#second hand works they gone mess em up anyway

[veone]

🍦a "quiet" sunday morning

#travis is taking the boys to get some new shoes for school #second hand works they gone mess em up anyway #the airquality by the highway is horrible #florwalsims ate when she made this save #hoffman gameplay #ts4 #sims 4 #simblr #travis hoffman #vera hoffman #colette hoffman #joseph hoffman #sean hoffman #colette starts highschool tomorrow!! i'm excited for her!

[entitled-fangirl]

A beautiful thing to picture, indeed.

Benedict Bridgerton x reader

Summary: Benedict finds himself speechless at the model in his art class. The two later meet, and he realizes maybe she's what he wants.

A/N: Give my man Benedict some LOVEEEE

Masterlist

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Benedict sat down and readied his canvas for his art class to begin.

His new found friends leaned over leaned over as the Bridgerton sat down, "Teacher said we were studying dresses today."

"Dresses?" Benedict asked with his usual smirk. 

"Yeah. Said something about capturing the flow of 'em. Whatever that means."

"The flow of-" Benedict paused as the door opened and out walked a small figure.

A beautiful model in a thin silk dress. 

She scanned the room with nervous eyes. After all, the room was full of eager men who wished to picture her frame.

Benedict felt breath leave his lungs.

A beautiful thing to picture, indeed.

The teacher took the model's hand gently and led her to the middle of the room. "Alright, gentlemen," he called loudly. "Today we shall be focusing on the flow of fabric. Really pay attention to the detail. I want to feel like I can reach out and touch the fabric in your sketches."

The teacher then turned to the girl, "Miss Hemmings, are you ready?"

The girl scanned the room one more time in nervousness, before it set on Benedict. Her nervous eyes relaxed for just a moment before moving away from him to look at the other men. Her voice was meek and quiet, "Yes. I… I believe I am."

The man nodded, "Alright. Pick a direction to look, and I'll situate you from there."

She took a deep breath and scanned the room once more. Once her gaze settled on Benedict, as it had done before, she stopped. "I believe here should suffice?"

Benedict gave a smirk and couldn't look away. She was captivating.

The teacher then reached down, fluffed out her dress just barely, and stood. He turned to face his eager students, "Begin."

And there she was, under a spotlight in a room full of men who were now beginning to sketch her.

And she had to stay still.

Now that all eyes were on her, she decided looking towards Benedict was a bad idea.

He was to always be looking at her. He was sketching her, after all.

And the wall above him was too dark to be anything enjoyable to watch for the next few hours. But she did so. For the first hour anyway.

Eventually, she couldn't help but let her gaze fall to the Bridgerton. He was deep in focus now.

So much so, that he didn't feel her gaze until the third time he had glanced up at her.

He paused involuntarily at the eye contact. He felt the smallest of smiles graze his face.

Her cheeks heated to a violent shade of red. And she couldn't hide it.

She broke the eye contact, looking back up at the wall to avoid accidentally moving and messing up all the other sketches.

But every now and then, she would allow herself to take in the sight of the Bridgerton earnest at work.

A beautiful thing to picture, indeed.

…

The second the class was called to a close, Miss Hemmings completely disappeared.

It confused Benedict.

He had been comparing his finished portrait to her, and had looked up and she was gone.

No matter.

She's just a model. 

That's what he told himself, at least.

…

Benedict Bridgerton was making his way downtown, eager to purchase more charcoal for his sketching endeavors.

He hardly heard the sound that was coming from the nearby alleyway.

But he did.

He paused in his step and turned his head in its direction.

Sounded like a woman's voice.

He began to cautiously walk down said alleyway with a low voice, "Hello? Anyone there?"

He rounded the corner and stopped at the sight.

A woman was practically pinned against the wall by a man much bigger than her.

His hand was wandering down her dress and began to lift the hem of it.

Tears filled her eyes as she tried to push him away with quiet pleads.

"Hey!" Benedict yelled. "What are you doing?"

The man turned his head in his direction and scoffed, "This Miss was being tempting to the gentlemen that walk these streets. But when I tried to take the temptation…" he grabbed at her jaw and growled in her ear, "… She refuses me."

Benedict took a few more steps closer with his hands out, "Leave the lady be, sir."

The man moved away from the woman and the wall, now interested in Benedict, "And tell me, what will you do about it?"

Benedict took a breath and courageously stepped forward, "I'm Anthony Bridgerton, the Viscount you hear of so often. I suggest you step away from the woman and continue your day. Sir." He said through gritted teeth.

The man paused, "Bridgerton?"

Benedict nodded.

"Ah," the man feigned happiness. "Lord Bridgerton, of course. My apologies. I had no idea she was yours, my Lord."

"'Tis alright." Benedict said. "You may correct your mistake now."

The man nodded, "And so I shall. Good day, sir."

And with that, the man left.

Benedict watched him round the corner before immediately rushing to the woman, "Are you well?" He asked in a hushed tone.

The woman looked up.

Benedict let out a breath.

The model.

She looked down again to wipe the tears from her face, "Lord Bridgerton. I apologize. I… I did not… I didn't mean…"

Benedict felt himself smiling, "Please. Please calm yourself. It's alright. You owe me nothing."

She felt herself take a few steady breaths before she looked up again. Her eyes now focused on his and her face morphed into shock, "You?"

He actually let out a chuckle, "Me? Yes. I'm afraid so. Apparently, I just couldn't let you go, huh?"

She smiled and relaxed. "I suppose I truly owe you gratitude."

He shook his head, "No. Please."

"I do, my Lord." She insisted.

He looked off in thought and smiled. His gaze turned back to her, "Tell me your name."

She paused a moment at his request. "Y/N Hemmings, sir."

His smile grew as he took her hand and kissed the back of it. "A pleasure, truly. I'm afraid you have occupied all of my thoughts since the last time I saw you."

She smiled, "You're simply an artist who is immersed with his work, my Lord. That is all."

Benedict nodded, "Tell me what you were doing alone out here?"

She sighed, "I… I make runs here for the upper class who don't wish to be seen in such… slums. They pay me to do so."

He feels his jaw go slack just a bit, "You come to dangerous areas to make extra money?"

She nods, "I have a younger brother to take care of, my Lord. He is everything to me."

He shakes his head in disbelief, "You're a mysterious thing, aren't you?" 

She lets out a laugh, "Not as mysterious as you, sir. A Viscount taking artistic classes? Don't you have higher duties? I don't imagine they have time for such… fulfilling things?"

He offers his arm to her, "Then perhaps I may tell you something?"

She took his arm with a curious grin, "You may."

He leans down to her ear, "I am not the Viscount."

She tried to pull away in shock, but he held her arm tightly. "You are not Lord Anthony Bridgerton?"

He laughed out, "No. Heavens no."

She cautiously leaned in, "Who are you, then?"

He smiled, "I am Benedict Bridgerton, the second son residing in Aubrey Hall. I didn't completely lie to you. I am indeed a Bridgerton."

She stepped with him down the alleyway now, "I see. I suppose that makes more sense."

Benedict stops walking as they near the road, "May I be frank with you, Miss Hemmings?"

She tilted her head, "Yes, sir."

"You are the most fascinating creature I've ever seen."

She felt her cheeks grow warm, "Oh. I… what a most welcome compliment, Sir."

He smiles, "I do hope there is no man I must fight for the right to your hand."

She felt her mouth dry. "What?"

"Your hand," he smiled. "Do you have a suitor?"

"Me?" She gasped out. "Me? No. I don't… I've never had suitors."

He nods and smiles wider, "Then may I be the first, Miss Hemmings?"

She considers his words. A Bridgerton. A high ranking family with wealth and charm.

But more importantly, a most dashing artist as a potential husband.

"Only if I may see the sketch you designed of me all those days ago."

He lets out a laugh, "Oh, darling, nothing I sketch would be even close enough to capturing your beauty onto the paper. Even the greatest artist can do no such task. It is meant to be enjoyed in the moment."

She nodded in thought, "Then you must call me Y/N. And you must continue to sketch me until you get it right."

He tilts his head, "But I've just claimed it's impossible to do."

She smiled, "Then we have no excuse to not be near each other, it seems."

Benedict grinned brightly and leaned in, "I suppose you're right. But you have to call me by my own name."

She let out a breath, "I shall do so."

"Excellent. Most excellent." Benedict said as they walked out onto the busy street.

A wife of his own? Benedict thought. That's something he always pictured as a boy.

And as he looked down at her, he realized it was a most beautiful thing to picture, indeed.

..............................................................

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton x y/n #benedict bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton fic #bridgerton #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction

[punks-never-die205]

Unseen

afab!reader x Killer

CW: canon-typical violence, smooches, sexy times, second go at life try again style story, 18+ only

Chapter 8: Point of View

Note: As implied by the chapter title, the point of view shifts in this chapter.

Everything had started off according to plan. The main gate group had rushed in, and you were able to hide yourself in the chaos. If anyone had noticed that you were acting as a second devil fruit user to Kid's abilities, they made no outward sign of it. Kid was chaos incarnate on his own, and that was apparently spurred onto greater heights if it meant acting as a shield for one of his crew members.

Killer was an equally terrifying presence, though you knew exactly what motivated him.

Getting into the base went well. If the Marines had been on alert from the casino fiasco they showed no signs of it. The mayhem was a little contagious as well, and you found yourself reveling in the thrill of a good fight. Pirates vs Marines, order vs chaos, submission vs freedom; a scuffle that existed since before man first entered the seas.

The Kid Pirates had swarmed over the base, and the original three groups of teams were mixed and mingled in the breeched base and still working like a well oiled machine.

In a few more minutes the fighting would be over, and the base would be secure. Communications had been cut and there was no immediate concern of reinforcements. You followed after Hip and Hop down a corridor when something froze your blood. There was no sound, and no person you could see, but something had set you on edge. Assess. You assessed without even consciously thinking about it, and so you trusted your instincts without question.

You grabbed Hip and Hop and tossed them behind you with all the might you had available. Which was considerable, as they wore metal and you still had Eustass' devil fruit pumping through your veins. You moved to reinforce the hallway, but you weren't fast enough. There wasn't enough metal, and there wasn't enough time.

The bright light of the explosion filled your vision before you felt the shock and pain of the blast.

.

.

.

The explosion had knocked you for a loop, and when you had come back around you were on Killer's back. You could tell from the mess of hair around you, and the scent of him that you'd become used to. The sounds of any fighting were gone, but he was still moving at a quick pace. You were surprised to find yourself conscious, you had expected the blast to kill you.

"We win?" You question, your voice was cracking and you realize that you're hurt all over. Breathing felt like pushing back against shattered glass, but breathing was required.

"Well enough," He replies. "I'm taking you to House."

"Mmm, am I dying, Killer? I hurt, but I feel like I've hurt worse." You murmur. "They say you hut less when-."

"That's for the doc to say," he interrupts, concern cutting into his tone despite his efforts. "Now shut up, save your strength and your breath."

You let yourself fall into him. You didn't have the energy for much else, and you didn't have the heart to say that you couldn't see. You could feel your eyes moving, so they were intact as far as you knew. Until House had looked at everything, there was nothing you could do anyway.

House started patching you up, barking orders at Killer for assistance. After what felt like hours, House kicked Killer out, saying you needed to rest. All the holes were plugged, and now it was up to you. You had lost a lot of blood, and House hadn't had nearly enough available for transfusion. You got what was available, but House wasn't satisfied.

"Doc, we alone?"

"Yeah brat."

"Are my eyes intact?"

"... Yeah." A brief pause. "You can't see?"

"Not a thing."

"You need to rest but give me a moment. You had your eyes closed most of the time and I just figured you were too exhausted to keep 'em open."

You felt House's hands hold your eyes open. Left, Right, Left again. Then an aggravated swear.

"Dizzy?"

"No."

"Feel queasy?"

"No."

"I'd ask if you feel tired, but you're missing a lot of blood." House is quiet for a long moment. "Sleep, brat. Concussion or not, you need rest more than anything. Better a stutter than a corpse in the morning."

"Aye, aye."

.

.

.

.

***House's PoV***

I stepped out of my clinic after cleaning up and making sure Brat had fallen asleep. I was already not looking forward to the conversation I was going to have, but they needed to know.

The ship was alive with the work of the provisions from the job being packed in. The hustle and bustle was happy, since the job had gone off mostly clean, and as far as everyone knew, even the girl had survived despite how things had looked.

"Hip, where's the Captain?" I ask. Hip turns to answer, and her face falls. I wasn't known for my poker face. "She's alive Hip, I still need to talk to the Captain."

Relief, then she nods her head toward the cabins, "Workshop, with Killer, Heat and Wire. Can I visit her, I wann-."

I shake my head. "Brat needs rest, Hip. Soon though." I grunt, and head that way.

Either Heat and Wire are keeping Killer from killing the Captain, or they're all trying to distract themselves so they're not barging into my clinic. Brat's got a lot of people looking out for her, hopefully it's enough good karma.

I make it halfway down the hall and I hear the workshop room go quiet. Killer opens the door before I can even knock, and I walk in. From the looks of things half the workshop had been trashed for some reason and these guys were working on cleaning it up. I could guess the reason, but it wasn't my problem.

And, I wasn't exactly going to make things better.

"Brat's stable," I say, not sitting down. "If her luck holds she'll be fine. The more she can rest the better, and I expect to have her in my care for at least a week."

I see relief all around, but I can't let these guys hold onto it. "However." I take in a breath and sigh, it's not easy to say, but it needs said, "She can't see."

Heat and Wire sit down, but only Heat was lucky enough to be by a chair. Kid's glaring at me, and I imagine Killer is glaring at him.

"Permanently?" Kid asks, and he looks like a man ready to walk himself to the gallows.

"Can't say yet," I admit, and put myself between Kid and Killer. "I appreciate how you're both feeling right now, but she needs rest, and when she's done resting, she's gonna need support. If she can't see again, she's going to need stability. If you two tear each other apart she's gonna blame herself, and," I turn to Killer, glaring at him until I'm sure he's looking at me. "If she blames herself I'll have both yer asses, so keep it together."

Killer turns on his heel after a moment and leaves the workshop without a sound. I sigh, there's no telling what he'll do, cause I've never seen him in this situation. It was hard to say if he was furious with Kid, Hip, Hop, or himself. Probably all four.

"Captain, I don't know how you'll do it, but you should start looking for that Surgeon of Death." I say, turning back to Kid. "He takes jobs to keep his crew going, and if anyone can make sure she'll heal, it'll be him."

.

.

.

.

.

***Killer's PoV***

Hip and Hop had run across me, carrying (Y/N) in their arms. I'd been headed in their direction already because of the explosion that had shook the base seconds earlier. There was a lot of blood. Too much, but she was still breathing, even if it was shallow.

"She threw us back without saying anything!" Hop cried, her face stained with tears. "We couldn't do anything to protect her!"

"It happened so fast! We gotta get her to House!" Hip cried.

"I'll take her, check to see what caused the explosion." Calm, I was calm. I had to be calm. Panicking wasn't going to help her.

I sit across from her in the med bay and watch the steady rhythm of her breathing, forcing myself to accept that she was still alive. More alive and more stable than when I'd brought her to House hours earlier.

I'd been angry enough at Kid that I hadn't let him blow off steam, I wanted him to sit with what he'd done this time. I didn't give him the satisfaction of tearing his own workshop apart, just so he could control reorganizing it.

I pride myself on keeping my emotions steady. Especially compared to Kid. Someone had to be the rock, not just for the Captain, but for the crew. For myself. If I could stay steady everything would be fine.

I release the snaps on my mask and set it aside as I approach her bedside. It didn't matter what my face looked like, all I want is for her to be able to see it. If she wasn't able to ever see again then eventually even Kid would forget what my face looked like.

Kissing her forehead, I go back to my chair and put my mask back on.

The hardest part was that there wasn't anyone I could blame. She decided to protect Hip and Hop on her own. She went off into the base on her own. She was a part of the crew, she was allowed to act like the crew. I couldn't be mad at her, or them, or Kid, or even myself.

#Unseen #massacre soldier killer #killer one piece #x reader #reader insert #one piece fanfiction #canon au

[demonfox38]

Completed - Pokemon FireRed/LeafGreen

Don't worry, guys. I know what I'm doing.

I suppose this will surprise nobody, but I always have some kind of portable game console in my purse. This is usually a Nintendo DS, given its ability to play both DS and Game Boy Advance games. In its carrying case, I have a few staple comfort games, like:

"Final Fantasy I & II: Dawn of Souls"

The Castlevania Double Pack (Containing "Harmony of Dissonance" and "Aria of Sorrow")

"Castlevania: Dawn of Sorrow"

"Pokémon FireRed" and/or "LeafGreen"

Now, my copies of "Pokémon FireRed" and "Pokémon LeafGreen" were purchased second-hand online. (If you decide to go that route—don't buy Game Boy Advance games unless they show you the game's circuit board. No need to pay stupid amounts of money for a counterfeit.) Out of curiosity, I opened up both games to see how far the player had gotten. Both shared the same character name (Dylan), so I assumed that the owner had been trying to beat both games. "LeafGreen" had stopped just outside of the first gym, so I felt no remorse in wiping that one out. "FireRed," however? That one had literally stopped right before Victory Road. Like…what? He was right at the finish line!

So, I beat them both. Like, not simultaneously, but over the last year or so.

Damned if I didn't have a surprise struggle at the end!

You know, as someone who was in the target demographic for this series, I may be assuming that the reader (i.e., you!) may already know quite a bit about this set of games. But, that's a wrong assumption to make. If you are unaware, "Pokémon FireRed" and "Pokémon LeafGreen" are Game Boy Advance remakes of the original "Pokémon" games ("Red"/"Green" in Japan, "Red"/"Blue" elsewhere. There is a Japanese "Pokémon Blue," but that is both its own thing and the root code source for the international releases of the first "Pokémon" games. Yeah, it's like that!) Its existence is both an update/remix to the original massively popular game, as well as a way to implement catching Generation 1 and 2 Pokémon without making backwards compatibility to the previous Game Boy games. It's also now in this weird situation where getting Pokémon from the original games is technically easier than getting them from this. I mean, if you bought digital copies of "Red"/"Blue" and "Gold"/"Silver", anyway.

Look, man. Catching 'em all is a mess. And frankly, a lie.

I originally bounced off the Generation 3 "Pokémon" games because…well, frankly, I was pissed that there wasn't a Game Boy to Game Boy Advance transfer system. That, and I wasn't big on the ability system that was added in. Also, Gen 3 is slow and grindy. Like, I'm sure I'd have problems with Gens 1 and 2 if I went back, but I still have the tools to speed them up (i.e., "Pokémon Stadium" games, glitch knowledge, and a Game Shark.) Long story short, there wasn't a reason for me to play them then. Now, I've at least got a DS and some incentive to yoink Pokémon from these games using their backwards compatibility, if I wanted to do that. But, then again, that's relying on the DS to 3DS transfers working correctly, storage systems not being discontinued, etc.

Pokémon is suffering. Heartbreak, too. (Like, I'm sorry man, but your "Gold"/"Silver"/"Crystal" batteries are toast by now. Our teams are gone. Head to Lavender Town and work it out.)

What's the goal of "Pokémon FireRed"/"LeafGreen"? Allegedly, capturing as many of the little Pokéjerks as possible, then raising them into a fighting team to propel you through eight gyms and a final trainer gauntlet, proving your superiority at Pokéhusbandry. It's not a task you can accomplish alone. By trading with other people (or at least, other copies of the games), you can fill out your Pokédex and experience different styles of play, often at an accelerated pace. Hypothetically, you'd need three people coordinating with each other to successfully accomplish this task. Which, God knows I can't get that locally. But, I do have a Game Boy Advance, a Game Boy Advance SP, a transfer cable, and a terrifying knowledge of Excel spreadsheets, so given enough time, I can get a lot done on my own.

Look. I know I'm a Gen 1 Pokémon player. I know the stereotypes that come with that. But man, I can't for the life of me see where people would pick Gen 3 as their favorite Pokémon generation. At least 4 onward had Internet connectivity. I applaud 6's addition of Fairy type, if for no other reason than to make Dragon type trainers panic (and for The Pokémon Company to consistently freak out and hit the Steel/Dragon type combo button). "Pokémon Legends Arceus" is also the realest experience, man. Garbage boss fights, but such a cool loop.

What's my point? Well, Pokémon games are the best when you either have other people to play with or access to an array of cheating devices and/or services. Barring that, boy, are the older games a slog.

I grew up in Nowhere, Iowa. You think I had access to any of the specialty events that would unlock extra legendary and mythical Pokémon? I barely had access to people that would talk to me. I even lost access to a GameStop, so I can't even get them now. Regional-based special events are not in the cards for me. Like, obviously, don't cheat in competitive circles or against other people, but do what you've gotta do to fix the gremlins in your brain, otherwise. (There are many nice Discord servers to help you out with that, too.) Plus, cheating taught me hexadecimal and address/value manipulation! Just a little casual computer science course in the wild!

This isn't being much of an evaluation, is it?

Well, I think it helps you to know where I'm coming from, regarding my activities with these games.

If you were like the millions of kids that played "Pokémon Red"/"Blue" from 1997-2000, you can probably beat "Pokémon FireRed"/"LeafGreen" in your sleep. There are a few curve balls that you will hit regarding getting a drink to the Saffron City security guard and the whole Sevii Islands addition in the latter half. Otherwise, it's just rinse and repeat, but in higher fidelity. (I do think it's strange that they didn't modify the original Pokémon babysitters to have the breeding capabilities as well, but it's nice that there's at least one location where you can get your little critters to mash.) Moltres also gets moved out to a mountain in the Sevii Islands, so don't panic if you can't find it on Victory Road. Also, the game will give you a spin at nabbing one of the Legendary Beasts, so that's definitely worth saving a Master Ball for.

You know. Assuming the kid that previously owned your game DIDN'T ALREADY USE IT.

I can't go forward without discussing the agony that was hunting Raikou without a Master Ball. Like, I did it before in Gen 2, right? You paralyze it, False Swipe it down to 1 HP, then track it as it runs off via the Pokédex or whatever tools you have available for watching its location. "Pokémon FireRed"/"LeafGreen" has a critical bug with both Raikou and Entei that make hunting them especially miserable. If either of these two Pokémon use Roar, it will not only terminate the battle, but wipe them out from the game, forcing you to reset or lose them for good. Like, it's a 40-50 hour deep bug to find, but man, it's aggravating. Imagine not knowing about that and losing them to that oversight.

Also, fiddling with the moveset of various Pokémon did scratch me a little bit, at one point. Apparently, some funny guy thought having the higher-level Vulpixes in Route 7 losing their ability to use Ember was a good idea. Why did you think I picked them up before, Funny Guy? I got a Grass gym to beat and want a Fire type to do it with!

Whaddya mean I'm supposed to use a Flying type Pokémon? That's dull, man. (Although, I did have a fondness for Dodrio this time around. Hooray for the Runaway ability and getting through dungeons ASAP!) 

...do I even bring up the one time I saw a shiny Pokémon and lost it because it was in the Safari Park, and I was stuck using that shitty system? Because that sucked, man. Not that I really needed another Nidoran♀️, but it's hard on a person to have that happen.

You know what I did like and ended up using quite a lot? The VS Seeker item. It was nice to go back and fight trainers. More XP, more money. Good. There was a particular set of Fighting-type trainers before Mt. Ember that I used to really drill up stats. So, thanks for that, game!

The weird thing about discussing this game is that I don't really want to talk about its functionality as much as I want to talk about reflections I had during the "LeafGreen" replay and finishing off the previous "FireRed" file. I mean, what can I say at this point? Game kinda slow, trades make it go faster, bugs not helpful, glad Bulbapedia exists. Got it. I'm going to use the next chunk just to reminisce about the passage of time. That may be more illuminating than anything else I can say regarding these games.

Gen 2 was so right to make both the Dark type and breeding a thing. Just a whole A+ idea there.

