#I just SH and I’m all dizzy and my ears are hissing

[sickficsies-and-whumpsies]

hey there! If you’re interested in writing it, could you write something about Taichi dealing with asthma and having the support of Shirabu / the rest of the Shiratorizawa team? Either platonic or romantic is fine—and only if you’re interested in this prompt at all, of course! Thanks so much for generously accepting requests, and I hope you have a great day :)

Hello there!! Poor Kawanishi, I feel bad for hurting him a second time hahah... I hope you have a great day too!!

TW: asthma attack.

1.2k words, Gen.

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"Hey there, you doing okay?" 

Kawanishi nods, coughing into his elbow, cheeks flushed as he tries to soothe the itch in hia throat, to no avail. Shirabu doesn't look quite convinced.

"Did you catch a cold, Tai?"

"N-no." he manages, and coughs again, "S'probably the dust."

"Ah. Are you allergic?"

"I'mー"

The captain yelling at them to start running cuts Kawanishi off. He sighs, and starts running, pace slow but sustained. 

The boy is fully acquainted with the symptoms he's experiencing, but he doesn't want to alarm anyone. After all, two of his classmates have fallen sick with colds in the past week, so Kawanishi is not entirely convinced that the cause of his discomfort must necessarily be asthma.

He's been asthmatic since birth, but after years spent inhaling corticosteroids and being dragged to the beach whenever his parents had a free weekend, his doctor had decided that he was fit to practice sports, provided that he'd always carry an emergency quick-relief inhaler with him.

And Kawanishi does, to this day, have his. It's in the back pocket of his backpack, new and functioning, ready to be used. The young player only uses it occasionally, maybe once a week, when the train is cramped and the air is thin and, most importantly, when his teammates are out of sight.

It's not that Kawanishi is ashamed of his asthma, per se. He just doesn't want anyone to know. Coach Washijou probably knows, and so does Coach Saitou, since they both have access to his medical files for safety reasons. Still, none of them are present today, so Kawanishi prays that he'll make it to the end of practice without further incidents.

Which, of course, isn't the case.

He's been running for about three minutes when his vision begins to swim and grey, head pounding, lungs tight. He stops.

Fuck. Okay. Calm down, Taichi. Stay calm, man.

His hands shake, fingertips blue, coldー he's learnt to recognize the symptoms, he's been trained to. Kawanishi's ears seem to have gone deaf, the only sound he can hear being the incessant, increasingly-fast hammering of his heart.

He can't breathe. Shit, he can't breathe.

Distantly, he hears some kind of muttering, drowned out and foreign. His head pounds, light, and he doesn't even feel it as his body plummets to the ground, his back taking the brunt of the fall as something prevents his head from smacking against the floor. Not that he realises that.

"...ichi, Taichi, hey! Taichi!" someone above him shrills and oh, only now Kawanishi realises that he's lying down. Which is absolutely terrible.

Someone quickly drags him into a sitting position, and Kawanishi briefly wonders if there's a mind-reader among the team.

Tendou. It must be Tendou. It's always Tendou. Definitely Tendou.

"...mbulance?"

"I don't know, heー"

And Kawanishi recognises that voice. "K-Kenjirou?" he wheezes, blind eyes trying to make out the shape of his friend.

"Yeah, it's me." he says, and Kawanishi swears he can perceive a hint of relief in his voice. "What's happening? Can you talk to me?"

And he wishes he could, but he can't. He coughs, punctuating that thought. His lungs burn, starved, and his throat is surely bleeding by now, copper filling his mouth, sour on his taste buds. He coughs and sputters, weak, eyes bloodshot and watery. 

Panic seizes at his chest, already too tight, and suddenly he's on a whole new level of oxygen-starvation. He pants, blinking the tears away, his wrapped index finger frantically pointing in the vague direction of the locker room.

"Ambulance will be here in five!! They said to ask him if he has asthma, they think that may be it!!" 

God bless you, Goshiki. Eternal joy and fortune to you.

Kawanishi nods fast, still coughing and wheezing, and his arm lowers inevitably. His body feels heavy, lungs filled with lead, throat burning and oozing crimson. 

Dark-grey eyes inexorably start to close, eyelids fluttering, consciousness slipping away. That is, before a pair of strong hands grips at Kawanishi's shoulders and shakes him awake, abruptly, insistently.

"No no no, don't pass out, idiot." Shirabu hisses, worry seeping through his words, "Hey! Do you have an inhaler here? Taichi! Yes or no? Do you have it!?"

Kawanishi groans, coughing. He opens his mouth, the air he inhales harsh against his sore throat.

He coughs again. "B-backpack..."

"Backpackー backpack!! Get his backpack, quick!!" Shirabu barks, and Kawanishi manages to spot an unusually frantic Ushjima sprinting towards the lockers. If he had any strength left, he'd smile.

It's not even twenty seconds later, spent sputtering and gasping for oxygen, that Ushijima rushes back inside the gym, skidding against the floor as he empties the contents of his friend's bag. Shirabu, against whom Kawanishi is propped up currently, extends a hand and starts to search the pockets.

His face lights up as he feels the object, quick to extract it from the pocket and press it against Kawanishi's mouth.

"There you go, come on."

It's not that easy, actually. Kawanishi wishes people knew.

But he tries. He tries and fails once, twice, three times, before he manages a shallow inhale that leaves him reeling, the sudden rush of oxygen making his head spin, dizzy. 

"One more time." Shirabu instructs.

"You're going to be okay." Ushijima adds, calm façade crumbling slightly.

Tendou nods in agreement. "Yeah, you got this, buddy!!" he says, squeezing his knee.

Kawanishi tries to ignore the fact that his teammates are gathered around him like vultures waiting for a prey to exhale its last breath.

Ironic imagery, he thinks, mildly amused.

He breathes the medication in, lungs opening ever so slightly, letting more sweet air rush into them, his muscles relaxing at the welcomed presence.

The boy isn't sure how, but Shirabu manages to send everyone but Ushijima away, out of the gym, with a silent stare. He admires the man, that's for sure.

"You idiot." 

Okay, he wasn't expecting it. "Wh-wha'?"

"You. Idiot. Why did you think that keeping your asthma a secret would be a good idea? Thanks for the trauma, man."

"S'rry. S'my files."

"I don't have access to those, idiot!!" Shirabu seethes, "Next time, I'm letting you die."

"Didn't ya wa-want toー" he wheezes, "to become a doctor or s'mething?"

"Yeah, but I'm not your doctor."

"You sh-should cure everyone."

"Not you. You're on my blacklist!!"

Kawanishi laughs at that, regretting the action when his head spins and his ribs shift. 

Ushijima stays silent, but his presence is reassuring, calming, grounding. That's why Shirabu had wanted him to stay, Kawanishi thinks.

"Dun need a' ambulance. M'okay." he says, weak, voice rasped and thick.

Shirabu frowns, unamused. "Too bad. You're letting the EMTs check you over and if they say you need a hospital, you are going. Or I will make you."

"G-geez, so vi-v-violent..." he grins.

The other does, too, after a second. Ushijima even cracks a tiny, crooked smile, but it lasts too little for Kawanishi to decide if it's real, or just a vision courtesy of his blurry eyes.

Soon enough, there's sirens blaring in the background, and EMTs rushing through the door. 

Kawanishi, to be fair, isn't a fan. But his friend's hand in his as he's loaded onto the stretcher is enough for him to finally take a deep breath.

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Hope you liked this!!! Let me know. As usual, please anon, warn me if you have an ao3 acc and wish for this fic to be gifted to you there.

September 4, 2021.

#my fic #sickfic #kawanishi taichi #shirabu kenjirou #ushijima wakatoshi #tendou satori #goshiki tsutomu #shiratorizawa volleyba club #shiratorizawa #asthma #asthmatic kawanishi taichi #sickie kawanishi taichi #haikyuu!! #haikyuu sickfic #haikyuu!! sickfic

[goddamnitdazai]

Little Promises {S&S} | Chuuya

Part of the Salt & Sugar Series | N.SFW | 5K words [9:30] Chuu <3: I’m going to be a little late baby. Order that bottle of wine for us? Rarely did a date start off without one of those texts from Chuuya. He made reservations in the ‘earlier’ (according to mafia time) hours of the night to avoid a situation like this. In what he called the ‘perfect sweet spot’ between him getting off normal work hours and before having to deal with anything that would come up later in the evening as most of the real mafia business did. Lately, more attacks have been occurring directly against the Port Mafia rather than an assault against Yokohama. Nothing that the Black Lizard couldn't handle but Chuuya wasn’t one to sit out of a good fight. He’d gone with Hirotsu to go handle..something, someone most likely, but assured you he’d be finished in time for dinner.

Five or ten minutes wasn’t a big deal. Annoying, yes. But you knew what you signed up for. Being with Chuuya made the irritation worthwhile. Just his smile was enough to erode any negative feelings weighing on you from the day. Sighing quietly you order a bottle of his favorite wine and watch the stars twinkle through the glass. The restaurant itself was gorgeous. Brand new on the eightieth floor with a deck spread out around the entire outside. Chuuya was able to get a table in a heartbeat. The best one in the restaurant. Secluded right next to an expansive window showcasing Yokohama’s glittering amber skyline. Your reflection stares back at you in the window, restless fingers tapping on the newly filled glass of wine. Waiting. [9:45] Chuu <3: On my way back to the office, Boss needs something. Wait for me at the bar? We can sit outside instead. For a man who couldn’t hold that much liquor the wine Chuuya liked was strong. Your head was already buzzing even with the bits of spicy edamame you’d popped in your mouth as a distraction. Your posture deflates further when you read the text flashing on your screen. Deep scarlet liquid sloshes in the glass before passing through your lips to etch a burning pathway down your throat. The dress Chuuya had bought you fit perfectly against your curves. Silk. Red--his color.  A sign you were his. The diamond choker he bought for your birthday suddenly feels too tight around your neck. You hated eating alone. [10:15] Chuu <3: Shit, I’m sorry baby Boss needs me to go take care of something. I’m really sorry, I’ll try to make it quick. Half the bottle churns with a sickly heat in the base of your belly. His chair was still empty. You whip your phone from it’s idled place on the table and tap out a response. [10:17] Chuuya? It’s been over an hour. Where are you? [10:45] You’re not coming are you? [10:50] I charged a bottle of wine to your card. I’m going home. Your shoes land somewhere in your apartment with a loud thump. Keys are next missing the wooden end table meant for them and your purse. Fuck, you were slightly more drunk than you realized. Overpowering vehemention towards the man supposed to be treating you to a nice dinner was the only reason you hadn’t stumbled out of the cab. If you had any type of superhuman strength your heels would have stomped four inch holes into the pavement. Your hand clumsily fumbles for the light switch as you make your way into your apartment muttering curses on Chuuya’s name the entire walk from your door to the kitchen. Compared to Chuuya’s two story penthouse your place was small but cozy. More decorated and homey-- Chuuya liked that about it, he said. Most of his walls were barren except a few pieces of expensive art he purchased on a whim. Chuuya preferred sleeping here over going home when he was out working late and you were already beneath the covers. Coming home to his lover was a treat sweeter than wine according to him. Your shoulders slump. It had been a few weeks since Chuuya had taken you on an actual date. Executives didn’t exactly have frequent pockets of unoccupied time. Leisure was more of a luxury to Chuuya than the most expensive wine in his collection. But, at least in the past few months, he’d been trying to spend more time with you the way a normal couple would. However his promises were falling shorter than you anticipated and at a much higher frequency than expected. There was nothing normal about your situation.. but god damn having a nice dinner with your boyfriend maybe once a month didn’t sound unreasonable. You drag your hand down your face and trudge to the fridge flinging the door open unceremoniously. There wasn’t much in here other than the few healthy snacks Chuuya left.  Your diet mainly consisted of take out or to-go meals from the convenient store down the street. Chuuya hated it and usually preferred places that offered healthy meals, but the man rarely got home before ten at night and was exhausted the moment he crossed the threshold. Hence the dinner date. Your frown deepens. At some point you’d grabbed a water bottle but you weren’t even in the mood to open it. The fridge shuts with a harsh echoing click as you spin on your heel and head towards your bedroom. Between steps your bra ends up on the standing lamp and the matching panties get lost in the shadows. It took an hour to pick out that lingerie. Chuuya tore everything in his haste unless it was something he wanted to see you in more than once--he would have loved that little set. “Fucking asshole.” You snap to the empty bedroom, falling face first into the mess of pillows and blankets. It smelled like him. Unintentionally you inhale deeply cherishing the familiar scent of his shampoo and cologne mingling together. His lingering warmth contrasted the cold emptiness of the bedroom for a few moments bringing a comforting elation, and then the realization that you were in fact without him knocked you right back down. Chuuya was a workaholic. You knew that from the beginning. Working parallel with him exposed his dedication within the first week. A tiny bit of you (that was beginning to grow larger) had begun to truly resent Chuuya’s workaholic tendencies. The Port Mafia was important to him, you got that, but..weren’t you important too? You flip on your side to stop your head from spinning in rapid circles. The wine wasn’t sitting well on an empty stomach but at this point you were too tired and upset to get up and eat. Nothing sounded good anyway. Chuuya’s shirt you often slept in felt like a weight in your hand. “Fucker.” You hiss, throwing it onto the small chair in the corner of your bedroom. Fine. If you weren’t important enough to have fucking dinner with then you wouldn’t bother texting him again. This was pathetic. You try to focus on the wobbling lights of the city through your bedroom window. Gold and neon flecks blur like water droplets against a deep navy sky. A heavy melancholic silence fills up the apartment. Between the wine sloshing in your stomach and the pounding of your head sleep would most likely evade you tonight. Welled up vexation had suddenly melted to pure sorrow, choking you quietly as you lay curled up in the blankets. Finally, little sobs part your lips bringing a few tears in tow. This was stupid, it was just dinner. Chuuya didn’t do it on purpose but why the hell did it feel like a knife twisting in your heart? “Fucker..” you repeat, squeezing your eyes shut forcefully. You’d deal with it tomorrow. ++++++++++++++++++++++++++ At some point you’d passed out holding Chuuya’s pillow tightly in your arms. Unfortunately the thing to awaken you wasn’t the gentle kiss of sunrise or your lover’s tight embrace. The wine you’d downed had resurrected with a vengeance that had you sprinting to the bathroom. From the darkness still drenching the apartment morning hadn’t come quite yet. Your stomach heaves all the contents in a burning violent wrench that barely makes it into the toilet bowl. There’d be bruises from how hard your knees hit the tile but at least it caught all the mess. “Sh-shit..ow.” You mutter, spitting the rest out before wiping your mouth with a piece of toilet paper. “______?” Chuuya’s voice resonates from the living room. “_____? I’m really sorry. Baby...I’ll make it up to you..” Chuuya speaks softly, almost deflated. His voice hits you like a ton of bricks. A miniscule burst of energy helps you stand with aid from the sink at your side. The sudden rush of blood sends your head sloshing in a circle again nearly pushing you back down to the floor. With a deep inhale you force yourself to stand straight again and splash water on your face before looking up at the mirror. Make-up, it had smeared all down your cheeks and beneath your eyes from crying and rubbing against the pillow. You groan at your appearance and grab the mouth wash. Chuuya’s ears perk. “Baby? You okay?” His footsteps are light and quick until they reach the bathroom. “Baby! Are you alright!?” He’s at your side in an instant wrapping his arms around your waist and spinning you to face him. “Don’t---” You press your hand to your forehead, “dizzy. Wine.” You mumble leaning back against the sink. Chuuya’s expression changes from worry to soft concern melded with guilt. His hands steady you with a gentle grip, coaxing you forward with unnecessary slowness (though it was appreciated by your stomach and head). All the crying had caused your eyes to swell enough that the details of the apartment, especially in the dark, were hard to see. If Chuuya hadn’t been guiding you back to your bedroom there’s a good chance you would have ended up face first on the floor. “____…” the guilt in his voice just made you feel worse. “I’m sorry.” He repeats, gentle ungloved fingers reaching for a tissue from the box on your night stand. Your vision was, at the least, bleary but the striking sunset tendrils framing his face stood out beautifully against the low light coming from the bathroom. “Hold on..” Chuuya murmurs, rising to his feet in quick steps. You sit in silence sniffling a bit and trying to keep the bile in your throat. Your eyes flutter shut to keep the light out. The blankets beneath you had bunched uncomfortably at the edge of the bed leaving you lopsided from sitting in the center of the mattress. Any attempt to shift could send whatever was left in your stomach flying, so you wait. Something creaks. Floorboards, then the mattress. Chuuya’s touches are two steps above gentle. Whatever it is, it’s cold. Something soft and cold in his hand over your eyes. It takes a few seconds for it to register. He’s cleaning the smudged make up off your face. Acts like this were the reason it was so hard to stay mad at the man. His gestures were sweet and honest. Showing you love in the only ways he really knew how to. Physical touch, gifts and sweet words after being gone for too long or bailing last minute. Your throat clenches as your fingers grip the loose sheets by your thighs. “Baby, I’m sorry.” Chuuya says it again. Your teeth cinch the inside of your lip. “You promised.” Chuuya’s shoulders sag but his hands keep working the smudged mascara off your face. His other hand nimbly massages the back of your neck finding the pressure point to relieve your headache. “I know.” What else could he say? “I don’t have a different excuse. Boss needed me. It was important. I wouldn’t have done it otherwise. We can have dinner tomorrow or another night. I swear.” Chuuya tries to coax your eyes open with a soft rub of his thumb on your cheekbone. He knew all your spots and that’s what made it hurt the most. “But you promised.” You repeat, almost childlike in the inflection of your voice, but your eyes open. Immediately you’re mesmerized by the expression change on his features. Chuuya, when overcome with too much, tended to drop his head in defeat allowing his bangs to hide him from the shame he felt. Your fingers on his chin keep him from succeeding. “It’s…” you swallow the dry lump in your throat, “I need to be as important too. I’m not asking you to drop whatever Boss has you do when I want attention and I know you’re going to have to leave sometimes when shit comes up unexpectedly... but fuck...you need to give me something.  Anything.” You set your hand timidly on his. “Unless the fucking world is collapsing...I need a promise I know you’re going to keep, Chuuya.” His eyes widen a bit, soft blue glimmering and reflecting bits of your distorted face in their tides. Chuuya stays silent for a moment but moves closer on the bed shifting you carefully until you’re on his lap, legs draped over either side of his thighs. His arms come around your waist (where they belong) to pull your torso flush with his. The hum of his ability tickles your skin as he leans himself back until his head hits the pillow. “Give me a little time to come up with something?” He finally breaks the silence. Hope diminishes and the swelling in your chest grows into a thick knot. “Okay.” You reply against his neck. There wasn’t a chance in hell Chuuya didn’t catch the desolation in your tone, but he says nothing. His fingers begin to detangle your messy hair in feather-soft strokes. Chuuya tended to melt into you without trying. Curl up around you keeping you comfortable enough to fall asleep in any environment. This position draws your face to the crook of his neck magnetically. A place molded to fit your head perfectly. Often, it was the only place that properly hid you from your thoughts and exhaustion when the world became too much at once. You inhale; his skin pebbles. He always smelled like sea salt and vanilla. He swears he puts cologne on but after working so much his natural scent clings to his skin and it’s much more intoxicating. His left hand slithers up and down your back drawing nonsensical patterns in your skin. Down your shoulder to the valley both blades create, following your spine lazily, methodically.  His dexterous fingers spread open to reach the skin that encases your rib cage touching light enough it’s almost a tease. Chuuya’s gestures come from the depths of his emotions that so often tumble beneath the surface. Trained in the art of persuasion and deception he’s better at hiding what he’s thinking than he lets on. It’s all a matter of if he cares enough to do so or not. You tangle your legs together with his, thankful you’d forgone wearing anything to bed. Summer heat tended to creep into your bedroom despite the air conditioning, and the man beside you could melt chocolate with his touch. With Chuuya's skin constantly overheating (Arahabaki in the shadows) it was surprising his layers didn’t bother him. On cold winter mornings it was magnificent against your chilled face. In the summer he’d laze about in only his underwear with the air conditioning blowing, keeping you just cold enough to need the warmth from his skin. (He claims it’s not on purpose but you like to think it is).  Heat had begun to spread the moment he pressed you up against him and held you like you’d disappear if he loosened his grip. Right now the little crook beneath his ear that curved down his neck forming a broad muscular shoulder happened to be the perfect temperature to soothe your headache. Chuuya cuddles you closer when he notices the tension dissipating. His head turns slightly to rest against your forehead, the soft ghost of his breath trails over the shell of your ear each time he exhales.  Whatever alcohol remained in your system had slowly begun to recede with Chuuya’s presence. Falling asleep rather than passing out cold seemed to aid in the depletion of your headache, and truthfully, being with him cured every part of you. Scientifically correct or not--it always worked even when you were pissed at him. Chuuya’s chest softly begins to vibrate as your eyes flutter shut. A gentle tempo that remains tranquil but familiar.. Chuuya’s humming finally settles the ball of nerves tied up in your stomach. The last remaining irritation of the night quietly begins to melt away at the edges leaving your heart frayed and tender. Pure exhaustion was overpowering your will to stay awake and wait for Chuuya’s answer. Against your own command your eyelids droop and soak your environment in black. ++++++++++++++ Fuck that wine. From the moment you peeled your eyes open it felt like someone nestled their way into your skull to continuously pound it with a ball peen hammer. Your legs twist in the sheets as you try to get comfortable again and turn away from the sunlight sneaking through the window. Your arm smacks against the mattress, it felt strikingly cold. “Chuuya?”. The only response you receive is a small rustling from outside the bedroom door. A soft hum. Music? Something. You flop onto your back and force your eyes open. Thankfully the dizziness subsided permanently, unfortunately it’s counterpart (a killer migraine) still throbbed to the point that you were halfway convinced your eyeballs were physically pounding. “Chuu?” You call again, twisting on the bed until your bare feet hit the hardwood.  Chuuya’s shirt fits comfortably over your head. Instinctively you inhale sharply holding the collar close to your nose before it settles and the smell of eggs draws you out of the bedroom. Normally you’d walk out completely naked but you felt beyond shitty. Lazily you tug up a pair of sweatpants and meander out into the kitchen in search of your boyfriend. Chuuya turns over a shoulder and gives you a soft smile. His back muscles were getting bigger, or perhaps the way he was holding the pan made them bulge. Regardless he looked damn good cooking you breakfast in a tight shirt bathed in morning light. “Good morning baby. Hungry?” Your stomach growls loud enough to echo down the street. Chuuya laughs and sets two plates down at your small table. Omurice, toast, and a few strips of bacon he’d picked up from some fancy market in Tokyo the last time he went. “Good. You need the protein after throwing everything up last night.” Chuuya pads over to you arms immediately wrapping around your waist snuggling you close against his bare chest. “I’m sorry baby.” He says for at least the fifth time. Two soft kisses to your forehead, one on your nose and a final on your lips. You slump against him letting your arms remain limp at your sides. “I figured out what I can do for you though. What you deserve.” “Oh?” Your arms find themselves around his waist, fingers spreading out to feel the rigid muscles in his lower back flex beneath your touch. Chuuya nods forehead now resting against yours. Sunlight funnels through the window scattering amber over the floor. Cresting Chuuya’s right side and across to the middle of his throat bathing him in light. The man truly emulated warmth and fuck he was more gorgeous than the sunrise itself. “Breakfast together. Every morning. Some days I’ll cook for you. Some days we’ll go out before work, and some days…” Chuuya begins to trail soft kisses down the side of your throat. Catching your breath suddenly becomes much harder with his mouth tasting your skin, “we’ll have breakfast in bed. I’ll eat you...and then we can eat together.” He chuckles darkly, waiting for the words to unfold in your head. “How can I turn that offer down?” Your fingers glide up the back of his neck carding through his hair. Chuuya sighs into your touch but continues the lazy, deliberately gentle line of kisses over the curve of your shoulder then backwards until he reaches your collarbone. “My place---” you gasp sharply, Chuuya loved to bite that spot on your neck, “or yours?”. Chuuya hums in thought hands now trailing down your curves around to the swell of your ass. “Whoever gets off work last goes to the other’s place. So, probably here a lot.” Chuuya squeezes, low growls emitting from his throat when you jolt into him. “Means you gotta actually buy food for me to cook.” You rise up on your toes moving closer and away from his grip on your ass. You couldn’t give in easy just yet, where was the fun in that? “Mmmm..but what if I like starting off the day with your cock?” You muse, teasingly dragging the sharp edges of your nails down his shoulder blades. Even through his shirt Chuuya’s shoulders were overly sensitive. Another set of animalistic growls erupts from him. He squeezes harder and nips at the center of your throat. “Guess I’ll have to give you what you want then, won’t I?” He smirks crookedly. You yelp when his hands dip between your thighs splitting them open to lift you up and onto the counter. “But first,” he murmurs, thumbs digging circles against your inner thighs, “I get my breakfast.” Chuuya leans into you, hips slotted between your trembling thighs so he can kiss you until you’re dizzy. Your hands wind up back in his hair holding him close. You inhale him greedily, savoring the taste of him in your mouth. Your sweatpants join Chuuya’s shirt on the floor in a puddle of fabric. The heat from his body sweeps you up into the clouds. You weren’t sure if it was the hangover, the speed in which Chuuya had you spread open on the kitchen counter or a combination of them both but your head was already fogged. Chuuya’s breath along your thigh keeps you lucid enough to feel every movement he makes. The tickle of his hair on your leg, the gentle prodding of his thumb spreading open your wet lip and the oh so lewd sweep of his tongue up your pussy. “Fuck!” You gasp, hair tugging roughly at the bundle of red hair between your fingers. Chuuya’s chuckle vibrates up your core. His tongue expertly flattens against your pussy, long strokes beginning at your entrance ensuring to taste every inch of your folds all the way up to your clit. The edge of his tongue flicks over the swelling bud once or twice before descending through your lips again. Chuuya moans into you, muttering praises of your taste between licks and prods of his tongue deep inside you. “Ch-Chuu!” The knot in your stomach was near ready to snap. “Do it baby. Right on my fucking tongue.” Chuuya commands, looking up at you from between your legs momentarily before returning to his work. Chuuya’s two fingers hold your pussy open for his tongue to explore. Dipping in and out, traveling up to tease and suck on your clit until stars burst behind your eyes and you’re moaning incoherently. Chuuya doesn’t waste a drop. “So good..” his praises are saturated with lust, “fuck you taste so good.” Arousal smears across his cheeks and lips as he cleans the mess between your legs. Gentle licks and motions, just enough to begin overstimulation to carry over into what would come next. You curl over him trying not to fall off the counter. Chuuya gets to his feet, hands remaining on your shoulders to give you leverage as he discards his sweatpants revealing his fat hard cock red and dripping pre-cum. You lick your lips and reach for him, pumping it a few times in an off-beat rhythm. “Already fucked out baby?” He taunts playfully, lips still glistening with your cum. You pout at him and jerk him forward by the hair. Chuuya laughs, using the motion to line his cock up with your weeping entrance. “Yeah? You want it that bad?” Your hips jerk forward when the head rubs up against your clit. “Chuuya!” You huff, switching tactics. His eyes widen to saucers moan loud and deep enough it rattles in your chest. Your fingers tweak and tug at his pebbled nipples egging him on to submit. Or piss him off. Regardless, the outcome would be the same. “Do you want it that bad? Just one touch..” you mimic his teasing tone. Chuuya’s eyes narrow, chest still puffed out towards your hands. “I always want you.” He replies, punctuating the last word with a jerk of his hips. Your head lolls back in surprise, the burn of his cock stretching you out to the hilt makes your toes curl. “Ohfuck!” You choke on air; Chuuya is quick to grip your hips and bite down on your throat. His pace is relentless. Needy. Sticky, hot and slick. You keep one arm wrapped around his neck the other slanted back on the counter for balance. Chuuya buries his face in the crook of your neck as he fucks your hard and deep. Your knees end up by his ribs allowing you to cross your ankles behind him. The angle change makes Chuuya moan deep against your skin. Somehow, his speed picks up sending you bouncing up and down on his cock. Every stroke inside you hits that sweet bundle of nerves that keeps you moaning his praises. “Fuck--” he grits his teeth and slides one hand down to hold you up by your ass lifting you off the counter. He grunts again, moving in just a few steps into the center of the kitchen. Chuuya drops to his knees with the aid of his ability and places you on your back, hips following the natural path of gravity to push his cock deeper inside you. “Fuck..there..” he murmurs, shifting his hands to your thighs pressing them back until your knees reach your shoulders. “Just like that baby..fuck you’re so god damn beautiful..” His eyes glisten, gemstone blue clouded in the haze of arousal and pleasure. This position was so lewd and fuck it turned you on knowing Chuuya was watching you like this. Vulnerable and split open by his throbbing cock. Chuuya tilts his chin down mesmerized by the view of his cock pistoning in and out of your wet pussy. Cum and slick squirting against him with every harsh thrust forward. Your back arcs off the floor; the head of his cock relentlessly slams into your g spot until you’re cumming again. “G-goodgirl!” Chuuya sputters out, pounding into you three more times before he’s spilling inside of you gasping your name in a sultry, silky voice only you get to hear. Chuuya rolls his hips a few more times in rhythmless sputters before collapsing (gently) on top of you. Sweat matting his bangs left and right, skin a rosy pink and body taut. You wrap a shaky arm around his back, eyes fluttering closed. “Mm..you doin’ okay?” He asks, pushing himself up with one elbow to look at you. “Yeah…fuck..” you couldn’t even think straight let alone articulate just how good you were feeling now. Chuuya smiles--the rest of the world doesn’t compare to the brightness of it, you think. “You’re forgiven.” You finally say, long exhale following. Chuuya beams and kisses your nose. “I am sorry baby. And I promise we’re going to eat breakfast together every morning.” Chuuya rolls to his side bringing you with him. Your leg ends up thrown over his hip and his arm pulls you flush to his chest. “I love you ______. I love you so fuckin’ much.” Chuuya drops kisses along your cheek as he speaks. “I love you too, Chuu.”

