#the bottles at her hips are full of lighter fluid

[bethfuller]

the lantern-seller

#the bottles at her hips are full of lighter fluid #the thing above her left eye is a magnifying glass #she's all kitted out #now if any of ye in the tags are weird about ireland i'll kill you #illustration #radarplz #artists on tumblr #krita #fantasy #scopophobia tw #lantern #art

[bokutoslittlebird]

Request: nii!bokuto fucking y/n dumb at a team reunion party and the whole team ends up joining.

Okay so I made it so the whole team is there but Akaashi and Konoha are the only ones who really get to do anything. The others are enjoying the show.

Warnings: incest, humping/grinding, voyeurism/exhibitionism, watersports/piss play, gangbang, squirting, fire play/lighter use, breeding, dirty talk, cum shots, human urinal, thigh riding, asphyxiation briefly creampie, swallowing urine

Kōtarō-nii + Gangbang [includes Bokuto, Akaashi, Konoha]

It’s just supposed to be a little get together was what you were told. Two hours later, each old teammate of Bokuto was still downstairs, chatting and laughing. Every time Bokuto laughed so joyously, it rubbed you the wrong way. It was like he forgot about you, sitting back and talking to his old teammates. You were supposed to be hidden out of sight, but your needs needed to be met and if that meant walking downstairs to remind your brother you were still waiting for him, that’s what you’d do.

You didn’t expect him and his friends to wave you over.

“[Y/N]! It’s been so long since I’ve seen you! Visiting your nii-san, eh?” Komi asked, an eyebrow raised. ‘Visiting’ was one way to put it, but you were actually living with Bokuto, guest room still unused as your belongings were in his bedroom.

“Guess you could say that,” Bokuto threw out, then continued. “She’s going to college here, so it’s easier to live with me than pay for on-campus living,”

“Saving money, I see,” Akaashi piped up, taking a drink from his glass. It was just water, which meant they weren’t drinking alcohol. Bokuto had a soda, but everyone else looked like they were drinking tea or water.

“Hey, [Y/N],” Bokuto tapped you on the shoulder, making you turning your head towards him. “Can you get me another drink?”

“Of course, Kōtarō-nii,” taking his empty bottle, you go into the kitchen to see where he keeps the soda. Since he doesn’t want you to have any, they’re usually up high. Standing on your toes, you still can’t reach the sweet drinks. To speed up the time, you hop on the counter only to feel someone’s hands guiding you off.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Bokuto says, caging you to the counter. “I thought I told you to stay upstairs,”

“I was bored, nii-san,” you whine, pressing yourself against him. “You’re ignoring me,”

“I’m entertaining my guests. You need to learn how to be patient,” he whispers, one of his hands rubbing at the spot between your thighs. “You’re dripping. Have you been touching yourself?”

“It’s not the same, plea—”

“If you’re good, I’ll fill you up so many times you’ll be swollen with my seed, how about that?” You nod your head, still pressing yourself against him. “Stop pushing yourself on me or I’m gonna have to punish you,”

With a final warning, Bokuto gets his own drink and removes himself from you, sighing as he sees your pout. Pressing a kiss to your forehead, he pats your head. “Just another hour, okay?”

That’s what he said.. an hour ago.

Sitting beside him was almost too much to bear. Knowing he could take you whenever he wanted to and him knowing you’re desperately waiting for him to touch you, it’s all too much. Even as your thoughts swim with the image of him absolutely ravishingly you in front of his friends, your pleading eyes and a pout his way whenever he glances at you, yet all he gives is his arm around your shoulders. As a good big brother should, but this is getting to be too much.

Sarukai is the one who decided to play a game. It was a silly card game you played as kids, but it was fun to pass time. Since you didn’t wanna play, you had to sacrifice your spot to Akaashi, your bottom instead being placed on Bokuto’s thigh. A warning squeeze on your hip was all you got, quickly telling them that you were cold which they all brushed off, going on with the game. He was like a heater, warmth rising from beneath his clothes, but it just made you more hot and bothered. It wasn’t until he started rubbing a hand on your thigh — inner thigh, included, his fingers brushing against your sensitive area — did you really feel impatient.

You hoped nobody would notice as your body started moving, and it seemed like they didn’t. Legs on either side of his thigh, you rubbing yourself against him, trying to get as much friction as you could. Bokuto doesn’t stop you, his hand instead rubbing soothing circles into your hip as you continue to grind against his thigh. Eventually, you end up humping his thigh as the rubbing effect wears off, only to have him lean down to your ear. “You can’t wait, can’t you? Such a needy slut needs to be punished, you know?”

There’s no other warning, you suddenly being pushed in the middle of the game as everyone shoots back in shock, surprised at Bokuto’s actions. “You’ve wanted this for a bit, haven’t you? That’s why you’re even wetter, isn’t it?” He smiles down at you, prying your shorts off. He then addresses the guests of his abode, “you guys get to see how much my beloved sister loves me,”

With your shorts and panties off, you’re staining the wooden table with your dripping juices as Bokuto gets his cock out. His friends seem into it, sitting back on the couches and chairs, eyes glued to the way Bokuto spreads your sopping cunt, clenching around nothing as you wait for him in anticipation. Licking his lips, he sinks into you, without letting you adjust as your legs tense and your toes curl, squeezing him as he pushes himself all the way in.

“Did you already cum?” He asks, seemingly dumbfounded by your sudden orgasm. You don’t answer, simply keeping your head against the table and having your eyes rolled into the back of your head. With no response, he decides to roughly thrust up into you, making you gasp as he pushes in so far, feeling so full as he snaps his hips to yours, your hands grasping at the edges of the table as you moan. Through your blurry vision, you’re able to see his old teammates with their own cocks out, hands around the thick appendages as their eyes are trained on how well you take in their former captain’s cock.

It’s only mere seconds before you’re mewling, back arching as you’re clamping around his cock again, body twisting with the force of your orgasm as you shake. Bokuto removes himself from your cunt, though, making you whine. “Don’t worry. I’m gonna let my friends have a turn with you, though. You seem eager Akaashi, wanna go first?”

“I’d much prefer her mouth than her pussy, Bokuto-san,” he says, moving around to your head. His cock comes into view, to which you eagerly open your mouth to take him in, tongue killing out to lick at the tip.

“I won’t pass up free pussy,” Konoha chuckles, taking Bokuto’s position and pushing into you. “Thought she’d be loose after taking a cock that big, but you’re tight as a virgin!” He laughs, pinching your clit as you squeeze down on him even more, muffled moans coming from your throat which is stuffed with Akaashi’s cock.

“Mhm! I taught her well, didn’t I?” Bokuto hums, guiding one of your hands to his cock. “Don’t forget about me, baby girl,” he says, low as he watches your hand jerk him off. Despite your eyes not being anywhere around his form, your hand works expertly from experience of handjobs. Akaashi seems pleased himself, fingers occasionally tracing your jaw and throat, only to close your nose as he face fucks you. Konoha seems to be enjoying himself, as well, your legs secured around his waist as he thrusts into you, his thumb rubbing at your bundle of nerves that has milky fluid coating his cock with each thrust.

“I’m close, can I do it inside?” He asks, looking at Bokuto, using his own hand to guide yours.

“No. You can cum in her ass, but not her cunt. That’s only for her nii-san, isn’t that right?” He directs the last bit at you, fingers pinching your nipples as your body jerks. Konoha decides to pull out, letting his semen paint your stomach white as he groans, making sure every drop lands on your skin. Akaashi is right behind him, closing your nose as he shoots his own load down your throat, your eyes glazed over as you drink it all.

Konoha takes it upon himself to push back into your cunt, feeling your walls clamp around him once more time. It’s too much and you feel something warm fill your insides, eyes widening as you think he put a load in you. When he pulls out, however, you feel it trickling out as the warm liquid drips from your cunt. “Seems she’ll only take cum, not piss,”

“She’ll take it, won’t you, pretty girl?” Bokuto coos, fingers keeping your mouth open as Akaashi takes his turn, warm liquid filling your mouth as you struggle to not let any spill. Once he’s done, Bokuto closes your mouth and nose to force it down, your eyes squeezed shut as it tastes bitter. “See? Just gotta know which hole to use. It’s okay, I’ll clean her out so you can use her again,” he hums once more, pushing his thick cock into your still leaking pussy. The force of his thrust has you mewling, drool spilling from your lips as your body jostles with each thrust. “There’s a cute little trick her cunt will do if you give her a bit of pain,” he grunts, fishing a lighter out of his pocket. Your eyes widen at the familiar click of the item, brief light before it’s shut off. He hands it to Konoha, who then flicks it on as he brings the fire close to your face, the light dancing ridiculously close to your cheek. Akaashi keeps you fron moving your head, sweat beginning to form as Konoha brings the lighter closer, the flame barely licking your skin as you scream, tongue lolling out as your squirt all over Bokuto’s abdomen, his groan overwhelmed by your cute noises. With another thrust, he’s spilling his own load into you, fill you up exactly how you wanted him to.

Konoha shuts off the lighter, then locks across the mark against your cheek where the flame touched you, pressing a sweet kiss in apology to the hot skin. “Now, what do we say, [Y/N]?”

“Thank you for filling me up nii-san. I’ll take anything you give to me, I promise,” you sweetly say, another moan as you feel Bokuto’s piss fill you up as well, his thumb rubbing your clit.

“Don’t worry, baby. Only I’ll be able to breed you, but my friends can have their fun, can’t they? I’ll promise to give you all my attention later, is that okay?” Your response is a nod of the head, the rest of his friends eager to have your holes and your hands around their cocks.

#BB.Kinky #haikyuu smut #BB.Dark #tw.incest #tw.watersports #tw.asphyxiation #tw.piss play #tw.piss #tw.human urinal #cw.gangbang #cw.watersports #tw.breeding #cw.breeding #Mr. Kōtarō #Mr. Keiji #Mr. Akinori #Bokuto smut #Akaashi smut #Konoha smut #BB.Requests

[hatterstan-shameblog]

Prompt My Own Damn Self # :He’s Not the Guy You Marry, But He Is The Guy You [REDACTED] in the Night Club Bathroom at Two O’Clock in the Morning, Which is Also Important

Summary: Literally what it says in the title, except we find out what [REDACTED] means, which is very fun and exciting. That’s right, everybody, we’re 👏 going 👏 there 👏

Warnings: ‼️18+‼️ Extremely Explicit Sexual Content. Do NOT be uncool and read it if you’re not of age. Otherwise, there’s alcohol involved here (wow what a surprise 🙄), like one mention of drugs, and smoking. Aside from that, it’s pretty straightforward.

Genre: Mediocre Smut

Pairing: Hatter/Fem!Reader

Notes: There are two types of people in this world: people who are very attracted to the weird sexy hat guy who started a death-game pyramid scheme, and LIARS.

Real talk, though: this is pretty explicit. More explicit than I’ve gone in a very long time, so I’m a little rusty. It veers into “hate sex” territory, which was kind of fun to write, honestly. I live for the banter. (Also, the “you” character in this is kind of great? I like her.)