I don't get why people are freaked out by Lavender Town. It's a burial ground. Why are you surprised that there are ghost Pokémon here? You know what's actually screwed up? The Pokémon Mansion on Cinnabar Island. It's gutted, being actively picked over by thieves and scientists, and filled to the brim with goopy monsters that were likely created as a result of experiments with Mew and Mewtwo going horribly wrong. And there's a gym key in here. Why? Did Blaine put it down here as a gauntlet for warning other trainers, or did some other scientist drop it (possibly after getting eaten by a Muk)? Also, that power plant is nuts, too. Why did it get abandoned, anyway? Was it because Zapdos did something, or did it just like having a free lunch and roosted there?

Man, the political structure of the Pokémon League is bonkers. You'd really think there would be more complaints about the lack of access to the Saffron City and Cinnabar Island gyms. Get a gardener for Vermilion and Celadon, while they're at it. Not to mention the whole "oops, the final gym leader was a major criminal" fiasco. Is no one paying attention? Hello? Why does a ten-year-old have to act as the judicial system around here? I mean, it's all stuff to make gameplay happen, but I resent having to use Cut and Flash (see below.) Or, maybe I'm now appreciating more of the active role other trainers have in future games a little bit more. It's nice to have at least one other person go, "Wait a minute. This is dangerous. Let me help you punch this gang/cult leader/tech prick in the throat."

God bless the latter games going "You know what? We're done with HMs." Because man, I'm done with HMs, too. Surf, Fly, and Strength get a pass for at least being halfway decent in battle. Trash moves, otherwise. (Okay, Waterfall is fine, too. I just find it irritating to saddle my Water-type Pokémon with map moves.)

Man, how many of these monsters are part poison in this generation? 33? God. Entirely too much. No wonder Psychic types dominated this generation. Poison types even outnumber Water Pokémon here! (I mean, not by much. By one. But, still, that's weird.) Someone's gotta get the EPA on this region. Or, whatever the Japanese equivalent of the EPA is.

At this point, "Pokémon FireRed"/"LeafGreen" are games that are difficult to recommend, especially to anyone that was born after the year 2000. Technology's progressed far enough that you'll either have better access to the original version through a digital storefront or—more likely, what you want—better ways to get older Pokémon. Otherwise, it's cost-prohibitive and requires multiple copies/playthroughs to get even remotely close to the old end goal of a completed Pokédex. Even getting to the in-game special events now requires cheat devices. Not that I'm against that, but that's expensive too, man.

I mean, if you want to spend, like, $400-$500 dollars on cheating devices, consoles, games, and connecting devices for this particular experience, that's up to you. (Not that I spent anywhere around that; I've got an electronic hoard built up over the decades, remember.) But, honestly? Coming from a retro fanatic? You can get a better experience today.

By that, I mean you can probably still find a good copy of "Ultra Sun"/"Ultra Moon" and a 3DS for a half-way decent price. "Pokémon Legends Arceus," too. Maybe "Sword"/"Shield." I guess "Scarlet"/"Violet" also has DLC now, but geez. Not sure I'm down to spend $40 USD for that.

Pokémon is pain. Also, fiscally irresponsible.

#post game evaluation #pokemon firered and leafgreen

[ms-erin-kallus]

I Can’t Destroy What Isn’t There

Chapter 8

AO3 link ~ https://archiveofourown.org/works/44541196/chapters/122272963

Agent Kallus woke groggily and rubbed hard at his tired hazel eyes as he slowly looked around into the unknown darkness that surrounded him. The meteorite that sat above him had long faded into nothing more than a simple stone, and so left the only light afforded him to come from the small chrono at his bedside. 

Panic quickly set in as he realized that he was in <em>his</em> bed before he shot up and scanned the room with sudden focus. How did I get here, he thought as he racked his brain for memories that wouldn’t come.

Wait, who put me into these clothes?

At the foot of his bed sat bottles of water, a few small foil packets, and a couple of protein bars. There was also a note, stay off of it for a few days, please.

He stared at it for a few confused seconds before he finally managed to bring himself to look at his bedside chrono, 1430.

At least it’s not too late in the day, he thought before the date made his eyes go wide in shock. It had been a full rotation and a half. His mind began to reel with excuses for his unauthorized absence; that was, until he remembered that no one had probably even noticed, or cared that he was gone. There would be no surprise either way. 

A tangle of hair caught in his fingers as he tried to run them through the disheveled mess on his head and he could only sigh before he carefully moved to sit on the edge of his bed. The deep ache in his leg felt substantially better than it had before as he carefully kneaded his fingers deep into the muscle. 

As he placed his feet onto the cold floor, his toes stretched back and forth as he tried to recall and categorize his last memories into some semblance of a memory of what might have happened prior. 

Ambush. Bahryn. Orrelios.

Family.

His face fell forward and he stared blankly at a wall that offered no answers before he managed to clumsily push himself up to standing.

Before he could realize what was happening, a bright blue light suddenly filled the room as an electrical current came hurtling toward him.

R3 unexpectedly charged up to him from the dark corner by his door, “what does the note say, stupid human?”

“What the hell?” Kallus yelled as he threw himself back into the corner behind him to avoid the droid’s rage. “You are definitely her droid,” he scoffed loudly when he realized who his attacker was. He gingerly scooted back to the edge of the bed and glared at an annoyed R3 before pain suddenly shot down to his toes and reminded him of his real problem.

“What are you even doing here anyway, don’t you have someone else to torture?”

“Yes.”

Kallus placed his feet on the floor again and the droid increased the current and pointed it directly at him. “Okay, okay, the cold feels good on my feet,” he conceded with his hands up at his sides in surrender, “calm down.”

Definitely her droid.

“Seriously. Why are you here?”

“I don’t know why she cares about you after everything you’ve put her through, or how she can overlook that you’re going to get her killed, but she told me to keep an eye on you because she had to go back to Lothal before you woke up,” R3 beeped.

Kallus shook his head, “back?”

“You don’t remember? Probably best. She’s too good for you and I despise you,” R3 beeped at him in a way that Kallus knew was hate filled sarcasm. “She dragged you to medical because you were seriously hurt and wouldn’t go on your own.” They backed up and took one of the packets from the table, “I will give you two every eight hours and monitor your progress.”

“How long do you plan on staying here?” Kallus almost yelled in literal horror. The few minutes they had been together were already too many. Entire rotations would end with either the angry little machine in the compactor or a very annoyed Kallus back in medical, or a corpse floating through space.

“The medical droid said to keep you off of your feet for at least three rotations. It has been one and a half. So, I’m here for another one and a half rotations.”

“You are absolutely not going to sit here and babysit m-,” Kallus started before the room lit up a bright blue again.

“I absolutely am.”

Kallus sighed hard as he realized that he had no choice. The droid was as stubborn as he was and had obviously been programmed to accommodate the fact, “where is Rhoan now? It would be nice-”

“Like I said, she’s on planet, not far enough away from you in my opinion. Her work here is done so she had to go back this morning.”

Dammit, he thought as he opened the packet. “What is this?”

“I’m hoping fatal, but they’re probably just painkillers.”

“You don’t have to be such an asshole,” Kallus retorted harshly as he tried to determine how to get a restraining bolt inconspicuously delivered to his room.

The droid just sat silently.

Kallus tore open the packet. “Maybe I’ll have to tell her?”

“Do it. Who do you think she’ll believe, the dangerous Imp or her faithful little droid? The droid that she loves.”

Kallus narrowed his eyes and glared at the machine with a jealousy he didn’t expect. “Sure, a droid can understand complex human emotions?”

“Probably better than you can.”

Kallus breathed in slowly to keep himself from reinjury while attempting to break the hateful and angery machine in front of him. Rhoan may have been able to put the things he had done in the past but he knew that she would end his future if he did anything to her protective little companion. “Fine. My datapad is in the drawer at the end of the bed. Will you get it for me since I’m apparently bedridden,” he asked nicely out of feigned defeat. 

Kallus watched the droid turn away before he quickly and quietly stood up.

The R3 unit turned and threw the datapad at him on sight as it rolled over, arm aglow again.

“Stop,” he yelled as he put his hands out in front of him. “You can’t shock me because I might reinjure myself and th-,” he protested.

The current surged twice before R3 warned him, “that’s your problem, not mine. I can stay here for weeks if that’s what you really want.”

“That is the last thing I want.”

“Then, sit down,” the droid threatened as it rolled over to the dark corner from where it came. “Find something stupid humans do and leave me alone.”

~

Kallus did find something to do; he researched Geonosis.

I never asked questions.

The next two rotations were spent relentlessly digging through anything and everything he could get his hands on regarding the planet and what could have happened to cause its population to completely disappear. He had a feeling that he couldn’t shake, and much to his horror, it was for good reason.

He had initially hoped that perhaps it had been a planet wide exodus due to some sort of mass extinction event. They already lived underground due to prior events that caused the surface to become uninhabitable; perhaps something new had happened that drove them completely off world. Something he somehow had never heard about. Or, possibly, it was a full-scale re-colonization. The Empire had a habit of confiscating entire planets to bleed dry their natural resources if said resources were of value, or even simply if its location was beneficial. 

But, he knew deep down that the Empire wouldn’t waste those kinds of funds, not on civilians.

He also knew neither scenario was correct.

Judging by what he had found, along with what he had seen in orbit around the planet, the population had basically been enslaved to build some sort of Imperial project. Whatever the project was, it was massive and a pretty well-kept secret.

He felt sick. Apparently, once they were of no use, they were simply eradicated. It was the only plausible explanation. It was genocide. It was one hundred million souls gone without hesitation.

By association, it was his fault.

Kallus wiped any traces of his investigation from his datapad and tossed it to the foot of his bed. Everything that he had been trained and conditioned to believe throughout his entire career was authoritarianism, plain and simple. He couldn’t believe that he was too stupid to never see it for what it was.

The ISB’s brainwashing techniques were impressively and terrifyingly effective.

~

The small green machine that had spent their time slowly tormenting him was gone when Kallus woke on the third rotation of his droid mandated medical leave. The small red light, the one that he knew was some sort of warning beacon, was replaced by darkness and his newly found freedom. 

Things could’ve gone much worse, R3 mostly left him alone unless it was time for medication or food. Unfortunately, the one thing he wasn’t allowed to do was shower. They were afraid he would slip and fall, and Kallus would never admit it out loud, but he was too. The refresher alone was a difficult task at first. 

An encrypted message of physical therapy stretches was sent to him before he even woke up from his procedure. The need for encryption was puzzling but the gesture was appreciated nonetheless. Most of that night was a blur of fuzzy or straight up missing memories, so he was sure there was a good reason for it that he just couldn’t put together.

The painkillers prescribed didn’t help any. He didn’t even know how he got back to the dome from the star destroyer he was on.

Though he was sure that his absence had gone unnoticed, it was time for him to at least make some sort of appearance before he could disappear into his office until summoned for some sort of task or mission that he couldn’t just delegate to a subordinate. 

The residual emotions from his cold reception lingered in his mind with their claws dug deep and refused to let go. That was assuming they ever even would.

It felt like they were a parsec away as he walked as nondescriptly as he could to the communal showers at the end of the hall before someone could notice his still unsure gait. Empathy was hard to find in the military, but gossip was not. A few sideways glances quickly reminded him of that adage.

He could’ve spent the entire cycle under the hot water that relaxed his sore and tired muscles as he tried diligently to work the knots from his shoulders and relieve the strain on his knee. A sudden thought jarred through his mind and he immediately turned the water off and grabbed a towel. 

A few minutes later he stood in front of an empty cooler while seriously considering leaving the base to go to a market and find fresh fruit. He would have done it too, but his datapad chirped something about a stowaway rebel and a defected droid that included a report that he needed to read and a search party that needed to be formed to look into the matter.

That overachiever will probably thank me, he thought as he immediately forwarded the message and transferred the assignment to Lieutenant Lyste. Aside from the menial task, he didn’t want much to do with any of their targeted missions or operations, and knew he wouldn’t for awhile.

However, the correspondence was a sign that people were aware that he was available again and so his fruit fiasco was put on an unwanted hold. A caf and one of the better-quality protein bars would have to suffice.

~ 

Kallus hummed mindlessly to himself as the lift began its descent into the depths of the dome. The reverberations went all the way down into his chest as he tapped out an erratic rhythm on the side of the cup he held. There was an ease about him that he rarely felt and it was a welcomed respite from the recent hell that he found himself, and her, thrust into. 

Small echoes carried down the hallway with each step and he let them fall in line with the rhythm of his fingers. He almost let himself make up the lyrics to a verse but remembered that he had a reputation to uphold and ‘the singing ISB Agent’ didn’t carry the same bravado of his typical character.

However, the second he rounded the corner and made eye contact, a suffocating tension filled the air with an almost choking heaviness and uneasy warning.

It was more than obvious that the woman standing at the counter with her back to Kallus felt it because she took a small, obvious step backward the instant Rhoan’s gaze hardened. Their transaction continued in a loud whisper until R3 came out from behind the counter to pull a dysfunctional droid back into her work area, and did so without acknowledging him at all. 

The woman’s face immediately fell to the floor when she turned and saw one of the last people she thought she would see there before she scurried away silently into the safety of wherever it was she was going.

“Okay then,” he mumbled to himself as he looked up to a face he didn’t expect. He cleared his throat quietly before he set his offering on the counter, “I assumed that you probably didn’t eat.”

Rhoan sat silent, but he could see that her mind was racing as she tried her best to decide her next words or her best course of action; he assumed it was most likely both. 

Kallus felt his throat go dry.

The hinged door of the counter slammed loudly before Rhoan grabbed his hand and began to literally drag him toward the farthest wall of her work area.

“What is going-” he started but the look on her face when she turned back to him stopped him from finishing. “Rhoan, I can’t move that quickly yet,” he pleaded.

She didn’t stop but she did slow substantially as they came around the last row of shelving and toward a small door at the end of it. It hissed open quickly and she practically shoved him into it before she put her fingers up to her lips.

Be quiet.

The door closed behind her and Kallus was left standing alone in what appeared to be a small utility closet. What felt like an eternity later, she finally reappeared with a small micro ion pulse mine and activated it. His eyebrow raised at the suspicious move as a soft, blue glow illuminated the concern on her face. 

For a long, few seconds the only sound between them was the soft hum of the apparatus at their side, “Rhoan?” he asked carefully.

She began to say something but no words came. Her mouth closed and she thought hard before she finally spoke.

“You can’t be here.”

She shook her head mostly to herself, “the droids didn’t record but if there was a malfunction in any of them,” her whisper trailed off as she looked at the floor in contemplation of possibilities that he didn’t know what were.

“What is going on? You are beginning to seriously worry me,” he asked with quiet concern, unsure as to whether or not he could speak normally as the smell of the grease on her clothes blended subtly with the faint scent of the Imperial issue shampoo in her hair. It was a unique mix, but then, she was as well. He liked that about her, that he never knew what he was about to get. Except this time was an exception.

“What do you remember from that night? When you went to medical.” she snapped as his stomach immediately fell to the floor with the force of a seismic charge. “All of it. Everything. Tell me.”

“I, um,” he looked at her and she cocked her head to the side as if to tell him to both hurry and also be as thorough as he could. “I remember the hallway, kind of.”

I remember that you wanted to run from me.

“And after the hallway?” she asked, ignoring her own demand of everything.

“Not much. There was a needle.” He let out a nervous laugh that she disregarded.

“This part is important,” she reiterated with raised eyebrows, “do you remember anything you said?”

Kallus could barely breathe through the thick suddenly stagnant air, what did you do?

“I don’t,” he wasn’t sure what to say. Apparently he remembered less than he thought and her behavior wasn’t helping his memory in the slightest. “I feel like I-”

“You said some stupid shit, Kallus,” she told him with a quiet waver in her voice.

 Call me Alex.

The sound of stretching leather reverberated through the brutal silence.

She looked back down at the ground, “you really don’t remember anything,” 

“Feel free to let me in on the mystery,” he said, his temper beginning to rise out of confused desperation. If he put either of them in danger then she was wasting time. He would need to run damage control as soon and quickly as was possible. 

“You said something,” she took in a long breath and nodded slightly as if summoning the courage to keep looking at him, “something that bordered on sedition.” 

Her last word echoed loudly through his mind.

“You said you hated the Empire.” Rhoan’s brow furrowed and she looked at the device on the counter, “they have executed people for much less, and considering I didn’t go straight to command with this, it looks like complicity on my part.”

She was right. He had just spent almost two days learning about how they carried out the literal extermination of a species for no good reason. Killing one ISB Commander gone rogue would be nothing. A lieutenant on an outer rim planet that heard some words would easily be less.

“Look, I didn’t think that anyone was going to come looking for me out there, and I was just still upset about it. I was heavily sedated and emotional,” he said carefully. It wasn’t a complete lie; he was actually pretty pissed about the cold reception upon his return.

“I guess that makes sense.” She looked down to her side, “You’ve been nothing but a good and loyal agent of the ISB. I knew better than to think that way of you.”

“You’re also a loyal and outstanding servant to the Empire, which begs the question, are you going to inform anyone anyway," he asked cautiously, his heart pounded in his ears so hard he could barely hear what he said to her. Command could know whatever they wanted as long as it didn’t include her.  

“I can’t now. Not without incriminating myself,” she said with an abrupt tinge of hostility.

He could tell that she was angry with herself for that, for not only risking her career but possibly her life. He was angry with himself for putting her in such a situation. Again.

“Fixing this is all contingent on one thing.” She looked him dead in the eye, “this infatuation of yours has to stop. There is no reciprocity and you need to accept that already,” she said pointedly. “This is the third time that you have put me in a precarious situation. Two of them could’ve gotten me killed. One still may.”

She was stern in the delivery of her verdict, her resolve unrelenting, and it shattered him into a million invisible pieces held loosely only by a fleeting hope. 

“Rhoan, I-“

The low hum of the device went silent and the cold, blue light went dark when she reached over and turned it off, “no, you need to go now.”

 Please don’t. 

She looked down as she reached over and opened the door. 

There was the sudden sound of wheels racing away; R3 had obviously been listening in. 

When he didn’t move, she looked out subtly to let him know that it was, in fact, time for him to leave her.

He looked down at her, desperate for eye contact, for her to see that she was making a mistake. “You don’t want to do this. I know you don’t.” 

He felt her anxiety skyrocket as her body instantly went stiff, but still she didn’t look away from the door. “I have to,” there was a graveness in her voice that caught him off guard and he was finally forced to come to the realization that there was nothing left for him there anymore. There was nothing in the Empire and certainly nothing in that closet.

His shoulders fell at her words and he reluctantly turned away from the only decent thing that had happened to him in as long as he could remember. Even if it was merely infatuation, it gave him something to look forward to that wasn’t saturated in war. And yet, once again, war was all he had, except now it was in two theaters instead of one.

“Alright,” he said quietly as he began to walk out. 

He had given her no reason to trust him but every reason to fear him.

The door quickly whirred shut behind him and like that, he was alone. Again. 

He walked to the end of the row of shelves and looked back one last time before he scolded himself. “What did you really expect?”

Deep inside of him he knew that to protect her from the impending wrath of the Empire that would eventually fall over him was to forget that she ever existed. It was the only way that he couldn’t risk putting her in danger again.

Her nonexistence was his new reality.

With that, his head fell and he slowly made his way back to the lift, giving her time to change a mind that he knew was already set. 

Disappointment is built on false hope.

Unlike before, every step he took down the suddenly long hallway sounded like a seismic charge in his ears. His feet dragged heavily as if the floor had become a thick swamp that he could only try to free himself from. He knew total escape itself would be impossible no matter how hard he tried.

175…174 the lift chimed in front of him with every level it passed. Kallus could barely wait to get to his office where he could try to decompress some.

And most likely break something.

That wasn’t going to happen.

Konstantine’s voice unexpectedly grated against his ears.

“Ah, Agent Kallus, just who I was looking for,”   

#alexsandr kallus #hot kallus #star wars rebels #agent kallus #star wars #kallus #rebel kallus #Kallus just wants some attention and maybe a hug

[presidentbungus]

bit of an engiespy fic im "working on" (had the idea for this one specific scene and the entire rest of it is a vague outline i will probably not clear up for the next six months)

spy's drunk btw😁😁 cringelord

When Engie comes back to the workshop Spy's already gone--not really much of a surprise, to be honest. He made peace on his way down that Spy would definitely go off to probably make noise and be caught somewhere else, which is out of his jurisdiction, and anyway the little glass of water he left on the side table's gone too so at least he has some sense.

Hopefully he's hungover enough tomorrow that he won't come 'round to bother him tomorrow, or--well. Dell wouldn't tell anybody but some deep-down shameful part of him hopes that maybe he will show up, but maybe he'll pretend to be too tired to fight or somethin' and maybe they can have another conversation where he's actually intelligible. Realistically he'll probably pretend to forget this happened at all and nothing'll change, and he's prepared to face that, but...

When he's sorting up his workbench out of a mixture of prepping it for work and just being a little embarrassed Spy saw it in the just-got-hit-by-a-tornado state it's usually in mid-project, he does find something very interesting. Taps the lid and a little flash of a memory plays back in his head--Spy stumbling in, fiddling with the cigarette case, gettin' startled and dropping it on a pile of scrap metal and presumably not picking it up again, considering now Dell's tossing it back and forth in his hands wondering if it's a good idea to take a peek inside.

And, well, he knows if he were Spy and this were something personal of his he wouldn't have a second thought. And, well, he ain't Spy, and he's better than Spy, but... at some point he absentmindedly flicks a thumb under a latch and it clicks open, hinges obviously worn from overuse, and right next to a neatly packed and slightly depleted row of cigarettes is--he takes a long blink, makes sure he ain't hallucinating--a neatly laminated and taped photo of some little kid he can swear looks a little too much like Scout.

Very interesting. The buttons built into the case under the picture don't do anything when he presses 'em--that's not really a surprise, and it's probably better anyway 'cause he feels guilty enough just looking through, and he decides he should probably just close it and get over it and stop mindin' business he ain't involved in but...

The but is dangerous, he knows, but holding it up to the lamp on his desk he sees it--a little groove in the felt by the buttons, definitely intentionally built in, and that he could definitely hook a fingernail under and pry up.

And he knows if he does it Spy's probably gonna find out, whenever he comes weaseling back to get what he forgot. But realistically he also knows it's just gonna be whatever machinery makes the disguise kit or whatever work--and, well, he can probably use that as an excuse. Just wanted to take a look at the mechanics. He slides a finger in and works it open, the entire display coming off with a 'pop'. He wouldn't go so far as to dignify the mess of metal and wire inside as machinery--this must break all the damn time, and he gets a flash of a scene, working in the middle of the night til' an invisible hand lands on his shoulder, handing over a case, whispering something stupid like "I require your expertise, laborer"--and he shakes it off.

There's a little compartment beside it, probably just extra space, and Dell tilts his head as he lifts a little red piece of cloth from it, and he holds it to the lamp and sees oil stains and a little cut-off bit of yellow on a corner, and...

He holds it to his sleeve and the colors match exactly, down to the fractured quarter or so of a class emblem.

He puts it back in the compartment and snaps the display back into place nice and tight and shuts the case, placing it on the center of the desk, and even though he goes straight to bed after that when his alarm clock goes off at six-ish he doesn't feel like he slept a wink. When he goes back into the workshop before breakfast nothing is disturbed but the case is gone, and his heart jumps just a little thinking maybe he's still here, maybe he's gonna make up an excuse or tell me I was hallucinating or say he's been meanin' to get something off his chest a little and now seems as good a time as ever, but he stays there standing in front of the workbench another two minutes and watches the shadows and the shadows don't move an inch.

As he shovels eggs into his mouth in the mess hall all he can think about is that little bit of yellow, probably perfectly matched up to the emblem resting on his sleeve now.

#napoleon complex #engiespy #bungus snippets #i havent written something proper in FOREVER #gotta make up for lost time *flexes fingers* #tf2 #tf2 engineer #tf2 spy

[astrowives]

short fanfic set after 108, after Tracy gets back from the hospital. pretty angsty & not the best writing but i just love these characters so much and wanted to fill in some of the missing moments!

By the time Tracy Stevens left the Baldwin home she could barely keep her eyes open. It was pitch black outside - she wasn't sure how much time had passed since leaving her house. Acting as if she was on autopilot, she made her way home, eyes glazed over with the remnants of tears shed for her best friend's son.