#chuuya #chuuya nakahara #bungo stray dogs #bsd #chuuya fic #my writing #my writing chuuya #salt and sugar #chuuya x reader #chuuya smut #bsd fanfic #chuuya nakahara fanfic

[beerecordings]

Memory - Part 1

“Not my hands, not my hands, please, please, not my hands.”

To breathe through his mouth is a thorough instruction in the taste of his own clumping blood. His muscles are no longer flexible but sculpted, unmoving lines of wood or stone, unbearably painful beneath his skin. He knows how butterflies feel when small children come to tear their legs off.

“Sh, sh. Just hold still, shhh.”

Anti's weight bears down on his shattered body. He examines Henrik's numb right hand with bright eyes, running his fingers down every whorl and ridge and line of Henrik's skin, holding his knife between his teeth.

“No, Anti, please, not my hands, not my hands, master, anything but my hands, please, I – ”

The knife slips out of Anti's mouth and bumps indignantly off his chest and onto the floor. Anti's eyes are as wide as his smile.

“What did you just call me?” he giggles. “Stop crying, shut up, say that again. Did you just call me master?”

He can't stop crying. He can't stop crying. He's trying.

“You're absolutely hysterical today,” Anti remarks, licking blood off his fingers. “What, what is it about your hands you can bear to lose? You called me a – what was it? – driveling buffoon’s excuse for a shitty horror movie villain when I carved my name into your tummy, but you can't bear to lose a finger or two?”

“I'm sorry, please! I was just scared, I didn't mean to! I just wanted you to stop!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Say that master thing again.”

His face is soaked with hot tears. The rest of him shivers against the frigid floor of the cement basement, a long beam of light from the window-wells high on the wall doing nothing to offer his body any warmth. Anti is shivering too. Henrik wonders if he is warm or cold-blooded.

“Please, master,” he wheezes, as Anti presses down on his diaphragm, leaning in close with ears perked. “Please, not my hands, my hands...”

“Master!” he shrieks, his eyes slipping to black for a second as he laughs, throwing his head back, so Henrik can see the bottom of the full set of his teeth. “Master, that's so funny! I love that, say it again!”

“Anti – ”

“No, no, no, master. Say it again. For your hands.”

“Fine!” He nearly tears his throat from the fervor. “Master, leave my hands alone. Leave my hands alone. My h-hands, my work...”

“Ah, ah, I see. Because you imagine yourself a surgeon. I guess you still think you will one day escape this place, huh? Or maybe they are just a comfort to you. Your pretty white hands.” Anti kisses the bloodied heel of his hand, massaging at his palm. “Well, brother, I never give something for nothing.”

Henrik bursts back into sobs, his free hand coming up to hide his reddened face. Anti tilts his head at him, watching, observing this new behavior. Henrik knows everything will be noted down later. After long weeks, Anti can add 'having a full breakdown beneath my hands' to the list of reactions he's drawn out of Henrik, right beneath stubbornly proud swearing, screaming at the top of his lungs, and spacing out so far he can watch himself be tortured as though from faraway, chanting Tolstoy with blank eyes while Anti cuts him into slices.

“Stop crying, Luka,” sighs Anti, sitting back with a roll of his eyes.

“H-Henrik, my name is – ”

“Holy shit, you know I don't care. You have to know that by now.”

“I don't have anything to give you!”

Anti puts his hands on his chest lazily, pressing down to feel his heart racing like that of a horse in a barn fire. “Very little,” he replies, tilting his head at him. Henrik meets his eyes and grows dizzy, trying not to slip beneath the darkness again.

“Stop, stop, no more... out of my head...”

“It would make it less painful. If you wanted. When I cut your hands off.”

“N-no. No, not that. I'll give – I'll give you anything, master, you know that.”

“I'm getting bored, Elias. Your hands are important to you. Meaningful, I think that's the term humans like. You must give me something of value like that.” He picks his knife up again and traces it along the curves of Henrik's lips. “Maybe something inside that clever head of yours, mh?”

Calm down, Henrik. Calm down. He can figure this out. Clearly there's something Anti wants, or he wouldn't have paused before taking off his hand. This is just a puzzle. And damn, but he is good at puzzles.

“Something inside my head?” he breathes.

Ignore Anti's nails running down his bare chest. Ignore Anti's weight straddling his hips. Ignore the cold, the hunger, the pain, the fear.

“Often,” he begins, shakily. “When you are in my head, I feel you picking, picking at my mind, but there are some things even you can never reach.”

Anti gives no answer. A smile twitches on Henrik's mouth.

“Can't admit to have limits, uh?”

Anti picks up the knife again. “I like you better when you're begging. Get to the point or I'll get to mine.”

“S-sorry. I think... I think... I could give you that access. To something. Just – just something.”

Anti has eyes like a tiger starving. He shifts on Henrik's chest, panting slightly.

“Like what?” he hisses, eyes shining. “A memory?”

“If that's what you want.”

“For your hands? A memory for your hands? Something with meaning? Something with a little feeling behind it?”

Henrik pauses.

Anti presses down on his chest, leaning in with eyes like a night without stars.

“Yes.”

His voice only barely shakes.

“A memory for my hands.”

-----------------

Henrik sat at his desk chair, a little thread beneath his teeth. His steady hands held a needle, stitching, slowly, patiently, a long tear in the inside of his favorite coat.

From his open door, he could hear their faux fire crackling in the living room, and the faint sounds of the tv playing a comedy special. He smiled as he heard the audience burst into laughter, with the low giggle of one of his brothers in the living room to accompany it.

His belly was full of warm, spicy curry. He could still taste it in his mouth, washed down with a late-night cup of coffee to calm him before bed.

Jackie's footsteps moved around the house on his last patrol of the night, for once staying in instead of going out. He checked that every window was secure and locked every door with a satisfying click, and then checked that every window was secure and locked every door with a satisfying click one more time. Finally, he moved past his office, towards his room, assured that everything was safe and well in his home, in his family.

“Hey,” he says, stopping with his hand on Henrik's doorframe, smiling at him. Henrik looked up at him and blinked fondly back. Warm in his own, cozy room. Safe and full and calm.

“Gute nacht, Schneep.”

“Gute nacht, Jackie.”

He pulled the last stitch through and snipped off the excess string, sitting back in his chair, content.

Anti takes the memory whole.

---------------

Henrik blinks out of a stupor perhaps five minutes later, and doesn't know what it is that he has lost. He sits up for a long time, trying to remember, if not the memory itself, at least what he offered to Anti, at least the idea of the memory, at least its missing place in his brain, but –

It's just gone.

“What... what did you take?” he asks, bewildered, staring up at his captor, behind the bars of his cage once again. “What did I give you?”

Anti is already walking away.

“Nothing to concern yourself with now, my darling. Wasn't that easy? Your hands are saved and you don't even remember what for. No pain at all.”

But Anti, for all that he tortures, and hurts, and punishes, doesn't really understand the first thing about what pain is.

Henrik sits awake the whole night, tears streaming down his face, trying desperately to remember what it was that he gave up, wringing his perfect, steady, beautiful white hands.

#torture tw #blood tw #bee writes #henrik's memory #schneeplestein #writers of jack #jacksepticeye

[unicyclehippo]

beaujester star wars au..... beau is a cocky rebellion pilot that’s a little Too good at dodging and firing shots, and jester is a princess-turned-junior senator-turned rebellion supporter. they are both force sensitive and kiss

The star base has been overrun by decorations and muted music, louder toward the centre of the hanger and half-volume at the edges, where a few hand-picked individuals - volunteers, probably - are keeping an eye on the alerts still. Colourful lights spin over the ceiling in programmed patterns that put Beau in mind of the star maps she reads on a daily basis, and the longer she looks, the more she starts to think they actually are star maps. Blown out to make ‘em look all pretty, though. That’s what decorating on a tight budget looks like, though. 

She’s leaning against the landing gear of her fighter, largely hidden by the shadows of her wings, and doing her utmost to strike a balance between looking incredibly cool but incredibly unapproachable whenever anyone looks her way. It’s hard, and she’s pretty sure she just looks injured, but no one has come over to talk to her and that’s a win in her book. No one, that is, save for Fjord.

Fjord Tusktooth - tall, green, surprisingly lean for an orc, tusked as the name suggests and a damn good pilot, her Captain actually - sidles over, arms raised over his head as he steps through the dancing crowd. He tries his best not to let the drinks spill but he’s licking what looks like jet oil off his hand when he reaches her. 

‘That better not be mine, Cap.’

He rolls his eyes. ‘Can humans drink strick-oil?’

‘No.’

‘Then it’s not yours, is it? What’s wrong with your face?’

‘What? Nothing! Give me that.’ 

It doesn’t smell like a drink; it smells like it’ll strip her innards of anything and everything useful and replace them with alcohol. Luckily, that’s exactly how she likes her drinks. Taking it from him, she flings it back, feels it burn all the way down. It hits her system like a punch to the face from a nydak. 

‘Good?’

‘Fuckin’ awful,’ she rasps. ‘Cheers.’

He laughs. Settles into place beside her, sipping at the thick oil drink. ‘So. Any reason you’re all the way over here instead of letting all of these lov-erly ladies lavish you with attention?’ He waggles his brows as he asks and grins, very much aware that he’s the only one who can get away with asking her these kinds of questions as baldly as he does. Mostly because he manages to ask in a way that doesn’t make her wanna use him for shooting practice. And a little because he’s her superior officer. ‘I’ve turned down two proposals on your behalf - you’re welcome.’

‘Huh? What? Who?’

He points them out subtly - one a dusty pink alien clad in white and gold, with about a half dozen tentacles drifting around her head like a mane, the other a waist-high, bearded lady who winks right at Beau when she sees her watching. 

‘That’s kinda my call, isn’t it?’

‘They offered two nerfs for you -’

‘Like, both of them together? That’s hot.’

‘What? No - Beau,’ he laughs. ‘The point is that you should know your worth.’ His face goes carefully blank as he tries, very obviously, not to smile. ‘Three nerfs.’

Beau snorts. ‘Shut up. I’m going to get another drink. See if you can get them to bid higher for my hand, yeah? Remind them that I lead Team Two today. Integral to the battle. Integral.’ He salutes and she pushes off the wall, walks toward the party just long enough for his eyes to slide away from her. She steps sideways into the corridor and ducks out of sight, breath coming out in a gust.

Tyr-Mannou Star Base is built deep in the asteroid that orbits the planet, hidden from prying eyes and ears by the layered rock. Beau hadn’t been listening a hundred per cent when it was explained but something about the metals in the area, and in this planet, seemed to provide a buffer - mild, temporary - to long-distance scanning and surveillance. And at this point - haggard, hurting - the rebels will take any buffer at all. 

It’s good for the rebellion, to be buried in the asteroid. 

It’s hard to find fresh air, though, and Beau pulls at the collar of her jumpsuit, unzipping it until she doesn’t feel like she’s being strangled. 

Moving farther from the party, down the corridor and just away, Beau lets her feet carry her aimlessly at first - listening to the sound of her boots on the metal, echoing in the tin-can corridors, hiding briefly from the passing technicians who don’t seem to notice her in the various shadowed niches she finds. And then less aimlessly, until she realises she is headed directly for the command station. 

The room isn’t dark, not ever, but it is running on a skeleton crew who look up suspiciously at her entry, relaxing when they recognise her face - or, more likely, the badge affixed to her shoulder. 

‘Lionette.’

‘Commander.’

‘Shouldn’t you be at the party? I heard your squad was receiving a commendation.’

‘We are. Did, Commander.’

Commander Dairon - a hard-ass and a legend in the fighter crews for the Battle of Sotheirrik in which they led the harrying of a military convoy for two fucking weeks - looks her over with a cool eye before nodding. ‘Made an appearance at least, I hope?’

‘Sure did.’

‘Good. Get some rest, Lionette. There will be plenty of work come morning.’ The Commander reaches out a gloved hand. Rests it on Beau’s shoulder for a moment, squeezes. ‘Enjoy these moments when you can,’ they tell her quietly, and it has a tinge of an order to it. But just a tinge. 

‘Yessir.’

‘Good. Now,’ they say, eyes glittering, ‘Fuck off.’

Beau barks a laugh. Salutes her Commander lazily and continues on, onwards toward the view that had been calling her. 

The command station sits closest to the surface of the asteroid and it is here, only here, that one can see the view that they are risking everything to protect. The field of stars and asteroids, glinting as they catch the light of Tyr-Mannou’s sun. The purple-blue of Tyr-Mannou’s surface, the deep deep green almost black of its seas. The layer of clouds that cloak portions of the landmasses and oceans alike, drifting. Beau leans up against the window, hands curling over the rail, and watches a storm brew.

She feels Jester’s presence before she sees her. A flicker of something at the edge of her awareness, far beyond that which her awareness should rightfully cover. She hears the hiss of the gas as the doors slide open and turning, beau watches a green-cloaked figure step down from the corridor. Jester exchanges a few words with Commander Dairon but Beau can feel it - the focus of her attention like a taut string between them, and she already knows Jester is about to look up, feeling her intent like a thrum, a plucked note on that string. 

Jester looks up. Dark, dark eyes in a smiling face. 

‘Ambassador Lavorre, this is one of our finest pilots.’

‘Beauregard,’ Jester interrupts Dairon’s introduction. 

Beau tries not to shiver. No one says her name the way this girl does, like they’re sharing a private joke. 

‘Princess,’ Beau returns, and she’s aiming for calm and cool, something to suit her new title of the best fucking pilot of the rebellion, but damn if it doesn’t come out reverent. 

Commander Dairon’s brows are at their hairline now and out of the corner of her eye Beau sees them mouth, ‘Okay,’ and they take their seat, turning away. 

‘How are you?’ Jester asks. It’s as nice to hear as it is weird. ‘I was told that you and your squad took on the main fleet today?’

Beau snorts. ‘Fuck no. I mean - uh,’

‘I’m not a Princess anymore,’ Jester teases, though her smile flickers at the reminder. ‘You don’t have to not swear around me.’

‘Oh, you’ll regret saying that. I swear every second word now. Habit. Us pilots are a rough and rowdy lot.’ 

Jester just laughs. ‘May I join you?’

‘Join - yeah, sure. Of course.’

Beau presses back until her back hits the rail, her spine and shoulders the cool glass. She grips the rail. Gulps. The weight of Jester’s attention, the force of her presence, feels like a real and tangible thing and Beau is finding it hard to concentrate the closer she comes - until she is right at her side and then the weight of it, the distraction, all falls away and Beau feels like the headache that has been pressing at her for the last few hours has lifted and she is seeing entirely clearly again. 

Jester holds out her hand, straight out as if to shake Beau’s. 

Beau slides her bare hand into Jester’s, tries not to shiver at the chill of her skin. Turns it and lifts it to her lips, brushes a kiss over sharp knuckles. 

//

‘Introducing the First Madrick of Kar-Marodah, Thoreau Lionette, and the First Madrise,’

The Hall is as large as four grav-barret courts, Beau is sure of that. And it’s all made of grand, sweeping lines that she can’t quite follow. She cranes her head to try and follow one to its end but it meets with another three lines and Beau is dizzy with it; a large hand sets heavy on the top of her skull and stops her turning and twisting and Beau, nine years old and well acquainted with her fathers displeasure, falls still. 

‘Be still, Beauregard. We are here to make a good impression on the Laveesh Embassy and that won’t happen,’ he reminds her, ‘if you are swinging all over the place like some common nerf-herder.’ His flat green eyes narrow. ‘Understood?’

‘Yes.’

‘Yes sir.’

‘I’d prefer Captain,’ she dares tell him, sure that he won’t reprimand her too terribly in front of an audience, and the chance to see his eye twitch is too good to pass up. She doesn’t press too far, feeling the first flutters of her danger sense. ‘Yes sir.’

‘Come along. They’re waiting.’

His fingers are clawed into her shoulder as he moves them strategically around the room. Smiling and making small talk with the various important boring folk in the chamber, and Beau is waist-height to most of them so it’s not her fault that she’s more interested in what they’re wearing on their feet and if they have anything on their belts. 

She finds two strange cards that have no writing on them that she recognises, which she returns, disappointed, and a ring on the floor, which she pockets. It feels cold and warm all at once, and as she drags her finger around the inside whorl of the ring, she feels very strange all of a sudden. As if she had done that exact thing a hundred, a thousand times over with this very ring. 

‘Ah, Madrick Lionette, how wonderful,’ comes a voice, finally, that drags Beau’s eyes from the mosaic floor. The woman - the alien - the alien woman in front of Beau is beautiful in a way she has never seen before, all vibrant red skin and curves and gold gold gold and Beau feels her jaw drop. She didn’t know that women could look like this. 

She’s still staring when she hears her own name, and feels her father shake her shoulder. 

‘Beauregard,’ she blurts out. ‘Hello.’ The sigh from above tells her that she did that all wrong. Face flushing, ears burning, Beau trawls through her memory and tries again. ‘I’m - It’s a pleasure to meet you, Queen Lavorre. I am Beauregard Lionette, scion of the Madrick Lionette.’

‘Oh!’ The Queen laughs, not meanly at all but seemingly delighted. ‘How polite! It is my pleasure to meet you, Young Beauregard.’ She laughs again when Beau stammers through a thank you. ‘Have you had a chance to meet my daughter? You’re about the same age and she’s force sensitive too -’

‘Beauregard is not,’ her father tells the Queen flatly. ‘We had high hopes, but...it was not to be.’ He coats the words with the displeasure Beauregard hates; feels it pressing into her skin like his clawed fingers. It’s her fault she’s not force sensitive. She’s known that for a long time now. For as long as she can remember. 

There is a moment of silence, then, ‘Well. Jester? Where have you gone, my darling?’

Like a flicker of fish in the pool back home, and with the same warmth of the sun-soaked tiles against Beau’s chest and belly as she lays at the side, hand plunged into the waters to try and catch one of those crafty fish, Beau sees her. A girl, around her own age as promised, and dressed all in pretty robes. She is muddy to the knees, the dress heavy around her feet and dripping the purpled soil in a thick trail behind her. 

‘Jester? What have you gotten into?’

‘The mud. Obviously,’ the girl adds, though the Obviously was already clear from her tone. Her curls are riotous about her face, and she wears a great big smile, though it slips momentarily as she twists something between her fingers. 

‘Are you alright?’ Beau blurts. 

‘Beauregard,’

‘Oh yes,’ Jester tells her, and smiles with all the brilliance she can muster in her round, round cheeks and dark eyes. It’s... a lot. 

Beau still feels an undercurrent. Cold water around her fingers. ‘I don’t believe you.’

‘Beauregard! Don’t be a pest!’

Jester stares for a moment, then laughs. Shoves her hand toward Beau. ‘Hello, pest. I’m Jester.’

Beau takes it. Blanks for a moment over what is proper and finally bows, kissing it clumsily. As she stands upright, she notes the rings - one on each finger. Except for, 

‘Are you missing a ring?’

‘Oh, Jester,’

‘It was an accident,’ Jester tells her mother immediately, complete with trembling lip and abject sorrow. Though, Beau notes, no seeming anxiety for her mother’s reaction. 

She reaches down into her pocket. Rubs her thumb over the heavy ring. Is struck, momentarily, by the urge to keep it. It’s beautiful, she found it. 

It’s Jester’s. 

She didn’t see a name on it, but she knows it as certainly as she knows she’ll have blisters in the morning from these awful shiny boots. 

‘Come along, Beauregard,’ her father says, and begins to draw away from the Queen and her daughter. 

Beau shakes out from his hold and steps forward, holds out both her closed hands toward Jester. If she can guess which one the ring is in, Beau decides in nine-year old logic, then she can have it back. If not, Beau will get to keep it. 

//

They’re seventeen and the Madrick has called the meeting this time. The Queen - The Planetless Queen, Beau has heard her called behind her back, and she owns several bruises and one cracked knuckle for putting upstarts back in their places by force. The Queen has disappeared into the war room and Beau isn’t surprised to find that Jester has found her, even hidden away in the engineering core as she is. 

‘Still on with this plan, then?’ Jester asks her, peering up from beneath the suspended chassis to where Beau is hanging, fixing the wiring. ‘Becoming a pilot?’

‘Why? You think I can’t hack it?’

‘What? No. Of course you can!’

‘Then why wouldn’t I be?’

Jester is quiet for a long time, long enough for Beau to almost forget the question. She winches herself down from her position and before she can fully reclaim her feet, Jester is in front of her and her hands press against Beau’s cheeks and she’s kissing her. Kissing her, with the engineering teams buzzing around outside, and the smell of jet-oil and soldering thick in the air. 

‘I’ll miss you,’ she says. Simple words, but the feelings that slam hard into Beau’s stomach are far from simple. 

‘Jes - ‘

‘I’m sorry,’

‘You can’t -’ Beau scrambles up onto her feet. Hooks a grease-stained hand onto the perfect sleeve of the newly minted Junior Ambassador, pulling her deeper into the corner. ‘My father -’

‘He’s busy, he didn’t see,’

‘He owns these people,’ Beau hisses, glances back over her shoulder. But no one seems to have seen. ‘If I’m going to get into the Academy, he can’t - he can’t know that I’m - with you,’

‘Why not? What’s wrong with me?’

‘Nothing! Everything!���

‘Oh, how very flattering,’

‘That’s not what I meant and you know it, Jes,’

‘Well you do one thing and then say a lot of other nonsense, Beau, so forgive me if I’m a little confused!’ Jester is a sight and a half, eyes flashing with unbridled fury. She’s a good inch or two shorter than Beau but with them both straining to hiss-yell at one another, their noses are almost touching. 

‘You’re hot when you’re angry.’

‘Oh shut up.’

Beau grins. The grin fades into something softer, something adoring. She reaches up. Is careful that, when she brushes a curl back, the grease-stained finger doesn’t touch Jester’s cheek. ‘Did you come here to ask me that? If I still wanna be a pilot, all I’ve ever wanted to do since I was five?’ 

Jester’s eyes drop.

Beau wipes her hand off on her jumpsuit. Crooks a finger under her chin. ‘Or did you come to ask me not to go?’

For a little while, Beau thinks Jester won’t answer. Then her eyes shift, harden, and Beau is reminded of those months after the destruction of her planet. When the pain had threatened to overflow and so Jester had locked it down, hard and tight enough to become coal, something that would let her burn and burn and burn with fury for ages to come. 

‘What you want to do, it’s important. More important than me.’

Beau can’t disagree. The simple fact is that the war is more important than everything. Any one person. She opens her mouth to argue anyway, because - because this is Jester. 

‘I came to tell you to be safe.’ And then Jester is reaching into her pocket and she removes something from it. Small and round and familiar, the golden band with the touch of emerald studded along it. The ring they have passed to one another at every meeting. A keep-safe. A talisman. ‘I want this back,’ she tells Beau, and presses it into her palm. Beau closes her hand around it, and Jester’s hand. Kisses the back of it. 

‘Be safe. Please - I don’t want - I can’t lose you as well.’

‘As you command,’ Beau whispers. ‘Princess.’

//

The fight is coming quickly into its sixth hour. Beau’s jumpsuit is slick with sweat, her hands are basically swimming in her gloves, and she can barely fucking see with the sweat dripping, stinging in her eyes. There’s nothing she can do about that right now, though, and she yanks hard on her controls as another volley of bolts burst into the space where she just was.

‘Blue-XP, what’s your status?’

‘Got a bruiser on my tail, Cap,’ she gasps, and pulls hard, swivelling overhead of the TIE fighter, letting it zoom ahead. ‘Coming in hot on the zero.’

Whatever reply Fjord might have for her is lost in a crackle of energy and a blur as Beau reacts to something she feels before she sees - another TIE, bursting out from fucking nowhere to pinch her between the two of them. 

Beau swears and books it, zipping in and out of the carcass of the long-dead transporter, her small fighter tackling the corners like a champ and her memory of the interior bursting into sharp relief as adrenaline and luck slam hard into her. She doesn’t let herself think, just slams into the controls in a way that might have made her wince if she had time to feel anything at all over the fear and fury. 

One TIE bursts into flame, utterly silent in the vacuum. The other is hot on her tail still - the hunter becomes the hunted, piece of motherfucking shit Empire dogs - and then Beau is lifting a prayer to old, dead planets and touching a finger to the ring of heavy metal that hands around her neck and spinning her fighter around to face the TIE dead on. Spins around the bolts that come her way and - between one breath and the next she fires. Bolts away without even needing to look back. 

It hit. She knew it before she saw the impact. 

//

They stand in front of the star field now, in a quiet command station far from a party celebrating a truly minor battle. The war rages on all around them, in every direction, and will for years to come. But for now, there are drinks and lights and dancing, and everyone will pretend that it is enough. 

With distant stars as their lights, and the beep of alerts and reminders as their music, Beauregard and Jester dance like they have been dancing together for decades. Like it hasn’t been almost five years since they’ve seen one another. 

‘Most daring pilot in the ninth sector,’ Jester murmurs, cheek resting on Beau’s shoulder. Her words rumble up through her chest to the top of her head, where Beau’s cheek rests in turn against soft curls. ‘That’s what I’ve heard. You’re fast becoming a legend.’

‘Me? Maybe. But you faced down a legion of Kryn soldiers and got them to turn tail - yes or no?’ From the flush on Jester’s face, Beau knows her answer. She whistles, low and quiet. ‘Damn, Jes.’

‘That won’t be remembered. No one remembers the ambassadors - you’re not supposed to remember us. The fighters are the cool ones.’

‘I’ll remember you,’ Beau shrugs.

They sway together, a slow side-to-side. 

‘I’ve got a present for you,’ Beau tells her. Jester’s smile is warm against her skin, even through the jumpsuit. 

‘Oh really?’

‘Yeah.’

‘It wouldn’t happen to be a ring, would it?’

‘What - how did you know?’

Jester hums, trying to hide a laugh. The laugh actually does fade when Beau lets her go - just for a moment, just long enough to unclasp the chain - and tugs the ring off from around her neck. She clasps it in her hand and Beau is close enough to feel the ripple of it - the energy that swirls around this shared ring, no doubt full of the fear and thrilling adrenaline of the fight, hopefully filled with the memory of all those nights she spent in her cabin, missing Jester. 

Jester’s breath hitches. She blinks a few times, blinking open dark eyes, and then turns in the cradle of Beau’s arms. Lifts her hair, as she offers the chain to Beau. ‘Do it up for me?’

‘Y-yeah. Yeah, sure.’ Beau takes it with suddenly clumsy fingers. Can’t resist brushing her thumb over the knob of Jester’s spine, the soft hair at her hairline. It takes a moment for her to work the clasp but finally it clicks closed and she lets her hands fall to either side, to Jester’s shoulders, and leans forward until she can kiss where she had touched. Lips pressed to the vulnerable space there. ‘I want that back,’ she whispers. ‘Sooner than five years, if you can manage.’

Jester twists back to face her. ‘Shouldn’t I get to keep it for five years? You did.’

‘That’s not how the game works.’

‘I’ll let you see it,’

‘We trade it, Jes. That’s how the game works.’

‘That’s how it has historically worked. I might suggest a change in rules,’ she says, in her most Ambassadorial tones, and Beau fights a laugh. ‘I had two dozen Kryn warships fleeing before me, Beauregard, I think I can get you to change your mind.’

‘You try your best, Princess. I’m sure I’ll enjoy it.’

#cr tag #prompt fill #tagging my stories #i dont rly know shit or jack all abt star wars #beaujester

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Happy Thanksgiving: In the Woods

For the Anon who wanted a quick Thanksgiving drabble!

Timeline: Third Thanksgiving - Danny is 25 years old.

CW: Noncon touching, noncon kissing, referenced/implied noncon. Abraham Denner is a bad bad man.

Tagging @bleeding-demon-teeth, @special-spicy-chicken, @spiffythespook

“What are you thankful for, little Red?”

Danny didn’t expect to be asked, and he freezes where he sits on the floor next to Abraham’s chair, his legs tucked to the side and underneath him, rubbing at the scar on his jaw with one hand.

His hair is still damp from the shower, and some of it sticks to the back of his neck and along his forehead as Abraham’s fingers run through it, combing the hair out of his face, grazing fingernails along his scalp, tucking a bit of curl behind one ear. He hasn’t really even noticed the feeling other than the sense of cold along his skin, that maybe his hair would be coated in tiny icicles. His work on dinner had been good enough that Abraham had let him wear a sweater and he’s been distracted, luxuriating in how comfortable he feels.

Even with the cold kitchen tile cutting through the fabric of his thin cotton pants and freezing his bare feet, the top half of him is swathed in the heavy woven cotton, in the dark blue that Abraham said looked best on him. The kitchen is warm from him using the oven all day, he wasn’t shivering for the first time in what felt like weeks, and he feels… good.

I’ve been so good today.

(you’re so good for me)

Nate had a forkful of stuffing halfway to his mouth where he sat in the chair next to Abraham and he freezes, too, his eyes going from Abraham down to where Danny sat and back again. “B-Bram?”

“Um, um, what I’m… what I’m thankful for?” There is a voice inside Danny’s head that hisses fucking nothing, you goddamn psycho, I fucking hate you and I hate what I am now but he swallows hard, feeling the collar buckled too tight around his throat, making him work a little harder for his air. He tries to quiet the voice down, shake the wrong thoughts, before Abraham can read them on his face. 

Abraham has a plate piled high with food, and he gave one to Nate, too - with the turkey and stuffing, cranberry sauce and rolls, green bean casserole - everything from the cookbook he’d found the body had left behind. A true, real Thanksgiving dinner. 

There’s a third plate sitting next to Abraham’s elbow, and so far that plate is empty. You have to earn your food, after all, and Abraham hasn’t decided if he’s earned his, yet. Danny presses his hands against his stomach, willing it not to growl. If his stomach growls too loudly, Abraham takes the food away.

Please, I’m so hungry, I did all the cooking but I haven’t eaten all day

(puppies don’t ask, they wait to be given)

I’ll be good

“It’s Thanksgiving, right? Shouldn’t we all go around and say what we’re thankful for?” Abraham smiles, all gentleness and affection and light. His hand in Danny’s hair pauses, for a moment, before it takes up the soothing, petting rhythm through the wavy red again, running fingers slowly back along his head, and Danny shivers at the affection and tries as hard as he can to pretend it’s because he likes it.

“S-sure, Bram, that’s d-d-definitely in line with tradition,” Nate replies, buying time, and then he sits up and clears his throat and Abraham’s hand leaves Danny’s head. 

Danny breathes out in relief, but his stomach is so hollow and he’s terrified it will growl and Abraham won’t give him anything to eat. 

“I’m g-g-grateful for our f-first heavy snow,” Nate says, gesturing with his fork to the world of pure white outside the window. “Thankful that it w-w-waited to snow until you were back so w-we could have this d-d-dinner.” 

“What a good place to start,” Abraham says thoughtfully, cutting a thin slice of turkey and laying it on the empty plate. Danny’s eyes track the slice the whole way, watching, thinking about how that’s going to taste, how good it’s going to be, if he can only be good enough to earn it.

You shouldn’t have to earn your fucking food

Shut up wrong thoughts wrong thoughts

(be grateful, puppy, for everything I do for you)

“Mmmn. And I’m th-thankful that we f-f-fixed the water heater, too,” Nate says, injecting a hint of his dry humor into his voice. Danny watches Nate, his green eyes and the way his black hair is still damp from the shower, too. So is Bram’s, but Danny doesn’t look at his, doesn’t think about that. Can’t think about that.

Don’t think about what happens in the shower

“We’re all grateful for that. Aren’t we, puppy?” Abraham smiles down at him and Danny hurries to smile back, the soft, nervous little smile he can just barely force onto his face. Please, I’m good, I want to be good, let me eat. “We’ve waited a while to have good hot showers again. You couldn’t wait to get right in, could you?”

Don’t think about the shower don’t think about the shower

“And I’m thankful for y-y-you,” Nate says, and Danny fights back a flinch. Nate goes places in his head, sometimes, when he looks at Bram - then he says things like that, loving things, and Danny has to watch the smile change on Nate’s face, listen to the soft endearments, see the way they look at each other. Then he comes back, later, but…

But when Danny makes himself look up, Nate isn’t looking at Abraham at all, but at him.

You, Nate mouths at him, while Abraham’s head is turned and he’s looking at the green bean casserole he’s spooning onto Danny’s plate. 

You, Danny mouths back, and there’s a moment where he feels… lighter. Better. They almost smile at each other, before Abraham looks back up and the moment is gone.

“Well, I’m thankful for our little family,” Abraham says brightly, giving Danny some stuffing on his plate, too. Danny’s eyes track the serving spoon as it moves, trying to guess how much he’s going to get of each thing. He’d taken a few tastes, to be sure the flavors were right, but Abraham hadn’t let him have anything to eat since last night’s dinner to make sure he had incentive to do it all just right, and his mind was a buzzing lightness as he focused on the next spoon, and the next.

Some of the words in the cookbook had started to run together, by the end, and he’d mostly held himself up by gripping onto the counter. But he’d been so good today, Abraham had said so, he hadn’t fought a single thing that had been done to him today.

“And I’m thankful for this life we’ve built together,” Abraham continues, and his leg moves, his foot brushing just against Danny’s leg where he’s curled up on the floor. Danny swallows hard and moves on instinct to rest his head against Abraham’s thigh, closing his eyes as the cold fingers make their way back into his hair, petting him gently, running down to the scars on the back of his neck and back up to the top of his head. 

He’s dizzy and spinning - he wasn’t allowed to sleep much last night, he hasn’t eaten all day, and Abraham’s hands make him shiver, raise goosebumps on his skin.

Don’t think about the shower

He swallows, turning his head to kiss the leg he’s leaning on, brushing his mouth against the rough fabric of the heavy canvas pants that Abraham and Nate get to wear on cold days, resistant to getting wet. 

Abraham chuckles, the low, deep laughter that’s so much safer than the high-pitched sound he makes when he really laughs. Danny doesn’t open his eyes when Abraham’s palm rests heavy on top of his head. 

“What about you, puppy? What are you thankful for?”

The food is all there, on the plate. He just has to earn it.

Danny clears his throat a little, swallows, takes a second to make himself breathe. Inhale, no one will ever find me here. Hold for five. This body belongs to Abraham Denner on the exhale. Then he shifts away from his leg, pushing himself up onto his knees, having to grab onto the edge of Abraham’s chair as the dizziness rocks him again. His vison goes white all around the edges and he takes in a quick breath, steadying himself, waiting for it to pass.

“Red? Y-y-you okay?” Nate asks with real concern, but Abraham only waves one hand and Nate doesn’t move. His eyes are still trained on Danny, and there’s a hardness in his face these days that doesn’t always go away when he looks right at Abraham - but Abraham doesn’t seem to see it. 

“I’m f-fine, Nate, th-thank you for asking about me,” Danny says, his voice a little breathy from the collar cinched just a little too tight, cutting into his skin and making him fight just a little for every breath of air. The little tag that hangs off the front clinks with the effort. 

Abraham leans over, sliding an arm around his shoulders, and Danny swallows hard and leans into the touch. Be good be good be good. He’s going to have to earn the food, and that’s how you do it, you earn the food by being so good.

I’ll be so good for you today, just let me eat.

I’m good, I want to be good, I want to eat.

(don’t you want to be good for me?)

I do, I want to be so good.

“Go ahead, puppy,” Abraham murmurs, nuzzling against the side of Danny’s face, nose brushing just against the scars there, barely healed from his last round with the muzzle, his last big disobedience. Danny bites his lip against the itch that flares, against the crawling disgust that fights to rise to the surface, and tells himself not to feel it. He should like this, puppies like when their owners are affectionate. He should want this.

He can see the whole plate full of food, when he’s up on his knees like this, and Danny trains his eyes on it. A slice of turkey, a whole roll, a spoonful of everything he’s spent all day making. It’s less than half of what he would have eaten before (there is no life before Abraham) but it’s more food than he’s had at any one meal in… days. Weeks.

He licks his lips, resolved to do whatever it takes.

Honestly, he gave up doing anything else a long time ago.

“I’m, I’m thankful for my-my sweater you let me wear today, Abraham,” He says, starting slow and with something easy. Abraham’s hand curves around his shoulder, but the heavier sweater blocks a little more of the feeling than his thin T-shirts do, and he forces himself to lean even more against Abraham, putting a hand on the other man’s thigh to steady himself as the dizziness hits again.

Abraham’s grip on his shoulder tightens, and Danny feels pleased, for just a half-second, that he’s done something so good.

Because I’ll get the food. It’s just to get the food. 

“And, and I’m thankful for, um, for you letting me cook us the whole Thanksgiving dinner and, and spending all that money on us,” Danny whispers, looking at the glisten of red, the cranberry sauce layered over the turkey slice. He’d always hated eating cranberry sauce on top of turkey, but it didn’t matter anymore. It was food. What mattered was that he earned it. “I’m thankful for, um, for Nate being here with us, and…” He trails off lost in the moment thinking about the bit of butter he can see melting inside the two halves of the bread roll.

“And…?” The hand around his shoulder squeezes hard enough to hurt, bringing him back to the present, to the moment, to Nate’s worried eyes across the table. 

Danny knows what he has to do, what he needs to say, to get that food.

I fucking hate you, I hate what I am, I hate what you make me do

I hate you so much

I hate this

Danny turns and smiles up at Abraham, tremulous and nervous, and says softly, “I’m thankful you f-f-found me, Abraham. I’m thankful I get to be yours.”

It’s a lie - blatant and bald-faced, told out of fear that if he didn’t he wouldn’t get to eat and he might be hurt again. But Abraham smiles at him like he’s just seen the sun after forty days of rain, and leans in to kiss him.

Danny tilts his head for it - he’s good, he’s so good, just let him eat - and the press of rough, cold lips against his own is as familiar as it is unwelcome. It’s pleasure he doesn’t want but he doesn’t get to choose, because his body isn’t his any longer, and it hasn’t been his body in nearly three years now. 

And if he’s good, he’ll get to eat, and if they’re both very good, Abraham might let him sleep in the bed tonight, or at least wear his sweater when he lays down on his mat. 

“Good boy,” Abraham breathes against his lips, and Danny fights nausea alongside the ravenous, clawing, hollow hunger.

I fucking hate you

stop it wrong thoughts

I hate this

wrong thoughts, be good

I want to be anywhere but here

be good be good be good

there used to be something better than this

BE GOOD

Then he lets go and Danny drops back down to the floor where he belongs.

You fucking coward.

Fucking piece of shit, why do you give him what he wants every time?

He’ll kill me if I don’t, he’ll keep hurting me, he can always do something worse. Please, I’m hungry, I’m just hungry, I just wanted to be good so I’d get to eat…

Abraham sets the plate on the floor down in front of him, a fork and knife resting just on the edge, and Danny knows the rules. He waits until Abraham lets go and sits back at the table. Waits for him and Nate to eat a few bites, making sure they’ve started eating before he does. 

He can still feel Abraham’s mouth on his.

“M-May I have permission to eat?” Danny asks, voice soft and trembling, hands curled into fists to keep himself from diving right at the plate. If he does - he doesn’t wait for permission - Abraham will take the food away again and then he doesn’t eat for a whole day, maybe goes down in the cellar.

He’s good. He’s so good. 

He’s been good all day, he can’t screw it up now.

Abraham watches him for a long moment, then leans over to ruffle his hair with one hand. “Yes, you can, and I won’t make you ask for the fork. You can eat with silverware, too. You’ve been a good boy, today.”

Danny looks right back at him, into the ice-blue eyes. He finds another nervous smile, somewhere inside of himself to give. He fights the wrong thoughts, the rebellions that tell him he used to be someone else. Thanksgiving used to be huge tables of food made by Mrs. Verona, used to be fighting with Ryan over who got the last slice of pie, sneaking the French Silk pie Mom bought for herself for breakfast the next morning, her pretending at irritation with Ryan (and being genuinely irritated with Danny).

There used to be something else. 

There used to be a different life.

There is no life before Abraham.

“Thank you for letting me eat. C-Can I make us some coffee after, to go with the pie?”

“How thoughtful, puppy,” Abraham murmurs, carding through his hair again, and Danny braces himself to be pulled up for another kiss. It doesn’t happen, though, and Abraham turns back to his food.

He catches Nate’s eyes, just for a second, and Nate mouths movies, later, just us. 

Danny drops his eyes back to his food, but his smile has changed. It’s a private smile, all his, for the promise of good things later, alone with Nate. He swallows against the pressure of the collar, against the itch of the scarring along his face and the knowledge that he no longer wears his ankle chain during the day because Abraham knows now that he won’t fight anymore.

He swallows against the voice inside his head that still remembers who he is, and he tries as hard as he can to be grateful for what he is now.

I’m so thankful. I’m grateful for every gift I’m given.

Every moment you let me breathe is a gift.

I’m thankful.

He cuts a thin sliver out of the slice of turkey and nearly cries at the taste, curled up on the kitchen floor, somewhere in the woods. The roll is dripping butter and he licks it off his fingers, unwilling to waste even the slightest calorie, even the littlest piece of flavor. Abraham laughs at him, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care any longer, it’s food, and he was so good, he’s earned it.

It’s been at least three years since he’s seen his family, and Danny is pretty sure he will never see any of them ever again. He tries not to remember Ryan’s laughing face at the dinner table.

Abraham is letting him eat, today - and Nate was thankful for him - and that is good enough.

It has to be.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Nate,” Abraham says brightly, cheerfully, and with a voice full of an awful, overwhelming love. “Happy Thanksgiving, puppy.”

Nate murmurs it back, and Danny watches their feet bump together under the table, his own mouth full of green bean casserole, the canned green beans and cream of mushroom soup taste like salt and pure heaven. Something his mother would never let him eat-

Stop it. No life before Abraham.

Danny smiles at his food and says softly, “Happy Thanksgiving, Abraham.”

He’s so good.

And he’s so thankful that Abraham will let him eat today.

When Abraham’s hand goes back to his hair, petting through the strands as they dry, he leans into the touch while he eats, and he doesn’t mind it at all.

#Daniel Michaelson's story #whump #intimate whumper #creepy whumper #broken whumpee #defiant whumpee #in his mind still at least #tw: noncon touching #tw: noncon kissing #tw: implied/referenced noncon #happy thanksgiving everyone #anon asked for thanksgiving in the woods #and that is what they got #collaring #conditioning #pet whump #dehumanization #sorry danny #I promise I love you #I'll give you happy dancing with Nate drabble soon I swear

[decembercamiecherries]

Thanksgiving Killugon one-shot? Pleaseeee DC pleasseee. For meh? 😢❤️

Lol, sure anon XD

I don’t think I’ve shared this with you guys yet, but this was something I wrote for xcoruscaminex a while back. It was supposed to go into Graffiti, but it never fit into the fic nicely, so.......here we are XD hope you like it! Pls excuse any poor grammar on my part haha

-o0o-

They were on the floor because they hadn’t made it to the bed in time.

And that wasn’t exactly a bad thing, per say. Killua could hardly complain much when Gon’s mouth was pressing hard and insistently against his own, those warm and calloused hands gripping at Killua’s hips while their chests pressed together—

Killua really shouldn’t complain. He was getting as much enjoyment out of this little make out session as Gon was, if that deep-throated hum of pleasure by Gon was anything to go by.

But the floor was hard—and cold—and even though Killua loved the way Gon’s tongue and lips worked eagerly with Killua’s…

He also really hated being on the floor.

“What’s wrong?” Gon mumbled against Killua’s mouth, barely pulling back enough to get the words out.

“I-I, uh—” Killua’s stammering response was cut off by Gon himself before it could even begin.

Gon kissed him deeply, eyes screwed shut and brows pulled together. It was intense enough to make Killua’s back arch off the floor and curve against Gon’s body as it bore down on top of his. The lack of oxygen made Killua dizzy and small sparks of electricity come to life under his skin. When Gon finally lifted away, Killua gasped to suck in large breaths. The room spun around him, and the only thing that stayed in focus was the smug smirk on Gon’s lips, the gold glint of his eyes.

“What was that, Killua?” he asked, sounding like he was trying hard not to laugh.

Killua was still having a hard time catching his breath. “You bastard,” he panted and Gon’s grin widened.

“Maybe, but you like it though.” He leaned back down to place a much gentler kiss at the curve of Killua’s jaw. Killua’s heart stuttered as Gon’s lips pressed against his skin and Killua had to bite his lips to keep himself from whining.

It was so unfair how weak his body was to every little thing Gon did to him.

“Sh-Shut up,” he said, his protest feeble to even his own ears, and Gon snickered in his ear. “I was trying to tell you something, stupid.”

“Yeah, but you looked so pretty I just had to kiss you instead!” Gon’s face reappeared above Killua’s and Killua blinked at the close proximity. “You didn’t seem to mind it too much. You kissed me back after all.”

A wave of heat rushed to Killua’s already flushed cheeks. He scowled through his blush, starting to get irritated despite the pulsing desire to drag Gon back down and let their mouths clash again and again and again—

“I was trying to tell you that if you want to keep this up—”

“I do,” Gon said immediately.

“—then we should move to someplace more comfortable,” Killua pointedly finished as he glared up at his idiotic boyfriend. “I won’t let you kiss me if we stay on the floor!”

Gon cocked his head to the side, frowning. He gently brushed Killua’s tousled bangs out of his face, saying as he did so, “That wouldn’t be good. I really like kissing you.”

“I know that,” Killua hissed. Gon never failed to tell him that, among many other endlessly embarrassing things. The fact that they were locked away in Gon’s bedroom at the Hunter’s headquarters didn’t make it any less mortifying, though. “But I’m telling you right now that won’t continue once my limbs and back get sore!”

Gon’s frown deepened at the corners. He was off Killua in an instant, the chilly air replacing the warm pressure of his body, and that alone was enough to make Killua reconsider what he’d just said.

He didn’t have long to mull it over, though. Because a second later Gon’s muscular arms were curling under his back and knees. Killua inhaled sharply as he was scooped off the floor and failed for a moment before tightly wrapping his arms around Gon’s neck.

Gon’s deep chuckle caused his chest to vibrate, and Killua felt it all the way to his core.

“You’re so funny, Killua. You’re an heir to a Mafia family but you gasp when I lift you into the air.”

“That’s ex-heir, idiot. And you’re one to talk!” Killua retorted as Gon began to carry him over to Gon’s poorly-made bed. “You whine like there’s no tomorrow whenever I say I’m sleeping in Alluka’s room instead of yours!”

“That’s not a good comparison at all,” Gon said, scrunching up his nose. It took all of Killua’s willpower not to kiss him again, to smooth out that ridiculous expression on his freckled face.

“Oh, yeah?” he forced himself to ask. “Why’s that?”

“I sleep better when you’re with me!” Gon said honestly. Killua’s jaw dropped at the sincere confession, butterflies coming to life in his stomach.

He opened his mouth to say something, but he yelped instead when Gon abruptly dropped him onto the mattress. He bounced a bit at the force and then Gon was crawling on the sheets to hover over him, mimicking their positions on the floor.

“You’re so dumb,” Killua said breathlessly as Gon made his way over. “You’re a Hunter, you shouldn’t need me for something as simple as sleep.”

Gon cupped Killua’s jaw with one hand. His gold eyes traced over Killua’s features before drifting down to settle on Killua’s parted lips.

“Maybe I shouldn’t,” he said absent-mindedly while something hot and yearning twisted inside Killua’s gut. Now that they were off the floor, Killua wanted Gon like he needed air to breathe— “But that’s the problem with you, Killua: I can’t help but be weak around you.”

He captured Killua’s mouth in another searing kiss before Killua could even think to respond. Gon was even more desperate now than he was when they’d been on the floor, fingers inching under Killua’s shirt to drag his nails along Killua’s ribs and his kisses turning so fierce that Killua was soon out of breath again.

That was okay, though. Killua was fine with not being able to breathe if it meant Gon was the one stealing it from him.

#requests #dc writes #killugon #hunterxhunter #killua zoldyck #gon freecss #Graffiti #Graffiti scratch paper #answered

[rose-de-sang]

“I think.. you’ll do nicely..”

“Ah.. for, what, exactly, my Lady..?”

“Don’t you worry about that, my dear. You just sit there and look pretty. Let me look at you.” Morgana purred, flashing a pearly white and too-innocent grin up to the man she’d spent quite literally all day searching for. She felt her soul being tugged at it’s edges, that ebb back into the Shadowlands.. she’d spent too far away from home. Too far away from Victor. It was hard to tell if it was him or the Veil getting impatient. Regardless.. she didn’t want to disappoint.

Morgana spun in a slow circle around this raven-haired male, heels slow in their rhythmic tick-tocking against the wooden floors. What a dingy little place this was, in the heart of Stormwind City... how long it’s been since she’s been seated directly in the Alliance Capitol. A delighted little sigh left the Gilnean woman as her fingers trailed slowly along the breadth of this poor soul’s back, pads digging into clothing as if testing muscle. Her head tilted, settling those murky blues onto the side of the man’s face. 

The likeness was too much. If she didn’t know any better, she’d have thought this was Victor near in her arms, not some... hm.

“What did you say your name was, again?” She chimed quietly, fingers beginning a slow walk around the man’s bicep to crawl to the center of his chest, well-manicured nails pressing into a thin cotton shirt. The man swallowed tightly as he watched this dark-haired vixen circle him like a predator. She was.. utterly enchanting. It was hard to peel those honeyed brown hues away from her. 

“S-Seamus, my Lady..” He managed after a moment, clearing his throat. His breath hitched as her fingers crawled up his throat, manicured claws pressing into the back of his neck along his raven-colored hairline. A thoughtful hum left her, not that she cared, but she’d nod.

“Seamus...” She repeated slowly, pointedly rolling his name off of her tongue. His hands twitched at his sides and Morgana’s free hand was quick to swat at it, snorting indignantly.

“I’m a married woman, Seamus. But that’s why you want me so, isn’t it?” Morgana hummed rather abashedly, an amused twinkle to those murky blues as the man began to sputter. 

“Wh- well.. no, my Lady, you’re just--”

“Just what, hm? Not yours? And that’s why you want to touch me, to ravage me like a brood mare.  Don’t lie to me, darling... your sins are on a silver platter ready for me to devour.” There was a wanton need in the way Morgana’s voice groaned as she made another pass around the man, head tilting appraisingly. She could see the sweat clinging to his brows, the way his fingers twitched at his sides... the way his heart thrummed in his throat. The sound of blood roaring in his ears.

It almost made her dizzy.

“Y-yes... I enjoy married women’s company...” He admitted in a slow drawl, and a delighted little titter left Morgana’s lips, skipping back around to his front. Chocolate and dark cherry curls bounced excitedly as she stretched up on her tiptoes and snared the man beneath his jaw, pressing the nails of her thumb and index finger into his hot skin.

“Aaahh! Aha! There it is... Well.. Seamus. You’re in luck, it seems.. because, you see.. I want you just as bad as you want me,” Morgana chirped, flashing a fanged grin up to the man with another giggle. A relieved sigh left the man, and he’d laugh with her. Morgana’s free hand pressed right over his sternum, her head tipping to the right as she released the man’s face, though his gaze was still drawn to her.

“I enjoy the taste of adultery... it’s rich... sweet, almost like wine.” Morgana sighed, shoulders rolling back contentedly. Murky blues flared an intense cyan as painted lips pulled apart into a wide grin. He didn’t know any better, for he just assumed she was speaking in sultry prose.. nothing literal. Seamus’s head dipped down, then, hands gripping Morgana’s hips roughly as he moved to slate his lips over hers.

She was ready to indulge him, if for a second. Just before his lips touched hers is when he’d jerk, a short gasp leaving him. Brows knit in confusion as he stared down to her, centimeters away. Seamus dipped his gaze down to where her hand was, resting over his sternum.

Her fingers had wedged themselves inside of his chest, blood pooling around the punctures. In Morgana’s palm swirled a delectable orb of cyan, thin tendrils of crimson serving as thread to hold this orb together. Just like that, Seamus’s soul was pried from his waiting chest, and the shock couldn’t even warrant a scream. His mouth agape, thin wisps of his energies wafted into Morgana, who hissed in delight.

Seamus slumped in Morgana’s arms, gasping wetly as he struggled to breathe.

“Sh-shh.. we don’t want to disturb anyone, do we..? I haven’t even started...” Morgana purred, guiding the man backwards until his knees hit the edge of the bed and he slumped into a stunned sit. Slowly did Morgana’s fingers slide free of his chest, cupping that cyan orb, cradling it in her palm. Prying his knees apart, Morgana dipped into a crouch, staring up at him with a delighted little laugh. 

“Fascinating.. isn’t it? More so for me, not for you.. is this really what Victor would look like horrified? At my hands?” A little gasp left her, causing her spine to straighten and her eyes to widen. How.. untoward. She didn’t like that. Slowly, blood and muscle sinew corded and wound around the soul, of which appeared to bubble and pop apart. Seconds later, there would be a single pomegranate sitting in her palm. Morgana’s brows ticked upward and she’d grin, nodding towards the fruit in her hand.

“You’ll do quite nicely indeed.. but I need you relatively in tact and none of you in that pretty little noggin of yours, you see.” She continued, though the man’s eyes had lost all life, soulless, a mere shell of a man. Morgana sighed as she rocked up into a stand, tilting her head. That had to work, right? The pomegranate was warm in her hands, thrumming with energy. Fear, mostly, but that would taste delightful later.

“You don’t know a damn thing, do you? Aw... how sad. I do love feasting on memories as well as sins.. anima.. blood... But you? You would have made a dashing husband, you would.” Her lips puckered into a pout, more so out of mock sympathy for the man. Morgana’s left hand drifted to the bloodied pock marks that tattled her entrance into the man’s chest, thin threads of blood weaving through her fingers. Strong, he was. His heart, however? Slowly thudding to a halt. No, no.. that wouldn’t do.

A slow sigh left Morgana as she tucked the pomegranate into her jacket, gently. She pried a glove off of her right hand, shoving her sleeve back. Bringing her wrist to her lips, she’d bite down. Blood pooled around her fangs before she released herself, welling some in her palm before she tugged his shirt off of one of his shoulders, slapping her bloodied hand over the pock marks she’d made. The blood threading through her fingers sank back into him like needles sewing skin back together, palm glowing an eerie crimson. Flicking her right wrist, the wound already closed, she waited, uttering words in a dark and ancient tongue to finish the binding. 

Already exhausted, her essence would keep the man alive as long as necessary for another soul to claim it as it’s host... And how Victor would love it. An excited giggle left the woman as she tugged that bloodied shirt back up onto the man’s shoulder, twirling a lock of raven colored hair around a finger with a fanged grin.  Shadows coalesced around their frames and suddenly.. they’d be gone.

Ramsey Manor. A decrepit, falling apart ruin of a once grandiose display of wealth and status within Gilneas. The ages haven’t been kind, nor the wars this land has faced and lost to. A perpetual rainfall saw to it the roof leaked in many of the rooms, and a damp, musty scent clung to rotting wallpaper and wood. 

Morgana and her victim reappeared within the Lady’s chambers. Elegant and posh, it rang, or.. used to. Now it was dark, though appeared slightly lived-in. Her traipses through the Anima Pathways and the Veil between worlds saw her back here, tending to the old rooms. At least the bed made, candles lit, dusted.. it was still a lovely display of overcompensation met with an abundance of childhood trauma and emotional neglect from the inflated heads of greedy parents. Ah, memories.

Exhaustion tended to her limbs and she’d groan, dragging Seamus’s lifeless body to the edge of her bed before dumping him onto it, hefting him into a comfortable-looking lay. She even fluffed up the pillows. Satisfied, Morgana wiggled with excitement. Next to her vanity and in between a fireplace that hadn’t seen any use for ages, sat a full-length mirror. The glass, however.. rippled crimson, tattling a world and place beyond. 

“You wait right there. Don’t move!” Morgana chirped to the corpse, holding up a finger as she skipped to the edge of that mirror, a grin threatening to tear her face in half forming. Sucking in a breath, she stepped through, the magic holding the portal together rippling excitedly with her energies as she passed through the Veil. 

“I thought I heard your voice... where the hell have you been?” Came worriedly from across the absolutely lived-in, posh chambers of Victor Rymaer himself. Morgana squealed in delight as she skipped across the way and hopped right up into his waiting arms, winding her arms around his neck with a grin.

“I went... mm. Shopping! Yes. Shopping, oh, my love! You are.. going to -love- it. Him, I should say, but I digress. I worked so hard all day to find someone that was just -perfect- for you, and oh do I think I found the one!”

“Slow down.. shopping. On.. Azeroth. Shopping on Azeroth.” He repeated for clarity, those brows tugging up in surprise as he peered over to Morgana. “Him. Whatever you acquired.. is a him.”

“Yes! Yes, my sweet... comecome, you and I..? We.. are going home.”

“Home...?”

#ic things

[fanficslutforsmut]

The Walking Blind: Chapter 5

*************Monet's POV********** I could hear people yelling, it was frantic outside, it wasn't so close so I knew it wasn't the cells. I could still hear Daryl's voice talking to Rick, eavesdropping was like second nature now, needing to know everything going on around me. I sat up a little in the bed, moving my legs over the ledge. Bear whined as I stood up, immediately grabbing onto the cell door for stability. I squeezed my eyes shut, the dizziness was bearable but still, the room spun around me.

I was determined to see what the commotion was about. I walked further, out of the cell, Bear walking close to my side, nudging me every once in a while. My breath was labored and I was so tired.

"Carl?" I asked, hoping he was close.

"Right here," He said quietly, tapping his foot, I turned to my left.

"What's going on?"

"Some women showed up, with the stuff Glenn and Maggie were supposed to be getting." He told me, grabbing my hand and leading me closer to the voices.

"We can tend to that wound for you, give you a little food and water and then send you on your way. But you're gonna have to tell us how you found us and why you were carrying formula." Ricks's voice was dominant and strong. Even without being able to see him, his voice alone could shake anyone to their core.

"The supplies were dropped by a young Asian guy with a pretty girl." The women's voice was quiet but she was holding her own.

"What happened?"

"Were they attacked?" I heard Hershal's voice now, he was fearing the worst.

My stomach dropped and I held onto Carl's shoulder. I was also fearing the worst, that my stupidity had cost them their life. That my need for medicine and other unnecessary things had gotten them eaten alive. I let silent tears fall from my eyes as I continued to listen.

"They were taken." She answered. I furrowed my brows, taken?

"Taken? By who?" Rick asked her.

"By the same son of a bitch who shot me." She was cut off in the end by Rick, his footsteps advancing a bit.

"Hey, these are our people. You tell us what happened now!" He growled. I tensed as I heard the woman groan in pain before moving.

"Don't you ever touch me again!" She hissed, and suddenly I was back in a world filled with Carter. I didn't want to believe Rick was hurting her but the evidence was clear, and this time I could reason with why he was doing it, we were missing out people.

"You'd better start talking. You're gonna have a much bigger problem than a gunshot wound." I heard Daryl tell her. I closed my eyes. Hoping the women would just give up the information so we could let her go. Alive.

"Find 'em yourself." She told them, and suddenly god was laughing in my face, telling me my hopes were useless in this world.

"Hey, sh sh sh" His footsteps were loud as he walked around, trying to get her back on track.  "You came here for a reason," "There's a town, wood bury, about seventy-five survivors, I think they were taken there." "A whole town?" Rick questioned her.

"It's run by this guy who calls himself the Governor. Pretty boy, charming, Jim Jones type." She sneered. By the sounds of it, this meant trouble. A whole town, kidnapping our two people, I'm not sure if we can win this one but I know that Rick wouldn't let this stop them from trying, especially Hershal, Maggie was his daughter for crying out loud.

"He got muscle?" Daryl asked. My heart jumped a little every time I heard his voice. I don't know if it's the fact that he saved me not only once but now twice that was making me act this way but I didn't want it to stop either way.

"Paramilitary wannabes. They have armed entries on every wall." "You know a way in?" Rick asked. "The place is secure from walers, but we could slip our way through." The mystery woman replied. "How'd you know how to get here?" Rick sniffed. "They mentioned a prison, said which direction it was in, this it was a straight shot."  She told him a matter of factly.

"This is Hershal, the father of the girl who was taken," Rick told her. I learned a little on Carl, my head getting lighter, I kept shifting my weight from side to side, trying to keep my breath quiet as we lurked. "He'll take care of that."

"Come on they're coming out now," Carl told me, helping me wobble back to some tables. We sat down just in time for the footsteps to be in the same room as us now.

"What're you doin out of bed, you need to rest," Daryl asked, touching my back. I flinched for a second, relaxing into his touch, thinking of a lie quick.

"I wanted to make friends?" It was more of a question than an answer but he still huffed, obviously not believing me.  "Can I have some water please, I'm really thirsty," I told Daryl, hoping I could ask Carl about what he saw. Daryl just hummed, walking away, I turned back to Carl.

"Alright tell me what you saw, what was she like?" I asked him lowly. "She's black, with long hair, it looks weird." "Weird how? Poofy or like ropes?" I cut him off, I needed a good description. "Ropes." "They're called dreadlocks," I told him. He hummed and kept on with his description.

"She was shot in the leg, and she has a really cool sword." He told me. I bit my lip not being able to make a good picture in my head from the lack of detail but I took what I could get before Daryl came back, touching my arm and holding the bottle out for me, which I took gratefully.

"Thank you," I told him quietly. "Go on," Daryl told Carl, who scrambled away from the table. "Hey, he's my friend." I scowled. "Be nice," I told him, he huffed, grabbing my hand and lifting me slightly.

"You need to lay down." He told me, leading Bear and me up the stairs back to our cell. "Will you stay with me?" I asked him once we reached the room. "Can't gotta help Rick out, Glenn and Maggie were taken, gotta get 'em back." He told me. I frowned now remembering why they were in that mess.

"I'm so sorry this happened," I told him, choking back the cries. From the sound of it, the people at this town aren't like the close-knit family I was brought into by Daryl.

Daryl hummed,  giving me the lightest squeeze before letting go and leaving me. After a few moments, I heard footsteps coming back.

"Daryl?" I questioned the unknown person I could sense standing in the doorway.

"It's us, Carl and Beth." The girly voice called out quietly.

"Come in." I smiled, patting the mattress I was now sitting on. The weight dipped on it a bit but it was heavier than I thought Carl would be, so I assumed it was Beth.

"Got anything for me? Who's all going?" I asked, pushing my hair behind my ear.

"Well, right now my daddy's fixin that lady up," Beth told me. "But then my dad, Daryl, Oscar, and I think Axel is going too," Carl emphasized the word describing Rick. I nodded humming, picking at my fingers, worrying about Daryl. I mean how would these odds look to anyone? Four against a town?

"I gotta go, I know my daddy's probably looking for me, talk to you later, Monet," Beth said, hurriedly walking out of the cell just as Hershal called for her. I waved. "I'm gonna go too, say bye to my dad," Carl said, following Beth, I just stayed silent and sat on the bed for a few minutes.

"God this is boring, huh bubby?" I asked Bear, patting his head. I stood up, Bear instantly standing flush against my leg. I put my arms in front of me, talking small and slow steps around the cell. I walked to the door, then turned to face the inside of it.

The bunks were on the right side, then about three steps to the left there was an empty table against the wall. Walking further into the cell there was a small toilet and an equally small sink next to that, there was a mirror above the sink, very useless in my case. The walls were baren cement blocks, paint slightly chipping away in some places.

"I brought you some sheets and blankets and pillows, and a curtain for your door." I recognized Carol's voice. I turned around.

"Oh thank you, you didn't have to but I appreciate it," I told her, giving her my best smile. She helped me with the tiny fitted sheet.

"Can you tell me anything about the group, at least the more grown-up details?" I asked her as I put the blankets on the bed, putting the pillows on the end closer to the back of the cell. I sat down on the comfortable bed, waiting for her response.

"Like what?" "I don't know, how did everyone find each other, is this everyone, was there more?" I was a broken damn, flooding her with questions.

"Well, when this all started we were all stuck on a highway, there was way more than now." She paused. "Then when people started meeting one another we set up a little camp sort of thing a little way out of Atlanta, Glenn would get supplies from the city, the girls did the woman's work, Daryl and his brother hunted for us."

"Daryl has a brother?" I cut her off, scooting forward at the interesting thought.

"Mhmm," She hummed. "His name was Merle. The last time Glenn went out to the city he took Merle, and a few others and when he came back Merle was gone and Rick was there." She tells me.

"What happened?"

"Merle was being Merle. Racist and an asshole, Rick handcuffed him to the roof and they left him there, T-Dog dropped the key or something and when they came back for him he was gone, just his hand left." She told me. I nodded, eyes scrunched. She continues.

"Rick found his wife and Carl at the camp with us and his old partner. He used to be a Sherrif deputy. I had my husband, son of a bitch, and my daughter Sophie. We had a lot of other people, but one night, walkers came and got so many of them, nearly half." I nodded.

"They got my husband, other families, they got Andrea's sister. So we moved out of there, got to the CDC, it was ok at first. Big dinner, lots of drinking, then the guy there told us there was no cure, there was no hope. He tried to blow us up and almost succeeded. We lost more there.  Then we were back on the highway and while we were looking for supplies there was just this huge hoard of them, probably a hundred or so, and my baby got scared, and some walkers chased her into the woods." Carol paused, taking a deep breath, taking a moment to reminisce in her loss, to remember her sweet baby like how she used to be.

"We separated and looked for days, and then one day this lady on a horse came running to us screaming for Laurie, Carl's mother, saying he's been shot, she tells us to meet them at a farm and we do. That's where we met Hershal and his family. We stayed there for a while but then there were just some problems and we lost even more people and another hoard shows up and drove us out." She sighed.

"We were jumping from house to house, anywhere we could hide for a bit until we found this place, cleared it out and made it ours. Lost some people doing that too." I decided not to question her about her daughter, I already assumed her untimely demise. I nodded, feeling for her hand.

"I can't imagine your losses, and I can only hope your journey in this world become lighter," I told her, squeezing her hand.

"Thank you, sweetheart, it's our journey now. I don't think you're leaving us anytime soon, you're part of the family now." She laughed, kissing m forehead. I flinched back a bit but accepter her embrace. I missed my mother, her soft hugs.

"I don't know about that, Rick doesn't seem so fond of me." I laughed warily.

"Don't worry, Daryl won't let anything happen to you." She told me. I nodded, smiling at the ground. "Plus I think Carl's got a crush on ya." She nudged my shoulder, I laughed a little.

##############

Tagged:

@nikki082489 @theunofficialduke @lonewolf471

Masterlist

#daryl #daryl dixon #the walking dead daryl #daryl fanfiction #carl grimes #appocalypse #carol

[stormyweaver]

Alrighty! Ya dude’s back with another Wa/king Dead fic. It’s funny because I already had half of this sitting in my drafts, and when I got some interest in a Sh/ane sick fic, everything kinda clicked together. I love when stuff like that happens ^^. Anyway, might be a part two, might be a one-shot. Depends on what my motivation says. Hope y’all enjoy!

~~~

To say Shane could be exhausting was a gross understatement. The guy was a true motor mouth, and many a time he'd insert his foot between his teeth just to spice things up a bit. And you wanted to talk about stubborn? An old, grayed mule would be easier to lead than Shane could. It happened around October; half the precinct had either come down with the flu or had someone in their family sick. Rick had initially kept his eyes glued to the ceiling with Shane's constant bragging about his own fortress of an immune system, especially when he managed to contract the illness from Carl. Things couldn't be helped, and Lori did her best through nursing him back to health. And then one day, about a week and a half later, Shane was absent for morning shift. Rick hadn't panicked initially, not until he'd called and got sent straight to voicemail. It seemed fairly obvious to everyone that this was strange behavior, and Rick had already set in mind to drive down to Shane's place to investigate his friends sudden absence. It wasn't too lengthy of a drive thankfully, and Rick strolled up the driveway, a little irritably. Swear to God, if he'd gotten hungover again...

A knock on the door was met with silence. But Shane always kept a spare key underneath the mail basket, so Rick easily made his way inside. "Shane?" he called out, scanning the small home warily. No bottles laying about, or clothes. Shane did have a habit of gaining some new girl about two months apart. Or a one night stand, depending on his mood. Approaching the door to his bedroom, Rick rapped upon the wood before nudging it open, apprehensive as to what he might see. He was immediately relieved to see only one body, and judging by the curly tufts sticking out from under the sheet, it was definitely Shane's. "Son of a bitch," he sighed upon walking further inward until he hovering over Shane's form. As usual, loud snores rumbled from beneath a nest of blankets-- but, why was he under them in the first place? Shane didn't typically require more than a thin sheet thanks to his warm blooded nature. Whatever, that didn't matter now, he couldn't hide behind anything now that Rick was here. The brunette moved towards a pair of curtains adjacent to the bed, inwardly smirking as he threw them back to reveal a beaming sun. A hiss emitted from the blanket pile, followed by a soft groan. "Fuck, close 'em," "Yeah, not gonna happen," came the exasperated reply, Rick eyeing Shane as he attempted to roll over under his fortress. "Rick?" The brunette's brow furrowed slightly. Who the hell else would he think would just come into the place unannounced-- okay, maybe he didn't want to know. "Oh shit, c'mon man, have some mercy," "If you're nursin' a hangover? I definitely won't have any on you," A grunt rose from beneath the layers and, slowly but surely, Shane began to emerge. Oh. Oh, maybe not a hangover. There was no hint of alcohol on his breath far as he could tell, but that was now the least of Rick's worries. Shane's face looked nearly as white as the sheets beneath him, dark circles rimming his eyes, which usually alert, now took on a dazed, not-completely-there quality. Add in the reddened inflammation surrounding his cheeks and nose, and Rick didn't have to guess why his partner hadn't shown up for his shift. He watched as Shane's brow rose, the other propping himself up on his elbows. "Why're you starin' at me like I'm dyin'?" "Cause' you look it," Rick shot back, shoulders sagging as he eyed Shane. "Guess it was only a matter of time before it got you too. Still surprised you slept through your alarm--" "Oh shit, what- what time is it?" And there Shane predictable threw the covers off himself, swinging both legs over the side of the bed. Or, at least he attempted to, but as soon as his feet hit the floor a sudden wave of dizziness had him swaying backwards. "Fuck..." Quick thinking as ever, Rick placed a hand on his friends chest, the other grabbing hold of his shoulder so he wouldn't fall. "You're sick," he said with an air of finality, giving Shane a stern look while he shook his head. "Bullshit, jus' overslept," "Yeah, by about two hours," "Oh fuck, Rick--" Once again Rick had to put pressure against Shane's chest to keep him down. The stubborn ass was determined to make it harder and harder for himself to be taken care of. "Listen. I already called Pete in to cover for you, so don't even start," Although by the look of dogged determination in his partner's face, he seemed all too ready and raring to headbutt over this. Although it would have held considerably more heft had his eyes been absent of that hazy, feverish glaze. It was a genuine surprise when he felt the other's muscles loosen, chest deflating with an unsteady sigh, and Rick retracted his hand to settle back on his hip, regarding his friend with a stern gaze. "Now, what you're gonna do is lay back down and lemme take your temperature. By the looks of it, you already got a fever, but we need to know just how high it is," Though he was staring directly at Shane, he could have felt the roll of his eyes from across the hall. "It's not... 'm fine, man, 's just a cold or somethin'," "Why don't you let me be the judge of that?" The interjection was met with a slight glare and a soft 'Tch'. He didn't need to ask why, of course, but he decided to humor his partner anyway. Sometimes Shane could just be stubborn - other times, he was purposely irritating, in the way only a close friend who could truly dig under your skin to poke and prod at your veins could be. "What?" Shane shook his head, leaning back with arms crossed over his chest. "You're not a goddamn doctor. And last time I checked, it was my body. Man, why the hell do you gotta coddle me like I'm some toddler? Y'know I get it, you have Carl, but I don't need you to mother hen me to death," For a moment, all Rick could do was stare down at him - a rare occurrence in itself, due to their heights typically meeting eye-to-eye - before huffing out an empty chuckle. " 'Cause you're doing such a good job by yourself. Right," Mother hen him to death- he was not doing that. Was he? No! No, Shane was just overreacting, as usual. So why was he even contemplating it further? "Alright, so. Thermometer," In the bathroom, and Rick had already begun heading towards it when he heard another heavy sigh from his partner, barely glancing over his shoulder to gaze at him. It didn't take much digging to find an unopened box containing what he was looking for. Unsurprising that Shane hadn't even bothered to use a thermometer until somebody had to literally shove one down his throat.

"hH'RRUSHHHhuu! 'UUSHHHhhuu!" Rick couldn't help but huff out a laugh under his breath, idly musing that the sudden, booming sneeze might have rattled anyone else but him. After so many years, he supposed his ears had simply become accustomed to Shane's trademark roar of a sneeze. But the coughs that trailed after the double had him hastening to open up the box and, after grabbing a roll of toilet paper as well, he re-entered the bedroom. "Bless you," He began, settling the roll beside Shane, who was currently hunched over on the bed. He seemed not to hear Rick initially, and after a few seconds, Rick had to gently nudge his friend's shoulder before getting a reaction. Shane blinked, staring blearily at Rick in mild confusion, which had the latter frowning. "Hey, y'still with me?" Shane nodded, though even that action held a dazed sort of quality to it. "Yeah, yeah, m'here. Jus'... h-hang on.." At first eyeing his friend worriedly, wondering if he was going to be sick, his concern lessened as he watched Shane's eyes glaze over before fluttering shut. "hHHREESSHHhuu! hHH! hHHUUSHHHuu!" The expulsions jerked him forward, head almost hitting his knees from the force of them. Rick at least had enough sense to turn away, partially to give Shane some privacy and... well, he'd been in the line of fire when Shane's allergies were acting up, and he didn't particularly feel like getting a bath. Especially not when he was sick. "Bless. Got any more before--?" "No," The answer was curt, snappy; just like Shane whenever he caught himself something nasty. Rick wasn't phased just yet, simply nodding and handing the device to his partner, who seemed to hesitate before slipping it between his lips. "Good. Now try an' not talk for about thirty seconds, then we'll see about gettin' some soup in you,"

#greywrites; #snz fic #(tbh if i do make a part two there's def gonna be more sneezing) #(maybe... other stuff too ;3)

[lunitik07]

Path to Paradise

Originally on AO3, this story is one of my first with chapters. It might be a bit bad at first, but I hope as I go on (if you guys like it) it will get better. Enjoy!

(AO3 Version: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17832257/chapters/42076460 ) First Chapter: This is the first chapter! Next Chapter: https://dark-whisperx.tumblr.com/post/183476862378/path-to-paradise-ch-2 

Prologue ... .... ...... Where.... Where am I? Jade thought, regaining consciousness. She blinked a few times, attempting to adjust herself to the light. Rubbing her eyes, she sat up and groaned. What is this place? she thought. She seemed to be in a shallow pool of water, but it didn't feel... Wet. She observed it acted like water, but strangely didn't feel like it. It had no temperature, and no texture or density about it. Jade stood up and started walking forwards. She didn't understand why she did, she just felt like it was necessary. As Jade was walking, she started taking in her surroundings. It was a pink, misty place. Suddenly,  Jade's ears were pierced by a high pitched ringing. Loud, constant ringing that seemed to pound against her eardrums. Ringing that never seemed to stop. In fact, instead of stopping, it got louder. Higher pitched. It got to the point where the noise made her dizzy. So dizzy, everything seemed to fade. And that's when she heard it. "H-Help!" a voice cried. Scenes started to flash before Jade's eyes. A pink pokémon ran with all its might. Its expression was scared, an anxiety of death written all over its face. "Someone, please!" it cried in desperation. Jade soon found out why; a Hydreigon was chasing it!

The Hydreigon snarled viciously, showing all its sharp, deadly teeth. Its blood red eyes were slits, their fur bristled. Suddenly, the dragon lunged itself at the pokémon, jaws open wide, ready to kill. Then everything was black. Jade opened her eyes, only to be on her hands and knees. She sighed, knowing that everything was alright. Jade was wrong. She looked in the non-water, which started to waver her shadowed reflection into something different. Her head started to shift, a spike shifting out of the back of her head. Her jawline became thinner, and two oval like tusks grew out of the sides of her face. As the transformation happened, the silhouette's reflection started to become colorized. When the transformation was finished, it was revealed that Jade had turned into an axew! Her spike had two circles on both sides, the same color as her primary. Jade's collar was smaller than usual, and her pupils were black instead of a darker shade of red. She yelped and fell backwards, startled by her new form. That's when Jade woke up.

Ch. 1 - The Awakening of Jade Connors

GAAASP!

Jade's eyes shot open. Adrenaline pumped through her veins as she frantically looked around the room. Just a dream, she thought, calming down. "I thought you'd never wake up!" a voice rang. Startled by the sudden interaction, Jade yelped, "Wh-Who are you?! Sh-Show yourself!" "Hey, no need to freak out!" the voice said, walking into the room. "Here, let me introduce myself. I'm Tepig. Or Elliott. Personally, I prefer Elliott, but if Tepig makes you more comfortable, then so be it." Sure enough, he wasn't lying. There before Jade stood a fluffy tepig. They had a tuft of hair/fur on their head, with red dyed ends. The tepig had chest fluff defining the head, and a deep blue scarf on the right shoulder. Jade rubbed her face in utter shock as she stared at the talking pig. "What's wrong? Skitty got your tongue?" Jade shook her head and laughed, "hah! A-A t-t... Hah!" Elliott gave a confused look. "What's... What's so funny?" they asked. Jade propped herself back up and replied, "y-you're a pokémon. Pokémon don't talk." "You're a pokémon too, aren't you? A-Are you sure you're okay?" The tepig asked, looking concerned. "I-I mean, I did find you pretty beat up, so maybe..." Jade sighed, removing her hands from her face. "Yes, of course I'm okay. Plus, I'm-" Jade stopped, finally catching sight of her hands. "You're... What?" "I'm green." Jade muttered in disbelief. Elliott chuckled and sat down. "Yeah, dummy, of course you're green. You're an Axew. Axew are green." he said, shaking his head, "are... Are you pulling my leg or somethin'?" Jade shook her head, "I..." "Whatever. Well, I can't keep you here forever, so, where're you from?" Just as she was trying to phrase her response, a loud wailing noise from outside interrupted both of them. Elliott frowned and said, "Hold that thought." He walked over to the window beside Jade and peeked out. Elliott then flicked his tail and looked at the axew. "Seems as if a Mismagius is upset out there for some reason." Mismagius? Jade thought. Well, I guess I am In the pokémon world. I suppose there obviously would be others. "... And watching it is entertaining, yes, but getting involved- I mean, helping would be better." Elliott said, smiling. "So what'da say? Will you help me investigate? Jade, who was obviously distracted and lost in thought, muttered, "yeah..." The tepig smiled with delight. "Come on, then!" he said. "Wha-What?" Jade said, finally coming back into reality. Elliott rolled his eyes. "How hard did you hit that head of yours, Axew? Do I need to teach you how to walk?" he joked.

Jade didn't appreciate the remark very much, but decided not to say anything and just go with it. At first, she was a bit wobbly standing up, especially with a tail now attached. One wobbly step after another, Jade made her way towards Elliott. Maybe I did hit my head pretty hard, she thought, frowning. Elliott couldn't help but laugh at the poor, disgruntled creature. "You are going to have to learn to walk again!!" Jade huffed angrily, "I am not!" Tepig rolled his eyes. "Whatever," he laughed, "just meet me outside once you learn to walk again. We don't need to attract too much negative attention." Jade grumbled irately at his comment. Elliott trotted outside smugly, looking back once at Jade before leaving completely. Jade stopped trying to walk for a few seconds and took a break. I should know how to walk, she thought, Maybe it's the tail throwing me off. Maybe instead it's supposed to help me with balance a little. Yeah, that's it. Instead of letting it help, I'm fighting against it when I shouldn't be, Jade figured. Taking a deep breath, she decided to try again, this time not fighting against her tail. Sure enough, when she started walking again, it was much better than before. Sure, she stumbled over her feet at times, but Jade figured it was just her getting used to her new body. Now it was time to meet Tepig.

Jade stumbled her way out of the building and to Elliott, who was talking to the local officer, Arcanine. "Sorry kid, but Mismagius is really upset right now, and we don't need to upset her more." Officer Arcanine said. "But we can help! I swear! We-" "No means no. I'm sorry, but that's just the way it is." Elliott growled. "Fine," he said, "could you at least tell me what happened?" The officer mumbled something, then lowered down to look Elliott in the eyes. "Listen," he said in a low, gruff voice, "I'm not supposed to tell you, but..." "Yes!" Tepig cheered. "Hush!" Arcanine hissed. "As I was saying... I'm not supposed to tell you, due to safety and orders, but I think, personally, you can help." "Really?" Elliott whispered. "You did say you were a team, correct?" Elliott paused a second, then confidently said, "Yes. Yes, we are." "Well, you see here..." the officer said, looking around to see if anybody was watching, "Mismagius here was getting chased by... Something. Anyways, she and her child, Misdreavus, fled into a Mystery Dungeon to get away from whatever was chasing them. They somehow got separated - probably by an uncivilized 'mon - and got lost. Mismagius made it out somehow, but unfortunately for Misdreavus..." "They didn't make it out." Elliott finished. "Right." Officer Arcanine nodded. "And the police aren't going to do much. The teams do all the work." "And that's why you're trusting us with this?" "Exactly." Just at this moment, Jade walked up to the duo. The officer straightened up and said, "Ma'am, this is a crime scene, and-" "Don't worry, she's with me." Elliott assured. The arcanine looked over at Jade. "Is this true?" "Yuh- Yes sir." The officer nodded and looked back at the tepig. "The dungeon is called Ragged Mountain. It's north of here." he said, motioning towards a pathway. "Follow that path there. It'll lead you to the entrance." "Thank you! Elliott said, turning towards the road. "I'm counting on you Team...." "We haven't decided yet," Elliott replied. "Alright, I'm counting on you, Tepig and Axew!" They both nodded and headed towards the dungeon.

#pmd #pokemon mystery dungeon #gates to infinity #stories #fiction #pokemon #original characters

[11jj11]

Far From Yesterday - Ch 9 - Marissonshipping

Here’s chapter nine!

   Mairin stared at the door of the lab as Alain shut it, and she felt her heart sinking down into the pit of her stomach. It tightened around her heavy heart, squeezing it in a tight embrace as tears began to sting her eyes. Mairin didn’t say a word, her throat closing up, and began to she sway.

   She had told Alain that she was pregnant, and he had just walked away without a word.

   She felt like someone was slowly pouring a bucket of ice water over her, shivers racing down her spine. Her arms wrapped around herself, and a ringing filling her ears. She heard the other members of the lab talking, but yet sounds just blurred together. Mairin’s eyes remained locked on the door, her vision blurring as the tears ran down her face.

   It wasn’t until Serena’s hand touched her shoulder that she was jerked out of her thoughts.

   “Mairin?” She said softly.

   Mairin squeezed her eyes shut. “I... I...”

   Professor Sycamore was making his way towards her, his eyes gentle and concerned. She pulled away from him and Serena, raising her arms up as he reached out towards her, mouth open to speak. Mairin swiftly shook her head, cutting him off before he could even speak.

   “D-don’t,” She whispered, she didn’t want any form of comfort.

   Sycamore drew his hand back after a moment, mouth twitching before his lips pressed together. More tears were welling up in her eyes, and she tried to will them away. She was fine, she was fine... Mairin quickly turned her back away from everyone, hating the concerned looks being thrown her way. She just wanted to be alone, was that too much to ask–

   “And sometimes we need to be left alone!”

   Mairin stumbled as Alain’s voice angry echoed through her mind– the memory of the fight surprisingly vivid. She let out a small noise as she froze, heart thumping. She couldn’t help but glance back to see if Alain was somehow there, his voice having sounded so clear and real. Instead she was met with the gaze of everyone else, and she swiftly turned away once more.

   “I– I j-just want to be alone,” Mairin whispered to them.

   She heard someone step towards her, and Max started speaking. “Mairin, I’m sure Alain is just–”

   “Stop!” Mairin cried. “I don’t want to talk about him!”

   She could deal with this on her own, she didn’t need everybody flocking to her the moment something didn’t go her way. Didn’t they understand that life was like that, not always how you wanted? She could accept that, she could live with it! If Alain wanted to walk away without a word then she’d just had to accept that, no matter how much it hurt. No matter how much her heart felt like it was about to burst, and just because the tears wouldn’t stop coming didn’t mean she needed comfort–

   A sound of a Pokeball opening suddenly filled the room, and Mairin turned in time to see a beautiful Pokemon materialize in the center of the room, having just released herself from a Pokeball. The Pokemon was tall and elegant, soft pink eyes staring down at Mairin with a concerned look. She stared back at the Pokemon, a sharp pulse of pain forming at the base of her head. She let out a hiss of pain, hands clamping down over her head as the Gardevoir watched her.

   Mairin knew that Gardevoirs were sensitive to emotions, and perhaps this one had sensed her racing ones. It didn’t matter however, and within moments blackness was starting to dance across her vision as the pain increased. Her knees started her shake, darkness clouding her vision as voices cried out. The words were lost to Mairin however, the cries fading away as she was whisked away from consciousness.

   A new scene was spread out before her– the familiar hallways of the lab. Mairin looked around in confusion– the searing headache now completely gone. She was swiftly making her way down the dark hallway, stumbling and tripping, and like in her dreams Mairin had no control over herself. She stared at the scene playing out, and she recognized just where she was headed– and soon she found herself outside of Alain’s door, pushing it open.

   “Who’s–?” A sharp voice asked as she burst in, though it quickly softened. “Oh, Mairin,” A figure stirred in Alain’s bed, sitting up as Mairin rushed towards him. Mairin noticed that the bed was not the queen sized one she knew was there today. “Come here...”

   Alain looked like he was about to roll out of bed, but before he could do more than sit up Mairin crashed into his arms, forcing him to sink back to the bed. Mairin buried her head into his chest, breaking down into sobs. His arms gently wrapped around her, rubbing her back as he cradled her close. Mairin was stunned as she broke down in Alain’s arms– and he looked very unsuprised at this. It was at least several minutes before the tears slowed.

   “A-alain–” Dream Mairin gasped. “M-make it stop...”

   “It’s over Mairin,” Alain whispered in her ear. “It’s all over now, I promise...”

   “M-my fault...” More tears welled up in her eyes. “Y-you should hate me... I’m a m-monster...”

   Alain grabbed her shoulders, looking her fiercely in the eye. “No. You’re not. Don’t say that Mairin, don’t you dare say that!”

   Dream Mairin stared at him, her amber eyes dim and almost lifeless. She just stared at Alain, her eyes going from his and slowly down his face, until she was staring at his lips. She watched them, blinking dimly.

   “Alain...” She whispered. “Kiss me.”

   Alain seemed startled at this sudden request, pulling back slightly. “Wha–?”

   Dream Mairin quickly looked away. “N-no– wait– th-that was selfish of m-me–” She stuttered out, and her eyes pressed shut as her voice rose. “I’m sorry, I’m s-sorry– I’m so s-sorry!”

   Alain’s arms were back around her, pulling her roughly against him. “Mairin, you did nothing wrong...” He spoke as if explaining something to a child. “Nothing wrong...”

   “Alain...” Dream Mairin muttered. “I... I can't feel anything...” She looked up at him. “I feel so empty, and it hurts...” More tears were in her eyes. “Wh-when you... when you kissed th-then...” Her whole form tensed up as she spoke, eyes wide and distant with fear. Alain swiftly pulled her back to look her in the eye, but by then Mairin seemed to return to her shaking self. “I felt so warm...”

  “...And you want to feel that again?” Alain finished softly, and dream Mairin nodded. Her eyes were towards the ground, looking ashamed– guilty– as if this were the worst thing she could ask for. Each limb was trembling with fear, and Alain cupped his hand under her chin so she was looking towards him. He looked hesitant, though his eyes gleamed. “M-mairin, I’d gladly do it again, if that’s what you want.”

   Her eyes were wide, but she gave a single nod.

   There was a moment of stillness, and then Alain leaned forward. His eyes slid closed, while dream Mairin’s stayed open as their faces came closer. Alain’s lips pressed against hers, gentle and slow, and she continued staring straight ahead with open eyes. Alain looked as if he wanted to deepen the kiss, pulling her closer to him– but after a small moment he pulled away, nervously looking down at her as his eyes slid open. Dream Mairin hadn’t moved an inch, simply sitting there with an empty expression. Alain’s breathing seemed to be a bit uneven, his hand still against her face.

   Tears formed in her eyes, rolling down her expressionless face. He wiped a few away with his thumb, and her voice was a whisper. “I felt something.”

   Alain nodded, his expression looking torn as he pulled his hand back. “I... I’m glad I could help...” He closed his eyes. “Mairin, you should get back to your room, Ruby will be worried if she wakes up with you gone.”

   Dream Mairin’s expression hadn’t changed once, just tears falling down her face. She nodded in almost a robotic fashion, rising to her feet. Alain stood as well, placing one arm around her as he guided her out of his room. They walked down the hallway in silence, footsteps pattering against the floor until they were at last outside Mairin’s room, the door part way open. Mairin’s dreamself looked towards Alain, the smallest of frowns on her face.

   “Alain...” She whispered. “W-will you kiss me again tomorrow...?”

   He looked down at the pale girl leaning up against him. “If that will make you happy, th-then yes...”

   Yet more tears were in her eyes. “Th-thank you...”

   Alain said nothing, silently guiding her into her room– and that’s when the headache came bearing down on Mairin all at once. Blackness filled her vision, and the strange dream-like scene she was witnessing vanished. Her head felt like it was on fire, and a gasp of agony escaped her. Sounds whirled to life, a panic in the air, much different from the blissful silence she had seen moments before.

   Arms were around her, much rougher than the Alain of her dreams. They were strong though, pulling her up from the floor... when had she even fallen down? The headache was agony, but even through the pain she realized it was starting to fade. She was carried in someone’s grasp and gently set on the couch, and Mairin started to blink her eyes in hopes of regaining her sight.

   Everything was a blur, but slowly words started to come into focus.

   “Mairin, can you hear me?” Male voice, deeper– the professor. “Please Mairin, move, something!”

   “I... I hear you...” Mairin whispered. “Wh-what happened...?”

   Blackness danced away from her vision, a blur of colors starting to appear. She rubbed her head, the headache nearly completely gone now, but she felt so dizzy. Voices were still clamouring, but at least she could make out the slurred words.

   “I am so sorry!” Max cried, his voice sounding almost horrified. “She– Gardevoir has never done something like that before,” Max said, and she heard footsteps moving towards her. “Sh-she knows how sensitive you are to her energy, and she has always stayed away from you, but– but–”

   “Gardevoir wouldn’t let Max return her to her Pokeball,” Serena explained in a soft voice. “She even hit Ruby with a Dazzling Gleam when she tried to attack...” A hand was on her shoulder. “I’m so sorry, to go through two trances in one day...”

   Mairin closed her eyes, waiting for her sight to focus. “Wh-what happens during the trances?”

   She wanted to know what these scenes were that she kept seeing. Were they just dreams, her imagination? If so why were they so vivid? Could they be something... more? Or was that just hopefully thinking?

   “You black out,” Max said, and he still sounded guilty. “And you just scream... usually,” Mairin hated how pained he sounded, what happened with the Gardevoir wasn’t his fault. “Y-you just fainted this time, but still, I should have had my Pokemon under better control. Oh by Kyogre’s seas, I’m so sorry Mairin...”

   “It’s fine,” Mairin whispered. “The headache is gone...”

   So they didn’t know that she saw things... Either she hadn’t told anyone about that– or it hadn’t happened before today. Why was that? Perhaps things weren’t always like this? Because she didn’t blackout at all at the doctor’s office, she just got a headache... but with the Gardevoir and Delphox she had been basically immersed in these dream-like states...

