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neon-junkie · 3 years

Text

Five-oh-Thirst

Summary: The 501st boys have finally reached their breaking point; they just HAVE to have you, and Jesse makes it his mission to recruit you into their shenanigans. After a night out at 79's, you're spoilt by a handful of Troopers, and a Captain who's late to the party.

Pairing: Female Jedi Reader x Rex, Jesse, Fives, Kix, Hardcase, Dogma & Tup

Word count: 12k

Tags: Shameless smut, Gangbang, Drinking, Double penetration, Praise kink, Voyeurism, Military names, Aftercare, Morning after pill.

Notes: this is so fucking slutty and i loved writing every second of it >:) sorry if some of the boys are a little OOC, im still new to writing these hotties. Tumblrs formatting is shite, so i’d suggest reading this on AO3 (under the same username.)

To say that you're 'close' with the 501st is an understatement. Close isn't quite the word you could use to describe the bond you have with this boisterous bunch of clones. You may be their Commander, but you're also a friend, and soon to be a lover. You've had your fair share of drunken nights out with the lot, getting rowdy in 79's, dragging each other's asses home, falling asleep in cuddle piles in their barracks. Yes, you shouldn't be mingling like this with your squad, but it's hard to not get so attached.

Anakin has warned you over and over about both your attachment and feelings, but you've seen the way he talks to them, Rex specifically. Anakin has let his emotions lead him whenever his men are hurt or in danger, and maybe that's why he always gives you a wink during his lectures. He knows what it's like, and he's only attempting to follow the Jedi code, teaching you in the process.

Speaking of Jedi codes, apparently rocking up to the Jedi cruiser bridge with a cup of caf in hand is something to be frowned upon. What? you're tired, and it's not like Anakin has asked his men to get him a cup of caf before. Obi-wan has done this exact same thing also! So, because you're a Padawan, you're not allowed to do it? Sheesh. The hypocrisy.

Despite Anakins disproving glare, the briefing continues flawlessly, as does the mission. Luck must have been on your side, or the force, depending on what you believe in. The Separatists crawled away with their tails between their legs, leaving the planet Naboo alone once more.

A course is set for Coruscant, and the Jedi cruiser launches into hyperspace, taking roughly seven hours to return home. That time is yours to do as you please, and you decide that a nap is in order.

Walking to your quarters takes a good ten minutes, seeing as how large this cruiser is. You travel down an array of corridors, having Troopers stop and salute you as you pass. It's a touching gesture, but sometimes you hate being the centre of attention. You understand that, to the clones, it's a sign of respect, one that they hold dearest in their hearts; you tried to get them to stop once, and only insulted them in the process, so you swiftly gave up and let them continue.

One Trooper in particular calls out your name from behind, and you rotate to see ARC Trooper Jesse approaching, his helmet tucked under his arm, and his other hand salutes you as he approaches. "Commander, do you have a minute?"

"For you, Jesse? Always," you say with a smile.

That smile is mirrored right back at you, and Jesse gestures for you to step down a quiet corridor to talk in private. He doesn't speak up at first, scratching the back of his neck nervously, but you allow him to take his time. Whatever's on the tip of his tongue must be really important.

"Commander, this is a... strange request to make," Jesse begins, and looks for your approval before continuing.

"Go on."

"Well, the boys and I were talking... and uh, you know how we like to de-stress by going to 79's?" Jesse mutters, keeping his voice quiet.

"Yes?" you question, nodding at the same time.

"And by de-stress, we like to... you know, pick up women there," Jesse shrugs, avoiding eye contact as he speaks.

Something in your gut informs you that you know what's coming next, and it explains why Jesse is stalling his request so much. You continue nodding as he speaks, squinting your eyes ever so slightly, suspicious of where this is heading.

"We've been uh, wanting to invite... you along, but we're not sure if that follows your erm, codes?" Jesse pulls the most panicked expression as he finally spits the words out. You think you know what he's asking, but you'll need to dig a little deeper, just to be certain.

"Going to 79's in the first place is against my Code... I think?" you reply, uncertain on what the Jedi code says about nightclubs and getting drunk with clones. "I thought you would know by now that I bend the rules in my favour, without others knowing, of course."

"Oh, that's a relief," Jesse sighs, and removes his hand from his neck. "I mean, you shouldn't, but we all break some rules here and there, don't we?"

"Yeah," you say with a shrug. "What exactly are you asking from me, Jesse? Be clear with your words, Trooper," you order in a teasing manner, noticing how the tip of Jesse's ears turn pink at your words.

"How about... the next time we all go out for drinks, we... take you back instead of some random woman?"

Oh.

There's a heated knot in your stomach, twisting and turning at the thought of sleeping not only with Jesse, but a handful of men. They're all attractive in their own unique ways, and you applaud them for how they create their individuality, through hairstyles, facial hair, and tattoo's. Not only does it make them easier to identity, but it really helps express their personality, and how they may act on the battlefield.

And the thought of having a bunch of these handsome men taking care of you? Who would say no to that?

"Who do you mean by 'we'?" you question out of curiosity.

"Uh, well, it depends on who comes out with us. I mean, all the boys have spoken about it, and all of them are down," Jesse shrugs, and rubs the back of his neck once more.

They've spoken about this? All of them? You must be quite the catch.

"Why? Is there someone you want to avoid?" Jesse then questions, and you instantly shake your head in response.

"No, I'm just curious. I... didn't know you all felt that way towards me," you sheepishly reply, and Jesse flashes you a concerned expression.

"You're kidding me, right? Have you noticed the way we all speak to you? The way we are around you? Even General Skywalker has told us multiple times to cool it," Jesse nervously laughs, clutching his helmet tighter.

You laugh with him, your mind replaying many incidents where the boys have let it slip. Kix has made multiple inappropriate jokes as he's been patching you up. Hardcase is always offering his lap as a seat whenever you're at 79's, and that's an offer that you may need to finally take up. Dogma will attempt to follow the code, but you've caught him staring at your ass more than once. Fives is Fives, and that's all that needs to be said. And Tup is too shy to make any bold moves, but you can tell he has a soft spot for you, as his face turns bright red whenever you're within ten feet of him.

As for Rex and Jesse, they flirt when it's appropriate, meaning when they're not in earshot of General Skywalker.

"Now that you mention it..." your words trailing off, thinking about all those moments.

"See," Jesse points. "So, are you in?" he questions, scrunching his face up in fear of rejection.

"As long as you boys can share," you instruct, knowing what they're like. "I'm in."

Jesse fist pumps the air as he lets out a "yesss!" but swiftly attempts to cool it, trying to not let his excitement burst. "I'll let the men know. We were planning on heading out tonight?" Jesse offers.

"I'll be there," you smile. "Make sure you and your men look good for me, Trooper," you playfully order.

"Of course, Commander," Jesse nods, and allows you to end the conversation there. If you're going out later, then you definitely need that nap right now. Jesse lands a cheeky slap on your bum as you turn to walk off, and you flash him a smile over your shoulder, heading down the corridor to your quarters.

----------

Could this be considered a date? or just an arranged hookup with a bunch of men? Either way, you're using the night as an excuse to dress up, not that you need an excuse to begin with.

That nap does wonders for you, although it could be considered more of a sleep, since as you woke up, you were arriving back on Coruscant. It's mid-afternoon, giving you plenty of time to get ready for tonight. Upon arrival, you take a trip downtown to purchase something to wear for tonight, and you have just the right outfit in mind.

The dress is ever-so-slightly out of your price range, but you know it'll be worth it. The 501st take pride in their colour, blue, and you know their jaws will drop when they see you in their colour. The dress fits the way you like it, bold and flashy, enough to turn more than your legion's heads. You pair the dress with some white heels and a bag, Trooper colours all around; you're really milking it, but Maker, don't you look good!

Hours later and you're ready for tonight, checking yourself out in your apartment mirror. You're fortunate to have your own place outside of the Jedi temple; it's tiny and run down, but enough to get you away whenever you need it. Sadly, it's far too small to fit a handful of clones in, so the barracks will have to do.

One taxi later, and you're outside 79's, queueing up to enter the busy club. Happy hour has just begun as you enter, and you remove the comlink from your bag, pressing a button to inform your men that you've arrived.

Nervously, you gaze around the club, ignoring the random sets of eyes on you. You're only after one group of men, and thankfully, one of them approaches you.

"Commander?" Kix calls out. As you turn to look at him, his face lights up, gesturing to the outfit you're wearing. "Oh, Commander!" Kix sighs, gawking over the sight of you in his legions colours.

"Not too much?" you question, gesturing to the outfit.

"No, it's just right," Kix sighs yet again. "And I like the white heels and bag, nice touch!"

Of course Kix has noticed those minor details.

"Where are the others?" you question, and Kix offers you his arm in response. You take it, following Kix through the club, eventually coming across a cosy booth, full to the brim with your boys.

Kix's reaction to your outfit was sweet and wholesome, something you'd expect from him. Fives on the other hand is hollering like a dog as you approach, checking you out with a whistle, doing everything he can to hype you up. "Commander," he purrs, and wraps an arm around your waist. "Here for me?" he jokingly questions, making you laugh at his forwardness.

"She came here for all of us!" Dogma butts in, swatting at Fives's hand around your waist.

"Oh, so you are joining in, Dogma? I didn't think you were one to break the rules," Fives bites back, and gestures for you to take a seat as he talks.

"This is different, Fives," Dogma mutters. You zone out to their bickering as you shuffle around the booth, finding a seat between Hardcase and Tup.

Tup, like the sweetheart he is, quietly tells you "you look beautiful," with flushed cheeks. Only for Hardcase to add "yeah, you look hot!"

It's hard to believe that these men are all clones. Their reactions are so vast, but they all express the same thing - you look good, and no doubt, they're going to be all over you tonight. They look just as good as you do, maybe even better; they've dressed up for tonight, sporting fine button-up shirts, all of them looking clean and tidy, for once, not covered in dirt from the battlefield.

Jesse offers to buy your first round, and insists that you stay at the booth with the others. He probably fears that another batch of clones will latch onto you the second you stand up. Are the men in here aware that you're a Jedi? Or do they assume you're some poor, unfortunate soul, who's been sucked into spending the night with this bunch? You're hoping for the second assumption, as the last thing you want is some tattle-tale clone recognizing you and ratting you out to the Jedi order.

Jesse returns with your drink and a round of shots, and so, the night begins. The shot is surprisingly nice, as is your drink, but the next set of shots? Eh, not so much. It seems that the more you drink, the worst the shots taste, and you have to turn down the fourth one. You're not going to be standing if you continue chugging drinks at this rate; how your men can drink like this is beyond you.

Dogma and Tup have relaxed in their own way, joining in the conversation every so often, although Dogma is still being teased for 'breaking so many rules.' Hardcase and Fives are as loud as each other, and are currently attempting to impress you through a series of arm wrestling matches. Jesse seems content, on a nice, tipsy level, and has had his eyes on you all night. Kix is simply vibing, not visibly drunk, but bubblier than usual.

You continue peering around, questioning who's missing, and then it suddenly dawns on you.

"Wait a minute! Where's Rex?" you yelp, noticing the lack of a certain blonde clone.

"You've got all of us here, and the only man on your mind is the Captain?" Fives tuts, breaking his concentration from the arm wrestling match. Hardcase takes up the opportunity to take victory, slamming Fives's hand down onto the table.

"Yet again, I am victorious!" Hardcase states, and Fives sputters at his remark.

"That's not fair! Our Commander was asking us a question," Fives argues, and the pair begin bickering between themselves.

You decide to intervene, turning to Hardcase and asking "so, what would you like as your prize?"

Your question is met with a sea of "oooh!"'s and "pick something good, Hardcase!" His face alone is priceless, his emotions switching between shocked, flustered, and cheeky. Hardcase then trails into thought, and after barely any thinking time, he settles on his prize. "For you to finally take up my offer and sit on my lap, sweetheart," he replies, patting his thighs as he talks.

A smirk escapes your lips as you stand, shuffling over to sit on the tattooed clones lap. Hands find their way to your waist, and you're almost certain that Hardcase is purring as he cuddles up to you.

"How is she?" Kix questions, as if you're not sitting in earshot of his question.

"Comfiest ass in the galaxy," Hardcase hums, pulling you higher onto his lap as he speaks. He settles his chin on your shoulder, fine stubble pressed against your skin, and from the expressions of those around you, you can tell that they're all jealous. They'll have their time with you eventually, whether it's here, or at the barracks later. The night is still young.

"My turn," Dogma announces out of nowhere, shuffling out of the booth. None of you have any idea what he's on about, until he turns to you and asks "what are you drinking, Commander?"

You tell him your order, followed up with "and stop calling me Commander! We're not at work, you don't need to call me that."

Dogma apologizes with a soft laugh before making his way over to the bar, followed by Jesse and Kix.

"Is it bad that I kinda like calling you it?" Fives questions, and you know exactly what he's implying.

"The only places you should be calling me Commander is on the battlefield, and in the bedroom," you purr, and you're met with a fawning, lustful expression from Fives, who is more than satisfied at your answer.

"Yes, Ma'am," he purrs back, and you take a mental note for later.

"You know, none of you answered my question," you begin, and the rest of the clones look at you in confusion. "Where is Rex?"

"He said he's busy with a meeting, and that he'll meet us at the barracks later," Fives explains, softly shrugging as he speaks. In Fives' eyes, that means one there's one less clone for you to give your attention to, meaning more for him.

"That's a shame," you sigh. The thought of Rex being here right now is a curious topic on your mind; would he attempt to maintain his high-ranking status, remaining professional despite knowing what's going to happen later? Or would he throw all of that out of the window, taking the first opportunity to straddle you onto his hips and remind his men who's in charge?

"Don't worry, sweetheart. We'll take good care of you whilst the Captain's gone," Hardcase smugly comments, placing a gentle kiss to your shoulder as he eyes you up.

Hardcase stays true to his word, as do the rest of your men. Dogma, Jesse, and Kix return shortly after with the next round of drinks, and lo-and-behold, more shots. You have entered the stage of tipsy, sitting on the drunken fence by the time you finish your drink. Hardcase offers to buy the next round, but you brush him off, insisting that it's your turn. "Since you're all taking care of me, the least I can do is return the favour," you explain, and a few of the men chuckle at your reasoning.

Tup, the sweetheart that he is, helps you up and over to the bar. You're able to walk, even in these heels, but you know that Tup's presence is actually a way of telling others clones that you're already taken for. To your surprise, his hand settles around your waist as you prop yourself up against the bar top, waiting for somebody to come and serve you.

"How's your night going?" Tup questions. "Enjoying yourself?"

"Yeah, are you?" you reply with a nod, curling up into Tup's side.

"Mhm," Tup nods in agreement. "I just need a few more drinks down me," he adds, and you understand how he feels. If you weren't the centre of attention, then you'd be just as quiet as Tup is, shying away nervously in the cornerless booth.

"Let me get one for you," you offer, and Tup takes you up on it.

"Thank you, Comma- I mean, uh, love." Tup's expression turns sour, blushing at his fumbled reply. You brush the nerves off him by placing a kiss on his cheek, and watch in amazement as his face begins turning a different shade of red.

Tup mutters something to you, and you almost miss his words over the volume of the music. "You missed," he boldly states. Tup's definitely stolen that line from Fives, or has been taught it - either way, it's something Fives would say, and you know how close those two are.

"Oh?" you cheekily sigh. You're about to follow it up, until the bartender arrives, pulling your attention away from the clone.

Once your order is placed, you turn back to Tup, wanting to finish where you left off. He looks at you, then looks away, pulling an embarrassed face. Your fingertips are placed below Tup's chin, gently turning his head to face you, and before Tup can say anything, you lean in to kiss him.

Tup freezes up, before melting into the kiss, moving his head to fit against yours. A hand finds its way to the back of your neck, holding you there, as if to reassure himself that yes, this really is happening. Tup's kisses match his personality, sweet and gentle, but the tongue that slides across your lower lip suggests there's more to him than meets the eye.

You can overhear the sounds of cheering in the background, and you just know that it's coming from your men. You break away, not to be rude, but because you don't want the poor bartender to be stood there awkwardly as you're busy snogging a clone. Thankfully, they arrive moments later, and you two soon return to the booth with drinks and shots in hand.