She fumbled around in her bag for her keys (she'd only just remembered to grab them as she rushed out earlier that evening, but she was so glad she had.) Tracy pulled them out, a slight breeze causing her to shiver. Pausing for a second, she shoved the key in the lock.

Please don't wake 'em up.

She gingerly turned the key in the lock and tiptoed through. The weight of her body shut the door behind her with a click as she sunk into it, letting her eyelids droop momentarily. If only she could snap a switch and forget the heaviness of the last few hours.

"Trace," Gordo's voice cut through the darkness of their front room. 

Tracy shot up straight, "Jesus Gord—"

She looked around the room to find him.

"Hey." He shifted up slightly from the almost horizontal position he'd been assuming on their couch. "You alright?"

"Um, yeah. Just… tired. It's—" She glanced over at the clock with a sigh, "half two in the morning Gordo, s'all"

"Yeah. Right."

Tracy kicked her shoes off, almost certain she'd have several blisters to treat in the morning. "What are you still doing up? You've got work"

"Had to make sure you got back okay, didn't I?" he said with a slight raise of the eyebrows. He watched as his wife tread softly across the room, and perched next to him.

The two sat in what seemed like a comfortable silence to Gordo, unaware of the thoughts swirling around Tracy's head as she contemplated how (and if, for that matter) to tell her husband the events of the past hours. No sound escaped either aside from their steady breaths, almost in sync, until Tracy raked a hand through her hair and opened her mouth to speak.

"Shane…" 

Gordo leaned forwards and reached in front of him to envelop her left hand between both of his. "Mhm"

"Shane, he— he's brain-dead Gordo… There was—" she swallowed as water began to pool in her eyes. "—a car accident. He was riding his bike and now… now he's just gone…." She continued to blurt out everything on her mind before she broke down, "Karen's in denial, she didn't even cry. She said he'll just wake up; that he's strong. It's so fucked up. I ain't got a clue what to do. What am I— what are we– going to tell the boys? Danny?..." Her voice had now reduced to barely a whisper. She felt the grip on her hand tighten; her eyes flickering over to see the horrified look on Gordo's face.

"Oh my god, Trace. Brain-dead?" The only response he got was a small nod. "You mean he's never waking up? Not ever?"

Tracy squeezed her eyes shut. "He'll never recover," she croaked, shuddering.

The already dimly lit room felt like it had become 10 shades darker. Gordo pulled her towards him, encircling his arms around her stomach as she now lay against his chest. She made no attempt to move, all fears from earlier that night of her husband cheating again cast aside.

"Poor Karen…," Gordo said. "It's not like she didn't have enough going on already with Ed up— fuck, what's going to happen with Ed, Trace? He has to know, it's his son. But…"

"Would you want to know? If it was Danny or Jimmy? You'd be all alone, nothing but your own thoughts and you'd know this horrible, awful thing.. and you'd be 200,000 miles away." She paused for a second, lips pursed. "There's no good, or right, or proper way to deal with this. God it's so messed up."

"Trace" he muttered.

"Yeah Gordo"

"Talking of the boys, what do we tell 'em? Saying nothing's not an option. They'll start asking questions when he's not at school, and anyway the press'll get hold of it soon so–"

"Oh they already did, don't you worry," Tracy grimaced. "Those vultures came swooping right into the waiting area, practically had to drag them out with my bare hands"

"I'm sure you scared them off for good babe"

"Right," she answered with a wan smile.

"I just can't shake the thought," Tracy sighed. "What if it had been one of our boys?"

She could feel the warm breath of her husband as his muffled voice spoke into her neck, "You can't think like that Trace."

"I'd never forgive myself. They mean the world to me and I know it's the same for you. And today's made me realise I feel so– so guilty. I've been an awful mother! Jeez Gordo, they probably hate me already. I've spent the last two years pawning them off on Karen and now what!? I should've been helping with their homework, reading stories and instead I'm an absent mom. They need to know how much I love them, how sorry I am." Tracy was rubbing her eyes, staring down at the cushion in front of her.

Gordo grabbed her hand, linking their fingers together. "They know... they think you hung the moon."

"Hey, that's my line," she chuckled softly. 

"Well it's mine now." She turned round, finding a smirk resting on his face. His expression quickly changed, asserting, "You need to sleep - we both do. The boys will be here in the morning alright?" He jerked his head toward the stairwell. "C'mon"

Tracy opened her mouth to protest, but no words escaped before a drawn out, silent yawn took over. She ultimately thought better of it and stood up, wobbling slightly on one foot before regaining balance. Gordo scrambled off the sofa to join her. He could see the blank stare in his wife's eyes. He pressed a quick kiss to her forehead, before gently nudging her to move. 

They crept upstairs, passing the boys' bedroom as they did so. Tracy peered through the slightly ajar door, concentrating on the sound of their breathing as she stared into the darkness for a few moments. Eventually satisfied, she closed the door and settled down to sleep herself.

#for all mankind #fanfic #tracy stevens #gordo stevens #my FAMfics

[spnae]

Chapter 26 Punk Love

Spike pushed Buffy to the ground as a deadly looking sword sparked against the brick wall just behind where her head had been. The demon snarled, reared for a second attempt. Spike held off the second strike with a length of pipe, the clang of it echoing through the alley. Buffy recovered quickly and looked around for the ax she had dropped.

“Any time now, Pet!” he grunted, as Buffy scrambled for her weapon..

“Working on it, Honey!” she said, sarcastically as she spied the handle under the dumpster and dived for it. She rolled up holding a compact ax with a long blade curving down over nearly a quarter of its grip. Spike’s eyes widened as he dropped out of the way of Buffy’s strike, ducking as the demon’s head spun off to the left.

“Bloody hell, woman! A little warning next time!”

“Oh please, I wasn’t even close to hitting you. You big baby,” she teased, “I’m liking this new ax. It’s almost like a travel size version of my scythe.”

Spike pulled himself up and dusted off his jacket as he strode over to the now abandoned motorcycle partially blocking the alleyway. “Sort of the point, thought it’d make travel a little easier for us. Although I imagine you’ll want to taper down that handle for vamps. Up to you.” He kicked the tires as he examined the bike. A beautifully restored vintage Triumph, built for two. A grin spread across his face, “What do you think, Love, fancy a spin? Spoils of war and all?”

Buffy stood up from where she had retrieved the sword the demon had dropped and turned to him, “As long as I get to keep this pretty-shiny. Kinda love this.”

“Pretty sure it goes with the bike, there’s a scabbard attached to it and everything.”

“Yours, mine, and ours.”

“Planning on making an honest man out of me Miss Summers?” he grinned wolfishly.

“What? Are you going to ask my father for my hand too?” she laughed.

He swung a leg over the bike, getting a feel for it and looked up at her, “That wanker who couldn’t even be bothered with you and Dawn after your mum died? Not bloody likely. Don’t need his blessing for so much as a sneeze for all I care.”

Buffy wordlessly handed him the hilt of the sword and he took it to secure it on the bike. He rested his hands on the handlebars and looked back up at her, “Sorry, Love, I know he’s your dad and all...”

“Thing is that you’re right. He hasn’t been there for us since… well a long time before mom died.”

“Doesn’t mean you’re alone. I’d ask Giles if I asked anyone, Pet. Didn’t think you’d hold with such an archaic tradition anyway.”

She snorted lightly as she climbed onto the bike with him, “The sentiment is nice but definitely not necessary.”

Spike looked around and spotted the demon’s helmet with its head still in it, “First chance we get, I’m getting you a helmet, don’t need your pretty brain gettin’ scrambled now.”

Buffy’s eyes fell onto the demon’s headless body and then the head, her face screwed up in disgust, “Think we should do something with it?”

“Not doing ‘A Weekend at Bernie’s’ with that sodding thing. He’ll disintegrate once the sun hits it.”

“Seriously? Aww, I love the no-mess ones.”

“Nice and considerate ain’t they?” He answered as he turned the key in the ignition. The engine roared to life and Spike let out a whoop of glee, “God, I love that sound!”

“So many, many, many, many, many things I could say right now.”

“Say ‘em after you’ve gone for a ride. Make our tour of the city a lot easier. Hold on tight, Love. I’m gonna have some fun with this.”

Buffy wrapped her arms around him tightly and they pulled out into the streets of Edinburgh. It was the second weekend in a row they had spent in the city. Two weeks since Angel had left and things had finally quietened down. He had called a few days after arriving in Rome to let them know that everything seemed fine with Dawn. Although he admitted that he hadn’t really stayed long enough to find out much, because he wanted to get back to his father/son time before heading back to LA. As far as he could tell, they didn’t seem to know each other yet but it was only a matter of time after his visit. Buffy was less than satisfied with that answer but didn’t really know what else she could do at this point. So she just thanked him for his information, called her sister a little more often and proceeded on like everything was business as usual.

She and Spike had spent their first weekend mostly in Mary King’s Close and exploring the underground there. Buffy marveled at the ingenuity and sheer expanse of the Edinburgh Underground, the city under the city. Spike had enjoyed showing Buffy around the demon marketplace. It was really something to see. There were over a hundred demon vendors selling everything from clothing and weapons to spices and charms. Spike had been anxious to get Buffy a meaningful gift ever since she had splurged on his new motorcycle jacket and the MP3 player. It was there in the demon marketplace he had bought her the new ax she used tonight. He was thrilled to see how well it was working for her.

This weekend they had decided to spend their time topside, after visiting a couple of clubs the night before and spending the day curled up together in their hotel room having a different kind of fun. Buffy was feeling more relaxed than she had in years. Not that everything was perfect, life was never perfect, but the past two weeks had been pretty damn close.

She shrugged a shoulder and tightened her grip on Spike, pressing her cheek into the leather of his jacket as they rounded a turn. She eased her hands flat against his chest as they came out of the turn. They drove around for more than an hour and a half taking in the sights. Spike would stop every once in a while to share some tidbit of information before heading off again.

Spike pulled the bike into a club they had talked about going to after patrol. He was getting a bit tired of the endless techno dance stuff most of these places played. They had tried one club in the underground the weekend before, that Spike really enjoyed. It was more like the old dives with a live band he had frequented years ago. Buffy hadn’t cared much for that one but loved seeing him happy so she tolerated it. She suspected tonight would be a similar experience. According to the schedule on a flier they’d seen, tonight’s band was a Punk group and Spike was looking forward to it.

Buffy frowned a little as she looked down at the outfit she had on. They had planned on going back to the hotel before heading out for the club. As it was, she figured the red tank top and black leather pants she had on wouldn’t be completely out of place at a club like this. She shrugged her shoulders and got off the bike making sure that her ax was securely stowed away along with the sword on the bike. Spike was sure to park in the back where hopefully no one would notice a bike with weapons attached to it. He frowned a little, wishing the bike had saddlebags. He’d have to get some.

“Ready for some fun?”

“I could use a drink or three.”

Spike raised one dark eyebrow, “It’s going to be one of those nights is it?”

She rolled her shoulders, “Maybe. I think they call it having a good work/life balance. Chop off a demon’s head and go drinking with a sexy vampire. You know, balance.”

He extended a hand and pulled her to him with a sly grin, “Well let’s go find you a drink.”

Inside the club they sidled up to the bar and ordered drinks. The band playing wasn’t nearly as bad as Buffy had anticipated. They had a little more of an upbeat feel similar to a lot of the songs by The Buzzcocks or the Ramones that Spike had played for her. It could have been a lot worse, she figured.

Spike turned, resting his back and elbows against the bar while Buffy sipped at her vodka and cranberry juice, his attention directed towards the band. She grinned as she watched him. Tomorrow they would be heading back to the castle. It was the Level 4 girls last week. They would be leaving for their new placements after their planned beginning-of-the-month shopping trip in town the following weekend. Which effectively meant this was their last night out for a little while, except for patrolling.

She finished her drink and snaked her arm around Spike’s waist, under his coat. He wrapped one arm around her back as they stood there at the bar. He took a slow sip of his drink.

You made short work of that, Pet. Ready for another? She heard his voice in her head through their link.

She pressed her head to his chest. I think drinks are a ‘good’ tonight. We have to be responsible adults again in less than 24 hours.

Spike shifted, turning towards the bar. He flagged down the bartender, “Can we get another round here, mate?”

Yeah well at these prices I’d rather hit that bottle in our room if you’re really serious about getting the house fixed up.

Buffy pouted a little as she sipped her new drink, One more and I’m cut off.

Spike grinned, Don’t care if you have a few more. I was talking about me. Why waste money on their rotgut when I got a bottle from the Abbey in our room? Don’t have vodka in the room, Pet. You have your fun.

They got their drinks just as the band finished their song. “For some of you bloody nostalgics out there, here’s a couple a old favorites!” The lead singer practically yelled into the microphone as the band started playing Iggy Pop’s ‘The Passenger’. Spike bobbed his head and tapped his hand on Buffy’s back in time to the tambourine while murmuring the words under his breath. Buffy grinned as she watched him totally at ease.

The band started playing, The Buzzcocks’ ‘Love You More’. Spike grinned, and downed his drink, slamming the empty glass on the bar. He took Buffy’s hand, the one not holding her drink, in his leading her to the floor. Buffy laughed. It was ridiculous to think the man in front of her could remember Queen Victoria’s reign, as he pulled her close to him and danced to the music. She swayed with him to the song with her hand resting at the nape of his neck. It didn’t matter if it was the waltz or a punk rock band playing, this was the man she always wanted to dance with. She buried her head in his shoulder. The song ended and Spike yelled his appreciation for the band, his voice rumbled through his chest and made her smile.

She might have to remember this place for his birthday. The thought hit her. It was almost August and she had planned on doing something special for him but didn’t know what exactly that was going to be yet. At least she had until almost the end of the month to figure it out.

The thought left her mind as Spike spun her and pulled her back to him firmly. She laughed and let herself melt into him for a kiss. This was shaping up to be a really good night. Quite possibly the best date ever.

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

The next morning Buffy checked out of their hotel alone. Spike had left a little before dawn in order to take the bike into the underground for safekeeping until he could come back for it. They had agreed to meet at Steve’s Place, the underground pub, before coming back for the car and heading back to the castle that night. The arrangement gave Buffy a little extra time to have a shower and deal with the hangover and serious lack of sleep from the night before. By the time she had checked out she was feeling a lot better. She dropped her bag in the car along with Spike’s and headed towards the entrance to the underground.

When Buffy finally made it to Steve’s Place, it was starting to fill up with demon clientele. Steve gave Buffy a reluctant little nod and she went over to him. “Hey, Steve. Spike around?”

“In the back.”

“Thanks, appreciate it. He’s not getting in trouble is he?”

“Haven’t heard any ruckus since he brought that bloody bike in,” Steve shook his head, “Pretty sure everybody around here knows not to tangle with either of you by now. Can’t say they understand it, but the regulars know.”

“They don’t need to understand anything, Steve. By the way, you got anything for me?”

“All the buzz I’ve heard has been about you. The thing with the Minch. That had the whole neighborhood talkin’ for a bit, but I’ve already told you that of course. Couple of vamps have been trying to cause trouble though. They keep asking about Slayers, trying to figure out how many there are and where they might be located. Been talking about Spike too. Calling him your pet vamp.”

Buffy crossed her arms and pursed her lips, this sort of thing wasn’t wholly unexpected, “Whatcha tell them Steve?”

“Me? No! You got it all wrong. I didn’t tell them anything. You’re scarier than they are. All I said was that you were the only Slayer I’ve seen. Then they started asking about Spike.” He dropped his voice so low, Buffy had to lean in to hear Steve, “I don’t know what you two got going on. I don’t wanna know. I just know that he’s a vampire with a soul and you two come in here somewhat regularly, sometimes even sharing a glass like you’re a couple of kids at a soda shop. You’ve been seen around an awful lot, always together, looking real close. I didn’t say anything, didn’t need to. I swear.”

“Have you told Spike about this?”

“First thing when he came in. He asked if he could stow the bike and I took him out back myself, told him all about it then.”

“Thanks, Steve,” and with that Buffy made her way into the back where she knew the poker game was in session. She heard Spike’s unmistakable voice calling one of the players out on cheating and Buffy stepped in. A rusty looking demon with what looked like porcupine quills for hair, was standing across from Spike who was sitting back looking as relaxed as could be. The other two demons at the table looked about as concerned as Spike did.

A yellowish demon with large pointed ears to Spike’s right looked mildly annoyed, “Sit down, Ronny, we all know you’ve got a problem with palming cards,” he said with a strong Australian accent. The large demon on Spike’s left remained silent but Buffy recognized him as the big drunk from the day Wendy’s crew took the Minch baby.

Spike looked up with a slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips, “Well boys, sorry to take your cash and run but my lady’s here. Mustn’t keep her waiting, you know.” The other demons all turned towards Buffy.

The sulfur-yellow demon’s jaw dropped as he looked back at Spike, “That’s your little Sheila?”

“Buffy, actually,” Spike stooped down to grab something from the floor. He pulled up a pair of black saddle bags.

There went that birthday present idea; Buffy thought idolily.

Spike’s head shot up and their eyes locked. His brow furrowed a little and she knew he had heard her thinking. They had been practicing different things trying to develop the bond between them into a more reliable form of communication that didn’t require physical contact. That mainly meant lots of meditation sessions that quickly devolved into very hot sex. So far they had only managed to develop it as far as touching over clothing. Now they were at least ten feet away from each other. Sure they had experienced little insights into each other’s emotions from a short distance like this before but those had been sporadic at best. This was different. This was a new development and they weren’t even trying.

She blinked and took a few steps inside the room, shaking it off for now, “Ready, Honey?”

Spike scooped his winnings into one of the saddlebags and stood up, “Sure, Love. We were about done anyway, right fellas?”

“Game was over for me three hands ago,” the big guy grumbled, adding a surprisingly cordial nod towards Buffy.

The rusty looking demon turned towards her, “Thought it was just a rumor, but he really is the Slayer’s little lap-vamp ain’t he?”

“Oh, he’s a lot more than that,” she said, shifting her weight, “Care for a demonstration?” She shifted her gaze towards Spike, “Do you want to show him some of the moves you’ve taught me, Sweetheart?” Her tone had an edge to it that said, in no uncertain terms, that they were not to be messed with or underestimated.

Ronny the rusty blanched or at least as much as the orangey-red demon could, “He— he teaches you— the Slayer?”

“Oh sure, I’ve learned lots from him. No better teacher for a Slayer than the Slayer of Slayers himself.”

Spike smirked as Ronny looked back over to him, “The Slayer of— what’s he doing shacking up with one then?”

“Our love life is of none of your concern there Rusty.”

“It’s Ronny. No, I want to know, if you’re the supposed Slayer of Slayers, how come we never heard of you, Spike?”

Buffy interjected, “Honey, are you being modest again?”

“What are you doing, Slayer?” Spike asked needlessly, as he lit up a cigarette.

“Just righting a wrong. Don’t you think your new little friends should know who they’re playing with, William?”

Spike raised an eyebrow, “Didn’t think proper introductions were necessary to play cards, Pet,” he exhaled a puff of smoke.

Rusty Ronny looked between the two of them, “What is this? Who—“

“You’ve been playing cards with ‘William the Bloody’, you’ve heard of him right? Used to run with Angelus; The Whirlwind.”

“That– that was a long time ago. Angelus hasn’t been seen in these parts in well over a hundred years, he’s dead. And you, if you’re ‘William the Bloody’ then what are you doing with a Slayer?”

“Angelus– Pfft, haven’t heard of him in over a hundred years because he’s been stateside going by ‘Angel’, and he was here two weeks ago you git. Shows what you know. Had a grand old time we did,” Spike sneered and was over the table before any of them could blink. He held something deadly looking up to Ronny’s throat and Buffy realized that it was a railroad spike. When did he start carrying that around again? Buffy wondered.

“What do you say mate? Want to know how I earned the name ‘Spike’? Other than the fact it’s a bit shorter,” he laughed menacingly, “I don’t mind demonstrating. Rather like teaching as it turns out. Imparting knowledge… is so… rewarding...” he said in his most dangerous tone as he twisted the spike against the demon’s skin. Ronny shook his head stiffly as Spike held him there, “No? Still want to know why I’m with the Slayer, yeah?”

“Y- You- you know, it’s really none of my business. You make a l-lovely c-couple, I’m sure!” He stammered.

Spike threw him back, “That’s right. You don’t mess with a good thing. What goes on between me and the lady is our business,” he added a threatening jab with the railroad spike before dropping it back into his pocket.

Buffy took several steps towards him and placed one small hand on his chest, “Ready to go, Babe?”

“To the ends of the earth, Love,” he gave her a chaste kiss, then turned around righting the table he’d knocked over and snagged the saddlebags and his winnings, “Ready.”

They walked out together, waving to Steve dismissively.

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

Once in the underground street, Spike turned towards her, “Not so sure how that little stunt is going to pan out, Love. Might stop some of the more ridiculous rumors.”

“Pretty clear you’re not just my lap-dog— lap-vamp— I mean seriously— ughh. I think it’s a little more clear we have a seriously mutual thing going on here.“

“Really don’t mind being in your lap,” he smirked.

“Dirty.”

“Yeah… but you like it.”

She smiled, shaking her head, “You’re still an idiot.”

He took her hand, “Come on, Buff. There’s something I’ve been waiting to check out,” they headed towards the place Spike had stowed the bike.

“What’s that?”

“Glasgow.”

“Glasgow. Now? We have to be back to the castle tonight. And sleep. Sleep is needed.”

“We’ll take the bike through the tunnels, should be ventilated enough you’ll be alright, only take an hour or so to get there through the tunnels, no traffic.”

She raised an eyebrow, “You’re serious?”

“Been a while since I’ve been there. Last I saw it, the underground there was mostly just a tunnel system; sort of like Sunnydale but with a train system built in. Don’t get me wrong there’s plenty to see. It’s sort of like Edinburgh Underground only in smaller— eh clumps or neighborhoods I guess, it’s a bit different than this. I’m just talking about a drive up and a drive back something to pass the daylight, that’s all. Something to do, Pet.”

“You mean just go for a Sunday drive?”

Sike laughed, “Do people still do that? Yeah, I guess it is a Sunday drive; what do you say?”

“Sure, let's go.”

“That way you can say you’ve been to Glasgow and by the time we get to the city proper we can just spend our nights above ground. Maybe take in the ballet or something.”

Buffy‘s eyebrows shot up “The ballet?” she questioned.

“Well yeah, since you were into that whole figure skating thing when you were young. Ballet isn’t that far off, thought you might like it. Didn’t you tell me you took ballet when you were a kid? Or was that Dawn?”

“Who are you and what have you done with my railroad-spike-welding boyfriend?”

“So is that a ‘No’ to the ballet?” His expression was one of bemused confusion.

“You just surprised me. I never pictured you as the ballet type, like not ever.”

He shrugged, “Not exactly. I mean I can certainly appreciate the physicality of it all. It’s visual poetry. My Mum always enjoyed it, so did Drusilla, hell, even Angel. Used to be a good way to spend an evening. I just thought you might like it too, but look if it’s not—“

She watched him as he struggled to explain himself. She could tell he was trying to downplay the situation he’d put himself in and placed a hand on his arm, “We can check dates when we get back to the castle.”

“We can do anything you like, there are museums, concerts, the theater and lots of great architecture, even the cemeteries are something to see. We don’t have to go to the ballet—“

“Spike, I get it. We can definitely partake of some of the local culture,” she pulled him down for a kiss, “I love that you’re trying so hard, but you don’t have to—“

“I want to, Love. You see so much ugliness everyday, you deserve to see a few things that are as beautiful as you are.”

“Aww, Spike, that’s— wait— how long have you been working on that line?”

He grinned sheepishly, “Been sittin’ on it for a little while. Doesn’t make it any less true.”

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

When they got back that night, the castle was quiet. All of the Level 4 girls were out on solo patrols and Faith had taken the Level 2 girls out on a training exercise. They had no more than set their bags down when they heard the unmistakable sound of crutches coming towards them from the kitchen.

“Hey Giles, I thought you’d be in bed already,” Buffy said but when she caught sight of his face she grew worried, “What happened?”

“I think we should all have a seat,” he turned back into the kitchen and sat down. Buffy and Spike sat across from him, “I got a call from Sheena’s parents this evening. Her older sister is missing.”

“Oh God.”

“Apparently she had gone out with some friends the other night, she was supposed to come home from University for a visit over the weekend. They thought she had just decided to stay over at a friend's but when she still hadn’t come home and hadn’t called like she usually does, they started calling around. No one has seen her since the night before last. They called here hoping she had come to visit Sheena.”

“Have you told her?”

“Her parents have asked me not to for the moment. They don’t want to worry her and are hoping she will turn up.”

“And what do you think?”

He set his glasses down on the table in front of him, and rubbed his eyes before answering, “I took the liberty of making a few calls of my own. There have been three local reports of bodies with neck trauma within the last few days, Faith took the girls to check them out. I asked her not to mention the missing girl. I was trying to wait up to hear something.”

Buffy nodded, “You should get some rest, we’ll stay up.”

“I’ll stay up, you need some sleep too, Pet.”

“Says the vampire who hasn’t slept since yesterday.”

“Pfft— this is nothing. Sheena’s a good kid.”

“You just like her because she paints your nails,” Buffy teased halfheartedly.

“Or maybe I let her paint my nails because I like her. Kid helps out with the dishes and all that. She also doesn’t treat me like I’m just the help or worse; The bloke shagging her beloved mentor.”

Giles pinched the bridge of his nose again, “Must you say it like that?”

"What, too subtle, Giles? What about screwing? Banging? Getting a leg over? Fu-"

"Yes THANK YOU that's quite enough," Giles held his head in his hands.

“Oh my God, Spike, I think you broke him…” a microscopic smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

“Oh please, like Anya and Xander weren’t infinitely worse. Call it payback for what you did to my blanket Rupert. Or should I say, on it?”

Buffy looked between the two of them, “Giles?”

“Ahh, well I— it was a matter of convenience you see.”

“Convenience? We’ve never done anything more than snog on anything of yours! There you go— couldn’t even wash the thing? Just hung it back up. That’s just uncouth, that is,” he grumbled.

“What are you— Ohh my God I just don’t even want to know— ” Buffy said, exasperated. She pointed sternly at Giles, “You bed, Spike and I will camp out in the living room. I want to know if Faith found anything on Sheena’s sister. Spike, you’re closer to Sheena, has she ever mentioned her sister’s name or given a description of her?”

“Sure, name’s Ruby. Five years older I think. Showed me a picture once, looks like Sheena. Ehh dark, sort of wavy hair. Likes The Clash, trying to get Sheena into ‘em. Can respect that. Sounds like a peach of a girl,” he said, tapping the table irritatedly, “I don’t like this…”

Buffy reached out, taking his hand. On the outside he was cool as could be, but the moment she took his hand she knew better. He was really worried about Ruby and Sheena. Of all of the younger girls, Sheena had been the one Spike had somewhat bonded with. Not that he was particularly close with any of them, but Sheena had helped him with routine jobs around the castle a few times. She was one of the only ones who treated him like just another guy. Not just a teacher or her mentor’s dangerously handsome undead lover. Sheena had treated him almost like a favorite uncle or something. It was a little like his relationship with Dawn, although not as close.

Spike stood up slowly and patted Buffy on the shoulder, “Come on, Pet. The couch awaits.”

“Hummm, cozy boyfriend snuggles and a movie?”

“Sure. I’ll grab some blood and a couple of beers. Want anything, Love?”

“I think there was a bag of gummy worms hidden in the top of the cupboard. Could definitely go for some of those if they haven’t devoured them yet.”

“You got it.”

#fanfic #buffy the vampire slayer #buffy fanfic #buffy x spike #spuffy #bound #spike x buffy

[seijorhi]

Fracture

i apologise in advance.

Miya Osamu x female reader

TW non-con, dub-con, psuedo-infidelity, referenced character death, angst, drunk reader, gaslighting, age gap, the slightest hint of nsfw

‘Yer still coming home for summer, right?’

How many weeks had your sister spent lovingly bullying you into coming down? How many hours had you spent listening to her gush over the phone about how excited she was?

And until about three months ago, you’d been excited too. 

Despite the ten or so years between the two of you, there was nobody on earth you loved more than your sister. When you were sixteen years old and your parents passed away in a car accident, she was the one who stepped up to take care of you, putting a roof over your head, making sure you ate, slept and kept up your grades, balancing two jobs to do it. 

And she grumbled and you fought, but she’s the only reason you managed to keep it all together enough to graduate high school, and when it came time for you to leave home for university, she was the one blinking back tears and loudly complaining about you ‘abandoning your poor older sister in her time of need’.

As if she hadn’t sat with you for hours, pouring over your options and gently nudging you in the direction of Tokyo. 

“It’s just a few hours away,” you’d told her. “I’ll come back and visit you all the time.”

There was truth to that. The first six months of uni, you came home every other weekend arms full of expensive textbooks and mountains of assignments to write, but then she met Osamu.

You’ve never seen anybody fall so hopelessly in love as quickly as she had. Miya Osamu may as well have hung the damn moon in the sky for how your sister looked at him. And you suppose you can’t really blame her; he was stupidly tall, broad shouldered and handsome. Even back then his restaurant was a wild success, the man was talented and clearly knew how to cook. Nice was the wrong word to describe him, but Miya Osamu was good, and so long as he made your sister happy, that was enough for you.

And it wasn’t like he was the one to drive you away. 

Osamu liked you – he let you camp out in his restaurant and work on your assignments when you desperately needed a change of scenery, stopping to humour you with conversation if it was quiet. He made you laugh, he was interesting, and the more your sister brought him around, the more you realised that you actually kinda liked the guy. 

Things were just easy between the two of you, you never had to pretend to be anything but what you were.

You were the one who started putting space between you and her. It wasn’t intentional, at least not on their part, but somewhere along the way you’d started to realise that Osamu wasn’t the odd one out anymore; you were. She was building a life with him, and fortnightly visits turned into monthly ones, and then eventually it became once every few months and after that only on holidays and special occasions – their wedding being one of them.

At Christmas, cheeks flushed with alcohol, she’d pulled you into a one armed hug, pouting into your sweater. “You never come visit us anymore,” she’d sniffled dramatically, “I miss you.”

But it was Osamu – fingers laced with your sister’s, a hint of a smile curling at his lips – who’d voiced it. “Come spend yer summer break with us.”

Three months later you’d awoken to a call telling you that there’d been an accident. Your sister was dead.

Weeks pass by in a blur. Your classes are a haze of droning voices and mindless typing, you submit papers you don’t remember writing and you get good marks anyway. Your friends don’t know how to act around you, everything feels surreal, like you’re moving around in a dream, nothing touches you anymore. It hurts, but you’ve wrapped up that pain and put it someplace safe, seeking it out only when you’re alone and you just can’t bear the numbness a second longer.

The trip you’d promised to take back home to Osaka is the furthest thing from your mind, at least until Osamu calls you in the early hours of the morning, a week or so before the semester ends.

“Yer still coming home for summer, right?”

The word ‘no’ lingers on the tip of your tongue. The last time you’d seen each other was at the funeral, his face blank and hollow, eyes rimmed in red. He’d barely spoken more than a few sentences to you, but he’d stayed by your side the entire time, calmly thanking those who came up to express their condolences. 

You’d lost your sister, but he’d lost his wife. 

“Do you still want me to?” you ask him quietly instead. If you were in his shoes, you’re not so sure that you would. 

Yet Osamu sighs heavily, and you catch a faint clinking sound on the other end of the line, like a bottle being set back against the marble countertop. “I just–” but he breaks off and something inside of your chest tugs. “I want ya here. The house is empty… she’s gone and I… I want ya here. Please.” 

How could you possibly say no after that? Maybe you’ve been selfish, so wrapped up in your own grief and misery. You’d assumed that because Osamu had Atsumu he’d be okay. Not right away, of course, but he’d have that support around him – a support system that you were without.

It didn’t enter your mind that perhaps he was struggling too. That he was spending night after night alone in a house etched with memories of her. And just as you’d thought that Tsumu was the one keeping his head above water, maybe he was offering a hand to do the same for you. 

—

He’s waiting for you on the porch when your taxi pulls up on the kerb. The driver’s nice enough to help you with your bags, but Osamu is quick to intercept, waving off the help with an impatient huff that almost makes you laugh.

“Yer here,” he says once he sets them down on the porch, grinning as he tugs you into a warm embrace.

It’s then that you get a good look at him, a proper look – and for a moment, you’re taken aback. You haven’t seen him since the funeral a few months back, granted, but Osamu doesn’t look the way you imagined him to – especially after your call the other night. There’s no hint of pallid skin, no bloodshot eyes with heavy bags underneath or a 5 o’clock shadow on his face. No, even with his dark hair still a mess, dressed in jeans and his Onigiri Miya tee, Osamu looks good. Healthy even, if the way the sleeves of his shirt cling to his biceps is any indication. 

It takes you a second to realise that you’re staring, because Samu chuckles, brushing past you to bring your stuff inside.

“Y’know, most people start with a hello,” he calls over his shoulder. 

Your cheeks heat, a hint of shame curling inside of you. Were you expecting him to be an inconsolable wreck? You know better than most that grief messes with people differently, and it’s not fair of you to judge him, however unintentionally, for not fitting that image of the grieving husband.

It’s a good sign. 

“Hi, Samu,” you reply somewhat sheepishly, following him inside.

He’s already walking towards your old bedroom, the ‘guest room’ now (though you and he both know it’s always been yours), leaving you to trail behind the older man. Your intention is to stop him from going to too much effort, but as you walk past the living room, something catches your eye.

Or rather, the absence of something. Faltering in your step, it takes you a second to realise what’s missing, but as you glance around, brows furrowing in confusion, it hits you. 

The pictures of you and your sister, the cute ones with her and Samu, the old family snaps that used to line the walls and sit on the TV unit, they’re gone. And it’s not just the pictures. The artwork your sister had painted that used to hang by the wall next to the kitchen, the little pot plants she’d doted on like children, hell, the throw that she’d knitted one winter that was always lying on the couch; they’re all gone.

The room feels almost alien without them, unfamiliar and cold. He’d hung up some cool photography stuff to fill in some of the spaces, but instead of homey it just felt… modern. Like the pictures you see in magazines of staged houses that nobody actually lives in. 

And you must have been standing there for a while, because you don’t notice it when Samu comes back to find you still holding your purse, gazing around like a lost child.

“I didn’t get rid of ‘em, if that’s what yer thinking.”

You turn to face him, except Osamu isn’t looking at you. He’s gazing at the walls around you both, his face strangely impassive – except for his eyes. It’s impossible for you to miss the hurt that swims there, the faint sheen they didn’t hold only moments ago. “I packed them away – they’re in yer room if ya want to look through any of it, it’s just…” he trails off, finally glancing back to look at you. And once again, you feel that flicker of guilt slowly eating away at you. “It was painful, seeing her face everywhere.”

Before you left your apartment that morning, you swore to yourself that you wouldn’t cry today – but the tears come unbidden, and one moment you’re standing there staring at him and the next you’re choking on a sob, hand coming to your lips to try and stifle it.

Osamu’s there in a second, solid arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest. He doesn’t say a word (what’s there to say anymore?) he just hums softly, stroking your back with a gentle hand as you fall apart once more.

—

It’s surprisingly easy for the two of you to fall into a rhythm. There’d been some part of you that was hesitant about this whole thing – despite having a relatively good relationship with your brother in law, you knew that the only real connection between the two of you was your sister.

Without her, living in the same space and trying to navigate around the holes that she’d left, you’d expected it to be at least a little awkward between the two of you. But with Osamu working full time, it was kind of a non-issue. Aside from the first day when he’d taken the morning off to help you get settled, he was usually gone before you woke up, and most nights he wasn’t home until nine or ten. How he worked such long hours six days a week without collapsing out of sheer exhaustion was beyond you, but you tried to make things easier for him, cooking dinner for the two of you.

“Y’know ya don’t have to do this every night, right?” he asks you one night, sticking the leftover chicken into the microwave. “I have a restaurant, I can sort out my own dinner.”

You don’t tell him that despite being a rather terrible cook, it was one of the things your sister made sure to do every night in the weeks following your parents’ death. You’d spend most of your day holed up in your room if you weren’t at school, but dinner was the one time you’d sit and talk with her. It became a ritual; something sacred and special between the two of you.

You’re a better cook than she was by far, no comparison for Osamu, of course, but it’s the only way you really know how to help with… whatever this is. 

Instead, you just offer him a wry look from your position on the couch, “And yet, you never do.”

He scoffs at that, a hint of a smirk curling at his lips, “Why would I eat there when I know yer cookin’ for me?”

—

Of course, as easy as it is to slip into living with Osamu, you can’t escape what happened there forever. 

It doesn’t slip your notice the first night you spend there; the spare toothbrush in your bathroom, the decidedly masculine body wash in the shower, or how one of the shelves in the vanity was stocked with shaving cream and cologne and a few odd skin care products. You’d assumed that they were Atsumu’s, spares stashed away for the odd nights he crashed here. There’s another bathroom off the master bedroom, so you know it can’t be Samu’s stuff.

Except you find yourself proven wrong one night, when fresh from your shower and clad only in a fluffy white towel, you open the door to find a shirtless Osamu filling the space, one arm propped up on the doorframe. 

“Anyone ever tell ya yer a bit of a bathroom hog?” he asks, smirking down at you.

And you’re so taken aback, utterly confused as to why he’s standing there half dressed, why it matters how long you take in the bathroom – never mind that the only thing covering you from complete nakedness is your towel – that you can only stand there, gaping like a fish as he laughs, takes you by the shoulders and physically shifts you out of the way as he slides on past.

It takes you until the following morning – Osamu’s sole day off – to ask him about it, clutching nervously at your cup of coffee while he busies himself making breakfast for the two of you. 

“Samu, um, about last night…” you timidly begin. 

He glances up at you from the stove, a single eyebrow raised. “What about it?”

Your cheeks are already burning, eyes darting between his face and the mug in your hands as you struggle to find the right words to bring it up without making things weird. “Well, I-I was just wondering… um, why you were using my bathroom?”

You’re not sure what kind of reaction that you’re expecting, but the dark look that flashes across his face isn’t it. For a split second, your insides clench, terrified that you’ve said the wrong thing–

But as quickly as it appeared, Osamu’s expression smooths over. He exhales heavily, setting down the spoon in his hand as he turns to face you properly, and when your eyes flicker up once more, you realise with a start that it’s pity that’s taken its place. 

And a second too late, the pieces inside your head fall into place.

“Oh.”

Osamu nods only once. “I can’t go in without seeing her lyin’ there… I thought ya knew.”

And it’s like all the air’s been sucked out of the room. She’d died in their bathroom – slipped on the wet tiles and cracked her head open on the edge of their bath, and Samu had been the one to find her. 

Weakly your eyes flutter shut, bitter nausea churning in your gut. How could he stay here, sleep in the next room when–

“Hey, hey, calm down, I gotcha,” Samu’s voice is at your ear, and your head’s spinning, pounding, and you can’t breathe. The mug in your hand tumbles to the floor, your coffee spilling across the wooden floorboards as weak fingers clutch at empty air, and then those arms are around you once more and Osamu’s trying to soothe you.

Breakfast is forgotten as he tugs you towards the couch to sit. And as he holds you, speaks to you in that calm, unwavering voice you try to focus on the scent of him (masculine and earthy, a hint of spice and cedar), the fabric of his shirt under your cheek and the gentle, almost lazy circles he rubs into your side and not the mental image of your sister, lying broken and bleeding on the bathroom floor.

—

It doesn’t take much effort to find the stash of your sister’s things that Samu set aside in your room. You lose hours flicking through pictures of her, smiling through your tears as they dredge up old, happy memories of the two of you.

Even the ones of her and Samu, his arms looped around her waist, resting his chin on the top of her head; she’s always wearing that bright grin that makes your heart ache.

There are a few of the three of you – one from the last time they’d come to visit you in Tokyo and you’d dragged them off to Disneyland. You’re standing between the two of them, beaming at the camera while Samu’s arm hangs off your shoulder and your sister, grinning widely and wearing the minnie mouse ears she’d bought at the first opportunity, tosses up a peace sign. 

Softly wiping away your tears, you set it aside. You’ll have to ask Samu if you can take that one home with you.

—

“What’re ya doin’ tomorrow?”

It’s late, and the two of you are sprawled out on the couch, watching TV with a bowl of snacks between you like the old days when he asks.

“Not much,” you reply. “I was going to go to the markets at some point in the morning and maybe head to the beach after that, why?”

Grey-ish brown eyes flicker across to you, “A few of my old teammates are in town, we’re meetin’ up for some drinks. I want ya to come with me.”

“Oh,” the word slips out before you can stop yourself. “Um, yeah… if you want?”

It ends up sounding more like a question, a fact that doesn’t slip past Osamu if the amused little snort he gives in response is any indication. And it’s not that you don’t want to give up your plans in favour of going with him; you get along pretty well with Atsumu and you’ve met most of his old teammates at least once or twice, it’s just that you’re a little confused as to why he’d want you there to begin with.

They’re all at least twelve years older than you, and while it occurs to you that maybe he’s just inviting you along to be polite (not that that’s ever been his style before) the last thing you want is to be stuck feeling like an afterthought, all but ignored as he and his friends catch up.

“I said I wanted ya there, didn’t I?” He doesn’t wait for a response, “‘sides, Tsumu already asked if you were comin’.”

Which is how you find yourself dressed up for the first time in months, fingers smoothing out the hem of your dress as Samu tosses you a lazy grin from the driver’s seat. “Relax, wouldja? They ain’t gonna bite.”

You know that. They’re good guys, but no matter how much rationalising you try to do, you can’t seem to quell the anxiety eating you up, and the frustrating thing is that you don’t know why you’re feeling it.

He’d neglected to tell you that they weren’t meeting at some bar or restaurant, but at Atsumu’s condo in the city (‘Showy fuckin’ bastard’ Samu’d huffed as he’d pulled up in front of the building), but you suppose it really doesn’t make much of a difference.

“Ya look good,” he compliments, eyeing you for a moment while the two of you wait for the elevator. 

Cheeks warming, you drop your gaze and stutter out a quiet thank you. Apparently unsatisfied, he leans closer, reaching one large hand up to gently ruffle your hair – grinning in satisfaction when you shriek and try to pry it away. “Relax,” he whispers again, the warmth of his breath tickling the bare skin of your neck. “Yer too wound up.”

Distracted by the arrival of the elevator, you fail to notice that instead of returning back to his side, his hand drops to your shoulder.

And it should be easier to do just that once you have a drink in hand. Atsumu greets you with a one armed hug, the only hint of anything out of the ordinary being the way his gaze lingers a beat too long as he studies your face, his eyes sharp and missing nothing. But whatever he sees (or doesn’t see) his expression softens into a smile, “Glad ya came.”

But even as you’re greeted by the others, falling into an easy conversation with Kita and Aran you can’t seem to shift the uneasiness in your stomach. There’s something in the air, a tension nobody really wants to admit to.

And you can’t quite tell if the others are surprised that Samu brought you at all, or if it’s just because you’re a living reminder of a tragedy that’s still fresh and raw, and everyone’s trying to pretend that it’s not. You don’t blame them for it, of course, they only mean the best. But you can see it in the way Suna side eyes you every now and then, how skilfully Akagi skirts anything that could touch a nerve when he comes up to chat.

It’s like they’re all walking on eggshells – though whether it’s for your benefit or Osamu’s, you’re not entirely sure. For his part, Samu sticks close, keeping your drink topped up, an arm slung over your shoulders as the afternoon wears into the evening. 

Yet despite that, the alcohol you’re drinking far too quickly starts to work its magic, filling your body with a warm, pleasant little buzz, and you actually start to enjoy yourself. You laugh easier, giggling when the twins start to bicker, gasping in wicked delight when Suna offers to show you certain embarrassing photos of both of them on his phone (he has quite the collection), even letting Gin and Tsumu drag you into taking shots with them.

And all the while, Samu watches you, a soft smirk playing at his lips.

—

By the time he unlocks the front door and you stumble back inside, you’re absolutely plastered, giggling at nothing and tripping over your own feet.

As always, Samu’s there to catch you, strong, muscular arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you flush against him. “Careful there, princess,” he laughs.

You grin up at him, carefree and heartbreakingly beautiful. For the first time in months you feel light, you feel amazing and you don’t want this to end. Kicking your heels off, you skip inside, leading him by the hand. “Samu,” you call back over your shoulder. “I wanna dance.”

“Nobody’s stopping ya.”

“But there’s no music,” you pout, and once again he chuckles, letting you go to settle back into the leather couch as he pulls out his phone. A moment later a familiar, lively melody floods the living room, and you let yourself become lost to it. It doesn’t matter that you’re drunk and dancing alone, Samu’s dark eyes following your every move, you’ve never felt so free.

Arms raised in the air, hips swaying hypnotically to the beat, you lose track of time. It could’ve been minutes or seconds or a whole hour, but suddenly you’re not alone anymore – Samu’s there with you. His cologne invades your senses, why does he always smell so good? His body’s warm, almost hot as he slots himself behind you, caging you against him. 

“Fuck, baby,” he growls, his voice sending shivers running down your spine. “Yer a little tease, ya know that?”

And there’s something wrong with that, you know there is, but you can’t seem to think of what it is – not when the weight of his hold’s impeding your movement. A pout adorns your face, a soft, almost petulant whine escaping your lips as you try in vain to untangle yourself, “Samu, lemme go. I wanna dance.”

He huffs out a laugh, but that doesn’t sound right either. “Don’t wanna dance with you, pretty girl.”

There’s something hard pressing against your lower back, and his hot breath ghosts over your neck a moment before lips descend to suck on the sensitive flesh.

In a split second, all that blissful, warm, drunken happiness evaporates. Samu groans lowly, his chest rumbling at your back, but there’s a pit of something cold and urgent that’s seeping through your veins, distant, foggy alarm bells tolling inside of your head and you don’t understand what’s happening, but you know that you don’t like it.

You want it to stop.

“S-Samu,” you whine, shifting uncomfortably against his hold. 

This time he listens, drawing back just enough that he can turn you around to face him. And those familiar eyes are hooded and dark, burning with an intensity that makes you want to recoil even as he stares down at you, taking your cheek in hand.

You don’t even realise that you’re crying until his thumb’s brushing away your tears. There’s nothing comforting or pleasant (nothing of the Samu you know) on his face as he studies your fearful expression, but eventually he lets out a heavy sigh.

“She was positive I was cheatin’ on her,” he admits. “Did she ever tell ya that?” He pauses for a beat waiting for a reply, but when it’s clear that you don’t have one for him, he just scoffs, “No, ‘course not. That’d be admitting that not everything about our life was picture perfect, and heaven fuckin’ forbid we do that. Y’know, that's why she wanted ya back here so bad. She needed a buffer.”

Bitterness clings to every word like poison and you flinch, renewing your struggles to get away. Not that he lets you – the moment you start to squirm the arm around your waist tugs you closer, anchoring you against him. The tears come faster, followed by soft, hiccuping sobs, but Samu seems beyond caring at that point.

“Stupid bitch never could see what was right in front of her face. That’s what we were fightin’ about that night; she said she was gonna leave me.”

Your heart clenches, fear pooling in your gut, but Samu just smiles at you, a mockery of sweet tenderness, reaching back to tuck a stray lock of your hair behind your ear. “But you know I’d never hurt my pretty girl, don’t ya, baby?” he asks. “Just want a taste tonight.”

You don’t even have time to suck in a breath before he’s kissing you, cradling the back of your head as his mouth moves hungrily against yours.

And all you can taste is the whiskey on his tongue.

—

You can’t tear your eyes away from your reflection in the mirror, the faint, reddish blemish colouring your neck.

A hickey.

Tentatively, as if trying to prove that it’s real and not a figment of your imagination, you prod at the mark, only to wince at the tenderness. Definitely real.

