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returnofnonya · 1 year

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From Thief To House Husband Part 1

Sometimes, life just deals you a shit hand. My parents both died when I was young, and I had been on my own since then.

I survived by being a petty thief. I’ve been caught a few times, but it’s all that I can do. I know the Holidays are times where stores step up their security, but I needed to steal some things to sell just so that I could make this month’s rent. I chose a high end mall where boring rich people shopped, knowing their security would be a bit more relaxed due to the usual clientele. I found a decent department store that sold a ton of knickknacks and chose the gems.

Everything was going well, until Mr. Suburbia found me…

He seemed to be some boring house husband shopping for his kids. He kept cracking jokes to the staff that seemingly knew him well and caught me stuffing my bag. He pointed it out to a security guard who quickly stopped stuffing his face with homemade candy and started to approach me. This would be my last strike, and they’d charge me for a felony!

I quickly dug through my bag and found a familiar black case. Inside of it were five vials filled with a dark blue liquid. One day, a guy traded me these for some stolen goods. Said that he was working for some shady company as a lowly janitor. Allegedly these would allow you to push your consciousness out of your body and into someone else’s, taking control of them. I tried pawning them off immediately and failed, so I kept them around for emergencies. In a panic I took a vial and tossed the case aside so they couldn’t take it with me. I locked eyes with the stupid dad who ratted me out, deciding that becoming my body would be a fitting punishment for making me abandon this one. I popped the lid open and drank it in a hurry before I collapsed…

…then woke up seconds later, watching security swarm around my old, now empty body. I looked down and saw the tacky penguin button-up and knew that it worked. They knew this guy well though, which meant that I had to get out of here before they noticed I wasn’t acting like him. I scurried over to where the case dropped, sliding it in my pocket and quickly rushing out the store, leaving his cart behind.

When I was in the parking lot I pulled out his wallet, finding a picture of him alongside his wife and college aged kids. “Rick Smith…what a boring name for a boring man. But it’s mine now I guess.” I sighed and pulled his phone out, using Face ID to unlock it. I checked his planner and sure enough, it was filled out with his agenda for the day. In fact, it has the entire family’s!

His wife was out of the country for business, and his sons away with friends for the day. He was getting his shopping done apparently, but I didn’t really care since I didn’t feel the love for these people he did. After finding a pic of his car I searched for it and got in, driving to the address on his phone.

I gasped in shock at the mansion I drove up to. Just yesterday I was trying to get my landlord to fix the lock on my shitty door, and now I had a house that looked like it could be worth billions!

I parked the car and rushed inside, heading to his bathroom first and stripping down to take a look at my new body. “Kind of basic, but there’s a certain fatherly charm you’ve got going…” I said and grinned as I looked at myself.

I was about to get to know my new body when the doorbell rang. I sighed and rolled my eyes, not bothering to get the rest of his clothes on and walking down to the door to open it.

I was greeted by a good-looking young man around the age of my body’s youngest son.

“Hey Mr. Smith, I’m glad you remembered-“ he cut himself off as he saw me standing in my underwear. “Remembered what?” I smirked a bit, looking him up and down. “T-that we were going to discuss Blake’s Christmas gift…are you sure you remembered? You told me you’d put a bunch of fake things in the family planner so he wouldn’t know I was coming…” Well, what a lucky coincidence.

“Of course I remembered, come on in, stud.” I winked at him, earning a quick blush. I sauntered towards the living room, making sure he got a good look at my body’s likely virgin ass. He followed slowly, trying to collect himself. “So as I was saying earl-“ I cut him off, “You know what I think, cutie? I think my son just wants to see his Dad happy. He’s that good of a son to me. And do you know what would make me happy?” I asked, spreading my legs open. He gawked, tugging at his collar. “N-no, sir…I’m not sure…” he said bashfully. “A good pounding.” I said simply, but confidently.

“I-I’m sorry?”

“A good, honest-to-god pounding. Like I used to get in college back before I got tied up to the missus.”

“O-oh…”

“So come here, and give my son his gift by making his Dad happy.”

The boy slowly came over, placing a hesitant hand on my thigh. I just chuckled and pulled him in, kissing him passionately and hungrily. Within seconds he dropped the shy act, stripping all of his clothes off and pulling my underwear off. He got on his knees, placing my legs on his shoulder and dragging my hips towards the edge of the couch. “I’ve wanted this for so long sir! I just thought you would never want this, you seem so happy with Misses Smith!” I grinned from ear to ear, petting his hair. “Well, I put on a good act. Speaking of good, you better get to it. If you can eat my ass well enough I’ll let you skip the prep and start pounding right away!”

That was all he needed to hear. He leaned in and slid his tongue into my hole, starting to swirl and move it ravenously. He ate me like he was starving and needed this to survive. My new voice’s moans filled the room as I titled my head back, enjoying the sensations of my sorely neglected hole feeling a pleasurable touch for the first time. My cock stood rock hard at 11 inches, surprising me. “Good for you, old man…” I muttered under my breath, the boy too enveloped in fulfilling his fantasy to notice.

Soon I had gotten all I needed, grabbing him by the hair and pulling him up, making him lay over me. “Now give it to me, boy. No holding back!” He smiled from ear to ear, a dopey look in his eyes. “Yes sir! With pleasure!” I saw his cock fully hard now, standing at a girthy 10 inches. What was in the water here? He shoved himself in eagerly, earning a loud moan from me as he leaned down, starting to kiss over my neck and slide his hands all over my body.

As I enjoyed the pounding all I could think about was the fact that this son of a bitch would absolutely hate this if he could see what was happening. His body getting fucked by one of his son’s good friends, defiling his marriage right in the living room! And most of all, some dirty poor thief holding his life in his hands!

“Harder!” I commanded, enjoying the pounding immensely. The boy was already sweating and panting, practically a dog in heat as he pounded into me, defiling his friendship with my new son. Both of us were sinners, and both of us were getting lost in pleasure. Soon enough he found my prostate and earned a piercing cry of pleasure for me. Like a dog with a bone he continued to pound into it, determined to impress me with his performance.

We lasted for a half hour this way until I finally came without ever touching my new cock, all over my chest and even getting a few splashes on my face. He didn’t last much longer after that and tried to pull out, but I quickly moved my legs to his waist and forced him to stay inside, moaning in another wave of ecstasy as I felt him shoot a load into me. Once he was done cumming I released him and pushed him out of me, chuckling and panting. “Mm…good job boy, you’ve made his dad very happy. Now…don’t tell a soul about this, and get the fuck out of my house. Send me an Amazon link to whatever he wants and I’ll get it, money is not an object.” I smirked as I laid there, inside of Rick Smith, a loving house husband now painted in and dripping cum from a man half his age in the house he raised his children in.

The boy was shocked by the new side of his best friend’s father, but obliged and quickly got dressed, fumbling his way to the door. “W-will do sir! Thank you, I hope we can do that again!“ he said before rushing off, leaving me to lay in ecstasy.

“Ohhh…thank you for reporting me, Rick. I never knew using those vials could bring so much pleasure. I wonder what I’ll get into next with your body. Or should I say who…”

#male possession #younger to older #revenge #male body possession

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ecoamerica · 2 months

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youtube

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

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hils79 · 5 months

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Hils Watches Misty Creed - Part 1

This was supposed to have been released at the end of October but finally it is here.

I wasn't hugely enamoured with the last movie but I'm always here for my blorbos and maybe this one will address some of the issues I had with the first one.

Okay, let's go!

I forgot these new movies are more horror. So we're starting with what looks like a demon baby

I have a squick about pregnancy anyway so this is going to go well for me

I do love that both movies have started with flashback horror like an episode of Supernatural

Oh, dude, you just abandoned your heavily pregnant wife who may be about to give birth to a demon. This is not going to end well for you.

First scene in the present day and Wu Xie is in trouble and calling for Pangzi to save him *sighs happily in pangxie*

THERE'S MY BOY

Ooh he strong! Holding up a whole coffin by himself to stop Wu Xie going splat. I love this already.

And of course Xiaoge bursts in to help his husbands. God I love all three of them so very much.

Excellent out of context caption there

Wait if Xiaoge could use his special Zhang fingers to punch a whole through the coffin lid to give Wu Xie one of his hairs why doesn't he just make the hole bigger and pull Wu Xie out? Unless there's something else going on beyond 'Wu Xie trapped in coffin'

And then he just ripped the lid off. Why didn't he do that before? Well, it's not DMBJ if there's not plot holes I guess :D

He had a whole coffin plus all of Wu Xie's weight on one shoulder but he's acting like helping Wu Xie stand up takes all of his strength. It's okay, Pangzi. You can admit you just want to keep touching him.

Oh no not more creepy dolls

In case you weren't sure they're a triangle

Wait, what? Oh my god is this an escape room?

IT IS!!! HAHAHA! Incredible! A+ I love this! That is exactly what these idiots would do in an escape room too

Throwaway reference to Xiao Hua there. Love to see it.

Ah hah! So this ties in to the post-credit scene from the last movie. So this is the person Xiao Hua said he was sending to Wu Xie while he adventures in Russia with Hei Xiazi (at least that's where I assume he is)

Xiao Hua's family owes this dude, but he was too busy with his boyfriend so he told him to come and see Wu Xie instead. Xiao Hua isn't even here and I love him.

HAHAHA! God, I love these idiots so much!

Oh shit if Xiaoge feels strongly enough about something that he actually says it out loud then you listen.

I am absolutely losing it over the idea that Xiao Hua apprently has a business running an escape room based on a tomb. He's such a nerd I adore him.

Pangzi is so outraged that Xiao Hua charged them to do the escape room, then billed them for destroying the probs AND they have to go off on an adventure to repay one of Xiao Hua's family debts. I'm sure Words will be had at Pangzi and Xiao Hua's next spa date.

I love that even though Wu Xie is allegedly the brains of their group (did you know he has a degree in architecture?) it's Pangzi who has thought of the practical things that they'll need for a misty environment.

Wait, what happened to Xiaoge's sword? I know he lost the original one during Ultimate Note era but Wu Xie replaced that one.

Ah, okay. Apparently Xiaoge's original sword came from the place they're going so I guess we're ignoring the Ultimate Note replacement so they can find a new one for him here. Who needs consistency when you're NPSS.

I'm losing my mind at 'xiongdi' being subbed as 'mate'. In my head these hunters now all have British English accents.

Is it really Wu Xie if he's not having terrible ideas?

Right, I'm only 20 mins into the movie but I'm at the image limit. Onward to part 2!

#hils watches #hils watches misty creed #hils watches movies #dmbj #misty creed

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dadsbongos · 1 year

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chapter 3.5 - the detention breakout

i deleted the gott damn image file for this chapter. FUCK

1.3K words

warnings - you use a womens' club pitch to get a MAN out of detention

prev. chapter / masterlist / next chapter

Eddie Munson sits between a girl stoned out of her mind, eyes half-lidded and drinking from her water bottle every five seconds, and a boy working on assignments he recognizes from the first week of Ms. O’Donnell’s class. Even Eddie wasn’t that late on his work, he honestly had to commend the kid.

This week’s detention was because Eddie had put up posters advertising Corroded Coffin in the cafeteria, which he personally believed was bullshit but he guesses that Higgins must be that up to his ass with Eddie lately.

Suddenly, there’s you - like an angel with swift wings, you jerk your head towards the window and bound up to Principal Higgins with an overly delighted, “Sir! I have a new and improved proposal for a Women’s Club - now men can join, too!”

“Please,” he rubs at the tension behind his temple, “not again…”

“Well, just hear me out!” you get Higgins to turn his back to the rest of the class and Eddie takes that as his cue to jump up from his seat and sneak to the large side window, “I know that there’s a lot of girls interested!”

Not that Higgins - or anybody else, really - has to know you and your friends’ Women’s Club is a plan to hang out with other girls interested in girls outside of The Sunset. You imagine that your voice sounds like the screechiest and scratchiest record to Principal Higgins, and to be honest you haven’t prepared anything genuinely argumentative. You never imagined the club you pushed so hard for your junior year would become a ploy to get a boy out of detention.

It’s a little embarrassing.

And just as you get to, “And you don’t even know about the trials and tribulations of periods- !” Higgins braces both hands on your shoulders, “If I say I’ll think about it - will you leave?!”

“Ehhhh,” your eyes drift over his shoulder, “Hmmm…” apparent indecision dragging along until Eddie finally tumbles out of the window, “Yep!”

And you have no doubt that Higgins wasted not a single second even thinking about your Women’s Club.

Similarly, you waste not a single second thinking about Higgins’ response when you’re kneeling before Diane’s old garage and unlocking it for Eddie to come inside. Your hands shake and that makes you feel all the more foolish.

Whether he notices or not, Eddie still speaks up, “This is a huge step forward in our relationship. Crazy shit.”

You finally unclick the lock and pocket the pad before pushing up the metal door, “I know, right? And you haven’t even asked me to be your girlfriend yet.”

He sucks a breath through his teeth, “Low blow,” he ‘tsk’s and shakes his head, “I think you should take charge.”

“But that’s so scary,” you stand before him, just outside the garage.

“Trust me, I know that,” he waits patiently, though.

You didn’t know you needed that. The patience and tenderness.

Still, you roll your eyes, and let him in.

Eddie sees pieces inspired by the eras of Jackson Pollock and pointillism and cubism - one piece, with a big splotch of red paint tossed over the front and you quickly tell him to not mind it. Landscapes from the most recognizable spots in all of Hawkins. Abstract and realistic portraits of men and women with big, curly hair.

Running a hand through his own tangled curls, Eddie can feel something sweeten inside his chest - the warm comfort of knowing you have a type. And then his brows furrow. There were beautiful women painted there, too.

He moves along easily enough - spotting paint you hand-mixed, shades of purples and pinks and oranges and blues.

“I’m gonna paint the interior of The Sunset,” you wring your hands nervously, weight switching between your legs, “Like, on a canvas. Not the walls,” he’s smiling softly, continuing to stare down your paint barrels, “If you even think about throwing that like this is some cheesy little movie, you’re dead to me.”

Instantaneously, his head snaps up to look at you, and the smile grows exponentially wider, “I would never. That sounds like a major pain in the ass to clean.”

“And it’d be obnoxious,” so you reach out and take his hand, guiding him to your little spotted, cat-scratched loveseat at the back of the garage. Hand-sewn pillows and blankets from before Diane spontaneously hated you are strewn across the back of the cushions.

You land on his lap as he sits, his back pressing into the dips of the couch - hands find home on your thighs and yours on his cheeks. He’s soft, yet his hands are firm and hot on your thighs - he can’t be close enough.

“Would you kiss me” you peck his cherry nose, “if I asked nicely?” then each cheek.

“Oh,” he giggles, hands winding tighter around your thighs, “I’d slobber on you if you asked at all. Rudely or nicely.”

“Aren’t you romantic?”

“I know, right?” his hands move up, settling now on the curves of your waist, “Can you hurry up and ask now?”

If you were to suggest he fall to his knees and compliment your shoes, he’s a little scared that he would. All you’d have to do is ask. Rude or nice, as long as it's you.

Across town, Mike Wheeler and Eleven “Jane” Hopper creep out of Enzo’s, hand in hand and twenty bucks poorer. Eleven has a hand over her stomach, “I feel like I could pop.”

Mike adores her bizarre inflections, but he has trouble telling her that - so he doesn’t, “I knew the third round of breadsticks would hurt,” he groans, head tipping back, “But they were so good.”

Eleven wanders off to a nearby payphone, clicking coins into the graffitied slot to call your garage phone - it was useless to hope you were home on a Saturday while Jim was, “My sister and Eddie seem happy,” Mike also adores her little smile, how it widens at your seemingly joyous relationship, “I’m happy for them.”

“Well, good news then,” Mike slides up against the payphone’s blue plastic side, “Eddie is now dating her for real.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” Eleven presses the receiver to her ear and Mike has to bring it back slightly.

“There could be infections on it, honey,” he explains.

“Oh,” she mouths, nodding curtly.

“Calling Mama and Papa?” Robin kicks the back of Mike’s knee, snorting when he buckles - bringing around her bike with a shiny bell.

“See you at Family Video tomorrow,” Mike snides, resetting himself against the payphone wall.

“Yeah, whatever,” Robin snatches off the black busboy uniform hat before putting on the cap with Hawkins’ AMC logo printed over the print, “I’ve got another shift to run to - don’t die until your babysitters get here!” she kicks off, pedaling away and blowing a raspberry at the kids when Mike flips her off.

…

“Do you wanna come over tomorrow?” Eddie hates how unsure he feels, he’s never been quite so on edge when courting someone. Not that he’s necessarily courted someone before either. Maybe that’s his problem, “Warning - you might meet Wayne.”

You have to assume it's his uncle, Eddie speaks as if you’re supposed to know the man personally.

“Hell yeah,” you pinch his arm, and from an outside perspective that’s very embarrassing, but Eddie doesn’t mind, “I’d love to meet the man to raise such an upstanding citizen.”

“Wayne can’t wait to put a face to the name I bring up all the time.”

“Aw,” and that’s when Eddie realizes his mistake, “You talk about me? How adorable, Munster!”

“Yeah, whatever,” his cheeks burn red hot and he waves off your teasing, “It’s not a big deal. I talk all the time - I don’t stop talking, baby.”

And he’s expecting another snarky comeback, but you simply watch him drive from the passenger seat. Adoring eyes as he pulls into the Enzo’s parking lot. You feel utterly ridiculous being this giddy over a boy, but when that boy is Eddie - you can hardly be blamed.

#eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #10 things i hate about you #eddie.🍓#10 things i hate about you.🍹

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rom-e-o · 1 year

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Blue (Scrooge/Constance) Ficlet

On a morning like any other, Ebenezer finds himself captivated by Constance as she applies her make-up in the morning. He stands in the doorway, his eyes fixed upon her graceful movements and the way her face transforms with each stroke of color. Constance catches him watching and playfully teases him about his apparent fascination.

Rated PG for suggestive content and language! FULL STORY UNDER GIF.

The morning sunlight spilled through the tall windows of the bed, casting a soft glow upon the bedchamber. Shades of gold and green glimmered in the light of dawn, highlighting all the high-points of the deco-style, geometric furniture with sprinkles of light.

The newest installation in the bedroom sat in a corner near the chamber’s moody, stone fireplace. It was a deeply lacquered vanity, featuring a mirror rimmed with carved chrysanthemums and drawers trimmed with golden hardware, that Ebenezer had purchased for Constance as a wedding present. The gift was not only greatly appreciated (Constance had kissed him practically senseless following the reveal) but used daily. It allowed her to stay in the bedroom as she readied herself for the day, which was much more convenient that occupying an entire bathroom.

On a velvet-lined stool, Constance sat down at the impressive piece, pulling at her slip to make sure to make sure it didn’t wrinkle under her bum when she sat. Normally, she would have donned a robe for this part of her morning routine. Yet, with summer arriving mere weeks before and the heat of a stuffy London June in full effect, she’d opted for less layers, especially since she was within the privacy of the bedroom she shared with her husband.

Reaching into a drawer a palette of colors before her, she produced a compact of two eyeshadow colors; corn-flower blue and wasp-bone brown.

As she delicately brushed a hint of the blue eyeshadow onto her lids, she noticed a flicker of movement in the doorway.

There, standing with his arms crossed and a handsome grin upon his face, was Ebenezer. He was watching her with full attention.

Donned only in his trousers, as he’d paused mid-dress to gaze upon her, he drank in the lovely sight of his almost bare form before him.

A fond smile played on his lips as he watched her transform from a bare-faced goddess to the enchanting woman before him. Her cosmetic routine was one that only he bore witness to, and as a result, he was quite protective of it. A surge of pride went through him every time he realized that he was the only one who got to witness the sacred ritual of watching the woman ready herself to face the world.

She was a performer; a socialite. In a way, her make-up was a mask. A persona she adopted in public. It was also a form of inspiration for her. For so long, her former partner had controlled every aspect of her life, from the dresses she wore to the food she was allowed to eat and, of course, her make-up.

With her freedom from his chain came the opportunity to…find herself. To embrace opportunities she’d never had before!

For example, er ex-husband hated blue. In fact, he’s said it was a color ‘suited for newborns, and nobody else.’ So, she adorned cornflower-blue eyeshadow to match her eyes and emphasize her taffy-colored hair. She took such delight in the gesture, giggling and smiling with each tap of a brush against her eyelid.

After a beat, Constance glanced back at him through the reflection in the mirror, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

"My lovely husband," she teased, her voice laced with a playful tone. "Am I to believe that you find my morning routine so captivating that you cannot tear your eyes away?"

Ebenezer chuckled softly, his gaze fixed upon her radiant face. "Guilty. Your beauty never fails to mesmerize me, even in the simplest of moments."

Constance pretended to ponder his words for a moment, her brush pausing mid-air. "Hmm, perhaps I should start charging admission for the privilege of witnessing my morning make-up routine. I could make a fortune with your undivided attention."

Ebenezer stepped closer, his eyes brimming with adoration. Goodness, he loved when she accepted his compliments. It was a rare occurrence. Some other London gentlemen were dense enough to call any lack of modesty ‘unladylike’ (whatever the bloody hell that meant, he thought) but nothing excited him more than when his lovely wife seemed to catch a glimpse of the all-encompassing beauty that he saw.

"I would gladly pay any price to witness the magic that unfolds before me each day,” he said, his voice soft and genuine.

With a knowing smile, Constance continues to apply a touch of color to her lips, her movements slow and deliberate. Ebenezer's gaze followed the path of the lipstick as it glided over her the skin, turning the soft pink flesh a delicious shade of matte red.

As she blotted the color to help it retain its vibrancy, she could see his eyes move to watch the pursing and plumping of her colored lips.

Unable to resist the magnetic pull any longer, Ebenezer closed the remaining distance between them. His expert hands lofted to her shoulders, covered only by the thin straps of her slip. With the press of his fingers, he worked her shoulders and spine in such a way that a moan left her.

His voice, filled with warmth, purred seductively in her ear. "My Sunflower, everything about your beauty, adorned with make-up or bare as a cloudless sky, transcends the strokes of any artist’s brush.”

Constance met his gaze in the mirror, his words making her chest heave with deep, stunned breaths. She sat down her lipstick, her fingers reaching up to touch his cheek.

“You have a way of making me feel like the most beautiful woman in the world,” she whispered sweetly.

“I am merely an honest man,” he countered swiftly.

“Oh, you!” she giggled, reaching for an atomizer of perfume. She sprayed it across her collarbone, the combination of pear and lily notes hypnotic and alluring. In summer, she also added a touch of apricot oil to the bottle, for a seasonal touch. He thought it made her smell even more delectable, and only enhanced his desire to take a bite out of her sumptuous form.

Before she could spray the back of her neck, he stole the bottle from her hands to assist her. Holding the crystalline bottler as gently as a dove, he held up her molten locks as he spritzed her shoulders and back, making sure all her pulse-points were properly dressed with the fragrant potion.

“Shall I testify it before the court of law?” he asked. “Under threat of perjury?”

“I think I’d die of embarrassment,” she said with a blush, waving a hand dismissively before her face.

He reached over her to set the bottle down. Then, with their faces inches apart, he turned to face her with eyes as hot as twin stars. “You’d look radiant, and you damn well know it.”

The room filled with silence as Ebenezer's hand found its way to the back of Constance's neck. Briefly toying with a curl of the strawberry-gold hair, he wound the mock around his fingers before bringing it to his lips. Then, his entire hand danced up the waterfall of hair until it reached the back of her head, and he could easily fist his fingers in the long strands.

Then, slowly, he urged her to turn her head.

Their lips meet in a kiss filled with the depths of love, the taste of devotion and the brush of smoldering passion that the closeness of their bare bodies was threatening to become rekindled.

When they finally broke apart, their foreheads resting gently against each other, Constance whispered, “You… may stare all you like, Ebenezer. No charge.”

He let out a teasing chuckle as he pushed some loose tendrils of hair back from her face. It appeared “You won’t grow tired of my adoration?”

With deadpan seriousness, she shook her head. “I will never tire of anything about you.”

Ebenezer smiled, his voice a mere whisper against her lips.

"Then, with your blessing,” he started, sweeping her off the seat and into his arms, “I will continue to marvel at the incredible woman I am fortunate enough to call mine."

<><><>

@quill-pen I’m really riding high with this new “blue” motif, haha!

#scrooge 2022 #scrooge netflix #scrooge x oc #oc constance dogoode #ebenestance #I'm a little drunk so I apologize for any typos lmao

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bad-rper · 6 months

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The Unclaimed

SPLCRSHK!

Another putrid rodent plumped by festering bile splattered effortlessly beneath a thick sabaton. Rancid off-yellow organs suffused into the dusty hay scattered in the abandoned aerie, adding a sour finish to the stale air. Just another gruesome necessity for the tired mercenary in clearing all dangers for his charge in tow. At the time, the obnoxious fel practitioner and their new medical tag-along were down the stony flight of stairs, huddled around some discarded tome. Enough time for the sellsword to his own idle discoveries.

Hollow bones of a once noble beasts riddled the floor, still shaped by aged sinew and dusty feathers. What was once a nest was reduced to ashy strands of straw scattered in a confetti-mess. The only moisture they had to sop up was that of trickling rat bile under the foot of the passing ren'dorei, nearing the battered crates encircling the floor. His hopes for supplies were about as dead as the gryphon carcass behind him, but need trumped hope.

The lid splintered open with a trivial pry of his blade. Within was nothing but remnants of usefulness, little more but dust now. Even the mold that grew on that dust was rendered, in turn, to dust. Enough to blow a cloud into the air with the mercenary's sigh before his eyes led to all else that might disappoint him. Battered shortswords rusted and Dwarven-length? Kegs encasing only a memory of oils or water? Armor that, if not ill-fitting, was so tarnished it risked giving more tetanus than any protection it might provide?

Or, worse yet: A book. One of peeled skin and yellowed, snaggletooth smile of pages, decaying between smatterings of hay and the tip of his boot.

"Another book?" he spoke irked, as if affronted by the discarded thing's mere existence. Yet, he still stooped to fetch it from stone and straw only to stand there uselessly with it as he assumed one of the others would soon scramble up the stairs to read it. No such luck as the sounds of night elf and gnome discussing whatever a 'Fifth Element' was continued to bounce from wall to wall. Turning it over, he could at least glean its title.

'The Uncles.' 'The Uncalmed.' 'The Unclammed.' 'The Unclaimed.'

Faintly printed text shifted and reordered before his very eyes. Not a trick of light nor dark, but only a lifelong reality. One that washed over him with a faint, elementary-level dread as he resorted to fanning open the pages himself. Expecting the book to slip apart at the spine, he was disappointingly surprised when he noticed how sturdily bound it was--much like the man who held it.

"Church of… Forged--forgotten shadows." The perusal was an arduous and incomplete endeavor, attempting to glean the gist of what he could despite repeating sentences and information not taking to his mind. A priest of some cult involved in capital-S Shadows. Unsure of whether that was Void or another shade of that cosmic darkness, he skimmed along until a single sentence sat bold and plain upon the page:

'The void can swallow everything, including its faithful servants.'

The tome was slammed closed, coughing a cloud of dust into the air. Having enough of jumbled words and jumbled thoughts, Thanfred gave up any curiosity for the remaining pages. Already, his ears were filling with the excited glee of Stimmy's squealing above. The other two had apparently moved on. And, with a toss off that journal back to its brittle nest, he would try to as well.

Several more daunting trials than reading pages and forgetting them were to come. A flight by ethereal wings, encounters with starved wildlife, and blunders into bears. At last, a small turn of fortune evinced by way of an eerie night elven woman clad in bone. This 'Soulcrest', having shepherded the party through roving Scourge, left the companions to their brief respite at the quaint inn. Before long, after drinks were had and rooms were claimed, Thanfred found the couch cushions left for him as inviting as a velveteen cloud.

Only for sleep's satin-smooth grasp to drag him downwards into blackness.

'THANFWED?!'

A call from the infinite, from the no where and everywhere around him in that bleak dreamscape. 'Help! I can't see!' The voice was one of a young child, shouting out in Thalassian with a childhood speech impediment despite stress refinement. Though a voice that had not been heard in decades upon decades, it was one unmistakable.

'LEWYN?!' the frantic elf called back into the darkness, pivoting around and around. The empty space was so shrouded that he had no telling whether he had turned his body nor head. All disorienting in the blackout, he had no choice but to wait for another cry to lead him again.

'Thanfwed! Where are you?!' the meek thing continued to sob, echoing throughout the plane. Enough that Thanfred's present-day feet could rush ahead towards the timelost sounds. 'This dark is terrible!'

Terrible it was, but in the distance, he could make out barely a speck in all that dark. 'I'm coming, Lew!' Rushing and rushing, nearly an eternity separated them no matter how fast he felt every bound was. In the nebulous nothing-place, no amount of armor weighed him down. From his feet, to his bare wrists.

Eventually, though, the small figure stood ahead. A petite elven boy, no older than ten summers of Eversong's springs, crimson-headed and fair-skin was suspended in his best bib and tucker within the infinite abyss. What were shaking, sobbing blouse-puffed shoulders from afar had now stilled. 'It's alright now,' spoke the same powder-soft voice, infinitely calmer and infinitely thinner, 'I don't need your protection any longer.'

Boot slowed to a numb drag, only hindered by the drop in his chest. 'Lew…?' Thanfred cautiously questioned to the dark, already feeling the sting to his eyes and lungs 'Lewyn, what are you saying?'

'I quite like it, Thanfwed.' The rhoticism took an eerie turn, a defiled mockery of innocence as it picked up an undercurrent of reverberating whispers beneath. 'Think it's better at protecting me. More power in it, too.' In a tortuously slow reveal, those tiny curved shoes turned towards the man.

Eyes. Several hundred flickering eyes climbed from lacy jabot towards upper brow, twisting around what pale skin contorted by the newfound augmentations. Rosy plump cheeks now gaped in a jagged smile, as if a doll's face split open. Now noticed, from beneath the nape of his hair, did writhing extensions of tumorous tentacles crawl and spread. 'You'll like it, too.'

That ball of darkmatter in his chest scattered fragmented into firing neurons and nerves. 'LEWYN!' shattered his heart in his throat, curdling into a shrill and sudden cry. If he can reach, if only he could reach there might have still been time to save him. And so his hand clawed forward. No bracer-set emeralds to reflect his tears back at him--but still all too far.

'Join me, brother.'

Those reaching fingers, suddenly growing, bursting, limbs lengthening, body on fire in ice as muscles inflated and reshaped and--

He loudly gasped upright. There, upon a couch's cradle, he had only the crackling flames of the nearby fireplace to witness him. Shuddering to breathe, he quickly looked towards those same fingers. Still elf-shaped, still indigo, still dressed in gauze. Shaken, he tucked the hand close to himself and breathed out a quavering sigh. It was enough to steady his racing chest to slip back down into a flop upon the sofa's seat.

"I'm sick of books."

Another sleep left unclaimed.

#writing #Thanfred Veilborne #more like the unread #because it's long

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ecoamerica · 1 month

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youtube

Watch the 2024 American Climate Leadership Awards for High School Students now: https://youtu.be/5C-bb9PoRLc

The recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by student climate leaders! Join Aishah-Nyeta Brown & Jerome Foster II and be inspired by student climate leaders as we recognize the High School Student finalists. Watch now to find out which student received the $25,000 grand prize and top recognition!

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miyalove · 3 years

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[ ❄ ]— SNOWED IN.

⤷ pairing. roommate!miya atsumu x fem!reader

⤷ genre. smut, fluff, humor, college au, and they were roommates au

⤷ warnings. swearing, dom!atsumu, sub!reader, ass slapping, begging, atsumu is 1000% a tease, oral (male receiving), praise, choking on atsumu’s (large) dick, domestic sex, hair pulling, dirty talk, penetrative sex, sex without a condom (please, be safe ya’ll), hickeys, *unedited

3.5k | being snowed in with a broken heater is anything but ideal. when your favorite thick blanket and the layers of fluffy sweaters no longer cut it, your roommate ask of you something you just can’t turn down.

five days.

it has been five days in which the snow storm forced you and atsumu to stay inside. the first day was fine. the power hadn’t went out and your heater was set to a temperature that you and atsumu agreed on. your phones and other electronics were fully charged and ready to use for emergencies or for quick netflix binges. everything was okay.

day two came a little harsher. waking up with your hairs on the back of your neck standing, you realized the power had finally went. it was sometime in the early morning, but even within a short time span the chilly air was still able to nip through the interior. no power meant no heater or hot water. the day dragged on just like anyone would expect. atsumu had complained for hours upon hours. screeching dramatically and throwing his body on the floor like a child who wasn’t allowed to eat candy before dinner.

day three was just as bad if not worse. no amount of blankets and thick winter coats could fight off the cold. you wake up with your teeth chattering, your body shaking, and to top it all off, you think you might be getting sick too. you could tell night had finally came when everything got immensely worst. your breath frosted and sneezing between you and atsumu was non-stop. this was also the day you proposed that the two of you cuddle up for extra warmth. it was a casual conversation that you had to murmur between glassy breaths.

reluctantly, atsumu agreed. at first, he turned away saying something about not “liking the cuddling lifestyle”. you rolled your eyes at his claim because everyone loves cuddles. you had gotten excited at the aspect of showing him what a good session can awaken within. your theory was proven right later into the night though. you rested your head on his shoulder, using some candle light to read through a chapter of a book you’ve been into recently. an exciting thriller that has you anticipatingly flipping through page after page.

atsumu was doing his own thing though. what it was? you didn’t know. really you weren’t paying attention. even when he hummed and grumbled lowly a few times, your brushed it off. not wanting to stray away from the words on the pages, you hoped he worked out whatever his problem is by himself. the last straw though was when his fingers slowly creeped up your thigh.

you shifted your attention, eyeing the man besides you. he boldly holds your stare. he’s daring enough to put on a nonchalant expression, face completely relaxed. his hues shine with something hidden behind them. something you can’t quite make out but they have you not wanting to look away. he doesn’t say anything and for a while the two of you just stare.

when you drop the book was when he finally pounced.

“’bout damn time,” he teases.

in seconds, he pulls you close. your back flush against his chest and his arms pulled you in by your middle, resting there. your sat in between his crossed legs. you had no words at first. everything had happened so fast. for a second you sit there wide-eyed and in shock, fazed and stare lingering in the darkness. then you felt the comforting warmth slowly creep in. when he spoke, the vibration in his chest felt inviting and things went lax again.

“keep your mouth open ‘nd a fly ‘ill get in there.” you can’t help but laugh.

“whatever happened to ‘not the cuddling type’, huh?”

“shut the fuck up,” venomous words but the way he dug his nose into your neck proved the opposite.

day four went the same way except now you were both all over each other. the night before had broken something between the two of you that wasn’t just roommates status anymore. he’s become a friend and someone you actually look forward to hanging out and talking with. you see pass his honestly and realize that he’s actually quite charming too. atsumu had thrown you tons of curveballs that day and getting to know him was fun. you recall when you where practically straddling his lap, your hands roaming anywhere and everywhere.

you faced him, eyes soft and laughter apparent because who knew he was a jokester too. gently caressing at his sharp jaw then sliding down to his firm pecs. your hands roamed his body like an ocean waiting to be ventured. with every feather-like touch, you learned another thing that day. miya atsumu is incredibly attractive. you’ll never admit it to him (because you also learned that miya atsumu has an incredibly large ego), but you must be insane if it took you a damn snow storm to realize something that’s so blaringly obvious.

day five was the day he came to you with that intimate proposal. cuddling in any and every position possible was something that was easy for you to do. you’ve warmed up with close friends, both male and female, so you could say that the special act doesn’t truly mean anything, but this– dear god, this man will be the death of you.

“you want to– what?” you practically screech. you jump back from his body, already missing the heat, but you want to look him dead in the eyes. his eyes, are the most expressive thing about him. atsumu can lie and tease but there was no getting past him when you gazed into his golden hues, but was he really saying what you think he was saying?

“cuddling and all that can only do so much, yanno?” silence. but he goes on anyway, “thought this was a more... practical solution.” and in pure atsumu matter, he doesn’t stray away from you. looking you dead in the eye with all the confidence in the world. there’s no teasing smile or sarcastic cackle. he’s serious. this attractive man that has women constantly falling at his feet... wants to fuck you.

“this is like for the warmth and all that... right?” you’re hesitant. he can see it in the way you look at him. your hues are clouded with all sorts of swirling emotions; concern, worry, uncertainty. he thinks about taking it back. but it’s far too late for doubt now.

“yeah, for the heat,” he repeats it to reassure you or maybe to reassure himself, he doesn’t know. atsumu sits before you. his hair messy from all the times you ran your hand through it and his cheeks are slightly colored pink. why was this such an awkward conversation to have? there’s a constructing feeling in his chest. he feels like he’s suffocating like every breath he takes is stopped by words trying to choke themselves out of his throat. perhaps it’s the cold finally getting to him or maybe it’s the way the candle light perfectly frames your face.

“so are ya in?”

it’s the way he bit at his lips that get you contemplating. the way he looked at ready to take you whenever and wherever you asked. it was the anxious way he his leg bounced and the ghost-like circles he was rubbing into your thigh. it set ablaze a trail of desire wherever he touched. it laced your veins with adrenaline and lust made for him by him. him, him, him.

when you leaned into his lips was when he finally got an answer.

“oh, shit,” you sink down on him as the words leave his mouth.

your lips wrapped around him and he mumbles something thing under his breath that you can’t really catch. the warmth from your tongue makes his stomach tighten. the sight from above looks incredible. your down on your knees, mouth stuffed with his cock, and your sweet little ass on display just for him. atsumu lays right at the edge of your bed, legs spread just wide enough for you to kneel between them. one hand pets at your hair, lacing it between your locks.

the way you expertly circle his tip and how your hands play with his balls, makes him sees stars behind his lids. his stomach tenses with every swallow, every small hum that erupts from your throat. god, you are going to be the death of him. when you look up, you let out a small moan, absolutely loving atsumu’s fucked out expression. his thin lips pout at you, his chest is heavy and falls unevenly. it motivates you, the way he groans and grunts; the way he falls apart at your touch.

“just like that, doll. mhm,” he praises. when you look up, his eyes are half-lidded, clouded with lust meant only for you. a small smirk plays at his lips. he’s completely enamored, sweat beads at his forehead and you don’t think he’s ever looked prettier.

your jaw goes slack when you feel his hips buck. you bob your head, gladly welcoming his shallow thrust. the feeling of his dick heavy on your tongue while he forces you to slide further down makes heat between your legs pool. atsumu takes your humming as a sign to go deeper. soon you’re nose is pressed up on his skin and you’re choking on his cock.

“you’re so pretty like this,” he punctuates his praise with a harsh slap to your ass. the sudden movement makes you fly forward, effortlessly swallowing his dick down again. atsumu is clearly caught off guard. he let’s out a surprised mewl, hip stuttering at the overwhelming pleasure.

“fuck– with y- your mouth full of my cock.”

his grip tightens with every thrust. your scalp burns with all the harsh tugging. there’s droll and snot leaking down from your face but it’s all worth it. your lungs burn, begging you for any kind of air. like he was reading your mind, he lets off of you for few seconds. the lewd pop that follows after rips through the empty room as you catch your breath but that sly smile remains on his face.

even with your heavy panting and watery eyes, atsumu doesn’t exactly let up. his length rest, merely inches away from your face. he pets at your hair, tugging your locks to give him more access to your neck. you shudder when he starts peppering your skin with soft kisses. your eyes flutter close, enjoying the way he nips and sucks at your neck. that’s definitely going to leave a mark, but you don’t find yourself caring.

his mouth goes to work while his other hand roams your valley. without hesitation, atsumu slides his hand lower cupping your ass. “fits like a gem,” you hear him mumble between sloppy sucking. the breath he lets out tickles your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

his hand slides up to your front, grazing your nipples through the thick lace of your bra. opening your eyes, you look up just in time to see his gaze darken. reaching higher, atsumu cups the back of your neck. there’s a moment in which he stills. golden eyes bore into your own hues. a plain of emotions swirl within him. admiration in the way he smiles at you, hunger in the way he bits his lips. his hair is messy, tousled with all the times you delicately laced your fingers through them and his lips are swollen from the way he was marking you.

there’s only one word that comes to mind; “pretty.” you didn’t mean it aloud, but when it comes to atsumu your brain short circuits and all sense is thrown out the window. you feel your face heat up at the embarrassingly simple compliment.

“speakin’ about yerself, now?” of course, he would. typical atsumu miya with his smooth words that make all the panties drop (including yours). you let out a breathy giggle, liking the way your checks ache with all the smiling. without another thought, his head dips down to your own capturing your lips in a heated kiss.

it’s lazy and sloppy. all teeth and tongue and no space to breath or think, but you like it like this. you like atsumu like this. raw, exposed, and yours. his hands roam to the back of your thighs, pinching slightly in hopes you get the hint. he wants you. now.

without breaking away, you lean into atsumu. his back gently lands on your sheets, pillows and blankets shaping his tone body to perfection. you brace your arms to help with the fall, successfully trapping him between your body.

“atsumu,” you say, breaking free.

“hhm?”

“please, fuck me.”

he chuckles, “say less, doll.”

pulling your sweatpants down, his big hands grope your ass in the process. he moves quickly, rushing to get you ready for him. in one swift moment, your underwear is gone and thrown carelessly somewhere.

“you’re so shameless, baby, with that demanding mouth,” flipping you over, you’re under him now. body perfectly, angled so he can see your pretty features shift whenever he fucks you just right. he loves seeing your mouth agape. loves how you hang off every word, how your body quivers with every touch, how you cry and moan his name. it’s beautiful. you’re beautiful.

he leaves a trail of kisses down your body until he’s mere inches away from your cunt. his fingers brush against the thin lining of your panties. why you still have them on is beyond him. arousal leaks through the material while atsumu presses against your heat.

“ah– ‘tsumu,” your breathing is frantic when he presses a fleeting kiss on your clothes core. “you’re such a t-tease.”

he doesn’t say anything. allowing his actions to speak for him. he teases you, hooking his fingers under the thin lace. the way his cold digits brush at your heat makes for a delicious contrast.

“you look so good,” he purrs pressing a kiss to the inner part of your thigh. “and you’re absolutely fuckin’ dripping. bet i could just slide right into ya.” his fingers are relentless, they ghost over your clit tracing feather-like circles. it’s enough for short spikes of pleasure to rush through you but just as quickly as they come, they’re gone.

“do you want me?”

“god, yes.”

“beg for it then.”

like clock work, you do. “please, ‘tsumu. i need you so bad right now. your hands, your tongue, your cock-- everything. please, i just wanna feel you so bad.”

“ehh,” he ponders before pressing a kiss to your thighs. “could be better.”

it’s stupid the way your heart flutters at his playful teasing. looking up at him through your hazy eyes, you try your best to muster up the perfect puppy dog face. “please, ‘tsumu?”

he lets out a huff, “god, you’re so annoying.” everything happens so fast. one second, atsumu is softly pecking at your neck. the next he’s roughly grabbing at you, complete man-handling.

he pulls you impossibly closer. there is no warning or preparation. he rams himself into you, completely taken over by the way your tight pussy swallows him whole. the burn feels fucking painful, you can’t help the screams that tremble from your lips.

“oh my f-fucking-- mhpm, god!” he’s so big, in length and thickness. moans fill the room while he fills you up. your hot, wet walls clench around him and he groans at the delicious feeling.

“yer so fucking tight, holy shit.” he nuzzles his nose into your neck. “love this cunt so fucking much.” another slap to the ass that rips a deep moan from you.

“please, ‘tsumu,” you pant.

and at that moment, something within him finally snaps. pulling out from your sopping cunt, the tip of his dick rest within you, then in the same second he slams back into your entrance. lewd moans rip from the both of you while pure euphoria runs through your blood. you arch you back, pressing your chest to his, eyes rolling back every time he rams back into you. with each thrust and roll of your hip, his dick rubs at the spot that makes you see stars.

“you feel so good,” you whimper out watching as his dick pumps in and out of your pussy. “filling me up so good-- fuck, with your big dick.”

he shudders at your words, head coming down to latch onto your pebbled nipples. his tongue laps around the sensitive bud while his spare hand kneads at your other breast. a sharp inhale escapes you in between sobs. his hands are freezing from the chilly air within your apartment. it’s like ice on your skin, a complete contrast to how heated you feels. the feeling knocks you back into reality; you and atsumu are fucking in the middle of a snowstorm.

“how’s that feel, babe?” you answer him with a wanton gasp.

“absolutely fucking amazing,” you punctuate your pleasure with a deep roll of your hips. atsumu chuckles, a mix of a strangled moan and teasing.

“god, yer such a little freak.” he leans down again repeating his action to your other breast. deep thrust becoming more frequent now.

“only f-for you.”

your words spur him on, atsumu angles his hips to pound onto the one spot that has you crying out. he has your body shaking, his name tumbles out of your mouth like a mantra while he wrecks your body, moaning into your neck.

the knot of your pleasure tighten. it burns like a white hot coils that’s about to snap. he knows you’re close. with the way your pussy sporadically clenches around him making him groan. god, you’re almost there. he can feel it. your orgasm is right at the tip of your tongue. so close yet so fucking far. you need more and he senses that with the way you silently beg him. “harder, please-- oh, god.”

your words get caught on your tongue. he fucks right into you with a force so hard, you might have forgotten how to breath. “yes, just l-like that. hmph.”

“fuck yeah,” he groans, nipping your neck. “so good to me, fuck. such a good girl keeping me nice and warm and shit.” at that, you squeeze around him and he lets out a lewd groan. his cold digits travel down your body, rubbing circles around your messy clit. it’s all too much. the way he expertly runts into you, the pleasure his fingers give you, the way he praises you and nips at all your sensitive spots.

all you can manage at this point are a high pitched whimpers and pleas of his name. sweat drips down both your bodies, your walls clench around him like a vice as he tries his best to fuck you hard. every thrust brushes right at your sweet spot, clouding your vision. a fire burns within you, leaving you gasping and moaning between sobs of air.

“cum for me, doll.”

and with his words and one last thrust, the coil finally snaps. pleasure rushes through your body in euphoric waves taking over you. your veins pump absolute bliss through you. atsumu follows soon after, painting your walls with spurts of his seed. overwhelming, toe-curling pleasure floods within you both like surges of electricity. his lips find yours as the last parts of your orgasm finally dies.

once he catches his breath, he pulls away smiling down at the way you look effortlessly gorgeous with his cum stuffed in you. you meet his hues too, mirroring the same exact smile.

your room is dark, curtesy of the snow covering your windows. candles flicker at your nightstand, painting the room in a dim, yellowish hue. fatigue hits you like a train. all you want is to lay down, close your eyes and welcome the sweet relief of slumber. shifting around, you turn on your side body molding perfectly spooning atsumu.

“sleepy already?”

the bedsheets shift towards you. despite having your eyes closed, you can feel atsumu’s hues on you watching the way your eyelashes fall perfectly on your cheek. you’re so warm and soft. effortlessly gorgeous with or without trying. your hair threads down on your pillow, spiraling to an abrupt end. he wants to run his hands through it, massaging at your scalp to sooth the aching.

then he reminds himself he can. when he’s meet with a mumbled response and a slight hum, he takes the hint. in your haze, you feel the weight of his arms wrap around your body cuddling up to you impossibly closer.

his breath tickles at your neck, “goodnight, baby.”

(atsumu eyes the way you fall lax within his arms. your legs tangled and wrapped within the thick layers of your comforter. his heart beat rapidly and the smile on his face, despite the exhaustion that laces his veins, can't stop. atsumu isn’t an idiot. he knows what all these symptoms mean, but for now that’s a talk for another time. for now, he’ll silently thank whatever god out there for the terrible weather that brought the two of you closer then ever before. for now, he’ll enjoy the way your body molds perfectly to his.)

#haikyuu #hq #haikyuu!!#miya atsumu #atsumu #atsumu x reader #miya atsumu x reader #hq smut #haikyuu smut #haikyuu!! smut #miya atsumu smut #atsumu smut

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live-the-fangirl-life · 3 years

Text

It’s the Thought that Counts

Aelin Galathynius x Rowan Whitethorn - Birthday Oneshot

All Rowan wants to do is throw a surprise party for his girlfriend, but that becomes increasingly difficult as every possible thing that could go wrong—goes wrong.

I wrote this for my birthday on the fifth, but I couldn't wait until then to post it, Enjoy!

Masterlist | Read on Ao3

Warnings: Language, Light NSFW

4476 words

*******

“Are you serious?”

If Rowan’s hair wasn’t already silver, it would’ve been by the end of the day from all the stress this was putting him through.

Looking into the open cake box in Fenrys’ hands, he just stared at the inscription atop what was supposed to be a birthday cake for Aelin.

“What? What’s wrong?” Fenrys tried to lean over the lid of the box but it was tall enough to block his view.

“Did you even look at it before you left the store? Before you paid for it?” It took all of Rowan’s self-control not to scream. How many more things could go wrong today?

Fenrys shifted uneasily, noticing Rowan’s slipping control. “Uh, no. I was already running late, and you said to get back here as soon as possible to help finish setting up.”

All Rowan could do was let out a long, slow breath.

“This. Says. Alien.”

The blonde man holding the cake snorted, “what?”

“The cake says ‘Happy Birthday, Alien’”

“Seriously?” Fenrys was quick to put the box down on a nearby table so he could stand next to Rowan and look at it. “Shit. They even put little green Martians on it.”

All Rowan wanted to do was throw a surprise party for his girlfriend.

Was that really too much to ask? Apparently, so.

A couple of months ago Aelin had mentioned how she’d always wanted a surprise party, but of course, you cant ask for a surprise party because then it’s no longer a surprise.

Rowan took the hint and decided to plan something special for her birthday. He even got all their friends to help, and if everything had gone to plan then it would have been a perfect day.

Too bad he couldn’t catch a break.

Rowan had made a list of everything they needed to do, buy, and plan. It was an extensive list because he knew that a party for Aelin had to be perfect. Not because she had impossibly high standards—well, she did, but that wasn’t why it had to be perfect—it was because he loved her and wanted to show her how much he appreciated her on her birthday.

And he thought it would be the icing on the cake—pun intended—to have all their friends involved too. That’s why he was making calls to all of them about what they each needed to do for the party.

First, he got Lorcan and Elide to pick up the golden balloon arch that was going to be at the entrance of the park he’d reserved for the day. By the time he got on the phone with Lorcan, Rowan was already exasperated from having to deal with the city planning office in order to reserve the particular park and gazebo.

“Lorcan, I need you in charge of the—” Rowan broke off, hearing a loud crackling from the other end of the phone.

“You’re cutting off, wha— you say?” Lorcan’s voice was halting as the call cut in-and-out

“I was saying, I need you to cover the balloons.”

“Ba—”

“The balloon canopy.”

“The bo—, ca—”

“Yeah, we need a golden balloon canopy.”

“Okay, fine. I— got the— boun— ca—”

“Shit. Can you hear me?” Rowan pulled his phone away to check his service. It was fine from his end, it must be Lorcan’s phone being spotty.

When Rowan put the phone back to his ear, he could hear rustling and the sound of a car door opening and closing, and then the connection cleared.

“Yeah, man. I heard you. But, are you sure Aelin wants that?” Lorcan sounded skeptical.

“What? Yeah, of course, it’ll be great.” Rowan was already getting impatient, knowing he had a few more errands to run before he could relax.

“Whatever. She’s your girlfriend, and it’s your credit card.”

Rolling his eyes, Rowan muttered, “Thank you for your generous help, Lorcan.” then heard someone scolding Lorcan and grinned before saying loud enough for the other person to hear, “Thank you, Elide!”

Rowan hung up and mentally checked off the balloons. What was next?

***

“Aedion, please, I need you to keep Aelin busy for the day.”

Aedion and Lysandra had come over to Rowan and Aelin’s apartment for dinner, and Rowan had dragged Aedion into the kitchen to talk about that weekend’s plan.

Taking a sip of his beer, Aedion raised an eyebrow at him, “Won’t she wonder why her boyfriend is avoiding her on her birthday?”

Rowan rolled his eyes. “I won’t be avoiding her. You will very adamantly request to take your cousin to lunch for her birthday, and who am I to get in the way of family?”

Aedion snorted but nodded. “Yeah, okay. Lys and I can take her out.”

“No, Lys can’t be there.”

“What?” Aedion looked at him bewildered. “Why not?”

Rowan sighed. “Because if Lysandra is there with you, then Aelin will wonder why I’m not there with her. If it’s just you and Aelin, then she won’t think it’s weird that I’m gone. Besides,” Rowan took another sip of beer, “I’ll need Lys’ help during the day to set up that slideshow.”

“Right.”

The slideshow Rowan had asked Aedion and Lysandra to make using pictures of Aelin that would play during the party. The one that Aedion wasn’t going to tell Rowan hadn’t been started yet. “Yeah, okay. I’ll invite Aelin to come get lunch with me.”

“Perfect.”

One more thing off Rowan’s list.

***

The morning of the party Rowan asked Fenrys to go pick up Aelin’s cake. It was supposed to be a chocolate and hazelnut cake with the top decorated with kingsflame blossoms and say, “Happy Birthday Aelin.”

Rowan was distracted with setting up decorations and directing their friends to put away the things they brought. Dorian and Manon were in charge of getting the alcohol. Chaol and Yrene were bringing deserts because when it came to Aelin there could never be enough sweets. Fenrys helped Rowan bring out the rest of the food, before being sent off to pick up the cake.

Rowan did a quick scan, mentally checking off everyone. Besides the people he could see, he knew Lysandra was in the gazebo finishing up the slideshow, Aedion was out distracting Aelin, and Elide and Lorcan would be here any minute with the balloons.

Letting out a breath, Rowan smiled. Things seemed to be coming together.

Busy showing Dorian where the coolers for the drinks were, he was too distracted to do more than wave a ‘hello’ to Lorcan and Elide as Lorcan’s truck pulled up to the park. Rowan decided they were smart enough to figure out how to set up a balloon arch—or at least Elide could read the directions to a grumbling Lorcan, so Rowan spent the next half hour with other parts of the setup.

After he finished hanging up the screen they were going to use for the picture slideshow, Rowan went to check on the balloons.

He made it two steps out of the large gazebo and stopped in his tracks.

“What the fuck is this?” Rowan exclaimed, gaping at the large monstrosity in front of him.

Instead of looking at a beautiful, arched balloon canopy, he was looking at a massive, inflatable, child’s bouncy castle.

“What do you mean ‘what the fuck is this?’” Lorcan asked, wiping a bit of sweat from his forehead and stepping around the side of the castle. “This is what you asked for.”

“This is not what I asked for.” Rowan could feel his mouth still hanging open and quickly shut it.

Elide looked at Rowan in confusion. “Rowan, you did ask for this. I mean, I definitely thought it was weird that Aelin would want a blow-up bounce house for her birthday, but when Lor asked if you were sure, you insisted it was right.”

Rowan tried to remember that particular conversation. He had so many details in his head and too many people in charge of different things.

“Shit.” The phone call was coming back to Rowan to now. “We kept getting cut off. Shit,” He ran an exasperated hand through his hair making it all stand up on end. He swung around towards Lorcan who looked at him with raised brows. “What did you think I was asking you to get?”

Lorcan slowly looked between the bouncy house and Rowan. “You asked me to get a Bounce Castle.”

For fucks sake.

“I asked you to get a Balloon Canopy.”

Elide’s mouth opened in an ‘O’ and Lorcan said nothing until a moment later he was laughing, bent over at the waist.

“You wanted balloons, and now Galathynius has a bounce castle.” He managed between breaths, ignoring Rowan’s fuming look. It took Elide elbowing him in the side to get him to stop laughing.

“I don’t have time for this. Fix this.” Rowan waved his arms around at the massive blow-up castle, and then he turned around to find something he could actually focus on, trying his best to ignore the increasingly greying clouds in the sky.

“You still paying?” Lorcan called after him.

He let out a string of curses. “Yes.”

Rowan just barely heard the sound of air being let out of the castle as he walked away.

***

A shriek drew Rowan’s attention away from the chairs he was unfolding. He turned towards the gazebo to see Lysandra throw a small ice bucket, mostly filled with water at this point, at the screen Rowan had set up earlier.

The screen that was on fire.

Running in to help, Rowan saw that the candles placed around it had been lit—why the hell would someone already light them? The wind must’ve blown the screen too close causing it to catch fire.

He reached Lysandra just as she threw another bucket of icy water on the screen, dousing the rest of the flames.

“Are you okay?” He looked over Lysandra, but she just seemed shocked and irritated.

“I’m fine.” She gave him a reassuring nod before scowling at the destroyed screen. “This, though, is pretty much dead.” she sighed and closed her laptop she was using to work on the slideshow. “It doesn’t look like we’ll be showing pictures today, Rowan.”

He rubbed at his face. Fine. Okay. He could deal with this. They had a children’s bounce house and no slideshow. That was fine. As long as nothing else went wrong, he could deal with it.

As if in response to his thought, the day began to dim as clouds moved to cover the sun. If Rowan didn’t look at the heavy clouds, they would disappear.

That was when Fenrys came back with the cake.

***

“Alien?! I can’t give my girlfriend a birthday cake that’s calling her an Alien!”

Fenrys almost wanted to laugh at how ridiculous Rowan looked with his hair sticking up and face all red, but he knew this was just the latest in a list of ‘things gone wrong’ and was worried that if he laughed then he wouldn’t live to see the birthday girl.

“Maybe she’ll find it funny,” Fenrys suggested.

Rowan slowly turned toward him with an almost crazed look in his eye. “Funny? You think Aelin will find all this,” he waved his hands at the deflating bounce house, charred hanging screen, and the horribly incorrect cake, “Funny?”

“...Maybe?” Honestly, Fenrys thought Aelin would find it all hilarious but decided to keep his mouth shut. He knew how much work and energy Rowan put into this party, and he worried for his friend’s mental state as he counted all the things that had already gone wrong.

Rowan just dropped his head in his hands and groaned.

***

As soon as Rowan unpacked the last of the food, he heard a boom of thunder.

“This is not happening.” He muttered to himself, refusing to look at what was surely the worst thing that could happen that day.

A moment later he heard the unmistakable sound of hard, fast rain. The yelps from his friends broke him out of his haze and he turned to see everyone rush into the covered gazebo, careful to keep close to the center where they could stay dry.

Everyone besides Yrene, who had been helping Rowan with the food, were varying levels of soaked. And all the decorations they’d been holding were either stuck outside taking the worst of the rain or dragged inside to drip water onto the floor.

Rowan didn’t say anything, he just grabbed the beer bottle out of Aedion’s hand and took a long swig.

***

Looking around, Rowan surveyed the damage. Where a nice balloon canopy should’ve been positioned, a large, deflated, child’s bounce castle stood in its place; the screen he was going to use to show a slideshow of Aelin was burnt to a crisp; the rain pouring down was soaking the park and wrecking everything brought in from the cars, and the perfect cake for his girlfriend was ruined by calling her Alien.

But at least all their friends showed up.

That was the one good thing to come out of this disaster of a party. Even if they were all dripping wet and shivering from their walks from their cars to the covered gazebo in the middle of the park.

Dorian walked up to where Rowan and Aedion were talking about the cousin’s lunch. He took a sip of his drink and asked them, “So, what time is Aelin is getting here?”

Rowan and Aedion both turned towards each other.

“What time did you—”

“When did you say—”

They both froze.

Rowan slowly blinked. “Aedion, you did tell Aelin what time to come tonight, right?”

Aedion shook his head, wincing, “No, man. I was taking her out to lunch. You were supposed to find a reason to get her to the park.”

A dull roaring started in Rowan’s head. He thought over everything he had on his list.

Rent out gazebo: Check.

Delegate decorations: unsuccessful, but Check.

Order cake: again, unsuccessful, but Check.

Get friends to show up: Check.

Buy Aelin’s present: Check

Invite Aelin…

“Fuck. Shit. Fuck me. No, no, no, no, no… Gods damn it!”

Before anyone could another word, Rowan pulled his keys from his pocket and sprinted into the rain towards his car.

***

Aelin loved her birthday.

Usually.

She loved celebrating with her friends and laughing about the stupid gag gift they bought her. She loved making a wish on her candles and she even loved the awkward minute of listening to people sing happy birthday.

Last year, Rowan had woken her up to a particularly amazing round of birthday sex. Which turned into another round in the kitchen and then another one in the shower. He had also spent the day last year doing her favorite things and ending the night with a wonderful dinner at her favorite restaurant.

Which was why she had been so excited to see what this birthday would bring.

Her morning began exactly how she hoped: with Rowan’s tongue between her legs. He’d woken her up slowly, lazily, until she was squirming on the sheets with her hand fisted in his hair.

She’d hoped their morning tumble was the start of a very satisfying day, but soon afterward Rowan left saying he had to make a work call and she should get ready for her lunch with Aedion.

As much as she loved her cousin, all Aelin really wanted to do was stay inside with Rowan all day, clothing-optional. Actually, clothing-nonexistent.

But she did want to see Aedion, and apparently, Rowan’s work call was pressing enough that he practically ran out the door.

Lunch was nice. She hadn’t had one-on-one time with Aedion in a while, but she couldn’t help but notice how antsy he seemed.

“What aren’t you telling me?” She asked him after the waiter took their set down their drinks.

Her cousin choked on the sip he’d taken, and she raised an eyebrow at him.

“What?” He sputtered. “I’m not not telling you anything.”

“Uh huh.”

He rolled his eyes. “There’s nothing Ae, don’t sweat it.”

“It looks like you’re the one sweating Aedion.” Leaning back in her chair she smirked and crossed her arms. “Did you get me something you’re worried I won’t like?” she joked.

“Hm? Oh, yeah, exactly! Lysandra picked it out but I don’t know if you’ll like it.”

Aelin rolled her eyes at her cousin. “Please, if Lys picked out whatever it is, then I’m sure I’ll love it.” Her smirk turned into a genuine smile. “But, it’s from you so I know I’ll like it.”

He laughed but she thought he still looked a bit anxious. Deciding not to worry about whatever else had him fidgety, she let it go.

When she got back to her and Rowan’s apartment, she expected he would be there. He wasn’t.

Aelin didn’t think a work call would take the two hours she’d been out with Aedion, so she hoped Rowan would be back soon. She hadn’t talked about plans today because last year he had been so eager to take the lead.

So she waited.

And waited.

Three hours later she was irate, hurt, and confused. How could he just up and disappear on her birthday? If he was busy—if something came up that he needed to deal with—he should’ve just told her. She still would be upset, but she’d have understood.

But he hadn’t said anything. He hadn’t called or texted. Rowan hadn’t given her any explanation as to why she was alone now on her birthday.

Aelin walked into the kitchen and was about to pour herself a glass of wine when she heard loud noises from the hall outside her apartment door. It sounded like heavy, stampeding footsteps.

And then Rowan was bursting into their apartment.

He was breathing heavily, soaking wet, and looking at her with such an apologetic expression that she momentarily forgot why she was angry.

“Aelin,” he panted, trying to get a breath, “I am so sorry.”

Right. That was why she was angry.

She crossed her arms over her chest and took in his disheveled appearance, trying desperately to understand why he was so out of sorts.

“What happened to you?”

Rowan loosed a long, heavy breath and stepped closer to her. “Aelin, gods, I’m an idiot.”

“Yes, you are.” She agreed. “But, explain to me why.”

Rowan took another step towards her and she let him.

“I had a whole thing planned— I still do, kind of, but it’s basically ruined at this point—” Rowan started talking faster and Aelin struggled to keep up. “I planned an amazing surprise party for you, I spent weeks getting things organized. I had all our friends come out to help, they’re all still out at the park—I rented out the park—they’d better all still be there, anyway.”

He took a breath and Aelin’s anger slowly started to fade, but then she remembered sitting alone in her apartment for three hours and stared at him until he continued his explanation.

“There were supposed to be balloons, golden ones! And photos of you, and a cake, but all of it got ruined.” Rowan ran an angry hand through his hair. “Lorcan thought I asked him for a bounce castle— a bounce castle! Then the screen caught on fire, and then there was a mess up with the cake that you don’t even want to know about.”

He finally looked back at her, pleadingly, hoping she could understand how sorry he was. “But the worst part, which was one-hundred-percent my fault, was that I forgot to invite you to your own party.”

Aelin was wide-eyed by the end of his speech. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

Rowan grabbed her hand and looked down at her with sorry eyes. “Please, forgive me.”

“Forgive you?”

His face crumpled and he leaned to press it into her shoulder. She heard him grumble, “Fuck. I ruined your birthday, I’m so sorry.”

Aelin pulled away to hold his face between her hands. She waited until his eyes opened to say, “Rowan, you planned that whole thing? For me?”

His brow furrowed as if he couldn’t understand why she would ask that. “Of course, I did. I know how much you wanted a surprise party, but—”

“But nothing.” She cut him off pressing her mouth firmly against his. Rowan was too surprised at her reaction to reciprocate, but she pulled back just as fast.

“Okay, yes, not inviting me to my own party was a bad move,” He winced. “But, everything else you did was amazing.” When he still looked skeptically at her she continued, “the rest of that stuff; the weather, the cake, the fire, Lorcan’s bad judgment—none of that was your fault.”

Rowan finally cracked a smile at the last bit.

“So,” he searched her face for any clues, “you’re not upset?”

Aelin laughed at pulled Rowan down for another kiss. This time, he eagerly returned it and wrapped one arm around her waist and the other moved so his hand could hold the back of her head. They stood wrapped up in each other for a minute, deepening the kiss before they both pulled back for air.

“I’m not mad. I was, before when I thought you’d ditched me on my birthday. But I’m not anymore now that I know you spent the day trying to make me happy."

Aelin pulled back further to give him a stern look. “But I will be angry if you don’t bring me to this party right now.”

He pulled her back into him and let out a relieved laugh.

“Let’s get the birthday girl to her party.”

***

The drive from their apartment to the park was filled with Rowan telling Aelin about everything that had gone wrong. His fingers intertwined with her over the middle console and she listened as he told her about the crazy day.

“Why someone would light the candles so early in the day is beyond me.” He grumbled and Aelin chuckled at the bitterness in his tone.

“I’m sure the slideshow would’ve been great.” She perked up. “Oh my gods, that was why Aedion was so weird at lunch.”

Rowan glanced side longed at her. “He was weird?”

“Yeah, real fidgety, wouldn’t always look me in the eye. He said it was because he was worried I wouldn’t like my present, but I knew that was a load of bullshit.” She laughed, remembering how relived his face had been when she offered that excuse.

Rowan rolled his eyes but watched as the sky began to clear.

“Good, the rains finally stopping. I told the others to finish putting up decorations if the weather cleared.”

“There’s more?” Aelin questioned, thinking of everything he’d already told her about.

“A bit. I gave Fen a list of stuff to buy, but knowing him, he picked up some things that I didn’t tell him to. So, who knows what we’ll see when we get there.” He groaned thinking about it, but Aelin just laughed.

“It’s a couple of decorations, Ro. I’m sure they’ve got it handled.”

When they finally pulled into the parking lot nearest the gazebo, Aelin and Rowan didn’t get out of the cart immediately. They watched the scene in front of them in bewilderment

Lorcan was throwing a rope over a tree branch—Aelin assumed it was because he was the tallest—tying one end to the trunk and the other end was attached to a large pinata.

“Is that…?” She was so confused about what was happening.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Fen?” Rowan seethed.

“Fen did that? Why would Fenrys buy an Alien pinata?” Aelin suddenly had more questions than answers.

Rowan rubbed his hands down his face, muffling his curses.

“Don’t ask.”

Aelin watched as Aedion picked up the stick and took a couple of practice swings.

“What? They’re gonna start without us?” Aelin pulled Rowan’s hand off his face and made him look at her. “Hey. I know this didn’t go like you’d planned, but it's still pretty great, and everyone is here and having a good time. And there’s cake, right?”

“There’s cake.”

Rowan refrained from reminding her that all the guests had trekked in and out of the rain that afternoon setting up and half the supplies were ruined or nonexistent. Apparently, she could see all that in his face though so Aelin leaned over and kissed him.

“Let’s go, come on.”

At some point during their conversation, Lysandra had found the blindfold and tied it around Aedion’s head. The rest of the group, minus Manon and Dorian who had snuck off somewhere she didn’t want to think about too much, stood around as Fenrys cheered and Aedion swung.

He missed the first time, but as he prepped himself to swing again, Aelin and Rowan climbed out of the car and walked toward the group.

“Aelin!” Fenrys called, eyes going wide as he called her name.

Everyone else whipped around to face her and Rowan and yell “Surprise!”

Unfortunately, Aedion still had a stick in his hands; and he quickly turned, it nailed Fenrys in the head.

Rowan stood there gaping as Fenrys let out a loud sound between a yelp and a groan, before falling to the ground, knocked out.

“Shit! Who’d I hit?” Aedion asked as he ripped off the blindfold, and tuned to see what—or, who—exactly he had swung at.

Mostly in shock, a little bit in amusement, everyone watched as Fenrys slowly groaned, lifted his head only to wince and bring his hand up to hold it, and opened his eyes.

“…Surprise”

***

“You know, this may be my most memorable birthday.” Aelin was perched on Rowan’s lap, eating a piece of the outer space-themed cake.

Her boyfriend groaned and pressed his face into her shoulder.

“I’ll take it. Memorable is better than disastrous.”

She threw her head back and laughed.

After Fenrys woke up, Yrene came over to check on him and make sure he was going to be alright. She didn’t think he had a concussion, but she put Aedion in charge of watching him. His punishment, apparently. They were currently at another table with Lysandra, Lorcan, and Elide.

Aelin looked over to the other end of the gazebo and watched as Chaol and Yrene sat with Dorian and Manon, the latter was trying her best to pretend she was interested in the conversation. By the heated looks she and Dorian were giving each other, Aelin didn’t think those two would be sticking around too long.

Turning back to Rowan, Aelin smiled.

“Thank you, Buzzard. I love it.” She grinned as he rolled his eyes, but he tightened his grip on her and pulled her face down to his.

“Happy Birthday, Fireheart.”

*****

Taglist:

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morgansunflower · 3 years

Text

You Found Me 1/2

Bruce Wayne X Wife! Reader

Batmom! Reader

Warnings:child neglect and abuse.

Words:1094

Child!Terrance McGinnis abandoned by his neglectful father. Cop! Batmom gets influenced by her Batman and takes care of little Terry.

The rain poured hard. Mid evening. I walk within the alleyway hearing rustling. A small animal? Damian will be back in my hip pocket for a while. I grab my flashlight that was on my holster and turn it on. I shine the light in the direction I hear the sound. My heart sinks to my gut. I see a very small child. His legs bent upward and he curled up in a ball. His hair black, eyes shut tightly and his little body shook. His little shirt torn with dirt and shoes worn. Bruises along his arms. Ran away from his abusive parents, perhaps? He's not going back to that life. I won't allow such. I take my jacket off and kneel down with my flashlight in hand. I remember Jason having panic attacks.. I was so lost on how to help him. Though I did some honest research. No upper hand movements. Be calm and reassuring but careful not to make them feel weak.

"hi buddy.. I'm officer Y/N" I cooed "I'm here to help you sweetie"

He shakes his head "t-t-take me to orph-oranage"

"no sweetheart I will take care of you. You'll be safe I promise I won't hurt you or let you go to a orphanage" I smiled

He lifts his little scared face to me. I offer my hand. He takes it. I put my jacket on the young boy wrapping it around him. I hold the little boy. I'm gonna try to give his parents his the benefit of the doubt and maybe they got separated? I hold the adorable little boy. I step out of the alley and to my cop car. I hear soft thunder within the distance. I swiftly open the car door and sit on the driver's seat. The little boy looks at me amused. Then the rain begins to heavily fall.

"oh" he chuckled with me

I move him to the passenger seat and buckle his seat belt. I buckle myself and drive to the police station. As a loud thunder and bright lightning soon follow, the little boy gasped.

"hey! Don't be scared! Don't be scared!" I try to ease his mind "it's just.. It's just rain it can't hurt you. You're safe buddy"

He nods I pull into the police station. I clap my hands that startled him. My heart shattering. Shit.

"I'm so sorry buddy I didn't mean to scare you!" I softly said

He nods "it ok" he adorably said

"alright let me carry you inside and you may get a, little bit wet but you'll be fine ok"

He nods once more. I take his seat belt off along with mine. I take him into my arms wrapping my jacket securely around him. I step into the station uncaring of the rain soaking my clothes. I step inside countless phones went off for dispatch, people at the desk and officer's stepping in and out. I step into my office and shut the door behind me. I sit him on my chair. I search for missing child's reports though none matched the little boy. I kneel down to him.

"can you tell me your name sweetie" I cooed

"Terry M-c-c-Ginnis" he stuttered

I stand up and type his name in my computer. I then step grabbing the blanket I had on my desk. I take the jacket off the little boy. I wrap the blanket around him like a burrito. He chuckled I gave him a pencil and paper.

"want to draw me a picture" I cooed

He nods with a adorable smile. I hear a notification on the computer. I read while Terry is distracted.

~Terrance McGinnis.

Child of Warren McGinnis, & Mary McGinnis.

Born: August 18, 2018~

I continued digging. His mom died in childbirth dad has three DUI's. Teachers reported him to the police after finding bruises on the young boy. That was 2 weeks ago... I continued my research. Apparently before files could be charged Warren left Gotham and then left the country. What an asshole! No one reported the kid missing. How could anyone be so cruel? I hear my door knocking. I lift my head seeing Jim. I nodded, he steps in.

"Y/N.. who's this little fella?" he asked smiling to Terry

"Jim this is Terry. Terry this is my old boss Jim"

Terry waved Jim waves back and then looks at me.

"you're husband has certainly made a influence on you. What is this kid number thirty?" he joked with a gruff "honestly you two should consider running an orphanage. Just make sure they keep up with the normal lives" he smiled wider and I wanted to elbow his gut

"oh, kiss it!" I defend shoving his shoulder causing a amused smile to form on Terry's face.. Then I start thinking... Grayson, Jay, Tim, Cass, Steph, Dami, practically Babs.. Jim smirks seeing my wheels turn "well the more the merrier" I added with admiration in my smile

"just don't expect me to keep up with the boy's name"

After getting us something to eat. I brought Terry home. I carried him upstairs. I open my bedroom door. I step to my bathroom and shut the door behind me. I sit him on the toilet lid.

"ok Terry let's get you a bath and some new clothes ok"

He nods. After getting the dirt covered kid a bath. I let gave him some of Damian's old clothes. The black shirt going down to his ankles. I am surprised I've avoided all of family. I kneel down drying his wet hair with a towel

"off-y Y/N" he adorably said with a sleepy voice

"oh call me Y/N" I cooed

"Y-Y/N..." he yawns and began to rub his eyes "I'm feelin' weepy"

"well that's certainly understandable. Would you like to lay down? I can go get you a blanket?"

He swiftly grabbed my hand in fear "no! No! No p-w-ease don't w-eave" he fearfully begged as his eyes swell up

"Aww sweetie I'm not going to leave you" I hold him close "I'm not going anywhere. I'm going to protect you, ok?"

He began to cry in my shoulder. I gently shush him with soft kind whispers of reassurance. I can't let him go. I am signing the adoption paperwork as soon as I can. He needs to be loved. He needs me. His crying soon subsided. I kiss his forehead. He soon falls asleep emotionally and physically exhausted.

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drarrily-we-row-along · 3 years

Text

Day 27: Home

"He's got to be somewhere!" Harry all but shouted at the bloody incompetent people milling uselessly around him. What was the point of all of these people if they couldn't even do their jobs?

"Sir," one of the junior aurors said, "We're doing the best we can, but-"

"Do better,” he exploded.

Ron gripped his forearm and led him off to the side of the room. "Listen to me," his best friend said, "I know that you are worried and I know that you are chomping at the bit for us to figure this out, but we cannot work any faster."

"We have to," Harry said. "We have to work faster because every moment that we spend in here, is another moment that he is out there with that psychopath and I don't have to tell you how vicious Marcus is."

The horrific images of the bodies they'd found a few days ago flashed to the front of his mind but instead of being the strangers bodies naked and covered in cuts and bruises, it was Draco's body. The well-loved, all but worshiped body of the man that Harry was desperately in love with. And Draco didn't even know, he'd never even told him. He shook his head, biting back the urge to vomit, trying to keep the panic to a dull roar. "We have to find him."

"I know," Ron murmured, putting a warm, steady hand on his shoulder. "I know and we are doing everything, we have everyone on this. The moment anyone finds anything they'll let-"

"Sir!" Darcy called, dashing into the room, "I think we've got him."

(Read more below the cut)

"Give me the coordinates," Harry said, reaching for the paper in her hands.

"You can't just go in there," Ron protested, trying to snatch the paper away from Harry, "we need a plan of attack, we need to figure out how to coordinate our people."

"Yes," Harry agreed. "You're in charge of that and you can meet me there. I'm sure I'll need the back up."

"Harry, don't-"

But it was too late, obviously, as if Ron could have ever expected him to stay, as if there was anything on this earth that could have kept him from Draco.

Harry wasn't especially good with blind apparation, but he knew the instant he arrived that this was definitely the spot. The air around him when he landed felt tainted and dark, sparking with evil that touched the depth of Harry's soul and set the hairs on the back of his neck on end. A cabin sat just at the other side of the clearing, smoke rising from the chimney.

Casting a silent spell that would show any hidden wards and traps, Harry pulled out his invisibility cloak, enlarged it to it's normal size, covered himself, and set off across the clearing, deftly avoiding any of the places that quivered gold from his magic.

His heart hammered against his ribs, so loud that he feared it would give him away the moment he got into the house. He crept to the window and peered inside, Draco sat slumped in a chair near the fire place. His long blond hair was dirty and Harry got the sickening feeling that some of the darkness was where blood had dried. Bruises and abrasions mottled his pale skin, covering his face and neck, and undoubtedly places that Harry couldn't see.

The only relief was that he was obviously still breathing, labored though it appeared to be.

Marcus was no where in sight.

He cast several spells that Bill had taught him one summer when he was considering becoming a curse breaker and the ward fell apart around the window, leaving him a space to crawl through.

No sooner was he through the window when that tickle of awareness prickled up his spine, he spun and cast, "Expelliarmus," before he'd even fully realized why. A wand clattered to the ground and he cast, "Petrificus Totalus, incacerous," in rapid succession and Marcus hit the ground wrapped in ropes. Harry yanked his cloak off and glared at the man on the floor, "Give me one reason," he growled at Marcus, "One reason and I will fucking end you."

When the man made no attempt to move, he rushed over to Draco, "Draco," he murmured, "Draco," he repeated, carefully brushing his fingers over the other man's swollen, bruised cheek.

His silver eyes flickered open and he flinched away from Harry's hand.

"Oh, love," he managed, his throat tight around the words. "I'm here, you're safe."

Draco's eyes widened when he realized it was Harry, a tear slipping down his cheek.

"Okay," he breathed, "We have to get out of-" he began but the door behind him was blasted open and he cast a hasty "protego" preparing to fight off whomever had just come barreling through.

"I cannot fucking believe you," Ron hissed as he stomped in.

"Is the perimeter cleared?" Harry asked as he turned back to Draco, far more at ease now that Ron was there guarding his back.

"No it is not," Ron replied. "I broke a million protocols to get here while everyone else is working their way in-"

Harry stopped listening as he took the gag off of Draco. "Are you alright?"

Draco nodded weakly, "I'll be fine," he assured him.

He untied him quickly and efficiently and then helped him to stand before pulling him into his arms.

"Harry," the other man gasped, "We shouldn't. Everyone can see-"

"Let them," he whispered, tears stinging the back of his eyes as he held the other man, "Godric, Draco," he rasped, "I was so bloody worried about you."

He pulled back minutely and cupped the other man's cheek, brushing a finger over his bruised cheekbone. "He hurt you," he said, "We need to get you to St. Mungo's, get you checked out."

"It's superficial," he said, shaking his head, "I can heal them myself. Just," he swallowed, "Can we go home?"

"Ron?" Harry called.

"Yeah?" the other man replied.

Harry turned his head, but kept Draco in his arms, "I'm leaving. I'll owl you with a report of what happened prior to the team's arrival."

"Harry," Ron said, lowering his voice and stepping closer, "You're going to be in a lot of hot water about this."

"I don't care," Harry said.

"I mean all of it, going rogue, coming here without any plan, without back up, leaving now will be the least of your worries."

"You're right," Harry replied. "But I'd do it all again in a heartbeat. What are they going to do? Fire me?" He rolled his eyes, "They'd be doing me a favor."

Ron shook his head, "Go on, then."

"Thanks," Harry said, nodding once at Ron before he turned to Draco, "Ready?" he asked, "I'm going to apparate us."

Draco nodded and Harry focused on Draco's living room, even though his own sofa and fireplace beckoned him, before he apparated them out of there.

When they landed, Draco looked around, looking a bit crestfallen, "This is my flat," he said.

"Yeah, you said home?" Harry replied. "Oh, did you mean the Manor? I can take you there-" Harry started even as it made his heart ache, he knew he wouldn't be welcome to stay there.

"No," the other man interrupted, shaking his head for emphasis and wincing a bit at the motion, "I was rather hoping we might go to your home?" he asked uncertainly. "I feel safer there," he added, a little hitch in his voice.

"Yes," Harry said. "Yes," he managed again because his heart was racing and soaring all at once and he wasn't sure what else he could possibly say.

He apparated them into his home and stroked Draco's hair back from his face, "You're sure we shouldn't go to St. Mungos?"

Draco nodded, "I'll be fine. I've left a kit here with some potions and such since you're always injuring yourself," he added with a pained smile. "I'm just going to use the restroom so I have a mirror."

Harry nodded, "I'll light the fire. Are you hungry?"

"A bit."

"I'll heat up some stew," Harry said, "I could make a batch of the biscuits you like?"

Draco nodded, "That would be nice."

"Draco," Harry called once the other man started limping to the bathroom.

"Yes?"

Harry crossed the distance between them, cupped his face and gently, so very gently, pressed his lips to Draco's.

Draco pulled back, "I'm covered in blood."

"I don't care," Harry whispered, brushing his lips over Draco's once more. "Call me if you need help, yes?"

He nodded and started toward the bathroom.

After starting the fire and making them food, Harry went to get a pair of sweatpants (the grey ones that Draco always stole when he stayed over for breakfast) and a tshirt (one from when Harry was training to be an auror that was worn and faded, Draco always borrowed it when they went out flying) and wandered to the bathroom. He knocked once before opening the door to find Draco sitting on the closed toilet lid with his head in his hands.

"Oh," Harry murmured, moving to kneel at Draco's feet.

"Sorry," the other man said, wiping at his eyes, "Circe I'm sorry, every time I look at myself in the mirror I lose it."

"Okay," Harry murmured, "It's okay. Let me help."

"I fixed my rib already," Draco said, "Episkey ought to do the trick for the rest."

With as much care as he could muster, Harry tenderly healed all of the wounds on Draco's body. He was covered in gashes, and scrapes, and bruises and Harry ached with all of the words that stuck in his throat, with everything that had remained so desperately unsaid.

After he finished healing him, Harry drew the other man a bath and filled it with the lilac soap that always left Draco smiling and pressing his nose to Harry's skin to smell it. Draco reached out a hand for the flannel but Harry whispered, "Let me?" and the other man nodded.

He cleaned his body of all of the dirt, the grime, the blood; washing every inch of him until there was no trace of the horror the other man had endured. Then he moved to his hair; he carefully washed, conditioned, and detangled his hair before helping the other man out and drying him with equal care and diligence, and helping him into the clothes he'd brought in.

"Sit for a minute?" he asked, gesturing to the toilet seat and the other man obliged him without a word. He carefully brushed his hair and then braided it the way Draco so often did before bed, starting at the crown of his head and drawing in section after section, braiding all the way down to the middle of his back.

"All done," he whispered when he finished, pressing a kiss to the top of Draco's head.

"Thank you," the other man murmured, reaching back to cover Harry's hand where it rested on his shoulder.

And all of the things that had been scratching at Harry's throat, trying to claw their way out at once and stuck there now, "I'm so sorry," he managed, "Godric, Draco, I'm sorry." Tears welled up, prickly and hot at the back of his eyes.

"Hey," Draco said softly, clearly recognizing that Harry was about to break. He turned so he was facing Harry and grabbed his hand, "This isn't your fault."

Harry shook his head, "It's always my fault. Everyone that I love-" he broke off abruptly realizing what he'd just confessed.

"You," Draco started, brows furrowing, "You love me?"

He nodded miserably, "And I should have told you before now. You're going to think it's just the trauma, but Draco I should have told you every day for the past year," he added. "All I could think today was that I was going to be too late and I'd never be able to tell you how I really feel. Because I am completely gone on you Draco Malfoy and I wanted you to know."

A smile tugged at the corner of the other man's lips, "I love you, too, Harry Potter."

"Yeah?" he whispered.

Draco nodded.

"Will you stay? Here?" Harry asked.

"Of course," Draco replied.

"But like, forever?" he asked.

"I'd like nothing better," Draco affirmed, smiling as he leaned up and pressed a kiss to Harry's lips.

Harry kissed him back for a long moment, letting the kiss assure him that Draco was going to be okay, that he was here with him, and he wasn't going anywhere. He rested his forehead against Draco's and said, "I still have so many things I need to say."

"They'll keep," Draco replied, stroking a finger lightly over Harry's cheek. "Let's just have dinner and then I really just need you to take me to bed and hold me."

And if they held each other a little tighter than usual that night, there was no one to know but the two of them.

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

Ah!!! Please go and look at the gorgeous art that @pato-roldnart drew for this ficlet. It’s stunning and heart wrenching and I’m so overwhelmed by how amazing it is!! You’re seriously spoiling me!

Day 26: Broken Bone | Day 28: Shopping

Thank you, @atticus-bluejay for the prompt! I hope you enjoyed it!

#100 drarry drabbles in 100 days #drarry #drarry ficlet #drarry drabble #hurt/comfort #bamf harry #auror harry #happy ending #Harry saves the day #boys in love

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procrastinatorimagines · 3 years

Text

I Would Never Hurt You

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Warning/s: injury, violence, blood

Word Count: 2,169

Request: Can I just send this as a fic request....? Perhaps with a request for a little angst...? 🥺

You were surprised to see Dean when you poked your head into the weapons room, the loud noises waking you much earlier than you would have liked, but still, you weren’t complaining that he was back early.

He didn’t notice you at first as you stood leaning against the door frame. “Knock knock,” you said, rapping your knuckles on the door a couple of times to get his attention, smiling as he paused and turned to face you, a gun in either hand from the box he had been rifling through.

“Hey,” he blinked, clearly not expecting you to be there, “I didn’t think you’d be up.”

“I wasn’t,” you laughed softly as he looked around at the mess he’d made, realising that he’d woken you up with all his moving around.

“Sorry,” he shrugged, putting the guns in his hands down. He looked awkward, like he was unsure what to do with himself as he stood in the room, looking almost out of place.

“What are you doing?” You asked curiously, glancing around at the sheer amount of opened box and weapons strewn about in the room. “What do you need all those for? And at this hour? Why didn’t you come to bed?”

Annoyance seemed to flash across his face, “you’re asking a lot of questions,” he commented, not answering any of them.

“I’m just curious,” you replied, feeling the need to get a little defensive at his unnecessarily snappy attitude, “weren’t you on a hunt with Sam? What happened with the shifted?”

“Oh, yeah, killed it,” he answered, clearing his throat as his eyes darted away from you slightly. Okay, what was going on? You were the one who’d been woken up early, and you hadn’t had any coffee yet, so why was he the one in a mood?

“Yeah?” You tried, hoping he’d elaborate a bit. He still hadn’t told you why he needed more weapons if they’d killed the shifter, and where was Sam? There was something he wasn’t telling you.

“Yeah, that’s what I just said,” he snapped, practically growling at you as you straightened up, shocked at the tone he was taking with you. He didn’t seem to notice, or care, turning back to the box he’d been going through.

“Are you sure everything’s alright?” You asked again after a moment, DDean slamming the box lid down as soon as you’d asked it, looking back at you in frustration.

“I-” he began, the force of the slam not only making you jump, but making what looked like a knuckle duster fall down from the shelf nearby as it rattled.

Instinctively, Dean caught it, realising his mistake a second later as he gasped in pain, letting it go as it clattered to the ground.

“Dean-” You went to check if he was okay, taking one step forward and then freezing in your tracks. That’s when you saw it, the burn marks on his hand where the knuckle duster had just been. The silver knuckle duster.

“You’re not Dean,” you realised with a gasp.

Your instincts kicked in quickly as Dean, or rather, the shifter, grabbed the nearest weapon to him, any pretence of pretending to be the man you loved gone as he snarled at you.

You were already turning on your heels as he lunged for you, pulling the door shut behind you with a slam and running as quickly as you could, very much defenseless right now.

You needed a weapon, and you’d just locked him in there with an arsenal.

Turning sharply into the nearest corridor you collided with the wall, kicking off your slippers so you could move quicker just as you heard a door behind you slam open and fast footsteps begin to approach.

Where could you go? You could try to get to the kitchen, but you had no idea what weapons the shifter had taken with him when he started chasing after you, you’d probably be bringing a knife to a gun fight.

Dean’s room was the closest now, you barefeet slapping against the cold floor as you kept your pace, the sound of the shifters echoing footsteps sounding through the empty bunker.

“Y/N!” He yelled in Dean’s voice, so very much not Dean as you stumbled slightly. You knew the bunker like the back of your hand, but so did Dean, which meant so did the shifter.

This fact became all too apparent as the sound of his footsteps began to recede, lulling you into a bit of a false sense of security as you slowed your own pace, still moving but a little breathless as you turned another corner, only to find yourself face to face with the monster.

He grinned when you stumbled to a hault, realisation dawning on you that he’d gone another way around, kicking yourself for not considering the possibility. He did have Dean’s mind afterall.

You were so close to Dean’s room, if you could just make it... He’d have taken his gun, obviously, but you knew where he kept his backup knife, his silver knife.

There was a moment where you both stood still, neither of you moving before a spell seemed to break and he charged at you, barely managing to turn on your heels and make it a few steps away before you felt a hand unceremoniously grab the back of your night gown, tugging you back harshly and sending you crashing to the floor.

He all but pounced on you as you kicked up, winding him slightly as you rolled over and tried to stand. He was only slightly inconvenienced though, a rough hand grabbing you leg and pulling you back to the ground towards him as you tried and failed to claw at the ground for something to hold on to.

A predator and its prey.

He flipped you back over and pulled a knife out from his belt, the look in his eyes and his weapon of choice telling you that he had every intention to take his time killing you.

You barely had time to react as he began to bring the knife down, the look of enjoyment on his face made a million times more haunting by the fact that it was painted onto your boyfriend’s face.

A knee to the groin was always the best bet, whatever the species, followed by a well aimed strike to the face and knife missed it’s mark, barely. The pain as it sliced through your side was excruciating, and deep, but it wasn’t life-threatening, yet.

Another shove and he stumbled back, clearly not expecting you to put up this much of a fight, a fact which you probably blamed on the fluffy bunny slippers he’d seen you sporting earlier.

Step one was to get up.

You shuffled back on your butt and hands a little before turning and pushing yourself to you feet, meeting the hand that grabbed your wrist with a quick punch to the face, feeling bone crunch beneath your fist.

Step two was run.

You certainly didn’t need any incentive, using whatever strength you had left to propel yourself forward, somehow surprising steady given the gash in your side. It was going to be hell once the adreneline wore off.

Step three was hide.

Dean’s door was just there, you could make it... And you did, pushing the door shut with a slam and locking it with slippy, blood covered fingers. It wouldn’t hold on its own though, so you shoved a unit in front of it with all your might.

“Bitch!” You heard the shifter snarl as it tried the handle, shoving the door with all its might as the unit shook. Mercifully, it held. This was the Men of Letters’ bunker afterall.

Step four was call Dean and Sam.

You made your way to the other side of Dean’s bed, shaky fingers tearing open his draw and pulling out one of his many phones, dialing the number you knew by heart and sending up a silent prayer that someone picked up.

They didn’t.

It went straight to voice mail. “Dean- Dean, it’s me, you need to get back, the shifter-” you looked down at the blood soaking your night gown and dripping down your leg, “-please hurry.”

Step five, most importantly, was survive.

You put the phone back and went to his bed, pulling the silver knife out from under his mattress along with one of his shirts, getting as comfortable as you could on the floor against the unit and applying as much pressure you could to your wound, other hand wrapped tightly around the knife as the banging continued.

Right now, there was nothing else you could do. You just hoped Sam and Dean got back before the shifter found a way in, or you bled out.

You didn’t know exactly how much time had passed since the banging had subsided, but now you could hear yelling, faint at first but getting louder as more footsteps sounded in the hall outside the door, tensing in anticipation and wincing at the pain that flared again in your side.

It was Sam and Dean, you realised, or at least, their voices, was it actually them? Or just more shifters?

If it was them, they must have just gotten back, they’d probably seen the blood on the floor...

“Y/N?!” Dean’s voice boomed, angry and concerned as he banged on the door, “Y/N, oh god baby are you in there?!”

“Dean-” You heard Sam try to console his brother, “maybe we have the wrong room, maybe-”

“Y/N!” Dean yelled again with strained despiration, ignoring Sam as he pounded harder.

You gripped the knife in your hand tighter, pulling yourself shakily to your feet. The shifter hadn’t sounded like this, he’d been cold, cruel, there was emotion in Dean’s voice you didn’t think even it could mimick. Maybe it was a trap, you doubted it, but even if it was, you wouldn’t last forever in that room.

So slowly but surely, you shoved the unit to one side, hearing Dean pause on the other side as the boys waited to see who emerged from behind the door. It opened slowly, and nervously, taking a big step back and raising your knife when you felt hands push it from the other side.

“Y/N,” Dean sighed with relief. He tried to rush to you but you leveled your knife, not wanting him to take another step closer. Not until you were sure.

His face when from one of joy and relief, to one of confusion, to finally one of concern as he caught sight of the blood, and the way you were clutching your side, fire flashing in his eyes.

“Are you, you?” You asked him, wanting desperately to fall into his arms but still being too scared of what would happen if you were wrong, if this wasn’t Dean.

“What?” He replied, not really listening as he took in your wound and pale complexion.

“Are, you, you?” You repeated, slower this time as he took in the silver blade you were wielding with an iron grip. It all clicked then.

“I- yes, Y/N it’s me, it’s me and Sam,” his eyes were soft, raising his hands to show you he didn’t mean any harm as he glanced back at his brother, who kept his distance to give you some space but put his gun away to show you the same. “The shifter, he was here?”

You swallowed tightly and nodded. “He looked like you- he-” you looked down at your injury subconsciously.

Dean clenched his jaw, “he hurt you, that son of a bitch-” he practically growled, “when I get my hands on him-”

“Dean,” Sam warned, noticing how you flinched at the way his voice rose.

He focused his attention back on you immediately. “Y/N, look at me Y/N” he said softly, his voice catching a little as he made you meet his eyes, “I would never hurt you, you have to know that.”

It was all too much for you now, the knife feel like a tonne weight in your hand as you arm began to shake, letting it go as it clattered to the ground and collapsing with a sob.

Dean caught you instantly, you arms instinctively wrapping around him as he held you, one hand gripping you tightly as the other stroked your hair. “It’s okay, shh, it’s okay, I got you, I got you...”

Dean looked to his younger brother, “I’ll go get the med kit,” Sam said knowingly, turning on his heals and hurrying.

“Come on,” Dean muttered gently, moving one hand under your legs and picking you up with ease, “let’s go make sure you’re alright.”

“The shifter-” you began but he shook his head.

“-can wait, you’re more important right now,” he told you lovingly.

“But we’ll get him?” You double-checked, feeling Dean’s muscles tense at the question.

“We’ll get him,” he promised, and a little part of you almost felt sorry for him.

#dean winchester #supernatural #spn #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester imagine #supernatural imagine #dean winchester imagines #supernatural imagines #dean winchester one shot #supernatural one shot #one shot

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breadoffoxy · 3 years

Text

Hey Siri, Play Rap Line

Summary: It’s yours and your boyfriend’s dirty little secret that you play in his studio while he is working. He teases you with his work, making you a mess with that vibrator hidden in your pants. When his bandmates come in and try to help him find some inspiration, your secret and sanity are dangerously at stake.

Pairing: Yoongi x f. Reader, ft. Hoseok and Namjoon

Genre: Smut, NSFW, idol au

Warnings: NSFW, Smut, unsafe sex, masturbation, voyeurism, exhibitionism, fingering, language, dirty talk, vaginal sex, anal sex, oral sex, sex toys, Namjoon has a low-key sir kink, group sex, foursome, kissing, Hoseok’s hips, use of female pronouns

Word Count: 5,490

A/N: Happy valentines day!! @tipsydipsydo gave me this idea when I was writing the first part, and here it is, forever later. Made for Tipsy, @chelsea-chee, and all my other rap line hoe friends.

Here you were sitting in your boyfriend's studio, yes your boyfriend. You can't believe that your friend who you had a massive crush on caught you masturbating to his mixtape wasn't creeped out and that you are now in a relationship. The situation was entirely embarrassing, utterly sexy, and now you have a good laugh every time you think about it. Plus, maybe getting turned on a lot.

Despite having Yoongi's tongue technology literally, you've kept the little sound to vibrations sex toy around. Your boyfriend is busy often enough, leaving you listening to his voice as he goes on tour or stuck in his studio or dance practice. The two of you also like to bring it into your coupled play, and have gotten quite brave with its use.

Like right now for instance. You aren't just sitting in your boyfriend's studio. You're sitting in your boyfriend's studio with your vibrator sitting inside your underwear, buzzing at your clit, teasing you as Yoongi starts and stops the edits he is working on. It's a maddening torture, you even had to charge the toy once since you've been here and still haven't cum.

Any time you try to reach your hand down to touch yourself where you need it most, Yoongi always seems to know and sends you a glare. You have no idea how he does it. It's like when dads who are watching sport games fall asleep but as soon as you change the channel, they are awake and yelling at you to turn it back because they were resting their eyes. It is making you increasingly frustrated, but you don't want your talented boyfriend to be distracted from his work so you are trying to be good and quiet.

When the door opens and Hoseok comes bursting through with Namjoon closing the door behind him, you know you are in trouble.

"Hey!" Hoseok's enthusiastic greeting as he sits next to you on the couch sends a spike in vibrations to your clit.

"H-hey!" Your voice comes out weird, and you hope you can pass it along as not speaking for a while. The squirm you make you camouflage as scooting down to make room for all your friends on the little couch. You’re praying so hard that they cannot hear or feel the vibrations coming from under your pants.

"How is it coming?" Peering over Yoongi's shoulder, Namjoon looks at the composition on the computer.

Yoongi hums, clicking through a few things before saying, "it’s coming, just slowly."

With a few more clicks the beats that have been driving you mad for hours plays once again. Namjoon and Hoseok listen intently, nodding along as the track progresses. Once it finishes the rappers are discussing ways to make it better. After they exhausted a few avenues, Hoseok turns towards you.

"What do you think? You've been in here all day too listening to it too right?"

"Me?" At Hoseok's encouraging nod you continue. "It's good like you said, but I agree it’s missing something." Looking Yoongi directly in the eye you add, "it just needs a little push to get the listeners over the edge."

Catching your double meaning, Yoongi raises an eyebrow challengingly and his smirk says he is quite amused. "What's a song with that push? Maybe it can give me some inspiration."

With the question turned back onto you suddenly, two sets of curious eyes focused on you, and one set pure evil makes you blank. It doesn't help that your body is focused more on your loins then your brain at the moment. "Uhhh...." think brain think!

Hoseok snaps his fingers, "Yes! Ugh, might be the answer. Let's play it."

With a few clicks Yoongi starts the song and Namjoon is adjusting the speakers so the song is booming. Your tall friend comes to sit on the other side of you, and you realized you are fucked. You are finally getting the vibrations you want from your toy, giving you the pleasure you so desperately crave. It's buzzing so heavily against your clit mercilessly that you can feel yourself approaching the edge so fast. Too fast after the whole day of it teasing you.

Instead of letting go like you desperately want, you try to reign in your senses despite all of them being completely haywire. Two of your friends are next to you, no idea there is a party happening inside your pants, and you hate how that turns you on even more. You look at your boyfriend with wide, pleading eyes.

Instead of helping you, Yoongi drives the nail into your casket by asking, "Are you ok, baby?"

His question brings the attention of Namjoon and Hoseok to you, and they finally notice that you are indeed acting a little off. Your breathing is heavy, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you fail to control it. You are biting heavily on your bottom lip, refusing to let any moans out, but they are waiting for an answer.

"Y-yeah I'm-" you take a deep breath in, failing to regain your nerves. "I'm fine." Your words do nothing to convince your two worried friends as you were most definitely not fine.

"Why don't you relax, you're so tense." Yoongi smirks at you, ignoring your indignant glare.

Hoseok looks between Yoongi and you, confused on the both of your attitudes. The situation adds up for Namjoon though once he sees you subconsciously rub your thighs together after a particularly strong beat. His jaw drops and he looks unbelievingly at you.

"Shit, are you...?" He trails off, staring at your chest before shaking his head. "Do we need to leave?"

"Leave? Why would we-" Hoseok starts until he sees you close your eyes and tilt your head back against the couch. The sight of your neck so exposed and the long exalted sigh that leaves you enchants him for a moment. He can't help but imagine what his hand would look like on your neck while you make that pleasured face..."Oh!"

Hoseok screams, jumping up from the couch. He points an accusing finger between Yoongi and you. "This whole time!?"

Yoongi shrugs at his friend making Hoseok guffaw at his nonchalance. Your boyfriend turns to you asking, "Do you want them to stay baby? To show them how good our music makes you feel hmm?"

You can't help but think back on when Yoongi caught you masturbating, and how hot it was. The memory sends a wave of arousal through you and you can feel how wet your underwear is. Apparently, you like showing off, and a new part of you has been awaken. It makes you feel powerful and embarrassed all the same time. The pressure in your core tightens at the thought of them watching you.

Opening your eyes, you look at your friends, trying to gauge their reactions. Namjoon is also biting at his lip with his hooded eyes fighting to stay on your own. He hasn't moved an inch, his body still so close to yours on the small couch. Hoseok gulps when you look at him, and he is staring at your lap. You slide your legs open, revealing a wet patch at the center of your jeans, making him curse under his breath.

"They can stay, but only if they want to." You answer breathily, looking back at your boyfriend.

Yoongi raises an eyebrow, looking at his two friends for their answer. Namjoon runs a thumb across his lip, staring you down. “Show me.”

Hoseok is silent for a moment, and his stare doesn’t move from between your legs. He looks conflicted before he runs a hand through his hair and pulls at the stands.

“Hoseok,” you whine, immediately bringing his attention back up to your face. Your back arches as you so desperately want to come, but you can’t. Not until Hoseok gives his consent. “Please pick, I need- I need to ahh fuck.”

Your needy moans set Hoseok into motion and he’s back to sitting on the couch next to you. Him and Namjoon sit taking in every motion, breath, and moan you make. How your chest rises and falls with unrestrained pants, and how your hips are rocking back and forth trying to get friction against the pulsing vibrator.

“You like this don’t you, them watching?” your boyfriend’s voice cuts through your lustful mind.

“Yes,” you moan, staring at him with lidded eyes. Deciding to give them more of a show, you bring your hands up to cup your breasts, groping them above your clothes. You can feel the men beside you shift in their seats, trying to get more comfortable with their hardening cocks straining against their pants.

With a raspy voice your boyfriend orders, “Then come.”

As if waiting for his voice, your walls clench and euphoria overwhelms you as your orgasm finally hits. You can feel your release gushing out of you, soaking your underwear and jeans even further as your hips jerk wildly. Head tilting back, you moan so loudly that the vibrator picks it up even with the blaring music and convulses harder against your clit.

With the music continuing to play in the background, your head too fucked out to pick up what it is that is playing anymore, the vibrator continues to pulse against your swollen clit. The pleasure starts to ebb away and it’s becoming too much that you start to get overstimulated.

“Ah, too much, too much.” Groaning your hands leave your breasts to reach for the hem of your pants. Before they can slip under, large hands grab them and pull them to the side. You stare wide eyed at Namjoon who continues to watch you whine and writhe. “Joon, it’s too much.”

“You wanted us to watch you come.” A husky voice growls in your ear. You gasp as Namjoon licks at your ear with a hot tongue before adding, “don’t be greedy now.”

Another hand adorned with rings comes to lay on your leg right above your knee. Slowly, it pulls your legs apart, you didn’t even realize you had them clenched so tightly together while fighting the overstimulation. The wet spot at your core is once again revealed to Hoseok’s hungry gaze. “Look at you, you are so sexy.”

“Ah, please it’s- oh god,” you moan as the pleasure continues to assault you. Your hips are once again rocking and you are not sure if it’s to escape or get closer.

A familiar hand strokes your cheek and you see Yoongi has rolled his chair up to sit in front of you. “Color?” Very early on in your relationship, Yoongi and you started using the color system to monitor the situation. Your heart beats happily knowing he is checking in on you.

“Green,” you pant out. You lean into his touch, lips grazing his palm. “And you?”

“Green,” Yoongi smiles at you fondly, a look that doesn’t quite match the scandalous situation happening in front of him.

His look once again makes your heart flutter and you moan as the vibrations to your clit turn from pain to pleasure. Namjoon’s previous words hit you and you gasp out, “Is it ok if I be greedy?”

Yoongi leans closer and gives you a soft kiss on your forehead, trails his lips down your nose, to press his lips against yours. You moan into the kiss and trail after Yoongi’s lips as he pulls away. “I love to spoil you.” He whispers before giving you a quick peck and rolling away on his chair.

When Yoongi stops his chair from moving and he looks at Namjoon and Hoseok, his look is serious and dark. “If you two play nice, you can do more than just watch. How does that sound?”

It’s silent for a moment until you sigh when fingers lightly trace up your neck, tickling your skin lightly. It surprises you that Hoseok is acting first after his previous hesitance. Gone is the look of your joyful sunshine friend and is replaced with the charismatic rapper who rules the stage. His fingers pass your chin and trace your soft lips, dipping them shallowly in your mouth. Gently, you nibble playfully on the tips of his fingers before swiping at them with your tongue. “You’re a little vixen, aren’t you?”

The question was obviously rhetoric as he stuffed his fingers further into your mouth. Your tongue wraps around a long digit and sucks down on it. Hoseok curses, closing his eyes for a moment before looking at Yoongi then you again. His ringed hand slides up and kneads your thigh. “I’ll play.” He looks to the other side of you and asks, “Joon?”

With a pop, you slide Hoseok’s fingers out of your mouth to get a good look at the other man. Namjoon is clenching his jaw tightly, looking like a man on his last straw. His voice is a strained whisper in your ear, “are you sure?”

Deciding to be even more bold, you pull your hands free from Namjoon’s hold to trail one up his leg and teasingly rub a finger along his bulge. The man looks like he stopped breathing. He is as still as a statue beneath your touch, but instead of being cold he feels so warm. Desire builds in you like an inferno. “Yes, sir.”

And there goes the final straw.

Hot, hungry lips take your own, devouring you whole. Namjoon eats up your screams as he presses a hand to your core, pressing the vibrator down even further against your clit, making the vibrations even stronger. You continue to mewl into his mouth as lips glide along your neck. Hoseok nibbles on your skin playfully much like you did his fingers, sucking on the base near the junction of your shoulder. He pulls on your shirt, signaling for you to raise your arms. You pull away from Namjoon’s lips just enough for the shirt to pass over your head.

Instead of returning to your lips, Namjoon’s mouth trails scorching kisses down your neck and to your collar bone, just above your cleavage. Hoseok makes quick work of your bra, and once your breasts bounce free, Namjoon resumes his descent, leaving a hot trail with his tongue as he licks at the swell of your breasts to your nipple.

“She likes when you suck on them.” Yoongi speaks up, giving advice to the man pleasuring your breasts. You moan when Namjoon does what Yoongi says, and your hand weaves into his hair to push on the back of his head, encouraging him to go harder. With hooded eyes, you look at your boyfriend, moaning even louder when you see he has his cock out, stroking himself slowly as he watches the other men touch you.

“Hoseok, you want to show me how wet my girlfriend is now?” Yoongi drawls out.

Hoseok is quick to respond, hands deftly undoing the button and your pants and pulling your zipper down, revealing your underwear. Lifting your hips, both Hoseok and Namjoon work together to pull your pants down past your hip and you kick them off once it pulls at your ankles. Your soaking underwear does nothing to hide your wet, clenching pussy, as the vibrator continues to buzz with the music. Hoseok traces his fingers over the front of the oval vibrator down to your core, cursing at how hot and wet you feel just through the thin barrier of your underwear.

Namjoon reaches down and removes the vibrator, and you cry out, feeling devoid now that the constant buzzing driving you mad with pleasure has disappeared. You pull his hair in displeasure, and squeak once he places the vibrator against your other nipple, pleasure coursing through the erect nub. The look he sends you makes you loosen your hold on his hair, and take it as a warning to behave. He bites your nipple he’s sucking on for good measure to get his point across.

With you distracted, Hoseok pulls at your underwear, sliding them down your legs, and gathering them in a little ball. He tosses them towards Yoongi, who catches them, and runs the thin material between his hands, feeling how you soaked them so thoroughly. You watch spell bound as he brings the panties up to his face and inhales its scent deeply.

The spell is only broken when you feel Hoseok’s ringed hand cup your pussy, gathering up your arousal, and easily sliding one finger inside of you. “Oh fuck, you are so wet.” A second finger slides into you to start scissoring you. “And so fucking tight.”

You’re not sure how much longer you can keep on going with Hoseok’s fingers pounding into you, stretching you out so well, and Namjoon worshiping your breasts. Yoongi picks up on this too, and rolls his chair over to his desk, reddening cock still in his hand and soiled underwear discarded on his lap as he digs through the bottom door. He pulls out a bottle of lube and asks, “Which one of you wants some ass?”

Both men still their actions, staring at you with dark eyes. “Fuck, you really are a dream, aren’t you?” Hosoek rasps, brushing your hair back gently from your face.

Namjoon detaches his mouth from your nipple to turn towards Yoongi, reaching out his hand. “Give it here.”

Yoongi hands Namjoon the bottle and turns to Hoseok. “Why don’t you keep her nice, wet and needy, while Namjoon gets her ready?”

Hoseok is already in motion, turning and putting his feet up on the couch as wide as he can before Yoongi finishes speaking. His shirt goes flying and you barely have any time to admire his skin reveal before the dancer is pulling you into him. He leans back into the arm of the couch with you sitting between his legs and your back pressed against his chest. His legs wrap around yours, exposing your holes to Namjoon who is squeezing a thick glob of lube onto his fingers.

All of a sudden you feel shy as the cold air hits your wet core. Hiding your face into Hoseok’s neck, he once again brushes your hair and asks, “still green, darling?”

You kiss his neck in reassurance and gratitude before saying, “yeah, still green.”

Putting a hand on your neck, Hoseok nuzzles your head, encouraging you from your hiding place. Once you look away, you can feel your mouth salivate at the sight of Namjoon crouched in-between your legs. Once you are looking at him, he gently spreads your ass cheeks with one hand, and circles your tight asshole with a lubed finger. It’s cold and your hips buck at the sensation.

Distracted by Namjoon, you moan when you feel Hoseok’s hand once again stroking your pussy. He helps you relax, allowing Namjoon to slowly insert the tip of his finger into you, making you keen loudly.