HEY! Just another reminder! This is 18+ so if you’re not of legal age, do yourself a solid and ditch this little thing, okay? Okay.

💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

It starts with tequila shots.

Salt licked. From your wrist. His chest. The hollow of your throat.

Lime bitten. Held between your fingers. Between his teeth. Between your pushed-together breasts.

Music pulses. Lights flash. He’s got a hand on your ass. You’ve got your lips on his neck.

“Wanna go somewhere?”

“Yes.”

And he leads you, hand on the small of your back, away from the bar. People stare. You like it.

‘Somewhere’ is, apparently, a two-stall women’s restroom, tucked away in a narrow little hallway which runs to the left of the bar. A place for shooting up drugs. A place for scribbling on the walls with permanent marker.

A place for sex. Hot, sweaty, anonymous sex.

...Well, semi-anonymous, anyways. It’s impossible to live at the Beach and not know who the man in red is, the man who sells a shot at salvation for nothing more than a few playing cards.

You lean against the tastefully cream-colored counter which hosts, among other things: a sink stained pink with cheap soap; three forgotten tubes of lipstick; a small mirror, holding an abandoned credit card and two small lines of cocaine; a crumpled up hand towel; a half-finished bottle of Asahi beer; and what was probably once a wedding ring.

“Great ambiance,” you murmur flatly. The harsh light of fluoresent bulbs burn your eyes, diverting your gaze to the white floor, “Been ages since I got fucked in a classy place like this.”

“Ages?” Hatter flicks the lock on the door with a low thunk.

“Hours,” you answer, mournful tone betrayed by a smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth, “Had you not come along, my dry spell might’ve gone on through the morning.”

“Perish the thought.”

And he does not so much approach you as he descends upon you, mouth sucking at your collarbone and leg pushing between your thighs.

“Tell me,” he pants into you ear, breath hot and fingers deft as he unties the strings of your bikini top, “How do you want me?”

“Now,” you hiss back, “Don’t care how, just—fuck, just give it to me.”

“Then, if you would be so kind?” He holds a condom between his index and middle fingers.

In truth, you’re glad for it—you’d rather not deal with the mess after all is said and done—but there’s no way you’ll give him the satisfaction of a ‘thank you.’

“Fine,” you huff, snatching the foil square from his grasp, “Don’t suppose you have anything better to—oh!”

Hands on your hips spin you around so you’re facing the mirror. You grip the edge of the counter, knuckles straining, and watch as he reaches around to palm your breast.

“Apologies,” he makes eye contact with you in the mirror, “but I seem to have my hands full at the moment.”

And that’s when you feel fingertips slipping beneath the seam of your bikini bottoms, an insistent press against the slick of your slit.

You spit a curse and fumble with the condom, desperation setting in as his hands continued to dance across your flesh. After some moments (too many for your liking), you’re successful in your endeavor, and pass the unwrapped nuisance over your shoulder.

“Much obliged,” he thanks, removing his hands to sort himself out, “You know, I appreciate—“

“I didn’t come here to talk,” you snap. He laughs in response.

“Ooh, you’re mean!”

And he’s sliding the crotch of your swimsuit bottoms to the side, exposing only what is necessary and lining himself up—and, okay, that’s the kind of semi-impractical hotness you were looking for from this particular encounter. Your muscles clench involuntarily around nothing and you cant your hips back to get him to move it along...but nothing happens.

God, what is this guy’s problem?!

“But, I wonder,” he whispers into your ear, “are you desperate enough to say ‘please?”

Of all the guys to pull for a quick fuck, of course you get the one who’s a total tease. So smug, arrogance blooming as he presses a soft kiss to your left shoulder. There’s no way you’re giving in to this asshole, so you glare at him in the reflection of the mirror.

“Fuck you,” you spit, teeth bared and mouth formed into a malicious smile.

He shrugs his shoulders.

“Close enough.”

You both cry out when he fills you with a single, fluid thrust. And—fuck, fuck, fuck!—that is good. One of his hands curls around the jut of your hip, while the other splays across your collarbone, thumb and forefinger framing the base of your throat in a firm but gentle touch.

Otherwise, he remains still—perhaps he’s being gentlemanly and allowing you time to adjust? No, no, he’s definitely being a tease again.

Seriously, what is his goddamn deal?

Since he seems content to take his merry time, you take matters into your own hands, moving against him in a somewhat-awkward but still satisfying rhythm.

“You,” he says between heavy breaths, “seem eager.”

There’s something in his voice that seems amused, as if he finds your candor endearing. You lean forward a bit, angling your hips so his length is able to sink deeper and, oh, that’s much better.

“Want something done right,” you pant, “gotta do it yourself.”

“You don’t think I’d do it right?”

“Sweetie,” you coo with a condescending smile, “I know you wouldn’t.”

And you’re lucky that guys like him are all the same—arrogant, showy, desperate to prove their sexual prowess—because he finally (finally!) decides to get his sorry ass into gear and make something happen.

The hand that was around your neck gropes at your breasts, the cool metal of that stupid-ugly-tacky ring catching on your skin in an annoyingly tantalizing way. The other shoves its way between you and the edge of the countertop, deft fingertips circling your clitoris in a way that makes your toes curl in your sandals. You bite your lip to keep from crying out as he fucks into you, hips snapping hard but steady against the plush of your ass.

“You know, the people I fuck usually try to be nice to me,” he says, “nicer than you, anyways.”

The hand on your breast pinches your nipple, earning him a sharp gasp.

“Why be nice?” You clench around him, causing his rhythm to falter, “You’re just the means to an end.”

“And here I thought we were making love.”

Teeth scrape down the length of your neck, and fuck—you’re getting close. Your arms are shaking. Your heart is racing. You hate to admit it, but he’s good at this.

“Darling,” he growls into your ear, “I do believe you’re about to come.”

“Shut up,” you snap, trying desperately to sound cool and unaffected despite the fact that your composure is about to shatter and there is not a goddamn thing you can do about it.

“Well, go on then. After all,” he hisses, “I don’t have all night.”

What starts as anger is quickly overtaken by pleasure—white-hot and blinding, enough to make your knees shake and your eyes spring with tears. It’s exactly what you were looking for, exactly what you had been expecting from the most notorious sex fiend at this God-forsaken place.

Apparently, he must’ve come too, because he’s pulling out with a surprising tenderness—gentlemanly in one way, at least. He even makes sure to right your bikini bottoms, making sure that they’re once again covering you completely before turning his attention to himself.

“You know, I didn’t know people could glare their way through an orgasm, but you made it happen.”

“I’m a woman of many talents.”

Before you choose to look in the mirror, you fix the rest of your bathing suit with a tremble in your fingers. You can feel him watching you, and honestly, you’re not sure how you feel about that. Good, mostly, but tinged a bit orange with annoyance. You try not to think about that too much and, with a deep breath, look at your reflection.

The first thing you do to assess the damage of your little liaison is check your makeup—your eyeliner is a bit smudged, but that’s easily fixed with a few swipes of your littlest finger. Your hair, however, is another story, so you set to fixing it with a dissatisfied huff.

You hear the snick of a lighter behind you and the scent of fresh-burning nicotine hits your senses. You turn around to see him leaning against the tile wall with a cigarette between his lips and smoke curling in wisps towards the ceiling.

He raises an eyebrow when you approach him, then chuckles when you snatch the cigarette right out of his mouth and take a long, deep drag. It’s almost as good as the sex.

“You know,” he says, “I think you might be a bit in love with me after my spectacular performance.”

That makes you choke, your lungs switching from laughter to coughing and back again.

“Spectacular?” You quell your sputtering with a gulp, “You were passable. At best.”

“Careful, sweetheart. You’re getting awfully close to giving me a compliment.”

You take a step closer to him, shoulders squared, fingers ashing the cigarette onto the floor.

“Not your sweetheart,” you say, taking one last drag and blowing the smoke directly into his face. You smile when he flinches.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” you say, pressing the mostly-smoked cigarette between his lips, “I have somewhere to be.”

You turn on your heel and begin to walk away, making sure to sway your hips just so as you do. There’s no way his eyes aren’t glued to your ass, and the thought makes you smile triumphantly.

“Until next time, then,” he calls—and it’s cute that he sounds so sure that you’ll come crawling back to him.

You exit the bathroom with a self-satisfied smirk, enjoying the thought of him lighting another cigarette and trying not to chase after you.

Three days, tops. That’s how long it’ll take for him to beg.

You can’t wait.

💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

also just in case you were wondering, he DID leave the sunglasses on—BUT they were on his head kinda holding his hair back because I truly believe he would do that. also the kimono has pockets and he thinks it’s very cool to carry around all his stuff in there (for example he keeps a granola bar on his person at all times because sometimes you just get hungry yknow?)

#spicy boy #writings and such #hatter #hatter x reader #danma takeru #danma takeru x reader #alice in borderland fanfic #alice in borderland #this took me WEEKS to write oh my god #I’m gonna convert y’all to hatter fans no matter what #it’s a thankless job but someone’s gotta do it #he’s got great hair and a weird outfit what more do you people WANT?!?

[kookicat]

The Price of Peace pt2

So I wrote a second part to this fic- 

Full thing is here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28907364/chapters/71064504

The Morning After

 He wakes slowly, swimming up from sleep like he’s climbing through slowly setting cement. It clings to him, and if he wasn’t in dire need of a piss and a drink, he’d give in, let it pull him back under because he hurts all over. He bites back a groan and focuses on his breathing, falling into the old exercises easily, until some of the pain eases. His face is the worst, the hairline fracture in his cheek throbbing like a bad tooth. In fact, it’s making the entire side of his face hurt and he lifts a shaky hand, feeling the heat and swelling and realises belatedly he should have iced it before he passed out. They have instant ice packs, somewhere, but he doesn’t feel up to hunting though three rooms to find them. 

He drops the footrest on the recliner and sets his feet on the floor, bracing his ribs with his bad arm as he levers himself upright. Moving lights up his ribs and shoulder like he’s dropped a match in a box of fireworks; all bright flashes and pain burning along his nerves. The room spins violently and he closes his eyes, hanging onto the chair with all the strength he has left, because he’d rather shoot himself in the head than pass out and have one of the team find him.  Probably in a puddle of piss too, he thinks sourly and lets out the unsteady breath he’s been holding. 

The dizzy spell passes and he shuffles towards the bathroom, feeling three times his age. His knees ache with every step. He pees and moves over to the sink, washing his hands before turning on the little light and examining his battered face critically in the mirror. He’s looked worse, he’s sure, but he damn well can’t remember when. The skin over his cheekbone is black with bruising, puffy from the swelling that covers his whole eye socket. What isn’t bruised is pale and faintly clammy until he soaks a washcloth and wipes his face. He opens his mouth, carefully, feeling the click deep inside of his jaw he didn’t have before the fight, and runs a finger over his teeth. 

Nothing seems to be wrong, but he knows he’s probably going to have to visit his dentist when he gets back home. It’s all part and parcel of the life, but sometimes- especially deep in the AM, when he’s hurting and exhausted and sleep is eluding him, he wishes he had a different job. Something that doesn’t leave him littered with bruises and other people’s blood. Something  clean,  but he knows he left any chance of that behind him a long time ago and there’s no use pining for things you can’t reclaim.

Someone has left a fresh hoodie and pair of sweatpants on the vanity and while he’s desperate for a shower, he knows he’s not quite steady enough to risk it for now.  The thought of falling on his ass in the shower makes him wince for multiple reasons; he’d probably never live it down, for a start. The small gesture touches him though, brings a fleeting smile to his lips before he turns the light off and eases the door open. 

Sophie is curled into a ball in the middle of the bed, eye mask firmly in place, blankets wrapped around her like a cocoon. She stirs as he passes the bed, shoving at the mask with one hand so she can squint at him. “Eliot?” she asks, sounding sleepy, confused, then sits up as the events come back to her, smoothing her hands over her hair to bring it to some kind of order. “How are you doing? Why are you up?”

He blinks at the rapid fire questions. “Yes, fine and needed to use the facilities,” he says dryly and hopes like hell it’s too dark for her to get a good look at him, because once she does, that lie is going to sink faster than a lead balloon. 

She reaches for the lamp and switches it on, and he knows he’s blown. He curls his injured arm around his ribs as she runs her gaze over him, frowning. “You call this fine?” she asks, but there’s no anger in her words, just a tired sort of resignation that’s somehow almost worse. “Sit back down, I'll get you an ice pack and the pills the Doc gave you. "

He retreats to the recliner, grabbing a spare pillow off the bed and taking it with him. It hurts to lower himself back down and he bites the inside of his lip, holding a heartfelt groan inside. He folds the pillow and rests his bad arm on it, taking some of the strain off his shoulder which helps, then hits the button to raise the footrest and braces himself, twisting so he’s curled on his good side. The movement whites out the room for a long couple of seconds and when he blinks back to awareness, Sophie is standing next to him, hands full of supplies, eyes full of worry.

“I’m-” - fine,  he starts to say, then closes his mouth because he’s pretty sure they both know it’s not even vaguely true. Spit pools in his mouth as the nausea from earlier comes back and he gulps, taking small breaths to settle his stomach, but it’s no good. 

Sophie gets the trash can under his chin just in time as he retches, bringing up what little he has in his stomach. It fills him with agony; jolting his ribs, his shoulder, making his head throb so badly he wishes it would just fall off and put him out of his misery. If he had the breath, he’s pretty sure he’d be groaning right now. The worst of it passes and he flops back against the seat, utterly drained. 

“Sorry,” he says hoarsely, swiping an unsteady hand over his mouth, probing his lip which is bleeding again. He presses the side of his thumb against it and lets his breathing settle. 

“You did the same for me,” she says, and takes the trash can into the bathroom, returning with a damp washcloth. “It’s about time I got to return the favour.” 

He intercepts her hand as she tries to wipe his face, taking the cloth gently, because the thought of anyone touching him right now makes his stomach clench in a knot. “The bad clams,” he says faintly and wipes his mouth. 

“You did try to warn me.” She shakes her head, holding back a laugh. “What do you need, Eliot?”

It’s stupid, after everything they’ve been through, but he feels awkward  asking for stuff. “Can you grab my bag?” he asks, because he keeps a kit in there for just this situation. 

“Of course.” She presses a bottle of Gatorade into his hands, along with the bottle of pills the doc gave him. He glances at the label; it’s a combined muscle relaxant and painkiller that he’s taken before. The full dose knocks him out, and that sounds like a blessing right about now. 

His stomach rolls at the thought of drinking anything, but he knows that he needs the fluids and cracks the top on the bottle, swallowing a single mouthful to see if it’ll stay down. It makes him feel a little queasy, but there’s no sign it’s going to come back up, so he swallows another mouthful, then closes the cap, resting his head against the chair, knowing he needs food before he can take any pills. 

“Here.” Sophie leans his bag on the arm of the chair, then reaches down to pick up the discarded blanket, shaking it out over his legs. Neither of them had bothered to change the room’s air con setting, and it’s chilly. 

“Thanks,” he murmurs, and digs into the bag, pulling out a pack of plain crackers and a box of Zofran. He lets the bag slide to the floor and jams the bottle between his hip and the chair so he can open the box of Zofran, popping out a tablet. He swallows it with a sip of Gatorade, licking his lips. He needs food and sleep and the painkillers in equal measure so he tears open the wrapper around the crackers, pulling one out.

Chewing hurts, and he spends a fleeting second wishing he was home, with access to his freezer and the homemade soups he keeps stocked there. There’s a lemon chicken broth that would hit the spot right now, but he pushes the thought away and takes another bite of cracker, convincing himself it’s just as good. Once he’s swallowed the full thing, he fumbles open the box of painkillers and pops one out, washing it down with a mouthful of Gatorade that tastes more like chemicals than the fruit punch it claims to be. 

Sophie is dozing on the sofa, hair in her face, body curled into a ball. It makes him smile, because it’s rare to see her with her guard down. They’re alike in that way, though she hides behind masks, slipping through personas with an ease that unnerves him occasionally. He hides his true self behind a carefully curated image, letting people see what they want, the hitter, the easy mark, letting them underrate him so he can get in close for the sucker punch. He’s let a lot of that go, since joining the team, but it’s so ingrained now it’s a conscious effort most of the time.

He yawns, putting an end to his mental rambling, and shifts, already feeling the drugs getting to work. There’s still a good couple of hours before morning, when he has to pick himself up, drive the mask back into place and be the Eliot they all need him to be; unflappable, untouchable. It’s a heavy mask to wear sometimes but it’s a weight that he’s well used to carrying now, and it’s one that gets lighter for every month he spends with the team. They can carry each other, fill the gaps. Together they’re whole, and that’s a damn comforting thought. It brings a smile to his lips as he closes his eyes and lets himself rest.

#the tap out job #leverage #eliot spencer #eliot whump #whump #episode tag #part two #sophie devereaux #hurt/comfort #friendship #hurt eliot spencer #eliot spencer whump

[eternalgravityfaller]

Gravity Falls-Hocus Pocus AU: Gobbledygook

The cold autumn air was not the cause of the goosebumps prickling along Dipper’s flesh. He stared wide-eyed through the large wooden gate, staring at the derelict cabin shrouded in part by shadows.

Wendy grinned. “If anyone is scared, feel free to turn back now.”

Pacifica bristled at the pointed look the redhead shot her. “What’s there to be scared of?” she returned. “The legend isn’t true.”

She dug the copper key from the pocket of her dark purple jacket. She slipped it into the padlock and unlocked it. She unhooked it from the latches and shoved the gates open. She gave her hand a sarcastic wave and drawled, “After you, losers.”

Wendy rolled her eyes and walked onto the property that formerly belonged to the 16th century witch Bill Cipher. Mabel followed after their next-door neighbour and paused when her twin stayed rooted in place.

“What’s up, Dipper?”

Dipper bit down on his bottom lip. “I feel like this is a horrible idea.”

Pacifica smirked. “You heard Corduroy. If you’re scared, leave.”

“Knock if off,” said Wendy sternly.

“What? You did.”

“Listen, Dipper, the whole Bill Cipher legend is nonsense,” said Wendy with an encouraging smile. “Nothing is going to happen to us. We’re just gonna go in and check it out.”

“And then we can get back to collecting candy,” said Mabel, moving back to latch onto her brother’s hand. “C’mon, Dipper. You love this sort of spooky magic stuff. I thought you wanted to see Cipher’s cabin.”

“I do,” insisted Dipper. “But the last time a Pines walked onto his property...it didn’t end well.”

“You don’t really believe our super-great uncle was turned into a black cat, do you?” asked Mabel with a laugh.

Dipper caught Wendy’s amused grin and his cheeks turned red. “Of course not,” he said, lifting his chin. “Let’s go.”

“That’s my man!” cheered Wendy, and Dipper felt pride swell in his chest.

Pacifica shook her head. “Whatever. Can we please get this over with? I have a Halloween party to get back to.”

They trudged across the overgrown path and up the rotted wooden steps. Dipper’s heartbeat increased, banging against his rib cage as they reached the front door. Pacifica used the same key to grant them entrance, and soon the interior of the Cipher cabin unfolded before them.

Mabel batted away the thick, silver cobwebs that hung from the ceiling like curtains. “It’s got its own natural Halloween decorations,” she said cheerfully.

Wendy spun in a slow circle, taking in the roped-off artifacts with a look of awe. “You know, I’ve lived here my whole life, but I’ve never actually been to the Cipher museum.”

“You didn’t miss anything,” said Pacifica tightly, arms crossed over her chest and nose wrinkled in disgust. “It’s filthy in here.”

“I thought you said your mother ran this place up until a few years ago,” said Mabel. “How come it looks like it’s been abandoned for a decade?”

“This place was run-down when my mom took it over. The Salem Heritage Association only made two renovations to the Cipher cabin.” Pacifica pointed a finger towards the ceiling, where the upper windows allowed the moonlight to reveal a sprinkler system. “When no one steps foot into a three-hundred-year old building for like, four years, yeah, it’s going to get dirty.”

“What was the second renovation?” asked Mabel curiously.

“Lighting.”

“I don’t suppose you know where the switch is.” Wendy squinted through the darkness, seeing only shapes and blobs. “I can’t see anything.”

Pacifica wandered over to the door and flicked the switch. The light bulbs bloomed to life and Dipper blinked rapidly, trying to get his eyes to adjust. He approached a wooden counter, seeing a collection of abandoned gift shop items.

“I don’t think this was something Bill Cipher left behind,” he said with a raised brow.

“Had to generate revenue somehow,” said Pacifica with a sniff.

Wendy made a gagging sound. “It’s so tacky.”

Mabel joined her brother, peering over his shoulder at the dust-covered, clunky lighters. “Neat!”

Dipper recoiled as she snatched one and promptly lit it. “Mabel! Be careful!”

She clamped it shut. “I think I’ll take this as a souvenir.”

“That’s stealing!”

“It is not! They left them here.” Mabel glanced over at Pacifica. “Right?”

The blonde gave a bored shrug. “Take it. I don’t care.”

“Yes! You want one, bro?”

“No,” said Dipper distractedly, his attention diverted by the shelves of oddly shaped vials and bottles, a cauldron and a book encased by glass. He approached the bottles, staring at them warily. “These look suspiciously like ingredients.”

“Probably are,” said Wendy dismissively, going over to the cauldron and running her finger along the lip. A sizeable ball of dust built against her skin and she flicked it off. “How else would he concoct the potion to steal the souls of children?”

“Wendy!”

“Dude, relax!” Wendy punched him lightly in the shoulder. “I’m just kidding.”

Mabel approached the glass display case and pressed her face against it. “What’s this?” she asked, her voice muffled.

“That’s disgusting,” said Pacifica in horror.

Mabel stepped back and gave a few hacking coughs to clear the dust and grime from her throat. “Yeah, bad choice,” she wheezed, wiping the sleeve of her orange witch robe across her lips.

“This is Stanford’s journal, isn’t it?” asked Wendy in interest.

“Yup.” Pacifica gave the plaque a condescending tap. “Just like the little card says, if you know how to read.”

Wendy frowned. “Are you always this unpleasant?”

“Only with people I find annoying.”

Wendy started to retort, but Dipper interjected. “Listen to this,” he said eagerly. “Standford Pines spent most of his teenage youth investigating the strange and unnatural deaths of children in Salem. He logged his observations into his journal, which he kept secret from the rest of his village, for he knew his study of magic would result in an accusation of witchcraft. After the deaths of both Stanford and Bill Cipher, the book was left behind.”

It was a leather-bound journal, with a gold six-fingered hand embossed on the cover.

“Our relative wrote this,” said Dipper softly.

“He was into the supernatural just like you,” said Mabel, squeezing his arm. “You were both geeks!”

“Thanks, Mabel,” said Dipper with a scowl. “Really appreciate that observation.”

“What about that?” asked Mabel, spotting a white candle with blood-red designs merged with the wax mounted on the wall.

“The Black Flame Candle.”

Dipper snapped his head around, regarding Pacifica with fear. “Wait, the Black Flame Candle?”

Pacifica put her hands on her hips. “Are you deaf? That’s what I just said.”

Mabel moved closer to the candle, leaning forwards to read the smudged plaque. “The Black Flame Candle is made from the fat of a hanged man. Legend says that on a full moon on All Hallow’s Eve it will raise the spirits of the dead when lit by a virgin.”

“Okay, I think I’ve seen enough of this place,” said Dipper frantically. The sight of the candle turned his blood to ice. “Let’s go.”

Mabel laughed. “It’s just a candle, Dipper. Nothing is going to happen.”

A slow, sinister grin curled across Pacifica’s lips. “Light it. I dare you.”

“Don’t!” shouted Dipper.

Mabel flicked open the lighter, causing the tiny flame to dance. “I’ll prove it, Dipper. I’m not scared.”

A streak of black cut through the air and knocked into Mabel, sending her tumbling to the ground. A black cat with harsh yellow eyes hissed at the gathered kids, its claws digging into Mabel’s back.

“Bad kitty!” she cried.

Dipper hurried forwards, using his trick-or-treat bag to bat the cat away from his sister. “Get! Leave her alone!”

The appearance of the black cat, long-rumoured to be Stanley Pines, caused a shiver to run down Wendy’s spine. “Maybe Dipper’s right. We should probably go.”

Mabel got to her feet, but as she started to turn away from the Black Flame Candle, Pacifica coughed and said, “Coward.”

Mabel’s eyes narrowed. “I’m no coward.”

Before Dipper could stop her, she whirled around and, in one fluid motion, turned on the lighter and ignited the wick. She rocked back on her heels and said cheerfully, “See? Nothing happened. It’s just a bunch of gobbledygook.”

The orange flame turned black. Wind started to whistle through the cabin. Mabel’s smile immediately dipped.

“Uh-oh.”

The light bulbs in the chandelier above them exploded. The floorboards below them shook madly, a bright blue glow and smoke pouring through the cracks. Their screams echoed in the small space and Dipper and Mabel clung to each other.

“What’s happening?” shrieked Pacifica.

The rattling stopped and the floor went still. For a moment, none of them could breathe.

The remaining candles roared with fire and a high, menacing, echoing laugh sounded from outside. Exchanging one terrified look, they all dove for a hiding spot just as the door bolted open, slamming hard against the wall.

“Heeeeeeeere’s Billy!”

#gravity falls #gravity falls au #hocus pocus au #dipper pines #mabel pines #wendy corduroy #pacifica northwest #bill cipher #witch bill cipher #fanfic #halloween

[creative-type]

wake from death (and return to life) chapter iii

AO3 Previous AN: Hey, it’s chapter 3! I fully admit that to fiddling with the mechanics of Betty’s DF in this chapter, but it’s my fic so I get to do what I want

.

.

Kuina woke up sore and confused, alone in a room she did not recognize. Her clothes were stiff with dried salt and blood, and when she jerked up in a panic she discovered the bunk above her by bashing her head into the wooden slats.

“Ow....”

Slowly her eyes adjusted to the dim light, and memories of the previous day trickled in. Kuina groped for her sword, letting out a small sigh of relief when she felt that it was by her side, her bag tucked between her pillow and the wall.

Did ships have walls? Other than her voyage from Shimotsuki Village to Loguetown, she didn’t have much experience sailing. It had always seemed like too great a risk when everything she needed could be found within the city.

Kuina snorted as she sat up, careful to mind her head. Her past self would be appalled to know all the stupid things she’d done in the last twenty-four hours.

There was nothing for it now but to move forward. Kuina brought her bag into her lap and began surveying the damage. There was the beginnings of a hole near one of the seams that Kuina didn’t trust, and the thick material was still damp and heavy with seawater. When she opened the flap, Kuina couldn’t stop a small noise of dismay from escaping her throat. Nothing inside had been waterproofed, and her tumble down the cliff had smashed the bento Ipponmatsu lovingly prepared into pieces, smearing bits of rice and god knew what else over the inside of her pack. The clothes could be washed and the bag repaired, but her money—so carefully horded after years of bounty hunting—was a soggy mess of paper and ink that threatened to disintegrate in her hands.  

The loss of the money didn’t bother her. At least, not much. There was always a need for bounty hunters, and pirates in the Grand Line tended to be worth more than those in the East Blue. No, what Kuina found more distressing was the implication of failure. She had spent the better part of nine years dreaming of the day she would escape the East Blue. She’d planned and schemed, imagining what it would be like to reunite with Zoro at last, only for it to all fall to pieces the moment he made it to Loguetown.

The shattered expectations were like a kick in the teeth, and now she was at the mercy of a bunch of terrorists, at least one of whom wanted to kill her. It wasn’t fair, and Kuina felt herself getting angry all over again. She welcomed it. Anger was better than having to think about the fact she’d thrown away every protection her father had given her for nothing.

She wouldn’t let her guard down again.

Taking a deep breath, Kuina hurried to get ready as best she could. She was acutely aware that she stank and probably looked like a hobo, but a quick survey of her quarters didn’t reveal anything that could help her in that regard. She settled for brushing the salt out of her hair and changing into a pair of clothes that didn’t have any bloodstains, As she moved Kuina took an inventory of aches and pains, and was pleasantly surprised that other than a little soreness and a gimpy ankle she was unharmed.

She’d cleaned and oiled her sword before allowing herself to sleep, but Kuina inspected it again anyway. A fresh scar gashed across the black lacquered scabbard, but the night’s escapades hadn’t damaged the sword itself. There was a quiet elegance to the katana her father had given her. It was a blade that didn’t feel the need to draw attention to itself, from the plain, straight hamon, to the simple black handle, to the unremarkable round guard devoid of engravings. There was nothing about Kuina’s sword that stood out as exceptional, but to hold it was to know true craftsmanship. It was shorter and lighter than Wado Ichimonji without sacrificing durability. There weren’t many swords who would have survived being stabbed into a cliffside without shattering. Hers hadn’t even dulled.

Kuina gave a few experimental swings, blade cutting through the air noiselessly and steel singing in her hands. Satisfied that it was in good condition, she hung the sword at her hip, feeling more at ease despite the less-than-ideal circumstances she found herself in.

With her katana taken care of, Kuina looked around her surroundings for the first time. There were beds all around her, enough for at least two dozen people, but the Revolutionary Army was nowhere to be seen. Kuina frowned, senses sharpening with her alertness. There was a slight sway underfoot, but the sea wasn’t as rough as what she’d expect from the Grand Line. She could hear people outside the cabin and the pounding of feet above her, but their voices were too muffled and far away. Kuina skulked to the door and tested the handle—unlocked. Confusion deepening, she left the cabin, only to come once again to an abrupt stop.

A giant of a woman was sitting outside her doorway, eyes closed and arms wrapped protectively around the biggest crossbow Kuina had ever seen. A bolt was loaded into the chamber, one meaty hand laying too close to the trigger for comfort.

Kuina hadn’t made any noise, but the woman blinked awake. With a yawn, she looked up at Kuina, eyes unreadable behind thick glasses.

“Good morning,” Kuina said.

The woman nodded in response and clambered to her feet. She was as tall as Dragon and nearly as broad, built as solid as an oak tree. Thick shocks of short brown hair spiked in all directions, looking like it hadn’t been combed in weeks and giving her head the look of an unkempt hedgehog. The wildness of her hair seemed at odds with the rest of her face, a square jawline, narrow nose, and thin lips lending her a severe, humorless expression.

“Are you going to shoot me?” Kuina asked cautiously.

“Only if I have to,” she said, her voice too soft for someone so large. She beckoned Kuina to follow as she headed down the corridor. “This way. You slept through breakfast, but I’m sure we can find something for you to eat.”

Nonplussed, Kuina followed. “Who are you?”

“Lyudmila Kuznetsova.”

Kuina waited for her to elaborate, and when she didn’t, asked, “You’re a part of the Revolution?”

Without turning around, she said in that too-soft voice. “We all are, but you. We took you because Dragon asked and nothing else, so do not presume to think you are privy to our secrets.”

As if Kuina wanted their secrets. People...Revolutionaries...stopped at the sight of them, many wearing masks or with their faces covered in bandanas or cloth wraps. Kuina could hear them whisper before they even got out of earshot.

She squared her jaw and kept her hand near her katana, refusing to be cowed. “Fair enough. Have we made it to the Grand Line yet? I know the entrance is near Loguetown, but I didn’t feel us ride up a crazy mountain so…”

A ghost of a small passed over Lyudmila’s features, gone almost before Kuina had to register its existence. “We are not going to the Grand Line.”

“What.”

“You join a Revolutionary ship, you run on the Revolution’s timeline.” Lyudmila stopped to pound at a thick wooden door. “Elizabeth!”

After a few seconds of silence the door flew open, revealing a five foot bundle of wrath and irritability in the shape of a woman wearing thick rubber gloves and a backward baseball cap. “What is it, I’m busy!”

Lyudmila gestured to Kuina. “Guest needs food.”

“Guest can kiss my ass!”

Elizabeth’s attempt to slam the door shot were foiled by Lyudmila stretching out one thick arm, effortlessly arresting the door’s momentum. The smell of something sulfuric wafted into the hallway.

“Guest needs food,” she repeated.

“Then take her to the galley. I’m busy.”

“I don’t need anything to eat,” Kuina said. “When is this ship going to the Grand Line?”

“See, she doesn’t even want food. Now go away and—” Elizabeth was cut off by a sharp popping noise, like someone had set off a firecracker in the room behind her. With a strangled yelp, she rushed back towards the smell of sulfur, which was getting stronger by the second. Unperturbed, Lyudmila went in after her, with Kuina sneaking in close behind.

The room looked to be a converted storage closet, crammed with shelves of strange bottles full of mysterious liquids and dominated by a solid oak table that had been bolted to the floor. The source of the odor seemed to come from there, where a large beaker of bubbling fluid was threatening to boil over into an electric burner that for some reason had been wired to half a dozen potatoes.

Elizabeth quickly cut power to the burner, waving her hands to disperse the fumes. She gave Lyudmila a look that could have peeled paint.

“If that’s how you cook potatoes, I don’t want any,” Kuina deadpanned. She smiled innocently as Elizabeth turned the full force of her glare on her.

“I see the Revolution’s recruited another meatshield,” she said acidly. “Probably spent too much time learning how to wave around pointy metal sticks to ever go to school, or you might have known it’s a battery. Idiot.”

Kuina’s grin sharpened. “Didn’t grow potatoes back home, my teacher used lemons instead.” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “You’d think Revolutionary agents would know how to recognize a joke since you joined up with one, but I guess that’s my fault for not lowering my standards. Idiot.”

Sighing softly, Lyudmila set her crossbow on the table and stepped between them. Clasping one hand on Elizabeth’s shoulder and another on Kuina’s, she forced both of them to take a step back. “Enough. Elizabeth, you are assistant cook. It is your job to make sure our guest is fed. And you—” A coldness passed over her, even as her expression remained perfectly neutral, “—would do well to keep your mouth shut.”    

Her grip on Kuina’s shoulder was like iron. There was no indication that it took any effort for her to hold her in place. Part of Kuina wanted to push her just a little bit farther, just to see how far that strength went, but the sensible side of her knew better than to test the generosity of the Revolutionary Army. At least while Dragon was aboard.

“I just want to get to the Grand Line,” Kuina said.

Lyudmila loosened her hold, eyebrows rising over the rims of her glasses. “You have chosen a very odd way of doing so. Elizabeth?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll get the asshole her breakfast. Just give me a sec.”

Kuina decided it would be better to wait outside the strange room full of exploding liquids and potatoes, and a few minutes later Elizabeth emerged to thrust two slices of toast into her hands. One side was burnt so badly to be charcoal, while the other was still cold. Kuina looked up at Lyudmila in silent question. The giantess only shrugged.

“I did not say she was a good cook.”

Xxx

“Okay, but seriously, when are we going to the Grand Line? Because if it’s going to be awhile I might as well get off at the next island and hitch a ride with someone else.”

They were above deck, waiting outside the captain’s quarters, but why, Kuina didn’t know. She was impatient and ill-tempered, but tried not to show it as she scanned her surroundings for potential enemies. In the daylight she could see that she’d lionized the ship the night before. Without the storm and the lightning it seemed like a perfectly average brigantine with a crew of about a hundred men. There were no signs betraying its true nature; it sailed under the flag of a merchant company and there were no cannons on deck to draw suspicion.

There were a surprising amount of women, maybe a quarter of the crew in total. Some, like Lyudmila, carried weapons, and all looked to be competent sailors. Kuina couldn’t recall a single ship passing through Loguetown with so many women aboard, pirate or otherwise. Even the marines base, despite their relentless recruiting efforts, couldn’t boast so many, and they had a Tashigi as their second-in-command.

Kuina didn’t know what to think of that, so she pushed the thought aside. The gender ratio among the Revolutionary Army wasn’t her concern.

“Why do you wish to go?” Lyudmila asked.

Kuina’s grip on her sword tightened. “You have your secrets, I have mine.”

Lyudmila inclined her head. “Fair enough.”

The two of them fell into a comfortable silence, and Kuina felt a knot in her stomach loosen, grateful that Lyudmila didn’t pry or seem suspicious of her intentions. There was a steadying presence about Lyudmila, like an anchor during a storm, that made it easier to bear the uncertainty of not knowing what was going to happen next.

They had waited for about five minutes when a figure descended from the crow’s nest and bounded toward them like a bullet. It was yet another woman, taller than average but nowhere near Lyudmila’s hulking height, with a willowy build and crow-black hair pulled into a braid that fell halfway down her back. She grinned mischievously, white teeth flashing against coppery brown skin. “The stowaway lives!”

“I’m not a stowaway,” Kuina said.

“Eh, close enough. Name’s Darareaksmey, but most call me Dara. It’s a pleasure to meet you at last. Although I guess technically we met last night,” She clasped her hands together and gave an irreverent bow.

“We met?” Kuina said.

“Kinda sorta—you were asleep by the time my watch ended. Did you know you snore?” Dara looked up at Lyudmila. “So what’s the verdict? Does she get to stay, or is someone going to have to throw her overboard?”

The door to the captain’s quarters opened before Kuina had a chance to voice her indignant protest. Dragon stepped out onto deck, along with Betty and another woman Kuina didn’t recognize.

“Dara, if you’re going to eavesdrop, you better learn how to do it quietly,” the woman Kuina didn’t know said. “Now scat. If you have time to loiter, you have time to work.”

Dara stuck out her lower lip. “But, Boss! I want to know what happens—”

“I said scat.”

Still pouting, Dara slunk away with the unrepentant mulishness of a cat that’d just been scolded for clawing up the furniture. Betty smirked, a look of fond exasperation on her face. “I bet that one gives you grief.”

“Not as much as I suspect this one will,” the woman retorted, jerking a thumb in Kuina’s direction. “Are you sure you can’t take her?”

“You know that’s impossible.”

“Only until you reach the Grand Line,” Dragon said soothingly. “Then she must decide where the wind will carry her.”

The woman narrowed her eyes at Kuina, her hand resting on the elaborate hilt of the rapier she wore at her side. Kuina had always wondered how people could fight with a sword like that. It looked like it would hold up in a real fight about as well as a toothpick against a machete. “I don’t like it.”

“It’s a week at best,” Betty said.

A week. They were going to delay her entrance to the Grand Line by a week. Under any other circumstances Kuina would have been ecstatic to be so close after so many years, but she’d just been at the entrance the night before. She should be there now, not however long it took for the Revolution to tire of dragging her around for the hell of it.

“Don’t I get any say in this?” Kuina asked.

“You got your say when you demanded for Dragon to take you in the first place,” Betty said. She gestured to the woman beside her. “Kuina, meet Aria de Gris. She will be the captain of the ship that will take you to the Grand Line. Aria, this is Kuina.”

The two women regarded each other warily. Aria was stockily built and carried herself with feline grace. There was a sharpness to her features, which were more handsome than beautiful, that was accentuated by a jagged scar on the left side of her face that ran from temple to jaw. Her hair was kept shorter than even Kuina’s, with garish streaks of purple in her otherwise dark hair.

Like many experienced sailors, she was weatherbeaten in a way that made it difficult to tell if she was thirty-five or fifty, and she wore a heavily-embroidered doublet and black breeches that she tucked into scuffed, knee-high boots. A long jacket hung from her shoulders, empty sleeves rustling in the breeze.

Kuina narrowed her eyes. Only marines wore their jackets like that.

“I appreciate the offer, but when I asked to go with you I was working under the assumption you’d be headed directly for the Grand Line,” Kuina said. “Now that I know that’s not the case, I think it would be better for everyone involved if you guys just drop me off at the next island, and I’ll find my own way.”

“And you would think wrong,” Betty said.

“Look, I’m trying to be reasonable here,” Kuina snapped. “It’s clear you don’t like me, and I sure as hell don’t like you, so why can’t we just part amicably and call it a day? It’s not like I’m going to be able to narc after what happened at Loguetown. The marines don’t cut deals with people who attack their junior officers, even if the info’s good. I don’t plan on ending up in prison.”

Aria snorted before reaching into her breast pocket for a cigarette and a lighter. “There’s no planned stop till we get to our destination, and I doubt you want to hang around a war zone. Not many ships headed to the Grand Line there.”

“War zone?” Kuina echoed.

“This is an army, kid, not a pleasure cruise. So put on your big girl panties and let Mila show you the ropes. On this ship, if you don’t work, you don’t eat.”

“You trust me to do work for the Revolutionary Army?” Kuina asked.

“Nope, but I already told Mila to put a bolt between your eyes at the first sign of trouble, and I do trust her. So I guess it’s up to you how this charade plays out.”

Kuina’s eyes flickered up at Lyudmila, and wondered if she was as fast as she was strong. She suppressed a grimace and forced her hand away from her sword. As much as she didn’t like it, she couldn’t deny that it was her own fault she was on this ship. With her money nothing more than a soggy lump of paper, it was only fair that Kuina earn her keep.

Dragon nodded approvingly. “Listen to Betty and Aria, and when you arrive at the Grand Line make your choice. I can’t guarantee your safety otherwise.”

“You make it sound like you’re not going to be around,” Kuina said. Dragon didn’t respond, but his silence said plenty. A quick glance was enough to show that Betty was no happier about their arrangement than she had been the night before, and Kuina didn’t want to find out how she’d act when her big boss wasn’t around. “Where are you going?”  

There was a delicate pause, broken by an unladylike snicker. Aria hid her face by taking another drag from her cigarette, but couldn’t stop her shoulders from shaking with surprised laughter.

“It’s the Grand Line, isn’t it?” Kuina said. “You get to go to the Grand Line while I’m stuck sailing in the opposite direction.”

“Yes.”

Kuina bit back a caustic remark. She didn’t know what game he was playing, but whatever it was, she wouldn’t let him win. A swordsman paid their debts, and as twisted as the deal was, the Revolutionary Army had promised her a way into the Grand Line.

And if they tried to renege on their promise, then, well, she could pay that back, too.

“Fine. You’ll have my blade for a week and no more. What kind of war are we walking into, anyway? Has the Revolution taken over some backwater island, or are you going after the Government directly?”

“Oh, you won’t be doing any fighting,” Betty said.

“Why not?” Kuina asked. “I’ve already proven my skill, and I don’t have much choice but to do what you say. I won’t go after civilians, but I’m pretty sure any marine who knows who I am is going to attack me on sight anyway.”

“I’ll show you why.”

Betty reached behind her and pulled out a small flag from somewhere on her person. Where, exactly, Kuina would never know, because the volumes of her skirt didn’t appear to have pockets, and the only other articles of clothing she was wearing was an unbuttoned jacket and tie. It was the most uncomfortable ensemble Kuina had ever seen, but before she could make a smart remark Betty had waved the flag in front of her.

Kuina saw the black lettering on a scarlet background, a stylized dragon standing proudly between the R and the A, showing for all the world to see who exactly who the Revolutionary Army fought for. Kuina tensed, bending down into a ready stance, but Betty didn’t seem to be attacking.

“What the…?”

Sudden, naked fear pierced past Kuina’s defenses. Her stance wobbled, cold sweat beading at her forehead and heart pounding in her chest. The echo of cold, mocking laughter reverberated in her mind, memories half-forgotten painted anew, rejoining the terror and powerlessness she felt when she had been unable to break Dragon’s hold. The bruise on her wrist throbbed where he had grabbed her, the acute awareness that her blade had failed to even touch him leaving a dread heaviness in her gut.

This is what happens when you do business with the Revolution.

Kuina wanted to puke. She wanted to run, to throw herself into the sea, because to be in the same space as the Revolutionary Army was to court death and pain. It didn’t matter how altruistic they seemed, they were the enemy. An enemy that was much stronger than she.

“Devil Fruit?” Kuina spat between clenched teeth. “That’s playing dirty.”

“A flag properly wielded inspires those who fight for it. But for those that don’t, it brings nothing but terror,” Betty said. “And put your sword away before someone gets hurt.”

Kuina looked down at her hands. She didn’t even remember drawing her blade. Her hands shook so badly she doubted she could swing it, although at that moment there was nothing she wanted more than to cut the smug look off of Betty’s face.

“I’m surprised she can even hold it,” Aria said thoughtfully.

“A trapped animal bites hardest,” Betty said. She raised an eyebrow at Dragon. “Are you sure about this?”

Dragon turned back to the captain’s quarters, cloak billowing behind him. “Until the Grand Line.”

He shut the door behind him, leaving Kuina alone with the three other women. Lyudmila patted her bracingly on the back, the force of the blow almost making her stumble. “Welcome aboard.”

Kuina didn’t trust herself to speak. Despite the tremor in her hands she managed to sheathe her blade cleanly. Swallowing hard, she gathered a modicum of her composure before glaring balefully at Betty. The Revolutionary remained unmoved.

“Dragon seems to think you have potential, but I can’t help but wonder why someone who was nearly cut in half by the World Government would hold such resentment for the people fighting against it.”

Without waiting for Kuina to respond, she and Aria rejoined Dragon. Once the door shut behind them Kuina looked up at Lyudmila. Between shaking breaths she said, “Just so you know, I’m not going to let myself get shot.”

Her expression was impassive as stone. “Then I ask that you do not give me reason to do so, because I will not miss.”

.

.

.

#creative-type writes #wake from death (and return to life) #kuina #one piece #one piece fanfic #creative-type doodles

[lyndsaybones]

Love’s Labor

For the Labor Day Fic Challenge. Post MSIV @marinafrenzy

They spent the Labor Day weekend enjoying the last sweet days of summer and the final weeks of Scully's pregnancy. Sunday called for rain, lots of it, so they opted to make the most of Saturday. She spent the majority of the afternoon floating in the middle of the pond on an inner tube shaped like a flamingo. Jackson found it a couple weeks before at the drugstore and insisted that she had to have it.  Mulder didn’t have the heart to tell him that his Scully was far too practical for something so...tacky. But she broke into a wide smile and started to laugh as she leaned in and kissed her son’s cheek.

“Thank you, sweetie,” she chuckled as she looked at the box. “I love it.”

She’d been more comfortable in the water than anywhere else in the last few weeks, getting the pressure off of her hips and back. She’d been swimming laps and lazing on their little dock most evenings. She gave up on the maternity swimsuits and opted for her black bikini most days, which Mulder loved. “You’re barely contained,” he’d remarked with glee.

Mulder beckoned her back to shore once he and Jackson managed to fill the fire pit with blocks of wood. The sky had gone cotton candy pink and blue with wispy clouds and blazing shades of orange and yellow. She rolled off of the the floating monstrosity and towed it in as she made her way to the dock.

The final trimester had her moving awkwardly, bumping into things, stumbling more easily. Her whole center of gravity out of whack. But in the water, she was graceful, smooth and unencumbered.

He offered her a hand when she reached the ladder.

“Come on my little selkie,” he said as he took her hand.

“I don’t know about little,” she grunted as she climbed, the water spell broken as she stepped back to land.

Jackson had already set about getting the fire started, namely by spraying an entire bottle of lighter fluid on the pile and dropping a match. It exploded with a “whoof!” like a universe being born.

They grilled hot dogs on sticks and sweet corn wrapped in tinfoil. They made s’mores and Jackson wrinkled his nose when he watched Scully set each and every marshmallow aflame before consuming them, flaky black ashes and all.

They sat around the fire together long into the night, until thunder started rumbling in the distance and fat, warm raindrops began to slap against them. They trod in a line back the the house, both of them watching Scully waddle tiredly across the yard.

Jackson kissed her cheek and wished her a goodnight before she headed upstairs. Mulder snuck him a beer and the two of them sat on the front porch together watching as the thunderstorm rolled in.

“Not long now,” Jackson remarked quietly.

“Hmm, yeah, couple of weeks,” Mulder concurred.

On Sunday, the prophecy came to pass and the rain came down hard and heavy for hours and hours. The front yard started to resemble a moat. Scully shuffled around in her robe and slippers most of the day. He could still smell woodsmoke in her hair as she dropped to the couch with an oof.

She arranged her nest of pillows and settled in with a book and a mug of raspberry tea.

“Can we get some take out?” Jackson asked.

“Sure,” Scully answered, albeit absently as she was engrossed in whatever she was reading.

“What’d you have in mind?” Mulder asked.

“I dunno, I could go for a calzone,” he said with a shrug.

“Peppers and onions for me, please,” Scully chimed in.

Mulder nodded and handed him the credit card. Jackson smiled and grabbed his jacket as he headed for the door.

He was back not ten minutes later, sopping wet, his thin t shirt clinging to his skin and his boots emitting a squishing sound with every step.

“No good,” he said stripping out of his jacket and shoes. “The road’s completely flooded.”

“Get him a towel,” Scully said as she attempted to extricate herself from her pillow fort.

He gratefully accepted a couple of towels,  but still dripped through the house and into his room to change.

“I didn’t realize it was that bad out there,” she said, looking a Mulder with a concerned lilt in her voice.

“Well, we’ve got plenty of elevation and reserves. I think we can make it,” he reassured her.

“Right, but I have a doctor’s appointment day after tomorrow. And every other day until the baby comes.”

“It’ll dry up,” he said with a nod. “Can’t rain forever.”

His cell phone chirped and he smiled as he looked at the name. Their neighbor up the hill, Theresa, who, when they first moved in, brought them several jars of wild honey and informed them that family called her “Reesey,” and that neighbors are family. She was a retired nurse who’d taken up a pretty impressive apiary. She made honey and beeswax candles and all sorts of soaps and salves that she hawked every week at the farmer’s market. Scully declared early on that they’d moved in next door to a Disney character,  but a very tolerable one, she decided.

“Ya’ll warshed out down there?” she asked.  

“Yeah, for now anyway. Jackson’s drying out as we speak,” he said.

“The barometric pressure dropped, how’s Dana?”

Unsure as to how those two things were related, he shook his head and shrugged.

“Oh uh, she’s fine. Curled up with a book and drinking that tea you brought her,” he said.

“Keep an eye on her,” she said. “Labor and delivery was always full to the gills when the barometric pressure dropped. Puts those babies on spin cycle or some damn thing, who knows.”

“Huh, I’d never heard that,” he said, eyeing Scully for a moment, who was slowly nodding off, her reading glasses perched on the end of her nose.

Reesey made a noise that sounded like thinking, or concern, or both. “Maybe I should just come down there.”

“Oh no, Reesey, it’s pouring out there. We’re fine, I promise.”

“If you’re sure,” she said cautiously.

“I am, Dana’s half asleep anyway. No excitement here.”

They went to bed that night with rain still pattering on the roof. He drew himself around her, feeling her breathe and shift, feeling the baby move and wobble under his hand.

When he awoke, the thin light of early dawn painted the room silver, like a tintype photo version of itself. It took him a minute to orient himself, but when he did, he realized that Scully wasn’t there.

Her side of the covers were thrown back, which wasn’t that unusual as she was often up and down during the night without him even noticing. The dark smudges under her eyes were always a dead giveaway as to how little sleep she got.

He closed his eyes and waited for her to come back from the bathroom or the kitchen or wherever she’d wandered.

He opened his eyes again and it seemed like it had only been a few moments, but the room was much brighter and he realized that he must’ve fallen back to sleep.

“Scully?” he called, sitting up awkwardly and trying to disentangle himself from the sheets.

No answer. Nothing but the sound of rain. 

He got up and scuffed down the hall to the bathroom.

“Scully?” he whispered, trying to to disturb Jackson.

“In here,” she answered, her voice soft.

“You okay?”

No answer.

He didn’t think twice before opening the door. She was on her knees, elbows resting on the side of the bathtub.

“Did ya get stuck?” he asked with a chuckle.

“My water broke,” she whispered.

He seemed to realize what he was seeing then, her soaked pajama pants, the sheen of sweat on her brow.

“Are you having contractions?” he asked.

She nodded and gritted her teeth. He dropped beside her, trying to catch her eyes and assess the situation.

“How long have you been in here?”

“I dunno, an hour maybe?” she said in a breathy whisper.

“Hang tight, I’ll be right back,” he said as he got up, his achy early morning knees protesting.

“Don’t wake Jackson,” she sighed, dropping her forehead against her crossed wrists.

“Jack! Wake up!” he bellowed.

Muffled teenager noises emerged from his room.

“Jack,” he said as he opened the door, more gently this time. “Your m-...” he stopped himself. “Baby’s coming,” he corrected.

Jackson came fully awake and sat up. “Oh shit, the road!” he said.

“Yeah, I need you to sit with her while I go check it out,” he said.

He nodded, scrubbing his hair away from his face. He turned a quick circle in his room and threw on the nearest hoodie.

“Your room?” he asked.

“No, she’s in here,” he said as he directed him to the bathroom.

“I told you not to wake him,” Scully sighed between labored breaths.

“Honey, I gotta go check the road and see if we’re going to be able to drive outta here,” Mulder responded, palming her shoulder blade.

Jackson plopped down on the floor, pressing his back against the side of the tub.

“I’m already up, might as well be up in here,” he said with a shrug.

Scully sat up a little straighter and eyed the both of them.

“Hurry,” she told Mulder. “They’re about five minutes apart.”

Mulder visibly blanched at this revelation and Jackson seemed to register the urgency. He nodded and took off down the hall at a jog. There was a scuffle of clothing being dragged, shoes being shoved into untied and a drumbeat down the stairs and out the front door.

“Do you need anything?” Jackson asked, watching as she resumed her position resting her head against her arms.

“I’m okay,” she said, her voice soft, but slightly pained.

“Do you want me to go get that exercise ball thing you like to sit on?” he offered.

She smiled. “You’re more like him than you realize,” she said. “Always trying to fix something.”

“Action feels better than inaction,” he said.

“Hmm, I know, but there’s plenty of action going on here, I promise,” she said, letting her eyes drift shut.

“Are you scared?” he asked.

“Not scared, anxious maybe?” she responded.

“You were scared when...with me, you were scared,” he said.

“How do you know?”

“When you remember it, dream about it...I can...I don’t know, it’s hard to explain,” he said, shaking his head.

“I was terrified,” she admitted. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared in my life.”

“Of me?”

“No, never of you. Of losing you,” she said, her voice turning raspy and tight. Deep, long breaths, her entire body moving like a wave.

“It’s okay,” he said, his hands failed to find a place to land. “Just uh...he’ll be back soon and we’ll get out of here.”

Long minutes passed. He checked his phone every time her body tensed and her breathing deepened, keeping track of time as best he could.

He nearly deflated with relief when he heard the front door swing open. Mulder clomped up the stairs, his shoes sounding like they were full of mud.

“C’mere a sec, Jackson,” he called, bouncing on his heels a little in the doorway.

“You okay?” Jackson asked, leaning close to her.

“Must be bad news, you two better go hatch a plan. Go on, I’m fine here,” she whispered behind gritted teeth.

“The road’s a no go,” Mulder said as he pulled him into the hall. “I’ve been trying to call Reesey, but I can’t get through. I need you to go up there and get her. You know the back road that connects the properties?”

“Yeah, okay. I can do that.”

“I already called 911, but there are only a couple of all terrain ambulances, so they may not get here in time.”

“They’re only a couple minutes apart, that means it’s soon, right?” Jackson says nervously.

“That’s why we need Reesey,” he said.

Jackson nodded solemnly and headed downstairs.

He entered the bathroom and found her rocking side to side on her haunches, humming a long, tuneless note as she went.

“How we doing? You wanna try going back to the bedroom?”

“Yeah, okay,” she sighed, letting out a long breath.

“Okay, let’s go slow,” he said as he maneuvered behind her and hooked his forearms at her sides.

“It’s gonna seem silly,” she said as she got to her feet. “But I’m a little sad.”

Mulder helped her out of her sodden pajama pants and underwear, tossing them in the tub. Bloody fluid trickled down the inside of her thighs.

“Sad? Why? I thought you were feeling miserable and ready to get this show on the road,” he said, guiding her into the hall.

“I thought I’d have more time with her is all,” she said, a little tremble in her voice.

“More time? Something tells me you’re gonna have all the time you want with her in an hour or two,” he said, shuffling along with her, his fingers rooted to the small of her back.

“It’s...hard to explain. I felt the same way when William...Jackson was born. Something about it being just the two of us and losing that. I told you it would sound silly.”

“It’s not silly,” he assured her.

“I just thought I had more time is all,” she lamented.

“It’s okay, you’re alright,” he assured her as he helped her get to the bed.

She stopped short, doubling over as she gripped the edge of the mattress. A groan rumbled up from low, low, low. Her whole body tensed with the effort of the contraction that rolled through her.

“Let it happen,” he said, offering counter pressure on her hips. “Just breathe and let it happen.”

“I can’t do this,” she eked out. “S’ too much.”

“It’s gonna be okay, help is on the way,” he said, sounding more like he was reassuring himself.

“She’s coming,” she gasped.

“Now?” he asked, not in fear, but for confirmation.

“Now, now, now,” she chanted as she squatted low to the floor and leaned against the edge of the bed.

“I’ve got you,” he said, dropping to his knees behind her.

He got his hands under her just in time to see the baby’s head emerge with a strangled yelp from Scully.

“She’s almost here,” Mulder assured her.

“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t,” she gasped, her voice high and quivering.

“Yes you can, big push!” he coached.

She nodded, just a little and clenched her entire being, focusing completely on moving the baby down. She came, their girl, slick and grey, arms splayed wide and eyes screwed shut, into Mulder’s waiting hands.

“She’s here!” he crowed, somewhere between a laugh and a cry.

Scully sagged with relief, a soft, breathless laugh and then seemed to come unmoored, letting go of the side of the bed and collapsing to the floor. The baby let out a wet, long cry just as her mother’s temple made contact with the hardwood.

Noise seemed to come from everywhere, the back door swinging open with Jackson and Reesey’s arrival, the tiny baby howling against his chest and his own thick sobbing as Scully lay silent on the floor.

They both froze in the doorway, eyes darting from Mulder, to the screaming baby, to a deathly quiet Scully.

“Help her,” Mulder implored. “Please, help her.”

Reesey didn’t hesitate a moment.

“Jack, go get a towel for the baby. Hang onto her, Fox. I’m going to clamp and cut the cord.”

Jackson paused, only for a moment and disappeared into the hall. Reesey made quick work of the cord and assessed the infant. Jackson dashed back in with a towel and Reesey lifted her from her father’s arms and wrapped her up.

“You two, very carefully get her on the bed,” she instructed as she took the baby and laid her the bassinet waiting under the window.

Mulder didn’t wait for assistance and simply scooped her up like a bride and carefully laid her down.

“Scully? Honey?” he beckoned.

“She probably just dropped her blood pressure,” Reesey said as she tended to Scully, checking her pupils and pulse. She changed positions, pressed her knuckles against Scully’s chest, trying to rouse her.

“Call 911,” she said, alarm bells going off for all of them.

“What is it?” Mulder asked.

“She’s not responding,” Reesey said as she went to work.

Jackson fidgeted nervously, stealing glances at the baby, who had quieted to tiny, squeaking noises.

“Scully? Scully?!” Mulder gasped. “C’mon, honey, come back to us.”

He fumbled with his phone for a moment and turned away as he pushed tears from his cheeks.

“Mom?” Jackson said, the first time he’d ever said it to her. “Mom, you gotta wake up and see her.”

While the baby cried and pinked up to an almost ruddy red, Scully was pale, nearly grey.

He drew close and looked her over, his mother, the face he’d been seeing in his dreams since he was just a little boy. He’d dreamed this too, the moment that she stopped and left behind these two strangers alone, trying to figure out what to do with a newborn.

He pushed the feeling down, the fear and the sadness and pressed his palm over her forehead, looking for it...the thing that had done this to her. He’d never put someone back together before, only torn them apart. But he knew he could, he knew he could fix her. He closed his eyes and looked hard.

“Yes, Jack, pray for her,” Reesey said.

Maybe it was a prayer.

He pushed, deep, deep, deep.  His head throbbing and his blood singing with the chant wake up, wake up, wake up.

Mulder was pacing, arguing with a 911 operator. “Send a fucking Med Evac then, we have plenty of space to land a helicopter! We’ve got a premie and an unconscious woman here, please.”

The room is chaos, Mulder’s pleas over the phone, Reesey murmuring as she worked to revive Scully, the baby, the rain, the sound of his pulse in his ears. He can’t lose another family. Not again.

“Jackson? Are you okay, sweetie?” she asked.

She asked.

He opened his eyes and saw her staring up at him, her eyes wide and clear, full of motherly concern.

“Am I okay? I’m fine,” he choked, holding back something between a laugh and a sob. “Are you okay?”

“What happened?” she asked, trying to sit up.

Mulder spun with relief and dropped the phone on the floor with a crack.

“Oh shit,” he said. “Oh thank God,” wrapping his arms around her.

“Where is she?” Scully murmured, her voice raw and raspy.

“She’s right here,” Reesey answered as she carried the baby to her. Jackson and Mulder parted like the Red Sea and watched as the baby was laid in her mother’s arms.

“Oh my God, she’s so little,” Scully marveled. “What happened?” she asked again.

“We thought we lost you for a second there and then you just…” Mulder trailed off.

“You woke up,” Jackson completed.

“She’s okay?” she asked, looking up at Reesey.

“She’s little, but her lungs sound good,” Reesey assured her.  

Mulder dropped his arm over Jackson’s shoulders and pulled him against his chest.

“Thank God,” he murmured. “Thank God for you.”

“Me?” he responded, confused.

“Yes, you,” he whispered.

Jackson relented to the embrace, something he’d struggled to do since he crossed their threshold for the first time. He tentatively wrapped his arms across Mulder’s back and breathed it all in.

“Look,” Jackson said, catching sight of the view out the window. “It stopped raining.”

#My writing

[asongstress1422]

Lost in the Motion

Reylo fanfic : Modern Au : So You Think You Can Dance AU

Summary: Rigid Ballet Dancer ‘Kylo Ren’ takes a bet that he’s good enough to win ‘So You Think You Can Dance.’ For Rey, a modern dancer with no formal training, winning would mean her life changing for the better. As partners they can either strengthen each other’s weaknesses or crumble under the pressure.

Part 1  part 2   AO3

Chapter 3: Addicted to Love

When Rey had woken up that morning to head into the studio she had in no way considered that she would have been asked to jump off an office desk into Kylo’s arms.

Yet that was exactly what was being demanded of her.

“Rey you need to relax. This should look fluid and graceful, not like your scared he’s going to drop you at every turn. His job is to keep you up, your job is to make it look good,” Maz stood off to the side with her hands on her hips.

Standing on the ground, head in line with her navel, Kylo rolled his eyes, “I don’t see what the issue is, we’ve done lifts before.”

“Yeah, you lifting me , not me falling on you.” Rey glared down at him from her added height of the table.

“For fucks sake, just fall already,” Kylo growled exasperated.

“If you drop me,” she let her threat peter off as she eyed the ground and re-thought angering whatd in essence would be the only thing that would keep her from taking a long tumble.

“Why would I drop you?” he demanded, arms still raised to catch her. “I’m stuck with you for another four weeks. It’s not like I need to make things harder on myself by having to carry you more than I already do.”

“You’re such a dick weed,” she huffed under her breath.

“Yes. Now fall.”

What was her issue? With Kylo’s height her fall would be a foot, maybe two. She’d done more then that falling into bed some nights. And even if he missed her it wasn’t like the ground was all that far, the desk being two and a half feet tall.

Rey had almost psyched herself up enough to chance it but at the last second her body just refused to tip her over the edge. She might only be two feet higher than normal but that was still almost eight feet for her head to fall before it hit the ground. What if he didn’t catch her? Or what if she slipped and wasn’t able to correct in time. What if--

“Rey!” She blinked breaking out of her tunnel vision on the floor to lock eyes with Kylo. His brown eyes were so calm and sure. “Trust me, I’ve got you. Now, on three.”

Rey nodded, swallowing.

He kept his eyes on her, keeping her grounded in the now instead of worrying over all the possible outcomes. “One...two…”

With a squeal she fell forward, eyes wanting to close but Rey keeping them open just in case she needed to make any last second saves.

Not that there was a need. Kylo caught her neatly cradling her to his chest. She felt herself sag with relief in his hold.

“Very good,” Maz said dryly from her stool. “Now, if we can get you do to that with a bit more grace and a lot less the look of a toppling board, you might just make it through this round. The competition is ramping up, that means we’re going to need to as well. There are going to be a lot more throws and jumps and catches. You better prepare yourself for that.”

“This is just the first time I’ve done a trust fall from five feet in the air. I’ll do better in the future.” She glanced up at Kylo, who still held her in his arms, a slight frown on his face as he looked at her. “You can put me--”

“Have you lost weight?” he interrupted.

She blinked in surprise at the change of gears. Smiling awkwardly, she patted him on the chest, “you flatterer, you.”

“I’m not saying it to be flattering,” he articulated. “You need to remain at a near constant size so I can calculate how much force I need to manipulate you on the dance floor. If you’re too light I could end up throwing you too hard and hurting myself. Or you.” He hefted her in his arms, “you’re at least a pound lighter then you were last week.”

“Okay, I am not having this conversation in your arms,” she squirmed until he set her down.

“What have you been eating?” he questioned curtly.

“I don’t know, whatever they serve here in the cafeteria,” she said as she circled around him to climb back up on the desk.

“You actually eat the food here?” He looked disgusted.

“It’s free and it’s filling. That’s all I care about.” She stuck her hands on her hips standing above him, “I am done with this conversation. So, are we going to dance or what?”

He rolled his eyes but was there to catch her when she fell.

“Here.”

A green notebook was lowered into her line of focus as she crouched over her duffel, shoving things away.

Rey accepted the book, “what’s this?”

“A food journal. For you can keep track of what you eat so you can make sure you’re getting the proper nutrients.”

“Oh,” she said both oddly touched and slightly annoyed that he was still harping on the issue. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” He ran a hand through his hair, making minimal eye contact, “I was also wondering if you wanted to get dinner. With me. Tonight.”

She raised a brow as she hooked the strap of her bag over her shoulder and stood. “You wouldn’t be trying to fatten me up, would you?”

“No,” he said quickly. “I just thought it would be … nice.”

They had been in each other’s company nearly constantly over the last two weeks but this was the first time that he had made any overtures at wanting to spend time with her outside the confines of the dance floor. She was instantly suspicious.

“I’m not really up for going out--”

“We can get delivery,” he interjected. “Uh, Piz...za?”

She grinned at his not so subtle workaround. But he was making a sorta effort, and he was almost … charming in his concern for her well being. It was… nice.

“Sure, pizza works.” Her bank account could withstand the expense of a pizza, especially half a pizza, now that her room and board were covered for as long as she was in the competition. “Pineapple?”

He grimaced. “Heathen.”

She smiled beguiling, “half?”

He let out a long put upon sigh, “fine.”

“Great. Six good for you? I have a few things to do after practice.”

He nodded victoriously. “That will be fine.”

“It’s open,” Rey called out, not bothering to look up from her mountain of homework at the knock at her door.

“ Why is it open?”

Rey’s head shot up to see Kylo standing in her doorway. Dark jeans, a white t-shirt and a black leather jacket making him look like bad-boy incarnate.

Her eyes immediately swiveling to the digital clock on the nightstand. Where had the time gone? After a long shower and pulling on her most comfortable pair of pajamas she had buried herself into her textbooks and hadn't come up for air since. She had meant to dress up a bit, nothing flashy, but something that didn’t have Eeyore plastered all over it and both pants cuffs still intact.

“Rey,” he demanded, still hovering at the threshold, “why isn’t your door locked.”

“I just leave it unlocked when I’m here,” she answered as she stood, trying not to fidget as she went to usher him in. “You can come in, you know.”

“Do you know how many burglaries happen in LA alone?” he harped as she pulled him in, allowing her to step around him to close the door.

“I think something like sixteen thousand. But there’s a doorman out front, so it’s not like randoms can walk off the street. And I’m pretty sure none of the people here want my 4th edition textbooks.” He glared. She rolled her eyes and flipped the lock. “Happy?”

He huffed, neglecting to answer as he strode into the room.

“I brought beer,” he said holding up a six pack of something foreign along with the pizza. “If I’m doing a cheat day, I’m doing it right. You want one?”

Rey shook her head, following him back into the room, “I’m nineteen.”

“Oh, right,” he recalled as he popped off one of the caps with a fork she had left in the drying rack on small kitchenette counter. “Things are different in the states.”

“You’ve been out of the country?” she questioned as she brought down two plates from the cabinet refusing to feel awkward with him being so close when they had literally already been plastered all over each other for the last two weeks.

“Yeah,” he took a long pull from his bottle. “At six-- uh-- eighteen I moved to Russia for a few years.”

“How was that?” She immediately started to serve the pizza, a slice for herself and two for him, not realizing just how hungry she had gotten studying.

“Cold,” he said as he snagged the plate with the single slice bracing himself against the counter to eat.

She rolled her eyes but nonetheless took the double plate portion, ripping off paper towels for herself and handing one to Kylo.

“After three years you have to have something better then ‘cold’ to say about it,” she said around a mouth full of pizza as she and her plate plonked themselves on the floor so her back could rest against the bed.

He shrugged, picking off the pieces of pineapple. Rey held up her plate to him, hating to waste food, and he wordlessly transferred the undesired fruit onto it.

“I’m assuming you went there to study ballet,” she asked popping a few of the loose pineapple in her mouth and chewing. “How was that?”

“It was,” he got a far away look in his eyes as he absently wiped his fingers on his napkin before grabbing his beer. “It was hard. Only twelve boys-- men-- were allowed in the program at any given time. If you didn’t do well enough, you were cut. If you didn’t do as you were told, you were cut. If weren’t willing to sacrifice everything to be the best, you were cut. And there were always others that were willing to take your place.”

Rey tried to imagine herself in that environment and couldn’t. It sounded so ruthless. But, she guessed that did explain a lot about Kylo. His focused drive, his demand for perfection from her and their routine, his inability to takes breaks. It made him a fantastic dancer but Rey found herself wondering what little boy Kylo was like. If there was something besides dance that he had enjoyed before dance had taken over his life.

“What about you?” he asked, breaking her out of her thoughts of what he would look like if he smiled.

“What about me, what?”

“How does a no name with mediocre technical understanding of dance find herself in a reality dance competition.”

“I’m going to take that as the complement you undoubtedly meant it as,” she said standing. She was thrown by the cutting remark after they had been so civil but strived to keep her hurt hidden. “But to answer your question, she loses her job.”

He blinked. “What?”

“Two jobs, actually,” she said, nudging him out of the way of the sink so she could begin to wash her plate, keeping her eyes down and focused on her task, “and her apartment.

“The first one was at a corner store that I’d been at for almost two years. The owner was an elderly woman and decided to sell to her nephew who almost immediately started using it as a front for drugs. He wasn’t really good at it. The police busted him about three weeks in and the building was shut down. At the second one my ex-roommate, who I helped get the job she got me fired from, bad mouthed me to the boss about what went down at my first job.

“So, within about three days I was unemployed and homeless. I didn’t really have anything else to lose so I decided to spend almost fourteen hours standing in line to audition. And I got through.” She turned to him holding out her hand to take his plate, “you done?”

“I’m ... sorry,” he said.

She shrugged, intent on scrubbing the bit of coagulated cheese from his plate. “It is what it is.”

“No,” he caught her hand and turned her so she could look in his eyes at his sincerity. “Whatever you lack in technique you more then make up for in sheer presence and your tenacity for honing your craft. You have grown much more than I thought was possible in this competition and I am sorry for trying to belittle that. You dance beautifully.”

She was shocked speechless for a moment so the first things that came to her mind was something to ease the sudden emotional tension. “Now there’s a compliment.”

He huffed a chuckle glancing away and Rey breathed a sigh of relief as the air calmed.

“I do actually know what those are,” he said running a hand through his hair, “I’m just not used to giving them.” He looked back at her, his eyes serious once again, “I’m not used to having friends to give them to.”

Her breath caught again. “Is that what we are, friends?”

He hesitated, just like he did at the door, but this time he took that final step all on his own. “I would like to be.”  

She smiled, feeling a warm rush in her chest. “Okay.”

The next morning she tossed him a filled zip lock baggie.

He caught it deftly, barely glancing at it as he sipped his coffee. “What’s this?”

“Don’t tell me you’ve never seen cold, day-after, gym bag pizza before?”

He studied the squished slices, with a raised brow, “looks appetizing.”

She smiled and shrugged turning to put her stuff down. “You buy half, you eat half. The rules of communal eating.”

“Half?” he questioned.

“Yeah, half,” Rey said walking over to turn the baggy around to show the twenty taped to the plastic. “Must have been the baggy fairy, come to pay you back. ”

He squinted down at her, “you’re very odd.”

She grinned. “Yep.”

His head came down and his voice lowered as if sharing a secret with her. “You know you don’t have to pay me back, right?”

“I know. But I need to.” her eye’s were insistent as she held out the baggy again.

He sighed, knowing there would be no arguing with her over what she deemed her ‘half’ and tossed the pizza onto his gym bag in the corner.

“Rey, dear, I’m going to need you to be more sexy,” Maz said as they broke apart for a quick break.

“I can be more sexy,” Rey assured, breathing heavily as she sipped from her water bottle.

Kylo snorted from his own corner.

“What’s so funny,” Rey turned to mock glare at him across the room.

He gave her body a once over before locking eyes with her, a slight curl to his lips. “Eeyore.”

She flushed. He had paid her attire such little attention last night she’d thought he hadn't even noticed. “You know what, give me my pizza back.”

The curl turned into a full blown grin and Rey was almost knocked over backwards. “Nu-uh, you took the pineapple off. Its mine.”

“That’s it,” Rey growled once she could form words from her dry mouth. “We’re running this again. Right now.”

He stalked forward, eyes amused “Lets. I wanna see what you consider ‘more sexy.’”

“You’re going to need to point your toes or something or this isn’t going to work,” he growled frustrated as he tried to hold her up, reach behind him, and take off her shoe.

“This wouldn’t be so difficult if you weren't as tall,” she snipped, face flaming as she tried to balance on one foot with the other one tossed over his shoulder. “I feel like a monkey trying to climb a tree.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m use to having woman’s legs wrapped around me all the time.”

Her jaw fell open as he looked up at him. “Is that a joke?”

“Maybe,” he grinned. “Ah-ha, got it.” He presented her with her shoe allowing her leg to drop.

She accepted the shoe, hiking back to sit at the edge of the desk. “There has to be an easier way to do this. Maybe if I don’t wear the heels?”

“The shoes are an important element to the dance,” Maz intoned from her corner. “This is a man’s dream about his partner. Taking the red shoe off is them releasing their desire and then the dance begins. The shoe stays.”

“Fine,” Rey sighed, slipping the red pumps back on, looking at Kylo. “Ready for round seventeen?”

Rey stood in the shadows on stage watching the back of Kylo’s head and all of the sudden Maz’s final instructions clicked. “Turn the sexy up to ten.”

Rey was going to make this dream one nobody was going to forget.

Addicted to Love Dance

“You guys have grown tremendously as a couple this week. Your trust in each other, the effortlessness in which you dance. Kylo when you lifted her there, right after you took off her shoe, was breathtaking. You've always had the raw power but there, that gentleness when your eyes connected, that is what we’re looking for. That tempered strength. Truly beautiful to watch.

“And Rey, your elegance and grace, you were gorgeous up there this evening in that red dress. Together you made those tosses and jumps look elementary even though I know they are not. This is a very memorable dance. Congratulations.”

Rey didn’t think her smile could get any bigger but with Nigel’s next words it all came crashing down.

“Unfortunately, last week, America did not vote for your dance and you are in the bottom three. I look forward to your solo’s.”

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