You’d woken up to an empty house – unsurprising considering it was well past ten and you knew Osamu had work today – with your head pounding and your mouth uncomfortably dry. Wracking your brain, you can’t seem to conjure up a rational explanation for the bruise. Granted, you can’t really remember much of last night, only fragments of being at Atsumu’s place, and certainly nothing after you’d started taking those shots.

Which doesn’t make the uneasiness sitting heavy in your stomach any easier to take, because you know that you hadn’t been cosying up to anybody before you’d lost track of the night, and if it had happened after, then surely Samu or one of the others would have stepped in and put a stop to it.

And that should’ve been more of a comforting thought than it was, because if it didn’t happen at Atsumu’s then that meant it happened afterwards, when you were here with Samu.

Your heart thumps unevenly against your ribs.

Osamu. Your dead sister’s husband, your brother in law. 

A hickey on your neck isn’t just a kiss. It’s not a simple, drunken peck against your lips, it meant that somebody had sucked on the skin, bitten at it, kissed until blood vessels broke – it’s not the kind of thing that happens accidentally. 

A wave of nausea threatens to overtake you, and you barely manage to make it to the bathroom before you’re violently emptying the contents of your stomach into the porcelain bowl. And you know as you collapse onto the cool tiled floor, shaking just a little, that this time at least, the alcohol isn’t to blame.

You know Samu; you trust him implicitly. Whatever happened, it must have been a mistake or something. You’d both been drinking, and he’s still grieving and–

There’s no point jumping to conclusions or working yourself up any more than you already have. You’ll just bring it up with him when he gets home, you decide. 

Yet anxiety and guilt gnaw at you as the hours crawl by, you’re half tempted to pick up your phone and just call him to ask point blank. The clock feels like it’s mocking you every time you glance up, and while you try your best to distract yourself with household chores and then busying yourself with dinner, none of it works for long.

By the time he does stride through the door, a little before ten, you’re an anxious wreck, all but wringing your fingers as you sit rigid and tense at the table. Most nights you eat before he gets home, hunger getting the better of you, but tonight you don’t seem to have much of an appetite. 

“Smells good,” he comments with an easy grin, toeing off his shoes and dropping his wallet and keys by the door.

You open your mouth, but the words seem to get stuck in your throat as he drops a kiss down on the top of your head and walks on past to grab a bowl from the kitchen.

“I’m starving.”

Instead, you just swallow nervously as he pulls out the seat next to you and sits, not wasting another second before digging in. Your eyes quickly dart over to study him, but you don’t see any hint of guilt or unease on his face. He just looks like the same old Samu, a little tired maybe, but otherwise totally normal, and so you force yourself to pick up your spoon and follow suit. 

And he’s never been one to fill silences with meaningless chatter, but tonight the quiet between the two of you feels oppressive, every clink of metal against ceramic echoing too loudly, every chew, every swallow setting you on edge. You can’t even taste the food, your stomach too twisted in knots for you to feel anything but nauseous after a few bites. 

“… Is everything okay?” he asks after a few minutes, and it’s so sudden amongst the tense silence that you visibly jerk, almost dropping the spoon you’d been toying with. 

You glance up to find him staring, brows furrowed in concern, and once again your stomach flips. It’s now or never.

“Um… did anything happen last night?” you ask, your voice barely more than a whisper.

Osamu’s frown deepens fractionally, and he tilts his head as your fingers twist in your lap, “What d’ya mean?”

Did we kiss? The words dangle on the tip of your tongue, but as you nervously meet his eyes, you find nothing but confusion and concern there. And for a moment, you almost speak them, but then Samu’s reaching across the table to take your hand in his, and as his warm palm swallows up yours, you lose your nerve.

“You sure yer okay?”

Whatever happened, he doesn’t remember it and neither do you. 

Smiling tightly, you nod. “Yeah, it’s nothing. Nevermind.”

There’s no reason for you to drag him through the mud for this, you’re already feeling enough guilt and shame for the both of you.

—

You try to put it out of your mind, but it’s not that easy.

Lying awake in bed at night, your brain unwittingly turns over possibilities of what else could’ve caused the mark if not Osamu. Guilt gnaws at you every second that you’re around him and all the while he’s painfully oblivious to it all.

He’s always been affectionate with you, but all those stray, unthinking touches now carry a different weight with them. You find yourself ducking away from them more often than not, pretending that you don’t see the almost wounded look in those greyish-brown eyes when you do. You start to avoid him, finding other places to be whenever he’s home.

And you hate yourself for it, because Osamu’s been nothing but faithful to your sister for as long as you’ve known him. You’re the one acting like there’s something wrong between the two of you, like he’s treating you any differently than he always has when you know that’s not the case.

You know that, but when you catch sight of the fading bruise in the mirror, your stomach twists into knots all the same. 

There are excuses and justifications aplenty, but none of them make you feel any better. You still find yourself sniffling into your pillow, swallowed up by your guilt when you imagine how devastated your sister would be if she knew.

You’d let her husband kiss you. Being drunk and miserable and grieving didn’t change that. Whether he knew it was you or mistook you for her; it doesn’t matter. Maybe it was a mistake, letting him talk you into coming.

Things were still too raw, too fresh. You’d thought that coming here would help, but so far it’s only made everything worse, and unintentionally or not, you can’t kid yourself that your presence is doing anything to help Osamu anymore.

You need to go back to Tokyo.

Somewhat selfishly, you’re tempted to put it off until the weekend, because you know that Onigiri Miya has a stall for the beginning of the summer festival and he’ll be too preoccupied with that to think about anything else – but you just can’t bring yourself to do that to him. 

No, it’s better to rip it off like a bandaid; nice and quick. 

You’d planned on breaking the news over dinner, but as you pick your way through your noodles, you notice that Samu’s quieter than he usually is. Every time you risk a glance up he’s staring at the table, looking entirely lost in thought, and it just doesn’t feel like the right time to bring it up.

Tomorrow, you decide, you’ll cook his favourite for dinner and tell him then.

—

The knocking startles you from your sleep with a jolt. It’s quiet, hesitant almost, but you’ve always been a light sleeper.

“Samu?” you croak out, fumbling blindly for the phone at your bedside to see what time it is. 

The door opens, a crack of light from the hallway spilling into your room as Osamu looks in. “Sorry,” he murmurs, “I know it’s late, but I need to talk to ya ‘bout somethin’.”

He’s shirtless, clad only in a pair of cotton pyjama pants, but he doesn’t look to be in any immediate kind of trouble. Still, he wouldn’t have disturbed you in the middle of the night if it wasn’t something important, so you blearily wipe the sleep from your eyes and force yourself to sit up as he slips into your room and shuts the door behind him.

“What’s wrong?”

He hasn’t bothered to turn on the light, and even with the moonlight streaming in through your window, his face is cast in shadow as he takes a seat on the edge of your bed. And it’s silly, especially considering he’s the one who’s shirtless right now but it’s hard not to flush at the realisation that you’re only wearing a thin, satiny slip. You feel almost naked – he’s seen you in bikinis before, but it feels different here, when he’s the one in your bedroom.

“You asked me the other day about what happened the night we went to Tsumu’s,” he begins, his voice quiet and soft in the early hours of the morning, and suddenly your state of dress is the last thing on your mind. 

Swallowing tightly, your pulse quickens and you still, waiting for him to continue.

And you feel, rather than see, the way he stares at you, inching a fraction closer when you don’t immediately answer. “And I lied. Or I didn’t exactly tell ya the full truth.”

“Which is?” you force out.

Samu’s shoulders rise and fall as he takes a deep, slow breath in and exhales heavily. “You were drunk and ya came onto me, tried to kiss me.” You flinch, a choked sound escaping your throat at the blunt admission, but he’s quick to reach for you, his hand coming to rest on your knee, squeezing it reassuringly. “And in the heat of the moment, I let ya.”

Hot tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but the moment you try to turn away from him, biting your lip and trying to blink back the tears, he stops you. 

“Osamu–”

“‘Cause I’ve spent years waiting to kiss those lips, an’ I’m tired of pretending we both don’t want this.”

And he’s kissing you; soft and sweet and gentle, his lips molding to yours as he cups the back of your neck. You wonder if he can feel your pulse racing under his fingertips as he draws himself closer, groaning into your mouth.

It doesn’t matter that your hands are on his bare chest, pushing at him, hitting him – those muscles aren’t just for show; he’s immovable. The more you squirm, trying to extricate yourself so that you can plead with him to stop–

This is a mistake. A horrible, awful misunderstanding. He’s upset and grieving and not thinking clearly and you have to stop this.

He doesn’t know what he’s saying.

– the more his grip tightens until it starts to hurt and you’re whimpering into the kiss. Your tears are wetting his cheeks, but he doesn’t care, won’t stop and there’s a panic that rises within you every second that you’re entangled with him.

“Don’t do this,” he mutters, breaking the kiss as a sob rips its way free from your throat, “Don’t pretend ya don’t want this, baby. I know ya do. Stop being a little fuckin’ tease.”

He leans back in, intent on capturing your lips again, and in an act of desperation you reach for his face, cradling his cheek in your hand. “Samu, please,” you beg, wide, imploring eyes searching his face for any hint of a reprieve. “You’re scaring me. Stop, please, j-just for a second.”

Just a second, that’s all you need to try and snap him out of whatever the hell this is. One second. 

Osamu stills, his face mere inches from your own, his body hovering atop yours. His breath, ragged and uneven, ghosts over your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake, but you don’t dare move as he leans into the touch, grey eyes fluttering shut.

He sighs, the sound almost like a shiver. “Ya don’t need to be scared, ‘m gonna take good care of my girl.”

He doesn’t give you the chance to say anything else, not as he forces himself onto you once more. You used to marvel a little at Osamu. Tall, handsome and strong, even in his mid thirties; Samu was fit. Now, straddling your waist, pinning your wrists to the wall with one hand, the other palming at your tits, he dwarfs you entirely. He isn’t impatient, not as he kisses you languidly, not as he slides the soft, satin up your thigh, revealing your underwear.

Your hiccuping sniffles aren’t enough to move him, you’re not strong enough to physically fight him off. He doesn’t pay the tearful, breathless pleas sobbed out between kisses any mind. 

Osamu grabs you by the waist and flips you onto your front, lips brushing at the nape of your neck as he smooths your hair back, and you’re utterly helpless to stop him. 

And as his hand runs down your side and he coaxes your hips up into the air, you almost wish that he was rough. Because this pretense of gentleness, glinting steel masquerading as silk – it’s too intimate, and you feel complicit.

Like you’re willing.

Like you want this with him.

An act of love as he tugs your panties down to your knees and hums in quiet satisfaction at the sight of your bare cunt, glistening just for him.

There’s a voice in your head telling you you should be screaming and kicking and snarling like a wild, feral thing, but Osamu’s grabbing at your ass, spreading it to get a better look, his thumb gliding along your slit and all you can think about is the picture he’d packed away, the one of the three of you at Disneyland. 

Samu’s arm slung over your shoulder, and your sister’s bright smile.

He spits; a warm, fat glob of saliva hitting your pussy, and as it slowly dribbles down the only sound that leaves your lips is a soft, broken whine. You don’t fight him when he takes his cock in hand and guides the flushed head, pre-cum already oozing at the tip, along your cunt, you just lie there, a toy for him to move and manipulate however he wants.

“You’ll forgive me for this, I know ya will,” he murmurs, softly squeezing your hip just once as something thick and blunt presses at your entrance. 

But it doesn’t matter, not as his cock sheaths itself inside of you with one hard, brutal thrust, because you’re not sure you’ll ever be able to forgive yourself.

#yandere haikyuu #yandere osamu miya #yandere osamu x reader #yandere osamu #yandere osamu miya x reader #tw: noncon #tw: dubcon #tw: infidelity #angst #drunk reader #manipulation and gaslighting ahead y'all #dilf osamu

[beann-e]

god imagine if when bakugou has a kid their just like him. like imagine a 6 year old with a sarcastic nasty mouth who just doesn’t give a fuck. Which eventually leads to bakugou getting his ass handed to him. Look here’s a teaser

“ holy sh—fuc—why aren’t you sleeping “

“ why aren’t you sleeping “

“ because I cant sle—- “ a soft cough left the older males mouth as he sat up straighter “ I don’t have to explain anything to you — you little rodent “

“ ro— ro— rodent ? “ the small child’s voice came out in a loud scream as the male in front them shifted in his seat uncomfortably

“ here come on let’s go to mama “

God you had to have been his only way out of this situation

“ mamas sleep “

of course you were.

Of course you were tucked away into the confinement of your own bed recovering from a hard day of work. The soft covers draped over your body while the fan worked wonders around the room.

God your such an asshole , a pathetically beautiful and lucky asshole

“ heh , then why aren’t you? “ the older male deadpanned as he stared down on the child. He let out a small sigh when he didn’t receive an answer “ ok then why don’t we both go to our own rooms and sleep too huh ? how ‘bout that “

“ katsumis sleeping in there “

“ fuck —you just seem to have everybody in your corner huh you little brat“

The room went quiet as he watched the small girl crawl up on the coach using his pants leg as an anchor to help her get up there. Her small legs pushing her up only for her to fall back down because her arms couldn’t pull up the weight of her small body. His mouth opening to let out a sigh before he reached out and pushed the girl up on the couch his hand pushing her butt and sending the girl flying onto the couch like a football.

Only to make her giggle and crawl back over to sit next to him.Body settling in the same position as him with her small chubby legs spread out and her hands placed behind the couch as far as they could go leaving her chest out in the open. A small smile on her face when she noticed she looked just like the male to the right of her. And honestly she did she always did without even trying .

It wasn’t that bakugou hated kids no.

It was just that he would rather be left alone and not be bothered with them. He thought maybe when he grew up and had his own kids that would change but after the birth of your first child together, then the second , and lastly the third he only noticed the small change that occurred.

He could put up with them of course but he always found them annoying mostly because anytime he seen them he had just gotten back home from work. meaning he had to hear them screaming their heads off and fighting with you in a plea to skip bath time while he walked through the door and straight to your shared bedroom

Most of the time he was the disciplinary parent so you can only guess how quickly each of them would fall in line when they all looked up to see the loud footsteps echoing through the house belonged to their father.

His hero uniform still on with his eyes locked on each of theirs in a tired gaze frowning up at him as his right hand carried the belt he’d picked up from his bedroom on the way over to the bathroom.

His face speaking volumes before his mouth did . His right hand only gripping tighter when he thought about how long you had gone with them acting like this and him not being around to stop them from mistaking your exhaustion as submission

You weren’t soft per say but after having 3 kids and taking care of them by yourself you’d grown weak and tired.

Your mean manner and discipline you thought you had set up in your house only withered away more and more with every kid you had and now you were really just tired of taking care of three kids all by yourself with no help.

“ take the shitty bat— “

your hardened gaze moved from your kids to him as his hand holding the belt wavered — remembering your rule of no cursing in the house because your middle child had just started second grade and the teacher had already called once.

“ haha daddy’s scared of mommy “

“ of course he is have you seen her “

“ hey mommy’s not scary she’s just — “ your youngest daughter katsu spoke as she quickly turned to katsuki “ hey daddy what’s that word “

“ what word ? “ his face went stoic before he sighed annoyed with the small child “ how the hel— heck am I suppose to know what word you wanna say — i’m not a mind reader katsu— that’s not my quirk “

“ well maybe if you spent a little more time with her you’d know asshole “ your oldest spoke under his breath “ strict katsu that’s the word your looking for — she’s just strict I mean someone has to be when our fathers too busy sa— “

“ hey come on kai just— just get in the bathtub your up next anyways “ your voice was soft a small sigh leaving it before you wrapped katsumi and katsu in towels tucking them away from their older brother. “ ‘sumi— ‘tsu follow your dad he was just leaving —he can help me put you two to bed tonight — “ you rolled your eyes at the male hovering over you “ lord knows i need it—in you go kai “

“leaving — wh— the hell if I am ——- your just gonna let ‘ em get away with that “ bakugous mouth moved faster as he gripped the belt like it was a separate life form when he saw your innocent eyes look up at him “ get away with what babe ? “

“ they just verbally assaulted me y/n “

“ oh did they hmm” you turned back to your kids “ maybe you should file another villains report “

“ wow “ his voice went quiet at your remark you two had been on the outs recently because he kept saying how much he wanted more kids in the moment only to turn around and bask in the light he was given during their birth and then turn back around and spend no time with them at all.

you shook your head “ i’m sorry I don’t understand what they’ve done wrong “

You were tired of it.

“ i’m going to bed after this ‘suki I don’t know if your gonna be there or if your sleeping at the office again but please this time write a note so I don’t tell katsu her dad will take her to school in the morning “ you scoffed “ again “

That was how he ended up here he had gone to the office but he came back when he realized he’d screwed up his whole family. He assumed that if he had the fame , the money , the whole setup that he could provide for his family’s every need.

What he’d forgotten is that maintaining relationships within your family is actually apart of said needs. He didn’t understand until all three of his kids had something to say about his absence how much it was messing with them. So he came back home and sat on the couch.

Just his luck that he was greeted with not only the youngest but the smartest of his three children. He would’ve much rather have walked in to hear you screaming at him for leaving in the first place not the toothless child next to him bothering him with useless questions about his absence

“ dada “ his eyes went over to look at katsu who’d found a place on his side This would be her twelfth question in a matter of five minutes “ can I sit in your lap “

his eyes furrowed this was a different question than he’d expected “ katsu baby you don’t have to ask things like that “

“ but you— your never here so I just assumed that you may be trying to get away from us so I didn’t want you to have someone you don’t like in your lap “

“ what kat— “ his back hit the couch before he propped himself up and dragged the small girl onto his lap “ I adore you guys I love you and I never meant to make you guys feel unloved it’s just that“

“mm “ her voice coming out accusingly just like yours causing him to tense while imagining you as the small girl in front of him.

“ work baby “ he sighed as he rubbed the girls shoulders up and down heating up her cold body “ work is really hard when your an adult and you never get any time off with my job it’s constant “

“ daddy is all work hard “

“ yes “ he smiled

“ if all work is hard— meaning it’s all the same then why can’t you just get a different hard job that doesn’t take up all your time “

his heart pounded inside his chest as he stared down on the smaller girl his eyes wide “ w— what um aren’t you like what 5 —6 how— “

“ you missed when my quirk came daddy it’s super knowledge”

his smile tightened along with the grip he held on the couch cushion beside him “ of course it is yeah of course it is — just my fucking luck “

#katsuki bakugo imagine #bnha bakugo katsuki #mha bakugou #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou headcanons #bakugou imagine #bakugou katsuki #bnha bakugou #bnha #mha #mha bakugo katsuki #mha bakugo x reader #bakugou x you #bakugou x y/n #bakugou x reader #pro hero bakugou #bakugou angst #bakugou fluff #mha angst #pro hero katsuki #mha fluff #baku #bnha x you #bnha x y/n #bnha x gender neutral reader #mha x y/n #mha x reader #mha x you

[kunikuzxshi]

*puts hand out* give dabi and shigaraki stuff now, just do something

I guess I'm on my own lol

Just some smut headcanons I have of 'em real quick before I'm gone for the weekend

Minors DNI. I barely write smut, y'all aren't missing out on much

Shigaraki

He's probably a switch honestly. I like him as a bottom, but realistically, he's probably a 50/50

He'd be a switch for a few reasons. I feel like he'd be a little bitch boy about wearing artist gloves, so when he's tired he just has you do the work

However, when he can control his quirk, or just when he's got enough energy, he'd definitely be the dominant one

He's very nervous about the first time, throwing around excuses about how 'You wouldn't like his body' in hopes that he could get out of it

He lasts long enough. Not extremely long, but it takes him longer than the average male

Prefers to come from behind when he is on top because let's be honest, baby would be at least a little insecure 'bout his scars, and his body before his upgrade

He's definitely into choking, whether he's being choked or you are, just depends on who's doing the work

Likes being degraded and degrading, 100%

Calls you his 'dirty little slut' mostly

Leashes and collars are a must if you're on top. Pull on it, tell him he's a desperate little whore for you while you stroke him off

He doesn't see a point in lingerie. It'll be gone in about 10 seconds anyway. Maybe its cute, but you won't even have it on for long, lets be honest

He's LOUD, like everyone would know what's goin' on in that room. Shig would cover all of the noises you make

I could see knife-play, but I don't think it'd be a common thing. Maybe every once in a while, but not every time like choking would be

Bondage is in there somewhere, definitely

When he's under you, take your time and really mess with him. Just run your fingers over the tip of his cock. Play with him, make sure he's completely ready for you. Get 'em all needy and whiny before you do anything, makes him feel helpless and he adores it

When he's on top, he tries his best to at least make sure you're somewhat prepared, but he's impatient. Probably tries to finger you really quick, or give your clit a few quick touches just so he's 100% there's some lubricant. He prefers teasing for oral and handjobs, but nothing else

As long as he isn't tired, he can go for maybe 4-6 rounds when he's on top. If you're being the dominant one, he'll stop whenever you do

Be stubborn with him if you're on top. Finger yourself in front of him and don't let him touch you. Makes him that much more needy and into it

Dabi

To everyone that thinks he's a sex god, I'm sorry to disappoint you, he's not

I’m gonna be honest, I always thought he was dense. Like he can definitely get it but he’s too stupid to realize

Ok anyway, that doesn't mean he doesn't know what it is. It just means he's dense and probably hasn't had much experience with it, if any at all

He's slow to figure out things, like what he likes and how rough he should be

He's also a switch, but he's mostly a sub for a while until he gets used to it

Maybe a month or two max before he gets comfortable with it

He learns and memorizes what you like quickly, but when it comes to himself, he takes a while to decide if he likes something or not

Choking is a must if you like it. He likes being choked, not so much choking someone unless he's trying to kill 'em

Knife-play is a maybe, depends on his mood

Collars and leashes are almost always used when he's on top. Gives him something new to tug at instead of your hair

Bondage is a 50/50 for him. He likes being tied and he likes having you tied up, but he doesn't like being restricted too much

He's somewhat quiet. Not to the point you can't hear him, but enough that its just starting to get a little hard to hear him

Hair pulling is definitely one of his favorite things to do, though he tries not to pull too hard, but he get's carried away sometimes

His pace isn't really slow but it's not fast if you get what I'm saying

He's more of a groaner than anything honestly

Doesn't like teasing because he doesn't see a point in it. If you're really into it, then its possible he'll do it, otherwise he won't ever ask for it. Just wastes time to him

He's not that hesitant about your first time as long as you're sure you wanna do it with him

Dabi's the type of guy that would take pictures when he's comfortable, but he doesn't ever look back at them honestly

After the first time, he doesn't think its a big deal if he walks in on you changing. He'll stop if you tell him you're not comfortable with it, otherwise he doesn't care. He's seen you without clothes before, so it's not a big deal to him after that

Like Shigaraki, he doesn't care for lingerie. If you wanna wear it, that's fine, but its gonna be gone in a few minutes anyway, so he'd rather not

Not really insecure about anything unless you stare at his scars for too long. That's about it

He doesn't like being hit or hitting you, sorry hun

At first, he likes being degraded but I feel like he'd grow out of it after a while. If you like it then he'll degrade you, but otherwise he doesn't care for degrading

He lasts a long time though, so that's a plus as long as you can

He usually has a good amount of energy when he's in the mood. He'll go a few rounds before he's done

Doesn't really have any name he likes to call you. Maybe his pet if you have a collar on, but that's probably it

#tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki smut #mha shigaraki #shigaraki tomura x reader #shigaraki x reader #bnha shigaraki #tomura shigaraki #shigaraki tomura #shigaraki #shigaraki headcanons #dabi headcanons #dabi x reader #bnha dabi #mha dabi #dabi x y/n #toya todoroki x reader #tenko shimura x reader #shimura tenko x reader #shimura tenko #toya todoroki #toya todoroki x y/n #touya x reader #dabi smut #dabi bnha #touya todoroki

[jangofctts]

Mirrored Heart (captain rex x fem!reader)

rated: 18+ explicit 

word count: 5.6k

warnings: smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampies, fingering, blow jobs, clone space racism?  

a/n: ANYWAY HERE IT IS. ive had this draft saved since like a year ago and just now finished it. anyway kwjrkejh here YALL GO. also thank you @jango-fettish​ FOR LETTING ME BORROW SYRENA 

It's curious. 

Well, you, as a whole are curious—completely outside the realm of what Rex considers normal. As far as senators go, that is. 

You're grumpy for one—worse than Skywalker and far more snide than Kenobi—a near gargantuan task bordering impossible. Wit and cleverness come to you easier than breathing, but it's your unwavering kindness towards himself and his brothers that sticks out like a blaster burn against alabaster white walls.  

He passed it off as a joke—some sort of mockery. Rex’s existence has been full of them. The past year it’s been made glaringly clear as to what the clones are to the people of the republic—tools. Mindless war machines dressed with flesh and bone, heart and sinew instead of durasteel and a circuitboard. Humanity has been skimmed over with excuses and debates over the hollow argument that clones were created for the sole purpose of war—nothing more. Ignorance is bliss when you are not the one fighting tooth and nail for petty skirmishes and the survival of your family.        

Ithyea, your home monarchal planet, is a newer member of the Galatic Republic—one of the firsts to advocate for clone rights—cutting through each argument with the steel headed javelin of hope and determination. Controversial in the eyes of the galaxy but no less than true. Yet with controversy, comes chaos. 

Wedged between Takodana and the Cerean Reach hyperspace lane—it’s an essential key to accessing more neutral space sectors without stepping on any toes. While the planet does mirror the size of a larger than average moon, there’s nothing but grandeur with the cutting edge advances in space travel and military innovations. An arts district too, one that’s presented multiple times for the Senate apparently. Rex has yet to see it. It’s an easy guess as to why Ithyea has gone under pointed attacks from the Separatists—it’d be foolish not to try.     

And of course comes the intergalactic mess of politics. You are not Ithyea’s first senator. Or second…or third. Just in the last six months, three of your predecessors have been picked off—two disappearances and a suspicious poisoning sandwiched between them. Which sides these assassinations stem from is anybody’s guess—a mix of both perhaps—all to silence and stamp the voice of your people out.

Heavy are the shoulders that wear those abhorrent senatorial robes, and Maker did it take some convincing for another Ithyean to step to the chopping block. It’s just…no one thought  it’d be you. The infamous captain of King Arrian Felian’s elite guard—trained in combat levels high enough to contend some of those within the ranks of the Jedi Order. When your name comes up in conversation, it certainly doesn’t scream diplomacy.     

Rex is not surprised that you hold the current record of Ithyean senators for surviving the longest. Evading an astonishing two attempts on your life by the skin of your teeth. You were just downright lucky the third assassin missed their mark. Sure, the blade of Syrena Aster skimmed the right side of your cheek and left behind a nasty scar to remember her by, but kriff—even with your background and low levels of public presence, you’re a high priced target. Whoever placed an order with the Heretics, really wants to see you six feet under.     

Rex hasn’t been given the full report on exactly who the Heretics are—a rag tag bunch of untrained Force users and skilled assassins from what he’s gathered—but regardless, this attack is just the beginning. Until the Senate and the Jedi are able to retract the price on your head, you’re stuck under protective custody. Usually ushered away into the Jedi Temple or tagging along with General Kenobi and Skywalker. Despondently, no matter the circumstances of your protection, it can’t shield you from the dreadful invitations to senatorial luncheons.

 And yes, you tried to slip by for this one. 

You don't brush elbows with other senator’s like many of the members in the Jedi Order and your own cohort do. In fact, you actively avoid even speaking to them unless necessary, let alone stand in the same room with seven of them. Odd for an elected official of diplomacy such as yourself to be so cold shouldered—Rex would think senators wanted to mingle.    

It's curious because you're standing in plain sight and yet no one pays you any passing thought. General Kenobi and Skywalker hold the majority of their attentions, shoulders already taught with exasperation at keeping everyone from tearing out each other's throats for, kriffing five minutes. Yet you...you are completely at ease, leaning up against a stone pillar, observing the unfolding chaos from afar with a keen eye. 

Before Rex realizes he's stepping towards your position, you glance over and dip your chin in greeting. The ghost of a smirk pulls at your normally grim facade—his heart skips. "Captain."

"Senator," he mimics, posting himself to your right. There’s still a thin, healing scab from the assassin’s blade that extends from the swell of your cheek to your ear. Ouch. “Enjoying the evening?" 

You snort. "Hardly enjoying it, Rex."

Stars—you shouldn't be allowed to say his name. Your words are razor-sharp like a jagged vibroblade, meant to jab and pierce through armor—tear a person to pieces without having to lift a finger. Everything about you is rough, gritty, brutal, unbecoming of what a senator should be, but— 

You mouth his name, purring out the singular syllable with such tenderness that it's like a punch to the gut. 

It's hard to swallow and he needs to clear his throat—an embarrassing act on his part, but your attention has already returned back towards the meandering senators. "How d'you mean?"

"Well," you sigh, "let's just say smalltalk isn’t my strong suit." 

"Aren't you senators s'pposed to like diplomacy n' such?" 

Your thumb smoothes over your bottom lip in thought as you shrug. "Diplomacy? Sure. Politicians? Can’t say I like them. I just—"

You wave your hand around, gesturing vaguely to the crowd. "I just don't understand why they can't say what they mean. Telling someone to have a nice day shouldn't entail certain death, y'know?"

"Speaking from experience?" He teases, gently prying into that harder than beskar wall you've created for yourself. There's fissions in your foundation and he means to tear it down all for just a mere scrap of information. 

Your eyes flick over, your lips curling into a vulpine grin. “Perhaps...Though, it was partially my fault, I have to admit.” 

“You’ll have to tell me the story sometime, Senator.” 

You nod. “Yes, one day—when there aren’t so many political ears jumping at the chance of gossip.” 

A swell of laughter interrupts your chat, your attention gravitating to Obi-Wan—ever the charmer with the crowds. The end of your mouth pulls into a frown as you sigh and carefully scratch at your brow with the back of your thumb. Rex might be pulling at straws, but what he mistook as you being standoffish may just be your nerves. Socially awkward and flustered when speaking in such an intimate setting. 

Rex’s first instinct is to reach out and place a hand over your shoulder in comfort, but he’s not sure how you’ll respond to the touch. Flip him over your shoulder probably—

Instead he forces himself to jumpstart the conversation—something to distract from your anxieties. “I hope you don’t mind me asking—“ His heart beat kicks up into a flurry of wild beats as you turn you head. “What uh..wh—did you want to become a senator?”

He likes it when you smile—like you’re letting him on some sort of coy secret. You shift your weight and shrug. “The king asked me personally. I’m flattered he thinks I’m clever enough—insulted he sends me to these abysmal gatherings like some sort of show pony.”

Rex chuckles. “Yeah, can’t say I like ‘em either.” 

“Although…” Your thumb runs over your lip again, a sparkle of mischief igniting behind your eyes. “As a senator, I do get the occasional tidbit of gossip. Here, I’ll catch you up—“

The captain startles when you snatch his elbow and yank him closer. Maker he’s glad for his helmet because your lips brush against his earpiece as he leans down to reach your height. 

“Look." You whisper, nodding casually in the direction of a particularly young senator with a shock of white hair. She's swathed in a pool of royal blue silk, much too large for her tiny frame, and all but hanging off Skywalker's arm with glittered nails filed into points. "That is Senator Ceci Paare of Corellia. She looks innocent, no?"

She does. Wide, crystalline green eyes stare up at the Jedi Knight as a pretty giggle escapes past her ruby painted lips. Skywalker grimaces. 

"I quite like her," you continue with a sly grin. "Even if she does try to influence public opinion by an invitation to bed." 

There's no time to process as you focus in on an older man. His hazy blue skin, ash white lips and vermillion green eyes cut an almost nightmarish profile, accentuated by mountains of black robes. Rex can’t recall what planet the senator represents. The senator holds his head stiffer than rebar to keep the ornate golden circlet from slipping off, his white lips curling in distaste as Orn Free Taa of Ryloth places a meaty hand over his slender shoulder. 

"He is Lord Tal’en Sol Ra'ah. Cunning, but sympathetic to the pleasures of gambling."

It's a game to you—of perceptions and nuances only a trained eye can roll over. Rex expects nothing less. This sort of thing has been hammered into the very essence of your being since you were little—reading an enemy before they can strike. It works on politicians marvelously well. 

Truth be told Rex should be paying more attention—but the closeness of your face to his helmet is maddening. His heart twists and coils as your bare hand skims along his gloved one—kriff. He’s not gonna make it before he bursts into a thousand little pieces.  

Rex’s spell of lovesick yearning recedes as you swear under your breath. It was only a matter of time before someone approached your little corner.  

"Oh, Maker save me," you hiss under your breath as a young Mirialan saunters over, the swatches of rich red and brilliant gold accentuate his violet skin like a bloody bruise. "Pretend you're speaking with me." 

"I am speaking with you," Rex snorts. 

Your hand waves in dismissal as your brows stitch together, hands balling into fists. Your jaw clenches as the senator in question puts on a dazzling smile. You look downright panicked. Rex has witnessed you face down numerous senators older than dirt and close to blowing away in the wind with plucky fervor, assassination attempts, being held captive, and you're frightened…by this? 

This is too good. 

Rex has half a mind to help you, wheel you away from your little predicament, but his intrigue with seeing your oh-so-solid resolve crumble is much too valuable and entertaining to pass up. He's going to remember this for years.  

"Rex."

"Senator," he mimics, not at all frightened by your poisonous glare. "Some diplomacy might do you good."

You begin to snarl out a threat but are decidedly cut off by your object of horror planting himself before your hiding spot. You cower into the corner like a boxed in loth-cat. "Ah, my favorite Ithyean! I had begun to worry you would not make it, my dear friend."

"Senator Lin," you sigh. The smile you offer is tight and thin; a nervous one much in the same way one would be if presented with a box of toenails for a birthday gift. “How pleasant to see you."

Senator Lin’s deep violet lips part with an easy smile. He waves a hand in dismissal, his silver rings glinting in the warm lighting. "Please—call me Toluka. No need to bother with such formalities between companions." 

Rex suddenly understands your trepidation with the Mirialan—he’s slimy. And, not to mention, not at all ashamed with the lecherous looks as his eyes sweep down your body. Rex clenches his teeth and folds his arms behind his back. He’s regretting not heeding your warning now…  

Try as you might through brutal small talk and chilly answers, Senator Lin refuses to take the hint. A dark plume of venom green lashes through Rex’s chest as the Mirialan places a friendly hand over your shoulder. You grimace as Rex bristles and glares through the visor of his helmet.  

Senator Lin’s lips pull into a gaudy smile as he glances at Rex and then at you.“My dear, don’t you know? It’s not worth wasting your time with a clone. After all, they’re all the same person. How boorish—come join us at the table.”

Your teeth bite into your cheek as your temper, like the silver of blade through the darkness, cuts through your steely irises. With poised nonchalance, you lift your hand and pinch Senator’s Lin’s fingers between your own and pry them off your shoulder. “Is that so?”

“Your campaign, valuable as it may be,” Lin continues, “is a useless endeavor. They are not our equals and never will be--you must know that." 

Rex forces himself to remain calm—collected and certainly not imaging a thousand and one ways he’d like to see his fist breaking the fragile bones of the senator’s face.  

"Fine buttons stitched upon your shoulders do not compel your worth, Senator,” the harshness of your words is a blow straight to Lin’s ego. His well-groomed brows furrow drastically as his tongue struggles to play catch up and find words to repair his shattered pride. 

There’s no chance for Senator Lin to regain his footing as your snatch Rex’s wrist and sweep him out into the hall. Rex can feel your anger roll off of you in waves, frighting and holding the same caliber of roaring waves thundering against black, craggy rocks. It’s a miracle the night didn’t end with your hands wrapped around the senator’s throat or a blaster shot through the chest. 

When you reach the lower halls of the cruise ship is when you release Rex’s wrist. You pinch the bridge of your nose between your fingers and release a long, dramatic sigh.   

"You are worth far more than that pompous ass," you say with enough edge to slice through a droideka's shields. "He has no right to say those things to you." 

“It’s alright,” Rex soothes, placing a hand over your bristling shoulder. “I’ve heard worse.” 

Your features scrunch up into a wince. “That...that doesn’t mean you have to suffer through more of it, Rex.”

Sighing, you run a hand through your hair and loosen the heavy outer robes strung around your shoulders. You shrug out of them and fold the thick swaths of fabric over you arm—revealing the under layers of your uniform. You toss the bundle of fabric to the floor with a disgusted grimace and sit on the cargo crate closest to your left. 

“Really—it’s ok.” Rex assures again. “I—“

You hold up a hand and shake your head. His mouth snaps shut. “I won’t hear it. To me you are nothing short of perfect and I refuse to argue about it. Maker knows I already do that for a kriffing living.”

There’s a fragile lull in the hollow space—the distant chatter of voices and strange music collecting in the corners. You stand once again, toe to toe with the Captain and there it is again, that elated pitter patter of his heart thrumming through his veins. The nerves of being so close to you—you sweet face and not being able to touch you.  

“Let me see your face.”

His hands come up to the edges of his helmet without hesitation, a hiss of hair escaping the seal once he pries it off. You smile and take a step closer until the only thing separating you and him is his helmet. 

Rex’s eyes flutter shut, leaning into your hand you gingerly place over his jaw. “I wish the entire galaxy could see you through my eyes,” you whisper, the warmth of your soft palm radiating out and warming his entire body.  

It’s a matchstick to kerosene—his helmet clatters to the ground and there’s only a second to spare as both hands move to cup his cheeks, dragging him into a mouthwatering kiss. 

He hasn’t kissed many people—save for those rare times at 79’s, head swimming under the haze of one too many shots of Corellian fire whiskeys where he could barely distinguish his ass from his hand. Those drunken make-outs were nothing like this. 

No—this…this is what a kiss should be like.   

He dreams about you all the time—so constantly ravenous that all he can feel some days is pure ache. Every and all words that spin around his head starts with you and finishes with his pounding heart close to bursting free from his ribcage. Not in the same way a flood rips through an unsuspecting village—more like the brilliance of a thousand doves, marble white plumage thrashing free from their gilded cage. Your lips taste like the core of a newborn star—scorching and yet still so sweet upon the tongue the same way caramelized sugar sticks to the roof your mouth. You are his first and last everything. 

There’s a certain kind of tragedy hidden beneath your tongue, fragile promises and the eggshell thin shards of hope stapled to the roof of your mouth. Rex will take it—seize any threadbare strand and run with it—spool it into the palm of his hand until you’re wound so tightly together it’ll be impossible to untangle.     

Just when the dizziness sets in from elation and not enough air, you part and leave a sticky trail of warm kisses up his jaw. Rex groans and hugs you closer, you humid breath blooming across his skin. “Let me take care of you.”

The words on his tongue crumble to ash once he nods in agreement. Your kisses dip lower, not even stopping when the reach the edge of his chest plate. Stars, you’re…he never entertained the idea that your lips could look so divine in contrast to the battered plastoid. When you fold onto your knees his heart leaps to his mouth, a flare of arousal flashing through his groin. 

You rest your chin over his codpiece and smile. “Do you like seeing me on my knees, sir?”

Rex huffs and studies at the opposing wall—

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Your fingers find the claps over his codpiece. “Can I take this off?”

Rex jerks his head in a yes but grabs your wrist. Not a rough hold—a tentative one as hesitation swirls in his eyes. “Don’t—don’t have t’ do this for me—“

You quirk a brow. “I want to because I like you, Rexy.”

A rosy blush blooms over his sharp cheekbones. The captain nods again.

The codpiece clatters to the ground and immediately you move your hand to palm him through his blacks. He grunts and squeezes his eyes shut. There we go.      

Biting your lip, you pull down his blacks as far as the plastoid plating allows, greeted with the hard length of his cock, beautiful and flushed a rosy brown. Fuck—he’s thicker than you thought. You wrap your fingers around the base, delighted by Rex’s airy gasp as he throbs in your palm. A bead of liquid shines at the tip and just the sight of it makes your mouth water. 

Moons—you should’ve done this sooner.

With a stuttering inhale, Rex trails his forefinger along your cheek and tucks a stray hair behind your ear. The pads of his fingertips skim lower and lightly pinch your chin between his forefinger and thumb. Your eyes lift to meet his. “You—you sure?”

You answer with a kiss over the dip of his navel, the skin searing hot under your lips. Rex curses and rolls his head back onto his shoulders when your palm slides up the length of his cock and then back down. Your grip is firm and tight as Rex slumps onto the crate, goosebumps rushing up his exposed flesh. Stars, when’s the last time he’s gotten release like this? 

You lean forward and lick a languid line from the velvety skin of his balls all the way up to the tip. Rex’s hips jolt. You purse your lips and suckle at the head, dipping your tongue over the slit then down to trace the ridge of his frenulum all the while your hand rolls up and down his shaft. Rex tangles his fingers into your hair with a hiss. You open your jaw a bit wider and take him down a few inches into the wet heat of your mouth, feeling your lips stretch around his cock. You you drag the flat of your tongue along the underside of his shaft to make the thickness easier to swallow down, but he's still only halfway into your mouth when he hits the back of your throat.

“Fuck—" Rex moans as his hips strain to remain still. “S’good—such a good girl.”

You glance up, eyes devouring the attractive length of his clean shaven throat and the underside of his chin. Rex swallows and let’s out another little sound. You whine softly in return and slip a hand into your pants, pressing your fingertips against your throbbing clit as you start to carefully bob your head up and down. Yeah—your jaw already aches just from holding his cock in in your mouth but fuck it—it’s worth it.   

Rex's chest heaves with exertion as he mindfully rocks his hips up, pushing and rolling his cock deeper into your mouth until his shaft is nearly seated all the way in. Ditching your own pleasure entirely, you swallow around him, forcing down the urge to gag and simply hold him here. Allowing him a moment to just enjoy the soft warmth of your mouth before launching into the main event.  

Rex murmurs your name and strokes his thumb over your cheek. “You’re beautiful—so pretty like—like this..ah—” 

You pointedly hollow your cheeks and suck, his flattery warming your chest with pride. You swallow around him another time, squeeze his shaft, your fist following your mouth as you lift up then back down to the base. You grunt at the abrupt jolt of his hips. There’s no distinctive rhythm you can follow as you pull halfway up and let Rex rock his hips into your mouth—seeking out his pleasure without a coherent thought in sight. Just a cacophony of gasping breaths and rough moans of your name. 

Soon enough he’s twitching in your mouth, his eyes fluttering shut as his head tips back onto his shoulders. The gloved hand sweetly cradling your cheek slips to the nape of your neck, tangling his fingers into you hair to anchor himself. He’s close—quiet gasps and broken curses tumbling out, hips unconsciously rocking into your mouth in search of release.

Rex whimpers your name, his leg jolting as you work your jaw wider and swallow him down, the dark curls tickling your nose once it brushes his groin. “Oh, fuck.” 

You hum around him, delighting in the mumbled praises. Almost there…That’s it. 

He’s dangling on the precipice—on tiny shove away from euphoria—

“Wait—“ Saliva dribbles down your chin when his cock pops out from your swollen lips, throbbing from the unintentional tease. “Maker—shit.” 

If not for the gloves covering his hands, you’re sure they’d be turning white from how tightly he grips the edge of the crate. His eyes are squeezed shut, slightly bent forward as he falls away from the edge of his release. Rex sucks in a steadying breath, amber eyes meeting your confused ones. 

“I don’t—can we—“ Rex’s eyes flit and focus on anything but you as he stutters and works up the courage to ask for what he wants. “Do we have time—“

You rolls your eyes and rest your cheek on his thigh. Silly man. “You wanna fuck me, Rexy?”

“Kriff, yes.”

You smile and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. “I don’t think they’ll miss us."

Rex doesn’t complain when you take his hands and yank him onto the grubby floor and over your senatorial robes. He props his back against the crate as you shuck off everything below the waste and clamber into his lap. His hands, warm even through the leather, land over the swell of your hips and wrench you closer until your front presses up against his chest plate. 

The rough prickle of his stubble is, in all sense of the word, addictive. He tilts his head to kiss you, the slick touch of his tongue on your bottom lip adding jet fuel to the fire low in your belly. Rex groans and cups your jaw, holding your mouth open to dance his tongue along the length of yours. You whine and shudder as he purses his lips and lightly sucks on your tongue before you both part. 

Rex drags his teeth over your bottom lip as you both pant for precious air. His dark lashes sweep up his cheeks when he looks at you. This close you bare witness to the dazzling color of his eyes—crystalized pearls of amber over the crackled bark of pine tree in the midmorning sun. Muted gold threaded through the brown like fine lace and the slow shimmer of the sun dappled through water. To think such a man like him is dredged through the bloodied mud of war is despicable.

You blink away the swell of tears prickling at your eyes and kiss him once more. Sighing, you whisper down, mouthing soft nibbles and teasing kisses over his jaw and down his neck. Rex squirms and rock his hips up, your cunt clenching around nothing. You need him.   

“Rex,” you groan. You slide your hand between your bodies and grab at his thick length. Rex gasps into your mouth, long fingers clamping onto your waist in a death grip. “I want you.”

“I’m yours.” 

Your nibble at his earlobe as you grind your hips against his length, the folds of your cunt teasingly out of reach. “Touch me, Captain.” 

Rex tears off his vambraces and gloves, hand wedging between your thighs, touching the very tips of his fingers to your throbbing clit. You whine and clench your jaw—the pleasure is raw—sizzling electricity that crackles with the deadly promises of your pleasure. It’s as if you’ve had the breath knocked out of your lungs the second he bears down a bit more on your clit, drawing tentative circles, each completion sending a shockwave of tightly spooled ecstasy through each and every nerve. You nearly sob as his fingers slip away. 

“So wet already,” Rex moans as you tip your head back when two of his fingers begin circle your dripping cunt. They’re thick and long and perfect. Your hips stutter as your cunt easily accepts his fingers, the heel of his palm slotting perfectly against your pussy to stimulate your clit. 

Maker you’re seeing stars as Rex rocks his hand into you—the bend of his fingers the perfect angle to catch all the right places that make you tremble. He kisses your cheek and moans your name into your ear, all low and gravelly— 

Your body seizes up tight as you soar, plummeting off the edge only to tumble so fast and so hard that tears prick the corner of your eyes. Rex peppers kisses over your cheeks and runs his free hand through your hair, purring praise and adoration as you shudder—your mouth parted in a silent cry as you cum and dissolve into his hands. 

When you suck in a steadying breath and open your eyes, Rex is gazing upon you with starstruck eyes—pure adoration that makes your cheeks flare hotter than the surface of two mini suns. Your teeth catch your bottom lip. You’re not sure you deserve to be looked at like this…

However, you’re impatient and running on stolen seconds. As much as you’d like to just simply stare at him—there’s not enough time. Rex wraps his fingers around the base of his cock and slides the tip of himself through your soaking folds. Each stroke against your still throbbing clit makes you buckle into yourself, but the angle that your knees are propped over his hips means you're stuck here. 

Rex pauses and cups your cheek. His thumb scrapes over your cheekbone. “You want this?”

You place your hand over his and turn your head to mouth a kiss over the lines of his palm. Oh, fuck yeah. Kind of him to ask as if hadn’t just cum over his fingers but—no. “I need you to fuck me, Rex. That’s an order.”

Rex huffs out a low chuckle and bumps the crown of his forehead against yours. “As you wish, Senator.” 

Rex runs the blunt head of his cock through your folds again, slicking himself up with your arousal. You mewl and dig your nails into the hard plastoid as the wide tip of him pushes into your entrance—he shudders as you clench and wiggle. It doesn’t hurt, but he’s in no small. You’ll feel him for days, you’re sure of it as your cunt swallows inch after inch. 

You both groan as he finally bottoms out. His jaw his clenched tight as sweat beads at his blonde hairline—Stars above, he’s a sight, struggling not to loose control the second he’s buried inside of you. Desire tickles up your spine, tugging at the fabrics of your being until all you can focus on his how Rex isn’t moving. You shift your hips in tiny, almost imperceptible motions, and squeeze around him. 

“Damn—“ A ragged moans slices through his words as your gentle rocking morphs into needy jolts. It’s easy to fuck yourself onto his cock like this, but the measly thrusts are meant to tempt him. “Fuck, cyare, you’re tight.” 

You smirk and grab at his sculpted shoulders—it’s the push he needs. Rex snarls your name, cups his hands under the globes of your ass and pulls you off his cock nearly all the way out only to slam back in. There’s no time to adjust before Rex sets a pace, fevered and rabid All pent up energy collecting over the weeks you’ve known each other. Each roll of his hips borders erratic, taking his pleasure without thought—intent on reaching his own end after being denied for what feels like ages. 

You squeal in surprise as Rex pushes you onto your back and hoists your legs around his hips. Rex buries his nose into the crook of your neck and moans your name like a sweet prayer wrapped in honeycomb. Rex shifts his weight, widening his knees to sink deeper into your cunt—his stubble tickling your throat as his staggered exhales burn hot over your skin. 

You choke out a groan and feel your arousal begin to drip down your thighs—hear the thrusts of his cock into your cunt become shamefully wetter. Electric heat sears down each vertebrae in your spine, scorching through each and every veins with the catastrophic brilliance of an imploding star. Shit—

“So good t’me—so perfect,” he huffs into your ear. Rex turns his head and steals a kiss. “Feel fuckin’ good stretched around my cock."

You clench around him hard as Rex’s hand sneaks between your bodies and rubs tight, little circles over you swollen clit. There’s barely any build up to your orgasm—just a blinding surge of devastating warmth that sweeps through your body, from your aching center down to your toes. It steals away all the air left in your lungs and leaves your clutching his arm and shuddering for a hold in your own reality—the steady warmth of his body that’s unburdened by armor a much needed anchor for the madness that threatens to drown you. 

His gentle, and pliant kisses morph into little pricks of his teeth over your neck and collar bone as his hips struggle to keep a definitive pattern. Rex’s curses string together and blur into nonsensical noises and loose tongue admittances that are comparable to moving inches from an imploding star.   

“Where can—can I?”

You grab at his head and whine his name. “Anywhere—in me—you can cum in me.”

With a loving caress over back of his neck and a sweet whisper of his name, he reaches release. Rex’s moan is airy as his eyes slam shut and captures your mouth in a sizzling kiss. He’s twitching in your arms as his hips erratically jerk, hot spurts of his release coating your insides and beginning to leak over your robes you lay over. Whatever. 

Rex nips at your skin as the last dregs of pleasure jolt up your spine. Neither of you say a word as Rex’s hips come to a slow. Time trickles through your fingers like sand through an hourglass half empty but instead of rushing to dress, you choose to lie on the ground—two halves of a mess someone’s been meaning to clean up for the better part of a long while. You feel at home here—content as your fingers run up and down the back of his head, a bit irked by the armor still covering his back. You’re terrified of the months to come—but at least you have each other. After all, gardens will bloom and flourish with fresh blooded love and wild mistakes sculpted from passion forever if you believe hard enough…wont they?

#we out here #yeehaw #my writing #captain rex x reader #captain rex x you #ct-7567 #captai rex #clone x reader #clone trooper x reader #the clone wars #tcw #anakin skywalker #obi wan kenobi #star wars #sw

[kiridarling]

𝐁𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐎𝐌𝐒 𝐔𝐏!

shouto todoroki | f!reader, ceo heir!shouto, mirror sex, hair pulling, choking, inappropriate use of showerhead, alcohol. minors dni!

— 3k words

"You're so pretty when you make a mess, aren't you?"

Miss Y/N,

I couldn't help but notice the latest project my father assigned is extremely difficult. If I'm going to be completely honest, you'll work yourself to death at this rate, and your greys double by the day. Drinks on me at Club 777 at 7 pm. Sound like a deal?

— shouto todoroki

“A club.”

“Glad you could make it,” Shouto gives you a small smile; it’s anything but hostile. And yet, that’s all yours is as you assume the space to his right in the velvet crescent booth. “I hope it wasn’t too hard to find. Club 777 is pretty popular around he—what are you doing.”

As your fingers fly across the keyboard, you give him an indignant huff, the screen highlighting the underside of your face electric blue as you continue hacking away at your presentation. If you’re going to be forced to go out, you’re going to make the most of it—and that’s by getting the work that you would be getting done at home, at a club. And a rather loud one, at that.

"You're a workaholic," he observes with a sigh, and you flash him a fat sarcastic smile. Stupid fucking CEO heirs and their entitlement.

"Congrats, you've solved everything! Can I go home, now?"

"No," Shouto frowns before he rudely snaps your laptop shut and sets it to his right. Pushing a plate of clear-colored shots your way, your eyes bulge—there have got to be at least fifteen. "Drink up—it'll take the edge off."

You blink between your coworker and the shots. You trust Shouto and you've known each other for a while...somewhat. His father is your boss, and with Shouto as the next in line you’ve got no choice but to play nice. He’s as cocky as he is aloof, but you suppose he’s fine overall—and he's seen you break your back over this project for a solid month and a half. Positive you won't be able to keep your conscious from running laps over all the work you have to do otherwise, you snatch the first shot and chuck it down your gullet with worrying enthusiasm. Shouto lifts an eyebrow and you reach for another.

"Thirsty?" He chuckles, before grabbing a shot for himself. The second shot burns, but never as much as the first, and the back of your hand catches what doesn't make it into your mouth as you say:

"More than you could think."

"And then—and then I was like, um no sir, I think you got my change wrong by at least five bucks! He didn't believe me, like at all."

"Did he make a fuss of it?"

"Of course."

"That means he has a small dick," Shouto advises with the second to last shot in his hand, wrist-watch glinting in the club light. His face is a deeper red than his hair and you've never noticed how nice a suit fits him as if you don't see him in one every day. You giggle at that, too far gone yourself to be offended on the stranger's behalf. Shouto's jacket drapes over your shoulders like an oversized blanket even though you bickered about not being cold, with enough alcohol in your veins to warm a village.

"Probably," you rest your head against the crescent booth, dismissive at the softness from the red velvet that’s probably ruining your hair. "Either way, I pulled a Karen and called the manager on 'em.

Shouto nods, "As you should. Once I tricked my father into thinking he had a very unhappy customer by sending him a million emails from 'John Appleseed' and calling his personal secretary twice as much."

You cackle, throwing yourself across the table at the thought of your Boss’ face hot and red with anger (as it does.) Shouto's loved nothing more than to make his animosity against his father well-known—to you, at least—and to say bored Heir been getting creative the past few months is an understatement. "Oh fuck—when'd you stop calling?"

Shouto shrugs, muscles rolling underneath his white dress shirt, "Once I filled his voicemail box.”

He holds a smile, small and distant, as he watches you wheeze as if he just told the funniest story in the world. In your defense, Shouto's never really been a funny guy, but he does funny things. Like when he stares at you when he doesn’t think you notice, or when he gets so close your chests nearly touch, but doesn't notice it. Doesn't point it out, at least. You find your laugh dying along with the smile on his face, though, and when he says nothing afterward but stare.

"...Shouto?" You snap in his face to make sure he's still in there—but it's hard to tell, with his glazed eyes and scarily steady breathing. His arms find either side of you, and you're too tipsy to realize you've been caged against the booth until it's too late.

"Your eyes are quite mesmerizing, Miss Y/N," he marvels. You can smell the vodka on his breath, and positive that compliment would’ve set your face aflame if the alcohol hadn’t already, any hints of cherry obscured by the neon club lights.

"I—um, thank you," you giggle, and if you were sober, you'd shoot yourself in the foot for reacting like a school girl. But you suppose you can give yourself some leeway—this is Shouto Todoroki after all, and for some reason, he's complimenting you. "You...you aren't too bad yourself."

"You wouldn't mind if I got a little closer, would you?" Though Shouto holds a cheeky half-drunken smile on his own, knowing any closer will result in nothing but a kiss and perhaps a little more. His eyes flicker to your lips the same time yours flicker to his, and you and you catch a heat in his eyes you didn’t notice before.

"Not at all."

You blink and Shouto's lips are on yours. They’re soft, painfully so, and it's clear he knows what he's doing—with his hands dropping to your waist and tilting his head ever-so-slightly to the right. Nudging your lips open, his tongue easily finds it's way around, mapping the insides of your mouth and taking note of what makes you shiver the most.

Shouto tastes like vodka. It's a familiar taste, one that you associate with seven minutes in heaven and quick make-out sessions in high school—and yet this time it spurs your heart to beat faster, your arms wrapping around his neck to pull him in even closer, as if it's possible.

When you pull away it’s clear neither of you really want to, but unfortunately you need to oxygen to live, chest heaving in unison as your eyes catch his own. Shouto's grip tightens around your waist as he licks over his already wet lips, glossed by what you assume is your spit.

“You’re one dangerous woman,” he rasps with swollen lips. You giggle, but you know he knows his words’ effect on you because goosebumps are impossible to hide.

“Thank you,” you respond, a bit awkwardly—because what else are you supposed to say?

"I'm positive it isn't the alcohol talking when I say I want to take you right here." Shouto growls as his eyes hold you in your seat. You shiver, the request sounding impossibly inviting, and your thighs discreetly rub together to take the edge off a bit.

"Bathroom," you breathe against his lips, this night turning for the most unexpected.

"Off, off, get all of this off," Shouto pants the moment you two step into a gender-neutral singles bathroom. You don't doubt they made it gender-neutral for this exact reason, but that thought leaves as quickly as it enters when Shouto pins you against the sink starts to pepper hot kisses down your neck. He scrambles to bunch your dress to your waist over taking it off completely and growls at the sight of your lower-half in absence of your usual attire.

"Do you know how long I've wanted you? Hmm?” He's breathless as he settles between your legs with a lick of his lips, pushing the excess of your dress into your hands. You really don't know how long he’s wanted you, but you find yourself biting your lip at the prospect anyway—that you've been driving your boss's son, your future boss, just as crazy as he's been driving you.

"Shouto—"

"Shhh," he interrupts, pulling your panties to the side. "Let me take care of you. You've been working hard these past few months, no?"

You guess so.

Either way, all clarity dies when Shouto licks a fat stripe up your slit, chuckling when you slide a tentative hand into his hair. Your grip tightens when his lips wrap around your clit and suck, slipping a finger between your folds to elicit a whimper or two. He bites his lip when you tug a little.

"Keep doing that and you just might ruin me," Shouto groans, before his mouth returns and he’s adding another finger. When the digits curl just right, your hips buck in faint frustration—they're moving too slow.

"Can you, um," you blush, eyes skittering to the bathroom walls instead. The club music permeates despite the fact that they look like they're made of solid brick, vibrating the floor and sink underneath you both. "Go faster?"

Shouto's eyes snap to yours. For a second you’re afraid he's going to say no, but he tosses your leg over his shoulder and adjusts your hips until they're at a perfect level, licking his lips and growling:

"My pleasure."

You're positive whoever loiters near the bathroom door hears your yelp as his mouth descends to devour your pussy, eating you so enthusiastically that you see you're slick smeared across his pink cheeks. Shouto pulls your hips deeper into his face with a defiant growl and you have to drop your forearms on the sink to keep yourself from falling to the hard ground, your grip around the porcelain ever-tightening.

"Feel good?" He rubs a heavy thumb over your clit in place of his mouth and stuffs you with a third finger. You nod with a broken moan as he pulls his digits out all the way out before burying them knuckle-deep again, grasp on the sink slipping. He flicks your clit, "Answer me."

"Y-Yeah," you nod again, near-hyperventilating. You’re sure Shouto’s getting a kick out of it—at least, if his chuckle has anything to say about it.

"Good girl," he coos, the circles on your clit slowly quickening, "You're so pretty when you make a mess, aren't you?"

You're nodding along with him, though you're not exactly sure why—but then his mouth returns and suddenly, why doesn't matter as much.

Shouto's more vocal than you expected, groaning into your sweetness as your thighs trembles next to his head. He holds you like you're precious, like you're actually something to him, but you're much too drunk to unpack all of that right now. Instead, you tug at his hair. It pulls a much louder moan from his gut and you find yourself enjoying the vibrations, yanking harder to hear him again.

"W-Wait, Shouto," you whimper out, painfully close as you pull at his hair but this time to pull him away from you, "I wanna—wanna cum on your cock...if that's okay."

Shouto blinks once, twice, and then you're staring at yourself in the mirror listening to him frantically undoing his belt, cursing when the metal slaps him across the palm. You giggle.

"Eager, are we?"

"You don't even know," he pants, and the tip of his cock kissing your entrance has you biting your lip. His eyes meet yours in the mirror and they melt when he fits the head of his cock inside, the grip he has on the porcelain sink turning white as he pushes further.

"You are—you are painfully tight, Miss Y/N," Shouto wheezes into your neck, teeth grit as his pelvis finally brushes against your ass. You resist the urge to wheeze with him, his cock filling you to the point where your lungs struggle to find room to breathe.

"I'll take that as a compliment," you joke, eyes fluttering shut. Shouto tuts, grabbing the underside of your face as he says:

"Eyes open, Miss Y/N. I want you to watch yourself fall apart as I fuck you."

Your eyes peel open, albeit reluctantly as you whine, not understanding why you need to watch your own face when you can enjoy the sight of him instead, "But Shouto, that's embarrassing..."

"Just trust me," he grunts, and his hips are snapping into yours, sending you jolting into the sink to the point where you have to brace a hand on the mirror to keep yourself from being squished flat against the porcelain. Shouto leans over, "You trust me, don't you?"

And well. When he puts it like that...

"Look at yourself, not at me," Shouto says, catching you redhanded. You whine when the hand holding your head moves to your neck and squeezes, cutting off your oxygen supply just enough for your eyelids to drop halfway. "See? See how good you look? So wrecked for me already and we've barely started."

"S-Shut up," you moan more than you say, finding yourself mesmerized in the way your lips part and by the redness of your cheeks. Shouto dips his head into your neck and sucks, prompting your free hand to find his multicolored hair again and pull. His reaction is almost automatic, the way the smooth rock of his hips changes into a quick snap in a heartbeat. It has you keening, his cock reaching places spots you weren't aware you had, and he crushes you against the sink to rub at your clit.

"Fuck, you're so gorgeous for me," he grunts, hips finding the energy to pick up the pace. You whimper and he's sucking a hickey into your neck, hot breaths punctuating along with his sharp thrusts. "Feel so good around my cock, like you were made for me—shit—"

This time you break the rules, eyes flickering to look Shouto in the mirror as you watch him come undone. His hips stutter as he muffles a broken moan in the back of your neck, body shuddering while he fills you up. His thrusts slowly dissolve into nothing and soon it's just your heavy breathing between brick walls, until Shouto pulls out with a hiss.

"You didn't cum."

"O-Oh, um," You blink at his unimpressed gaze through the mirror as if you got caught redhanded. "I...usually can't. Without a vibe.”

Shouto hums at that but says nothing. You watch something in his brain churn, eyes surveying the room before a lightbulb appears above his head and he's snapping his fingers.

"The shower."

"...What?"

"The. Shower." Shouto says, a little cheekier this time, as he guides you towards a simple shower hidden behind a curtain. Now, why there’s a shower in a club bathroom is beyond you.

"Well. This seems awfully convenient," you click. Shouto shrugs.

"Sun (the author) says it's to clean up the drunks who vomit all over themselves." He takes the only shower seat available, back pressing against the tile.” I think she just wants you to ride a showerhead ****if I'm being completely honest."

"Maybe she tried it for the first time recently or something,” you hum absentmindedly, but that thought flies out the window as Shouto grunts:

"Either way, it's irrelevant. Strip."

"I—completely?" You exclaim, covering your body despite the fact that it's already covered by your dress again. Shouto raises an eyebrow, settling both elbows on his knees once grabbing the showerhead from its bar.

"Unless you want your outfit to get soaking wet, yes. Completely."

Touché.

You're naked fairly quickly and Shouto lays you across the tile even quicker. You watch him test the different modes on his hand, before choosing the one with the most...gusto. You spread your thighs and fight the embarrassing blush dusting your cheeks from the exposing position.

"Ready?" You roll your eyes.

"I swear Shouto, if you do—o-oh."

He presses the rushing water to your clit, and you have to take a step back, fully unprepared for how nice the pressure would feel. Shouto chuckles at that, the soles of his loafers soaking in the lukewarm water with you as he sits with his legs spread, brazenly enjoying the view.

"Feels good?"

You nod, hips subtly grinding into the hot stream. Shouto bites his lips at the view and it turns you on that much more to know you can have such an effect, before his free hand drops to his palm himself through his dress pants.

"I get the perfect view, too," Shouto growls to himself, tilting his head ever-so-slightly as you release a broken moan, bare hips stuttering against the tile. "A perfect view of that pretty little pussy. Ah ah, keep those legs for me."

Your inner thighs quiver with an impending orgasm, the edge looking much closer than it did previously. The combination of Shouto's words, his sounds, and the steady beat of the water against your clit is enough to have anyone shaking, and the only complaint you have is that you wish he wasn't so fucking far.

"S-Shouto," you whimper, hands scrambling across the slippery tile. "I'm close."

"Yeah? Do it then, make me proud," Shouto growls with a feral smile, grip tightening around his cock—you nod, chest shuddering.

“Y-Yeah just adjust the—oh fuck, Shou, right there!”

Your thighs clench as you gasp and your fingernails dig into the grout between the tile as you orgasm, your moan nearly bordering on a scream. Shouto groans, grip tight on his cock through his damp suit pants, and you nearly giggle as your high ebbs.

“Have I ever told you how dangerous you are, Y/N?” Shouto says cheekily. You grin back, cocking your head to the right.

“Only a million times.”

“Well then I owe it to you again,” he says lowly, and you get the message you two aren’t done as he joins you on the wet floor to cradle your jaw.

“You’re one dangerous woman, Y/N.”

a/n: i fully expose myself in this, and you know what? i'm fine with that.

click to return to CLUB 777

#— 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐎 #CLUB 777 #The VIP Booths #todoroki smut #shouto smut #bnha smut #mha smut

[redorich]

for the hermit canyon, i humbly request:

Etho messing with Karl and maybe like, Lazarbeam or Fundy, by pretending he’s moth man.

Quackity stalks through the woods, blissfully unaware of its other inhabitants-- not that he would care, if he knew. No, tonight, under the full moon (because it's romantic) he makes his move.

The Hermit, as Quackity is completely sure of, is a beautiful young woman with long flowing hair as white as snow. Because she is a creature of untold power and beauty, fairy tale logic obviously applies. Therefore, if Quackity can steal her clothes, she will have no choice but to marry him and they will live happily ever after as big booty bitches in love.

Nodding to himself, Quackity feels assured in his logic. He's wearing his favorite assless chaps, his best pair of knockoff Yeezys, and no shirt. He is ready for what is to come.

---

Karl lurks deep in the forest, illuminated only by the moon. He leans against a tree, taking care not to disturb his outfit-- he is camouflaged as a bush. Dangling strips of green and brown fabric cover his body, and his limbs are completely hidden in the costume so long as he stands still. It's a daunting task, standing still in the dark, dangerous woods at night. Nevertheless, Karl knows that this is what he must do.

"Triclops Mothman, my beloved," he whispers into the night. He will find Mothman, and he will marry Mothman. There is no alternative.

---

Far away from both Karl and Quackity, though still in the same spruce forest, Sapnap angrily prowls. Well, he'd describe it as a prowl. Truthfully, it's more of a pouty stomp. He knows that this forest has had multiple "Hermit sightings", and Sapnap wants-- no, needs what he's after.

"Hermit!" he screams into the night. "Come out and fight me, you little bitch! Man on man!"

To emphasize his point, he bangs a pot and a pan against each other several times. Sapnap is getting his revenge for that little ravager prank, one way or another.

---

Deep within the canyon walls, the Hermit complex looks like an overturned anthill with all its activity. It's Halloween night come early.

"I'm not wearing a dress," Etho insists.

Grian whines, "But Etho, I made it just for you! It matches Stress's outfit."

Stress, upon hearing her name, looks up from her book and waves. Cleo is currently fiddling with the thick mane of synthetic white hair Stress is wearing, styling the wig into a princess-y type braid.

"I'll say it again," Cleo says, looking very intently into Etho's eyes, "I could take your place."

"No," Etho sighs. "If what Puffy said about these guys is true, you'd probably bite someone's face off by the end of the night."

"You're no fun," Cleo huffs, but acquiesces.

"At least put on the wig," Grian demands.

Grian and Etho have a staring contest for a solid ninety seconds before Etho snaps his fingers in front of Grian's face, causing him to flinch and blink. "You cheater--!"

"I'll wear the wig," Etho interrupts Grian. Instantaneously, Grian loses his outraged moue.

Cleo sighs. "They're the same wig, right? Do I have to braid Etho's hair, too?"

"I think I'll be fine with my new flowing, luscious locks," Etho says with a humorous crinkle to his eyes.

They all laugh as Etho dramatically flips his fake hair, whipping himself in the face with it in the process. He also receives a thumbs up from Joe, who is in the process of searching for his contact lenses because "Herobrine doesn't wear glasses", according to Bdubs.

Night falls, and the Hermits are prepared. They hope their victims aren't.

---

Quackity catches a glimpse of silver-white after so long searching in the woods. With a little gasp, he eagerly pursues it. His beautiful maiden, ethereal and distant like the moon, darts between trees and leaps across creeks like she is flying, like her feet barely touch the ground.

He follows her to a clearing, but when he bursts through the brush into the open space, she is nowhere to be found.

“Mi rey!” he wails, “Fantasma hermosa! Come to papi!”

Etho, hiding in a tree about five feet away, has no clue what any of those words mean. He affects a terrible falsetto and throws his voice. “Hello, Quackity.”

Quackity jumps, looking around wildly for his beautiful girlboss queen. “Hermit?! You know my name?”

“Of course, Quackity,” Etho says, hefting a large rock in his hand. “Come closer, I have a cask of Amontillado we can share.”

Quackity turns toward Etho's voice just fast enough to catch a glimpse of the Hermit's mask, his (fake) long white hair, his decidedly not female appearance. Quackity looks the Hermit up and down. Etho has never felt more Perceived.

"What's a place like you doing in a guy like this?" Quackity says, flirtatiousness dripping from his voice.

Etho eyes the man's assless chaps with distaste from his crouched perch in a tree. Quick as lightning, he chucks the heavy rock in his hand at Quackity's head, knocking him out instantly.

Etho jumps down from his tree with a huffed sigh. "Well," he says, grabbing Quackity by the ankle and dragging him, "time to get to work."

---

"Pspspsps," Karl whispers, "heeeere Mothman..."

The sound of a twig snapping to his right makes Karl freeze, then turn ever so slowly. There's no one there. Karl holds his breath for what feels like an eternity, but is eventually forced to admit that the noise was probably just an animal. Surely, a creature of Mothman's size would make more noise when he walks, given the weight of his strong legs.

"Mothman," Karl says. "I wrote you a poem!"

Joe, who was up until this point hiding behind trees and ominously snapping twigs, feels a twinge of morbid curiosity. As a poet, he absolutely has to know what Karl considers an adequate love poem for Mothman.

With red cheeks, Karl professes his love:

"Your feelers make me feel so sweet

Your hindwings set my heart aflame

Fern-like antennae make me melt

And Mothman, you're to blame."

Despite himself, Joe is a little bit impressed. It almost makes him feel bad about what he's about to do-- almost.

A soft eerie glow seeps into the forest, catching Karl's eye. He investigates, creeping forward until he turns around a tree and sees glowing white eyes. He screams, but there is no sound, and the forest has disappeared. Only those eyes remain, and they too flicker out of existence.

There is a dim corridor ahead of him, narrow and lit by redstone torches. At the end, there is an iron door. He runs to the exit, but as soon as his hand touches the door it disappears and he is engulfed by swirling purple-- like a Nether portal, but so much more terrifying.

The purple is gone and he can just barely make out the menacing image of a man with glowing white eyes T-posing in the blackness. Karl opens his eyes and wakes up on the forest floor, prone and sore.