“Does that feel good?” Namjoon smirks, twisting his finger.

“Ye- ahhhhh, yes, so nnngh fucking good.” You thrust your hips forward, trying to take more of their fingers into your needy holes.

Namjoon lowers himself further onto the couch, laying right in front of you. His warm breath hits your pussy as he slides his free hand under Hoseok’s arm that is busy fucking you and wraps it around your waist, keeping you still. The finger inside of you wags side to side as Namjoon tsks, “No, no, what did I say about being greedy?”

“But you can still seeeeeeahhhh,” Your words turn into a scream as a second finger is added into your tight asshole. You miss Namjoon’s satisfied grin as your eyes roll to the back of your head. It doesn’t help that Hoseok is curling his fingers into you in a come-hither motion, hitting just the right spot along your inner walls. Their fingers feel so good, you can’t imagine what it’ll be like with both their cocks.

“Oh my god, I’m going to come, I’m going to ahhhh,” you come hard, walls clamping down around their fingers, trying to suck them in as they finger you through your orgasm. Your body is shaking as your mouth is gaping out a now silent cry. If your vision wasn’t blurry from the overwhelming pleasure, you would appreciate the sight of Namjoon’s arm flexing to keep you still, and Hoseok’s veins bulging on his hand as he continues so snap his wrist as his fingers go in and out of you.

It takes a moment for you to come down from your high. Thankfully, Hoseok and Namjoon stop when you whine from overstimulation and don’t egg you on like last time you came. Blinking away the stars from your vision, you see Yoongi behind Hoseok. Your boyfriend reaches around his friend to smooth back your hair lovingly. “You’re doing so good baby. So good.”

Again, you lean into his touch, loving the intimacy he is bringing you to ground you from all the lust.

“Think you are up for one more?” Yoongi asks softly, and while you are exhausted you find yourself nodding. You can’t get the idea of their cocks out of your head, and you crave them so bad.

In the same tone of voice, Yoongi asks, “while they are spoiling you, think you can spoil me?”

Your attention is brought to the straining, leaking, cock in his hand. You lick your lips at the sight. “I think we can work something out.”

It hits you then that you aren’t really sure of the logistics of such a position. Sure, you’ve seen porn of gangbangs before but you never thought you’d be in such a situation. You bite your lip uncertain at what you should do next.

“Don’t worry baby, we got you.” Yoongi reassures you, reading you like a book. “Why don’t you stand up really quick.”

Namjoon stands, helping you off Hoseok. Your legs feel like jelly and you lean into him for support. “Want to help me out?” The broad man waves the bottle of lube at you and you grab it, pouring a generous amount on your hand. Once you are steadier on your feet, Namjoon lets go of you, grabbing the end of his shirt and lifting it over his head in one smooth motion. You can’t help but stare at his chest and he grins knowingly and eats up your attention.

Ever so slowly to tease you, he unzips his pants, pulling them down along with his underwear. His cock springs free and your eyes grow wide at his girth as he steps out of his clothes. Reaching out, you grab his cock, feeling the heavy weight of it in the palm of your hand experimentally. “You’re going to rip me apart.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll go slow, and that’s what the lube is for too.” Namjoon places his hand on yours and guides it up and down his cock, spreading the lube around diligently. He winks at you cheekily, making your heart race. In retaliation, you swipe at his tip with your thumb, making his breath stutter. He sends you that same warning look as before, and you stop, not wanting to risk challenging when his huge cock is about to be stuffed in your asshole.

With Namjoon’s cock thoroughly lubed, you turn back to the couch, and your mind blanks at the sight of seeing Hoseok naked and splayed out on the couch. He is laying on his side, his legs open to reveal his long cock, with his head propped up by his arm. It’s Hoseok’s turn to now wink at you playfully as you ogle him.

A finger taps on the bottom of your chin, closing it from where you were practically drooling at your friend. Namjoon chuckles and nods his head towards Hoseok. “Why don’t you get on? Careful, he has dancer hips.”

Hoseok rotates his hips and thrusts into the air in a rapid succession at hearing Namjoon’s commentary. He laughs as you gulp, and beckons you over with a finger, the same way he moved his hand while inside of you. On shaky legs, you saunter back over to the couch, and Hoseok shifts to lie on his back. You expose your cunt to Hoseok briefly when you swing your leg over the dancer to straddle his hips and he swears under his breath.

“You’re going to ruin me, aren’t you?” Hoseok hisses as you slowly sink down on his cock.

Your too busy gaping as his cock stretches you out to answer so your now also very naked boyfriend answers for you, “She’s good at doing that.”

After having time to adjust, you rock your hips against Hoseoks, making the both of you groan. He bucks up into you and you cry out, as he copies the hard thrusts he was doing earlier. Gradually he slows down, and you feel familiar hands spreading your ass cheeks once again.

“Take a deep breath for me.” Namjoon moves a hand to your back, pushing you gently until you are laying on top of Hoseok.

The dancer below you swivels his hips gently and you leave kisses along his chest to help distract yourself at the prodding hardness at your rear. Ever so slowly Namjoon enters you, and you whine. Despite your preparation you feel the sting of the stretch of his cock as it fills you out. Never had you been so full before, it’s almost too much.

“Breathe.” Your boyfriend’s voice is pulling you back, his hands on your cheeks lift your head. “Breathe.” He repeats and you take a deep breath, not realizing you were holding your breath. “Color.”

“Yellow.” You whimper, and all movement stops. “I’m ok, I just- ah just need some time to adjust.”

“You’re doing so well baby, so well.” Yoongi whispers comfortingly, and gives you soft kisses all across your face. Comforting hands rub circles into your hipss and back, soothing you as you adjust.

“Do you need me to take it out?” Namjoon asks behind you, worry lacing his tone.

You reach behind you, rubbing his thigh reassuringly. “You’re good, just so fucking big.”

He chuckles at that, and gives you a small sorry.

A few more moments pass and the sting goes away. You give an experimental move of your hips, and Namjoon, Hoseok, and you groan at the pleasure caused from your movement. “I’m good now, back to green.”

“You sure?” Yoongi asks, checking you over cautiously.

“Green, green, green,” you repeat, kissing Yoongi after each ‘green’, appreciating that he’s making sure you are safe.

After giving your all clear, the two men with their cocks stuffed inside of you start moving slowly in tandem.

“Ahhhnnnggh fuck, so good, yes, yes, yes,” you start chanting, never having felt so full before. Their pace picks up and you feel utterly wrecked with Namjoon’s massive cock and Hoseok’s erratic hips thrusting into you. You see stars in your vision as you nearly fall limp on top of Hoseok. Instead, you rest his arms on his chest, asking if it was ok. Hoseok moans out a yes, looking as much fucked out as you were. You don’t blame him with the obscene amount you are clenching around him due to his and Namjoon’s handiwork.

“You’re turn honey,” you pant out, stretching further along Hoseok so you can reach your boyfriend’s cock.

Yoongi stands, and runs a hand through your hair caringly. He weaves his hands through your strands and guides your head towards his hard cock, where you lick teasingly at the tip. The deep groan he makes is music to your ears, and you slowly engulf him into your mouth.

Ok, new statement. Now you have never felt so full before with three cocks stuffed into your holes. It’s so much, but you need more. You really are greedy.

Breathing through your nose deeply, you take Yoongi further into your mouth, deep throating him. His grip in your hair tightens and he curses, but his hips say perfectly still. He’s fighting so hard for control, not wanting to hurt you, letting you go at your own pace up and down his cock. Though he accidentally bucks forward softly when a hand comes to play with his balls. Looking down, Yoongi sees Hoseok grin cheekily at him as he continues his ministrations.

Under the loud tones of the music still playing on the speakers and your vibrator buzzing on the couch now quite forgotten, there is the sound of skin slapping on skin as two sets of hips thrust into you, quicker and quicker as time pasts. You let out your moans unashamedly as you suck Yoongi’s cock. Hoseok is the loudest out of the three men, panting underneath you and moaning when you clench around him, which is a lot. Namjoon whispers words of praise in your ear with a raspy voice with the occasional deep grunt.

One thing you have found out about Yoongi after sleeping with him multiple times is that he almost seems to purr when he is experiencing pleasure. It’s quiet, but you love feeling the rumble of it in his chest. Every now and then he’ll also let out a deep groan or moan a curse word in his deep voice. You always found that so sexy.

The pressure inside you keeps building up, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. You want so desperately to fall over the edge, to experience that climax, but you also never want to let this feeling go. So full, so stretched, so loved, so powerful. You were getting your mind fucked out so well.

Hoseok’s hips stutter under you and you know he is getting close. You grind down on him a little harder and it doesn’t take long until he’s exploding inside of you. His hips may have lost their rhythm but it doesn’t stop his ferocity as he fucks his cum into you. You feel his seed sliding out of you and back onto his cock as he continues, determined to help you reach your own high.

It doesn’t take much longer until your screaming, ripping your mouth from Yoongi’s cock as your own orgasm hits. Your walls convulse wildly for a third time and you collapse back onto Hoseok, the both of you writhing as you ride your high. Namjoon follows suit soon after, not lasting long with how your muscles were fluttering around his own cock as well. It didn’t help that yours and Hoseok’s moans set him off as well.

You lay squished between Hoseok and Namjoon, each of you breathing heavily from your powerful orgasms, and are now laying in a pile of entangled limbs. Hoseok continues to massage Yoongi’s balls and Namjoon reaches over you to grab Yoongi’s cock, pumping him hard and fast. You watch entranced as your friends get your boyfriend off, making a heavenly moan rip from his parted lips.

“Come for me baby,” purring, you look your boyfriend in the eye.

Much like how his words drove you over the edge earlier, yours do the same to him. Hot white cum shoots from his cock, spraying most of Namjoon’s back, but some lands on you and Hoseok. The men keep up their attention to Yoongi until he has no more to give and he whines, pulling back from the couch.

You hiss when Namjoon slides out of you, and your ass now feels sadly empty. He once again helps you off Hoseok and lies you down on the other side of the couch. Hoseok sits up, allowing you more room and his eyes rank over your exhausted, fucked out body.

“Have I told you, you are amazing?” Hoseok whispers with adoration in his voice.

Giggling you nod, “Yeah, it’s come up once or twice.”

A warm blanket is carefully draped over you and you cuddle into it. “Thank you Joonie.”

The man runs a hand through your hair before he starts getting dressed. He makes a comment about getting some towels and heads out of the studio.

“Ah, that man. I don’t think he realizes his shirt is inside out.” Hoseok laughs, and hurries to get dressed. “If anyone else sees him like that they’ll know something was up. I’ll go cover him,” and then he is out the door leaving you alone with your boyfriend.

Yoongi sits on the side of the couch, hand instantly reaching out for yours which you intertwine with your own. “You good.”

“Yeah, and you?” You smile, feeling giggly from all your orgasms.

“That was seriously so fucking hot.” He grins, rubbing circles into the back of your palm with this thumb.

“I know right.” You kick the now dead vibrator off the couch. “This thing gets me into so much trouble.”

“Good trouble, right?” Yoongi asks as he sweeps down slowly you kiss you sweetly on the lips.

“The best.”

195 notes · View notes

searchingwardrobes · 3 years

Text

It’s Been . . . a DAY 2/3

One month a few days, and finally I bring you chapter two! Sorry for the wait. Are you ready for Killian to have a bad day? And maybe a certain blonde makes it better?

Summary: Emma Swan bursts into Killian’s life in spectacular fashion - when her three year old pees on his office floor. Nevertheless, Killian is mesmerized by this tenacious woman. Perhaps fate will let them cross paths again …

Rated: G

Words: Just a bit over 2k in this chapter

Also on Ao3

Tagging: @kmomof4 @snowbellewells @whimsicallyenchantedrose @xhookswenchx @teamhook @let-it-raines @winterbythesea @spartanguard @shireness-says @superchocovian @thesschesthair @resident-of-storybrooke @vvbooklady1256 @hookedonapirate @ultraluckycatnd @hollyethecurious @welllpthisishappening @wellhellotragic @bethacaciakay @optomisticgirl @lfh1226-linda @ilovemesomekillianjones @ekr032-blog-blog @itsfabianadocarmo @profdanglaisstuff @thisonesatellite @winterbaby89 @tiganasummertree @xsajx @jennjenn615 @zaharadessert

Chapter Two:

“That’ll be $2.50.”

It’s an innocuous statement, or it normally would be, but Killian has just escaped the office after a particularly nasty run-in with Zelena Green. Escaped her demands for the most ridiculous tax deductions (with no receipts, mind you) along with her shrill screeching and her terrifying claws - ahem, manicure - so swiftly that he apparently ran to the coffee shop empty handed.

“Um . . .” Killian’s panic mounts as he pats his jeans pockets and then his leather jacket with no success. “I think,” he chuckles awkwardly and throws the barista a lopsided and charming (he hopes) smile, “I forgot my wallet.”

The barista simply arches a brow at him, communicating quite clearly that she is immune to his wiles. She braces her arms on the counter and leans towards him.

“It’s still $2.50.”

He clutches the to-go cup in his hand so tightly that it threatens to pop the lid.

“I heard you, lass, and I plan on giving you the money. I just need to run back to the office -”

“You’re not going anywhere until you give me two dollars and fifty cents.”

For a moment, he wants to snap at her, but he learned long ago that he can catch more flies with honey than vinegar. He leans his hip against the counter casually, lowers his gaze a bit, and gives the barista his best smolder.

“You’re a good worker . . .” he finds her name tag, “Ashley. I admire that. I promise you can trust me. My office is only down the block. I’ll be back in a flash.”

“Or I’ll never see you again. Just give me the damn $2.50. I got my pay docked last week for the tinder being short, and I sure as hell won’t let it happen again.”

This is clearly not his day.

“$2.50 you said?” a voice over his shoulder asks.

Killian spins, recognizing that voice. His eyes widen with joy when he sees none other than Emma Swan standing there with a sparkle in her green eyes and a smirk on her lips. She leans around him to set her cup beside his.

“Just put his on my bill,” she tells the barista.

“I can’t let you do that,” he starts to protest, but Emma lifts a hand to stop his words.

“It’s the least I can do after . . . well, what happened to your floors.”

He chuckles lightly, and she blushes even as she shakes her head and lifts her gaze to the ceiling as if to say what’s a mother to do though, right?

“Fine by me,” Ashley says with a shrug, ringing up Emma’s purchase. “So that’ll be $6.15.”

Killian grimaces inwardly - this is a local place, and the prices are steep - but Emma doesn’t even flinch as she scans her card and then takes the receipt. She turns to Killian with a smile, holding out his to-go cup.

“I am in your debt,” he tells her.

Emma rolls her eyes and waves her hand. “Are you kidding? We’re even now.”

Killian racks his brain for a way to prolong this little encounter, but before his mind can connect to his vocal chords, Emma turns to the bar that holds the cream, sugar, and various shakers of spices. He hovers, his brain still refusing to cooperate, as she removes the lid of her cup and shakes some cinnamon on the swirls of whipped cream inside. He practically jumps when she ends up breaking the awkward silence first.

“You see, I didn’t really mind adding your $2.50 to my order. That’s nothing in this place.” She snaps the lid back on her cup and turns to face him. “Let me guess, regular coffee, black?”

He nods, a smile curling his lips as he takes a sip of said coffee. “Aye. And yours is?”

“Hot chocolate, actually. Most expensive thing on the menu besides the pastries, which is just unfair, in my opinion.”

Their gazes connect over the rims of their cups, and Killian catalogues the new information. She prefers hot chocolate over coffee, with whipped cream and cinnamon.

“That doesn’t happen to you often, does it?” she asks.

“Forgetting my wallet?”

“No, your charm not working.”

Killian tilts his head back and laughs. Then he saunters closer to her, bends his head, and lowers his voice.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

She doesn’t seem to be visibly affected by his flirting in the least. Instead, she tosses him a casual smirk, one eyebrow arching. “Perhaps I would.”

His heart hammers in his chest as he searches her eyes. This woman is a bloody marvel. He had seen it even when she was falling apart in his office, and it’s even clearer now when she’s the one in control. His gaze falls to her lips, and he can’t help wetting his own. Abruptly, she clears her throat and takes a step back.

“I . . . uh, I really need to get back to my stuff.”

She hurries over to a table by the window and starts gathering up a laptop and some books and papers. A highlighter marker falls off and rolls across the floor. Killian picks it up and hands it to her.

“Thanks,” she mutters, color staining her cheeks.

“Work?”

“Uh, no,” she stammers, tucking hair behind both ears, “it’s school. My current job sucks, quite frankly, so I’m trying to get my degree.”

“That’s admirable,” Killan tells her sincerely. “In what?”

“Dental hygiene,” she wrinkles her nose adorably. “I know that’s stupid.”

Killian frowns. “Why in the world would you say that?”

Emma shrugs. “I mean, who likes teeth?”

He arches both brows as he bites down on his lower lip. “I can think of some reasons people would.”

She rolls her eyes again and smacks him in the arm. “You know what I mean!”

They both laugh then as he rubs at his arm exaggeratedly. “Okay, seriously, dentists like teeth. I mean, I assume they do.”

Emma shakes her head. “I don’t think so. I mean, maybe some, but mostly I think they just know it will make them lots of money.”

“And that’s why you want to be a dental hygienist?”

Emma lifts her messenger bag and loops it over her shoulder. “I don’t need to be rich, but secure would be nice. I want to give Henry a good life, you know? And dental hygiene is steady work, steady pay, and good hours.”

Emma doesn’t seem to mind when Killian walks beside her as they leave the coffee shop.

“You’re a good mother, Emma. I still fail to see where any of that is stupid.”

She hitches the bag further up her shoulder, then takes another sip of her hot chocolate. “I don’t know. Aren’t I supposed to be studying something I’m passionate about? Instead, I’m being completely pragmatic. All I need for this career is an associate’s degree, which will take way less time and money.”

“I think we put way too much pressure on people to find a career - a passion, as you say. At the end of the day, a job is pragmatic. We need money to live, and a job gives us that.”

“Is that why you became an accountant?” Emma tilts her head and studies him as she asks the question. “You don’t seem the type. No offense.”

He scratches behind his ear. “None taken. And yes, I make good money at it, so that’s part of it. Liam and I went our entire childhood barely surviving, so we both vowed to change that when we were old enough.”

“I get that,” Emma mutters into her cup of hot chocolate. Killian wonders at the comment, but doesn’t press her.

“I do like numbers, though, so does Liam. We both excelled at that when we were in the Navy, and . . .” he shook his head. “It’s a dull story. We’ll just use the cliche the rest is history.”

Emma laughs, a free and easy thing in the early spring air, and Killian wants to hold onto it. For some reason, he gets the impression it’s a rare sound from her.

“I suppose going to school for accounting is about as interesting as dental hygiene.”

“Well, then, here’s to making a living,” he tells her cheerfully, extending his coffee cup.

She taps it with her cup of cocoa. “To making a living.”

They both sip, the air becoming charged again as their gazes linger. Then Emma glances over his shoulder, and her eyes light up.

“Flowers!”

She hurries over to the sidewalk display and picks up a bunch of snowdrops. “These are Mary Margaret’s favorite,” she said with a smile.

“Really? Elsa loves them too,” Killian says, gently touching a delicate white blossom. “Who is Mary Margaret?”

“My sister,” Emma tells him, her smile fond, “foster sister, technically. Eva and Leopold adopted me when I was twelve and Mary Margaret was sixteen. I was a terror, let me tell you.”

“You had been through a lot of pain, I’m sure.”

Emma studies him for a moment, slight surprise lighting her eyes. “Yeah, I had . . . but the three of them loved me anyway. And now, well, Mary Margaret is both my sister and my best friend. She and Eva both watch Henry for me while I work and study.”

“What about Leopold?”

Emma buries her nose in the snowdrops, “He passed away when I was still in high school.”

“I’m so sorry.”

Emma gives her head a quick shake. “The point is, Mary Margaret and Eva are both the absolute best. I don’t know what I would do without them. David’s not bad either, I guess.” She chuckles fondly.

“David?” He assumes by her laughter that he isn’t a boyfriend. Please don’t let him be a boyfriend.

“Mary Margaret’s husband. They’re newlyweds and completely nauseating.”

Killian treasures each tiny nugget of Emma’s life and files it carefully away. He wants to know so much more. How did she come to have Henry? Why is she raising him alone? What pain was she forced to endure those first twelve years of her life? Though he can imagine that last one fairly well. He and Liam had spent nearly that long shuffled from home to home after their mother’s death, Brennan Jones never wanting to take responsibility for his sons.

“I want to buy these for Jones & Jones,” Emma tells him, “as a thank you.”

“We’ve told you that it was no trouble. Besides, you bought my coffee, remember?”

Emma shakes her head. “I’ve been meaning to come by with flowers all week, but I was just too embarrassed. Please let me.”

Killian nods, albeit a bit reluctantly. He guesses that Emma is on a tight budget. She said her job sucks, and she’s caring for a toddler while also putting herself through school. He’s sure the small family she mentioned helps when they can, but still, she already spent over six dollars at the coffee shop, thanks to him. However, he can already see that she is a lass of great pride. He doesn’t want to insult her by refusing the gift.

Emma purchases the flowers, and then she walks with him the rest of the way to Jones & Jones. Elsa exclaims over the flowers just as Killian expected her to, even enveloping Emma in a hug. Ariel hugs her too and asks about Henry. Even Liam is lured away from his desk, and he ends up showing off pictures of little Ian to Emma. He and Elsa swap funny stories about raising a three year old, and before long, an hour has passed.

“Oh my God,” Emma suddenly gasps, “what time is it?”

“Almost five,” Elsa tells her.

“Shit, I’ve gotta go. Mary Margaret is expecting me soon, and Henry gets cranky when dinner is late.”

Killian stands there like an idiot as Emma rushes out in a whirlwind, leaving her now cold hot chocolate on the edge of Killian’s desk.

“Please tell me you asked her out this time,” Liam says once the door has shut behind her.

Killian groans. He didn’t even get her number.

“Maybe you’ll run into her again?” Ariel suggests, but there isn’t much faith in her voice.

Not that Killian blames her for her doubt. Fate gave him a second chance, and he doesn’t hold out much hope that it will give him a third.

#cs #cs ff #modern au #first meeting #and second meeting?#mommy!emma #single mom emma #little henry #fluff #humor

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wesimpforxiao · 3 years

Text

Inception Chapter 2

"Excuse me, may I have your mask?"

It's a strange question to ask an off-duty Fatui agent who was just hoping to go home and get a good-night's rest. You'd have to admit if it weren't for the fact that he was Fatui, you'd feel bad for the tired expression that was so blatantly obvious through his slouched posture as he walked to his apartment.

It was late at night and since it takes you forever to feel the call of sleep even as you lay in bed, it was the perfect opportunity to put that leftover energy to use. What better way than to inconvenience the Fatui as their shifts end?

"Excuse me? Why do you wan-" The man turned around, and the familiar voice had your blood boiling.

"Oh, so it's you," you cooed, half mockingly, and half threatening. This was the man Zhongli had talked about awhile back, and he was more than rude to Zhongli and Aether (who you only met once). This guy's the perfect target for tonight's mischief. "Good evening, Kliment. Let me ask you again. May I have your mask?"

"What the hell are you on about? No, you can't 'have' it. Get lost lady, it's dangerous for small things like you to be walking around alone this late." He would've turned on his heel and storm away, but hesitated since the petite girl before him was dressed in black and not an inch of your skin or significant features could be seen. "Wait a second. You're that bitch that's been--"

"I'd prefer a cooler name than that," you interjected calmly despite the growing heat on your skin. "Can't you guys come up with better nicknames? Not all of you lack creativity from what I've seen. Mask, now."

"Screw off, brat." Kliment unhooked his mask from his hip and put it on in preparation for a brawl. "I don't hold back against chicks like you."

"Generic. Cliché. Uninspiring," you rolled your eyes with a lack of interest. "Seriously, you have the audacity to be rude towards the people you hire, yet you lack enough common decency to resort to these awful nicknames? Honestly," the clink of your minute dagger unsheathing caught the man's attention. You had never really needed to use it against anyone, but you displayed it nonetheless--just in case you felt a tad threatened, and you never were. "All I'm after is your mask."

"You've more than pissed all of us off with your antics. Go to hell!" Kliment charged at you with his fist. You sidestepped and let him fall forward. Then your elbow landed at the base of his skull, and he crumpled to all fours.

"For a Fatui agent, you're pretty weak," you whispered as you tore the mask from his face.

"You stupid little-!" Kliment pushed himself to his feet and spun around to swing at you, but he was met with empty space and silence. How did she even disappear like that?! Annoyed that his night was ruined, he stormed back the way he came--back to Northland Bank.

Childe was listening to his agent's report in the bank's lobby when someone loudly burst through the doors with such a force, he thought someone had finally become brave enough to pick a fight with him. But to his disappointment, he was met with yet another pissed-off agent. He'd seen this guys before...what was his name again? Clyde? Cliff?

"Master Childe!" The man stomped towards the harbinger with a reddened face. "That bi-"

"If you're going to greet me, I suggest you do it properly," the stern look in Childe's eyes was enough to snap Kliment back to his senses and realize just who he was talking to. The agent that was relaying her report immediately silenced herself.

"M-my apologies, sir." Kliment bowed--a bit rushed-- before resuming his rant. "That...That vigilante is still here. Why aren't you doing anything about her? We thought you were going to deal with this--"

Another glare, this time enough to silence the entire room. "Does anyone here have objections to the way I'm choosing to deal with this matter?"

Silence. And it was tense.

Childe slowly scanned the room and made a point to hold eye contact with each agent present. "You've seem to forgotten that this matter was supposed to be taken care of by your lot. If it weren't for the disappearances that may or may not be linked, I wouldn't be wasting my time here helping you."

Kliment scoffed, "You've been back for three months and we still haven't made any progress, even with you!" He half-expected to have angered the harbinger, but to his horror, the man chuckled.

"Is that so?" Childe walked towards him, head held high and eyes downcast in a condescending manner. The air around him could've crackled with electricity from how frightening the sight was. He was eerily calm, steady, balanced--yet the deadly spark in his eyes and the upward twitch of his lips dared Kliment to test him. "If you truly wish to settle this matter then by all means, come at me. Fight me man-to-man, and I'll show you a bit of respect. Your words mean nothing to me unless you've proven yourself in battle." His hand slapped onto Kliment's shoulder a little too hard, and the man flinched.

If a pin dropped, everyone would hear it right now.

Childe took it a step further and leaned forward until he was at Kliment's ear. "But considering you got your ass handed to you by a woman with no proper training or fighting skills, it might be wise to stand back and let me handle the load."

Kliment shrugged the hand off his shoulder and bit his tongue. As much as he hated it, his superior was right. He was so tired after a long day, he let a girl get the best out of him. "Mark my words, I'll catch her."

"Hahaha! I'm sure you will."

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

"Annnnnd another one bite's the dust." The mask was tossed into a bag the second you entered your studio apartment. Then the bag was lazily kicked back under your bed before you threw yourself onto the mattress. "Ugh, I'm tired now."

You absently stare at the ceiling as your lids steadily grew heavier. 'Kliment,' huh? From Zhongli's story, he probably deserved more than an elbow to the back of his head. Or his mask stolen. That would be a task for another night. Until then, you'll surrender to the melodies of the crickets outside your window.

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

"Ajax!" A high-pitched voice made him look to his right only to be confronted by you. A wary survey of his surroundings confirmed none of the Fatui were nearby.

He plastered a smile on his face as usual. "Greetings, Reed!" The two of you had run into each other a few times by now, occasionally inviting the other on a short walk or to the nearest café before returning to work. He knew the drill by now. You'd ask about his day, and he would lie. You'd ask how his business was going, and he would lie. You'd ask for stories after you had parted from Snezhnaya, and he would lie. Slowly but surely digging himself a deeper grave while simultaneously beginning to feel a familiar warmth in his heart for you.

Make no mistake, he constantly reminded himself, this is just a temporary attraction. It wouldn't work between us. Yet he still heard that small voice at the back of his that wondered what would happen if he did catch feelings for an old friend, and caught himself looking forward to when he'd see you next.

"How's your week been going? I've been pushed over the edge with the workload. Apparently there was an accident west of here and there was a lot of casualties." Despite the warm smile on you lips, the grief from your eyes bled into it.

"Oh? I'm sorry to hear that." Wait. A lightbulb went off in his head. Why didn't he think of asking you this sooner? "Did they happen to be Fatui?"

He caught the subtle twitch in your brow, and your lips curled downward. "Fatui? No, they're rare customers. It was a mining accident; a lot of people were injured." Childe could almost feel your gaze crawl over him, and he couldn't help but think you finally connected the dots. Had he covered his trail thoroughly enough? "Why did you suddenly ask about them?"

Surely it wouldn't hurt to test your reaction. "Hm? Well, word on the street is some Fatui agents have gone missing recently. I was just curious if any had turned up dead."

"Really? I haven't heard anything," you shifted your weight and leaned against a wall, lost in deep thought. I'm usually really good at overhearing these things. How did I miss such a huge deal? Maybe Ajax has resources I can use? "Who told you these things?"

"A few customers of mine have mentioned it off-hand." Childe watched for any tell on your movements, but he couldn't read you. Your lying skills were usually terrible from what he remembered, but now you're giving mixed signals. "Well, that's enough Fatui talk. I know you hate them."

"Aww, I'm glad you remember that detail about me," you replied with voice dripping in sarcasm. "Is that the only memorable thing about my presence?"

"Hm, dunno," a cheeky smile prompted you to scrunch your brows. "If you really want to know my answer, you'll have to fight me for it."

"Ha, yeah right. Your opinion of me has yet to have any emotional impact on me. I don't need to waste my energy to serve your...violent tendencies."

"Ouch," Childe grabbed at his chest and feigned offense. "Are you challenging me? 'Cuz if you are, I'm more than confident in my abilities to make women fall head-over-heels for me."

He had expected you to blush at his remark, but you instead rolled your eyes. "As if I'd fall for you now."

"'Now?'" He moved to block your exit with a hand against the wall. Childe practically towered over you, but then again, who didn't? You're so petite-- "Well well well, what does that mean, girlie?"

Feeling your face flush, you lightly pushed him out of the way before he could pick up on your fluster. "Nothing. Can we change the subject now?"

There was your readable nature; you'd never fool him for long. "As you wish," he obliged, seemingly satisfied with your supposed lack of an answer. "So, do you have any plans for the evening?"

"Tonight?" Your brows and nose scrunched up as you looked up at him. You had always met up during the day, and even then, it wouldn't be for long. It'd more or less be set up like Zhongli's meeting with Ajax the day you happened to tag along. "Not really...Why?"

"How 'bout a dinner date?"

"We're still on this train of thought? Enough with the jokes, Ajax!"

"Hey now, I'm serious."

It was a bit difficult to avert your eyes when he stared at you with such determination. "A 'date' sounds premature, don't you think? We've only recently reconnected and even then, we don't know each other very well. For all I know you could be planning to kill me in my apartment or something."

"Have it your way, then. How 'bout dinner without the date?"

"Now that, I can agree to."

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

Despite your initial hesitance, you were the one that insisted on cooking and eating at your apartment with Ajax. The two of you met at Liuli Pavilion before walking back to your place that evening, with Childe being sure he was not recognized by the Fatui; they would surely come up to him and his cover would be blown. He couldn't afford to let you know he was a harbinger or at least, not until after he finds out where his missing men are and learns more about this hobby of yours according to Zhongli.

That was the excuse, anyway. Deep down he didn't want to lose the girl he called his best friend in his childhood years. You were the one that were in his precious memories, before he had fallen into the Abyss, when his innocence was in it's prime. Sure, you were both different now. Those childish antics were a thing of the past, and a grown woman stood in little Reed's place while a war-thirsty harbinger stood in his. You were a stranger to him now and it made him all the more determined to learn more about you--outside of his Fatui duties, of course. But what if you were involved with his men's disappearances? He'd have no choice but to take you out. These thoughts turmoiled his mind until you reached the door of your apartment.

"After you," you gestured before following him in.

"Nice place you got here." Childe eyed your small but tidy living quarters with care. A small kitchen lined the left wall, and a couch separated the kitchen area from the living space. Your bed cuddled the far wall next to the window that overlooked the main street of Liyue from the second floor. You shouldn't be letting strangers in so easily.

"It's small and cheap, but it gets the job done." You rummaged through the fridge and brought out a plethora of ingredients. Carrots, broth, chicken, potatoes--you'd start off with these first. Despite Childe's insistence that he'd do the cooking, you managed to compromise and cook side-by-side with him. That said, you weren't nearly as good of a cook as he was; that was probably the reason why he pushed so hard to be the sole chef tonight. This would be your chance to show how much you've changed over the years.

Childe joined your right and took a knife out from one of your drawers as if he had lived in your apartment with you all your life. After handing him a cutting board, he began to chop away at the carrots before placing them in a pot on the island counter behind you. He was secretly making a mental map of this place, trying to figure out where any clues would be hiding about his men. You spent your time peeling the potatoes before tossing them in with the carrots. It was quiet with your occasional humming of some tune Childe hadn't heard before and the clacking of knives against cutting boards.

Once the ingredients were set and everything was ready to be cooked, Childe turned to the stove. "Oh...You don't have any wood?" Something like this wouldn't do. How are you supposed to have a meal if you don't have a fire?

"Nope," you answered as if it was the obvious choice.

"Let me get this straight girlie," he moved next to you with his forearm resting on the cupboard above you. "You invite me over for a homecooked meal, and your stove isn't even functional? You really haven't changed all these years." His teasing attitude was almost immediately wiped off his face when he was met with your snarky expression.

"Like I said earlier, we're still getting to know one another." Your hand drifted down to your cardigan, and for a second, Childe misread what you were planning to do. You pulled the fabric away from your blouse and a pyro vision glinted from within it's inner pocket.

Something akin to delight lit up in his eyes. "So you do have a vision. Do you--"

"--'Do I fight?' No," you slid by him and put your hand against the metal pot. "I...choose to use it when it comes to food. Fire isn't something I want to play with." Childe was quick to notice the pain that flashed in your eyes but you had blinked it away the moment he recognized it. Your lips curled upward. "Funny though, isn't it? We have visions that are the opposite of each other! What're the odds of that?"

"Dunno," he shrugged, watching as the pot came to a boil within seconds of your hand touching it. You didn't so much as summon a flame.

"It'll be done in a few minutes. Feel free to make yourself at home."

Will do. Childe silently slid into the living room portion of your studio apartment, hands in his pockets and eyes narrowed like an eagle searching for its prey. His steps were light but firm, and he'd occasionally tap the hardwood floor with the toe-end of his boots to check for loose floorboards that might be hiding something--anything, really. Any dirt he can gather on you, he'd have to find it now. This might be his only chance, but seeing as how friendly and insistent you were to bring him over and show hospitality, it wouldn't be unlikely to be invited again.

He eyed an empty fireplace that sat opposite of the couch. It was empty and spotless; it's never been used, and you could go without it thanks to your pyro vision. A couple paintings were leaned up against the wall on top of the fireplace; they were no larger than his hand in size, but whoever the artist was possessed true talent. Three figures stood in the image: you, your mother whom he remembered meeting at some point, and your father.

If my memory serves me correctly, he died some point after I met Reed, Childe recalled as his fingers lightly trailed over the image. He doesn't remember you mentioning the man at all, even all those years ago...

Something drew his eyes to your neatly-made bed. You were an amateur just as Zhongli and the Fatui agents were able to gather. You wouldn't be hiding something under your bed, would you? He drew closer--

"Alright, dinner's ready."

Guess I'll check later. Childe smacked his signature smirk onto his face and blinded you with it.

#wesimpforxiao #wesimpforxiaoupdates #inception #childe x reader #childe genshin impact #tartaglia x reader #tartaglia genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact

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away-from-anthills · 3 years

Text

chapter eleven-

It became apparent to Antstar near immediately that Whitetooth and Marblepaw weren’t the only ones in the medicine den.

Next to Whitetooth lay Stripedwing. The gray molly seemed well, but even under the cloak of sleep her face looked troubled. Next to her were four small bundles of fur, one of which Marblepaw was tending to.

“What’s going on?” asked Antstar, his breath so low that he wondered if he was just thinking particularly loud.

“I believe I have told you in the past about the matter concerning Stripedwing’s family tree,” began Whitetooth. “For as far back as I or my late mentor can remember, the litters containing such ancestry are quite weak, and have difficulty surviving illness. You may recall that Rainleap and Stripedwing were born in a litter of four, yet only they survived their kithood.”

Antstar nodded, but worry began to dig under his skin like a short-tempered hare. These were Russetfoot’s children!

“They’ve all caught kitten-cough. It appears the other three in the litter- Runningkit, Rustkit, and Wheatkit- are safe and healthy, and Shadeflower is caring for them. But these four… these four, I worry about.”

Suddenly, Whitetooth and Marblepaw at once pricked their ears and pointed their long snouts towards the entrance, where a figure was standing. She was a calico tabby; half of her fur was an off-white color while her back and face were covered in splotches that were mottled orange and liver. She was a naturally rather demure thing, like a particularly thin workhorse, and her pale green eyes were cradled by thick, dark eyebags that had been tinged reddish from discharge.

It was Houndnose. One of the permanent queens.

“Are they alright?” she asked in a hoarse whisper, awkwardly walking forth to inspect. Whitetooth leaned toward her, causing her to back up into herself and arch over. “I cannot say they are. I and my apprentice are giving them all the care we can, but we do not know what will happen to them.”

Whitetooth was usually fairly tall, definitely within the upper half of WindClan’s heights. But their head only met Houndnose’s lower neck. She shot one last long glance at the kittens; her glance slowly lingered and met Antstar’s before she trotted away.

“Poor, feeble thing,” Whitetooth said, solemnly shaking their head. “All she wants in the world is to take care of kits and to be a mother. But every litter she’s had…”

Antstar didn’t need Whitetooth to finish the sentence. Houndnose’s first litter had been born two springs ago. But Dustkit was a stillbirth, and Privetkit and Newtkit slowly, agonizingly succumbed to illness. Her second litter the next year was healthier, but didn’t fare better in the long run, as a fox wound up getting them.

Antstar remembered how Shalestar had asked Houndnose if she truly wanted to continue being a queen after all that. But Houndnose was insistent: Queen life was worth all the heartbreak, all the pain; and her third litter would make it, whenever it would be.

“It must be horrible,” Whitetooth said softly, a true sympathy shining in their teal-green eyes. “Having to watch what happened to your own all over again- and not be able to do a single thing about it.”

They turned to inspect Stripedwing and her kits, and upon assuring themself that the molly and her kits were all in a deep slumber, they turned, in that sort of blank way they were so masterful at, to Antstar.

“I have heard about Stoatslink’s… suspicions, yes.”

“Well.” Antstar stepped back, a touch of incredulousness as he shifted his weight from one side to another. “What in StarClan do you suppose we do?”

Whitetooth squinted slightly before wheeling around to sort a stack of herbs near the back of the main chamber. “You are my leader, Antstar. I follow your command, not the other way around.”

Antstar opened his mouth to protest, but Whitetooth turned, their eye lidded with seriousness. “I do not kill my Clanmates, sir. I am simply the agent by which they join StarClan. If you truly think I’m going to kill Stoatslink on my own volition, you are sorely mistaken.”

Kill? Antstar had said nothing about killing. But in a strange sort of way, his mind was already headed there. And then he blurted out: “I don’t want to be the one to do it!”

“Quiet!” Whitetooth hissed, snapping at their leader. For a second, Antstar glimpsed their long white canines that had gifted them their name, and he was there in Sunningrocks all over again, when that flame-pointed ThunderClan tom had threatened him. Whitetooth’s mouth was very small and slight, and looked nearly invisible when it was shut. But inside- when they opened their mouth… it was nearly all teeth. Teeth that had never been dulled by the wear and tear of warriorship. Teeth that were long but with points so small that if they were to bite into something, nobody would notice but the victim, like hypodermic needles.

Antstar’s eyes darted over to the corner of the medicine den, where Marblepaw was curled up, eyes huge and glimmering with the shine of Whitetooth’s canines.

“You are going to wake her-“ -they gestured to Stripedwing, still asleep- “-if you continue, and the Clan will not understand us. And I know from hearing things that Clan cats have no trouble kicking out leaders if they decide they are no longer worthy. Why, it could be happening right now…”

“Right now?” said Antstar. “What do you mean?” “Not here in WindClan.” They tipped their head back cryptically. “I hear of things.”

“But what do we do?” asked Antstar. “What if- StarClan damn you for making me think of it, but- what if we were to kill him?” “Outside,” said Whitetooth, their tail still flicking towards the sleeping mother and her kits. “Now. Marblepaw-“ -they turned to address their apprentice, who was still hunched over from fear- “you watch Stripedwing and her kits.”

They were on the rim above camp now, the moon across the sky staring straight upon them.

“Well, now. What do we do?”

“Well, what does Stoatslink thinks he knows?”

Antstar tried to flicker back memories of all they had learned about the white tom. He was an analytical sort, yes. But he was stubborn, and seemed to fashion himself a genius. Bull-headed. An intelligent bull? Perhaps. But still one that would charge if he saw a red cape.

“He thinks a non-Clan cat killed Sparkthistle and threw her body in the gorge as cover.”

“Good, good.” Whitetooth’s voice slowly blended into a sort of hypnotic charm as it flowed through the air. “That’s exactly what we need. Here’s what I would propose.”

They stood back and tipped their head up and ears back, as if they were disposing of rotting crowfood, and spoke.

“We can make an example of Stoatslink. He is a family-oriented fellow, but has few friends because of his flaws. If he died-“

“What are you getting at? You think we can openly kill him to ‘make an example’? Are you mad?” Whitetooth looked offended, their nose slightly wrinkling with indignance. “Not openly, you shrew-headed fellow! And, personally, I was never saner than I am now. Listen. You know what happens, when Tatteredstar makes a faulty decision?”

Antstar nodded. Recently, there had been Rosefire. But he hadn’t been the only incident. He remembered that at his first Gathering as a warrior, she had announced that an ill-advised attack on a group of kittypets had killed her deputy. There was a sort of shock at it- he had quite liked seeing the fellow in question at Gatherings when he was an apprentice. And even before that, he remembered hearing from WindClan warriors returning from a Gathering- did you hear Tatteredstar didn’t let SkyClan get the herbs they needed, due to their prey dispute? And a bunch of SkyClan cats died because of it? I have no idea why ThunderClan adores her so much…

“Now. What else would happen shortly after?”

Antstar’s mind floundered at first, but as soon as he considered Tatteredstar’s other habits his mind latched onto something. “…They would attack RiverClan, and get Sunningrocks back.”

“Bravo.” Whitetooth drew back slowly, like he was leading Antstar with a carrot on a string. “A stroke of genius, on her part. In styling a common enemy for all her Clan to be directed towards, at once it removes the eyes from her and it unites the Clan together against this new obstacle. So even if the Clan is divided at her decision- they are swiftly united again by this distraction.” “So what you’re saying is-“

“I know the cats who live just beyond our territory. I would not say they are black of heart, but they are desperate. For food, for shelter… they shall do anything to get their claws on that sort of miscellany. I can arrange with them a deal- some of my medicinal herbs for them to kill Stoatslink, and then we shall throw him into the gorge. Solidify the belief he had in a killer outside the Clans- and then send a patrol to deal with the rogues that shall still be at the border.”

They turned away back into the medicine den, hearing Dewkit weakly cry as she began to stir.

“Think upon my words, Antstar, and consider it for now. If need be- I would consider it a necessary sacrifice to keep our Clan together for the oncoming of no-leaf.”

The last days of late summer slipped by, until autumn arrived in a hazy orange mist one day about a week or two later.

WindClan’s territory had always been at her prettiest in the mist- most of all when the sun still was able to shine through and cradle it with light. The sky above was mostly clear, but pale from its dawn youth. The trees, just slightly tinged with dappled shades of ginger, were practically painted gold by the sun’s light. The last morning stars slowly winked away just beyond the horizon, and the ground was so soaked with dew that WindClan cats nearly appeared to be RiverClan.

Antstar, however, had no time to admire newborn leaf-fall. He and Whitetooth, this morning, were on a mission at dawn. He had told Russetfoot he was helping Whitetooth find herbs, as it was important to do before the plants died out.

Russetfoot had accepted, numbly, his forest-green eyes staring mournfully at a small, freshly buried patch of earth that lay just beyond camp, where the last wildflowers of the season had begun to blossom. But Russetfoot had sighed and gone on with it, announcing names for the dawn patrol- mourning, in WindClan, was rarely ever a public affair.

Whitetooth always had a strange way of moving through the grass. It was almost like a swan: their top half remained still, except for the vague movements of the haunches and the flick of the tail; their legs, however, kicked away wildly beneath them. It was at once graceful and off-putting, as Whitetooth tended to be.

They went along, from the dewy grass to the slick, cold asphalt of the Thunderpath just beyond Mothermouth. They were traveling up it, parallel to the road. Antstar felt nervousness nip at his paws- ever since Rainleap’s death, which in truth had been only a season or so ago although to Antstar it had felt like eons, he had always had second thoughts about crossing roads.

And then Whitetooth stopped. They looked one way, then another, and then slunk across the road, Antstar in tow.

They stopped at a small, craggy cave, which resembled a much smaller version of the Moonstone’s cave- but with no tunnel, and no mystic monolith either. Inside, although it was dark, Antstar could see the silhouettes of a small group of rogues. They were all emaciated, and he tried to keep his distance- he could smell the fleas from here, and it appeared at least one of them had mange.

He heard a snarl and two cats caught his attention. One was a large ginger-and-white molly with patchy fur and scars webbing her shoulders, the other a much smaller, underfed little brown tom with a white underbelly.

“So you haven’t found any prey this morning?” asked the ginger-and-white molly, her voice thick with an accent that Antstar couldn’t place.

The smaller tom shook his head. He was visibly shaking, and his ribs were defined enough that Antstar could count nearly all of them.

“You know, Whimbrel, that this is the eighth straight morning-“ “I don’t want to go out to where the Clans are!” he squeaked, his voice hoarse.

“The Clans?” She scoffed. “You’re scared of the Clans?”

Whimbrel nodded. “I didn’t-“

At once the large patched molly leapt onto Whimbrel. He tried to flee, but there was little time before she was on top of him. She beat him around, as a kit would a moss-ball, and then thrust a thick yellow claw right into his eye. Whimbrel let out a wicked screech of pain.

“That’ll teach you,” she said, giving a crooked smile. Her teeth were cracked, and a few were missing altogether. “You’ve got more to worry about than the Clans, rag-pelt.”

Antstar winced. With no medicine, that eye was going to get infected- and it was already out of the question that Whimbrel would ever see in it again.

And then- speak of herbs- Whitetooth stepped forth, their chest puffed with confidence. “Sisters, brothers! May I see the leader of this fine group? I have a proposition I am willing to make.”

Antstar had no idea how much of Whitetooth’s words were laced with sarcasm, if any of them were. Yet some of the rogues seemed to know Whitetooth already, and acknowledged their presence with a nod. Antstar knew that medics were often entangled with connections to cats outside the Clans, and with each other; he didn’t want to press the matter further than that.

A large, muscly black cat came up to them. He had a sort of youthful swagger about him which was only further punctuated by mischievous yellow eyes and a white spot just above his left lip.

‘Name’s Captain.”

Captain? Fancy name, for a rogue, Antstar thought. He wouldn’t be surprised if this cat had once been a kittypet. Whitetooth nodded and bowed slightly in greeting.

“I and my companion here are willing to arrange a deal with you, provided you are capable of upholding our end of the bargain.”

The ginger-and-white molly from before trod up beside Captain, her hazel eyes clouded with suspicion. “They smell like Clan.”

“I am aware,” Captain whispered in her ear. “Hold on a moment.” He turned back to Antstar and Whitetooth, his gaze smooth. “What is it?” “I will give you enough herbs to last two moons, as well as a position on the edge of our land,” Whitetooth began. Antstar nodded along, not wanting to interfere- or get too close to the rogues, as he watched a yellow tabby tom pry a fat tick from his shoulder. “…So long as you get rid of this rogue that has been bothering us.”

“And you’re sure you’ll hold up this bargain?” asked Captain, leaning forward with interest.

“Certain.” Whitetooth turned to Antstar. “Are you sure you want me to continue?”

For a moment, Antstar’s mind faltered. He thought of Goldenpaw and Milkpaw, who loved their father dearly. Their final apprentice assessments were to be held that quarter-moon. If he continued now… they’d have no parents at their warrior ceremony.

But it had to be done.

By God, it had to be done.

He nodded.

As Whitetooth and Captain got into the specifics- he’s a white tom, rather muscular, face like a bull terrier, yellow eyes- Antstar felt his head swirl with excuses. No, he didn’t- wasn’t going to, rather- kill Stoatslink. It wasn’t his fault. These rogues were going to kill someone anyway, right? And someone had to die to unite the Clan. He hadn’t killed Stoatslink; he didn’t kill Sparkthistle. He spoke no lies- he was solely omitting what he had to in order to keep his Clan safe. And in the long run, turning WindClan on these rogues was the right thing to do, to train them, to compel them to fight and band them together.

His mind stopped. He was at no fault, he decided. This was going to happen any other way.

“We’ll get the job done,” assured Captain, giving Whitetooth a gaze that was almost playfully roguish. Antstar wasn’t entirely sure he trusted him. “Meeting, everyone! Meeting!”

The rogues in the den gathered around the black-furred tom, their gazes wary.

“We have a deal with these two generous Clan fellows. I am aware most Clan cats are heartless bastards,” he jested, “but these two have granted us both part of their territory and medicinal herbs.”

“That’ll be great for Whimbrel’s injury here!” half-heartedly said the patched ginger and white molly. Beside her, Whimbrel was trying to wipe the blood from his face, but the more his paw rubbed the uglier the wound became. He tried harder and harder to stop the bleeding, to soothe himself; but in the end he had made a mess of it, giving up entirely as the blood seeped through his fur.

“It will be,” said Captain, flinching with disgust at the rogue’s injury. “However, we must uphold our half of the bargain. They have asked we… deal with… a white rogue who lives on their territory, who goes by the name Stoat.”

“Oh, that bastard!” said an old, thin black molly with long fangs. “Heard of him! Could have sworn he was a Clan cat, though…”

“We follow what they say, Linsky, and we don’t ask questions.” He turned back to the other rogues. “Tonight, we’ll get rid of him, so we don’t worry about having to do it later. If we all gang up on him, we’ll outnumber him. We’ll set up two groups. Towser here-“ -he indicated the patched ginger and white molly- “-will lead the first group, I’ll lead the second- as we are the best fighters after all, especially in my case.”

A large silvery tabby molly in the group rolled her eyes.

“One group will chase, the other will ambush. He’ll stand no chance. Towser, you’ll have Peg and Scamp with you; you’ll chase him down. I’ll lead the ambush group, which will be myself of course, but also Linsky, Garlic, and Whimbrel. I’ll kill the cat, of course, as I have special experience and tact-“

“You don’t,” growled the silvery tabby.

“Peg, you must have forgotten my run in with the ShadowClan patrol a few moons ago. You see, there were five of them, and one-“

“Let us leave,” said Whitetooth. “They’ll take most of it from here. And I have a queen and kits I must care for, especially after poor Mousekit’s death the other day.”

The day seemed to take forever.

Antstar felt like he was going to vomit every time he caught sight of Goldenpaw and Milkpaw. Even though he had mostly trained himself now into accepting that Stoatslink’s sealed fate was fixed, and that he had no true hand in it, his gut disagreed with his brain.

What would be, would be.

He took solace in Whitetooth’s confidence, at least- if that’s what you could call it. Nothing about the pale-furred medic seemed to indicate any sense of wrongness, or even that something different was about to occur that night. Hell, ever since even before Sparkthistle had died, they had looked the same way; acted the same way.

Medics were close to StarClan- and if Whitetooth hadn’t been smote down by StarClan themselves the last time they had visited the Moonstone and trod upon StarClan’s own divine territory, Antstar had to be fine.

Goldenpaw and Milkpaw, meanwhile, seemed to be having a fairly average day. The wound Goldenpaw had received in the massive Sunningrocks battle had nearly healed, although it left a scar that twisted and snaked around her flank and leg like a tangled vine. It had been her first hunting patrol since, as Whitetooth had only released her from their care the other night. She was the only moor runner apprentice, now. Twigpaw had moved on to his tunneler training after he had gotten the basics of hunting and fighting, and Shadeflower’s litter had graduated. Antstar wondered if the small catch she brought- only a small, scrawny whinchat- had to do with the lack of recent training since the injury, or the fact she had no competition she could brag about her catch to.

Coalclaw had been on the hunting patrol also, his face seemingly-permanently twisted into what Antstar could only describe to himself as something between numbness and far-off horror. Rockscratch, who was the one who had dragged the dark gray tabby along, had hoped that a hunting patrol would lift Coalclaw’s spirit and “get him back into a fightin’ mood”, but Coalclaw seemed almost too dazed to catch prey, even missing out on a rather clumsy red grouse that his sister Spiderfoot caught without even having to think about it. At one moment, Coalclaw was able to catch a young hare that had been chased around to him by the other members in the patrol; but as soon as he was told to clamp down on its neck and kill it, he started to cry in an ugly, desperate way, and yet again Spiderfoot had to finish the job for him. It’s only a hare, his patrol members told him, it’s only a hare, they are living but they are our food and they live through us, but he could not stop crying and staring into the crimson of its blood, and eventually Webwhisker had had to bring Coalclaw early, where he resumed his usual position sitting at the edge of camp towards sunset; still as a stone but haunted by something within.

“Something’s wrong with him,” Rockscratch said, with an air of sympathy but also a slight twinge of annoyance, like he was inspecting a tear in a well-loved coat of his. “We have to figure out how to fix it. I quite liked how he used to be.”

Milkpaw, meanwhile, was quite successful as a tunneler. While traditionally, a tunneler’s job was dependent on hearing, a trait Milkpaw lacked, her other senses brought a new understanding to the job. She could not hear, but her eyesight was excellent even in the thick, clammy darkness of the tunnels, and she had a sense of motion in the ground that only the finest tunnelers could really tap into. It was understood that tunnelers had longer training periods than their above-ground counterparts, but tunnelers generally got their warrior names around the time they had learned all of the basics and not when their training had truly finished. A tunneler’s leaning never ends,they reasoned when asked about why, as it was rather silly to everyone else.

That’s what terrified Antstar the most. The warrior ceremony. If Stoatslink really was to die, those two would have neither of their parents at their warrior ceremony. He supposed he knew how it felt to not have any parents to begin with… but to have them, and lose them, was a cruelty Antstar felt like he’d never really comprehend, just as he never had anything to say to Russetfoot’s wild grief about his children slowly beginning to slip away.

He didn’t want to cause that. Goldenpaw and Milkpaw had done nothing wrong. The idea of naming his victim’s children made him sick.

But he reminded himself. It wasn’t his fault, it wasn’t him; it could never be him. The rogues by the Moonstone were going to be a problem. Perhaps some wandering patrol would run into them; even worse, perhaps they would see the medicine cats entering Mothermouth as a threat. They were going to kill some cat eventually. And he didn’t make the deal, nor did he tip them off- that had been Whitetooth. All he had been was there, due to absolutely nothing besides Fate and her wicked talons.

And he couldn’t simply expose Whitetooth, no. Whitetooth was the sole trained medic in WindClan; it would be a few moons before Marblepaw could even think about what her medic name might be. A Clan without a medic would be a death sentence, especially in the coming no-leaf season. And Whitetooth might turn on Antstar, which really wouldn’t be good for anyone.

Besides- as much as he felt wrong for admitting it, as much as he knew Whitetooth was a killer- he only truly felt calm, or perhaps the closest thing he knew to calm, by the white-and-brown cat’s side. There was something about their rich, dark voice; their eyes with pupils nearly always slit like a pocketknife had cut through the teal surface; their silent steps, their confidence. It wasn’t a romantic attraction, no. But it was like they were two souls, bound together by the limbs and thrown over the river; each pushing the other towards a direction only Hell and Heaven knew of.

The day was slow, but the night came quick.

“Stoatslink,” said Antstar as he approached the bullish white tom- he tried to sound confident- “I need to tell you about something. About what you said, regarding… you know.”

Stoatslink said no words, but nodded. At once he understood.

Thought he understood, rather.

“There’s a pack of rogues on the border,” Antstar began, his voice weary and hesitant like the first frost of a season. “I don’t know how many there are. But I am nearly certain they are the ones that may have killed Sparkthistle. You were right, Stoatslink.”

There was a moment of idle hesitation, and Antstar could see Stoatslink’s expression flicker between horror at the suggested reality and a strange, smug sort of pride.

“I’ll kill them,” the white tom grumbled. “I’m run them straight through. Nobody messes with WindClan. By the time I’ll be done with them, you won’t be able to tell they were ever feline.”

Antstar hoped to God and back that Stoatslink’s death would be quick, and that Captain’s group knew what they were doing. He knew he himself couldn’t take the white tom on in a fight- especially not with this attitude.

“That is why I want you, and you alone, to watch over the camp tonight. I hardly expect they’ll attack us. But just in case- I want you to sound the alarm.”

“Only me?” Stoatslink scoffed. His breath smelled like dried hare meat. “But what if they do attack?”

“Then the Clan will know about it,” continued Antstar. “And if the Clan knows about it, they’ll panic.”

“Rightfully so! They-“

“Do you want your daughters to live in fear or not!?!” Antstar yelled in a whisper. He realized he had never felt his voice go harsh like that before- at least, not since he had been a moody kit in the nursery.

But it was effective. Stoatslink backed down. His mouth opened up, as if another word had to escape his snout- and then, sensing he had no argument to speak of, it clicked shut like a music box with no coil left.

“I’ll do what I can, Antstar. And trust me- if they approach, the rogues won’t stand a chance.”

Antstar watched as the white tom sauntered away. He tended to sway about when he walked, like a basset hound; but from the way his shoulder blades perked up Antstar could see the purpose burning in his brain. Then, another white figure approached- Whitetooth, as smooth as ever. Antstar watched as the white cat took Stoatslink aside- or, really, rather just brushed him near, effortlessly; like a breeze guiding leaves. They whispered something in Stoatslink’s ear and threw a few glances.

This was all part of the plan. Whitetooth would convince the ever-bullish Stoatslink that Antstar was being too nice, that Antstar was underestimating him, and rile him up into a fury against these rogues. That way, Stoatslink would charge when he saw them, not caring to alert the Clan in a false belief he could manage on his own- and, therefore, charge into his own death.

It was a simple plan.

It was an awful thing to know.

It had to be done. For WindClan.

Perhaps Whitetooth sensed Antstar’s doubt. For as soon as Stoatslink set off, his vision cloaked in red, they slunk up to their leader and sat next to them, only for a moment whispering something into Antstar’s flattened ear:

“Rest assured, Antstar, this is needed. All of it is. You are doing what you can to keep your clan safe. Elsewise… evil would prosper in your failure.”

#warrior cats #warrior cats ocs #story #FINALLy

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whiteheartlight · 3 years

Text

Wrote a bit of an intro for my au where the Toa Mata are made into Toa Hagah for different Makuta. don't know if I'll go anywhere with it but figured I'd type it up. Krika-centric. enjoy

In the time before time...

That's how Matoran start their stories, right?

Gathered friends, listen again. In the time before time...

What? What was there? A Great Spirit? A Toa?

All their stories sound the same, in his opinion. Toa-heroes and Matoran-heroes and the Great Spirit watching, benevolent, over all of it.

Those are not how his stories go. In the time before time... he wonders when the Great Spirit stopped watching. It must have been recently, he supposes, but then again he thinks this bitterness has been festering in Teridax's heart for a long time.

The stories, after all, are not about Makuta. The stories are about Toa. Or at least the ones that Matoran tell.

Then again, who really gives a fuck?

(All of them do. That's the big secret. Krika, for all he speaks of unknowable destinies, is pretty sure that this could all have been avoided if Teridax was a little bit less glory-hungry. But ah, well. What does he know?)

“He won't really try anything,” he tells Antroz, on a day where they are out on the sea, and the ship rocks beneath their steady feet, and they know each other as brothers. “He wouldn't really challenge Miserix or whisper about plots against the Great Spirit. He's all talk.”

Antroz just looks at him. His eyes are deeply crimson. Fire is life and destruction. He shrugs.

“I think he will, Krika,” Antroz answers. “I think he will, in fact, try something.”

That is all it takes. Hearing it from Antroz's mouth, Krika knows it to be true.

“Well,” he says. “I guess we start finding our place in the new order.”

Antroz snorts.

“What?” says Krika.

“By the Spirits,” says Antroz, with a voice that says he is well aware of his own irony. “I tell you a coup is coming and your first instinct is to start re-assessing your political standing?”

“Well, are you going to do anything about it?” Krika returns, standing straighter, turning his whole body towards him.

Antroz says nothing. He is devouring a pear. It turns grey beneath his claws. He drops it overboard and watches it fall into the water and disappear from view.

“Yes, a new order is coming,” says Krika, turning back to the horizon. “But both Teridax and Miserix are foes with whom I have no desire to be involved. I'll keep my mouth shut, and if you're wise, you'll do the same. All I want is to be left on my island to build my Rahi in piece. I do not wish to be either a pawn to Teridax or protective fodder for Miserix's already over-developed sense of power. Let them fight things out on their own. We will still be standing, my brother, as we always have been.”

Antroz squints out at the sun. “And if it doesn't end up like that?”

“How else could it end up?”

Antroz shrugs again.

“I just think,” he says, “that someday – well. Someday we might be called upon to fight battles we would not otherwise have fought. And on that day, Krika, I wonder if you won't wish you had chosen a side you believed in.”

Krika gazes at him. Antroz look out at the sky. The birds are circling overhead.

“You're so full of shit,” says Krika abruptly, and it makes Antroz laugh.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He rolls his eyes and turns around to pick up another pear, digging his claws into the ripe body of the fruit and letting the juice run out. “Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

“Hey, what's this about Teridax finding those Toa Mata that are meant to guard the Spirit?” adds Antroz, almost thoughtlessly.

“Don't know,” answers Krika, shrugging his shoulders. “Apparently they're waiting for the day he needs them. But you know Teridax. Probably has his own plans.”

“Yeah,” laughs Antroz. “Yeah, probably does. Oh, look, Tarakava! They're new in this part of the world – that's how you know they're a hardy species, migrating to new places...”

Those short sentences are all they speak of the Toa Mata at that time and, what's more, all they bother to think of them. They don't much care. They were not, then, enemies of the Great Spirit. And Kopaka, Tahu, Gali, Lewa, Onua, and Pohatu – the names meant nothing to them.

But they would.

That's how the stories go, right? That's what they're about. Toa.

Krika will watch it happen. He does not intend, at the time, to be a part of the story.

The rope of his destiny, however, is already closing around his white throat.

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

Krika hears the news of Miserix's death two weeks later. He knows then that he was wrong. Teridax was not all bark and no bite. Teridax bit.

Krika says nothing. Miserix is not the only Makuta who dies that week. He suspects that the ones who join him are the ones who asked too loudly: “Who did this?”

He knows. They all know.

But these are days of survival for the Makuta, and Krika is a survivor, so he keeps his goddamn mouth shut, and rises quietly through the ranks of Teridax's Brotherhood.

And when the calls for better protection come, Teridax offers one solution to his five closest allies, and suddenly those names - Tahu, Gali, Onua, Lewa, Pohatu, and Kopaka - mean something.

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

“I don't want one,” says Krika, and, at the time, he expects that to be the end of the matter.

Antroz looks up at him. His eyes are irritated. Krika crosses his arms over his chest and looks right back.

“Krika,” Antroz begins.

“It's stupid,” says Krika. “What the hell do I need a single Toa for? Maybe it made sense when Miserix and Teridax took teams. At least they might be able to actually take out a couple threats to them - not that Miserix's little team did him any good in the end. But one lone Toa? It's not going to be able to protect me from anything I can't already protect myself from.”

“Krika, I'm quite busy here,” says Antroz, turning back to his latest creation. “Can't you just do what you're told for once? You should be pleased. My pair is already entertaining. They spar all day and the red one yells every time he speaks.”

“I don't want one,” repeats Krika, feeling the small, feathery protrusions on the back of his spine raise with irritation. “I don't need one. It's asinine. I'm going home to my work and I wish to be left alone.”

Antroz looks up at him again. In these days, he is a sight to behold. Clean red colors with sweeping black lines, his mask painted with soft, noble markings, his body strong and tall and sure of itself.

Back in these days, they have nothing to fear. The present is thousands of years away. Today, they are young, and the Swamp has not changed them. And hatred and cruelty and despair – well. These are things that have only begun to change them.

Antroz turns back to his Rahi, stroking its stomach as he takes a sample from its side. “Krika, let's not pretend to be fools. Not you and I. We both know that this is not about protection. They are status symbols. You are rising in the ranks of the Makuta, my brother. Now that you have inherited your new country, you are almost as powerful and respected as I. And so, while Miserix and Teridax take six each for themselves, I take two, and you, like some of our other siblings – ”

“Fools the lot of them,” snarls Krika.

“Take one,” says Antroz coolly. “Take one like you were told. Because with each Toa we make into a Hagah, the more the Matoran come to see us as greater than the Toa. We are becoming, Krika, the most powerful species in creation. And these Toa are special. That is why Teridax had them dug from the ocean. Take one. Just the one. Command a legend and watch as the Matoran transfer their love for the Toa to their love for you.”

“I don't care,” says Krika, “about the love of the goddamn Matoran.”

“Then you are not playing the game right today, brother,” answers Antroz quietly, tinkering with his Rahi, his eyes already distracted by his passion for his creation. “That's not like you. Don't be foolish. Go. I've had enough of you... and I am technically in charge of you, aren't I, Krika?”

He digs his claws into the wall for a second, aching to say more. Aching to protest. He doesn't take orders from anyone but Miserix himself. Or Teridax now, he supposes.

But Antroz is right.

Krika is someone who is learning how to play these games right.

So he does what he always does: he takes what comes at him and he lies in wait.

Just for now. Just for now. He lies in wait.

“Fine,” he says, stalking out of the room. “But I don't want one. I'm not going to be nice to it.”

“Noted,” answers Antroz, already forgetting what they were talking about as he loses himself in his experimentation and building. Ah, he is a creature of passion in these days, and he does not know the taste of real fear.

Krika wanders into the other room, where silver canisters await him in silence, still as dead things.

He brushes condensation from the surface of the one closest at hand. The sleeping face of a Toa Mata looks back at him.

No, check that.

Not a Toa Mata. Not now. Not anymore.

“Looks like you and I are stuck with each other,” murmurs Krika, releasing the lid of the tomb where this Toa has slept for thousands of years, disturbed only by Teridax's command. “Wake up, then, Toa Hagah.”

And Mata Kopaka opens his eyes.

#krika #white light writes #makuta #bionicle

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