   She opened her eyes, and she was finally able to make out the lab around her, even though the edges were still slightly blurry. She buried her head into her hands, trying to understand just what had taken place. It had seemed so realistic, something much more than she could have just made up. Her fingers twitched slightly, wondering if the idea was too good to be true.

   But was she seeing memories?

   The idea was so appealing... a way to peer at what she was missing... if that was even what she was seeing. Perhaps her mind was truly messed up from whatever had caused her the amnesia, and now she was just seeing things.

   But... but the look she had seen on Alain’s face during the trance...

   It was the same look she had been seeing the last few days– clearly wanting to be close to her, but staying back. Her fingers curled against her head, mind whirling to block out everyone trying to speak to her, asking if she was alright. Like so many things she had faced the last few days, there was just several things she had to accept, not able to deny.

   She had amnesia, and several years had past.

   Everything had changed, including the people around her.

   She was pregnant, and was going to be a mother.

   But as she sat there she realized there was something she had been denying to acknowledge, even if it was something she couldn't ignore. It was right then she came to fully accept the fact, as she sat there on the couch with everyone around her.

   Alain loved her.

   Even though he had walked out just minutes before, she knew that this was true. Yes, it was something she understood when she had learned that she was married, but now she was embracing what that truly meant. He loved her– she was someone that he cared for, someone he wanted to spend his life with. Not just a friend he wanted in his life, but someone he wanted to be his life.

   He had been spending everyday since her amnesia respecting the sudden boundaries she had thrown up, doing everything he could for her without crossing the lines she had suddenly set. Mairin sat there, wondering just how much that hurt him, to be unable to be close to the one he called his wife. Her hand went to where her baby was resting in her, they clearly had shared so much together in the times she had forgotten...

   Yes, he may have just walked away, but that didn’t mean that she knew why. It was just like the fight– his actions could be connected to something that might not even involved her... though she couldn’t think of anything off of the top of her head. Was it because another boundary had been put up– one with their own very child? Or perhaps he was feeling the same overwhelming emotions she had to face on her own this very morning– and she too had walked out of the lab.

   If what she was seeing in the... dreams, were real, then that meant she had seen first hand how much he had come to care for her over the years– she had seen it in his eyes. If it were real then it meant that she had finally seen for herself a glimpse of what their relationship had been at one point in these last five years– and not just someone telling her how it had been.

   She felt a head rest on her lap, and she opened her eyes to see Ruby, looking slightly wore from the apparent battle she had with the Gardevoir. However the dark type’s eyes were concerned, and much more relaxed now that the Gardevoir was back in the Pokeball.

   “Ruby?” Mairin asked quietly. “Do you know where Alain might have gone too?”

   Ruby pulled back slightly, hesitating, but then nodded. “Sol...”

   “Will you take me there?” Mairin asked. “I want to talk to him.”

   “Mairin,” Sophie said, stepping in. “You should be resting, and I’m sure Alain needs–”

   Mairin closed her eyes. “If it doesn’t want to talk I won’t make him– but that doesn’t change the fact that we need too,” She pushed herself to her feet, a wave of dizziness washing over her. “I... I feel fine. I’m fine...” She was lying slightly, but oh well, she couldn’t let them confine her to the lab. “Ruby, please take me to Alain.”

   She looked around at her lab family, and Serena, all who had that look of concern she had seen so much the last few days. Ruby went to her side, and without thinking Mairin pressed her hand around Ruby’s horn. The Absol took a step forward, leading Mairin towards the door.

   “Mairin...” Serena began.

   “I’ll have Ruby with me,” Mairin said. “I’ll be fine.”

   Serena smiled. “I know. Just.... be careful.”

   Mairin smiled back, but she didn’t linger– she didn’t need the rest of the lab trying to stop her. She let them sit there, still slightly surprised from everything that was suddenly happening, and she opened the door. Ruby headed out, and for the second time that day Mairin found herself walking out onto the busy streets of Lumiose, this time with an Absol by her side.

-----------------------------------

   Mairin wasn’t sure where she had thought Ruby was going to take her– but the graveyard was the last place she had expected.

   But the Absol came to a stop outside of the entrance of Lumiose cemetery, watching Mairin with her bright red eyes. The Pokemon tilted her head slightly, as if gesturing Mairin to go in. She looked out the gloomy sight before her, rows upon rows of gravestones out on perhaps one of the few grassy areas of the city. A simple road wound through the silent place, trees sprouting along the path.  

   “He’s in here?” Mairin asked in an uncertain tone.

   Ruby nodded, looking quite sure of herself. Her gaze remained sorrowful though, watching Mairin with her bright gaze. The woman hesitated, taking a step towards the entrance, glancing back at the Absol.

   “Aren’t you coming?” Mairin asked uncertainly, and Ruby shook her head. “B-but... but how will I find him?”

   Ruby simply looked down the path, and made no effort to move from outside of the cemetery. Mairin hesitated, looking down the path as well, mustering her courage. She took a step into the graveyard, and a sense of dread washed over her. Not the eeriness of the fact that this was the place for the dead, but rather as if everything was telling her that this was the last place she wanted to be.

   She swallowed the sensation, and started down the path, eyes sweeping the silent cemetery for a sign of Alain. She didn’t see anything right off, just the soft grass and the cold stones lining the graveyard. Her eyes drifted down to the flat ones that lined the edges of the path, small and worn compared to the towering ones beyond this small road. She felt her throat tightening as she read the dates of these smaller graves– some with only months or days between the birth and death date– even a few where the day was the same.

   Babies.

   Her stomach twisted, and a rush of fear crashed over Mairin. Why had Ruby brought her here... why would Alain even be here?! She was sick, this was making her so sick, her heart aching with a sorrow for those that laid around her. Her hands were protectively wrapped around her middle, steps increasing as she went further into the cemetery. There wasn’t a hill per se, but there was a slight slope in the road as she made her way past the rows of stones, and her legs were starting to feel it. She paused as she reached the top of the incline, breathing heavily as she looked out over the rest of the graveyard that was now in sight.

   And that’s when she saw Alain.

   He was at the bottom of the small hill– a ways from the path, sitting under a tree. His back was to her, and resting in front of him was a set of headstones, pressed close together. Mairin looked at him, a part of her still slightly surprised that this was the place that he had gone. She hesitated for a moment, before at least making her way down the path towards him. Her heart started to race faster– she still had no idea of what to say to him. But yet... she knew that they needed to talk.

   He didn’t move as she came towards him, her approach slow. He gave no sign that he heard her, simply remaining in the same place on the grass, gaze on the stones. It wasn’t until Mairin set foot on the grass to go to him that he moved, though merely a small shift. She paused, a rush of cold fear taking hold of her.

   “...Are you just going to stand there?” Alain asked after a moment, not turning around. She flinched slightly, though she knew she shouldn’t be surprised– he always seemed to know when someone was around.

   When she didn’t reply he scooted over, tapping the grass next to him with his fingers. Her body moved forward even though her emotions were far from ready, and the next thing she knew she was sitting down next to him. The grass was cool against her skin, and his persona nor the aura of the cemetery made no effort to warm that. He still didn’t look at her, gaze locked the stones. She felt her own gaze being pulled towards them, reading the words on the two gravestones.

   Harper Hills Vide

   Loving wife

   Loving mother

   Mairin looked over the years– this woman had been only twenty four when she had passed away– only a year older than Mairin was now. Her eyes shifted to the second stone.

  Simon Alan Vide

   Loving husband

   The years showed that he had been in his forties when he had died– both had died relatively young, but yet there was still nearly twenty years between their deaths. Mairin stared at the stones a bit longer, not sure of what to make of them. A single white lily rested on top of grave of Harper, while an unwrapped stick of gum was on top of Simon’s.

   “Mairin,” Alain said quietly. “These are my parents.”

   She stiffened slightly, her eyes right away fixating on the grave of Simon. Her throat tightened, gaze shifting between Alain and the grave of his father– which was the one in front of Mairin. She inched back a bit, just remembering what kind of man Alain had said his father had been. He glanced at her for a moment, blue eyes unreadable, and he sighed.

   “I... I considered not burying them next to each other,” Alain muttered. “But... but my mother never saw the man he became. The last time she saw Fa- Simon– was when he was still the man she had fallen in love with,” He closed his eyes. “She would have wanted to be buried next to him, so that’s what I did.”

   “I’m sorry,” Mairin whispered.

   “It’s surprising to see you here,” Alain said. “You haven’t been able to bring yourself to come in years...” For the first time since she had arrive he turned his head to look straight at her. “I’m glad you came, though.”

   “You’re not mad at me?” Mairin asked, almost meekly.

   He let out a short puff of air. “And just why, Mairin, would I be mad at you?”

   Her hand went to her belly. “B-because I’m–”

   He held up a hand. “Nevermind. I understand why I gave you that impression,” Alain spoke swiftly, looking away. “No, I am not upset at all...” His eyes slid shut. “I’m sorry Mairin, that was selfish of me to walk out like that.”

   Both hands went to her stomach. “Why did you, th-then?”

   Instead of answering however, Alain asked a question of his own. “Mairin... do you want the baby?”

   Her heart thumped, heavy in her chest. She already knew the answer– but yet she wanted to know how he felt before she said anything. Fear crawled up her throat, dragging any words she attempted to say down to her stomach. She struggled against herself, trying to figure out just how to answer the question.

   “Be honest,” Alain said after a minute of silence passed between them. “I’ll know if you lie to me– do you want the baby?”

   “Yes!” Mairin cried out, louder than she had intended. “It’s my baby Alain, and I want her, I want my baby!”

   She closed her eyes, arms still pressed tightly against her middle. She sat there, the silence of the cemetery ringing in their ears. She waited to see what he would say, the fear crawling back in her once more.

   Alain didn’t speak.

   However, a pair of arms wrapped around her, Alain pulling her into a protective hug. She was pressed against his chest, her head tucked under his chin, arms squeezing tightly against her. She could feel him taking a huge breath, somehow managing to hug her even tighter. She could feel something digging into her shoulder– and right off she knew it was the leather necklace with the key stone and the rings. Alain held her for a moment longer, before pulling back– a huge smile on his face.

   All at once she felt all her worries melt away– seeping out from her and into the earth.

   He wanted their baby too.

   “I should have realized that you were expecting on my own,” Alain whispered, his hands going to her shoulders. “We... we wanted to start a family before... you lost your memories.”

   Tingles ran through her. “We did?”

   “I... I was unsure at first,” Alain said, eyes distant, but the smile still there. “But ever since you hatched Poppy from an egg you said you wanted to be a mother... you wanted to hold your baby...”

   His words resounded with what she was feeling at this moment– those emotions hadn’t changed. She wanted the baby growing in her, the thought was overwhelming, but she wanted the baby. She simply nodded, acknowledging the truth of his words.

   His hands pulled back from her shoulders, and they swiftly returned to his lap once he realized he was touching her. She didn’t mind the contact however, but didn’t know just how to voice that.

   “I...” Alain began, and he bit his lip. “When I walked out earlier, I was... I was afraid that your feelings might have changed with your amnesia. I could only remember how you acted this morning, and I thought you were probably horrified with me,” He flinched. “And after everything y-you’ve been through, I just couldn’t bare the thought of you hurting even more... and I just didn’t know how to handle that...”

   “So you walked away,” Mairin finished.

   He closed his eyes. “I just didn’t know how to handle everything...”

   He looked guilty, as if being overwhelmed was somehow a crime. She reached out, grabbing his arm as she tried to find some way to comfort him. She had done the same thing, running off without a word of explanation, Alain didn’t have to feel horrible for feeling the same. Besides, she was no longer fearing being alone with the child she was carrying, because Alain would be with her. Perhaps... perhaps she didn’t remember their marriage, or feel the same way for him as he did for her... but he would be there.

   She looked back towards the gravestone, wondering if that’s why he had come here. He had lost his whole family, so perhaps he had come to be near his mother while he tried to make sense of the news she had given him. She looked over the gravestone of Harper, wondering just what kind of person she had been. She got no sense of eeriness like she had felt when she had first walked into the cemetery, the stone looking almost beautiful, especially with the lily resting on top.

   “Alain,” She asked, tilting her head slightly, knowing that Alain hadn’t had flowers with him when he had left the lab. “Did you bring that flower for your mother today?”

   He seemed slightly startled at the topic change, and glanced at the lily. “I- I always buy a flower when I come, there’s a flower shop a block away from here and...” He shook his head. “I don’t remember much about my mother, I was four when she died... but I do remember her planting lilies out in the garden and smiling at me.”

   Her eyes shifted to his father's grave, and she shifted slightly, wondering if she should even bring him up. Alain had placed no flowers on his grave, but the small silvery foil of the gum wrapper caught her curiosity.

   “Wh-what about the chewing gum...?” She asked hesitantly, and Alain’s expression clouded over.

   At first he didn’t say a word, and she lowered her head guiltily.

   “...He gave me a package of gum once, when I was seven...” Alain whispered. “It wasn’t much, I suppose, but it was one of the only times he wasn’t d-drunk after mom’s death...”

   He didn’t say another word, and Mairin didn’t press the topic.

   Silence filled the cemetery once more, the cloudy sky shifting overhead. Mairin longed for the sun, but she had a feeling that a storm would be coming before that. While it didn’t seem like it was going to rain today, the grayness overhead suggested that it wouldn’t before long before that happened.

   Mairin didn’t take her hand away from Alain’s arm, and he made no effort to move it. So they simply sat there side by side, silence filling the spaces between their thoughts. There was a calm about Mairin, one she hadn’t truly felt in days, and she was just starting to realize how peaceful it was just to be near Alain. So many of her memories involved her hyper antics, and she was startled to realize just how wonderful his silence could be.

   She looked towards him, and the memory from her trance rose in her mind. Him cupping his smooth hand under her chin, leaning forward to kiss her...

   She looked away, cheeks slightly flushed at the idea. What was she doing? Feeling bashful at the thought of him kissing her! She was carrying his child for Xerneas’ sake, thinking of kissing him wasn’t something she should act sheepish about! She didn’t even know if what she had seen was real. She banished the childish thoughts from her mind, knowing that they had much more to worry about. Like the fact that she was going to be bringing a child into this world– and she couldn’t even remember dating someone.

   “...I guess we’ll have to cancel your appointment tomorrow,” Alain said after a moment. “I don’t think any sort of scans they can do on will be safe for a baby. And since anything that involves a psychic is out of the question too, we probably won’t be able to do anything until after the baby’s born...”

   He trailed off, but she understood what he was getting at. They now had no clear place to begin on learning the origins of the amnesia, let alone on hoping to restore her memories. This meant that she was going to be bringing a child into the world with parents that were married– but yet one couldn’t even remember that. Both she and Alain clearly wanted this child in their life, yet Mairin saw him as a friend while to him she was so much more. She didn’t even have to think long on it to know just how much of a struggle this would be.

   But they had what, nine months to attempt to figure this out, right...? But still, they couldn’t go on like this; her trudging along and locking herself away from the rest of the lab, and Alain’s constant worrying over her. She... she was fine– missing a few memories– but she could go on in life. They were married, and clearly they had once held strong feelings for each other. If she could simply find that again...

   Mairin looked at Alain, hesitating. “Alain?”

   “Yes, Mairin?” He asked.

   “Can I ask you something?”

   He scanned her for a moment, eyes slightly narrowed, though his gaze was soft. She wondered if he thought she was going to ask about her past. It was no secret that he was keeping things from her, and he knew that she was aware of that fact. She wasn’t even going to attempt to press it, because she had a feeling that he wasn’t going to say a word, and she didn’t want to ruin the small connection that had they had just formed.

   “...Yes,” Alain said. “Don’t ever feel that you can’t.”

   “Well, I was thinking,” Mairin said, one hand plucking at the grass. “That nothing is going to change if we keep doing what we’ve been doing these last few days...” She trailed off. “What I mean, is, what I was thinking was perhaps we could try to...”

   “Yes?” Alain asked, sounding slightly humored at her stammering.

   “Well maybe we could do this whole– er– thing, again?” Mairin asked, and she knew that her words made no sense. “Like, it would be again for you, but not for me. But– um– something was there once, and just because I can’t remember anything doesn’t mean we can’t try...” She flushed. “I’m just rambling, aren’t I?”

   Alain smiled. “Yes, you are.”

   She drew her arm back, linking her fingers together. “Er... what I was trying to say is...” She chewed on her lip for a moment. “I think we should start at the very beginning of this whole... relationship thing? ...L-like maybe go out on a d-date or something?”

   Alain seemed surprised at this, blinking as she spoke– his expression mirroring what it had been in the trance when dream Mairin had asked for a kiss– very surprised, but not looking at all dejected by the idea.

   “You want...” He said slowly.

   “I... I care a lot about you,” Mairin said softly. “There’s no reason to say that it can’t grow into something more... and considering that we’re married it clearly has before...” She shook her head. “Maybe it’s stupid, but considering that I have nothing in here,” She tapped her head. “And someone in here,” She pressed her hand over her stomach. “I... I think that maybe this is something we should do.”

   She looked at Alain, and he was smiling– a true, happy smile. “Mairin, I think that’s a wonderful idea,” He said, eyes gleaming. “I’d love the opportunity to give you a proper first date. If- if you’re really okay with that.”

   “I wouldn’t say it otherwise,” Mairin muttered, fingers twisting. She had a feeling that he was much more excited about the idea than she was.

   But still... a date. As someone that had never had the opportunity before, it sent a surge of excitement through her. An uncertain smile flickered up on her face, and her stomach twisted slightly. She looked up at Alain, whose persona seemed to have brightened since she had first arrive. She smiled in return, and he pushed himself to his knees. After he stood he held a hand out to her, a small look of hesitation entering his eyes.

   She reached up, placing her hand within his, and he pulled her to her feet. He smiled down on her, still managing to tower over her in height even after all of these years. They didn’t say another word to each other as he lead her back to the main path. She slipped her hand out of his, still not quite ready for that, but did she link her arm through his.

   A slight frown crossed her face as they reached the path. “Alain... isn’t the exit the other way?”

   He paused, he had been heading down the path opposite of where Mairin had come in. He blinked, then closed his eyes for a moment, turning and they started heading back towards the entrance.

   “Sorry...” He muttered. “Force of habit.”

   “...Habit?” She asked, looking up at him. His gaze was towards the ground, eyes flickering, and she glanced over her shoulder. Why would he go deeper into a graveyard out of habit? “Alain... do you know someone else that’s buried here?”

   He swallowed hard.

   “...I ...I have more... family buried here,” He muttered after a moment, eyes looking pained– clearly a topic he did not wish to be pressed.

   Mairin stopped. “We don’t have to leave now, if you usually go see them as well when you come here–”

   Alain swiftly shook his head. “No Mairin, we don’t have to. I... I miss them all,” He looked at her, expression unreadable. “But I can come here anytime. But right now... right now those that are alive is where my focus should be.”

   Mairin nodded slowly in understanding, and then together they continued along the path of the cemetary– the exit soon coming in sight. There was Ruby, sitting at the gates, her scarlet gaze turned skywards. The Absol looked towards them as they approached, a small smile on the Pokemon’s face.

   And together, they all returned to the lab.

#marissonshipping #my fics

[missmungoe]

Zoro x Tashigi + Eel? :)

IT TAKES TWO // Zoro x Tashigi // Eel; Cooperation

It is, Tashigi decides, quite possibly the worst thing that could have happened. Which is saying something, because the list of worst-case scenarios is about three pages long.

She’d know — she wrote it.

And she’s been undercover before. It’s not her first rodeo, and she came prepared. She has ten different contingency plans (Smoker had, with that predictable, dry expression, told her she had about eight plans more than what was strictly necessary), and for each of those, has at least one backup, should any unforeseen problems arise.

Of course, “unforeseen” should have already suggested that she couldn’t have seen it coming, but she’s never been one to step down from a challenge, and she’d planned this down to the very last detail. A rogue tsunami she’d prepared for. An ill-timed, all-out bar brawl she’d somehow managed to factor into her plans, but not a single one of her contingencies had accounted for Roronoa Zoro accidentally gate-crashing her entire, meticulously outlined operation.

It would figure, though, given their history.

She doesn’t know why he’s there. One minute he hadn’t been, and she’d turned her head to check if her target had arrived, but between one breath and another he’d appeared in her periphery, sauntering into her line of sight as though he’d been personally invited. She’d very nearly spat out her drink.

For a moment, he looks a little lost, like he can’t remember why he’d wandered in, or maybe he’d meant to go somewhere else, seeking a bar although not necessarily this one, but a glance around the establishment – seedy clientele, the curl of cigarette smoke under the intimate gleam of the kerosene lamps hanging overhead, and the smell of cheap ale permeating the air – and he moves to find a table.

Something like panic turns her knuckles white around the tumbler in her hands. She’s barely touched it – has been sipping it for the past hour, partially as a demure show of ladylike contemplation to go with the part she’s trying to sell, and partially because she can’t really hold her drink (and oh, she can practically hear Smoker snorting his agreement to that) – but she considers downing the whole thing at the situation suddenly and ruthlessly dropped into her lap.

Situation in this case meaning potential but quite likely disaster.

She can’t have this happening. Not now. They’ve been after this criminal for months, and she’s had enough encounters with Straw-Hat Luffy’s crew to know that nothing ever goes to plan if any of them are in the near vicinity.

No, she has to do something, Tashigi decides, and with a breath, shoves all her contingency plans and their backups down the drain, along with her better judgement.

Then with her gaze fixed on the pirate seated across the crowded room, knocks back the drink and slides off the barstool.

The dress she’s wearing is a bit constricting, snug around her hips and chest, but the slit up the thigh leaves her legs free; a small mercy where she’s otherwise left with precious few of those. She’d refused the heels that came with it, although Smoker hadn’t exactly been hard to convince (“you’d trip and impale yourself on something,” he’d told her, and with a snort, added, “probably on the damn shoes”), and she’s glad of it now with the drink burning in her stomach and her head distractingly dizzy, as it leaves her steps as certain as her partially liquid conviction.

Shigure’s weight is missing, a phantom limb that begs at itching fingers, and she hates how it leaves her feeling – exposed, and even more than the obscenely cut dress that insists on clinging everywhere, but she shoves it down as she makes to cut across the crowded tavern. And she’s not unarmed; there’s a knife strapped to her thigh, another tucked into her brassiere, and a needle-thin blade slid carefully into the lovely, decorative comb holding her hair back. She came prepared.

Why, then, did he have to be there?

Having been served his drink, the same cheap ale running through the whole tavern’s veins, Roronoa catches her approach before she’s even reached the table he’s claimed for himself, and there’s a second where Tashigi realises he doesn’t recognise her – a fleeting glance spared her way, the barest sweep of his good eye across her form, before he’s deemed her uninteresting. But then –

Something makes him pause, the slightest dip of his brows preceding realisation, before his head swivels back sharply, and his eye fixes on hers – sees her face, and likely the frantic, near-murderous expression contorting it.

“Glasses,” he blurts, with obvious surprise, and Tashigi nearly yells.

Curbing the impulse with some effort, “What are you doing here?” she hisses instead, careful to keep her voice down, and she’s plastered a smile on her face now – one she hopes looks suitable for a woman who’s selected a man to fawn over. Regrettably, she doesn’t really know what that actually looks like, but hopes she’s not completely off the mark.

The fact that it feels like a grimace is probably an indication that she is. And with quite a bit.

Roronoa just stares, as though he can’t decide what to make of any of it, but then, “The hell are you doing?” he counters, before his eye travels downwards, taking in what she’s wearing, the dark, soft-clinging fabric, and it takes physical effort not to rear back at the way his brows climb up at the sight.

She knows the dress is revealing. That was the whole point. She’s not herself tonight – can’t be that, marine and Captain and swordswoman, because a woman like that would attract stares. The wrong sort, at least. The woman she is tonight needs to attract the right kind of attention. She needs to blend in, to slip under skeptical gazes with a pretty, unassuming smile. She needs to hide herself in plain sight.

And the fact that he’s looking at her like she isn’t that woman isn’t exactly helping her sell the part – as though observing her, he can spot all the things Tashigi knows are wrong, too, like the softer slant of her shoulders, because ladies don’t square them like they’re about to go into battle. She catches the way his gaze lingers on her elbows, her hands; knows, suddenly, that he’s looking for all the nicks and scars she usually has on display, softened now with rouge and other cosmetics, not the practical band-aids that usually map her skin. She’s never been afraid of showing her scars, clumsy as some of them are, but the woman she is tonight would be.

He’s making this unnecessarily difficult.

She leans forward, the flat of her palm pressed to his chest, a sensual approach that feels like the single most awkward thing she’s ever attempted in her entire life, and catching the sudden jump of his brows towards his hairline, Tashigi thinks he might have shoved her away if he hadn’t been caught so off guard by the gesture.

Sweet-but-painfully-forced smile in place, “I’m undercover,” she hisses into his ear. The bared skin under her hand is distractingly warm. “And you are compromising my job.”

Drawing back a bit to look at him, there’s a moment where he just stares right back, before the surprise eases off his face. But where she expects amusement – or something worse, something that would imply that he’s about to wilfully make things twice as difficult as he already has – Roronoa shifts his gaze upwards, to her hair, as though looking for something.

“Where did you stash your glasses?” he asks, as though that is somehow remotely important, and Tashigi suffocates a shout with her teeth.

“I’m wearing contact lenses,” she tells him, voice still too low to be heard above the din, but an irritated huff accompanying it. She has the sudden urge to push them up her nose, a nervous habit that itches in her fingers like her missing blade, and curls them into her palm to keep them still. “I don’t need them.”

She doesn’t tell him that she’s far too conspicuous with her glasses, too easily recognised even in these parts, but then she doesn’t have to – that infuriating nickname he has for her speaks for itself.

Roronoa looks at her for a long moment, something behind his expression that she can’t place, and Tashigi doesn’t know what she expects, because she’s given up expecting anything out of tonight, but then, “I prefer you with glasses,” he tells her.

And even with no expectations whatsoever, it’s easily the last thing she’d thought might come out of his mouth, and for a moment she’s so stunned she forgets that she’s freaking out – and that she’s trying very hard not to.

“Hey – you,” a voice says then, and Tashigi starts so violently she has to catch herself on his shoulder, and spinning around – oh, there’s her target, having arrived sometime while she’d been busy trying to salvage the mission coming apart at the seams, and the frustrated shout building in her throat threatens to escape with a hysterical laugh.

He’s a small mountain of exaggerated muscles – a living billboard-sign of overcompensation, and that’s even before factoring in the illegal trafficking of big, military grade weaponry. A stern mouth holding a permanent sneer and a three-day beard climbing up his cheeks, he’s not an unattractive man, but the hard, hungry glint behind his eyes twists it into something that threatens to turn her stomach.

They’d taken to calling him Barrel, on account of having no real name or identity, beyond the vague mutterings of a moniker that Smoker had downright refused to use, on account of it being too on-the-nose for their struggles to pin any actual crimes on him (“The Smoking Gun? Should toss his ass in Impel Down for that kind of cheek alone, what a fucking annoyance”).

He gives her a once-over, and Tashigi might have dismissed it as appreciative, except something like recognition has sparked behind his eyes now.

“I’ve seen your face before,” he says, brows furrowing, and – shit, Tashigi thinks. She’d been careful. All those months spent scoping out his operation, this is the first time she’s put herself in the field, and she’d considered the possibility that he might have heard about her, but had hoped the disguise would be convincing enough – or at the very least, that it would have distracted him enough from looking at her too closely.

So much for that.

A warm hand curves around her hip then, gripping it – a half-possessive touch that might have been fully that, if it hadn’t been for the entirely casual way he goes about doing it. As though he’s done it a thousand times, not claiming anything, simply fitting himself against her like he’s never been anywhere else, and she’s too startled to even react when Roronoa says, wholly deadpan, “You know my wife?”

The words don’t even register at first, before they do, and for a whole, ridiculously long second Tashigi doesn’t even breathe.

She finds her surprise echoed on the face of the man in front of them. “Wife?” Barrel asks, glancing between them.

Roronoa only lifts a brow. The hand on her hip curves further around the crest, his fingers splayed, bunching in the fabric of her dress. “Just married,” he says, sounding almost bored. “Why? You don’t believe me?”

He’s recognised her, Tashigi knows he has, but she catches the slide of his gaze to the hand hanging slack at her side.

Then, lifting his eyes back up, “I don’t see a wedding ring,” Barrel says.

She’s surprised when Roronoa just shrugs. “She didn’t want a ring,” he says, with so much ease he might as well have rehearsed it. The corner of his mouth lifts, a smile that looks suddenly wry as he catches her gaze; holds it. “I gave her a sword.”

Dubious, the man looks at Tashigi, and it’s not suspicion she finds on his face now, but familiar ridicule. “The hell would a woman want a sword for?” he asks.

She presses her lips together, and there’s a familiar rebuttal on its way off her tongue, but she suffocates it with everything she’s got. Because she’s playing a part – the part of that delicate, slit-up-the-thigh kind of woman who doesn’t challenge men to duels for her own honour. That woman has no callouses on her hands, or scars to decorate her skin, and only likes swords in the strictly suggestive sense; the kind that would make a man like that smile appreciatively, and write her off as no more dangerous than the promise found in a sweetly sensual smile.

She almost expects Roronoa to say something along those lines, when the hand on her hip tightens its grip, as though in agreement to her incensed reaction, but before she can even think about what that means, “She’s a collector,” he says, and her breath leaves her.

It’s not said derisively, or mockingly, the way she might have expected, a joke of the ‘oh, I just humoured my little lady’ sort. But no, it’s just…matter-of-fact. And it’s not a lie, and even if it’s not the whole truth, it catches her so off guard she forgets her anger.

The expression on Barrel’s face still hints at doubt, but she catches the drop of his eyes, glancing off the three swords on Roronoa’s hip, and – “Wait. You’re that pirate hunter guy,” he says then, and Tashigi’s stomach plummets. “Roronoa Zoro.”

Roronoa doesn’t even flinch, or remove his hand from her hip. “Name rings a bell,” he muses, but the slight shift of his head is deliberate; the soft clink of the three earrings seeming too soft for the general din of the tavern, but Tashigi sees how it draws her target’s gaze.

When he looks at her next the doubt is gone, replaced with something like amusement. “I thought I’d seen your face in the navy records,” he tells her, “but if you’re married to a pirate, I guess you can’t be her.”

Tashigi thinks she might have gaped, if she wasn’t so busy scrambling to catch up with everything that’s happening, leaving her expression curiously blank instead. And she isn’t given the chance to do or say anything as her target turns on his heel, moving back to the bar and hollering for the barkeep to pour him a drink.

She doesn’t breathe for several seconds.

Then, the hand that’s still on her hip registers, and it takes every ounce of restraint within her not to throw herself out of the casual half-embrace, if only to stop thinking about the warmth creeping through the thin fabric of her dress. But if she does, she might as well drop her entire disguise, and her mission with it.

Swallowing thickly, “Wife?” Tashigi asks, the furious whisper practically shivering with disbelief.

Roronoa just looks at her. “You’re welcome.”

There’s that hysterical laugh again, inching up her chest, and she doesn’t know what to do with her hands.

She’s never in her life missed her sword so much.

A deep breath – for control or for something else, Tashigi doesn’t know – and with every muscle in her body strung tight, she eases herself out from under his hand.

She tries very hard not to think about the way it slides down her hip, skirting her thigh before he curls his fingers around the mug of ale on the table, wholly at ease with the situation.

The words burn at the back of her throat, and she doesn’t want to speak them, but – damn it, she has to. If it hadn’t been for him, she might have outed herself as a navy officer, and they would have lost their best chance of catching him. He’d obviously been keeping an eye on who might potentially be trying to root out his operation, and it was a small miracle he’d chosen to take Roronoa’s words for what they were. Tashigi doubts he would have been so quick to take her word for it.

The realisation is too old and too familiar to raise her hackles, and instead she only feels tired.

But she owes him her gratitude, and she’s always paid her debts, and so, “Thank you,” Tashigi says stiffly. She straightens, then lets her shoulders go slack, her pose more submissive. It takes effort to remind herself to be soft.

Hands too restless to stay still, she reaches to tuck some of her hair behind her ear, fingertips brushing against the comb, and the blade hidden there. It’s not Shigure, but it succeeds in stilling her fretting, if only enough to rein in some of her control.

She thinks she might have expected some cheek for that admission, but Roronoa just looks at her – then at her target, now seated at the other end of the tavern. “Big job?” he asks instead.

Tashigi pushes a breath past her lips, and is surprised when her first impulse isn’t to snap at him to mind his own business.

“A crucial one,” she says, and doesn’t know why she’s discussing her mission with a pirate – and with this pirate, no less.

Roronoa is quiet a moment, before meeting her eyes. “I’ll help you,” he declares, and Tashigi balks.

“Help?”

He shrugs, as though he’d just offered to foot her bar tab, although even that seems a more likely prospect than this. “You want to catch this guy, right?” he asks. Then, his mouth curving in a slow grin, “And isn’t this what married couples do? Team up?”

She’s gaping at him now. “Mar–” She clamps her mouth shut when she almost lets slip a choked shriek, and in a fierce hiss, “We are not married!”

“Big guy over there thinks so,” Roronoa says, nodding towards her target, now halfway into his second glass in as many minutes.

“Only because you told him!” Tashigi whispers.

“He would have recognised you if I hadn’t,” Roronoa says, lifting his mug to his lips. “And he probably wouldn’t have caught you if you hadn’t been drawing so much attention to yourself when he walked in.”

“The only reason I was even talking to you is because you’re not supposed to be here!” she snaps.

Her anger has precious little effect. “I just came to drink. You’re the one who came over to my table,” he points out. Then with another sweeping glance at her getup, although there’s little of appreciation in it, just a wry sort of humour, “I probably wouldn’t have recognised you if you hadn’t.”

She thinks, calmly, that she wants to scream. She’d come prepared – had anticipated so many ways this could have gone wrong, and how to turn it around to her advantage, but she has no idea how to work around this. She hadn’t counted on a fake husband.

As though having read her mind, “So do you want my help or not?” Roronoa asks, and with a grin that tells her he’s well aware of how much trouble this is giving her.

Tashigi stares at him for a full second. Then, and with all the conviction she can muster without actually shouting the words at the top of her lungs, leans forward, and hisses,

“Absolutely not.”

—

She should have known it wouldn’t be that easy.

“So what’s this guy’s deal, anyway?” Roronoa asks, voice drifting down to where she’s crouched in the alley, her gaze fixed intently on the street ahead. Her dress is riding up her thighs, impractical thing that it is, but she doesn’t have a mind to spare her partial indecency. Not when she’s so close, her own operation salvaged by some stroke of luck – good or bad, it doesn’t matter which if she can get what she needs from this, Tashigi thinks, although she suspects it might be the last one.

Pushing to her feet, she might have snapped that his talking isn’t exactly helping her attempt at covert eavesdropping, except he’s keeping his voice low, and hasn’t made a sound, seeming to have eased into the shadows at her back, as though comfortable in the dark. The black bandanna wrapped around his hair keeps even that from standing out, and it keeps stealing her attention whenever he enters her periphery. It is, in all fairness, a little distracting.

Of course, she doesn’t tell him that.

“Weapon trafficking,” Tashigi says at length, turning her eyes back to the street. Her target is standing some ways off, idling at the dark mouth of another side-street. He’d just finished relieving himself, and there’d been a second where she’d thought she’d followed him outside for nothing other than to see him take a piss, but when he’d lingered she knew she’d made the right call.

There’s a deal waiting to be brokered, and if she can just catch him in the act, they’ll have him, after months of struggling to pin so much as a tax evasion on him. They can finally root out this buried hornet’s nest, and leave the world a little better for it.

“Why don’t you just arrest him and be done with it?” Roronoa asks then, and Tashigi’s hands clench together in response.

It rankles to admit it, she realises. “Smoker-san…” she begins, before letting the words loose with a sigh, “Smoker-san suspects he might have connections. Within the navy. That it’s why we can’t find anything on him.”

She expects him to say something to that – some gleeful remark that her precious Government is as corrupt as the criminals she’s trying to catch, but Roronoa just makes a low sound of understanding.

“So you need hard evidence,” he says simply, and – Tashigi waits for the jibe, but it doesn’t come, and when she glances up at him it’s to find him watching her target.

She doesn’t know what to make of that. She doesn’t know what to make of anything about tonight.

Turning her attention back to the task at hand, she slips out the recording Den Den Mushi from where she’s kept it tucked away, all the while studiously ignoring the fact that she can feel his gaze on her. She half expects him to make a comment on where she’d kept the snail hidden, but Roronoa says nothing to that, either.

They wait in silence. An hour past midnight, the dark is both a hindrance and a comfort, keeping them hidden from sight but making it harder to peer through the shadows.

She knows she probably should have reported back by now, especially when things had nearly gone south earlier, but she’s handling it. Smoker will give her this one. And she’s so close – so close to finally catching this guy, if she could just get the evidence she needs…

The thought of her partner prompts another, and, “Where is the rest of your crew?” she asks then, before she can stop herself.

Roronoa shrugs. “I lost track of them a couple of hours ago. They’re probably fine.”

She blinks up at him. “Probably?”

The look he gives her is dry. “No one’s sounded any alarms yet,” is all he says. Then, and with a surety that’s so calmly uttered it sounds more like a statement of fact than a personal belief, “They’ll find me if they need me.”

She’s gaping now, she realises, before she blurts, “How have you people not been caught yet?”

She gets an arched brow for that, a flicker of humour in that lone, dark eye. “You tell me,” he says, mouth quirking. “You’re the navy officer. Aren’t you supposed to be slapping me in handcuffs?”

“I’m a little busy right now!” Tashigi whispers, before adding pertly, nose lifted, “I’ll arrest you when I’ve caught this criminal.”

“Hey,” Roronoa says, poking her shoulder lightly, and Tashigi starts at the contact. “That’s no way to show someone gratitude for offering you assistance,” he adds, and she very nearly shrieks.

“I didn’t ask for your help!”

“But you don’t mind that I’m here,” he says, and her mouth snaps shut, cutting off her retort.

It’s another one of those statements of fact, she realises – nothing grand about their speaking, no flourish to suggest gratification at being right, just a calm, unshakable certainty. I prefer you with glasses, and they’ll find me if they need me.

You don’t mind that I’m here, and there’s nothing gleeful about it; it’s just the truth.

She hates him a little, for being right.

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Tashigi whispers under her breath, “How did I get myself into this?”

“Considering a divorce, wife? I’m hurt.”

She glares up at him. “Is this amusing to you?”

She gets another shrug, and the corner of his mouth crooking. “A little bit, yeah. I was bored earlier. I’m not bored anymore.”

“I’m so glad I could provide entertainment,” she hisses, and is about to follow up with a sharp reminder that she’s trying to do her job when a soft oath catches on her tongue instead.

“That,” Roronoa says, no amusement in his voice now and one-eyed gaze fixed on the street ahead of them, his brows knitting beneath the bandanna, “looks like trouble.”

She’s regrettably inclined to agree. A whole group is gathering – she counts fifteen in total, all heavily armed, seemingly with the weapons they’ve met to barter. Maybe it’s just a demonstration of strength, or an assurance of product quality. Either way, they’re vastly outnumbered.

Tashigi swallows. “Just a little.”

“Where the hell is your backup?” Roronoa asks then, sounding curiously irritated. “If I wasn’t here, who’d be covering you?”

She waves him off, eyes still on the group. “They’re on standby,” Tashigi says. “Smoker-san attracts too much attention. But I would have been fine on my own.”

“You don’t even have your sword on you,” he points out.

She lets out a breath. She feels Shigure’s absence keenly, but, “I would have managed,” she tells him firmly, and with a glance up at him, her gaze hard and cutting through the dark. “I manage.”

There’s a look on his face that she can’t place – the pull of his brows suggests familiarity, the press of his mouth displeasure; as though he’s heard the words before, maybe from someone else, but he says nothing, not to disagree with her or to give her any kind of indication as to why her rebuttal would rub him the wrong way.

He says nothing, and she turns away from him, holding out the Den Den Mushi. They’re standing close enough that if she concentrates, she can pick out what they’re saying, although they’re keeping their voices down, same as them. But the snail will pick it up, she knows – or hopes, but it’s the best she can do from this distance. Moving any closer is out of the question, and this is the only vantage point that allows her to observe what they’re doing.

They stand there for several minutes, Tashigi holding the snail, while simultaneously trying to listen in on the conversation taking place further down the street, and – there’s that thought again, creeping back from where she’d shoved it away earlier; the fact that she really doesn’t mind that he’s there. He remains a steady presence at her back, calm and unmoving; she can feel the warmth seeping off him, and there’s a strange comfort in it that Tashigi doesn’t want to think about too closely.

She’s used to having a partner at her back is all. The fact that it’s him doesn’t have anything to do with it.

So she tells herself, anyway.

She’s kept from considering the thought any further when the Den Den Mushi in her hand gives a strangled little chirrup, the kind that signals a snag in the recording, and the sound is so piercingly loud in the quiet, her heart stutters in her chest.

Then – “Shit,” Roronoa says, the exclamation soft and hard all at once, and Tashigi glances up just in time to see that the group they’re observing are looking right at where they’re hiding.

She hasn’t even had the chance to consider their options before there’s a hand clamping down on her shoulder, dragging her away from the alley mouth, and the startled sound on its way off her tongue doesn’t make it far before she finds her back shoved against the wall, and his mouth covering hers.

There’s less than a full second between the two sensations, the brick pushed up against her shoulders and the hard slant of his mouth over hers, before his hand is pushing into her hair and his tongue against hers, and for a moment Tashigi is so surprised she doesn’t even react.

Roronoa kisses her, and it’s less than five heartbeats of her life, although it feels like ten times that, and like time doesn’t move at all, even as she feels the beats, loud in her ears, filling her chest – and they’re his, she’s fairly certain, because her own heart has stopped dead, and there’s a vague inkling somewhere at the back of her mind that she should push him off her; that it’s what she should do.

“What–” she squeaks, and finds his hand fisting in her hair, slipping under the loose half-bun where she’s tucked the pretty comb. And she thinks she means to protest further but it dies on her tongue, dies with the slight flutter of her eyes and the sigh that shudders out, soft, and she isn’t that, has never been that and yet.

He’s warm, shockingly so in the chilly air and with her thin dress the only fabric between her chest and his, and she feels everything – the tight coil of the muscles in his forearm where it’s pressed against her back, and the hard planes of his chest. The hard-calloused fingers cradled around the back of her head tilts it, deepening the kiss until it sinks into her bones, into her whole body, and with such insistence that instead of pushing him away she sinks back against the wall instead.

There’s a light dusting of stubble on his jaw, rough like the kiss, like the fingers in her hair and the brick wall against her back, but then the palm of his other hand presses flat between her shoulder blades and the wall, keeping it from scuffing her skin. And the hands she hasn’t known what to do with all night finally finds purchase in the fabric of his coat, gripping so hard the slight tug pulls him closer, his large frame pushing her further against the wall, and the gasp that stutters out of her against his mouth has the hand in her hair jerking, as though from a shock.

“The hell?” a voice asks, the surprised utterance cleaving through the night and her mind both, and Roronoa releases her – breaks the kiss, like he’s surprised at having been caught.

Tashigi has no breath to catch; can’t even remember how, slumped slightly against the wall, but even having broken the kiss, he’s still pressed up against her, still supporting her weight. She has the half-delirious thought that if he hadn’t been, she would have lost her footing.

The hand in her hair leaves it – sword-calloused fingers snagging in the locks, before she feels the press of his knuckles between her shoulder blades, as though meant to jar her out of her shock, and she might have gathered herself, except she can’t seem to focus past the fact that he’s still standing so close, and she’s feeling all of him–

“You two again?” another voice asks then, Barrel’s voice this time, and that does it – drags her mercilessly out of her thoroughly-kissed daze into the cold night, and the group looking at them from the mouth of the alley.

Roronoa still hasn’t stepped away from her, and there’s nothing casually intimate about the half-embrace this time – hip to hip with less than a finger’s width of space between their bodies and the weight of a clenched fist pressed against the small of her back.

“Did we put up a sign that said we wanted an audience?” he asks, voice entirely level but carrying a hard note, suggesting irritation, even as she couldn’t have hoped to find her own, let alone summoned the mind to make a show of pretending to have been caught being indecent in public.

She’s not pretending, Tashigi realises, and would have laughed if she’d had any of her faculties with her. As it is, it takes all her focus just to locate her breath.

The clenched fist digging into her lower back that had been previously buried in her hair slides further down, around her hip to seek the hand hanging slack there, his fingers brushing her wrist where her pulse throbs a still-startled pace, and Tashigi feels the edges of the comb pressed against her palm, the blade slipped free of its confines.

She doesn’t know what’s more surprising – the fact that he’d managed to slip it out of her hair without her notice, or that she’s not even surprised that he’d realised it wasn’t just there for decoration.

But it’s what finally succeeds in dragging her fully out of her stupor, and despite the level weight of his voice and the casual remark, she feels the suggestion in the offer. Fingers gripping the blade, she steels herself, ready to launch into a defensive stance –

But it’s not suspicion that settles over Barrel’s features, just a wry sort of understanding, and, “Goddamn newlyweds,” he snorts, with a shake of his head, before he makes to turn away with an offhand comment about there being better places for a good fuck, earning a round of chuckles from the group, and Tashigi is too stunned to even make note of the appreciative glances offered her way.

Their business appears concluded, and they take their leave, disappearing back into dark corners until it’s just the two of them left in the alley.

The coast clear, Roronoa finally steps away, and Tashigi starts so violently she nearly collides with him, realising with a furious blush that they’d been standing in a rather compromising position for several minutes.

The sudden absence of his warmth hits her before the cold does, and, “Sorry,” he says then, no trace of amusement on his face now, and for a second all she can do is stare at him, too shocked even for outrage.

But even when she looks for it, that familiar anger that’s always at her fingertips whenever they meet, she can’t seem to grasp it. Instead it slips through her fingers, and she’s – reeling, like she can’t catch herself, can’t find purchase anywhere, and it’s at once terrifying and exhilarating and absolutely mortifying and there’s part of her that still wants to scream a little bit.

“Here,” Roronoa says then, rooting something out of his coat, and – it’s the Den Den Mushi, Tashigi realises. She hadn’t even noticed him taking it from her hands to hide it away.

She stares at it for several seconds, sitting in the palm of his hand. Then, reaching out, she curls her fingers around it, the gesture feeling suddenly awkward, and she’s got the snail in one hand and the comb with the hidden blade in the other, and doesn’t know what to do with either.

The look on his face suggests that he’s about to say something, and panic shoves up her throat, along with the words, and she makes no attempt to stop them this time.

“I – I have to go,” she blurts, and sees his brows furrowing, the gesture tugging at the scar over his eye, and before he has the chance to say anything at all she’s shoved away from the wall and down the street, half-stumbling and with her heart threatening to break through her ribcage. Roronoa doesn’t follow.

She doesn’t know what to do with the fact that she’s surprised that he doesn’t.

Although the worst realisation by far is the fact that she’s not surprised there’s a part of her that considers turning back.

—

“The hell took you so long?” Smoker asks when she wanders into the safe house later, still a little dazed, and cold to the marrow. “The kid I sent to check on you reported that you finished up over an hour ago.”

She stops just beyond the door. Her hair hangs loose around her shoulders, the comb still gripped between stiff fingers. She catches the direction of his gaze – sees from the slight furrow to his brow that he knows things haven’t gone the way she’d planned.

Tashigi doesn’t answer at once, because answering would require telling him she’d spent an hour walking around aimlessly just to collect herself, and hopes he won’t push her for an explanation. He respects her privacy enough to allow her whatever secrets she wants, and she doesn’t have any injuries that would suggest anything more than a slight scuffle taking place. Not even an accidental nick from her own knives.

True to form, Smoker doesn’t pry. “Did you get the recording?” he asks instead. There’s something strange in his expression that she can’t quite put her finger on, but she chalks it up to her current state, and makes to hand over the Den Den Mushi, but – fingers tucked around the snail, a thought strikes her suddenly, making her pause.

He could have attacked them, in that alley. Having seen him fight, Tashigi doubts they would have proved much of a challenge for Roronoa. He could have easily decided to draw his blades and taken them all out, and outed them both in the process. And she knows how operations like that work – at the first sign of smoke, the rats would scatter to far corners, expecting a fire. Her target would have had contingency plans, too. A second-in-command ready to wrap up any business and disappear into the shadows if their boss didn’t return on time, or at all.

Of course, his plans hadn’t accounted for Roronoa Zoro any more than Tashigi’s had.

She doesn’t know what to make of it – the decision to maintain their charade, salvaging her mission. She has her evidence, her target none the wiser. He’d helped her. He’d had no reason to assist her in the first place, and somehow, Tashigi doubts even Roronoa could have successfully written this off as a simple case of alleviated boredom.

Unbidden, the memory finds her of how he’d reacted when he’d kissed her – that startled jerk when she’d responded, as though she wasn’t the only one who’d been surprised, although at least she could say it was because she hadn’t seen it coming. She doesn’t know why he’d reacted like that – as though he’d expected something else than what he’d gotten.

Or – maybe she does know why, the thought finds her, thinking of the way she’d gripped his coat. The wall against her back, and his hand between her shoulder blades, holding her up even as she’d pushed back.

Blinking to dispel the image – and the warmth curling through her stomach, down her limbs, still stiff from the cold, it feels like the greatest effort in her life to drag her thoughts away, and to place the Den Den Mushi into Smoker’s waiting hand.

She can’t think about it. What is she doing, thinking about it?

She needs a bath, Tashigi decides. Her hair smells like the tavern she’d spent the evening squatting in, and it’s not helping that it’s the kind of smell she associates with him – cold frost-smoke and the sharp burn of a strong drink, and another smell she has no name for, rising from his skin.

“Bath!” she shouts, and Smoker arches a brow, surprised. She touches her forehead; presses her now-sweating palm against it, suffocating a whimper. “I need a bath,” she says, softer.

She makes for the door like she’s escaping, and is suddenly relieved she didn’t have backup with her at the bar, and that Smoker has spent the night at the safe house. She doubts the mission would have been a success if he’d been with her – doubts he would have ever let her live it down, if he knew what she’d been up to.

There is some comfort in that, Tashigi concedes. The only one who has to know about what went down tonight is her.

And Roronoa, comes the thought – along with that slow, curling warmth, remembering.

“Oi, Tashigi,” Smoker says then, when her shaking fingers have wrapped around the doorknob to the bathroom. A glance over her shoulder finds his severe expression knowingly amused, and she has the sudden, sinking fear that she knows what’s coming, even before he asks, dryly —

“When was the wedding?”

#One Piece #zotash #Zoro x Tashigi #Roronoa Zoro #Tashigi #Zoro #Roronoa Zoro x Tashigi #opfanfiction #opfanfic #fanfic #my fic #mungoe writes #under the sea prompts #baltigo

[hsj-scenarios]

Hey could I request a scenario where Yamada (boyfriend) gets jealous of Chinen (childhood friend) and y/n being super close?? Like "my girl" by arioka and yamada!! Thanks ☺️☺️

Well, Nonnie-chan…this one broke my heart. Seriously, broke it! I hope you were looking for that kind of pain when you requested this lol this is pure angst lol SQUISHES to you my dear!

Title: My Girl x2Pairing/Relationship: Yamada Ryosuke x Reader, Chinen Yuri x ReaderRating: RWarnings: Violence, LanguageGenre: Angst/Hurt  

Yuri’s heartpounded, shock causing his body to jump, nearly scared to death from thepounding on the front door, he scrambled up, walking quickly to the foyer,where he could now hear Ryosuke’s voice, rough and loud through the wallbetween them, “I’m going to kill you, you son of a bitch!”

Yuri jerkedthe door open, his eyes wide, “What the hell are you ta–”

Before hecould finish the sentence, Ryosuke had barreled into him, his shoulder slamminginto his stomach as he pushed him backward, the two of them moving across thesmall space in the entryway, hitting the table there, the contents scatteringacross the floor as they fell, a vase breaking, the shattering noise nothingcompared to the barrage of swear words emanating from Ryosuke’s lips.

“Iswear to God,” he growled, his fist flying up the moment he stood up,landing squarely against Yuri’s jaw, his head flying sideways from theunexpected blow, but before Ryosuke could hit him again, his leg flew up,twisting his torso so he could sideswipe Ryosuke’s head and shoulders, causinghim to lose his balance.

It was thesecond Yuri needed, pushing away from the wall so he wasn’t pinned there, hecircled around behind Ryosuke, jumping forward onto him, his arm coming aroundhis neck, jerking Ryosuke’s head straight up, his mouth against his ear,“What the fuck are you doing, Yamada?”

Ryosuke’shands came up, clawing at Yuri’s arm, his voice hoarse, “Let me go!”

“Notuntil you tell me what the fuck is happening here!”

“Youknow damn well what is happening here you fucking traitor!”

“I haveno idea what you are talking abou–”

Ryosuke’sfoot came down, the heel of his shoe hitting Yuri’s bare foot, causing him tocry out, his grip loosening, giving Ryosuke the advantage he needed. Ryosukeducked down, spinning around, his fist flying forward into Yuri’s stomach, theair being knocked out of him, as he stumbled backward, and for a moment Ryosukehesitated, because he had no idea what he was doing, not anymore–just filledwith raw, unfettered fury.

Yuri’s voicewas twisted, full of hurt as he spat the words at Ryosuke, “What the fuckis wrong with you?”

Shootingforward, his arm thrust outward, the heel of his hand slamming into Ryosuke’ssternum, causing him to gasp, his hands shooting up to clutch his throat,feeling like he couldn’t breathe. He lost his footing, hitting the wall behindhim, trying to steady himself, but Yuri didn’t pause, didn’t take the time toconsider what was happening, an overwhelming anger of his own running throughhim, and his fists shot out, one after another as he hit Ryosuke, the nose, thechin, the eye, nothing was left untouched, and then Ryosuke’s own fist flashedforward, hitting Yuri square in the nose, a stream of blood pouring out as hefell backward onto the floor.

Ryosuke wason top of him, and the next blow caused Yuri’s head to spin, yet despite thedizziness, he pushed himself, bucking up, getting his center under him, herolled them over, his legs pinning Ryosuke’s arms down. Gasping, blood drippingoff of his chin down onto Ryosuke’s white sweater, he leaned over him, realizingthat Ryosuke was bleeding as well, blood covering his cheek, his chin, histeeth tainted with blood as he spit out the words, “Where the fuck isshe!?”

“Whatthe fuck is wrong with you?” Yuri cried out, grabbing his sweater, pullinghim up as he landed another punch to his cheek for good measure, “What theFUCK, RYOSUKE!”

“Youstupid fuck!” Ryosuke hissed, going wild underneath him, but Yuri had theadvantage, making his weight solid to keep him pinned down, he refused to bemoved, “Get the fuck off me! I’m going to kill you! Tell me where the fuckshe is!”

Yuri’s fistshot forward, slamming into his nose again, “What are you fucking talkingabout!?”

Ryosukegroaned, his hands trying to move to protect his face, but he was immobilizedcompletely, his body bucking, trying to twist but Yuri was impossible to move.

“Getoff me! I’m not kidding! Get off of me you dumb fu–”

Yuri’s fistsnapped forward so fast Ryosuke didn’t even see it, just felt the burning,stinging sensation where he’d hit his jaw.

Ryosukescreamed, nearly hysterical, “GET THE FUCK OFF ME!”

He closedhis eyes, knowing another blow was coming, and was rewarded with another slamto the nose, he groaned, his entire body feeling numb, and then he didn’t knowwhat happened, but his voice was laced with pure, raw emotion, the words a merewhisper, “You did this. Where is she? I know you know! You did this.”

“Whatthe fuck did I do?” Yuri hissed.

“She’sgone.”

 No.

“Please tellme you know where she is.”

Yuri froze,his heart completely dead in his chest as he tried to remember how tobreathe–it felt to him like all of the air in the universe had become thickand solid, he blinked, staring down a Ryosuke who finally opened his eyes, thepain there echoing through the space between them like a real, living thing,his voice broken when he whispered, “Sh-she’s gone, Yur.”

“No,”he shook his head, “No…”

Yuri shook hishead, scrambling off Ryosuke, crawling across the living room to the coffeetable, grabbing his phone, his heart clenching in his chest when he saw theicon lit up indicating that he had a voicemail, Ryosuke’s voice a plea,“Please, tell me you know where she is.”

Yuri lookedover at him, and whatever Ryosuke saw there in his eyes was enough to know thatYuri certainly did not know, not at all, Ryosuke’s head rolled over to theside, his voice wet with tears, “God…no…I thought you would know…Ithought you would…”

Yuri shookhis head, watching as Ryosuke’s face twisted in pain, gasping for air, he shookhis head, eyes unfocused as he clicked buttons on his phone, his hand shakingas he drew the phone up to his ear, glancing over to where Ryosuke was still lyingflat on the floor in the foyer, his arms stretched out like he couldn’t bear tomove.

The ringingin his ear repeated, and his eyes widened when Ryosuke’s hand lifted, moving ashe touched his phone, and when the third ring happened, a clicking sounding andthen the message ‘we’re sorry, this number is no longer in service’, the phonedropped to the carpet, his mouth open as he heard your voice from Ryosuke’sphone–playing the message on his speaker.

“Ididn’t want to tell you both like this, and I know it’s cowardly, I alreadyknow this is wrong, and maybe that’s okay…”

Please no.

“I leftfor a new job…maybe it’s a new life. I don’t know right now.”

Yuri fellforward, tears blurring his vision, as he crawled toward Ryosuke, needing to becloser to your voice, to be closer to you somehow.

“Inever meant for this to happen. I hope you two know that. I never meant to hurtyou, and I never meant to hurt myself…but that’s all that’s left inme–pain.”

Please, please…

“I loveyou both. It’s not fair. It’s not fair to you, but it’s also, it’s also notfair to me.”

Ryosuke’shand loosened, the phone falling to the ground beside him as his arm moved tocover his eyes, his body shaking as he sobbed, and Yuri was leaning over thephone, watching as a tear fell onto the screen, a picture of him, Ryosuke andyou the background he was staring at.

“Ican’t do this, I can’t pretend, and I can’t ask you two to pretend either. I amdoing the best thing for all of us.”

Your voicepaused, and your shuddering breath could be heard, voice weak when you spokeagain, “I know you won’t believe it, maybe not right now, but I hope oneday the two of you will realize why I am doing this…why it has to be thisway.”

“NO!!!!!”Yuri’s scream was violent, his body jerking upright, his hands flying to coverhis ears, like he couldn’t bear to hear another syllable of this message.

Ryosuke’sbody shook, whimpering at the pain he heard echoed in Yuri’s understanding ofwhat was happening, curling over on his side, shaking from the heartache thatwracked his body, the slow aura of loss that poured out into the room.

“I loveyou, Ryosuke.”

Ryosukecried out, a mournful sound, crying harder, his hand shooting out to grab thephone, trying to stop it, hitting the ground around it, his sight obscured bythe tears, unable to find it–“I love you, Yuri.”

Yuri’s handshit the floor, unable to hold himself up, his forehead pressing down to theground as he wept, your voice still floating in the air around him.

“I willalways love you both–” Ryouske shook his head, his heart feeling like itwas being shredded in his chest as he heard the tears in your voice, clearthrough the phone message, “…but I can’t be the reason the two of youlose each other.”

You sobbed,the tears undoubtedly flowing at this point, “I can’t keep losing myself.I am going to find who I am, without you–and now it will be up to the two ofyou to find out who you are–w-without me.”

“Please,please, God, please, no…no…”Yuri sobbed, his hands behind his head, his fingers pulling his hair.

“Youhave been my best friends,” your voice was low and mourning, but a levelof whimsy was laced through it, “You are still my best friends. There’snot a memory I have that the two of you aren’t a part of.”

You laughed,a sad laugh but a laugh none the less, “We were the best, the three of us,and you two–you were the best, you arethe best. I’m not destroying the two of you–I’m not letting that happen.”

You took adeep breath, “I can’t. I won’t destroy you. I realized I was dependent onboth of you, and I know it was my fault this happened. I pretended to notknow–but inside, I knew what was happening, and I should have stopped it,should have done something to stop it…”

You criedquietly, your voice soft when you spoke again, “I’m so sorry. I’m so verysorry.”

Ryosukegroaned, his hand stilling on the floor, fingers clenching, knuckles white, hisbody shaking with emotions, as he wept.

“Ididn’t want to lose you, either of you–I let this go on too long. It wasselfish, but now I understand what I have to do, and it’s…it’s done.”

You took adeep breath, your voice resolute, “I’m already gone. I didn’t trust anyoneto keep it a secret, so my family doesn’t even know where I am, and I won’ttell them for a while, I know how persuasive you two can be. There’s a safetydeposit box, it has the info in it, in case of an emergency, but otherwise, I’mnot willing to be found. Not yet.

“Please,”Yuri’s voice was a plea, a last request, “Please, Yama-chan, stop it, turnit off,” Yuri murmured, his hand reaching out to grab Ryosuke’s wrist,squeezing it like a lifeline, “I can’t…I can’t…”

“I’mdoing this because I love you both, I do, you know that I do, I love you both,with all of my heart and sou–”

Ryosukefinally managed to grab the phone, and with all the pent-up energy he had left,his body bolted upright, his arm jerking forward as the phone flew across theroom, hitting the wall and shattering, nothing but blessed silence left, apartfrom the sounds of their combined grief and heartache.

“Y-Yuri,”Ryosuke’s voice broke, rolling onto his side, blinking as he tried to make hiseyes focus, one eye feeling like it was swelling shut, “Yur, I-I’msorry.”

“Shutup,” Yuri hissed, his head rolling over to the side to stare at Ryosuke,“Just shut up, I beat the hell out of you, and I’m not remotelysorry.”

Yuri smileddespite himself which made Ryosuke laugh lightly, then groaned when it made hisentire face hurt, reaching up to touch his mouth where his lip was split,drawing back his hand to look at the blood, “That’s fair. I wasn’t apologizingfor that…I just meant…for her…for not stepping back.”

“I’llkick your ass again,” Yuri glared at him, “Shut up. Just shut up thatkind of talk, I didn’t need you to fucking step back.”

Ryosukeblinked at him, “First of all, I kicked your ass,” Yuri scoffed, raising his eyebrows as Rysoukecontinued, “Second, I don’t mean it the way you’re taking it. I mean…Iwrestled with the feeling a lot…to give her space, to let her have room todecide between us, but…I couldn’t just let go enough…not until it was toolate I think…”

“Iknow,” Yuri murmured, shrugging, “I knew…I pushed too. I wasn’tgoing to let you have her without a fight. I wasn’t letting her goeither.”

Yuri staredat him, and Ryosuke closed his eyes, knowing that his soul was bare before hisfriend, that he could see too much, and Yuri’s voice spoke, shaking with feeling,“I…Ryo, I really did love her…”

Ryosukewhimpered when he clenched his eyes shut, the pain radiating across his head,like spike shooting through his skull, shaking his head.

“Ithink…” Yuri’s breath huffed out as he clenched his fists, “I thinkthough…that I loved her the wrong way.”

Ryosuke’seyes popped open, confusion marring his features, “What?”

“I…Isaw what was happening with you two, you know? For a real long time, I did…Iwasn’t stupid, but I was jealous, because you two kinda drifted away into yourown space and I felt like I was just a third wheel.”

He huffed,growling quietly, “I felt left out…I just…I did, and I didn’t thinkthings through.”

Yuri rolledover onto his side, drawing his arm up under his head, frowning as he spoke,not liking the admission, the information he was sharing, but feeling like it wasright to share these truths with Ryosuke. No matter what they had allowedbetween them, he was still his best friend, and honesty was the very foundationof their relationship, he took a shuddering breath, wiping the blood from hismouth, “I was jealous, and I thought about it and I thought that I likedher, she was beautiful, smart, thoughtful, kind, generous, funny, I mean whatwas not to like…so I wrapped mymind around the idea that if you thought you could have her then whycouldn’t…in fact, why shouldn’t I?”

“Thatseemed fair to me,” he continued, his eyes moving past Ryosuke’s, findingthe expression there too painful for him to stay connected, “At the time,I thought that seemed fair, and I thought…I would make some effort. I wouldtest the water, see what she felt, what she gave back to me. I wasn’t expectingto really care as much as I did, or for her to become confused by myinterest.”

He took adeep breath, “I initiated it as a challenge to you, as a protest to both of you for leaving me behind, and Iknow…I should have backed off, once I realized that I was hurting her. I sawit, but my pride wouldn’t let me leave. I didn’t want to let her go, I lovedher. I really did. It was a little bit selfish though. Hell, maybe it was a lotselfish. I get it, but the bottom line is it was definitely not the way youwere with her. I see that now.”

“Don’tdo that,” Ryosuke spoke to him, his voice firm and solid with an undefinableemotion, his eyes holding his gaze firmly, “Don’t rewrite history likethat, Yuri. I know how you felt about her. You don’t need to minimize it, and Ialso know…whether I like it or not, I know how she felt about you.”

Yuri’s eyeswidened at this admission, “Wh-wh…how?”

“Shetold me,” Ryosuke spoke the words in a way that felt like he was drawing aknife across his own chest, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment, and thenwhen they opened they held pain that Yuri had never seen before, Ryosuke’svoice shaking as he spoke, “I had been having some strong feelings for awhile…suspicions, my gut was telling me there was something going on. Inoticed texts and things that weren’t like normal…and…I confrontedher.”

“Wh-whendid…when?” Yuri was flabbergasted, caught completely off guard by thisadmission, as he’d thought there was no way that Ryosuke knew anything aboutthe situation between you and him.

“Threeweeks ago,” Ryosuke admitted, his eyes studying Yuri for his response,then shaking his head, rolling over onto his side to face him finally, “Iconfronted her with a message she’d sent you that I saw on her phone. Sheadmitted that the two of you were growing close…she admitted to me that shecared about you…”

Ryosuke’smouth opened and closed, his expression twisted as if he were choking on thewords he was trying to say, “How much she loved you.”

The wordshung in the air for a moment before Ryosuke took another deep breath, “Shetold me she was confused by how deeply she cared for you, how quickly she hadfallen in love with you–but she didn’t try to downplay it.”

Yuri watchedas a tear rolled down his cheek, dropping slowly to the floor, and his heartached…Ryosuke had known for weeks but had never let on, never said a word, hetook a breath, but Ryosuke’s eyes darted to his, “Don’t say anything,just…listen…”

Yuri nodded,and Ryosuke took a moment to gather himself, “If she…” he gulped,forcing the words out, “Yur, if she didn’t downplay how much she loved youto me, and she didn’t, she didn’tminimize it or downplay it, trust me, there’s no reason for me to mislead youat this point–then, well, then I’m sure as hell not going to let you downplayit either, it steals something from her.”

“You…”Yuri tried to understand, tried to comprehend, shaking his head, “Youknew, but you didn’t say anything to me? How?”

“Iloved her, she asked me not to, she told me that she knew it was wrong, howthings were and that she was going to sort it out,” he grimaced, rollinghis head across his arm as another tear fell, “I trusted her to do theright thing.”

“Youtrusted her…” Yuri whispered the words, trying to make sense of it,“…you thought she would do…”

“Notthis,” Ryosuke laughed bitterly, rolling over onto his back and Yuristudied his profile, another tear sliding down his face into his hair,“This…wasn’t even on my radar.”

“What did you think?” Yuri whispered,unsure if it was a fair question or not.

Ryosuke’shead turned to look at him, his eyes clear and open with honesty, “Thatshe’d pick you.”

He took ashuddering breath, “I told her to go to you, that she had to know, sheneeded to know if you were the one, that I didn’t want to be her backup, aconsolation prize, I wanted her to know,to be sure–so I told her to go to you, to take the time she needed to find outthe truth, and then to tell me what she discovered. Either way…I’d…well…”

He frowned,his eyes skimming over to Yuri, who was staring wide eyed at him, “I’d domy best to accept whatever she decided…”

“Youtold her to come to me?” Yuri twirled the words around, trying to makesense of them, “You let her go–to come to me?”

“Yes,”he nodded, “I mean…she argued…she didn’t want to, not at first…andI…”

Ryosukeshook his head, his hand moving up to cover his eyes, groaning when he touchedthe tender skin of his face, regret clear in his words, “I basicallypushed her away, I made her go…told her she couldn’t stay there with me untilshe knew what you meant toher…”

“Th-thatday…she came to my house, she was crying…she…she was inconsolable,”Yuri’s brows drew down in confusion, realizing this had to be the same day thatRyosuke was referring to, “But…no…Ryo, why? You were the one whoknew…what were you trying to do, I mean–why!? Why? I don’t understand why you didn’t tell her no! You could havestopped her, she would have listened to you!”

Yuri didn’tmean for his words to come out so harsh, so demanding but he couldn’t controlthem, they just flew out and he drew back, thinking Ryosuke would be wellwithin his right to punch him forthright for such a petulant attitude after allof this.

“I loveher,” Ryosuke said the words very plainly, the emotion stripped from themsomehow and they felt like a slap to the face to Yuri–so cold, so detached,when he was furious that Ryosuke had just stepped back and let her walkaway–when she might still be here right now if he’d not been so stupid–sostupid and good for God’s sake.

“Youlove her still,” Yuri murmured, his eyes drifting back up to the light ashe rolled over onto his back.

“Youlove her still,” Ryosuke responded curtly.

“Notthat kind of love,” Yuri admitted, finding no reason to mince words atthis point, “Not like that–I am too selfish for that kind of love,there’s just…no way, I would have never let her go to you.”

“Shutup,” Ryosuke reached over, shoving Yuri’s shoulder.

“I’mnot kidding,” Yuri laughed lightly, “I would have told her that I’dnever talk to her again if she even remotely entertained the idea of‘discovering her feelings’ for you.”

He turnedhis head, looking at Ryosuke, his eyes shifting from the overhead light to lookat him, Yuri’s voice firm when he spoke, “I never deserved her, butyou…Yama-chan, you do deserve her. You love her better than I do…betterthan I ever have.”

“Wejust love her different, because we’re different people, that’s a–”

“No,”Yuri interrupted him, “No, Yama-chan, that’s not true–listen, I’m tellingyou, I love her, I do, I am not going to pretend I don’t but…I know it’s notlike the kind of love you have for her…I see that now…I–I wish I’d seen itsooner.”

“Itdoesn’t matter,” Ryosuke shook his head, his hand coming across the spaceto pat Yuri’s shoulder, “Listen, Yur, it just doesn’t matter–she’s notgone now because of what you or I felt…she’s gone because of what she felt.”

Yuri staredat him, his eyes stinging from not blinking and then he felt a tear slide downhis cheek, his body curling inward onto itself as he rolled onto his side,nodding as the weight of that admission settled on him. Neither of them had achoice, neither of them really had any say in this outcome–rather, you’ddecided for all three of you what would be–and more importantly, what wouldnot be.

That’s bullshit.

It was allYuri could think, and the more he thought the surer he was that the only reasonyou’d left was because he’d made you feel like he was going to lose his mind ifyou didn’t return his affection, if you didn’t love him back…the more hethought that you’d done a really horrible thing by leaving, not him, no, butleaving Ryosuke. He was furious with you at the moment, but realized he wasreally mad at himself…because he was the one who created all of the problems.No matter how many times he went over it, he realized that if he had notallowed his jealousy and hurt feelings to cloud things, everyone would be happy.

He would be,you would be, Ryosuke would be.

Neither ofthem kept track of the time, and Ryosuke stretched his mouth, groaning as theblood cracked that had dried, swiping his hand across his mouth to find a freshwave of blood, wondering what he was going to see when he looked into themirror, “God, did you have to punch me so many times?”

“Yes,”Yuri laughed lightly beside him, “Shut the hell up, I’m pretty sure youruptured my spleen or something.”

“Right,I’m sure,” Rysouke laughed despite himself, “I’m sorry for taking myfeelings out on you.”

“I’mnot,” Yuri mused, glancing over at Ryosuke who was wide-eyed,“Honestly, you deserved an ass kicking.”

“Whatthe fuck for?” Ryosuke spat out at him, his expression incredulous.

“Fortelling her to come to me, you dumb ass.”

“Youneed to let that shit go already,” Ryosuke rolled over, pushing up on hishands and knees, groaning at how much his face hurt in that position.

“I’mnever letting it go,” Yuri responded, trying to sit up but feelinglightheaded.

“Besides,you didn’t kick my ass, I kicked yours,”Ryosuke insisted, crawling over to the table to use it to support himself as hestood up, wobbling slightly.

“Whatever,”Yuri mumbled, looking up at Ryosuke who held his hand out, gesturing for him totake it so he could help him stand up.

Yuri nodded,grabbing his hand, glad for the help to get on his feet again. Before he couldthink, Ryosuke had pulled him into a hug, and Yuri didn’t even wonder about it,his arms moving to hug him back, his voice soft, “We’ll be okay…”

“We’llmake it through this,” Ryosuke responded, patting his back, and thenreleasing him.

“Afteryou’ve healed, we have work to do,” Yuri mused walking into his livingroom, gesturing for Ryosuke to follow him, entering the kitchen to get a bag ofcorn out of the freezer, wrapping it in a dishtowel, and handing it to Ryosuke,shaking his head and frowning as he looked at the bruising and swelling, “Putthat on your face! Damn! The agency is going to kill us for this!”

“Ithink you need to put one on your face, too,” Ryosuke pointed at Yuri’sface and he nodded, getting another bag of vegetables out and doing the same.

They leanedback on the counter beside each other, and Ryosuke glanced over at him,“What work do we have to do? We’re off until Thursday, aren’t we?”

Yuri nodded,taking a deep breath, “Not that kind of work…”

Ryosukeshook his head, confused.

“Weneed to figure out how to stage an emergency to get into that lock-box.”

Ryosuke knewhe’d had a few good blows to the head, but he was so confused by these words,before he could speak, Yuri sighed, “To get your girl, Yama-chan…we needto get the lock-box so we can find out where she is, so we can go get her.”

Ryosukestudied Yuri, debating on whether this was real or not, whether he would sowillingly give you up–and he knew, it wasn’t so much as him being willing, butmore that he was growing up, right there in front of him.

“I likethe sound of that,” Ryosuke said finally, “My girl.”

“Shewas always your girl,” Yuri admitted, nodding at Ryosuke, “Let’s gether back.”

Ryosukenodded, the idea taking root inside him, and a fighting spirit coming to lifeas he rolled the words over in his mind.

My girl.

#hey say jump #yamada ryosuke #chinen yuri #angst #my girl #drabble #drabbles #oneshot #prompt fill #Anonymous #Mod J #Sorry to bring the heartache!