"Right," he mutters breathlessly to himself, "Mothman is not interested."

---

"--YOU BITCH ASS PUNK, I'M GONNA RIP YOUR LEGS OFF AND STICK 'EM ON YOUR HEAD!" Sapnap screams, banging the only pot he owns against a non-stick frying pan he stole from George.

"Well, that's not very nice, innit?" says a feminine voice. Sapnap looks left, right, behind him, up in the trees... then down.

Big brown eyes peer up at him through white bangs. A displeased pout set into a moon-pale face attached to an equally moon-pale woman chastises him without words.

"...You're the Hermit?" Sapnap says disbelievingly. He has his doubts that someone as small and pretty as this woman could wrangle a ravager onto his front lawn.

"You wanted a fight," she huffs. "And for the record, you totally had it coming, with Pamela's Revenge-- remember, the rava--"

"Yes, I know the ravager was named Pamela's Revenge! There were like eight hundred million death messages in chat about it, you jackass!" Sapnap snaps, trying to cover up his unease. It's not that he's hesitant to hit her because she's a girl; he would deck the shit out of Niki or Puffy with absolutely no provocation whatsoever. It's just that... she looks soft. Like a non-combatant. It would be too easy, too cruel--

Stress punches Sapnap in the jaw with a wicked right hook. "Stealing is wrong," she says.

While Sapnap is dazed and quite possibly mildly concussed, Stress follows up with a brutal kick to the shin. Sapnap makes a genuine effort to fight back, and he’s no slouch, but he’s been taken so thoroughly off guard that the best he can do with his head spinning as it is is to swing with a wild haymaker and hope it hits.

His fist makes contact with something soft and squishy. He hears a grunt, but Stress shoves him over onto the ground and dumps a bucket of glitter over his head. It burns his eyes, but more importantly it burns his pride. He doesn’t remember at what point he dropped his pot and pan (he must have at some point, because he punched the Hermit with an empty fist), but he’s angry enough to open his watery eyes through the magenta glitter and snatch George’s frying pan up off the forest floor, hurling it at the Hermit with devastating accuracy. She yelps, blocking with her forearm at the last moment.

“Knew I shoulda let Etho...” Sapnap hears the Hermit mutter. What’s an Etho?

Stress irritably bonks Sapnap on the head with the pan he threw at her. He goes limp like a ragdoll, and Stress sets about maneuvering his body into a sitting position leaned against a tree so she can do his makeup while he sleeps.

“Hope I don’t poke his eye out!” she says. “Ah well, he’s got two anyway. Now, should I go for a cute, summery look, or a dark evening look?”

---

In Atrium 1 of the Hermit Canyon complex, Puffy laughs loud and clear, clutching her paper cup tightly so she doesn’t spill her fruit punch. "No,” she chokes out, “he didn’t.”

Cub, holding a similar paper cup, waves his hand in a vague gesture. “Yep. That’s Etho for you. You know, one time he got Doc to run around with a snowman head on, eating spider eyes?”

“Oh man,” Puffy sighs, wiping a tear of laughter from the corner of her eye. “I’m so glad I snitched on Karl, Quackity, and Sapnap. I can’t wait to see their reactions!”

Cub grins evilly. “Stress got pictures before she left.”

Puffy gasps, stars in her eyes. “I’ll bake you a whole cake if you get me a copy.”

“I’ll bake Cub a whole cake if he gives them to me instead,” Grian interjects from across the room. “I don’t need them, I just want to take them from you.”

“Nooooo!” Puffy wails melodramatically. “Grian, please spare me!”

“Five diamond blocks,” Grian makes his demand.

Puffy continues to fake-sob, pretending not to notice Scar sneaking up on Grian until Scar drops an anvil on Grian’s head, like a Looney Tunes episode but slightly to the left. While Grian is distracted, Cub slips the pictures to Puffy, who puts them in her inventory without looking.

Etho walks into the Atrium, now dressed as his normal self, including his natural hair, which looks like an angry wet cat perched atop his head, just the way he likes it. Everyone cheers.

“So, how’d it go with Quackity?” Puffy asks with a smirk.

“Well...” Etho says.

---

Quackity wakes up with the sun in his eyes. In front of him is the public Nether portal, and standing right in front of it is a wide-eyed Sam, staring directly at him. Quackity looks down.

He’s naked, covered in half-dried honey, and tied to a pole like the world’s sexiest flag. And he’s got the world’s worst hangover-- it feels like he’s been hit in the head with a large rock.

“Not again,” he groans.

“...This happens often?” Sam asks.

“If I had a nickel for every time something like this has happened,” Quackity says, wiggling his way out of the ropes tying him to the pole, “I’d have enough money to go buy myself a pair of pants.”

Sam averts his eyes to the sky, abruptly aware of exactly why Quackity would feel the need to buy a pair of pants.

“Damn it,” Quackity says. “Those were my favorite pair of assless chaps.”

“Were they now,” Sam says numbly. The sky is quite blue today, it’s rather beautiful.

Quackity huffs in aggravation, finally having freed himself from his binds. “Yeah, they just don’t make ‘em like they used to, you know?”

“Not really, no,” Sam says slowly. “I wouldn’t know much about-- assless chaps.”

The naked man shrugs. Haltingly, Sam unclasps his cape, pulling it off his shoulders and offering it to Quackity.

“Nah,” Quackity says, “I’ll just streak.”

“Please don’t,” Sam says with pain in his eyes.

#mcyt #hc x dsmp #hermit canyon au #quackity #karl jacobs #sapnap #grian #ethoslab #stressmonster #zombiecleo #captain puffy #joe hills #goodtimeswithscar #cubfan135 #awesamdude #me.cpp #me.txt

[beetsandskzreads]

silent bright summer night

bang chan x gn!reader, y/n works with skz and became their friend (the ultimate dream haha)

genre: tooth-rotening fluff, slight angst with a happy ending

notes/warnings: nothing intense, this is very fluffy, there's brief mentions of cheating, long distance, y/n's exes, fear of abandonment, slight insecurities, deep talks, reader and chan are slightly wine drunk, y/n and chan are whipped, y/n makes it explicit they want to date someone very warm and caring (aka chan), i don't think that's a warning tho djsjs just saying

scenario: on a balcony, at a beach apartment on a summer night of vacation, y/n opens up to chan about their past and current lovers. what y/n doesn't know is why chan is so interested listening to it.

It was 1:01 am when chan and I found ourselves in the balcony that overlooked the city and it's bright lights on a summer night. Skz had gone to sleep right after all of us came back from a night out of lots of fun, buying stuff on stores by the beach, having ice cream, seeing the view of the city lights reflecting on the sea water, appreciating street artists...

The two of us had been talking the whole evening, we hung out as a group but mostly just spoke to each other and laughed at the members jokes, both of us having a sparkle in our eye every time we saw the group happy. There was this unspoken pleasantness, a bliss, calmness in the air but with a lot of excitement. Chan was so happy to be around the sea with "the kids" as he refers to them and being at the beach almost 24/7 this week, it was like his natural habitat, his home, a comfort place. It left you feeling even softer for him, and as you shared your love for the sea, your feelings were at a peak. You liked Chan, and you loved this place as much as he did.

The night was so great, everyone was out like a lightweight as soon as we arrived to the vacation apartment we're in. Chan and I were testing the theory that a glass of wine would help us get drowsy and help us fall asleep as well, since we both have trouble falling asleep and felt nothing but a remaining excitement from the night out. It came to me especially because of the enthusiasm of talking to him, we were connecting so well, I didn't want this to ever end.

And so we drank (one glass quickly becoming the whole bottle) and we talked for what felt like hours on end, that neither of us wanted to cease.

- My ex best friend, she never quite knew how to choose guys, she always went for the ones that would never turn her way, the ones who obviously wouldn't care about her, not because of her, but because they were really careless guys, walking red flags. - I told him, I couldn't remember where exactly the conversation started but we were talking about nice people picking shitty people to date.

- What about you? - he asked

- Me? I barely even like guys, I mean I do, but I'm really picky actually, I don't allow myself to fall for cold people, I wouldn't forgive myself if I took interest in someone rude, I try so hard to take care of myself so I either stay alone that way or I find someone who makes me feel better, who knows how to take care of me, after all we chase happiness, I think a caring person could do that, someone gentle who isn't scared of emotions or who at least is open to face that fear with me by their side.

- I get it, it's hard to get by if you don't have emotional support, a partner should be able to provide that support, yeah. Did you ever... find someone like that?

- Yeah, in the past I did and even now I do know someone more than ideal... I guess my ex partners when I was young were going through a soft phase tho... I guess everyone has an emotional limit they were scared to cross... once I found that barrier the relationship stoped evolving, reached a dead end and so there was nothing left for me anymore and I left, plus, you know, cheating, long distance, a bunch of stuff really... it wasn't meant to be and I'm okay with that.

- What about that someone right now?

Silence ruled for about 3 seconds before I knew what to say. That someone right now is him. Ever since I've known him feels like he's the only man ever, but I don't think I'd tell him that, not soon anyways.

- What about 'em?

- What's that person like? What makes you trust they're any different from your exes?

- Sometimes I fear they're not, but I set the bar really high and I reset it constantly, to make sure I'm seeing it right, sometimes they seem so perfect to me that I wonder what good have i done in my past life to deserve to be around such a bright person. Of course they make mistakes too, but even the way they deal with them is so... mature, it's so easy to just solve things communicating, it's insane to me. Then I remember it's probably because they're eventually gonna leave me too, or just not reciprocate my feelings and after they break my heart I'll probably loose all hope in love, be heart broken for two years until I decide I'm gonna focus on myself again... it's a cycle after heartbreak, but with this person I'm really scared, because they mean more. I'm way too deep in before I've even expressed my feelings, it's gonna be devastating. - I'm rambling, the wine made me do it.

- What makes you think they wouldn't like you back tho?

- I'm not sure I just... it would be too good to be true and it's complicated... he's amazing and I'm just not sure if he'd be into me, I mean, I think I'm lovable and I think I'd be a great lover, I just don't know if I'm his type or if he'd consider me. We have a bit of an age gap, I'm not someone who's typically pretty or specially good looking, I have my charms but I have no idea if that's enough for him to be in love. It's complicated with each others work too... - I notice chan's gaze on me, he has his head leaned on his hand on the table and he's looking at me with bright eyes, eyes that look tired and a little drunk but somehow, he manages to look at me in a way that makes me feel adored, I don't know why you have to make me feel so much love, Bang Chan - Why are you looking at me like that?

- You have no idea how other people perceive you, do you? - he ignored your question, probably because of his drunk-ish drowsy state - Everyone I know likes you, see, you're a naturally kind and caring person, you're attentive to people's needs, you make sure everyone feels comfortable around you... that's so appreciated by everyone. I think you're exceptional y/n, you have this charismatic way of existing, a refreshing and comfy presence everyone can feel, but to me... it feels like home. You feel like home y/n. So... I have no idea who that person is but I sure as hell know they'd be more than lucky to have you as a partner and they're definitely dumb if they let you go.

- Are you dumb? - my heart's pounding quicker as I'm about to do something I didn't plan on doing ever.

- Huh? No, why w-

- Because that person is you... I like you, Chan. In a more-than-friends way - I interrupt him quickly before I lose my newly found courage.

Chan could've sworn his heart stopped for a few seconds. Suddenly sobriety hit him like a truck. It was the alcohol that made you say that, he thought, but he wished it was true and you didn't drink enough to be lying about this kind of stuff, you had a full on conversation and you seemed pretty sober.

- Y-y/n are you sober? - he tries to navigate through the situation.

- Oh my... yeah I am, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything, it just rolled out of my tongue. I'm sorry... - you said as you panicked and tried to go back inside, regret filling up all your organs.

"I messed up" your brain keeps repeating as desperation starts entering your body, until Chan grabbed your hand, stopping you from leaving.

- Wait! You don't need to apologize, I'm glad you told me... You didn't think I'd say all that about you if I didn't like you as well, did you? - he asks suggestively.

- I don't know - you blush as you realize what he's getting at - You're just so nice to everyone, I didn't make a big deal out of it.

- Well, you should've made it a big deal, the biggest deal actually because I've been trying really hard to show you how I feel these past few days and you were so clueless I thought you were purposefully ignoring the signs because you didn't like me back.

- I'm sorry Channie, I just didn't want to assume stuff and get heartbroken if it wasn't true.

-Well it is true, so you don't need to worry anymore. I really like you too, y/n. And I've wanted to say it for a while too, I was just wondering if it was a good idea since you work with us, but I can't contain my feelings anyways... you always treat me so softly and you look after the kids really well... It just feels like you were made to be by my side, you're the embodiment of the person I've always dreamed to be with, and these past few days with the kids and you... it just felt like we were the perfect family you know? I don't think I could be without you by my side anymore... - he stops, he's been staring at your eyes the whole time and now they're starting to water.

How could you not cry when he's saying the things you thought you'd only ever hear in dreams?

- Why are you crying sweetheart? - he whispered, as he wipes a tear with his thumb, the other hand holding your hand as he stands closer every second.

- It's just... I'm so... happy - you smile through your tears - I'm so happy to hear that, you said it in such a beautiful way too... I feel exactly the same, it's like I've gained a family with you guys but you... I've grown really attached to you, feels like some parts of you are tangled in my heart in ways I couldn't tear apart if I wanted to... I'm drawn to you and when I'm with you it's comfortable, blissful, it's right. You're so good to me, it's unbelievable, but it's true, and it warms my heart. - you say as your foreheads touch and your smile grows, his eyes showing so much adoration for you, you could melt.

Suddenly you share your first kiss together, a soft yet passionate mix of sensations, and it felt like everything you ever felt around Chan but better.

You stare into each other's eyes, smiling like the little lovely goofballs you both were, noses touching, ocasional little pecks filled with giggles because you were whipped for each other.

- So this means we're exclusive lovers now, yeah? - he asks with a blushing face, a very silent giggle and a huge, uncontrollable smile.

- Definitely, yeah - you answer biting your lip until eventually you let out the largest smile you ever had.

Needless to say, you didn't leave that balcony to go to sleep that evening. In fact, you two watched the sunrise kissing and cuddling, talking about the feelings you had for each other, when they started, why you liked each other, covered by a blanket, not wanting to let go of each other now that you were openly romantic.

Han found you both sound asleep, you on chan's lap, head on his neck as his arms wrapped around you gently, on a chair in the middle of the morning. He obviously called all the members to watch you two as they assumed you two finally got together. All of them saw it coming, Chan wouldn't shut up about you and had written what could be an entire album about you.

They were happy at least you'd be around more often to cook your delicious food. And you both blushed really hard once you woke up to lot's of teasing from the kids, it was fine tho, you liked it just like this, it was home.

#skz fluff #chan fluff #bang chan scenarios #bang chan oneshot #bang chan imagine #bang chan fluff #stray kids oneshot #stray kids fluff #bang chan angst #chan angst #skz oneshots #skz angst

[celebrities-imagines]

Could we get a emily prentiss x reader were the reader tells emily SHES pregnat and emily Is all happy

A Not So Secret, Secret

Thanks for the request, sorry it took so long. Hope you enjoy!

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x fem reader

Summary: Emily didn’t think she could be happier after the two of you married, but somehow it’s possible after hearing about the new addition to the family.

Warnings: Pregnancy, a bit of angst at first, mentions of miscarriage, and like one or two swear words.

Words: 1.9k

It was supposed to be your day off, just you and Emily. One day as a normal married couple. Not two FBI profiles who barely had a social life.

You couldn't help but groan as Emily stirred beside you, tangling her body further with yours. You kissed her shoulder whispering a "sorry" on her skin before untangling yourself.

There was no way out of it, so you picked up the phone and cursed everything when Hotch's voice came through.

The two of you couldn't hide your disappointment as you grabbed your go-bags and headed over to work.

You were the last two to arrive.

Hotch briefed you all when you got on the plane, mentioning Texas and 5 bodies, but that's all you caught. You could hardly hear over the sound of your stomach beginning to reject the Chinese you eat for dinner last night.

———————————————————————

Taking a deep breath you closed your eyes, praying you could keep the food down. If you couldn't, you'd cause a scene. Even if Emily was the only one who didn't know.

You could feel her eyes on you, so you gave a small smile. Hopefully, you just seemed tired. It was 7 am after all.

She gave your hand a small squeeze.

Images of a month ago played in your mind. 

After missing your period again, you had to face the hunch you'd had for a few weeks now. You took the test.  You were more than surprised to see it was positive.

How could you not be surprised?

Weeks before that you'd gone to a fertility doctor and decided on a sperm donor. Emily was on a case and couldn't come, but had confided in you before she left she'd rather you carry the baby, and you happily agreed.

Unfortunately, at the doctor's they informed you that your fertility was lower than average. Therefore, you were more at risk for miscarriages and less likely to conceive.

The doctor made it clear that it still wasn't impossible to have kids, just more difficult.

You were extremely discouraged by the news, worried you were ruining your future with Emily.

They told you not to get discouraged, it rarely happened the first time for anyone anyway, and there was still a chance you could get pregnant.

You went home that day, defeated, feeling hopeless and lonely, but you didn't tell Emily about your low fertility, afraid you'd upset her.

But nowhere you were. A positive pregnancy test in hand.  You couldn't wrap your head around how it was possible.

Excitement bubbled in your chest at the thought of telling Emily the news. But with the doctor's words echoing in your head, more likely to miscarry, your excitement quickly disappeared.

You knew Emily would be thrilled. She had told you on more than one occasion how excited she was to start a family.

Still, the fear of losing this child and disappointing Emily was so deep you just couldn't tell her.

Not then at least.

Your eyes shot open. The churning of your stomach only seemed to worsen as you got higher in the air.

You swallowed hard, trying to focus on Rossi's story, but you only caught bits and pieces. Your spotty vision could make out smiles, so you smiled too.

You just hoped your face wasn't as pale as it felt. Convincing a plane of profilers you were fine wasn't easy, and the look JJ shot you every few seconds was her way of asking, "how are you feeling?" Which you knew she knew the answer to.

She had been the only person you'd confided in, considering she had gone through it all before.

You had a sneaking suspicion they all knew though. Spencer had started giving random pregnancy facts, which earned him a death glare every time. Derek started calling you mama more, with too much emphasis on the word. Hotch gave you a meaningful look every time you rushed past him to the bathroom in the early morning, and you weren't entirely convinced Rossi didn't know before you, somehow. The only other person besides Emily who didn't know was Penelope, which you were sure of. If Penelope knew then the whole FBI would know.

The smell of bacon hit your nose causing your stomach to somersault. You glared at Derek, who was just about to take a bite of his bacon, egg, and cheese biscuit, but one look at you and he decided against it, putting it away. 

You swallowed hard again, trying to push back the vomit creeping up your throat.

"You okay (Y/n)? You look a little pale." Emily whispered in your ear, forcing you to stop concentrating on not puking.

You gave a weak smile, nodding your head.

"I don't believe you." Her eyebrows had creased together.

"Em, I'm-" Talking had been a big mistake.

You jumped up from the seat. All eyes were on you, 5 looks of pity, and one of concern, but you didn't care. You knew there was no chance of you pushing the vomit down.

Your shaky legs bolted to the bathroom, barely closing the door before you spilled your guts. It was a relief to finally get it all out.

You slumped against the toilet. Any other time you would've been grossed out by your face touching the toilet seat, but it was cooling your sweaty face.

You didn't realize you were crying at first. Not until you lifted your heavy head off the toilet seat and felt the cool drops of water slipping down your face.

What was wrong with you?

You were pregnant your first time trying; after being told you'd have trouble, living the dreams of thousands of women in the same situation.

Why weren't you glowing? Why couldn't you just tell Emily, she'd be ecstatic?

"(Y/n), sweetheart," you jumped at the sound of Emily's voice.

Didn't you lock that door? How long had she been standing there?

"Hey Em," you gave a half-hearted smile, but it was pointless. You hadn't bothered to wipe the tears.

She closed the door behind her. It locked for real this time with a click.

The small bathroom left little room for the two of you, and when Emily slid down beside you your knees knocked together.

"You're scaring me (Y/n)," she placed a soft kiss on your head. "All of the throwing up, and mood swings. You've been so antsy recently.

So she had noticed. "I'm sorry," you said, followed by more tears. "I promise I'm not sick or anything."

"I know."

"So why are you scared." You fidgeted with your fingers, nervous about the direction of this conversation.

"Because my wife has been pregnant for a month and is too afraid to tell me. And I can't for the life of me figure out why she'd keep that from me."

Your head whipped towards hers so fast you almost smashed it right into her forehead. "Y-you knew the whole time," you gulped.

"Of course I did!" She exclaimed. "First of all I'm a profiler it's my job to notice. Second of all, you're my wife, I love you. It's my job to notice.

Your cheeks flushed crimson. The whole time you thought you were fooling her, you were just fooling yourself.

"So...do you care to explain why you didn't tell me. Did you not want to tell me," her voice cracked, but she cleared her throat quickly to cover it.

You guiltily chewed on your lip. Emily had known for a month and probably wondered every day why her wife couldn't tell her such exciting news.

"No, no of course not," you squeaked.

"(Y/n), angel, please. What is it? Why couldn't you tell me?"

You took a deep breath. "When I went to the fertility clinic the doctor told me my fertility was a little below average. There's a chance I could have a miscarriage," you sobbed.

Emily turned her body so the two of you were somehow closer. "Shhh, it's okay. You're okay," she said, pressing you to her body.

"I'm sorry. I want this for us. I want to be happy, but I'm just so scared I'll mess this up."

"Look at me (Y/n). You're not going to mess anything up. Women miscarry all the time. For some awful reason, it's part of life. It's nobody's fault."

Emily wiped a tear off your cheek. You didn't say anything, just watched her.

"Don't profile me," a crooked smile found her lips.

You smiled back. "I wasn't."

"Listen, I know you're scared. I am too, but we have to take it a day at a time. Right now there's a miracle growing inside you. Our miracle." Her eyes flicked to your stomach, and for the first time since you found out, you were pregnant excitement bubbled in your chest again. "If we worry about the what if's we won't have time to focus on the what is." This time she placed her hand on your flat stomach.

You smiled, wide.

"See. There's already a motherly glow about you."

The more Emily said the more the worry began to fade, excitement replacing it.

You were gonna start a family.

"Em."

"Yeah."

"I have to tell you something."

"Yeah."

"I'm pregnant, it's yours." She nudged you playful, even she had a motherly glow about her right now.

"What! You're just telling me now," she teased.

You smiled.

"I'm truly sorry I didn't tell you sooner," you mumbled, placing your hand over Emily's, which was still on your stomach.

"Well, I know now, and you've officially made me the happiest woman alive." She placed a sweet kiss on your lips. "Thank you (Y/n)."

"We're going to be parents!"

"The best parents!" Emily added. "We are, aren't we."

"Now come on, they'll think we've fallen into the toilet by this time."

You laughed. "We can't have that."

Emily stood up, offering her hand, which you took happily.

She placed one last kiss on your lips, then grabbed your hand before you open the door. You always stayed professional at work.

When you opened the door Derek almost fell on top of you. "Hey Mamas," he said, a shit-eating grin taking over his face.

"We're you guys spying?" You asked.

Emily chuckled, squeezed your hand, and headed back to her seat.

Nobody answered.

Spencer was looking anywhere but you, JJ was pretending to get a bag of Cheetos, and Rossi and Derek were smiling shamelessly.

"At least Hotch isn't a snoop," you noted. Your boss was still in his chair doing paperwork.

You shoved Derek playfully and headed back to your seat next to Emily. She automatically reached for your hand.

"Actually, Spencer objected, Hotch listened at the door with us for 5 min and 23 seconds before saying, 'We shouldn't be listening to this."

Hotch didn't even look up from his paperwork, but a rare smile was playing at his lips. "We shouldn't have been. But congratulations you two."

"Thank you!" You and Emily said in unison.

It wasn't brought up the rest of the flight but you could feel the air of excitement and relief nonetheless.

The rest of the flight was filled with little conversation and file reviewing.

Every so often you'd look over at Emily, who was looking out the window, a big grin plastered on her face, her hand on your stomach.

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