Fives applauds his vod as Tup sheepishly sits down, and you go to take a seat beside him, until Jesse pulls you onto his lap. "You've had enough fun with him, come and give us some attention!" he playfully nips, and follows his statement up with a kiss on your neck.

"There's plenty of me to go around," you bite back, wiggling your hips slightly, grinding your ass on Jesse's lap. He sighs heavily at your move, wrapping his arms around your waist, holding you there.

You turn your attention to the drinks that you just brought, downing yet another shot, and washing it down with your beverage.

Minutes later, and you're really starting to feel the liquor running through your veins, as well as the undying urge to dance. Jesse is willing, and Hardcase lets you two know that he'll meet you over there, once he's gone and used the refresher. The rest of the clones stay seated, to your surprise, but then again, they don't seem like the type to dance. Well, Fives possibly, but he's barely able to stand, let alone dance, and Kix is nursing him back to soberness with many glasses of water.

Jesse follows you over to the dance floor, your hand in his, and it's busier than you expected. The dance floor is mostly full of clones and their squadrons, all celebrating various victories and whatnot, with a few women lingering about. You understand by now that women only come to this bar to pick up the clones, and can you blame them? Bless the Kaminoans for picking out Jango Fett to be their donor, as his genetics are excelling in all departments.

"My turn with you already?" Jesse questions as he begins dancing with you, swaying in time with the music.

"We've only been here for a few hours. I thought you'd be more patient?" you tease, and Jesse gives you a look.

"I'm patient when I want to be, sweetheart," Jesse shrugs. "But for you? I've been waiting a long time for this," he explains as he pulls you closer, wrapping his arms around your waist.

The tattooed clone smiles down at you, and the glisten in his eyes informs you that his patience truly is running thin. But how long will it be before it runs out? Or how much can you rile him up before he breaks?

"I'm sure you can wait a little longer," you flirt back, trailing your hand along his shirt, fingertips gliding over each of his buttons. You meet his collar and hook a finger over the fabric, gently pulling his head down to your level.

Jesse smirks as he replies "I don't think I can," before pressing his lips to yours. You can tell that Jesse's patience is running thin from the way he kisses you, hungry and lustful, playfully nipping at your lower lip. Your hands wrap around his neck, and you have to remind yourself that you left your bag with the others - that's why your hands are empty.

The hands on your waist trail down to your ass, and Jesse boldly grabs more than a handful, pulling your body tightly against his as he kneads your ass. You break the kiss with a yelp, and remind yourself that you're still in public, thankfully with no eyes set on you. "Jesse!" you playfully swat him, and he chuckles against your skin as his lips trail over your neck.

"You started without me!" A disappointed voice calls out, and warmth appears against your back.

Hardcase has returned from the refresher, pouting because the party has apparently started without him. Jesse moves his hands back to your waist, almost as if he's giving permission for Hardcase to press his crotch against your ass, sandwiching you between the two, tattooed clones. Your cheeks quickly turn red, and you must look more flustered than you feel, as the face that Hardcase and Jesse send each other informs you that they have something planned.

"So," Hardcase begins, his eyes flicking down to yours. "When are we taking you back?"

"Soon?" you nervously reply, questioning your own motives. It's hard to concentrate with an uneven sea turning in your stomach, but the liquor is thankfully helping - you'd be a lot more flustered if you were sober right now.

"Soon?" Jesse repeats, raising a brow at your reply. "Why not now, sweetheart?" he asks.

"Yeah," Hardcase nods, and then dips his head down to kiss along your neck. His kisses trail up to your ear, nipping at that sensitive spot behind it before stating "you look like you need us to fill you up."

A bold, yet true statement, but you're unsure if you want to leave just yet. Do you want to continue your teasing here? Or click your fingers and order your men to take you home and fuck you?

"She's thinkin' about it," Hardcase states, directing his words to Jesse.

"We know what you're thinking, babe, and we think that you've teased us enough already," Jesse says to you, and kneads his hands on your waist, picking and pulling at the fabric of your dress. Bold of him to assume what you're thinking - you're the Jedi here, not him. Either way, his thoughts are true. You have teased them enough, but there's no harm in drawing it out just a little longer, is there?

Jesse steals a kiss from you again, and you can feel him smiling as you let out a soft moan. Hardcase continues kissing up your neck, rutting his semi-hard cock against your ass; his lips wander down below your neckline, and he bites and sucks at your skin, leaving a purple blotch behind. It's in just the right place, an area where your Jedi robes will cover it up, but if you want to tease him on the battlefield, all you need to do is pull back at the thin layer of clothing, revealing his mark.

Just as Hardcase is about to kiss your neck again, a voice calls out "get a room!"

Oh yeah, you're doing all this on the dance floor of 79's. Whoops. Jesse pulls away and chuckles at the strangers remark. "See? Even he thinks we should get going," he states, and you finally agree to make a move.

Jesse leads you off the dance floor, and Hardcase keeps his hand comfortably around your waist. You wander back over to the booth, picking your drink up off the table and finishing it off. "It's time, boys!" Hardcase states, grinning from ear to ear.

"Oh?" Fives looks over to you, flashing you a cheeky grin. It seems the many glasses of water on the table have finally brought him back to a stable level; Kudos to Kix for dealing with him.

Tup passes you your bag as he shuffles off the sofas, and you thank him by pulling him down for a quick kiss. You break away with a soft laugh as you hear Fives complain "where's mine, huh?"

"You can get it when we're in the taxi," you explain.

Fives swats Hardcase's arm from around your waist, replacing it with his own, and mouths the words "my turn," to Hardcase, who simply laughs at his eagerness. You and Fives take the lead, exiting the club with your squad following behind.

--------

The ride back to the barracks is... eventful, as is entering the barracks itself. Jesse and Kix walk ahead, pretending to be drunker than they actually are so they can distract the guards with their very existence. The rest of you sneak by, sheltered by a wall of horny clones, and you're ushered into their dorm.

The second you step foot into the room, Fives is all over you. With his hands on your hips, he leads you over to the wall, pushing you up against it and locking his lips with yours. Fives's hand trails up to grab your bag, pulling it from your grasp, and chucking it onto a nearby bed, leaving your hands free to wrap around his neck. He's impatient and needy, hungrily kissing you, his hands struggling to find a single place to rest; they slide over your waist, down your back, and grab at your ass, before trailing up and repeating the process all over again.

"Kriff, calm down. She's not going anywhere," one of his vods comments. Kix possibly?

Fives ignores the comment and continues turning your legs into jelly, making up for all his apparent 'lost time.' When he does finally pull away, he's grinning. His pupils are blown, full of lust, eyeing you up like a piece of meat, until somebody swats him away.

"I'm the one who proposed this to her, so I get first dibs," Jesse intervenes. There's something thrilling about the way they're speaking about you, as if you're not there, as if you're their property. In some ways, you are theirs - you have always been theirs - but only tonight have things finally taken a step forward.

Somebody has dimmed the lights, enough to set the mood, but still light enough that you can see what's happening, and so can everyone else. Everybody's watching as Jesse leads you over to what you assume is his bunk, sitting down and pulling you onto his lap. Your knees fall onto either side of his hips, spreading your legs, your dress hiking up your thighs.

Jesse places his hands on your waist, holding you as his lips take over from where Fives left off. As he kisses you, he pulls down on your waist, grinding you over his semi-hard cock, reminding you of what's to come. You feel the hem of your dress slip up slightly over your ass, and one of the clones sighs at the small teaser.

Jesse knows what his vods are after, so his hands trail up your back, finding the zip. He slowly unzips your dress, taking his time to reveal what lies beneath, and breaks the kiss so he can pull your dress over your head, discarding it on the bunk next to him.

Needless to say, the air is filled with an array of praise, mutters and moans at the sight of you. You're straddling the ARC Trooper in your underwear and heels, now being freed of your bra. Jesse groans as your tits fall free, and moves his lips down your body, along your neck, over your collarbone, until he latches onto a nipple.

You feel something tug at your foot, and peer over your shoulder to see Hardcase removing your heels; he's polite (and sober) enough to place them down neatly, rather than tossing them to the floor, or worse, throwing them at his vods. Hardcase then stands up, peering over you, and prevents your lips from feeling lonely. He keeps your mouth occupied, whilst Jesse flicks between both of your tits, and both of them find their way to your panties.

"Need to get these off you," Hardcase mutters against your lips. Hardcase hooks his fingers around one strap, Jesse has the other, and the pair slowly slide them off you, moving with your body as you shuffle from Jesse's lap to remove them. You're left naked in a room full of your men, the men that have served under you for a few years now, but it seems that Jesse is the one taking the lead tonight.

"C'mere," Jesse mutters as he manhandles you off his lap. He shimmies around and lays down, his head at the foot of the bed, feet resting against his headboard. Jesse pats his shoulders before making grabby motions with his hands, signalling for you to climb aboard.

With one knee on either side of Jesse's face, you straddle him. Despite the alcohol still pumping through your system, you're still nervous, exposing yourself fully to your men. They're all reacting positively, a few of them palming themselves through their smart pants. Your nervousness doesn't stay for long, being brushed away as Jesse pulls your cunt down onto his face.

He licks a firm stripe over your pussy, followed by a few more curious ones, before wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking. You yelp, instinctively grinding down on Jesse's face, and he seems to like it from the hum he lets out. "Kriff," you overhear one of the clones mutter, and you realize it's Fives when he pipes up with "go on, sweetheart. Fuck his face!"

Jesse nods against your cunt, and the squad seems eager for a show, so, why not?

Firm hands hold onto your thighs, steadying you as you begin rocking back and forth over Jesse's tongue. He's flattened it out nicely, and at this angle, you're able to brush your clit over the wet muscle, grinding oh-so-perfectly. The room is filled with soft words of encouragement, "that's it, doll," and "keep going for us!"

You feel bad that Jesse isn't receiving anything in return, so whilst sitting on his face, you begin unfastening his pants, eventually freeing his cock.

Oh, thank the Maker for those yummy Jango Fett genes.

Jesse is thick, leaking with precum, slightly red at the tip. If he's thick, then that means the rest of them are thick... you're in store for quite a treat.

With one hand barely wrapped around Jesse's cock, you begin pumping his already hard length, earning a whimper from the man beneath you. Your hips have slowed in pace, and Jesse urges you to speed up by grabbing your hips and moving them for you. He takes over, fucking you onto his face for a few moments before steadying your hips again, and wrapping his lips around your clit instead.

You yelp, pumping Jesse's cock faster, and he lets out a similar pleasant sound. Another hand appears on your body, and you peer over your shoulder to see Hardcase grabbing your ass, kneading at your cheeks, playing with them. "Got room for one more?" he questions, eyeing you up.

"Uh-huh," you say with a nod.

Hardcase flashes you a cheeky grin before moving his head down to kiss over your cheeks, lightly biting at each mound, moving from one cheek to the other. Every time it feels like he's getting close to your entrance, he moves across to the other cheek, teasing you with a smile on his lips. You're half tempted to push back onto his face, but he beats you to it by running his tongue over your rim, circling your entrance curiously.

Hardcase doesn't hold back, attacking your entrance with his tongue, his hands kneading at each cheek. Jesse continues flicking his tongue against your clit, and a hand is removed from your thigh; fingertips brush over your pussy, slicking themselves up, before a finger slides into you, not stopping until he reaches his knuckle.

Jesse slowly begins working you open, not that you need it much, considering your heavy arousal. Hardcase notices and takes the hint, wetting his finger in his mouth before pressing the pad against your entrance. He circles your ass a few times, relaxing the muscle, before slowly and gently pushing in. Unlike Jesse, Hardcase takes his time, working with your body to slowly open your ass up.

Your hand continues sloppily pumping Jesse's length, just enough to keep him satisfied; you want to do more, but your thoughts and feelings are already occupied. Just when you think you can't take any more, another clone comes into your line of sight, and asks you those exact words as he knees down in front of you.

"Can you take any more?" Kix questions, eyeing you up, reading your body language.

"Uh-huh," you nod once more, and Kix seems content with your approval.

He plants a light kiss on your lips before standing, and works on unfastening his pants, revealing yet another thick cock for your pleasure. You know exactly what Kix is after, so you open your mouth, awaiting him; he lets out a groan at the sight, and slips his cock past your lips, the underside brushing over your tongue.

Both of your hands are occupied, with one propping your weight up, and the other pumping Jesse; so, you make do with your mouth, sucking him to the best of your ability, and despite being slightly sloppy, Kix seems more than satisfied. He's an understanding man who can clearly see how busy you are.

And oh kriff, you sure are busy.

An orgasm is sitting on the fence, waiting for that final push. Jesse slips another finger into you, curling them and searching for that sweet spot. He knows he's found it when he overhears a muffled moan, and your moan seems to echo, as one of the clones groans at the sight of you. Hardcase removes his finger from your ass, slipping his tongue in and tongue-fucking your small gape, slicking you up so he can begin pushing two fingers in. Like before, he goes slow, understanding the stretch and burn that you're feeling right now.

Hardcase, within time, reaches his knuckles, and gently works his fingers in and out of you. That sensation, added with Jesse's fingers in you, and lips around your clit, is more than enough to have you cumming. You have to slip off Kix's cock to let out a shaky moan, thighs and body trembling as your orgasm takes you. Your forehead presses against Kix's thigh, eyes scrunched shut and mouth hanging open, and Kix soothes you by running his fingers through your hair, keeping it off your face.

You overhear Tup gasp, Dogma whine, and Fives cheer you on. "That's it, sweetheart," one of them encourages, but your mind is so hazy that you're not sure who it was. Either way, the words of encouragement are appreciated, as well as the soothing touches that Kix and Jesse are leaving over your body.

You soon come back around, still trembling from the intensity. Your eyes meet Kix's, who places a kiss on your forehead before settling down on the bunk beside you, muttering something about you having your hands full.

Curiously, you peer over your shoulder, and only then do you realize that Hardcase now has three fingers inside your ass. You're ready, and Hardcase flashes you a look that confirms it. "Wanna see what else we can do?" Hardcase questions, and you swiftly nod, accepting their advances.

Hardcase slowly slips his fingers from your ass, and works on removing his clothes. A kiss is planted on your inner thigh before Jesse gives you the signal to roll off, and you do so, letting the clone crawl out from beneath you. His face is soaked - no, drenched - and your juices have dribbled down over his chin, darkening the collar of his shirt.

"How do I look?" Jesse chuckles, before wiping his mouth and chin with his shirt sleeve. Taking Hardcase's idea, he too undresses, leaving you sat on your knees on his bunk.

Hardcase frees himself from his clothes first, and takes a seat beside you. He's about to get into position, until Fives calls out his protest. "You just had a go with her!" he whines.

"We'll be quick," Hardcase winks. He gets comfortable on the bunk, lying on his back, head pressed against the pillow. Hardcase makes a grabbing motion at you whilst mumbling "I want your ass," and with a laugh, you begin getting into position.

At first, you feel awkward and exposed, settling so your back is pressed to Hardcase's tattooed chest. He takes the lead, swinging your legs on either side of his, spreading you wide, and signalling for you to hold your hips up. Hardcase wraps his hand around the base of his cock and begins searching for your entrance, and with your help, he finds your ass.

"Go at your own pace, babe," Hardcase comments, and allows you to take your time sliding down onto his cock. Despite being prepped, Hardcase is still a stretch, slowly working your ass open. A mixture of groans fill the room as you slowly slide onto him, soon reaching his base, a gasp escaping your lips. "Beautiful," Hardcase comments, and reaches around to flick his fingers over your clit, attempting to help you relax.

"You ready for me?" Jesse questions, and all you can do is nod as nothing escapes your lips. Jesse shuffles up the bed, settling between your thighs. He slowly enters you, making a comment under his breath about how soaked your pussy is.

Jesse slides in with ease, holding his cock deep inside you, bottoming out. He awaits your signal before making a move, as does Hardcase, and when you give it, both the clones start slowly.

Your head rolls back to rest on Hardcase's shoulder, and the tattooed clone places a kiss on your temple before turning his focus to bucking up into your ass. Jesse's speed is slightly faster, considering he's in an easier position, and fucking a looser hole. Either way, you're full to the brim, moaning and groaning for them as Hardcase continues flicking his fingers over your clit.

"Kriff, doesn't she look good?" you overhear Kix comment.

Dogma follows up with, "if only you could see yourself, Commander."

Commander, Kriff. That status somehow slipped your mind - you're their Commander, their superior, and your men are currently watching you be fucked, whilst queueing up to take their turn with you. Let's hope your Jedi training has paid off, as you're going to need an extra stern poker-face the next time you're in their presence, or worse, in the presence of your Master.

Jesse, from the sounds that he's making, doesn't seem like he's going to last long. In his defense, you have been pumping his cock this entire time, despite your handiwork being somewhat sloppy. Hardcase's hand on your clit brushes over the perfect spot, causing you to clench in response, and that is more than enough to bring Jesse to orgasm.

"Where?" he manages to blurt out.

"Inside," you order, and every single clone in the room groans at your reply.

Jesse is about to ask if you're certain, but his body gives up before he can speak. Jesse slides his cock as deep as he can, and fills you up, panting and groaning as he releases. He's a debauched, a sweaty mess, possibly still drunk from earlier. Once he's somewhat stable, he slips his cock from you, slowly shuffling off the bed and collapsing on a nearby bunk.

Hardcase kisses your neck, as if to remind you that he's still there, or warning you, since he moves his hands to hold beneath your knees, pulling your knees up against your shoulders, and begins fucking up into your ass.

Your legs are spread, displayed for the other clones to watch as Hardcase ensures that you won't be able to walk for weeks. He's a grunting, sputtering mess beneath you, groaning into the curve of your neck as he chases his release.

A few more thrusts and Hardcase is finishing in your ass, holding your body tight against his as he leaves his mark. You're almost certain you heard a few whimpers from him, meaning his orgasm must have been intense. Eventually, a sweaty Hardcase begins slipping himself from you, being gentle as he rolls you off his chest.

Hardcase has barely removed himself off the bunk before another clone calls out "I'm next," and you look in the direction of the voice to see Dogma slipping his clothes off.

"Dogma? You?" Tup questions.

"Yeah, me!" he states, pointing a finger to himself.

"I didn't think you would," Tup shrugs, and in Tup's defence, you agree with him.

"I thought you'd be the type to tell on us," an exhausted Jesse comments, still laying back on a nearby bunk, spread out and panting heavily.

"Even if he did, I don't think anybody would believe him," Fives adds with a laugh.

"Stop being so mean to him, Troopers. Dogma is just as welcome as everybody else," you defend, and the clone thanks you with a smile.

"As welcome as everybody else?" Fives repeats your word. "Kriff, Commander, I didn't realize you were inviting the entire Legion!" he jokes, and you roll your eyes at Fives's comment, twisting your words cheekily.

You ignore Fives's playful remark, turning your attention to Dogma instead, who's just about finished removing his shirt. "How do you want me, handsome?" you question.

Dogma's eyes light up at your little nickname, and he orders you to "get on your front, hands and knees, and face the boys."

Orders are orders, and you follow them without question. Dogma shuffles in behind you, kneading your ass for a few moments before wrapping his hand around his cock. You're already slick enough, with your own release smeared around your thighs, and a release in both holes, so Dogma doesn't bother using his own spit to slick up his cock. Instead, he glides his cock over your pussy, ensuring the tip of his cock flicks over your clit with every thrust, and once he's satisfied, he begins pushing into your ass.

You let out an "oh," as Dogma slides in, letting out a grunt as he bottoms out. With his hands on your hips, and the signal from you to continue, Dogma begins fucking your ass, gawking over the sight of his cock disappearing and reappearing from you. "That's it," he mutters under his breath. "Kriff, you look so good for me."

"For us," Kix intervenes, and Dogma shoots him a grumpy glare.

Dogma is clearly trying to prove his vods wrong, showing them that he wants this, that he won't rat everybody out for breaking so many rules. His thrusts are heavy, the sound of your ass slapping against his pelvis fills up the room, pushing moans from your lips with every thrust. You can feel Hardcase's release slowly being pushed from your ass, settling around your rim, soon to be replaced with Dogmas.

You overhear someone shuffling about, and Kix soon appears in your line of sight. "I'm back," he says with a smile. "Care to continue where we left off?" Kix questions, and lets out a pleasant sigh when you nod in agreement.

This time, you have your hand free, and you wrap it around Kix's cock as the tip slips into your mouth. Dogma's not letting up his thrusts, pushing your head forwards with every roll of his hips, causing you to lightly gag on Kix's length. Kix seems to enjoy it, as do the viewers, and the sensation is alright for you; so, you continue, eventually letting Kix begin thrusting and fucking your mouth, his pace matching Dogmas.

Kix notices the lack of attention on your pussy, and leans forward, hand reaching out to dip beneath your body and help get you off, but Dogma swats his hand away. At first, you're insulted, as is Kix, until Dogma speaks up and explains his actions. "Let's see how long she can last without being touched," he cheekily states, and Kix flashes him a similar smile before looking down at you.

"Sorry, Commander. Orders are orders," Kix shrugs, and returns to fucking your mouth.

You let out a whine, as does Tup, who seems sympathetic at the lack of attention in your key areas. Fives, on the other hand, is hollering, "she won't last long. She'll be begging for it soon!"

Ugh, he's right. Despite already having an orgasm, you're chasing another, eager for that certain-something to help get you off. The more Dogma and Kix fuck you, the more your cunt burns, and when you try to remove your hand from Kix's cock, he wraps his hand around your wrist to prevent you from touching yourself, clicking his tongue with a disapproving "ah-ah!"

"Soon, sweetheart," Dogma says from behind you, and judging from the way his cock is twitching in your ass, you assume he's close.

Dogma picks up his pace, ruining your own pace on Kix's cock - or improving it, as Kix groans when you gag, spit pooling from the corners of your mouth. "So wet," Kix comments under his breath, and returns to fucking your mouth again, grunting and moaning with every thrust.

"Oh, Maker!" Dogma sighs as he pushes his cock as deep as it'll go. With his hands tightly around your hips, he earns his release, filling your ass with hot, sticky cum. Your moan is muffled from Kix's cock, who has slowed his thrusts, almost to a halt. Kix waits for Dogma to finish, and once he's slipped out, he manhandles you into a new position.

Kix rolls you onto your back, legs against the edge of the bed. He's clearly in a rush, his orgasm sitting on the edge, and he hurries to slide his cock into your pussy, one leg up on the bed, the other remaining on the floor.

Kix only thrusts a few times before bottoming out and cumming inside, his load mixing with Jesse's, who has finally perked up after passing out on another bunk. "Good girl," Kix mutters as the pad of his thumb presses to your clit, grinding in circles a few times. He's milking his release, slowly fucking you in a hazy post-orgasm state, biting his lip whenever you clench around his overstimulated cock.

When Kix can't take any more, he pulls out, and your clit is left unattended. You can feel his and Jesse's load leaking from you, and your eyes lock onto Tup, who was just eyeing up your cunt, his cheeks turning red at the sight of your sticky, cum soaked pussy.

"We're up, Tup!" Fives says with a laugh, patting his vod on the shoulder, snapping him out of his fixated state. Fives has the audacity to follow up his rhyme with finger guns, causing you to roll your eyes at the cheek of this man.

Tup lets out a "huh?" before realising that it's his turn to play with you. The pair are quick to strip off; Fives leaves his clothes strung over the floor, whilst Tup leaves his on his bunk. Just like the rest of your squad, they're hung, and your holes are already beginning to feel sore at the sight of them.

Fives motions for you to stand, and with extremely wobbly legs, you manage to get up, clinging onto Fives as you do so. "Tup, c'mere and help me out," Fives playfully orders, before turning his focus to you.

He bends down slightly, arms stretched out, and asks for you to wrap your legs around his waist. "Catch her if she falls, Tup," Fives comment, and you hear a soft "oh, kriff," from behind you.

Well, you don't fall. Your legs are wrapped around Fives's waist, hands around his neck, awaiting the next move. Five pauses, staring out into thin air, before realizing his mistake.

"Wait, I want to fuck your ass... Tup, you pick her up," Fives comments, and gently places you back down on the floor, only to spin you around so you're facing Tup instead.

"Idiot," Jesse mutters under his breath, and Fives glares at him over your shoulder.

Tup wraps his arms around your waist, and on his nod, you jump up into his lap. He moves your legs to wrap around his waist, ankles crossing over, and your hands trail up to settle on his shoulders, fingertips playing with his loose strands of hair. Tup, for some reason, is trembling, and you're uncertain if it's from your weight, or his nerves. A soothing kiss on his nose reveals that it's his nerves, as he begins to relax, and your weight is then shared between the two clones as Fives approaches you from behind.

Fives focuses on slipping his cock into your ass, before taking your weight off Tup, allowing him to slide up into your pussy. The pair bottom out, pulling you down onto their lengths, and find an even way to hold your weight, making it easier on everybody.

At first, the pair are an uneven, a sloppy mess, struggling to find the right rhythm. Despite their lack of sync, you're still enjoying yourself, but the second they finally sync up, it's game over. With your hands desperately clinging onto Tup's shoulders, you roll your head back against Fives's shoulder, moaning and groaning as the fuck you.

Tup lets out a sigh as he comments "you're so good for us," his hands kneading at your thighs around his waist.

"Isn't she just?" Fives smirks, and his hands on your ass give you a squeeze. "Poor Tup here looks like he's going to cum already," Fives bites at his vod, and Tup sends him a disappointed glare.

"Play nice, you two," you softly order, not wanting to be stuck in the middle of their play fight.

They let out a "yes, Commander," as their thrusts continue, the sound of synced up skin against skin echoing around the dorm room.

However, the sound of the door opening makes everybody jump out of their skin, and you all turn with wide eyes to see none other than Captain Rex entering the room. Fives and Tup come to a halt, Jesse sits up on his bunk, and everybody awaits Rex's move.

Rex, with a stern expression, reaches a hand out to press the lock button on the dorms' door. "You forgot to lock it," he states, then tuts and shakes his head, scolding his men for their sloppiness.

Rex is still in uniform, his helmet tucked under his arm. The sound of heavy footsteps slowly approaches you, Tup, and Fives, and all three of you watch as Rex comes to a halt in front of you. You gulp, despite being a higher ranking than Rex, and despite knowing that he is also in on this.

The expression Rex gives you sends a shiver down your spine; he raises a single brow, slowly eyeing all of you up and down, before his lips finally trail into a smirk. A gloved hand reaches out and finds its way between your legs, instantly settling over your clit. Rex begins to slowly rub your clit, the fabric of his gloves giving you that something extra, and he speaks up in his usual, bold, military tone.

"You've got to play with her as you're fucking her, boys," Rex states, smirking as he notices everybody's expressions drop, letting out sighs of relief. "How is she meant to cum if you're not focusing on the right areas?" Rex questions, and gestures for his men to pick up their pace again.

Fives and Tup begin bucking up into you again, still slightly nervous, but lust soon takes over and evens them out. Rex turns his full attention to you, and the deepness of his voice makes your pussy clench. "Have these men served you well?" he questions.

"They have," you mutter, nodding as you speak, eager to express your fondness.

"That's good to hear, Commander," the Captain smirks. His eyes stay glued to yours, and you can't bare to look away. His fingers are working wonders on your clit, and the sensation of Fives and Tup tending to you is swiftly becoming too much. Your breaths become quick and short, and your eyes struggle to stay open. Rex takes not and announces, "she's close, boys."

"Go on, show off for Rex," Fives says against your ear, and Tup nods along in agreement. A few more thrusts and you're clenching around their cocks, both men grunting and moaning as you up their sensation. Rex doesn't stop playing with your clit, at first, until your thighs begin to twitch from overstimulation; only then does he pull away, taking a step back and settling his hands on his hips after placing his helmet down on a nearby bunk.

Tup lets out a whine, and you can feel his cock twitching inside you. "Good boy, Tup," you direct your praise to him, and that alone is enough to make him cum. Tup buries his head into the curve of your neck, groaning against your skin as his load joins the others inside you, most of it oozing out past his cock and dripping to the floor.

"Kriff, guess it's my turn," Fives comments with a light laugh. He buries his head into your other shoulder, kissing and nipping at your skin as he continues fucking your ass. It doesn't take long for Fives to also cum, burying his length up to the base, and groaning when you twitch from overstimulation. "So karking good," Fives mutters, and repeats his compliment as he lifts his head off your shoulder, before kissing your cheek.

Slowly and steadily, the pair lower you, avoiding the slippy patches of cum on the floor that has dripped from both your holes. You're debauched, exhausted in every aspect, and undeniably cock-dumb as Rex approaches and asks "got room for your Captain?"

"Always," you steadily sigh. Rex chuckles at your eagerness, then gestures for you to get comfortable on a bunk.

You pick Jesse's bunk, seeing as it's already a mess, plus it's in the centre of everybody's line of sight. Knowing Rex, he'll want to make a show of this, turning it into some training exercise as a way of covering up what is really going on here.

You sit back on the bed, falling back onto your elbows, and watch as Rex approaches. He unfastens his codpiece, discarding it onto a nearby bunk, and pulls his semi-hard cock out from beneath his blacks. The Captain is clean-shaven, thick and girthy, another cock to add onto your 'reasons why I can't walk this week' list.

Rex slips his gloves off before pumping himself with one hand, the other reaching down to trail over your overly sensitive cunt. Gentle fingertips slide over your wet folds, and Rex spreads you apart, revealing the sticky mess leaking from your entrance. "I see they've been keeping you full," Rex comments as his fingers trail up to glide over your clit, pressing firmly and flicking over the bud.

"Very full," you nod along. Your eyes flick to Rex's cock, which is now hard, precum leaking like crazy. Rex notices the way you're looking at his length, and he stops pumping his shaft, holding at the base instead, as if to present it.

"Is this what you want?" he teasingly questions, causing you to shudder.

"Yes, Captain," you nod, and Rex lets out a satisfied sigh.

"Place the order, Commander," Rex orders in his own way.

You lick your lips, followed by clearing your throat, and keep your eyes locked onto your Captains as you state "your orders are to fuck me, Captain."

"Yes, Ma'am."

You overhear a handful of men groan at your tone of voice, no doubt working themselves up again. "I'll show you boys how it's done," Rex says with a smug laugh as he moves both of his hands to your knees, and slowly pushes them up until they're almost pressing your shoulders, folding your body in half. He keeps one hand on your knee, the other holding the base of his cock as he begins slipping into you.

It isn't until you feel cold plastoid pressing against your body that you realize he's still in uniform.

Rex is fucking you with his armour on? Oh.

The sound that Rex lets out as he bottoms out is one that will forever play on repeat in the back of your mind. He holds himself there, scrunching his eyes shut as he regains focus, enticed by how wet and warm you feel. Once Rex has evened out, he begins thrusting into you, and oh Kriff, this man does not hold back.

With your body folded in half, Rex is able to drive his cock even deeper, his tip brushing over your g-spot with every thrust. Your legs find their way around his upper back, ankles locking over each other, and to encourage Rex, you press your heel against his back, urging him to give you all he's got. Rex's eyes meet yours, a single brow raised, and he makes a brief comment about how needy you are.

You're already a babbling mess, and Rex has only just begun! No doubt, you'll pass out the second he's finished with you, but your men are here to pick up the pieces, labelling you as a war hero for helping them during such desperate times.

"How're you doing, sweetheart?" Rex questions, affectionate eyes locking onto your half-lidded ones.

"G-good," is all you can reply, and Rex chuckles at your cock-dumb mentality.

When words fail, actions speak, and Rex dips his head down to introduce his lips to yours. Despite his heavy thrusts, the kiss is steady, adding to your overstimulation. You've always been fond of your Captain, but you could never quite put your finger on why; now you've got it - it's because he fucks so kriffing good!

As the kiss breaks, you reach around Rex's neck, hands clasping onto his back, attempting to rake your nails into his slippery armour. Rex lets out a soft laugh before kissing along your neck, leaving his mark below where your Jedi robes sit - what a smart man.

"Rex, I'm-" you blurt out.

"I know, sweetheart," Rex replies in a soothing voice, only for his tone to turn stern as he questions "you're going to cum for me, aren't you, Commander?"

Your reply can't seem to leave your lips, so you nod in response. Rex chuckles at your desperation, and to your surprise, he stops what he's doing. His thrusts come to a sharp halt, and he quickly slips his cock from you, leaving you with your mouth hanging open.

Just as you're about to question what he's doing, as are the other clones, he sits on the end of the bed beside you and slips two fingers into your cunt, instantly curling them and fucking you where he left off.

Rex clearly knows something you don't, but you allow him to take the ropes, especially as your orgasm is on the edge. There's a strange sensation in your gut, something you haven't quiet felt before, and judging from the way it's growing with Rex's movements, you assume you'll soon find out.

"Watch and learn, boys," Rex states, but keeps his eyes focused, locked onto yours.

You're putty in his grasp, mewling on the bed, not bothering to hold back on your moans. You're about to cum, any second now, but that foreign sensation takes over instead. Suddenly, everything becomes too much, especially Rex's fingers hitting that soft spot inside you over and over. You yelp as something takes over your body, an orgasm of some kind; on shaky elbows, you rush to prop yourself up, gazing down to watch in amazement as you squirt all over your Captain's arm, the liquid coating his plastoid armour.

"Good girl," Rex coos through gritted teeth, repeating the praise, but doesn't let up just yet. Kriff, you're screaming, even with your hand over your mouth. You fall back onto the bed, clawing at the sheets as this orgasm lasts longer than usual.

Even after you squirt, Rex continues fucking you with his fingers, as if to ensure that you're empty. He eventually calms down, and only then does your volume begin to drop, revealing the vast amount of praise from your troopers.

"That was beautiful, Commander!" Fives calls out.

"Kriff, she's shaking," you overhear Tup comment.

Jesse whines "my karking bed is soaked..." under his breath, which makes you smile to yourself. He was the one to suggest his bed, so he can lie in his wet grave!

A gentle stroke of your hair makes you open your eyes, only to meet Kix, who's gazing down at you. "Are you alright?" he questions.

"Uh-huh," you lazily nod, and he smiles at your exhaustion. Kix slowly props you up, letting you fall back against him. Your eyes trail to Rex, who looks almost as tired as you do. He's wiping something off his thigh, and if your calculations are correct, his thigh was out of your splash zone.

"Did you cum?" you ask Rex, who looks up at you with a tired smile. He nods in confirmation.

"Untouched," Rex states, and you take pride in making him cum in such a way.

You have a sudden burst of energy, and use it to lean forwards and thank your Captain with a kiss. Rex smiles against your lips before playfully nipping at your bottom lip, earning a sarcastic comment of "get a room!" from Jesse.

"I think we should get you into the refresher instead," Rex comments as he breaks the kiss.

"As good as that sounds, I can't walk," you sigh, and attempt to gesture to your jelly-like body, only for your arms to flap about and fall flat at your sides.

Rex laughs at your exhaustion, then informs you that he'll run you a bath instead. You look at him with a surprised expression, to which he states "I know, I wasn't expecting the GAR to treat us to baths, either."

Rex leaves you in the company of Kix, who begins checking over your body whilst asking you over and over if you're alright.

------

A nice, hot bath doesn't take long for Rex to run. Hardcase, now in his blacks, with caution, picks you up and carries you to the dorms' refresher. He's extra gentle as he places your feet on the tile floor, keeping his arm around your waist to steady yourself as you slowly enter the bath.

Hardcase steals a kiss from you, muttering "thanks for tonight, Commander," against your lips before leaving you to it.

Kix enters the second Hardcase exits, bringing you a glass of water and a certain prevention pill. "Let me know if you need anything," he informs you before kissing your forehead and leaving you to relax.

Only for Fives to come barrelling in, instantly blabbering on about how good you were. "I always assumed you'd be quite the slut, but... well, I wasn't expecting that," Fives playfully jabs, and insists that "we should all do it again some time!"

Dogma peers his head around the door and barks at Fives to leave you alone, but the second he shoos Fives out, he replaces the emptiness with himself instead. "Eh, Fives is right," Dogma comments, referring to Fives statement. "But don't tell him I said that," he grumbles as he steals a kiss from you.

You stretch back in the bath, enjoying the GAR assigned bubbles, and just when you think you're alone, Tup appears. "I don't want to smother you..." he sheepishly comments, "but I wanted to thank you for tonight." You can't help but laugh at Tup's kind demeanour, and the smile remains on your lips as Tup offers you a massage.

You accept, under the cheeky condition that Tup joins you in the bath. His cheeks turn pink at your suggestion, and continue turning pink the more he undresses. Tup even attempts to cover himself up as he settles in the bath with you, making you giggle once more.

Tup has your back resting against his chest, tenderly burying his fingertips into your damp skin, softening out those tight areas. You overhear commotion outside, and both of you laugh as it unfolds.

"No fair! Tup's in there having another round with her!" Fives protests, his voice thudding through the thickness of the refresher door.

"Leave her alone, Fives. She's a free woman, she can do what she wants!" Somebody defends, and you're almost certain it's Dogma.

"They're just cuddling, leave them alone," Rex intervenes, and you know it's Rex from his firmness and slight difference in tone.

Following the Captain's orders, you and Tup are left to it, cuddling and lazily washing each other. Once the water turns cold, you both make your exit, drying yourselves off and gawking when Tup lets down his hair, only to refasten it into another, fresh manbun.

A pair of blacks has been left for you on the side, and despite them being a little big, they still fit snugly. As you exit the refresher, the first thing you notice is that Jesse's bed has been completely stripped, bedding in the wash. The dorm is clean, and your clothes and bag have been folded and placed on Jesse's empty bed.

"I guess I'm staying the night," you comment, and gesture to ask who you're bundling up with.

Before anyone can get a word in, the Captain speaks up. "I missed out on most of the night, so I'd like to catch up with you."

You're unsure if 'catch up' means have a chat, or wake up to find Rex spoon-fucking you, but either way, you're down. With a nod of confirmation, you begin settling in for the night, curling up in Rex's bunk as he continues changing from his armour into a fresh pair of blacks to sleep in.

"Wait a minute," Jesse intervenes. "Where am I sleeping?" he questions, setting his hands on his hips with frustration.

"You can go give Tup a cuddle, he loves them, apparently," Fives maliciously comments, sending playful, yet bold daggers at his vod.

"Ah, leave Tup alone," Dogma defends him.

Before Fives can take another jab, Hardcase barks up with "we can spoon!" And Jesse doesn't look too pleased at his suggestion.

"You can join us, Jesse," Rex disgruntledly states.

"You do know these beds are singles, right?" Jesse states as he gestures to the small, single beds, barely big enough for one clone, let alone two, and you.

"Yes, but from what I've seen, the Commander likes it when she has a clone pressed up on either side of her," Rex teases, side-eyeing you as he comments.

An array of laugher fills the air, and Jesse nods in agreement. You remain quiet, as there's no point denying something that is blatantly true!

The lights are soon turned out, and the boys take it in turns to say goodnight to each other. In the dark, you feel Rex join you, manhandling you into position. Your head finds Rex's chest, an arm sprawled out underneath your neck, and your arm wraps around Rex's waist. Jesse then joins, and since your back is free, he decides to spoon you, trapping you perfectly in your 501st sandwich. Before falling asleep, you make a minor comment to Rex, as if to apologize for him not being there tonight. "We'll make sure you come with us next time," you quietly comment, referring to 79's, the venue that lead you here.

Jesse chuckles before mentioning how wild the night went. "You should have seen her, Captain. She's the sluttiest woman in the galaxy, grinding on Hardcase whilst making out with me," Jesse explains, and you lightly elbow him in the ribs for leaking so much information. A few men can be heard giggling in their bunks, if only you could elbow them too.

"Oh really?" Rex responds, his pitch heightening him as he asks. "Well, I'll definitely be there next time, and I'll ensure that I make up for my lack of presence," Rex promises, and knowing Rex, this is a promise he'll keep.

"I can't wait," you reply, softly yawning against Rex's chest.

"Neither can I," Fives comments from across the dorm, earning a giggle from Hardcase.

"Alright, men. That's enough. Go to sleep," Rex orders.

"Yeah, Captain's orders," you playfully comment, earning yet another sea of giggles.

Within time, the bunch calm down, and the air is soon graced with the soothing sounds of snoring clones. It doesn't take long for you to fall asleep, as your exhausted body is begging for some rest. You doze off, sandwiched snugly between an ARC Trooper and the Captain of the 501st.

What a dream!!!!

1K notes · View notes

yourfinalbow · 3 years

Text

Ack anon I'm sorry. Tumblr ate your ask and I'm 🔪 But I saved your ask to put on the Google Doc so don't fret! I have it!

“Hi Ghastie Ghast, I wanted to share a prompt with you lol. I decided to go more holiday theme’d because it’s never too early to get into the holiday spirit.

“Your favorite winter drink was back on the menu, so I decided to surprise you with it.”

Please enjoy this prompt lmao”

The nickname made me -_- but hi Little Gray Circle Dude With Sunglasses! Thank you for sending me this! I had fun writing it. I'm assuming you wanted a Destiel fic, so that's what I wrote! (Also bonus points for Saileen as a background ship?) I sort of strayed a little from the prompt and the tone gets heavier as it goes on… 👀 I also accidentally wrote more than intended, so you can read it on Ao3 if that's easier. (And maybe give it a kudos because you’re the best?)

Title: Black Coffee Derangement Syndrome

Ship(s): Dean Winchester/Castiel, Sam Winchester/Eileen Leahy.

(Basic) Tags: Fluff, Slight Angst, Domesticity in the Men of Letters Bunker, Established Dean/Cas, Established Sam/Eileen, Using black coffee as a metaphor for hypermasculinity, With a whip cream style topping of internalized homophobia. *Finger guns.*

Warnings: Coffee gatekeeping and small sections of fluff that are as sweet as Cas’s Starbucks order. Also I’ve been to Starbucks once. Maybe twice? (Also a single mention of a drug that's commonly found as white powder, the non-descriptive comparison of Sam’s stupid health stuff with emesis, and use of the name that the figurehead for Germany in WW2 bore, just to be safe.)

Rating: T? Maybe? For language?

Word Count: 9k+

Quick thanks to my awesome beta @walksinstarllight! They are a poet and a writing sorcerer (wizard without a hat), and the only reason this fic even makes sense so please go shower them in kudos. (You can find their work here.)

Another thanks to @internetintroverts, who described a peppermint mocha to me in like 300 words because I drink black coffee and know nothing of anything ever. You can find their work here! (There's an Easter egg of one of their fics in this one hehe.)

The first thing Dean did when Cas got back from the Empty was give him coffee.

Okay no.

The first thing he did was fall into Cas’s arms and grip that stupid trenchcoat until his knuckles turned white. Shaking and laughing with hot tears streaming out of his eyes, he told him he was an asshole for leaving him like that. And to never, ever do it again. With blurry eyes and all other thoughts hazy, he told Cas he could have it, he could have what he wanted. Whatever he wanted. He told Cas he loved him too.

But then the next thing was coffee.

Caffeine is a hunter’s number one best friend, and since Cas was human again, Dean knew Sam was going to come at him with his stupid green health drinks and herbal tea. As Cas’s knight in shining armour, (a title used by Dean and Dean only), it was his duty to protect him from the disgustingly liquified rabbit food.

Now he expected Cas to like black coffee, you know, like a normal person.

But no, oh no. Apparently, he was dating a heathen.

Dean had to actually rub his eyes the first time he watched Cas fix his own coffee. He stood in the doorway of the kitchen, mouth agape.

Cas was leaning on the counter, humming some song that Dean could neither recognize, nor would he approve of, thank-you-very-much.

(Ok it was Champagne Problems by Taylor Swift and it's entirely possible he's listened to it once or twice but he still doesn't approve of it, thank-you-very-much.)

He held his yellow and black striped, bee-themed ceramic mug Eileen had bought him in one hand, and the entire five-pound bag of cane sugar in the other. And there he stood, happy as can be, pouring it directly into his mug.

Dean rubbed his eyes again.

And not even like, a normal amount either.

He just kept pouring, and pouring, and Oh my god he’s still pouring. Dean thought. It would honestly be more believable if it wasn’t sugar at all, and instead was in fact Cas’s secret stash of cocaine.

Dean might actually have to put sugar on the grocery list after he was finished.

His thoughts traveled back to Ishim doing the same thing with his coffee, in the tiny little diner Cas had set up as a meeting place. Dean had barged in that day, not thinking of his brother mocking him, or the possibility of danger inside. His vision was as tunneled as his thoughts focused only on Cas, not caring about anything else.

By that time the following day, Dean thought they were both going to die. The bloody and uneven sigil on the wall, Cas no more than ten feet away. Not quite within a comforting reach. The room was spinning from the blow to his head, and he could barely make out the words being spat from Ishim’s mouth.

“You blast me away, you’ll blast away every angel in the room. I’ll survive. Castiel, on the other hand, he’s hurt. He might live, or he might just end up a bloody smear on the wall.”

He almost lost Cas that day.

The blood rushed to his ears as his instincts sought out the mark on the wall. Ishim had told him to roll the dice, but in his head he couldn’t look past the chance of rolling a one. Watching the acrylic cube bounce until it decided Cas’s fate. There was no dilemma, there wasn’t even a decision to be made. He would always choose Cas over himself. Silent acts of care he could never vocalize.

An inability to speak formed from fear and cowardice. Like a lion in his stomach scratching at the words until they fell back down his throat.

And it was that inability to speak that led Cas to think he was nothing more than a tool for the Winchester’s to use.

He almost let Cas believe he meant nothing to him.

Dean cleared his throat. “Mornin’ Sunshine.”

Cas set down the bag of sugar and picked up the pot, the glass making a small clink as it hit the top of the coffee maker. “Goodmorning Dean. Would you like any coffee?” He greeted cheerfully, turning around like he hadn't just put enough sugar to make a pound cake in his coffee.

“Uh.” Dean was still caught off-guard by Willie Wonka over there. “Sure Cas.” He took the coffee pot from his hand and muttered a thank you.

“So,” Cas started while Dean reached into the cabinet for his own mug. “What ingredient do you suggest I put in my coffee this morning?”

“Uh...I don't know man. I drink my coffee black.”

“Yes I know you’re boring Dean, but you can still help me not be.”

“Black coffee isn't boring it's-”

“Dean, if you say ‘manly,’ I will sit you down and make you eat only spinach and kale for a week.” Sam said, walking into the kitchen, hair still spiked up from sleep. He used one hand to sign the words, his other one occupied by Eileen, who was sleepily shuffling closely behind.

Dean looked aghast. “I would starve.” He attempted to sign his indignant response, hands moving sloppily while holding both his mug and the coffee pot.

“I think that's the point.” Eileen said, laughing. She looked at Cas. “Is Dean gatekeeping your coffee aspirations again?”

“Yes.” He answered, ignoring Sam’s laugh and Dean’s huff of exaggerated outrage.

“Have you tried cinnamon?” Sam suggested. “You like Dean’s apple pie, and that has cinnamon in it.”

“I’m not so sure about that, Sam. Dean told me not to ever take cooking advice from you.“

“And I stand by that.” Dean interjected suddenly.

“I can cook!”

“Ehhh…” Eileen’s comment bought her a look of betrayal. “Though Sam may be right on this one, you might like it.” She shrugged.

“See.”

Cas pondered the thought for a moment. “Perhaps I will then.”

“Do we have nutmeg?” Eileen said, breaking away from Sam’s grip to check one of the cabinets. He walked to the other side of the kitchen, intending to look through the spice rack, knowing exactly what his girlfriend was getting at.

“You better not mess up my damn kitchen.” He said quickly. “Or you're organising them all next time.”

Sam rolled his eyes, knowing full well Dean would never let him organise the kitchen. Eileen looked through them, carefully turning the bottles around until the labels faced her. She pulled out the cinnamon and clove while she was looking for the nutmeg.

“Found it.” Sam called from the other side of the kitchen, walking over and putting a hand on Eileen’s shoulder.

“Thank you.” She said with a smile, grabbing the plastic spice jars.

She individually tossed each one to Cas. “Use these, it will taste like a pumpkin spice latte.”

“And don't forget the milk.” Sam added.

Cas scrambled to catch the spices, successfully grabbing two of them out of the air, the third one intercepted by Dean.

“What’s a pumpkin spice latte?” He looked at Eileen before snatching the bottle of cinnamon from Dean.

“It's a famous drink you can get at Starbucks.” Sam answered.

Cas tilted his head to the side and squinted at him. “What's a Starbucks?”

“You know, the coffee shop Alex and Patience drag Jody to all the time.” Dean said.

“I’m pretty sure Donna drags her there too.” Sam added. “Something about girl’s date night out.”

“The one Claire says is for ‘basic bitches’?” He lifted his hands, forming air quotes as he spoke.

“Yeah.” Dean answered, quietly laughing. “That's the one. She’s probably right, too.”

Cas carefully put the different spices in his coffee, eyeing the mug warily. His light brown coffee now had specs of...stuff in it.

(And unbeknownst to him, there was also a small pile of sugar at the bottom, the coffee so saturated it wouldn't dissolve any more.)

Eileen laughed at the look on his face. “It's good, I promise.”

Sam turned to look at her. “How would you know? Most of the time you get hot chocolate and spike it with bourbon.”

“You’re the one who gets a Pink Drink.”

Dean choked on his coffee. “What?”

“It's strawberry and coconut milk, and it's delicious.”

“Sure it is Sam.” Eileen jabbed.

“So what I'm getting here is that not only have you two been to Starbucks often enough to have a regular order, but Sam gets something called a ‘Pink Drink’?”

“No…” Sam started, trying to find a way to defend them. “Sometimes we…”

“...Make our own drinks.” Eileen snapped her fingers as she finished for him, attempting to save them from the endless stream of good-natured insults Dean would throw at them otherwise.

“Well you two are a real Martha Stewart, aren't you?”

“Yeah, except she's a convicted criminal.” Sam attempted to snark back.

“So are you!”

Before either of them could respond, Cas shoved his mug into Dean's face. “You have to try this, Dean. It tastes like pumpkin pie.”

Dean carefully grabbed the hot mug from Cas and took a sip. He was right, it did taste kinda like pumpkin pie. He took another sip, letting the pleasant flavor sit on his tongue. The different spices mixed perfectly together.

“I mean it's… okay.” He lied.

Dean contemplated his pumpkin themed food options. “Though I would rather just have pumpkin pie.”

Cas took his mug back. “Fine. More for me.” He said with a smirk, mimicking the look Dean gives him every time Cas says he doesn't want anymore bacon, before taking another sip of the makeshift pumpkin spice coffee.

Dean smiled at him, setting his own mug down and moving Cas’s out of the way to pull him into a kiss. He could smell the nutmeg almost as much as he could taste the cinnamon on his lips.

“Mmm we should bake pumpkin pie tonight.” He said, pulling away just enough so he could talk.

“I would like that.” Cas answered. “All four of us could make pie. According to the 'mom blogs', as you call them, it would be a good family bonding exercise.”

“That’s right. And if they want any pie, they gotta help make it. That means more for us if they refuse.” He grinned.

“A win-win situation, really.” Cas smiled before tugging Dean close so their lips met again.

“I love you.” Dean muttered.

“I love you too.” Cas said softly.

Behind their backs Sam and Eileen were fake-gagging at their sickly sweet interaction, but secretly just glad the two of them had finally gotten over their stubborn (and oblivious) selves.

Sam was honestly overjoyed to see his brother finally happy. He would even go as far as saying finally willing to be himself, too. (Not that he would ever say this outloud. Sam can practically see Dean’s eyes roll farther back into his head than should be possible at the words.) All four of them had gone through more shit in the last few months than any normal person would in their entire life. They were all just lucky to be alive, and with that, learning how to savour the little moments of overly sweet normalcy.

(And the pumpkin spice-life Dean had secretly been longing for since they were little kids.)

So of course they were going to help bake pie.

---

“I want to try Starbucks.” Cas said the next morning, both of them still in bed.

Dean groaned, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “Can I ask why, or is this one of those, 'I'll tell you later’ disasters like with the slime ingredients?”

“I want to try all the human things that I didn't get to try last time.” He said offhandedly.

Dean pictured Cas’s hurt face when he had told him he couldn’t stay, smile broken as Dean’s own heart shattered from the look the newly-human angel was giving him.

He wanted to tell him it was going to be okay, that Cas himself wasn’t the reason, but the lion in his stomach clawed the words down faster than even the thought of ruining Sam’s chances at survival could.

With a pang of guilt from the memory, Dean pulled himself closer to Cas and rested his head on the other man’s chest. He wrapped his arms around him, trying to preserve as much warmth and comfort as he could until they had to inevitably get out of bed. “Only if you let me sleep like this for thirty more minutes.”

Cas smiled. “Oh, are we making deals now?”

“I’d sell my soul for you.” Dean said cheekily, which earned a glare from Cas. “Believe me, I know.”

After a beat he went on. “Fine, you have a deal.” Before Dean could celebrate by tugging the covers over their bodies, Cas added another clause to their agreement. “But... in true Crowley fashion, you have to seal the deal with a kiss.”

Dean lazily threw his arms into the air. “Victory.”

He turned over, pulling himself upwards until he was just inches from Cas. Cradling the angel-turned-Winchester’s head in his hands, Dean placed his lips on Cas’s, melting into the touch as he felt the other man’s arms wrap around his torso.

When he broke away from the kiss, Dean found himself face to face with the most beautiful smile he had ever laid eyes on, one born from adoration and love. Cas’s eyebrows were slightly scrunched up, but for once it wasn’t a sign of confusion when met with some obscure eighties rock reference. It was a tiny expression of care, and it was one that was truly Cas. Not Jimmy’s, not even one Cas had picked up from him or Sam. It was completely and wholly Cas, and a completely and wholly human thing to do.

He realized Cas had been doing that long before the Empty stole his grace.

Dean smiled back at him, relaxed. Like taking in a deep breath after being under murky water for forty years. He brushed a loose strand of soft, brown hair into its place, before falling back into his spot and closing his eyes. “Crowley would be proud.” He whispered with a soft laugh, smile deepening as Cas joined him.

When their quiet laughter died out, there was a pause, air stagnant and in its own sleepy haze

“Oh and Dean?”

“Hm?” Dean turned his head to look at him, eyes not failing to glow with their unusually bright, green pigment. He took a deep breath, the lids of his eyes already started to slowly fall back down again.

“The slime wasn't a disaster. You enjoyed it.”

“I did.” He muttered sleepily, a loose smile forming on his lips as he drifted off to sleep. Cas laid there, running his fingers through the other man’s hair, contentment and admiration showing itself in every feature on his face.

This was more than he could have ever wanted.

---

“Dean. Dean wake up.” Cas was excitedly whisper-shouting in his ear like a kid on Christmas morning. It was exactly thirty minutes later, (he had counted), and Cas was ready to get moving.

“No.” He answered back, mimicking Cas’s tone.

“But you’re like a cat.” He teased. “You're on me and I can't get up.”

Dean sighed. “I can't believe I let you talk me into this.”

“It didn't take much convincing.”

Dean rolled over to give Cas a playful glare, but was met with the saddest puppy dog eyes he had ever seen, completely throwing him off his guard.

“I'm going to kill Sam for teaching you that.”

Cas just continued to give him that look.

“Fine.” Dean relented, sitting up with a yawn and thinking about how he will now never be able to win another argument.

“Get dressed.” Cas said excitedly. “We're going to Starbucks.”

“Hooray.” He gave a sarcastic laugh, but a smile creeped on his lips.

They walked out of their room together, heading towards the bunker’s library. Dean slid in one of the chairs, turning Sam’s still-open laptop around and waking it up.

Cas, meanwhile, turned to a random page of the lore book resting on the table and started reading in an attempt to pass the time.

The sound of Dean typing filled the air. “So, I just looked it up, and do we have to go to Starbucks?”

“Yes.” Cas said simply, not looking up from the book.

Dean groaned. “Cas there isn't one in the county, let alone Lebanon. That's probably why Sam and Eileen make their own.”

“Where's the closest one?” Cas asked, his blinding, blue eyes glaring at the back of Sam’s computer like he was trying to will the coffee shop to be near.

“I thought it was across state lines and in Nebraska at first, but it looks like there's a small one in a town called Washington. It's about 80 miles from here.”

“Let's go!” Cas excitedly straightened his trenchcoat and headed towards the door.

“Or, we could leave Starbucks to the fourteen year old girls.”

Cas turned back around and rolled his eyes. “Yes, I’m sure their entire demographic is fourteen year old girls, staff included.”

Alright, smartass. Dean thought, struggling to hide a smile.

Cas walked out the door, expecting Dean to follow.

“It takes an hour to get there, our coffee’s going to be cold by the time we get home, and it's freezing outside.” Dean muttered under his breath, but he grabbed his keys off the table and stood up, willing to follow Cas to the ends of the earth if it meant he would stay with him.

Not that he was going to enjoy this trip. In fact, he was currently doing the opposite of enjoying, and they hadn’t even gotten into the car yet. Starbucks. Starbucks. Really, Cas? Of all the places he wanted to go, it had to be Starbucks. He couldn’t want to explore humanity through Target or something?

Even Claire wouldn’t be caught dead in that place, with all the frou-frou toppings, elaborate drink mixes, and colourful, drizzled syrup. The people who go to Starbucks are the kind of people who like coffee that doesn’t taste like coffee. Teenage girls who might as well just be drinking whip cream, and that was without considering the seasonal drinks they fawn over.

Seasonal drinks that shouldn’t legally be allowed to be referred to as coffee.

Dean couldn’t believe he ever agreed to this, but still, he begrudgingly followed.

---

Using the GPS on Cas’s phone, (Dean said his insane directional skills helped out too), they found the Starbucks relatively easily once they were in the little town.

They parked the Impala, and Dean looked at the modern building. The green lettering contrasted with the tan plaster walls, spelling “Starbucks.”

He heard Cas get out, his feet making a crunching noise as they hit the gravel, and watched from across the top of the car as he started towards the coffee shop. Dean looked at the building warily, reluctance painted on his face.

Cas was telling him some random fact about a bird he saw, but Dean could only think about his reputation that was about to shatter like a vase dropping on tile floor.

Reputation with who? He didn't know.

Well, he had a vague idea, but chose not to let his thoughts wander that far.

It was okay. This was fine. He could swallow his pride and-

“Ooh. The peppermint mocha looks good.” Cas was reading the limited edition drinks on the drive-thru menu as they traveled across the parking lot.

Dean was going to barf.

They walked into the building, immediately hit with the overwhelming smell of excessive amounts of flavoured syrup indoused coffee. Dean glanced around the well-lit building, taking note of the many different people there.

(He wasn’t about to have any black-eyed minions reporting his Starbucks order to a very judgmental Queen of Hell.)

Cas pushed Dean’s protesting body into the line, looking pleased with the many different options written on the menu overhead.

He enjoyed the small touch of Cas’s hands on his back, moving him forwards to the line, but was grateful Cas was careful not to let them linger there too long.

He was still wary about doing… this, in public.

He knew Cas was patiently waiting for him to be ready, so he didn't know how to tell him that he might never be.

The teenager working the cash register interrupted his train of thought. “What will it be for ya?”

“I would like a peppermint mocha please.”

“Alrighty. And you?”

“I'll take just a black coffee.”

The barista looked unimpressed. “And your names?”

Dean grinned. “John and John.”

“No relation.” Cas added.

The barista just sighed. “How do you want me to differentiate the two of ‘em then?”

“Oh you can put ‘John Bonham’ on mine.” Dean replied.

“Comin’ right up.” Their tone didn't change, still just full of apathy that could only be perfected by the work of a burnt-out teenager.

Dean and Cas walked down to the end of the counter and towards the pickup section. “Now tell me, Castiel.” He stressed his partner’s name. “Who’s John Bonham?”

Cas sighed, but the corner of his mouth upturned in a grin. “John Henry Bohnham, affectionately referred to as ‘Bonzo’, born in 1948 and was most well known for being the drummer of the rock band ‘Led Zeppelin’.”

“Mmm very close, but unfortunately you forgot the word ‘best’ in front of ‘rock band.’” Dean smirked before leaning in for a chaste kiss.

“You should have said I was ‘John Bon Jovi.’” Cas said, smiling.

“Why? Because you’re only good at this sometimes?” Dean closed the gap between them.

As soon as their lips met, Dean pulled away instinctively, realization hitting him like a hunter with a bat as his eyes widened in terror. “I-I'm sorry, I didn’t...” His words faltered as he looked around at the people sitting in the coffee shop, all of which were paying no mind to them.

He felt sick, guilt gnawing at him from a pit in his stomach.

“Hey, it's okay Dean. You know I'm perfectly fine with public displays of affection, and no one else even saw us. There's no need to apologize.”

“Yeah-h.” He said shakily. Before he could figure out who he was apologizing to, a voice from behind the counter called.

“I have an order for a mister ‘John’ and ‘John Bonham’.”

“That's us.” Dean spat the words out quickly, turning around to take them from the barista’s hand. He rushed out of the door, the small tinkling sound of the welcome bell and the blood rushing to his ears drowning out the sound of Cas’s call from behind.

He sat in the front seat of Baby, knowing he was being childish. Dean took a shaky breath and tried not to think about it.

About what the hell he was thinking, kissing Cas out in public like that. The judgemental eyes- black or not- that were watching. He thought about what his father would say, mind instantly going back to a moment in his childhood he has tried to forget since it happened, wondering where he went wrong.

About the time John had caught him and Lee, ignoring the weak excuses Dean was stuttering out. Skipping town faster than they had done in years.

About how the left side of his face had been a yellow-ish purple for weeks following, and the sore spot on his arm from where he caught the pavement as he flew towards it.

About how he had told Sam he just fell on a hunt. “Don't worry kid, you should have seen the vamp when I was done with him.” He swung his fist around in slow motion, pretending to punch an invisible enemy as his little brother giggled in childish bliss.

About how John never looked at him the same. The disgust in his eyes, harsh words on his lips.

About how he vowed to never disappoint his father like that again, and their joint hatred for that part of him. Sometimes it felt like the only thing they could agree on.

About how somewhere, somehow, he had decided Cas was different. That he somehow didn’t count, and that losing him hurt so much, was such an egregious pain, he wanted as much of Cas as he was allowed to have. And how that was something insurmountable stronger than the twisted, sick feeling John had placed in his gut.

He remembered something Cas had told him once: “Hatred isn’t a natural trait, Dean, it’s a learned one. A baby isn’t born with the ability to hate, it’s passed on from one broken soul to another. Love, love however. That’s something different altogether.”

Cas’s hand on his shoulder pulled Dean out of his thoughts. “Hey.” He said softly.

“Hey Cas.”

“I love you.” He got in the passenger's seat, taking his coffee from Dean’s still frozen hand.

“I love you too.” He whispered absentmindedly, staring straight ahead and seeing nothing but thoughts from the past. His mind fighting an internal battle, logic telling him that what he had with Cas wasn’t wrong, and even though everything from fate to God had tried to wedge itself between them, it was still the most right thing he had. And he knew that, but his dad’s drunken, booming voice echoed throughout his head, telling him that he was dirty. Telling him the Winchester men had no place for someone like him.

“You better stop that now, boy. Bad things happen to you when you’re weak.”

At the time he had taken that as a warning, rather than a threat. But now Dean wasn’t so sure.

It’s not even that his Dad was particularly religious. He wasn’t told that it was a sin, or that he was going to Hell. Though it’s not like that particular statement would have been wrong. He thought with a bitter laugh.

While the thoughts in his head were screaming mercilessly, the drive home was in a simple silence. The only noise being Cas’s occasional sip, and the sound of soft fabric rubbing against skin as Cas moved his hand in small, comforting motions against Dean's back.

When they got to the bunker, Cas, who was genuinely impressed that Dean managed to drive them home without crashing into a tree, pulled Dean out of the car and gently shook him out of his self-imposed stupor.

“Your coffee's cold.” Cas said with a laugh.

Dean blinked a couple times, clearing the fog from his mind, before laughing along with him. “And who’s fault is that? You were the one who insisted on traveling across the state to get it.”

“Do you want some of mine?” Cas asked. “There's a little bit left, and I held it next to the heater. It should still be lukewarm.”

“No thanks, Cas. I can go make some in the kitchen.”

“But what if I want you to try it?” Dean glared at him. “Don't make me do Sam’s ‘puppy dog eyes’ again.”

“Okay, okay. You win.” He put his hands up, mimicking a surrender. “I'll try some of your stupid, Christmas cookie, candy-cane flavoured coffee thing or whatever.” They started walking towards the entrance to the bunker.

“Peppermint mocha?”

“That's the one.”

Cas laughed at him.

“Oh just, give it here.” Dean said. He took a long sip from the disposable cup. He could taste a vague hint of whipped cream mixed in with the coffee, its light fluffy texture sticking to the last swallow of smooth liquid in the bottom of the cup. The chocolate and espresso rested on his tongue, and the peppermint was strong and refreshing. He took another sip.

“Does that face mean you like it?”

Dean looked at him guiltily. “No.” He opened the bunker’s door and started walking down the metal stairs.

“Yes you do.”

“No, I don't.”

“You took a second sip.”

Dean reached the bottom of the stairs first, and walked over to the War Room table to set both coffee cups and his keys down.

“So? I was trying to make sure I properly understood the flavour. Since when is that a crime?”

“You wanted to properly understand a flavour you didn't like?” Cas walked up to Dean and pulled the nearest chair out to sit down.

“What are you two arguing about this time?” Eileen asked from the library.

Cas clenched both of his hands into fists, putting the right one on top of the other. He made small, circular, stirring motions with his right hand. “Coffee.” He signed swiftly, movements fluid.

“Ah. That makes sense.” She spoke the words.

“What makes sense?” Sam asked, walking in from one of the hallways, making sure Eileen could see his lips before speaking.

“They're arguing over coffee again.”

Sam glanced at both of them, before his eyes reached the two cups on the War Room table.

“Wait a second… Dean?” He looked at his brother, before turning to face his best friend. “Cas?”

“Yes, Sam?” Cas answered.

“Did you two go to Starbucks?”

“I don't want to talk about it.” Dean grumbled.

“Yes, we did!” Cas sounded way too excited to be referring to coffee. “I got a peppermint mocha, and Dean tried some and liked it.”

“I did not.”

“I don't care what coffee you like, Dean. What I do care about is that you went all the way to Starbucks, and didn't bother to ask if we wanted to come.”

“Not cool Dean.” Eileen walked in, shaking her head and hiding a smile.

“I might have thought about buying you two drinks, but there was no way I was ordering yours with a straight face.” He looked at Sam. “And it's an hour away, they wouldn't have been hot or cold or whatever they're supposed to be by the time we got here.”

“Well then we'll just have to go back, all four of us.” Eileen put simply.

“It's an hour away.”

“We know.” Sam added.

“Let me say that again, in case you weren’t listening. It's an hour away. For coffee. That isn't even that good.”

“I beg to differ, Dean.” Cas said.

“Yeah I'm definitely with Cas on this one.” Eileen agreed while Sam nodded along.

“No. There's no way I'm getting back in Baby to drive all the way to Starbucks again.”

“Fine. We’ll go get our own.”

“With what car?” Dean said, very sure of himself.

Sam snatched Baby’s keys off the war room table, which in hindsight was probably something Dean should have expected.

“Let's hope Sam doesn't have too many shots of espresso.” Eileen said, faking concern. “I would hate for your baby to pay the price.”

“Fine. I'll drive you.” Dean grumbled while Eileen double fist-pumped her win.

Cas looked very pleased with the thought of getting to try more coffee.

---

They left shortly after, the drive over painful for everyone except Dean, who listened to the same four songs on repeat the entire hour.

(It’s their own fault, really.)

---

“Can we please listen to something other than Bob Seger on the trip home?” Sam complained as he slammed shut the door to Baby’s backseat.

“You’re just mad you didn’t get shotgun.” Dean said, closing his own door. “Besides, driver picks the music, everyone else shuts their cakehole.” Sam mouthed the words along with Dean, having heard the speech a million times before.

Eileen and Cas got out, neither one of them had any desire to input on their squabble, and were instead engaged in their own, quieter discussion.

Both brothers continued to argue until they walked into the Starbucks.

“Ah. There's the scent of overpriced coffee I missed.” Eileen joked as she took her first breath inside the building, using her hand to waft the smell towards her.

“What are you getting?” Cas asked Sam.

“I want my usual, and Eileen, what are you having?”

“Hot chocolate with espresso shots please. This place doesn't sell liquor.” She shook her head sadly and Sam laughed. “Good thing I brought my own.” She winked at them, opening her jacket just enough so they could see the inside pocket and showing off her flask.

“Oh, now that would be a Starbucks I would go to.” Dean said.

“You two wait in line.” Sam pointed to Cas and Dean. “We’ll save a table.”

Dean looked like he wanted to protest, but they walked away before he had the chance. Cas leaned over towards him. “Don't worry. I'll order Sam’s.” He very conspicuously winked.

Dean smiled at his attempts of regular human interaction, before over-the-top winking himself.

“Can you order for us? I need to talk to Sam about something.”

“Sure thing…” Cas had to think before finishing his sentence. “...buckaroo.”

Dean outwardly cringed. “Keep trying, you'll get there eventually.” He patted Cas on the back, which was slightly moving in a chuckle.

It was good to see Cas filled with so much simple joy. Face creased from laughter rather than stress, he seemed so much lighter. Happier. It was only a small sliver of what he deserved, but it was something. Maybe he could live with driving an hour to get what he assumed was half-decent coffee.

“What would you like?” Cas asked him, eyes still filled with a sparkle that only comes from gaining something you thought you lost.

“Uh.” He thought about it for a moment, almost considering branching out into the unexplored terrain that was the dark green menu with small, white text, before shuddering at the thought.

“I think I'll take that expensive black coffee I didn't get earlier.”

Dean was not going to turn into one of those people, if he had any say about it.

Cas walked into the line, leaving Dean to scan the room, furiously waving Sam over when his eyes found their booth.

“Sam.” He sounded like he was trying to whisper, but his volume raised far higher than that. The patron closest to Dean gave him a look before turning back to their work.

“Sam, come here, it's urgent.” His brother turned to look at him, rolling his eyes before getting out of the booth.

“What do you want?” He said once he reached Dean.

“Sam. Help. What do I do?”

“About what?”

“About what kind of coffee Cas is having.”

“Oh god, Dean let it go. He's not going to only ever drink black coffee. Contrary to popular belief, former angels do actually have souls.”

Dean ignored the implications that he didn't have a soul, too distracted by Cas. “But look.” He motioned his head towards where Cas was standing, next in line to order. “He’s eyeing the weird fruity drinks.”

“Dean. It's Cas. The man’s favorite food is PB&J. What did you expect him to have, taste?”

“Alright that's rich coming from mister Pinkity Drinkity or whatever the fuck.”

“You walked into a Starbucks and ordered black coffee, I don't think I'm the wrong one here.”

“Wait, wait. Shut up. Quiet.” He hit Sam on the shoulder in a childish attempt at getting him to stop talking so he could listen.

“Ow. That hurt.” Sam muttered, before turning to watch Cas, which Dean was already doing.

“I would like to try a…” Cas methodically scanned the menu again. “A ‘Passion Tango Iced Tea,’ please.” The barista took no mind to the excessive air quotes.

“It's not even coffee.” Dean said to Sam, clearly distraught. He turned to look back at Cas.

“And your name sir?”

“Lizzo.”

Dean threw his arms up into the air. “I can't believe this is the man I love.” His voice cracked like he was holding in tears of anguish from listening to Cas order.

Sam just rolled his eyes at the theatrics. Right, and he’s the dramatic one.

“Aw. You're in love.” Sam held his hands up, forming a heart and mocking his brother.

“Oh shut up. What are you, seven?”

“Is Cas your gay thing?”

“You shut your mo-”

“What are we gossiping about?” Eileen whispered, cutting Dean off and causing them both to jump.

“We're not gossiping.” Sam said indignantly.

“Sam started it.”

“Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

“This is where I call you two ‘asshats’, right?”

“It's ‘assbutt.’” Cas said, walking up to them and catching the tail end of their conversation. “And that's my line.”

Cas handed them each their drinks, before excitedly trying his own. He put the plastic cup up to his mouth, almost missing the straw. When he swallowed the cranberry-colored liquid, his face relaxed in pleasure.

“I know this one isn't coffee, but it's really good.”

“We didn't get coffee either.” Eileen said. “So don't worry, Dean's the odd man out here.”

Dean glared at her before trying his own coffee, and well, it was coffee. The point of buying expensive caffeine still went straight over his head.

The four of them went over to their thankfully-still-available booth and sat down. Dean and Cas sat on one side, both instinctively choosing the side that faced the door, with Sam and Eileen sliding into the seats directly across from them. They sat there, talking about nothing in particular, and certainly nothing of importance, before falling into the natural art of storytelling.

Aside from killing monsters, that’s what hunters did best. Sitting around and sharing stories. As tiring and dangerous as their lives were, some hunts were worth sharing exaggerated and hyperbolic versions of, especially over drinks.

Sam’s favourite story to tell changed every time, and one would almost be inclined to believe that most of it wasn't real, but the wildest parts also caused the most merriment. (Dean pretended he hadn’t witnessed the whole thing, sparing Sam by not telling the other two how it actually went down.)

Eileen shared of her time in Ireland. “Foreign country, foreign monsters.” She said with a wink, telling of creatures neither Sam nor Dean had even read about.

Dean’s favourite story to tell, aside from the fact that he killed Hitler, was the time he got to solve a mystery with everyone’s favorite talking dog. And yeah, all three of the people that sat at the table had heard both many times before, but that didn't matter, it was still enrapturing to hear them again.

Cas had millenniums to choose from, but always found the most interesting hunts to be the ones with the Winchesters. He also had many hilarious stories about his adventures with Crowley, but he was less fond of those.

“I remember once, Dean went on a hunt with Dad.” Sam started. “Nasty vampire, it got a hit or two on Dean. I think you guys went with another hunter. Young. About your age, actually. Uh…”

He snapped his fingers, trying to recall the name. “Lee. That's it.” Dean looked up from the coffee right as Sam said it. “Do you remember him?”

Something flashed in Dean’s eyes, but his brother didn't seem to notice.

Cas, who was used to admiring every minute detail of Dean's expression and posture, didn't miss the ever so slight, yet sharp, inhale. Or the way he swallowed before speaking, trying to clear the small lump from his throat.

Dean noticed too, internally rolling his eyes at his own reaction.

“Yeah it's been a while, but I remember him.” Dean was blatantly ignoring Cas’s burning stare from beside him, and the fact that he had stabbed Lee through the chest just last year.

Cas made sure no one was watching before gently placing a hand on Dean’s thigh. Knowing it would comfort him from both intuition and experience. Dean stiffened under the touch, but after realizing no one could see where Cas’s hand was, he visibly relaxed.

“What happened to him?” Eileen asked innocently.

“Oh uh, a hunt I think. Most of us go that way, I assume he was no different.” Technically Dean dealt the final blow, but it was the entrancing call of the monster, greed, and the life Lee and Dean had both secretly wanted, that caused his former-friend’s downfall in the end.

“Yeah.” Sam said solemnly, suddenly lost in his own thoughts, most of which were riddled with grief.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, letting the weight of their many losses wash over them like a tidal wave.

One made of espresso and milk rather than the rough waters of the sea.

---

The ride back was more manageable, Dean allowing them one song choice each, complete with a warning to pick wisely.

(They all very cheekily chose the songs they knew would bother Dean the most.)

---

Full on coffee, cookies Dean bought for them at Starbucks, and brimming with contentment, (as well as the fact that they spent half the day in the car), Cas suggested to Dean that they “hit the hay” as they stepped back into the bunker.

They laid there in silence, breathing in scents of comfort, coffee, and each other, until Cas eventually drifted off to sleep.

Dean, however, continued to lay there. Thinking.

He remembered the first solo case John sent him on.

Something curled inside his gut.

They had been two nuns, their fate a product of hate crime. Put to death for simply being themselves.

Dean didn't blame them for coming back as ghosts.

He remembered the words - ones he would soon learn were slurs - that John would spit out like acid.

Or offhandedly toss like they didn't bear enough weight to shatter the window of a person's self-image.

It had taken him almost forty years to realize that very same window inside of him was in sharp, jagged pieces. Cutting anyone and everyone who came near.

It had taken Cas dying to start picking them up again.

He turned to look at the man next to him, relaxed and blissfully sleeping. His chest moved up and down rhythmically, and Dean slowed his breath to match until he fell into a surprisingly peaceful slumber.

---

When Dean woke up, the other side of his bed was cold.

He didn't panic, knowing full well that Cas probably ran to the bathroom, or was pouring another mountain of sugar in his coffee.

Losing Cas again to the Empty had ripped him apart, but months of spending every night with his partner left him with less nightmares and waking in cold sweats then he had since before Hell.

Dean also learned that his own presence was enough to fight off the demons of solid, black goo that plagued Cas’s head at night.

He was finally starting to understand why life seemed to lose all meaning when Cas was gone, and from there he could slowly start to rebuild both of them.

Dean heard soft padding noises as socked feet walked down the hall, and there was a knock on the bedroom door. "S'your room too, Cas. You don't have to knock." He laughed, words slightly slurred from just waking up

Cas walked in, wielding two mugs of coffee and a proud look shining in his eyes. “I made us coffee.” He said triumphantly, handing one of the mugs to Dean.

“I put chocolate and peppermint in your coffee.”

Dean fake-gasped. “You monster. Ruining the integrity of my drink like that.”

“I'm a human, you ass.” Cas responded, a smile tugging at his lips. “Besides, I know you liked mine yesterday.”

“I did not.” He said, discontentedly crossing his arms. “I only drink coffee that's as black as my soul. Darker than the night sky. Hotter than the bunker’s computer when it overheats. As manly as-”

“Oh, just drink your damn coffee.”

“Fine.” He groused. “But I'm not enjoying it.”

Cas raised an eyebrow at him, before setting his mug on the bedside table and sitting down behind Dean. The bed creaked underneath him as he leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Dean’s waist. “Is this why you and Sam never use umbrellas?” He joked.

Dean laughed.

Cas rested his head on the crook of Dean’s neck and whispered. “You know you don't have to pretend.”

“Pretend what?” Dean asked softly.

“You know.”

“That I don’t like flavoured coffee?” He said with a snort.

“Sort of.” Cas hugged him tighter. “No one’s going to think any less of you Dean. You’re allowed to like the things you like.”

“I know.” He resigned.

“John isn't here anymore.”

“I know.”

“I love you.”

“I know.” The words barely came out as a whisper, hot tears betraying Dean’s eyes as they silently leaked out and ran down his cheeks.

He tried to wipe the tears away, hearing his Dad’s voice in his head and knowing he was being stupid.

Dean couldn't help but think of himself as a small, living-room window, from an old, dilapidated house. Stained yellow with age. Cracking from wear.

He let the drumming of his Dad’s words in his head be drowned out by Cas’s voice.

He couldn't unwrap the fuzz from around him, so he didn't know what Cas was saying, ears seemingly filled with cotton. It was just the knowledge alone that he was there. That he was holding him and whispering comforting words into his ear. That even as a human he could heal Dean at his lowest points, and still see him as the brightest, strongest, soul.

You don't really know what a picture is going to be until it's done.

Maybe that window is a beautiful stained-glass portrait.

“Uh.” Dean cleared his throat. “What-what do you have?” He indicated Cas’s coffee by angling his head towards where it sat on the nightstand.

“I made iced coffee.”

Dean just looked at him, astounded, eyes widening. “You mean it’s not hot?”

“Yes, that's where the ‘iced’ in ‘iced coffee’ comes from.” He said very seriously.

They both sat in silence for the next hour, peacefully drinking their coffee and enjoying the presence of one another.

---

When they got out of bed and ventured into the rest of the bunker, they found Sam and Eileen in the library.

They were sitting in adjacent chairs, with Eileen laying her head on Sam’s shoulder and reaching for her water bottle on the table. They were reading a book together, but Eileen shook Sam indicating she had seen them walk in.

“Goodmorning.” She greeted cheerfully.

“Mornin’.” Dean pulled up a chair across from them, and watched as Cas did the same.

“What are you two reading?” Cas asked.

“The Men of Letters’s Bestiary.” Sam said.

Dean snorted. “Ah. Doing a little light reading are we?”

“We're thinking about filling in some of the pages.” Eileen added.

“Yeah, for all of the stuff they have here, it's surprisingly empty.” Sam continued flipping through some of the pages, most of which were blank.

“Heh. I should put you in that thing, Cas.”

Cas let out a laugh. “Right. Because I’m a good example of an angel.” The sarcasm was masking something else in his voice.

“If it makes you feel any better, you’ve always been my favourite angel.” Dean only realised how sappy he sounded after it came out of his mouth.

“Yeah, I’ve heard the rest of them are dicks.” Eileen added.

Cas smiled at that, seemingly back to normal.

“Right, well you three can do that, I'm off to the Dean Cave.”

“Or…” Sam started.

“We could go back to Starbucks.” Cas finished, nodding his head enthusiastically.

“Yeah... that's not where I was going with that, but I like where your head’s at, Cas. We should definitely go back.”

“Eileen?” He asked.

“Hell yeah.”

“Dean?”

Dean pressed his mouth into a thin line and glared at him. “Yes, sure, fine. But we're not making this a daily thing.”

“That's fair.” Cas agreed. “It's probably not very healthy.”

He went to grab his wallet and keys before Sam could start his speech on the nutritional value of green things, and Eileen snatched her water bottle off the library table as they all got up to leave.

---

Dean gave up on letting them choose the music after snickering and requesting “Friday” by Rebecca Black for the third time in a row.

(It wasn't even Friday?)

---

Dean stepped out and closed Baby’s door in the parking lot of Starbucks an hour later, kicking the loose pieces of gravel on the asphalt for the third time in two days.

“We might as well just live here.” He said, tone dripping with sarcasm.

“I wouldn't make that offer if I were you, Cas looks like he’d be totally on board.” Sam laughed.

Cas went and stood beside Dean as they started walking towards the building, smiling.

“What?” Dean asked, question genuine and free of all malice.

“Nothing.” Cas answered, smile not faltering.

His eyes revealed nothing but pure devotion for the man he was staring at. A silent promise, one without pressure, that he would be standing there, and Dean could take the leap anytime he wanted.

Dean was slowly inching towards the end of the diving board.

---

“I think I'll just drink my water.”

“Oh that's exciting.” Sam joked. “If I got you a lemon to go with it, would you be able to handle that?”

“Don't talk to me about my drink, when yours is a vivid green puke colour.”

“Hey, at least it actually has a colour. And a flavour at that.”

Dean couldn’t believe those words were coming from the same man who drinks exactly a hundred and one ounces of water a day. (Which, according to Sam, is the recommended amount for males, as stated by the Institute of Medicine.)

(Dean didn’t care.)

“Fine then.” She turned to look at Dean. “Get me the strongest thing on the menu.”

Dean laughed before turning to Cas. “Let's just go get in line before we suffer at the hands of the Leahy like Sam.”

Sam and Eileen went to look for a place where they could all sit again, playfully bickering the entire way.

While he was standing in line with Cas, Dean looked over at his brother, and found him and Eileen sitting at a small table in the corner.

Cas was still helping him learn ASL, so he caught parts of their conversation.

“If Jack is in every drop of rain, do you think he's in your water?” Sam signed, trying to contain his laughter.

Eileen pushed her water away with a look of disgust. “You’re lucky I love you.” She answered back.

“I know I am.”

He watched her silently laugh before turning back to look at Cas.

They really did have it good, didn't they?

“What are you ordering, Dean?”

Dean stood there silently, contemplating. He internally weighed his pros and cons, mind leaving the menu entirely. While there was still a lot of shit he had to work through, (shit he had been actively not working out his entire life), there wasn’t much of a decision to be made.

He would always choose Cas.

“You know what?” He reached out and grasped Cas’s hand firmly. “I was thinking about being less boring. What ingredients do you suggest I try?”

Cas smiled warmly, reaching the crinkled corners of his eyes. “They have a cinnamon flavoured one. That’ll be almost like apple pie.”

“Will it really?” Dean’s tone was dismissive, but there was a smile on his face.

“Yes, Sam told me.“

“Not that I trust Sam’s judgment, but okay, I think I’ll take one of those.”

“I'm going to have a real pumpkin spice latte this time.” Cas seemed very pleased with the aspect of buying something they could make it home, but Dean wasn't going to fault him for it.

The patron in front of them finished ordering, clearing the way for Cas and Dean. The barista from the first time they went caught sight of them and made a face. “Wait a minute. I think I know you two.”

“Yes, we came here yesterday.” Cas helped. “Well, we actually visited twice, but you weren't working the second time.”

“Right... John and John, how could I forget?”

“This time we're ordering for four though.”

“I would like a…” Dean squinted at the menu, looking for the cinnamon flavoured coffee. “‘Cinnamon Dolce Latte.’ And my devilishly handsome friend here will take the pumpkin spice version.”

“And what are the other two drinks and names?”

Dean whispered something in Cas’s ear. “I'll drink the coffee, but I won't budge on this one.”

“That's okay Dean, you’ll get there eventually.” He whispered back.

The barista looked unimpressed with them. Again.

Dean cleared his throat. “Ahem, sorry. The tall one with the stupidly long hair,” he pointed towards Sam, “is getting…” he trailed off before looking to Cas for help.

“I don't know, man. It was something sickly looking. Cold? Green? Possibly tea?”

“And Iced Green Tea Latte?” The barista suggested.

“That's the one. His name is Jimmy.”

“And the lovely lady sitting next to him would like the strongest drink you have. Her name is Robert.”

“Her name is Robert…?” He slowly pointed towards Eileen, sounding unsure of himself.

Or them.

“Yup.” Cas said.

Eileen gave a little wave from across the room.

He gritted his teeth in a very clearly fake smile. “Coming right up.”

They paid for their coffee and picked it up, taking the travel cups across the room and towards Sam and Eileen.

Cas took a sip from his pumpkin spice latte, gleefully smiling. “As much as I like trying different drinks, I think I might start just getting this one. It's my favourite.”

Sam leaned over to Dean, neither one taking their eyes off of Cas. “Should we tell him the drink is seasonal?” He glanced at Sam, before staring back at his partner, whose face was beaming like a literal ray of sunshine.

Dean’s face softened. “Nah. Let’s not ruin his moment.” He took a sip of his cinnamon coffee and damn, it was delicious.

Nothing at all like apple pie, but still delicious.

Cas walked over to him, making eye contact in a silent question. Dean nodded with a small smile, and Cas took his hand.

“I love you.” Cas whispered.

“I love you too.” He whispered back.

They didn’t whisper to hide, and it wasn't because he was ashamed. It was because that exchange was just for them.

Dean leaned in and softly kissed Cas.

Now that was to tell everyone in the shop that his devilishly handsome friend was spoken for.

Slowly, the sun would come out and shine through the stained-glass window, shadow portraying the picture of an angel.

And alright, fine, Dean could admit that he enjoyed the peppermint mocha.

He thought about it for a moment, before giving a light chuckle, realising something.

“What?” Cas asked, turning to look at him with a soft smile resting on his face.

“Nothing.” Dean whispered, squeezing Cas’s hand in his. He took a sip from his coffee, relishing in the warm and cozy flavour enrapturing his tongue.

He was only thinking that maybe, just maybe,

Cas had changed him too.

---

Bonus Epilogue:

Dean held the glass door open for the other three, and they all walked out onto the asphalt, laughing, and making their way towards Baby.

The street lamp overhead flickered, and all four of them froze.

“Did anyone happen to get the salted caramel macchiato?” Dean whispered.

---

-This fic on Ao3 (Kudos and comments would be greatly appreciated.)

-Writing Tag

-Ao3

-Request fics/drabbles/ficlets. (Please)

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talpup · 4 years

Text

Lost Song:11

Summary: The war between the Dragons and Griffons ended 233 years ago, and both races right along with it.

Or so it was believed. There are three individuals that will soon change that.

Kai is the last of the Dragons and he seeks to take what he sees as his rightful place and rule over all of Oblvi. Meanwhile, Shouta, the last Sphinx, wants nothing more than to do his job; keep the peace and and teach the young Fourth’s to hopefully avoid the mistakes of their ancestors. And Teris, a Foundling who is just trying to understand and survive in this strange new world that is supposedly her own.

All three have their own wants and desires, but Kai’s plans, Teris’ existence, and Shouta's past mean that none of them may get what they want.

This fic is rated explicit and has warnings of sex, violence, and other possible triggers. For a full list of story tags please check the fics AO3 (link to that at the top of my tumblrs homepage).

Earlier this week someone asked a great question about Nemuri and His Purple Highness' home trees. If you wanna see that question and answer go on over to my tumblrs homepage.

11.1

The next morning Teris entered the great room and plopped next to Hizashi on the sofa. Keenly aware of Shouta's presence, she avoided looking in the Sphinx's direction least their eyes meet.

Though the two had talked after His Purple Highness had left. They hadn’t talked about the Dryad King calling her halted words a confession of love. With luck Shouta had forgotten about it.

Teris bristled. The peach fuzz along her face turning into tiny downy quills at the memory of Shouta smelling of sex and Nemuri. Her fingers caressed over the bracelet he had given her. Catching herself she pulled her hand away and focused on Hizashi.

“How was your date?”

“Hmm?” Hizashi hummed, distracted by how Shouta and Teris refused to so much as look at each other this morning. Had they had another argument? What was he thinking? Of course they had another argument. Arguing was how they distracted the other from how they really felt.

It must be tiring, Hizashi thought. Lying to yourself about your true feelings. It was certainly tiring for him and he only had to live with the secondary effects. He should've stayed home. Teris had been upset last night. Distressed about something. And Shouta had apparently left her in rush without hearing a word she said. That didn’t sound like Shouta. Gruff as the Sphinx was, Hizashi couldn’t see Shouta ignoring and leaving like that. Not when Teris had clearly been worried about something.

Then again he had left. Hizashi's lips twitched in shame. He had known Teris had minimized her distress so he would go on his date. He could’ve canceled and stayed with her. Maybe then Shouta and Teris wouldn’t be pretending a whole section of the room didn’t exist simply to avoid looking at each other. He could've asked Oboro if they could’ve saved the Venti’s plans for another time, and hung out in Hizashi's Ilca dorm with Teris. Shouta and Oboro were friend's. With Oboro there maybe Shouta and Teris wouldn’t have argued at all.

“Your date. How was it?” Teris asked.

“Oh! It was amazing!” Hizashi instantly brightened. His guilt about leaving Teris, and whatever argument she and Shouta may have had falling away.

Shouta tuned out the Banshee-High Elf’s loud, excited chatter. He had other things to focus on.

“You! You’re what’s wrong.“ Teris’ words from last night replayed in Shouta’s mind. “You with your face and hair and way you move. That voice that makes me—“ Shouta frowned slightly, eyebrows pulling together. What about his face? What did his voice make her-- He shook his head in annoyance. That wasn’t what he needed to focus on. This afternoon was the gathering to honor the visiting Council Elders. Of course Teris was expected to be there. The Council might’ve said they sent a contingent to meet the two Foundling’s. But with Hizashi's species already known before word of the visit was sent, Shouta knew they were here to meet Teris.

More like inspect her to try and suss out what she was and how she ended up in the human realm of earth, Shouta thought darkly. He had been through such interviews and inspections shortly after His Purple Highness had found and released the stoning spell on him. He didn’t like the thought of Teris being subject to the same. At least his inspection had been done by His Purple Highness. The ordeal quick. With Shouta allowed to keep his underclothes on. Depending on who carried out Teris’ inspection, she might not be so lucky.

Hizashi stopped the detailed recounting of his date. “You alright there, Shou?”

Shouta straightened in his seat. He hadn’t realized he’d been growling. He cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair, smoothing down the heckles on his neck that had risen. “Fine.”

Teris looked at Shouta out of the corner of her eye. Shouta did the same, looking at Teris. Their eyes met and quickly flicked away from each other as if stung.

Hizashi's slightly pointed ears lowered a fraction. Why were they always like this?

Shouta sighed and pushed to his feet. “There’s a couple hours till the gathering. Do what you want but be here and ready to leave ten minutes before.”

Hizashi deflated further. “I can’t go with Oboro?”

Shouta's eyebrows knitted together. “You’ll both be there. Why do you want to go with him?”

“Because--”

“Never mind.” Shouta cut in over Hizashi. He didn’t care enough to know. And wasn’t in the mood for one of Hizashi's long winded answers. The main reason for the order was to keep Teris close. The bracelet seemed to have worked. But Shouta was still concerned about His Purple Highness’ curious reaction to Teris. “Just be here tens minutes before.”

“Shouta.” Teris got up and followed after him. As much as she wanted to avoid the Sphinx after last night. She hadn’t told him about the disturbing encounter with the winged man.

Shouta turned eyebrows raised in question. Damn, she was beautiful.

Teris paused, pierced by those bottomless dark eyes. Why did he have to be so devastatingly handsome?

She fiddled with the bracelet on her right wrist.

Shouta's eyes lowered, watching her fingers caress the bracelets braiding. His skin prickled, scalp tingling. He wondered what it would feel like if she ran her fingers through his hair.

Teris’ eyes followed his. Her hand jerked away from the bracelet and rubbed along her pant leg as if burned.

“I need you.” She said.

Shouta’s heart fluttered and skipped a beat.

Hizashi slapped a hand over his mouth. He literally bounced in his seat trying and failing to silence his squeal.

Teris closed her eyes and shook her head. “I mean. I need to talk to you.”

Shouta smirked at her blushed. She really was cute when flustered. He almost told her he was always up for whatever she needed; but didn’t. He hadn’t been up to staying and listening to whatever she needed yesterday. And Teris was the sort of contrary person who’d point that out.

Instead Shouta turned and headed toward his office. Teris followed.

Once inside she told Shouta about the winged man. Though clearly displeased about the kiss, Shouta had seemed more concerned about the Fourth himself.

“Who is he?” Teris asked. She hadn’t met everyone at Traverseen Hall and hoped he didn’t work here.

Shouta leaned back, gripping the the front of his desk and silently cursed. He knew he should've given Teris the bracelet yesterday morning. Why had he waited? Even if Hawks hadn’t gotten a good enough whiff of Teris’ hereditary scent to notice it now being muddled by the bracelet. Hawks’ sharp eyes would’ve seen Teris hadn’t been wearing the bracelet before. He would know it was new and wonder at it.

“His name is Hawks. He works for the Council.” Shouta told.

Teris relaxed back in her seat, relieved. “So he’ll be leaving when they do?”

Shouta didn’t answer. While he hoped Hawks would leave when the members of the Council did. He had a dreaded feeling the Anzu would stick around.

“Shouta?” Teris pressed.

“I’ll speak with Nedzu. Until then… Stay by my side during the gathering.”

Teris bristled. “I can take care of myself.”

Shouta rubbed tired eyes. “Teris… This has nothing to do with that.”

“So Hizashi has to stay by your side too?” Teris asked.

“You’re the one who came to me uncomfortable about this.” Shouta grimaced as soon as the words were out. If he was to properly protect Teris, he needed her to come to him. Striking against her Griffon pride would only make her close up.

Teris glowered. It didn’t matter if Shouta had a point. She didn’t need him. She didn’t need anyone. She had been taking care of herself for as long as she could remember. Sure that had been in earth against humans. But a few months before she was brought here there had been that scarred man with the blue flames…

Her heart beat faster at the memory. Who had the man been? What had he wanted? Surely he had been a Fourth. Had he passed through the realms like the Derrick had with her? Was he now in Oblvi? What if she saw him again? Teris’ mouth opened to tell Shouta about the man she had escaped from but stopped. Shouta had said the Council would want to interview her.

She looked up at him. “Will you be there?”

Shouta’s head tilled aware she had changed the subject but not sure what to.

Teris moved in her seat, knee brushing Shouta’s pant leg. Why was he standing so close? He’s just standing in front of the desk, she told herself. It’s still too close, she thought. Had the chairs in the office always been this close to the desk? Shouta’s presence alone made it difficult to focus. But when he was this near… Teris fidgeted, resisting the urge to push the chair back. The prideful beast within her wouldn’t allow sign of weakness or submission.

“Teris?”

Shouta’s low baritone warmed her blood and quickened her pulse. Why did he have to sound like that? She wished he didn’t know her name. Wished he’d say her name again. Wished… “At the Council's interview? Will you be there? Will they ask you questions too?”

“I’ll be in the room for the interview.” Shouta said, both wanting to be in the room for her inspection and glad he wouldn’t be. “They’ll probably ask me a few questions.”

Teris nodded. Then she definitely didn’t want to tell Shouta about being held captive or the things the scarred man had said. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him. But she’d rather not make Shouta a conspirator in her lies to the Council.

“You have nothing to worry about.” Shouta said.

Teris smiled sadly wishing that were true. But if what the scarred man said was right. She had a great many things to worry about.

Shouta wanted to go on. Wanted to tell her that he would protect her no matter what. That he would rather die than see any harm come to her.

“Keep the bracelet on. Don’t ever take it off.”

Shouta's low stern voice sent a shiver through her. Teris’ hand moved to the bracelet on her right wrist.

Between the topic, her thoughts, and the coming interview with the Council; things had gotten far too dark and serious. Without Hizashi there, Teris was left to try and lighten the mood least she break under the tension. “Is this to be my Piece of Their Person? I thought Fourth's were meant to chose their own piece.”

Expression unchanging, Shouta’s eyes and voice sharpened. “I mean it, Teris. Don’t let anyone take it off you unless I’m there.”

“Why did you give it to me? What does it do?”

Shouta's fingers twitched wanting to caress her face. “It protects you.”

Teris looked down at the shining charcoal bracelet. Disappointment crept into her heart. So it hadn’t been gift.

Shouta gave into his need to touch her. His first finger brushed the line of her jaw and curled under her chin, lifting her face to look at him. “Promise me, Teris.”

“I promise.”

11.2

Even after three months of living at Traverseen Hall the place still amazed Hizashi. Dwarf magic or no, it was mind boggling how such an unending colossal interior could fit within the still massively large exterior of the campus. Grand as Traverseen Hall was from the outside. There was no way the mind could reconcile even a portion of the space they were walking through to be from the same building. The proportions just didn’t line up. Even with the perspective change that Hizashi still had trouble controlling and gave him headaches. He still couldn’t fathom how such a gargantuan space fit in the castle like, though human-sized structure.

Hizashi looked about in awe, seeing the full scale of the space as it would appear if everyone were in their true form. “This place is even bigger than all the other buildings.”

“Keep up.” Shouta admonished, leading the way down the long hall.

Hizashi sped his pace but didn’t stop gawking. Mouth slightly open, he looked up at the hallways gilded coffer ceiling. He had seen Shouta in his true form. The Sphinx was huge. But even Shouta in his true form would be dwarfed by the space. The ceiling had to be three-story’s taller than the Sphinx's true form. And the width. Even if Shouta were to spread his wings to their full extent there would still be enough room for at least a couple stadiums on each end. The windows themselves were the height and width of a multi-level building. Starting six meters off the floor Hizashi couldn’t even see out them.

Hizashi's different focus of perspective didn’t mean he just saw the space differently. It meant he existed in it differently. Even though he was walking at the same pace as Shouta and Teris, Hizashi was left a hundred paces behind for every step they took. For Shouta and Teris who were focused on the more human scale perspective Hizashi's steps were mere shuffles that left him ten paces behind for every one of theirs.

Suddenly the distant Shouta was in front of him as if out of nowhere. “I told you to keep up.”

Hizashi sucked in a startled breath. His eyes changed focus, switching perspectives. The hallway shrunk down like a snapped rubber-band. He saw Teris several steps ahead, frowning at Shouta for his scolding.

Hizashi swallowed a wave of nausea the change in perspective always brought on and licked his lips. “Sorry.”

“I don’t want to be here either.” Shouta said, mistaking Hizashi’s dawdling as reluctance. “But we have to. So let’s go and get it over with.”

Hizashi opened his mouth to correct the misunderstanding but Shouta had already turned, walking back to Teris. Hizashi's eyes flicked about the still large space. Though cramped, Shouta would still be able to fit in his true form. At least he could now see out the overly large windows.

“Hizashi!” Shouta called.

“Right! Sorry!” Hizashi rushed after Shouta and Teris.

Teris entered the grand room and abruptly stopped. Her eyes instantly fixed on the winged man across the room. Hawks, Shouta had called him. Her senses hyper focused. Vision sharpening to clearly count the barbs of his crimson feathers. Ears tuning in to hear the rustle of his wings. She registered Shouta's presence behind her before she felt the tickle of his hair on her bare shoulder. Her nerves so alert, muscles so reactive that his hot breath felt more like a physical touch as it rolled over her neck.

Shouta looked at Teris and followed her gaze. Hawk’s gold eyes slowly turned. Before the Anzu’s gaze could lock on Teris, Shouta stepped in front and faced her. The tension in his shoulders eased. Relief washed over him. Agitation and concentration could trigger a Fourth's heightened senses and led to mild displays of their true form. But Teris’ features hadn’t sharpened. Her beautiful face the same as it ever was.

“You alright?” Shouta asked.

With Shouta blocking the view Teris’ focus broke. Her heightened senses diminished. Blinking, she looked up at him. “What?”

“Are you alright?” Shouta asked, again.

Teris nodded.

“Just stay by me.” Shouta told.

Teris scowled. “I told you. I can take care of myself.”

“It’s an order.” Shouta said without expression.

Hizashi caught up to them and stopped beside Teris. He looked between the two. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” Shouta said.

“Why doesn’t Hizashi have to stay by you?” Teris asked, tersely.

Hizashi brightened. “Shouta wants to keep you by him?”

“It’s not like that.” Shouta said.

“He thinks I can’t take care of myself.” Teris said.

“That’s not it either.” Shouta told, a bite in his tone.

Hizashi rolled and massaged his neck. He liked to think himself a patient person. But he was this close to yelling at the two to just fuck already. He and Oboro had. While they hadn’t bickered like Shouta and Teris, the release had gone a long way in helping rid Hizashi of his nervousness around Oboro.

“I’m gonna go find Oboro.” Hizashi said.

Shouta glanced at Hizashi. It was less than a second but when he looked back at Teris she had turned and was slowly inching away. Shouta’s jaw tightened, eyes narrowing. He must be cursed. Why else would the Fates send such a woman to test and torment him? There was no logical reason why Teris continually turned the simplest things like an order to stay by his side into an ordeal other than to purposefully provoke.

Even if the command hadn’t been important to her safety. Shouta wasn’t in the mood to suffer her petty challenge.

Grabbing her arm Shouta’s chest pressed against Teris’ back nudging her through the door they’d just entered. As soon as they crossed the threshold he pulled her to the side and spun her around, pushing her back against the wall.

Teris’ mind whirled from being so quickly moved about. She made to step forward and away. But Shouta gripped her hip, holding her in place. Her head turned eyeing the open doorway just a pace away along the same wall she was up against. But any chance of escape was blocked by Shouta’s strong arm.

His hand rested on the wall just above her shoulder, caging her in. Shouta leaned down and gruffly spoke in her ear. “You either follow my command without test or complaint. Or I use my piece to tie you to me.”

Eyes ablaze Teris’ head snapped to face him. “You--” Her voice faltered seeing how close he was. She stared into his dark eyes heated indignance evaporating from hers. Her gaze lowered to the capture weapon he threatened to tie her with then pulled back up and stopped on his lips, no more than a few inches from hers.

Shouta’s eyes took on a different kind of fire. He smirked. Lips parted, tongue pushing out to wet and pull his lower lip in, giving her a view of the tantalizing muscle. Top teeth scrapped over his bottom lip. He watched her pupils dilate. Heard her breath hitch. Felt her shift as her core clenched and thighs squeezed together.

His thumb rubbed against her hip. Fingers digging into her flesh. “You like the thought of that?”

Teris’ eyes darted back up to his.

Shouta’s voice purposefully lowered in pitch and volume. “If you wanted me to tie you up. All you had do is ask. No need to act the brat. Unless you like being disciplined.”

Teris’ eyes widened.

Shouta's body crowded over hers. “Is that why you keep testing me, Kitten? Want me to tie you up and punish you?”

Teris’ hips danced under Shouta's hand. A warmth pooled in her core. She shook her head, cursing the betraying mewl she gave.

Shouta's cock stirred at the sweet sound.

“Tha—that—that’s not...”

“Look at you. Struggling to find words when I haven’t even touched you where you need me.” Shouta taunted. His eyes pulled over her body leaving tingling goose flesh in their wake.

Teris drew in a hitching breath, heaving chest drawing Shouta’s desirous gaze. “I—I...”

“You what, Kitten? Use that pretty voice and tell me. What do you want? ” Shouta’s knee brushed her legs grazing the channel between.

Teris trembled. Her muscles jerked legs eager and ready to part. Body begging for him to press his knee between her thighs and grind against her core. Her hands fidgeted at her side fighting the need to touch him.

Shouta's head dipped bringing his lips no more than a couple fingers width from hers. “You said you needed me this morning. Is talking all you wanted? Tell me, Teris. What do you really need of me?”

“I…”

“You.” Shouta whispered. He breathed deeply, pupils dilating at the enticing whiff of arousal that seeped from her heated pussy. His mouth watered imagining the taste. A hungry growl reverberated in his chest.

Battle lost Teris’ hands lifted. Shouta inched closer.

“Aizawa.”

Shouta silenced a second more dangerous growl. Hands dropping from Teris and the wall, Shouta straightened and turned to the newcomer. “Chisaki.”

Bottomless dark eyes met molten gold. The Dragon and Sphinx stared each other down, unblinking.

“Kai.” Teris greeted, disappointed and relieved at the interruption.

Kai’s amber eyes shifted from Shouta to Teris. His fingers itched wanting to reach out and pull her from the Sphinx and to his side where she belonged. He sniffed smelling her arousal through the nose dulling mix of numerous Fourth's in the room beyond. While part of him knew better. He told himself it was his presence that had her body reacting in want.

“Teris. Good afternoon.”

Standing beside the Dragon, Ryuu heard the clear softening in Kai’s tone as he said Teris’ name in greeting. Less obvious but far more telling was the barest upturn of Kai’s lips when his eyes focused on her.

“Are you alright?” Kai asked.

“Why wouldn’t she be?” Shouta rumbled.

Kai spared the Sphinx a glance and looked back at Teris, seeing the bracelet he had missed at first sight. “Some Ilca leaders are known to be harsh and demanding of their members.”

“You should talk.” Shouta said.

“I’m fine.” Teris said, smiling her thanks. With as rude as Shouta was, was it any wonder why someone as genteel as Kai would worry about her?

Shouta’s chin ducked, frowning into his piece. Kai might have Teris and countless others fooled but one day the Dragons mask would slip.

“Elder Ryuu.” Shouta opened his mouth to introduce Teris to the Council member but was cut short.

“Interesting.” Ryuu stepped to Teris. His nose flared taking in her scent.

Teris stood her ground despite the urge to shrink back. She looked nervously at Shouta.

Shouta stared at Ryuu, eyes darkening. As flamboyant, lascivious, and loud as His Purple Highness was. At least his mentor had the civility to first introduce himself. This wasn’t Teris’ interview or inspection. She was a proud and beautiful Fourth. Not some thing to be examined on sight.

Kai’s eyes sharpened. He didn’t like the way Shouta was looking at his mentor. Nor did he like that Teris had looked to the Sphinx instead of him for direction. Aizawa was useless. Proven by the way Shouta stood silently by and glowered at Ryuu instead of offering Teris a nod of assurance and comfort. Teris had nothing to fear. His mentor was merely appraising her. Ryuu would surely come to the same conclusion he had. That Teris was flawless.

Ryuu looked Teris over with a critical eye. “Clearly a pure blood beast of some kind given the perfect human form.”

Kai hummed in agreement. Preening as if the Tengu had praised him personally. Ryuu might’ve been speaking of how Teris’ human form didn’t carry over any traits of her true form the way Hybrids did. But Kai also viewed the comment as speaking of Teris’ form in general. Not simply because she looked completely human. But because her features and proportions were perfect.

Catching himself, Ryuu apologized. “Forgive me, my dear. My curiosity got ahead of me there.”

“As it is known to do.” His Purple Highness said from the doorway.

Standing beside the Dryad King, Nemuri smiled at Teris.

Teris looked pointedly away. Her nose wrinkled with a sniff, remembering the stinging smell of sex and Nemuri on Shouta.

Seeing the exchange, His Purple Highness placed a comforting hand on Nemuri's shoulder. He had yet to talk to the young Dryad, and fully intended to do something that would help Shouta and Teris’ relationship along.

Ryuu chuckled at the Dryad King’s words. “Say’s the man who followed his senses and found a young Sphinx, unspelling him without first bringing it to the Council.”

Shouta, who had been returning Kai’s unblinking stare, looked to Ryuu. He had no doubt that if His Purple Highness had brought his stoned spelled body to the Council they would’ve smashed him to pieces.

“It’s not as if I found a Dragon egg and secretly saw it hatched before making the Council aware.” His Purple Highness said.

Kai’s molten gaze fixed on the Dryad King. He didn’t like the Tree Spirits tone. Never mind that the man was talking about him as if he wasn’t there.

“True.” Ryuu said. He turned to Teris and apologized once more. “Forgive us, my dear. You must think us terribly rude. I am Ryuu. An Elder on the Council and Leader of the Tengu’s. And this is--”

His Purple Highness waved Ryuu off. “Teris and I are acquainted. We met last night after an unfortunate interruption on my part.”

Shouta looked from His Purple Highness to Teris. The Dryad King thought that Teris had been about to give some confession of love. But Shouta knew better. His Purple Highness didn’t know how much Teris hated him. She didn’t love him. Which suited Shouta just fine because he didn’t love her either.

Teris stole a glance at Kai. Even though she meant what she said about keeping things solely as release. She’d rather not have His Purple Highness bring up last nights near confession to Shouta. She shook her head and corrected, what His Purple Highness mistakenly thought was a confession.

She smiled at Kai’s mentor. “It’s nice to meet. Kai’s told me of you.”

“Has he now?” Ryuu looked over at Kai who was watching Teris. He saw an imperceptible softness in the Dragons features that likely only he could see, having raised him.

Remembering what His Purple Highness had said when he thought Shouta had told her about him, Teris quickly added. “It’s all been very respectable.”

“Of that I’m sure. Kai is nothing if not respectable.” Ryuu said

Shouta scoffed.

All eyes turned to him.

“Shouta.” His Purple Highness lightly scolded. “There’s nothing wrong with being respectable. No doubt your friends and colleagues say the same about you.”

Kai did much better job of managing his disbelief. He met Shouta’s gaze with an expression of studied politeness.

“Why some of the wildest release sessions I’ve had happened with respectable Fourth's finally letting their hair down.” The Dryad King went on.

Nemuri nodded in agreement. While Shouta ducked into his capture weapon grateful for his long hair. He wasn’t embarrassed by the scolding. But wished his mentor could go five minutes without bringing up sex. Or at the very least, personal escapades of release.

Accustomed to the Dryad King’s ways Ryuu moved the conversation along telling Teris. “Well I for one am looking forward to hearing a bit about you during our dinner this evening.”

“Dinner this evening?” Teris repeated.

Kai would've rather told Teris about the dinner privately but didn’t miss a beat in saying. “You and Ryuu will be joining me for dinner tonight.”

Teris blinked. It wasn’t just that they had seen each other and had sex yesterday, and Kai hadn’t said a word of this. It was the way he said it. Her lips parted to say no simply because she didn’t like that he had decided for her. But Shouta spoke first.

“No.” The Sphinx said.

Kai’s eyes slid Shouta. “I didn’t invite you.”

You didn’t invite me either, Teris thought. You tried to tell me how it was.

“She’s not going.” Shouta said. It was bad enough Teris spent seven hours a day for five days out of the week with Kai. That she had sought release with him. Shouta wasn’t about to let her spend extra time with the Dragon who would kill her the moment he discovered she was a Griffon. Teris was his… Fuck! His Ilca. She was part of his Ilca. Why was it so hard to keep that single thought straight?

“You don’t own her.” Kai said, certain Shouta had given Teris the bracelet. The Sphinx was deathly wrong if he thought he could try and claim what was his.

She’s my Ilca, Shouta thought before saying the words aloud, wanting to get them right. “She my Ilca.”

“So this is another command of yours?” Teris questioned, heatedly.

His Purple Highness and Ryuu shared a knowing look.

“I think we should leave the young ones to fight over… things.” His Purple Highness told the fellow Elder.

“I believe you’re right.” Ryuu said. He inclined his head to Teris. “It was nice meeting you, my dear. I hope this afternoons interview isn’t the last we see of each other and you do join us for dinner.”

A look of disapproval crossed the Dryad King’s face. The point of leaving was so they wouldn’t say anything to sway Teris’ choice to their chosen favorite. Not that there was any doubt Shouta would win in the end. The Sphinx had been found with Teris’ feather.

“Nemuri.” His Purple Highness called, turning and re-entering the grand room.

As soon as she was left alone with Shouta and Kai, