. Whiskey’s eyes snap open and you can see the heated lustful gaze he has trained on you. You whimper again and rub your thighs together trying to ease the ache that’s between them now.

         “Moonshine.” Whiskey says in a low gravel that is just pure sin and seduction. You can see his cock still half hard as he stares at you heatedly from his position still propped up by the tiled wall. “You just gonna stare or are ya gonna join me?”

         Your shower caddy hits the floor and the sound of it is like a gunshot making you jump into action. You’re stripping your workout clothes haphazardly and they’re falling to the floor is disarray as you try to hurry. Whiskey grins wickedly over at you and his hand comes back up to his half hard cock slowly stroking it. You’re panting by the time you manage to get your sports bra off and as it’s the last piece of clothing to flutter to the floor you’re instantly moving towards Whiskey.

         Whiskey’s ready for you though as he stands from the wall and cards a hand through your hair to cup to the back of your head and tugs you forward where he smashes his lips against yours. You moan loudly as you feel his wet body slide against yours and your lips press firmly to his.

         “Fuck ‘shine. Been trying to get you alone for months now ever since that day at the lake.” Whiskey pants out against your lips. He twirls you so that your back is facing the tiled wall and he crowds you back into the spray of the shower. “Lord, look at this body. All wet and gorgeous.” He groans out heatedly. He takes a step forward again and you one step back until your back is pressed against the wall and one of his hands is pressed against the tile above your head. His hand comes up to brush against your nipples and you gasp softly when he pinches one in between his fingers.

         “Whiskey.” You whimper out and her smirks down at you.

         “Look at you, all hot and bothered. Did you enjoy watching me jerk off?” he taunts to you in a low tone. You shiver and nod your head quickly. “I was thinking about you sweetheart.”

         “Yeah? About what?” you purred up at him and watched as Whiskey’s eyes flared with desire.

         “You on your knees sucking me like the good girl you are.” He husked out as he leaned over you. Your eyes darted down to see that his cock was now fully hard and you bit your lip. Your hand came out and grazed against his cock and Whiskey’s hips jerked towards your hand but you moved it away quickly.

         “Cock tease.” He grunted out and you grinned wickedly up at him making him gasp.

         “You have no idea Whiskey.” You cooed at him. “You see…” you began as you let your index finger trail over the top of his cock to circle around his head making him groan and throw his head back. “Ever since that day at the lake I’ve been thinking and dreamin’ about nothin’ but you. You’ve been the star of my wet dreams baby. And I finally wanna make them a reality.” Whiskey moaned loudly as he processed your words and your fingers danced up and down his shaft tapping a little beat against it. Then giving yourself a little pause to ramp up his anticipation you slid your palm around the underside of his cock and began to stroke him twisting your wrist in time with your strokes.

         “Fuck ‘shine. Please sweetheart. Don’t tease me.” Whiskey begged as his rested his other hand against the tiled wall above your head. Your head was tilted down to stare at his cock as you pumped and stroke him. Your thumb circled the tip every time your wrist pumped upwards. Your eyes watched as the water from the shower slicked back of your bodies and made your movements along his cock easy and smooth. Kneeling down onto the tiles Whiskey’s head snapped forward and he moaned loudly without a care of who could hear. “You look so good on your knees for me.” He pants out and you smile wicked up at him as you lean forward and slide your lips over his shaft as you continue to stroke him. “Fuck like that.”

         Your mouth is watering with desire for his cock and you slide your tongue out and lick from base to tip sliding his cock upwards so you can lick the underside of it. Whiskey makes a high pitched keening noise in his throat and you moan against his shaft letting the vibrations of the moan flutter against him.

         Pulling back you hold the base of his cock in your hand and trace the tip against your lips letting your tongue flick out against it too. Your lips drop open and you slide him inside your hot warm mouth. “Fuck! Fuck!” Whiskey gasps out as he tries to still his hips but they jerk forwards anyway sliding his cock further into your mouth. You hum around him and he pants above you as his head falls forward and his eyes watch you bob your head along his cock.

         You pull back until only the tip is between your lips and your eyes dart up to stare into his before you moan and begin sucking harshly. Whiskey’s head is flung back and you huff out a breath before sliding all the way down his cock until your nose brushes against the dark hair at the base and his tip hits the back of your throat. You gag slightly and swallow around his cock making Whiskey moan. “Fuck sweetheart I’m gonna cum.” He pants out harshly and you pull back slightly so that you can suck at him while sliding back to his base. One of your hands comes up to rest on his thigh and your nails dig into his flesh there while your other hand comes up to cup his balls in your palm.

         Whiskey is chanting your name and his hips jerk shallowly once, twice, three times into your mouth before you taste the salty release on your tongue and you begin to swallow him down. He’s a groaning mess above you as his hands clench into fists on the tiled wall while he comes down from his high. You slip him out of your mouth after cleaning him from all evidence of his release and stand in between his arms. You lean up on tip toes and press a heated kiss to his mouth as your cheeks flush with desire, you can’t believe that you just did that but you don’t regret it one bit. Not when you now know you can render Whiskey helpless with just your mouth. Whiskey groans against your lips and you smile satisfactorily at him when you pull away.

         “I’m gonna come collect when the time’s right cowboy.” You say sultrily as you pat his chest before walking out of the showers only picking up your shower caddy. “And bring me back my work out clothes when you can.” You call out over your shoulder as you quickly redress and leave with a knowing smirk on your face.

[banditthewriter]

Once More - Tommy Shelby

Well, here we have it, my first try at Tommy Shelby. Probably butchered it, but hey.

Not tagging anyone, but if you like it, let me know?

*gif not mine*

Enjoy!

*****

The morning was gray and dim, but that was fairly common in Birmingham. You had grown accustomed to the dreary weather that seemed to cloak the area. Small Heath in particular always seemed to be dark and moody.

It fit your outlook these last few weeks. Whereas once upon a time you wouldn't have noticed the clouds or the damp, too caught up in being on cloud nine, now it was all you could see.

Every letter that your mother wrote you was full of her begging you to follow her out of Birmingham and away from the past. She told you that your aunt was happy to make up a new room for you, painted lovely pictures of how your life would be in the new town, but you always turned her down. 

I'm not so heartbroken that I must run away from my own home.

And you were heartbroken, make no mistake. It followed you around like a dark cloud, but you had grown used to it. As used to it as you were the rainy days. 

On this dreary Tuesday, you grabbed a basket and headed to the bakery. You needed another loaf of bread and, if you were very lucky, there might be some sweets for you to purchase as well. With your plan in mind, you entered the bakery with a hopeful smile. 

The smile fell almost immediately when you recognized two of the occupants of the bakery. One was a boy named Daniel Black. The other more familiar was a boy named Finn Shelby. 

He hadn't recognized you yet, but you know it was only a matter of time. You'd been around the boy since he was barely to your knee. For the longest time, he had considered you a sister to him. And his brother had talked about making that a reality, not too long ago. 

Some days you hated Thomas Shelby with everything inside of you. Other days, most days, you missed him so much it hurt to breathe. 

You turned to leave, determined to come back once the youths had vacated the premises, but the baker called your name. With a dull smile, and ignoring the curious eyes over by the barrel of sweet taffy, you made your way over to the counter.

"Mr Hansford," you greeted as you looked over the fresh baked breads he had lined up, "can I get a loaf of my regular?"

As he went to work to get that packaged for you, you turned to look at the two boys once more. They weren't watching you, thankfully, but they were watching Hansford. Eyes on Hansford, they pocketed taffy by the handful. You could see a lump in Daniel's pocket that was most likely some of the other sweets Hansford was famous for. You imagined Finn had a similar lump in his pocket.

The familiar overprotective nature came over you. You might not have married into their family like you had once dreamed, but you'd still known Finn since he was a toddler. He knew better than that.

You quietly thanked Mr Hansford for your bread and promised to come by for some of the delicious looking cakes in his case. Quickly you made your way out of the bakery and off towards an alley. 

There you waited for the two youths to emerge. You listened as they laughed and joked about their haul, both chewing on a piece of taffy. You gave them about two steps past the alley before you stepped out.

"Daniel Black and Finn Shelby, you both stop right this instant."

You half expected them to take off running down the street, but they both froze in their tracks. More like Finn froze and Daniel followed his lead. Slowly they turned to face you, obviously trying to chew the sticky taffy fast enough to swallow the evidence. 

"Y/N," Finn called as he swallowed thickly, "haven't seen you in a while. You look very pretty in that dress."

You raised an eyebrow at him before you looked at Daniel. He was still chewing so you gave him a moment.

"Yeah Miss Y/N, it really brings out your kind eyes."

The corner of your mouth twitched but you didn't let them see it. Instead you purposefully marched up to both of them and poked their sides where their ill-gotten gains were. 

"Now I'm sure you both have a receipt for these goods, don't you?"

Daniel looked like he was going to be sick, either from being caught or the amount of sugar he'd ingested. Finn didn't look much better but there was a strong line of confidence in him that reminded you of his brothers. 

Mule headedness more like it.

"We didn't get one," Finn said with a tilt of his chin that reminded you of John. He was daring you to challenge him. 

This little squirt actually thought to challenge you. You did almost smile that time.

"Oh well that's simple enough. We can just go on and ask him how much he charged you. I want to make sure you boys aren't wasting your month allowances on sweets."

You turned to head that way when Daniel made a distressed sound.

"Tell 'er Finn," he pleaded with wide eyes.

Finn, for all his bravado a moment ago, looked like he had swallowed something bitter.

"You can't do that Y/N. We didn't, well, we didn't pay."

You tapped your finger on your chin as you looked between the two boys. Daniel was probably eleven, maybe younger if he had recently had a growth spurt. Finn was almost thirteen, but even at that age he knew the way it should be. 

He was raised better than that. 

"To live to see the day when a Black and a Shelby can't afford their own sweets," you said with a dramatic shake of your head, shifting your basket with your bread onto your other arm. "Well I think I should talk to both of your families and let them know that your allowances should be increased."

Daniel didn't know you that well and the boy looked almost pleased with the notion. Finn on the other hand knew that it was a trap. 

"Y/N, I…"

He couldn't say the words, but you didn't need to hear them. Instead you gave them both a rough nod and pointed down the street. 

"On to the Shelby house boys. I will be having a word with Polly about your behaviors. Let's go."

Daniel might be out of the woods with his family, but everyone knew that Polly could be worse. And if Polly knew, Tommy would know. The thought of disappointing not only Polly but the head of the Shelby family? Not to mention they were both dressed in their Peaky Blinders getup so there was that too. 

Both of the boys looked downright defeated. 

They started to pluck the spoils of their thievery from their pockets but you slapped their hands and gave them each a push forward. 

"Don't get rid of the evidence of your crimes," you chided.

To the outsiders that saw the three of you, you must have looked a funny sight. A well dressed young lady marching two rookie Peaky Blinders, one a Shelby to boot, as if they were headed to the gallows. The humor wasn't lost on you. 

As you approached the door of the Shelby household, you had stopped seeing the humor in the situation. Would Tommy be there? Would he be the one that answered the door? Would you have to face him?

The first time in almost three months you would see the man that broke your heart, and it was because of his brother was a petty criminal. 

Finn turned his head and gave you a look as if he had read your mind. You shook your head and reached between the two of them to knock on the door.

When it opened, you nearly buckled in relief at the sight of Ada. She smiled at you but the smile wavered as she saw the looks of guilt on her brother and Daniel's faces. 

"What happened?"

The boys both looked over their shoulders at you and you sighed. You could do this part at least. 

"I was down at the bakery just now and what do I see besides these two stealing taffy and sweets."

Ada went from disbelief to quiet fury in moments.

"Alright, in, both of you. Y/N, you too if you would." At your hesitation, her look softened. "He's not here, but Polly will want to have you here. It'll only take a few moments."

With the assurance that Tommy was out, you stepped over the threshold and followed the boys to the sitting room. They immediately sat on the couch together and you hovered near the door. Ada frowned and shook her head at her brother before she headed into the rest of the house.

As you looked around at the photos on the shelves, you tried not to remember the last time you were in there. You and Tommy had planned to go to the pictures but instead he told you that it wasn't working out, that he was dangerous, and that you wouldn't be right for his life and the plans he had for the future. 

You tried not to remember months before that when Tommy had held you under the covers, his mouth pressed against your neck as he told you that he only had a future if he was with you. 

One of those was a lie, but for the life of you, you weren't sure which it was. 

"I thought she was engaged to your brother," Daniel tried to whisper to Finn, earning an elbow for his troubles. 

You allowed yourself a small smile at that before you turned around to face them. 

"I wasn't engaged to him. And that was a while ago. Not that my relationship with Tommy Shelby would change the course of your day, Daniel Black."

He cowered a bit into the couch. Finn had met your eyes with a spark of curiosity. 

He looked more like John or Arthur, but there was something in his eyes just then that reminded you of Tommy. It was a calculating look, one that said he wouldn't stop until he got his answers.

You didn't have to wait long to know what answers he wanted. 

"Why did you and Tommy end things? Arthur said that you realized you were too good for Tommy, but I don't think that's it."

You placed your basket on a side table and perched on the edge of the chair. 

"And why do you think that?"

Finn shrugged, his mouth turning up in a way that made you think he had been watching Arthur way too closely.

"Because you look so sad when I see you now. If you were the one that ended things, you wouldn't look sad, right? But Tommy looks sad too."

There was a pain in your chest at those words. You didn't want to care about why he was looking sad.

"So what is your theory Finn?"

He leaned forward a bit and once more reminded you of Tommy. He was observant for someone so young, but you guessed he had to be observant in this life.

"I think Tommy ended it, but I don't know why. We all know that he was happiest when he was with you so him ending it doesn't make sense unless he thought it was what you wanted. Did you? Did you want him to end things?"

You hadn't expected him to ask that and there was no way you were going to answer that question. But in the end, you didn't have to.

The floorboard behind you squeaked and when you turned around, expecting a disapproving Polly, you found yourself staring at a neutral looking Tommy instead. 

He wasn't looking at you, but you had no illusions that he didn't know you were there. Instead he was focused quite hard on Finn and Daniel. 

"What's this I hear about the two of you stealing from Mr Hansford?"

They looked to you as if you would offer some safety and protection, but you merely stayed impassive. It wasn't your place to discipline the Peaky boys.

"We just took some sweets," Finn explained in a petulant voice that you knew wouldn't gain him any favors. 

"You took some sweets," Tommy repeated and uh oh, if he was repeating things, he was definitely pissed. "Well stand up and let me see. Show me these sweets."

It took a few moments before the boys did what they were told. You watched them pull out everything they had snuck from the bakery, grateful that you kept them from getting rid of it on the walk there. 

Once there were two fairly even piles on the table, Tommy walked up to inspect them. You could see the whiteness around his knuckles that told you how furious he really was. And sure enough, he reached up and slapped both of the boys.

You winced at the impacts, but you kept your mouth shut.

"Peaky Blinders do not steal, especially not from a local business. When you are out there, you represent something bigger. People here look to us for protection and with respect. You do not tarnish that just for a lark, do you understand me?"

His voice wasn't raised but that was part of what was so terrifying about it. Once both boys had agreed that they understood and that it wouldn't happen again, Tommy stepped back and started to pull out his pack of cigarettes. 

"To pay off this debt, you will offer your services to Mr Hansford for whatever he needs. Do I make myself clear?"

Both boys nodded once more, contrite and eager to get this over with. With a flick of his wrist, Tommy excused the boys, but he didn't let them get far before he called them back. 

"Both of you need to apologize to Y/N as well."

Your breath was caught in your throat as you watched him light a cigarette, his eyes on the two boys rather than on you. 

"Tommy," you began softly, but he shook his head and pointed at the boys with the hand that held the cigarette. 

"You wasted her time and made her have to drag your asses here to be punished. Apologize."

You were pretty sure the boys would offer to shine your shoes if it meant they could leave. 

"Sorry Y/N," Finn said with a tilt of his head, avoiding your eyes for the first time that morning.

"Yeah, I'm real sorry Miss Y/N," Daniel repeated with a bow of his own head.

You gave a nod to them both, not trusting your voice at that moment. After a nod from Tommy, they took off out of the house undoubtedly to apologize to Mr Hansford before Tommy did it for them. 

Hearing Tommy say your name brought back all those feelings once more, but you swallowed them down. And then you shifted to stand before you swallowed your pride and asked him a question you weren't sure you were ready for an answer to.

You had barely taken a step before his voice stalled you.

"Finn was right you know. I was happiest when I was with you."

He still wasn't looking at you but you knew he wasn't addressing someone else in the room. 

"You had a funny way of showing it," you remarked as you stepped back towards the chair you had settled into. "You won't even look at me."

His back became rigid at that. He was smoking silently and you thought that he wouldn't say anything else, but then you heard his voice. It was so low that you could barely hear it over the fire.

"Because if I look at you, I'm going to want to kiss you, and I think we both know that's a bad idea."

A bad idea. He was right about that. But as bad as the idea was, you couldn't shake how much you wanted it. Damn him for making you love him this much. 

"Tommy," you whispered, chest tight and skin tingling in anticipation, "look at me."

You were giving him permission. You were practically begging for him to kiss you. Regardless of how your heart was broken and how this might not mean a thing, you wanted it.

"You should go," he offered instead, turning to face the fire and brace his forearms on the mantle. "Go, Y/N."

Tears welling up in your eyes, you turned and nearly ran from the room. Ada and Polly were in the other room, both of them shamelessly trying to pretend they hadn't been eavesdropping. Their faces were a mixture of irritation and concern but you didn't wait to feel their pity. With a quiet sob, you threw open the door and rushed off into the street.

It was a familiar scene. Only a few months ago you did this for the first time after he broke your heart. How could you keep letting Thomas Shelby have this much power over you?

As you reached your own house a few streets away, you realized that you had left your basket on the table in their house. 

------

The book on your lap wasn't doing much to capture your attention, but you were pretending. Your cousin was flitting around from room to room in a bored huff, but you were ignoring her. Every time she came to visit, she always acted like Birmingham was something like torture. She had grown up in a variety of exotic places and now owned a flat in London, so maybe she was bored. 

But it was home. Even if you felt out of place without Tommy.

There was a knock at the door and your cousin nearly broke her ankle to rush out of the room to answer it, begging for it to be someone interesting. You didn't have the heart to tell her it was probably just the boy from the grocer's with the supplies you had ordered. 

As you flipped through the book, you zoned out for a short time. It had been days since your errand to the bakery had brought you back to Tommy's presence. Days since he reminded you that he was through with you. 

He had said he was happiest with you, but apparently that wasn't happy enough. 

"Y/N?" Your cousin sounded uncertain but you didn't do more than make an inquiring noise before she continued. "Tommy Shelby is here."

You closed your eyes and counted to three. Of course he was. As if you had conjured him by your very thoughts. 

"Tell him I'm not in or that I'm not feeling well. Or just tell him that I received his message loud and clear and that I don't need to be rejected a third time."

The silence that followed was unlike your cousin. You turned to face her and right as you did, a new voice came through the room.

"I'm afraid I insisted on coming in," Tommy explained as you saw him standing just slightly behind your cousin.

"I'll be in my room," your cousin lied before she went in the opposite direction of her bedroom. 

Eavesdropping was something to help her pass the time at least.

"What are you doing here Tommy?"

He held up a basket that was covered in a plain white cloth.

"You left your bread at the house. It had been picked on by some of John's kids by time I noticed so I went and got you some more."

With a sigh, you placed the book down and made your way to him. His eyes moved over you at a hurried pace, as if he was afraid you'd disappear before he could catalog every wrinkle of your dress.

"Thank you, but you could have left it with Caroline."

You gripped one side of the basket but he didn't release the other. It left the two of you attached, the basket suspended between the two of you. 

"I wanted to see you."

And he was seeing you. He could see your messy hair and the lack of makeup on your face. Surely he could see the lack of sleep you'd had recently. Hopefully he couldn't see how much crying you had done lately. 

Hadn't he said he couldn't look at you without wanting to kiss you? Perhaps that had been a lie too.

"Well you've seen me. You remember where the door is, don't you?"

You gave a sharp tug and freed the basket from his hands. When you went around him, you were careful not to brush against him. Instead you made your way to the kitchen, making just enough noise to alert Caroline so she would know to sneak up the stairs before you caught her.

You didn't expect Tommy to follow you, but there he was, right behind you as you made it to the kitchen.

"I know I owe you an explanation," he began, clearing his throat when you scoffed, "and I didn't want to do it in a letter. I have to do this in person."

"You don't owe me anything Tommy. You explained it quite well that day."

And hearing it again might break you. 

He spun you around, tugging your hands into his to keep you from fidgeting or pulling away.

"I owe you this, because I lied. When I said we weren't working. I've never been happier than when I'm with you. And I am dangerous, but I don't think you ever cared about that. And when I said you didn't fit with my life and my future plans? I haven't any plans for the future that don't include you."

You struggled to pull your hands away, but it was mostly for show. How many times had you imagined him coming to you and telling you it was all wrong and that he didn't mean it? But all of those were just fantasies. 

This couldn't be real. 

"If you meant that, if you really meant that, you wouldn't have broken my heart that day Tommy. You wouldn't have said those things and made me doubt the years we spent together. Made me doubt myself and my love for you."

He moved as if you had slapped him. His chest was expanding rapidly, trying to catch his breath. You shook your head and looked away, cursing yourself for crying again. 

"Y/N, I wanted… I wanted you to have a chance. We've been together since before the war and that was hard enough. But this? There's blood on my hands Y/N, blood that doesn't wash off. I didn't want to drag you down. It's going to get bloody before it goes the way as planned and I didn't want you involved in that."

You still tried to pull your hand away, but Tommy simply pulled you closer. He released your wrists in order to wrap his arms around your shoulders and hold on tight. You hesitated before you dropped your face into the crook of his neck. 

"I never stopped loving you. I just thought if I pushed you away, it would be better for you."

You wanted to laugh. You wanted to cry. 

Carefully you wrapped your arms around his waist. 

"So why now? Why come and tell me this now?"

"Because seeing you that day in the parlor made me realize that neither one of us is happy when we aren't together. And we owe it to ourselves to be happy. And because I'm a selfish bastard and the idea of you moving on and not loving me anymore scares the shit out of me."

You let out a weak laugh against his neck. When you pulled back, to ask him what this meant, he wrapped a hand around the back of your neck and tugged you into a kiss. It was a kiss that made you almost forget the months of heart ache and pain. 

It was a kiss that said he wasn't going to let go of you again. 

"I'm gonna get you a ring," he mumbled against your mouth some time later, your hands at home on his hips as he held you. "I'll make you Mrs Tommy Shelby and I'll never lose you again."

You smiled at that, feeling the invisible weight of a ring on your finger already. Your smile turned a little devilish and you laughed as you pressed your forehead to his. 

"We might owe Finn and Daniel a thank you for this. If it hadn't been for them, I wouldn't have been at the house that day."

Tommy laughed with you, pressing a kiss to your nose before he leaned back a bit.

"We'll make sure there are plenty of sweets and taffy at the reception."

X

Thanks for reading.

[kenzieam]

Moonstruck - Chapter One

@jewels2876​​​ @moonbeambucky​​​ @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123​​​ @iammarylastar​​​ @captstefanbrandt​​​ @badassbaker​​​ @pinknerdpanda​​​

I know I’m forgetting people, sorry.

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Warnings: Definitely M. Language, adult situations, smut and heartbreak. Potential violence.

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Okay, so ‘Blame It On The Moon’ spawned a sequel for itself, enjoy the ride and as always, I love feedback!

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 “Get over here, punk.”

Bucky smirked and stood. Using his shirt, he wiped his hand and stomach clean then kicked off his jeans, holding Lev’s stare with an almost insolent look on his face. Alpha male to the core, he swaggered towards the bed; a hungry, predatory yet somehow still teasing grin pulling at his lips.

He stopped at the edge of the mattress, lazily stroking his rapidly re-hardening cock and, as Lev licked her lips slowly in anticipation, his eyes darkened to black again.

“Get up.” He grunted.

Lev grinned knowingly up at him before rising and turning slowly on her hands and knees to face away from her lover. Steve sat up, watching, a little unsure of his place in this new dance or if he was still even invited.

Bucky stroked a fingertip along the curve of Lev’s ass, gazing down at her like she was a prize before lifting his head to meet Steve’s eyes. “Get in front of her.” He ordered.

Even through the haze of her lust, Lev recognized the dynamics at play. Steve was always the boss, always the one everyone looked to for guidance and leadership, always the one who made the decisions that determined people’s fates. For over seventy years, Bucky had had no autonomy over his own body, forced to obey, frozen and wiped whenever his humanity broke through; now, here, together, they could let go of that. Steve was willfully submissive, freely following another’s orders, while Bucky was finally the one calling the shots.

He’d been dominant in bed with Lev before, and they enjoyed a mixed relationship; sometimes Bucky was content to lay back and let Lev be the aggressor, other times Levi would be the one to submit but bringing another into the mix was new; something they’d discussed at random intervals, usually while laying sated and sweat-soaked after a powerful, mutual release and Lev’s skin goose-bumped with delicious anticipation. There’d been a frantic air to their first encounter, a fevered rush to completion, now they could go slower, learn and explore.

Lev wiggled her ass, grinning at the low growl it drew from the man behind her and raised her gaze to Steve, now kneeling in front of her. He watched with barely banked anticipation, having a fairly good idea of what Bucky was planning and reveling in the wait.

“He tasted you, baby; you want to return the favour?” Bucky’s voice was low.

“Mmmm-hmmm.” Lev held Steve’s gaze, licking her lips and Steve couldn’t help but stroke himself to relieve some of the building pressure.

“You want me to fuck you while you do?”

Lev inhaled sharply, nodding her head.

“What about you? You want to feel her lips wrapped around your cock?”

“Fuck, yeah.”

“Language.” Lev chastised gently as she leaned forwards, gripping Steve’s shaft and flicking one more quick glance up at him before closing her eyes and drawing him in. As her wet mouth closed over the head Steve jolted, letting out a ragged groan and dropping his head back.

“Watch this, Stevie.” Bucky called, his voice soft but commanding and Steve opened his eyes, watching as Bucky drove forwards sharply, filling Lev with one relentless thrust. She moaned around the stretch, the vibrations from her throat travelling up Steve’s cock and drawing out a fresh groan. His teeth clenched and he watched through slitted eyes as Bucky started to thrust, holding Lev’s hips in a bruising grip.

“Fuck-” Bucky grunted, just as Steve let out a low moan, shuddering. Lev’s mouth was fucking magic, her hand taking over where he was simply too big for her to take his full length and then she let go of his shaft and cupped his sack and a white hot flare of ecstasy shot up his spine.

Bucky watched with satisfaction, slamming into Lev from behind, splitting his attention from watching his cock disappear inside her body and watching Lev work Steve’s cock, knowing from the man’s expressions that Lev was treating him to her full abilities.

He wasn’t going to last long, Bucky was sure of it, but then neither was he, watching his lover get spit-roasted like this, knowing this was only the beginning; the love they were making here was too special and intense to not be repeated over and over again, night after night.

Steve let out a particularly wrecked groan, body shuddering heavily again and curled his fingers into Lev’s hair, anchoring her in place as his hips started to move.

“She’s doing… that thing with her tongue, isn’t she?” Bucky grunted, knowing exactly what Lev was spoiling Steve with now, an especially luscious move that never failed to throw him completely over the edge.

“Fuck-” was all the Captain managed before his eyes rolled back in his head then he was shuddering, full-body convulsing as he came, spurting sweetly down Lev’s throat while she moaned in pleasure, swallowing every heavy pulse.

She pulled away, downing the last mouthful while holding Steve’s gaze as he panted and shivered with aftershocks, reaching out with one shaking hand to cup her face, watching rapt as Bucky drove her higher and higher.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he growled, rubbing his thumb along her bottom lip, catching a tiny bit of his cum that she’d missed and pushing it back into her mouth. He looked up at Bucky, who was watching him with a wicked grin on his flushed face.

“Give it to her, Buck. She’s been a good girl.” Steve growled.

He leaned forwards, capturing her mouth in a heated, claiming kiss while one hand snaked under to cup and knead at her breasts then Bucky reached around to press on her clit as he continued to drive into her and Lev succumbed to the onslaught, whimpering a sharp cry that Steve swallowed as he devoured her mouth, her walls clenching around Bucky’s cock; he stopped fighting as well, letting out a roar as he gave into his powerful release, spilling his seed in heavy throbs deep inside Lev as Steve fucked his tongue into her mouth, extended her climax until she collapsed boneless between them, panting for breath and barely conscious.  

Withdrawing slowly from her body, Bucky sank beside her, his chest to her back while Steve dropped the other way, facing Lev, burrowing his head into her abdomen, wrapping his arms around her middle. Lev’s tangled hair tickled his belly, her panting breaths hot on his abdomen and it was all Steve could do to press a kiss to her sweat-gleaming stomach before he gave into the irresistible draw of peaceful sleep.

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Lev grimaced, freezing in place as her hand drifted to her abdomen, closing her eyes until the wave of nausea finally disappeared, swaying slightly as she gathered her bearings again, rethinking the fresh cup of coffee she’d just poured into her favourite mug.

Behind her, she heard another enter the kitchen area and straightened, erasing any traces of shakiness from her face before turning and pouring herself a glass of water instead. Before she could lift the glass to her lips, however, a pair of strong arms wrapped around her from behind and a heavy head nestled into the crook of her neck, lips brushing along her pulse point as their owner spoke.

“Good morning, baby.” Steve murmured, nuzzling his nose into her hair.

Lev shivered, muffling a giggle. “Morning, handsome.”

“I thought I was ‘handsome’.” Bucky replied, appearing from around the corner, a lazy grin on his face. His shirt was plastered to his skin with sweat, the bandana headband he wore holding back soaking-wet hair. Steve was in a similar state, both men having left Lev earlier that morning for a run, leaving her to continue sleeping, tangled in the sheets they’d dirtied the night before. He frowned at the full cup of coffee on the counter, recognized Lev’s mug and lifted it to his mouth, downing half in one huge swallow.

“You both are.” Lev murmured, her giggles spilling out as Steve nibbled behind her ear.

What had started as a drunken rendezvous, a mead-fuelled dare, had become reality. For the last two months, Lev had found herself in a committed relationship with not one, but two super-soldiers. She’d already been Bucky’s, but they’d adopted Steve with surprising easiness into their little family.

It was a unique set-up. Bucky and Steve shared Lev between them, but thus far showed little interest in exploring any intimacy between each other. Lev didn’t care either way, it would only add another facet to their incredible chemistry if Bucky and Steve ever decided to play with each other instead of devoting their attentions to Lev, and if they never did, that was fine too. She enjoyed being the sole recipient of their appetites.

“Do I stink?” Bucky asked playfully, wrapping Lev in a bearhug, making sure to rub his sweaty body against her, laughing when she shrieked in indignation. Her stomach roiled afresh, and Lev realized the very real possibility that she might just puke down the front of him.

“Yes! Let me go!” She squirmed but Bucky refused to release her until he’d nuzzled his face into her throat, tickling her with messy kisses, grinning madly when she was finally able to stagger away from him, primly pissed. “Asshole.” She accused politely, smoothing her hair.

“You love me.”

“I’m starting to wonder why.”

Steve snorted into his coffee, choking and gasping as it dripped down the cupboard in front of him and trickled from his nose.

“Dammit, that burns.” He grumbled, pawing at his nose like a big, bewildered bear and throwing Bucky a baleful eye. “Quit needling my girl.”

“Your girl?”

“Whose name was she screaming last night?”

This was a common argument between them, no real heat involved, just gentle teasing. In reality, Lev had been screaming both of their names at some point last night, but that was neither here nor there. The point was the gentle flirting and the shivers it still brought. Sam usually just snorted and rolled his eyes, lamenting that he was going to get diabetes with ‘all the damn sugar around here’, Clint would make a big show of turning down his hearing aids and Nat would usually just turn up the TV.

Steve’s inclusion into Lev and Bucky’s relationship had been met with unexpected chill. Weirder things happened daily around the Tower and the banked sexual tension around Lev and Steve had been a topic of conversation many a night amongst the others, the question raised as to whether Bucky would one day be forced to kill Steve, or bring him into the circle.

“Go have a shower, both of you.” Lev ordered, pointing a finger out of the kitchen. “I’ve had enough of your shit already and the day’s just begun.” She swallowed heavily at a fresh wave of nausea and this time Bucky noticed, ignoring her order and moving closer, all teasing gone.

“Baby, you okay?” His hand cradled her face, cool to her flush and she leaned into it gratefully. Steve appeared at Bucky’s shoulder, taking her hand and frowning.

“Sweetheart?” Steve breathed, glancing at Bucky before returning his forlorn gaze to her.

“This has been going on for a few days, you should go see Dr. Cho.” Bucky continued.

Lev held back a grimace. The last place she wanted to go was the medical floor; Bucky’s thumb was gentle as it stroked her cheekbone.

“Please.” He added.

Lev met his eye, ready to huff in exasperation at his drama but stopped when she got a good look at him. There was real pleading in his eyes, genuine worry and Lev felt her chest cleave a little. Bucky wasn’t bossy, he wasn’t needlessly dominant, insisting on total obedience, for him to push this meant real concern on his part.

Lev was going to have to 86 her aversion to doctors. Cho was nothing like those monsters from HYDRA, neither were Banner or Stark and enhanced people didn’t get sick like the average bear, therefore Lev needed to figure out why.

“Okay.” She acquiesced, the corner of her mouth lifting when Bucky exhaled heavily in relief and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“Thank you.”

“I’m fine to go myself. You guys shower.”

The men glanced at each other, brows raised as they silently debated the pros and cons of disobeying when they’d only just persuaded Lev to go.

“Cho will chase you out.” Lev reminded them. “She likes things clean.”

Cho’s rage wasn’t something to be taken lightly, not when she was one of the few able to treat a team as varied and unique as theirs and Steve nodded in concession, reaching over to pull Bucky along with him and they soundlessly disappeared around the corner of the kitchen.

Lev waited a few beats, then sighed and stepped towards the elevator.

As she walked, she let her mind wander, her body moving on autopilot. What could the problem possibly be?

“FRIDAY? Medical floor, please.”

“Yes, Ms. Riel.”

The elevator descended soundlessly, and Lev leaned against the wall, crossing her arms. She was enhanced but the serum HYDRA had used differed from what had been given to Steve, even what Bucky had been subjected to. Neither man so far had demonstrated the susceptibility to normal human ailments, but maybe they were finally finding the limits of Lev’s serum. The possibilities grew grimmer and more dire as she drew closer to the right floor.

Some internal injury, gained during rough training or even her last mission? She’d not emerged unscathed but thought she’d healed normally. Was it something malignant, bypassing her super immune system and even now spreading insidious tentacles through her body? There was no way she was anything predictable like pregnant, for the last two years, since she’d been recruited, joined the team and become Bucky’s lover, she’d been given a special birth control injection regularly.

Banner and Cho had developed it exclusively for her, tailored singularly for her unique metabolism and it had been working properly. Since she’d begun the shot, she and Bucky had never used any form of protection and made love with a frequency and hunger beyond anything a normal human could muster or maintain, and she’d never encountered this before.

No, there was no explanation, and Lev felt fingers of cold dread tickle up her spine as the elevator doors slid open and she entered the lab.

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

“Wait, what?” Lev knew she looked ridiculous with her mouth hanging open but Jesus.

Cho shook her head slowly, studying the tablet in her hand. She was no more able to swallow this than Lev, but the results didn’t lie. Looking back up at Lev she shrugged helplessly. “I ran the test four times…. You’re pregnant, Lev.”

[bagels-and-seagulls]

sugary sweet apologizes

based off of these headcannons

check it out on ao3 (2k)

“Jesus, Matteo, can’t you see I’m busy? Stop bothering me.”

David feels like he was just dunked underwater. Everything is dull around him so quickly and his muscles are weighed down with the molasses sensation of guilt. His ears plug up with the sound of his own heart thumping, just waiting to jump right out of his chest and land on the floor for Matteo to pick up and take with him because he owes it to him anyways.

No, he’s not underwater. He’s moving in slow motion, watching the words form off of the tip of his tongue, and if he tries hard enough, he can almost pluck them out of the air right in front of him to save Matteo from having to hear them when everything about them is wrongwrongwrong.

That’s not really right either. He’s not in slow motion. He’s outside of his body, watching a scene of a movie where there’s about to be a knockout fight, except the only one who will be fighting is himself because he vowed the second he looked at Matteo to pummel anyone who made this boy look like he did now. The director of this scene will tell the actor to hit harder with each strike because it won’t be enough to even out the cruelty he has already done, and the actor will listen because David is all of them, and he agrees wholeheartedly.

Matteo cocks his head to the side like he hadn’t heard anything and then blinks at David. His face flushes in embarrassment, and David can tell just by the look in Matteo’s eyes that he has already decided to check out of this conversation and ignore anything from this moment forward. Matteo straightens up from where he was leaning over the desk, looking at David, and he clenches his jaw.

“Whatever,” he mumbles and turns away.

“Wait, Matteo- I didn’t-“ David tries to reach out and touch because he still feels like he’s not entirely in his body. Everything he has become has done nothing but try to protect this sweet boy from the cruel world he has come to know, but he never really expected that he would have to protect Matteo from his own ability to be too quick to strike out with his tongue.

“Go back to studying,” Matteo says back. “I won’t bother you.” There’s no heat in his voice, and David really wished there was. He wished that Matteo would deliver his own hit just to bring some sort of balance to this situation, so that David could start apologizing now and hope that Matteo would forgive him by tomorrow.

But Matteo stays quiet. He drops himself onto the far side of the bed, turns off the light, and pulls the blankets up high under his ears, turning away from David completely.

David doesn’t know what he should do. He really does have a lot of work that he needs to do, but if he tries to turn back to his books, he knows that he won’t be able to concentrate on anything, will just count down the pages until he’s able to curl up behind Matteo and hope that he lets him. But if he just crawls into bed now, he doesn’t want Matteo to feel like he’s doing it just because he feels guilty. Even though it would be because he does. Matteo hates pity. David didn’t want to insult him twice in one night.

David looks at his papers for another minute before he sighs and closes his books. He shoves them in his backpack before he looks over at Matteo who is still turned away from him. He wonders if this means he’s supposed to sleep on the couch. Matteo wouldn’t tell him if that was true anyways. David had gotten better at figuring Matteo out after all this time, but even if he jotted down every flutter of his eyelash and every click of his tongue and every reddening of his ears, David still wouldn’t know everything about him. He still would be at a loss now about how to read the sharp line of his shoulders and the tight way he was gripping the blanket to his face. All he wants to do is ease the tension in his jaw and kiss the back of his neck with apologies written in between his teeth, but he doesn’t know if that would be enough.

He gets into bed anyways. Matteo stiffens, and David reaches out before he can even think too hard about it, his muscle memory to pull Matteo close at every inkling of a frown and smooth out the lines in between his brows overpowering his common sense that Matteo was upset because of him. “Baby,” he whispers.

“Don’t,” Matteo says, still quiet. And he pulls his arm away.

David lays awake most of night, realizing why people agree not to go to bed angry. He wasn’t angry. Just guilty. Shameful. He doesn’t think that Matteo is angry either. He’s probably just sad. Just insecure and regretful and beating himself up for something that wasn’t his fault, something only David should feel bad about. He just keeps replaying the two sentences in his head over and over and over again because he wants to know where he went wrong, where his boyfriend’s natural caring affection made him snap and say something ugly, say something he knew cut deeper than David’s frustration over his latest school assignment.

It was a quiet night like this a couple weeks ago, maybe months ago, where Matteo muttered into the skin of David’s collarbones about his parents screaming matches every night, about how his dad would brush him off with a quick ”I’m busy. Bother your mother.” whenever he didn’t want to have to deal with his son, about how he learned to be quiet while the adults were talking. David was so surprised when Matteo started talking. He was sure that he would never hear the story of what had pushed him to move out and not talk to his father anymore except in quick spurts of frustrated Italian once a month. He ran his fingers up and down Matteo’s spine and pressed kisses to his forehead and his temple and the soft spot behind his ear, whatever it took to keep Matteo slack enough to let this all out for probably the first time since it happened. David smoothed kisses over Matteo’s skin and sewed in his promise to be nothing like the couple he described in terrible detail.

Matteo is so quick to retreat and hide somewhere deep in his chest whenever someone gets too loud around him, when they raise their voices no matter what emotion they were pouring out at the time. And David just combined the two things that he knew reminded Matteo about the worst parts of his past and his biggest fears of the future. God, David would just hate himself if he thought it would be of any use to proving to Matteo that he hadn’t meant it.

He wakes up around dawn. His whole spine itches with the desire to shove his face between Matteo’s shoulder blades and pull him tight to his chest. Matteo is on his back, sleeping restlessly with his eyes moving behind the lids rapidly. David cards his fingers through his hair slowly because even if he knew that he didn’t have the right to crawling inside Matteo’s space, he couldn’t but help and try to get a small touch to ground himself to reality. He sits up quietly before he takes it too far and rolls on top of his sweetheart to smother out the bad dreams with his pure desire to drown Matteo in his love.

David goes to the kitchen and tries to think of something to occupy his hands. He find the bright pink post-its that Hans keeps around to remind himself what kind of groceries he wants to buy and to remind Matteo what groceries he owes him. David draws a quick figure. The guy’s toe is digging into the ground while his head is hung low. His hands are behind his back, holding a big array of exuberant flowers. He tries to make the expression bashful and guilty, and not completely overcome with the need to fix this right away because he didn’t want to spend another second without being about to look at Matteo like he hung the moon because he very well could have. And if anyone told David that, he would believe them. He draws a speech bubble and writes as neatly as he could to not create the room for confusion I’m sorry, monkey. I didn’t mean any of it. You never bother me. He sticks the note on Matteo’s phone in the living room before he can think about it any longer and starts to make some breakfast.

“Hey,” Matteo mutters.

David looks up from where he’s pushing scrambled eggs around in a pan. “Hi,” he responds. Matteo rubs at his eyes with the heels of his hand and stretches the other arm above his head. He was holding his phone in his hand, but the post-it wasn’t anywhere to be seen. David tries not to stare too long. “Do you want some eggs?”

“Sure.”

“Okay. Coffee is ready too, if you want some.”

Matteo doesn’t say anything, just gets out a mug.

They were usually quiet in the morning. Matteo wasn’t much of a morning person, and more often than not would try to get David to stay in bed with him as along as possible, chasing the last few minutes of sleep that he could. But this didn’t feel like the peaceful morning that David had gotten so used to. It felt like there was storm warning in the area, and everyone had already boarded up their windows, waiting for the rain to start.

David doesn’t say anything until Matteo has already gotten one bite of eggs shoved ungracefully into his mouth. “Teo, I’m sorry.”

“It’s whatever,” Matteo shrugs, and looks down at his hands on the table. “I shouldn’t have interrupted-“

“No,” David argues. He keeps his voice even and reaches out to run his fingers over the other’s elbow. “It’s not whatever, and this isn’t your fault. I snapped at you when you were just trying to help, and it wasn’t fair or right of me. And I’m sorry.”

Matteo stares at him for minute, like he’s trying to read all of the hidden messages written on David’s face. “Okay,” Matteo says quietly after he found whatever he was looking for. His shoulders slump, and his elbow pushes further into David’s fingers.

“I’m sorry,” David repeats.

Matteo looks up then, and David has to remind himself not to let his breath get too far away from him. “Okay.”

“Really.”

“I know,” Matteo says with a little more force this time.

“I’m sorry.”

“Okay! Okay! I get it. You’re apologizing. I forgive you!” Matteo cracks a small smile and rolls his eyes.

“I love you,” David says instead for a change of pace.

Matteo’s smile gains a couple more teeth. “I know.” His fingers graze over the back of David’s hand, and it gives David the confidence to try his luck.

“Can I get a kiss?”

Matteo rolls his eyes but leans over the table. David meets him halfway there.

That night David brings back a big bouquet of sunflowers he buys off of a lady selling them on the street, and Matteo laughs when he sees them. He calls him a sap and dramatic and says things like dramatic and overkill. David smothers out Matteo’s giggles with an innocent kiss that leaves them both in goosebumps and in a situation not suitable for the kitchen. Later, Matteo puts them in a nice vase that Mia had left behind and puts them on the desk. David catches him smelling them and rubbing at the petals but saves him the embarrassment of pointing it out. He just soaks in the moment. He thinks about drawing it later. He thinks about getting Matteo flowers every week.

[coaxol0tl]

21 with a villian ship from bnha ÙwÚ

I went OFF with this one, (Shigaraki is a noble & Kurogiri his servant)

_______

Shigaraki watched himself in the large full length mirror, slowly turning from side to side, his long white sleeping gown billowing gently around him.

He bent slightly, taking the edge of the nightgown between his thumb and index finger, and lifting it to show what he was wearing underneath.

A set of lingerie that he bought on a whim.

Royal Blue with gold accents that stood out boldly against his ghostly complexion.

He dropped the fabric down with a small smile and climbed into his large bed.

Shigaraki propped himself up on his mass of pillows, waiting for when his butler would arrive to make sure he was settled.

Soon after, the door to his room creaked open and a tall, stoic man stepped inside.

A cat like grin stretched the young man's face.

"Kurogiri."

In response, Kurogiri bowed his head in acknowledgement.

"Do you need anything before I retire, young master?" Kurogiri asked, in his usual even tone.

Shigaraki made a face, as though he was thinking it over.

"Yes, actually. Come here." Shigaraki said, waving his hand in a come hither motion.

Kurogiri came over, in his stiff yet graceful way. And stood next to his young masters bed, waiting for the young man's request.

Shigaraki pat the soft bed, indicating that he wanted the older man to sit with him.

Kurogiri did so, a flash of confusion fluttered through his green eyes, but it was gone as fast as Shigaraki saw it.

Deciding to ignore it, and get to what he wanted, Shigaraki grabbed Kurogiri's tie and pulled him forward.

Their lips met harshly, Shigaraki immediately trying to deepen it. But Kurogiri's lips stayed unresponsive.

Pulling away in a huff, Shigaraki pouted his chaped lips, gazing at Kurogiri's in a wanting way.

Shigaraki ran his thumb over the older man's pale bottom lip, reveling in the softness and smoothness of it compare to his own.

"Kiss me back, Kurogiri." The young man demanded, pulling at Kurogiri's tie once more.

Kurogiri looked as if he were about to protest, his mouth opening, but the words dying on his tongue as Shigaraki gave him a warning look.

He only nodded and let himself be pulled into another kiss, this time being much more responsive. Exploring his young masters mouth in return, and placing a large palm on Shigaraki's bony hip. Making the young man moan at the warm touch.

Shigaraki pulled away panting, his eyes shining at the kiss-bitten swell of the older man's lips.

"Undress me." The ghostly boy whispered.

Kurogiri blinked back to reality, his brows furrowed at the request.

"Master Tomura, I don't think-" Kurogiri was cut off at Shigaraki's irritated sigh.

The young man shucked off the gown himself, tossing it to the ground.

Kurogiri widened his eyes, month going dry.

The bra was obviously to big for his young master, bulging from lack of filling, and the panties was slightly to big around the hips, but the color was striking beautiful against his skin.

The stockings were the only things that fit well, snugly encasing the young man's long, skinny legs like a gift.

Shigaraki pulled Kurogiri over his body, letting the older man hover over him.

He grabbed Kurogiri's wrists, and insisted upon being touched. Kurogiri gave a shaky sigh as he trailed his hands over his young masters body. Trailing fingers over ghostly skin, the bumps of his ribs, and the boney jut of his hips.

He pressed a kiss to the ghostly man's jaw, and pushed his hand under the loose bra, trailing warm fingers over Shigaraki's soft chest and nipples.

Kurogiri's ministrations were having an obvious effect on Shigaraki, his pale skin flushed from his face down to his chest. And the delicate lace of the panties straining and wet against Shigaraki's arousal.

Shigaraki shimmied the panties off, sighing in relief when he freed his cock.

He wrapped a long leg around Kurogiri's hip, pulling the older man closer to his person.

Reaching under the pillows underneath himself, Shigaraki grasped a glass vial in his slender fingers and tossed the oil over to Kurogiri.

"Prepare me." He breathlessly demanded.

Kurogiri hesitated at his masters words once more, breaking Shigaraki's already thin patience.

“Did I stutter? Do as you’re told!” Shigaraki hissed, spreading his stocking clad legs wide for Kurogiri.

Kurogiri took a deep breath and nodded, popping the cork from the glass, and pouring the slick liquid over his long fingers.

He hooked his hand under Shigaraki's knee, lifting the slender leg over his broad shoulder. Spreading the younger man even wider.

Bringing his hand down, Kurogiri prodded at the tight furl of muscle, pushing one of his fingers to the knuckle.

The sudden intrusion had Shigaraki arching his back and gasping, he rocked his hips down, trying to make the older man add more and go faster.

"Nng, more, Kurogiri. Faster!" Shigaraki breathed.

Kurogiri did so, pushing in two more fingers. Curling the three digits and rubbing at his young masters soft, warm insides.

Shigaraki whined, hooking his free leg around the older man's hip and rocking his ass down, chasing the full feeling of Kurogiri's fingers.

After a few moments, Shigaraki decided that he wanted more. He reached down and roughly pulled Kurogiri's fingers out of himself.

He took his ass in the palms of his hands and spread himself wide open, putting his slick, pink hole on full view for Kurogiri.

"Fuck me. Now, Kurogiri." Shigaraki brattily demanded.

Not having the resolve to argue anymore, Kurogiri undid his belt buckle and pulled his pants down enough to free his throbbing, neglected cock.

Shigaraki's mouth watered when he caught sight of the thick length, impatiently waiting for it to fill up his belly with its girth.

Kurogiri pushed forward, ignoring any attempts that Shigaraki's body made to try and keep him out.

The sweet little squeaks and gasps that rolled from his young masters lips were so different from the venom that usually poured forth.

When he was fully buried to the root, he was hunched over Shigaraki, the younger man clutching his butlers broad shoulders for dear life. His pretty red eyes shimmering with unshed tears, clinging to his long lashes.

He was spread so wide and full, Shigaraki was certain that Kurogiri had ruined his poor little ass.

Despite that, he still rocked forward, ordering Kurogiri to start moving.

Readily obliging, Kurogiri thrust forward, setting a punishing rhythm that had the younger man shaking and choking on his moans and drool.

He made sure no spot in his young masters body went untouched by his cock, going as deep as he could and grinding against Shigaraki's insides.

That had the ghostly man seizing up, and come spurting from his untouched cock. Kurogiri couldn't help but stare as the pretty pink cocklet twitched, soaked with cum and pre.

Shigaraki start openly sobbing, Kurogiri's thrusts causing too much over stimulation. But Kurogiri wasn't done yet, he flipped Shigaraki over so his face was buried in the soft pillows, and his ass arched up in the air, easier for Kurogiri to pound into.

He whined and cried, bucking his hips to either get more pleasure or away from it, he really don't know what he wanted.

He don't have to endure for long, Kurogiri gave a few more deep thrusts, then buried himself - grinding the head of his cock against the young man's prostate - and emptied his load into Shigaraki's tummy.

The pale man froze up again, the feeling of the wet warmth filling him causing his little cock to twitch in an intense dry orgasm.

He went limp and passed out from the exertion.

Kurogiri panted above him, he pulled out gently and watched in stoic fascination as Shigaraki's fucked-red hole gaped and dribbled cum down his milky thighs.

He stood and fetched a warm cloth to clean Shigaraki up, he then took the lingerie off and folded it for cleaning later. He then dressed Shigaraki back in his sleeping gown, and tucked him into bed.

Kurogiri looked back at his young masters sleeping form before he took his leave.

He sighed to himself and shook his head.

What a mess he's landed himself into.

[wheremytwinwatches]

[Where My Twin Watches]: Full Metal Alchemist Brotherhood Episode 46

Last time: The Armstrong Siblings “fought”, Envy pulled a Loki, and Greedling got a new crew. Onwards!

Timeskip apparently, Narrator’s saying that our guys planned as the year changed and it’s spring now. “Ready or not, the Promised Day would soon arrive.” So the Day is in spring? Episode 46 - “Looming Shadows” Gee, I wonder which shadow-based Goth is going to feature in this episode? Hey Sideburns! What brings you down to the land of sun, sheep and cheerful villagers? Wait, Resembool? That’s the hometown of the Blonde Trio! Oh I get it, take a break to fill up on water for the train, while you’re there pass a note to Granny Rockbell, she’s probably wondering why Winry hasn’t called lately. Or forget the note, just smuggle Winry home! Been a while, hasn’t it? You went to Rush Valley to study automail and wound up with an apprenticeship, then went to Central to patch Ed up, went back to Rush Valley because of demanding customers, went to Fort Briggs to patch Ed up again, and after dealing with Ishvalans and Goths you’re finally home. While the disguised Briggs troops look around the workshop, Winry heads upstairs for a long-awaited outfit change HEY cameraman stop creeping on Winry can’t you see she’s changing her shi Um Yeah Ed, I’m having the same reaction. Minus the sandwich, but yeah. Same face on my end. So Winry understandably screams at the Surprise Boyfriend in her bedroom her guards run upstairs guns ready surprised to see the Protagonist chilling then Gorilla and Boar are there pointing their guns at the guards then the Rockbell Dog comes running up to bite Gorilla (not the cat Chimera? Missed opportunity) on the bum who gets pulled off by an irritated Greedling then Winry recognizes “Ling” then the troops recognize Kimblee’s former men who recognize guys from Briggs then accusations about everyone following each other start flying and everyone’s yelling at each other [Winry]: “Ok Ed, you want to tell me what’s going on here?” [Ed]: “Looks like a cautionary tale about guns.” [Winry]: “Don’t be a smartass, tell me why you’re in my room!” [Blushing!Ed]: “I just wanted someplace private to eat my sandwich!” By this point Winry is just Done and kicks the guards/the chimeras/Greedling out, Ed and Dog cowering at the sight of the furious mechanic with a wrench. Awww but now she’s admitting she was worried about Ed and he says he was worried about her and Al- hey wait a minute. Where’s Little Brother? At the trainstation with Sideburns? Hurry Ed, you can reunite with your brother and Absentee Anime Father! Wait no need to stop and say goodbye and give Winry back her earrings and kiss her already you fool. Or not? Oh yeah, Ed’s kind of a fugitive, while it’s Sideburns and Al at the train if any of Bradley’s forces are around and see him then they’re all in trouble. So what, he just has to wait and let his brother be separated from him again? That sucks. Granny Rockbell! Good to see you again. After all the other interlopers recover introductions go around, and Winry tries to talk to Ling but nope! It’s Greedling now. The “boss” gives the backstory over supper, explains that they’re crashing at the Rockbell’s place because Ed’s automail is banged up thank you I was wondering if they were going to address Ed moving with the old limbs after a growth spurt. And don’t think I missed your game Granny, you passed on Ed’s checkup so the two kids could chat on their own. Ed’s glad to get the good news about Liore rebuilding, and learns that Al’s going with Sideburns east to help with the combined North/East forces. And Beard’s heading to Central? Damnit so Ed has to choose between helping his brother or his pops. Winry says it’s almost the Promised Day ok I’m sorry but when is the Promised Day? Is that like an Amestris holiday or something? Spring Solstice? Anniversary of Amestris’ founding? Selim’s birthday? When is it?! Whenever it is, Ed notes that they might be able to use it to get their bodies back, but there’s the likely risk of catastrophe. So he wants Winry to take her Granny and the dog out of the country-

Winry does not approve of this plan. Honey, I get that you have faith in the Protagonist and hate the idea that people will get hurt if he fails, but you have to admit that he’s up against long odds. We can hope that he’ll succeed, but even Armstrong the Great ordered her family out of Amestris on the chance of failure. And HA! He is taller than her now! Growth Spurt confirmed!

(yes Winry’s leaning forward in that shot but damnit I’m taking this) ...dude! Not cool! Don’t just gripe that she just doesn’t understaaaaaand and storm out! Don’t let that be the note you part on! Look, even Greedling’s mocking you. And NOPE you stay the hell away from my ship you Goth. [Ed]: “That kind of wanting is dangerous; That’s not how reality works. Take a look, this is what I got for wanting something unrealistic.” What, a badass robot arm? I mean, I’ve made my stance on being a cyborg clear, I’m not really sympathizing with you here buddy. Greedling disagrees as well. [Greedling]: “You wanna bring back someone that you’ve lost. You might want money. Maybe you want women, or you might wanna ‘protect the world’. These are all common things people want. Things that their hearts desire. Greed may not be ‘good’, but it’s not so ‘bad’ either.” Ed starts walking away. [Greedling]: “You humans think greed is just for money and power! But everyone wants something that they don’t have.” Ed comes to a stop on the stairs. Then he keeps on walking. You’re leaving already? Where are you heading, Al or Beard? Also hot damn Ed’s rocking the suit look, I’m so proud of my no-longer-little boy. Thankfully he’s trying to leave on a good note with Winry, goes so far as to say he’ll stop them like she told him to promise earlier. ...wait, did you just basically tell your LI to get in the kitchen and cook for your victory? Back in Liore wait are the Chimeras and Yoki still there? Why didn’t they head to Central with Beard? See even Boar’s complaining that they need to prepare for the Promised Day oh so they’re waiting on Scar and Marcoh to come back never mind here they are. What were you guys up to, anyway? Ok then guess we’ll find out in Central. The majority of the Mine Crew is back on the road now, Toad and Boar chatting about the irony of working with a former Antagonist to save their own country. Scar retorts that he’s not trying to “save” Amestris, but change it. Yeah, with how militarized and expansionist Amestris is under the Goths I suppose it’s be essentially a new country, changed to be unable to cause another Genocide. [Voice?]: “If you truly dream of changing the world, you must first be able to change yourself!” It’s the Ishvalan Elder! With a bunch of other Ishvalans, talking about “the ebb and flow” wait a minute that sounds suspiciously like the Law of Equivalent Exchange. Jeez, when was the last time we got to update the EEC? Should I count this? Anyways, Toad and Boar are shocked to see other Ishvalans, turns out that recruiting these guys was what Scar and Marcoh were up to these past few months. And there’s General Grumman! Back in his uniform, looking over his troops. And Sideburns is there too, with the Northern forces. Everything’s all set- a “stumbling block”? Uh, that’s Fuhrer King “Wrath” Bradley up in the observation tower. I’d call that a bit more than a “stumbling block”. So what now? Later that night Al’s still in that train car bored out of his non-corporeal mind oooor slipping away. Crap, he’s getting worse. He needs his body back, soon. A crash? Al’s looking outside did water just fall on ooooooooh no. That’s not water. Gluttony! Crap, run dude! It’s not just Wrath here but Gluttony’s back in the field SHIT IT GOT WORSE. Normally light would be safe but it just cast a shadow behind Al and Leto-damn Pride is here to do that hand-grabby thing from the last intro, and Al’s losing his connection again no no no Al’s down. The hands are moving in. Al… [Pride]: “You rest up Alphonse, just take it nice and easy for a while. We’ll wake you on NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO “-on the Promised Day.” GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM HIS SIGIL ...how the hell did this episode go from “hyuk hyuk lets have Winry almost undress in front of Ed” to “hyuk hyuk lets have Al get captured by the Goths”. What the Leto. Mid-ep pictures of Winry undressing and Wrath drinking tea. Armstrong the Great’s hanging out in her mansion when Roy pays a visit. They take a walk outside as Roy admires the size of the home, “you could hide an entire battalion in it” real subtle, wannabe-Fuhrer. But Armstrong the Great says he can have it if she dies? Holy crap does Armstrong the Great think she won’t survive this? It’s one thing to order non-combatants out of the line of fire, but you’re writing your own will? Although it is sweet that you would leave it to Roy wait hold on I ship Roy/Riza you stop that right now you homewrecker! Ok fine you can take flowers to celebrate your victory although that happened months ago wait WHAT?! You’re only just now telling her that Selim is one of the Goths? What the hell took you so long, that’s kind of an important thing to know! Fine whatever, she knows now so- hah ok that was funny, glad to see it’s still a good rivalry between the two. And making her angry enough to throw the flowers (representing “ladylike charm”) in the fire along with the note, nice touch. Bradley’s overlooking the drills while Grumman gripes about feeling helpless. We seem to share the same initial thought that the artillery cannons being fired could “accidentally” blow up the observation tower, but since the guy’s a Goth that’s probably just piss him off. Uuugh, and the good guys can’t find Al anywhere, where did the Goths take him? And on the day before the Promised Day, too! A General come to talk to Bradley? Warning him about Grumman staging a coup but Bradley already knows about the plan damnit he’s questioned Al. But that’s not the plan? Ooh! So while these drills are going on Scar’s Ishvalans are preparing to attack Central, then Grumman can move his troops to “save” Central, meeting up with Roy’s forces. Damnit General, way to spoil the secret plan. Bradley watches the drills a bit longer to confirm that Ishvalans are gathering outside of Central, then orders the train to depart. Some of his flunkies are complaining about Roy being “treacherous” (say the guys planning to massacre a friggin country) when the train reaches a bridge- wait. Wait wait wait. Ooooooooooh. Grumman? You are a genius, please never be my enemy. Yup! The train comes to a stop in the middle of the bridge, ostensibly because of some sheep crossing the far side. Then the engine splits off and books it for the far side of the gorge. 3...2...1…

Hahahaha screw you Wrath! Uuunfortunately while I see a bunch of twisted metal and a broken bridge where the traincars used to be, I don’t see Wrath’s body so we have to assume he lived. Damn I would not want to be that Snitch General when Bradley climbs out of that ravine. Tactical Genius Grumman just snaps his fan closed and laughs the laugh of the victorious. And now the end credit music is starting up as hell yeah Riza’s getting her guns back out! [Riza]: “This is it, everything goes down tomorrow. It’s Do or Die now. I’m glad the two of you have got my back.” [Breda]: “Hey, anything for you Riza. Even if it does mean deserting.” [Fuery]: “Oh man… there go our careers…” [Riza]: “Heh. Once the dust’s settled, we’ll make sure the Colonel answers for us.” After-credits of the Central Officers freaking out over the assassination news. Armstrong the Great’s just chilling in her chair, mentally mocking the fools for panicking the moment their leader is gone. Maybe now’s her chance to Nope Never mind. Uncle and Sloth are right behind her. The Officers regain their composure as their ultimate leader finally steps foot outside of his Pipe Room. [Uncle]: “I’m still here with you, and I’m watching over Central.” ...wait a minute, did Ed ever give back those earrings?

[cyi-can-you-imagine]

Starved Chapter 24

Chapter 24 – The Fall

 WARNINGS: some torture, wincest for shursies, trauma, hallucinations, implied self harm, nightmares, and so on...

One more chapter to go... 

Sam opened his eyes, squinting into the dim light.  

Slowly, he began to take in his surroundings.  His brain was fuzzy and heavy, and it was very hard to keep his eyes open.  The first thing he noticed was that he couldn’t move.  He was strapped to a table, his arms tied down away from his body, out to either side of him. His legs were pulled apart and directly chained to the table he was lying on.

Not Again. No. Sam’s heart began to pound, his heartbeat increasing with fear.  

He tried to look around, to get a sense of where he was, but he couldn’t.  It didn’t matter. He didn’t need to see it. The location itself always changed, but the situation was the same.  He knew where he was.

His dad did this at least once a month. His head wasn’t strapped down, but his chest was, and the fuzziness in his head made it almost impossible to lift his head to get a good look of the place John chose this time.  He was in a dark, dimly lit room.  The walls appeared to be made of stone and the air smelled damp.  There was only one light source, which Sam took to be very small window just above his head and behind him.  He was barefoot, he noticed, too.  He still wore his jeans and t-shirt, layered with a blue plaid flannel.  

And he was in pain.  Immense pain. Everything hurt.

The straps that held him were extraordinarily tight.  His hands and arms would not budge.  There was no leverage to work with.  He was securely fastened to the table.  His dad knew how to keep him still.

His head was throbbing and his shoulder was on fire.  He looked over as far as he could, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw his own blood staining his flannel.  Sam started to panic.  He tried to call out for his brother, but he only managed a very weak whisper.

“Dean…” Two tears fell down his cheeks, leaving tracks in the layer of dirt that had settled there.

Was being rescued a dream? Was John dead and gone just a wish?

He couldn’t quite make sense of what was happening, as his mind couldn’t hang on to a thought for more than a few seconds.  He was confused, cold, and scared.  Shapes and sounds were coming in and out of focus, and he began to have terrifying thoughts about Dean.  Where was his brother?  Was he safe? He desperately tried to recall how he got here, but he only saw flashes. He had a vague recollection of being grabbed and Dean reaching out to him.  But he couldn’t remember anything else.

And then he heard the sound of a heavy door being opened.  

“Well, well.  Look what we have here.”  John’s face appeared above him. He licked his lips.

“Ready, Sammy? God I love this, you know?” His hand ran down his mouth. “But this time, it’s even better. I got you a present, Sam….

Sam turned his head in the direction John was pointing. What he saw caused him even more pain than any torture he had everreceived.

The sight that greeted him tore him down to his very soul.

In the far corner of the room, about 30 yards away, was Dean.

Dean hung unconsciously by his wrists from the ceiling above him, his bare feet not quite touching the floor. A rope was around Dean's neck, with the other end fastened to the wall next to him.  Sam tried to fight back his own pain and anger over seeing his brother like that, straining against the table, struggling against his own restraints.

**

Dean had to hold him down he was trashing so hard. He went rigid, his body raising up while his shoulders and feet still remained on the bed. He wasn’t screaming, but grunting through clenched teeth. His eyes were half closed and he was shaking. Dean though he was having a seizure.

“Baby…baby, shhhh…come on Sammy, I got you. Wake up. Wake up baby, please. I’m here. You’re safe, I promise. Please…Please!”

Sam’s body relaxed slowly. First his jaw went slack and he slumpd down, his muscles relaxing. His eyes fluttered open. He saw Dean and sobbed in relief.

“Oh thank god, Dean…dad, it was dad…he….oh he used to…Dean, he was…” Sam couldn’t get it out. He was still too connected to the nightmare, not fully back in reality.

“Let’s get you in the shower, baby. You need to relax. Warm water. Let me help you.” Sam just let Dean pick him up. His shoulder hurt, and he was feeling ghost pain in his knee and arm. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could deal with this.

***

Dean carried Sam into the shower. Still weak, Sam let him. He was still shaking from the nightmare.

The water beat down over Sam, running into his eyes. He just stood there, letting it. The warmth made him feel better instantly. Sam’s legs were still weak from sleep and general fatigue, so Dean had to hold him, but Sam put his arms around Dean to help as much as he could. Dean slowly ran his hands up and down Sam’s body. His hands felt so good. He was soft and gentle.  Sam started to relax again.

Dean made sure Sam was comfortable the whole time.

“You ok baby?” he said more than once. Sam mostly just nodded and grunted. Safe in his arms. They stood under the flow of the shower, warm and holding each other closely, their hands running everywhere.

Dean licked and sucked on Sam’s ear, reaching around and grabbing his already hardening cock.  He whispered low and soft, lips brushing against his skin, making him shiver, “It’s ok you know. You can, if you wanna.”

Sam was confused at first, lost in his touch, but then he realized what he meant. A mix of emotions and sensations, and the warm water and all that. He wanted to. But there was the lingering feeling that he was going to just end up hurt somehow.  

“S’ok,” Dean said again, whispering in Sam’s ear. “Promise.”

Dean leaned forward, his lips close. “I’ll only touch you if you want me to, Sam, ok?” When Sam nodded, his eyes still closed, Dean turned him, pressing Sam’s back against the cold tiles. He flinched at the change in temperature.

Suddenly Sam was embarrassed. Scared? He turned quickly, eyes closed, pressing his hand to the chest behind him. John’s hands. Were those John’s hands? His eyes flew open as his stomach swooped down in fear.

Not John. Sam let out a shaky breath.

“Scared,” he said breathlessly and Dean immediately relaxed his grip. He pressed his warm body against Sam’s, calming his fears. His hands went to Sam’s hips and rested there.

“Plenty of time, baby,” he whispered. “Let’s get you back to bed.” He soaped up and rinsed Sam off. He smiled and kissed him lightly on the forehead, turning off the water. He dried him gently and dressed Sam in clean sweatpants and carried him to bed. “We have forever, you and me. I’ll wait for you. I’ll help you. I promise, Sammy.”

Sam, his shaking subsided now, warm and relaxed, looked into the eyes of his brother. Strong, brave, passionate.  His mind wandered as he stared, his lips parting slightly. Dean leaned in and hesitated slightly. But when Sam pulled him close, he pressed down and kissed them.

Sam instinctively laid back and Dean moved slowly down Sam’s body, kitten licking his torso as he moved down.

“Dean,” Sam gasped quietly.

Dean looked thoughtful for a moment.  He sat up and trailed his hand down Sam’s chest slowly, giving his little brother goosebumps.

Sam sucked in a breath when Dean’s hand pressed between his legs and started slowly and carefully stroking him through his sweatpants. He chewed his lip.  “Mmmh… yeah, Dean….oh…”

Dean kneaded Sam slowly, squeezing his brother’s balls between his fingers.  Sam was stiffening quickly, growing in Dean’s hand.

“Feels good, Sammy?”

Sam’s breath caught as Dean started dragging his sweats down.  Dean dragged them all the way off of Sam’s legs, tossing them to the floor.  He looked over his brother’s body with obvious desire, lips parted, panting slightly.

“It’s fucked up how hot you look like this,” he murmured.

Sam swallowed.

Dean spread his hand over Sam’s cock, wrapping his fingers around it.  He squeezed, making Sam fall back against the pillows and groan.  He dragged his hand slow and tight up Sam’s shaft, pulling a gasp from his brother.   “Oh f-fuck,” Sam panted.  

“Spread your legs, Sam.” Dean’s voice was a low moan in his brother’s ear, his breath hot and heavy.  

Dean’s other hand slipped between Sam’s legs, rubbing against his hole.  Sam panted loudly, letting his body go totally limp against the mattress, his knees falling open to the sides.

“Fuuuck…”  Sam shuddered as Dean’s finger teased in a slow circle.

Sam gasped, melting into a shiver as Dean brought his mouth down and swallowed Sam’s cock in one mouthful. He made up and down, slow languid movements as Sam just lay on the bed, eyes closed, in the throes of ecstasy.

Dean stopped only long enough to get the lube out of the drawer next to the bed. Sam cried out at the loss of the warmth of Dean’s mouth.

Dean pressed a lubed finger just inside Sam’s hole, curling his finger up.  He slipped his brother’s rock hard cock back in his mouth, groaning at the feel and taste of his little brother. Dean thrust and moved his finger just right, sending out pulses of pleasure, his other hand kneading Sam’s balls, his mouth never leaving Sam’s dick. When a second finger pushed in, pressing and rubbing along with the first, Sam’s eyes rolled back.  

“Oh f-fuck… ”  Dean kept sucking, desperate to make his brother fall apart, his fingers thrusting hard as if he were slamming into Sammy himself.

Sam let out a soft cry “More Dean. More. Please. I’m g-gonna – ”

“You want more? There you go… ” Dean moved his fingers out and gently slipped in a third, pushing them in deep, stretching his brother out.  Sam moaned, spreading his legs more, letting his brother’s fingers fuck as far into him as he could stand.

“Yeah. Do it baby. Let go,” Dean said, sliding his mouth up and down Sam’s cock, swallowing everything Sam gave him as he bucked hard on the bed. “Oh, Fuck, Dean!!”  Sam let out a long moan as his cock jumped in Dean’s hand, spurting down Dean’s open and welcoming throat.  Dean’s fingers continued to work slowly inside him, drawing it out, working him until Sam was spent and panting.  Dean very slowly pulled his fingers out, finally letting Sam’s cock slip out of his mouth as he grew soft.

“Yeah baby. Yeah.” Dean said, smiling. He cleaned Sam up with a washcloth that was on the nightstand, and cured up close, kissing his cheek. “God I fucking love you, Sammy.”

But Sam was silent. He just held his brother and cried.

“Sam?” Dean was worried. “Did…did I hurt you?”

“No. I just…I just I missed this. Missed you. You’re gentle. You care…you love me. He…he just…”

“Don’t Sam. Don’t think about him. He’s not going to touch you anymore. Just me, ok? Just me.”

Sam nodded. He tied to push out all thought of John. Only Dean. Dean, was his everything. Dean, who took care of him.

Dean, who held me close when he dried off my hair.

Dean, who tells stupid jokes. He makes me laugh. He’s here and I’m safe. I’m getting better. I’ll keep getting better. I’ll do anything for Dean. Dad’s gone. He’s gone.

Now warm and sated and wrapped up in the arms of his brother, Sam fell asleep, thoughts drifting as Dean held him close, whispering promises of love and protection in his ear.

** One week later…**

They had just finished eating dinner when Sam squeezed his eyes shut and slammed his hand down, sending his plate flying. Most of his food, still uneaten, landed on the floor.

“Sam?” I know it’s hard, ok? But like…I cooked for you…I thought you liked fish!”

“I’m not hungry, Dean.”

“But Sam, really. If you could just –“

“One day. Can I just have one day?” Sam said to no one, eyes still closed.

“Sam? One day to what, babe?”

Sam stood up, his eyes burning with anger.

Bobby stood with him, ready to step in if needed.

“I just need a fucking day, ok? One fucking day without him!” Sam shoved the chair out of the way as he stormed out of the kitchen, pushing glasses off the counter, where they fell on the floor and shattered. He walked over the glass in his bare feet, ignoring the sting of the cuts.

Bobby tried to pull him back. “Be careful Sam!” he screamed.

Sam shot him a very dirty look, and kept walking through the glass, clearly cutting his feet.

Dean tried a different approach. “Hey Sammy – come on, baby.” He reached his arm out and tried to pull him back in the room.

But Sam ignored both of them. He pulled his arm away. He kicked and hit things as he walked down the hallway towards his room.

“Dammit. I hate it when he gets like this,” said Dean. He took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. Preparing himself for the next step, Dean knew this was going to be a long night.

“He’s not always like this, Dean. He just…”

“I know Bobby, but - I thought he’d let me help him…but he doesn’t…not always, anyway. He keeps getting pissed off all the time so easily! And his nightmares…”

“You know it’s gonna happen for a while. He’s been through some serious trauma, Dean.”

“He just gets this way sometimes, I know.” Dean went to the cupboard and pulled out a broom and dustpan.

“He’ll come around Dean. It’ll just take time. Be patient, ok? He still needs you, so don’t you dare give up on him.

“Never, Bobby.”

Bobby smiled. “I thought so.” He patted Dean on the cheek and stepped out of the way. “And be careful with all the glass, ok?”

Dean swept up the rest of the glass and dumped it outside.

***

One month after John finally let go of Sam, Dean decided to take Sam out of the house for a while. Take him to dinner, something.

Sam and Dean were cuddling in bed that morning when Dean got up to make breakfast. Sam kissed him and said he’d be right there.

Dean got dressed and turned to smile at his brother before leaving the room. Sam’s brilliant smile flashed back.

“Sammy! Come on!” Dean hollered to his brother from the kitchen.  But there was no response.  Dean waited a few more minutes and Sam still hadn’t responded, hadn’t made a sound. Dean paused and listened closely before he called again. But Bobby’s house was quiet.

“Sam, get your ass down here, I’ve cooked breakfast. You said you’d be right down! Pancakes are getting cold!!”  Still, there was nothing but silence. Dean sighed heavily and rolled his eyes.  He headed down the hall to their bedroom.  He gave a sharp knock, making sure Sam knew of his impatience. Sam did not respond.

“Dude, seriously, come on –“ Dean opened the door to his brother’s room.  He did not expect to find the bedroom empty.  Dean frowned.  Where the hell was his brother?

He searched all the main rooms, and the bathroom, but couldn’t find his brother. He ran out into the junkyard, and ran through the maze of car parts.  His heart beat a little faster, but he wasn’t worried just yet.

That is, until he pulled opened the auto shop door and found Sam crouched in the corner, visibly shaking.

 “Sam?”  Dean started to run toward his younger brother.

Sam held up his hand and yelled for Dean to stop.  In his other hand, he held a large knife.  Dean’s eyes grew wide and he froze in his tracks.

“Sam?” Dean asked cautiously.  “What are you doing with the knife?”

Sam shook his head. He was sweating and he looked terrified.

 “I can’t stop it Dean.  His eyes turned away from Dean and he stared at the wall, knife still held firmly in his grasp.

“What can’t you stop, Sam?” He tried to slowly make his way over to his brother. Now he was worried.

“Get him out of my head!” Sam screamed, crumpling to the floor.

“Sam?”

“He won’t shut up, Dean!”

Dean wasn’t sure what to do.

“You know what else?” Sam was practically sobbing now.  “It’s all my fault! He died and possessed me because I killed him.  He died because of me!”

“Sam, hell, no! I killed Dad, not you…you just…Sam, that’s not your fault!”  Dean tried to reach out to his brother, but Sam was startled by the quick movement and scooted further back under the table, moving the knife to his neck.

“Sammy!  What the hell are you doing, put that down!”  Dean choked back a sob.

“And whose fault is it that Dad took me away from you?  Who started all of that!  That was me!” Sam’s voice caught in his throat and his sobbing intensified. His eyes closed, but his hand remained tightly around the knife that was pressed against his skin.

Dean shook his head, tears falling from his eyes, too.

“Sammy stop!”

Dean couldn’t believe what he was hearing.  Or seeing. He had to do something.

That’s when Bobby and Rufus ran in. They had heard the screaming from the front of the house and came as fast as they could.

Everyone froze. “Sam, come on, drop it, ok? Let us help you.” Bobby’s voice was calm.

“He’s never going to let me go,” Sam said with a sob.

Sam saw the three men slowly walk towards him and his vision twitched. He felt a sharp pain, as if he were shocked by electricity. His body went rigid as the three men who were chasing him cornered him. He was trapped.

He couldn’t escape them.  They were surrounding him, getting closer.  They were grabbing him, pinning him down, pushing hard on his chest.  Sam couldn’t move or fight back, his body wasn’t responding to his own commands. He was desperate, wanting to scream, wanting to push them away, but they just kept taunting, moving around him, their voices angry, yelling, hurtful.

Sam felt a presence near his head and he looked up. John was kneeling next to him.

“You know Sam, I can make this all go away.  Just say yes, and I will take you back with me, where it can be just the two of us.  You know I know how to take care of you.”  John’s face was suddenly directly in front of his.  He leaned in impossibly close, his nose almost touching Sam’s.  Sam swallowed in fear, unable to respond.  He squeezed his eyes shut, the only thing he could do.  He couldn’t even turn his head away.  John reached up and caressed Sam’s cheek.  Sam shivered.  He wanted to reach up and grab him by the neck, throw him against the wall.  He wanted to scream at him, “Never!  I will never say yes to you!” 

But John remained where he was, smiling, raking his sharp fingernails down Sam’s neck and chest.  Sam sobbed. Everything he had ever been afraid of, everything he was ever ashamed of, his choices, his actions, they were all there.  He was unable to speak, unable to move, but he could pray.  And he prayed.  He prayed for Dean to rescue him,  But the agony continued, no reprieve was coming. 

Under the table, and feeling like he was trapped with no way out, Sam knew he had to make a decision.

“I’m sorry, Dean!” Sam’s voice was broken, withdrawn, terrified.  His scream pierces the hearts of everyone in the room.

Dean was inches away.

The knife in Sam’s hand makes a deep slicing motion before it clatters to the floor.

Starved taglist:

@charliebradbury1104, @sammys-dimpless, @adsp-wincestj2, @vania-montoya, @netaelex,  @bobbie3939 @mtngirlforever  @dontknowmyname215  @j2sunflowerbaby @alex2029

[rougepetale]

Happy Birthday (Jinpachi) (NSFW)

Fandom: Serendipity next door (Voltage/Otome Love 365)

Pairing: Jinpachi x reader

Warning: Smut

Note: Happy Belated birthday @bunnie2boo you can now finally, legally read my smut XD Enjoy~

You sat on the couch surfing the web, your headphones were in as you listened to music. Your boyfriend Jinpachi was due to be home soon, he told you that he would be home next week. You hummed to the tune that you were listening to, making you not notice the front door open and close.

Your world went back.

You struggled, fear pumping through your veins and your arms immediately came up to fight off your attacker. But whoever had your eyes covered also overpowered you. You tried to scream but another hand clamped over your mouth.

“Hey Hey! Toots! Stop struggling!” Came the gruff voice of your boyfriend.

Instantly you stilled, not expecting to hear that voice until another few days.

“Jin?” you squeaked out. You could feel your tears already welling up, so overwhelmed by the fact that he was here. He was gone for so long.

For six months you were alone.

For six months you could only see him through a computer monitor.

For six months you had to take your frustrations into your own hands.

 Eventually his large, warm hands moved from your vision. You turned to look at Jinpachi, his skin was darker now. Being in the hot sun for a few hours, he had a tan now. “Jin, you look different.”

Your eyes scanned his features, he had a few more laugh lines, and his beard was a little bit fuller. You stood and grasped his face into your own hands. He was real. He wasn’t a dream, he was truly flesh and blood before you. “You got darker” He leaned into your touch, obviously missing the warmth of your skin.

Jinpachi took your hands from his face and kissed the back of your hand, “I’ve missed you my love.”

You could feel your skin growing hot under his gaze. “Oh Jin!” you sighed, you stepped forward and into his embrace. You felt the steady thumping of his heart. New tears sprung forward. Unable to hide your exuding joy.

He hugged you impossibly tight, he rested his head on your hair, you decided to let your hair go natural, and he often expressed how amazed he was with your hair. How beautiful it was when you let it do its thing.

He took a lung full of your unique scent. He could be blindfolded and he could pick your scent out of a crowd and damn did he miss it.

“____, I have been dreaming of this day for six months” he admitted. “Africa was beautiful. The sunsets were beautiful, the people were beautiful and everything about it was absolutely beautiful…. But nothing can beat coming home to you…. Every face reminded me of you, and how much I missed you”

His words made your heart clench in such strong emotions you feared you’d cry again. Jinpachi eventually let you go and held you at arm’s length. “Let’s go out to lunch, catch up on six months”

That is how you both enjoyed your afternoon. Talking and gazing at each other, as if one of you would vanish into thin air.

“I brought you back a gift ____” Jinpachi said, breaking the ice at one point. “I left it back at the apartment though”

You smiled, “You know I am not a kid.”

“Fine, I’ll gift it to some other person” Jin replied, knowing that you would fall for the bait.

“NO!”

He smirked, he knew you’d fall for it. “I was just kidding, don’t worry Toots, your gift is much more personal”

You felt your heart flutter and your body clench. Oh you were looking forward to your present.

“Besides, I wouldn’t want to give this gift to anybody else” he placed his hand over yours, as he absentmindedly looked at the contrast of both of your skin. He had gotten darker since going to Africa, but he paled in comparison to yours. He loved the contrast. He loved everything about you.

He pulled you to your feet and you both walked back to your apartment. He missed the familiar setting. He missed feeling your hand in his. He would glance back at you from time to time, almost as if he couldn’t believe that you two were together.

Once inside your apartment he couldn’t wait. As soon as the door was shut and locked he had you pinned to the door. He gripped your face in his hands and devoured your lips. He littered your face with kisses, each one more passionate than the next. “J-Jin” you would gasp out. His beard tickled your face, and he knew it too. Letting his scrape against your neck as he kissed your chin.

“___” he rumbled out. He couldn’t believe he was getting turned on just by kissing you. He had truly missed you. His left hand took your own hand and threaded his fingers with yours. He took your bottom lips and nibbled gently, begging for permission.

Your lips parted and he took control of the kiss once again. Exploring your mouth. He mapped every part that he had kissed six months ago. He drug a moan out from of your body, not that it was all that hard.  His free hand began to unbutton your jeans and drag down the zipper. “Do you know how long I have missed this? How much I have wanted you for six months?”

You smirked, “I have a vague idea. We need to work on your sex talk old man” you laugh when he made a huff of irritation.

“You just caught me on a bad day. And you weren’t wearing anything sexy. Sorry, I don’t get turned on when you’re taking off old pajamas”

“They were your old pajamas!”

“Even worse!” he groaned. He managed to get your pants about half way down when you helped him the rest of the way.

“Impatient are we?” you giggled. He rested his weight against you, and you could feel how impatient he was. Jinpachi released your hand as you went to work on releasing him from his own clothing. You knelt before him as you achingly pulled his pants down. His erection strained forward, he obviously was ready.

“Is this my birthday present?” you asked teasingly.

Jin smirked, “You know it is toots” his hand took a hold of your hair, he loved how bouncy and full it was. He had imagined this foe six weeks, grabbing you and having you choke on his length. Once the idea had wormed its way into his brain he was reluctant to let it go. He was so damn excited when you pulled his boxers down.

Maybe a little too excited.

He eagerly guided you to his length. He rubbed the leaking tip of his cock on your lips, spreading his pre cum. “Open your mouth Toots”

You of course obeyed. His length entered your mouth smoothly. And he nearly came undone there. No amount of video chats could make up for the reality. Shit, you were perfect for him. Seeing your lips wrapped around his cock… it was enthralling.

Your head bobbed on his length as your eyes watched him. His eyes were hooded as he struggled not to come undone in seconds. Your hands gripped his legs as you continued your ministration. “___ gods, you are too damn good” he hissed.

You hummed your appreciation. He nearly buckled under your little stunt. “Fuck ____” he growled, he couldn’t hold back much longer and bucked his hips into your mouth. Your head hit the door and you glared at him.

“Sorry toots, sorry” he apologized. He pulled you up from your kneeling position and drug you to the bed. He didn’t both removing your panties, not like they were much of an obstacle, he’d just have to push them to the side.

He rubbed your pantie clad mound. He knew you’d be wet already, you’d always bet wet for him. He gently parted your legs as he kissed his way up from your inner thigh to your junction. He inhaled, and smirked. You smelled amazing.

He palmed his cock and pumped a few times, he couldn’t wait to be buried inside you. “____ I am going to fuck you so hard.” He promised. He pushed the soaked garment to the side and entered quickly, giving you very little time to adjust to him.

“JIN!” you cried out. It had been too long since you both were like it. Your body shook and hummed as he thrust into you at bruising pace. “JIN! Fuck me!” you whined.

“That” he grunted, “is my” he groaned hard as he hit hard inside you, “goal” he could feel how you clenched around his cock. “You are so damn tight” he kissed you and nuzzled his face into your neck. Your hands grabbed a fistful of his shirt. Wishing he had removed it, you missed seeing his whole body. For being a little older than you. He was surprisingly toned. He smirked. “Later toots”

He grabbed your right leg and hefted it over his hip, giving him a new angle to thrust into you. Heightening your pleasure His right hand rubbed your clit. You loved how you responded to him. “J-Jin!” you whined. “Jin you are perfect!” You groaned. Your hands snaked under his shirt to caress his abs. loving how they clenched under your touch.

“Sweetheart I can’t last much longer if you touch me like that” he warned. You smirked, glad that he wasn’t as calm and collected as he could be. He moved to have your other leg wrap around his waist. Having you depend on him for your completion. He rocked into you, hitting the wall and having you moan. He had hit your g-spot, having you nearly seeing stars. “Again Jin! Shit!”

He aimed to please. He aimed to hit your g-spot until you came undone. He managed to hit the special bundle of nerves twice before you came unraveled. Your body clenched against him. Milking him he moaned your name out in chants while you whined his name out. He released inside you. He pumped his seed inside you. Hot and in spurts. You felt so completely full and satisfied as your body throbbed in ecstasy.

Jin groaned as he collapsed upon you, you could feel his heart pounding against your skin. He rolled to the side and pulled you beside him. “I love you, ___ I am happy I could make it back for your birthday” he nuzzled into your neck.

An hour later he went for round two and three. He couldn’t help but want to fill you again and again. He was still on assignment and had to return next week for another two months. He wanted to make sure your body remembered who it belonged to. He made sure to take pictures of you while you slept. He couldn’t wait to get these developed.

[obliviouskind]

Atonement

---

Just past hour seventeen, Father Orlov requested for his presence at church. A demand that wasn’t uncommon, nor unexpected – however, to ask for his attendance during the weekend was sat in the realm as out of the ordinary. --Yet it is a request Cyrus wouldn’t ignore or question. Whatever Father Orlov wished of him, it most certainly was worth his time. More than to linger within his family home – coped up in his bedroom to rehearse speeches he already knew word for word, or to repeat practices of languages he felt confident enough to write without a hitch.

(Speaking them was another matter entirely.)

Regardless, the dress shoes he adorned (a fashion choice influenced by his mother’s demand – for an Akagi must present himself in the best way possible, even when guests aren’t present to see) carried a modest heel that clicked rhythmically against the stone tiling of which spanned the church halls. A heel that gave him height, which was something he rather enjoyed – because at age fourteen he had yet to hit his growth spurt that would place him above the average.

(In this moment, he stood at a meek 1,60cm. The heels of his shoes, however, offered him an additional two centimeters.)

Down halls he knew as though it was his own home, Cyrus carried himself with shoulders pulled back and steps that betrayed the tingling within his stomach as a restless knot. For he was anxious to know what Father Orlov may desire of him – his reasoning’s to request for his presence. It must be a task that had just come forward now, or else he would’ve been given it during mass just the previous day.

Or, perhaps he just wanted him around – a prospect Cyrus wasn’t opposed to.

---

On Saturdays, the church laid mostly bare save for those that carried the title of divinity. And though Orlov was a minor such figure within his ranks – a youth’s pastor that took care of the children and teens in a separate building just west of the church – he still held status like all the others. --In Cyrus’s eyes, even more so. Perhaps because he wanted to follow in the older man’s footsteps, to one day become the assigned Pastor to lead the youths back into the faith that seemed to lack presence for each day that passed. Too many youths littered the streets of Hearthome these days – lost in what their purpose in life may be, leading to less than appropriate activities taking place.

… Perhaps because Orlov saw him as an equal, if not more.

It tickled an ego that still sat in its infancy – a smoldering flame in need of careful attention, so that it could be given the chance to manifest into something greater.

(But that would come in due time, certainly.)

Movement of a different set of footsteps reached his ears, stilling his own, and though it was a door he already passed – Cyrus turned and look back towards it. The heavy door carved out of wood, engraved with such finesse and bejeweled with intricate designs, stood ajar. The light of the evening sun spilling past the cracks like liquid gold. --Within, shadows were cast as the man inside moved before the windows lining the adjacent wall. And though Cyrus had no way of truly knowing – very well could’ve disturbed another Pastor within the church that he held no personal connection to, something within him told him that this?

This was Orlov. Father Orlov, who was pacing one of the studies not often shared by those younger – awaiting his arrival in a fashion that read as rather impatient.

Not one to disappoint, Cyrus rolled his knuckles against the door to signal his arrival – pushed at it, to better look inside. Father Orlov, dressed in the typical fashion of the pastors within Hearthome (a hand dyed cassock, to be exact – made out of wool but occasionally out of lighter such material, given the shifting seasons), barely seemed to react to his presence – until he raised a hand to motion him forward. --Deeper into the room, and Cyrus took care in fully closing the door behind him as he followed the pastors calling.

Moments passed in silence, or something imitating such calm. For in reality, the faint flutter of feathers made themselves known – the gentle scraping of a broken beak against wooden boards.

The young boy’s eyes fell on the desk placed in the middle of the room, supposedly previously housing chairs to be seated at yet they were nowhere to be found in this given moment. From where he stood, just to the right of Orlov towering frame, all that Cyrus could make out was a silhouette. --A dark mass overshadowed by the light pouring in from the stained glass windows.

“I have come to realize something very important, my dear Cyrus.” Father Orlov’s voice broke the serenity of the scene – but if you asked Cyrus, then he would say it added to the sanctity of it all. For when Orlov spoke, you ought to listen. --The older man began his pace, shifting his feet until he stood before the table displaying… whatever it may be. Hands, lacing together at the small of his back.

“… They do not speak to you, hear your prayers,” words that stung harsher than they ever held a right to. Cyrus physically flinched. Hung his head in shame for truly – that was what he felt. Yet Orlov continued; “But I now know why.”

A bated breath – held within his throat for he dare not make a sound.

“They are testing you.”

Once more, Cyrus was beckoned forward. Orlov’s right hand, outstretched for him and perhaps to anyone else, the motion would’ve meant little. --But to him, it meant everything.

Down on his knees before the pastor, he went. Taking care in pulling the leg of his pants up as to not stretch the material beyond repair – and before he was fully seated, Orlov’s palm found its way to his cheek. Cradled it between the dip of finger and thumb, smoothing over unblemished skin spared from the haunting blemishes that came along with certain puberty.

… Forever and always, in these moments of devotion – Father Orlov radiated like the sun upon the sky above him. For with golden locks and eyes that burned like amber, no other light could guide him through the process of becoming something more.

Someone more.

--Something out of this world.

Finally, after a breathless pause – words spill past his lips. Dry, hungry and with a pitch that lacked maturity. “Testing me?”

Orlov smiled in that peculiar way that caused lines to form over his cheeks – aging him beyond his given years. “Yes, Cyrus. They doubt your devotion to the name of He who created this world. Arceus must be displeased with you, my boy.”

Ice sunk into the pit of his stomach.

“… But I know something that may change His mind.” The soft pad of a thumb against his cheekbone – a brush of feathered wings, followed with the sound of an equal such description. Once more, Cyrus’s eyes divert to the shape upon the nearby table.

His throat felt thick.

“You trust my judgement, don’t you?”

“… I do.”

---

Cyrus had been left with one task, and one task alone. With instructions to guide him, but with choices to make – that he was left on his own was show enough that whatever he may do, Father Orlov need not see. What decision was reached was one to be shared by him and Arceus alone, and by no other. --Still, something numbed the tips of his fingers and locked their bones as he stared at the Starly, but a few month old certainly, meekly struggling against the nails that had been driven into the junctions of its wings. To keep it bound was one thing.

To crucify it, another.

“A test of devotion, of faith,” the young boy mumbled under his breath – something he would’ve been scolded for, has he been anything but alone in this moment. (And though perhaps he shouldn’t be – should feel as though Arceus and his favored children are with him in every breath he takes; Cyrus cannot confess to feeling as though that’s the truth. For it is as Orlov had said. --His prayers, as they were, have never been answered.)

(He was alone.)

Cyrus rounded the table so that the light cast past stained glass windows would least blind him for his choice. --For one had to be made.

To sever the head of Starly’s was a practice he had read in scriptures as well as having seen drawn imagery of the very task. However, the practice had long since been banned as it was seen as rather cruel to breed the young creatures for such things – no matter if the purpose was religious or not. Where Orlov may have gotten the bird was a question that lingered within his mind.

But not one he would dwell on for long.

Tentatively, almost as though just simply touching the creature would harm it, Cyrus let his finger brush over plush feathers that had yet to fully evolve into their proper, fine state. To be this close to one of the wild beings children used for battling was an opportunity he had had few times in his life – his father, having seen it an unbefitting a man such as himself to play in the dirt with those less fortunate. --He didn’t feel like he had missed out on anything, however. It did not fit his view of ‘fun’.

Still, a soothing motion began. The palm of his hand, spreading over the span of the birds back – the tips of his fingers getting lost within its coat the deeper he dug. At times, it would twitch – make it known that it still very much was alive. Had a heartbeat, a soul. A mind intelligent enough to understand the speech of humans.

Repeating the motion once more, Cyrus would stop at the dip of its neck. A clear indicator where the width of the bird narrowed, dipped, and became much more fragile. As he felt for the throat beneath the feathered coat – the words of Orlov repeated within his mind.

(At his side, a dagger laid polished and bare.)

--“Either you use your bare hands – to break the fledgling’s neck and have its head twisted free of its body – or by the use of the blade being pushed into the juncture between the bird’s throat and breast.”

At first, he had been unsure if it truly was asked of him to kill such a pitiful creature. It seemed unaware, yet distressed – broken – unusually quiet and weak for a bird so common to the outside world. Yet the nails stuck into its wings (clipped, he would guess) had left stains upon its coat that undoubtable was blood. --Already cruel, and in the end perhaps it was a blessing for it to die.

After a moment of silence, he would pray. Just as all good sons of Arceus should, and asked for an answer for which means he should take this birds life with. But, as had become common (and he certainly had expected no less) – he got on answer. And so Cyrus moved forward without guidance – tested the stability of linking his fingers around its throat only to find the motion to build a sickness within his gut. The pulse of the Starly beat against the pad of his thumb and he swore, would in this moment swear Arceus’s name if he had to – that its heartbeat quickened as fear took hold of it.

How cruel, how very, very cruel…

It would seem the poniard would be the best, if not only, option.

But even still, as he felt its weight within his right palm – its hilt still heated from where Orlov held it moments before – the very same nausea filled him. The evening light cast shadows over the bird’s small frame, blocked by his own and if he dared to look, then he could’ve sworn it stared right back at him. --Sinister, mocking in its delight for it knows that Cyrus?

He is weak.

He isn’t worthy.

And thus, he will not kill the bird.

The dagger slipped from his grasp, falling onto the table with a clear ringing clang that may as well have echoed down the hall for all to hear – and Cyrus pushed the board holding the bird captive off its resting place. A hasty such decision he hadn’t truly registered – yet followed through with regardless. Took a step backward, felt the windowsill press against the small of his back and just as quickly, he grasped for it to find stability. --Orlov was at his side again, as though he never had left him in the first place. Hands cupping the young boys face to gaze into ocean eyes – and Cyrus felt as though he would get scorched, should he fall under Orlov’s judgement in this moment.

“I can’t,” he voiced – quiet and apologetic. And as Father came to hold on to his chin – dip his head back to better stare up at him, Cyrus gently began shaking his head. Denying, refuting; he hadn’t meant to be disobedient. --He hadn’t meant to be weak, to not do what was asked of him.

Yet Orlov hushed him. Placed his forehead to rest against his own – and closed his eyes as silence spread around them. The pads of his fingers smoothed over his skin, until they reached the hollows of his cheeks. A hold that was oh so familiar, so common, between the two of them.

If it pained him in any way, then Cyrus did not let it be known. And perhaps for that reason, Orlov pressed harder.

“You can,” the pastor would speak, finally. His tone, however, sat hollow. “You can, and you will… Just not on this day. It’s alright my boy, it’s alright…”

His breath fanned to meet his own, something that caused a coil to tighten within Cyrus’s gut – holding on to something different, yet similar, to the nausea previously present. And though he felt lighter, felt better, a part of him knew that Orlov was not, in fact, pleased with him. --He would not hold him in this way, if he was. He would not stand this close, would not dig blunt nails into his skin and would not breathe as though he needed to force himself to, or else he may forget.

Once eyes of gold opens once more, there is a narrowing to their curve. Still, a smile plays upon the pastors lips.

A show of his good will, his intentions, that don’t always come through in the most favorable of actions.

“You’re not yet worthy of your station, is all. You’re still so very immature, so young… so undeserving.”

Orlov removed himself from his person with one last shake of his palm. To cast away that of which did not please him, and Cyrus found his eyes trail the others path as he rounded the table. To where he had so hastily, so wrongly, discarded himself of the creature already in harm’s way. Discarded himself of the task that would prove him worthy.

Cyrus once more felt his limbs lock up as Father Orlov stared down at the pitiful bird – unmoving yet breathing and very much still alive. Something passed over the pastors features, his hands cupping before his waistband and his back slightly bent. To better view the Starly upon the floor, as he kicked the board it laid upon to better align with himself. --Looking back to Cyrus, he would once more speak.

(A tilt to his voice that display humor, mirth.)

“I will forgive you this time, however. I understand it can be scary to take a life as meaningless as this ones.”

Under the heel of Orlov’s foot, its head crushed.

“… Go to the study and pray, Cyrus.”

--He need not be told twice.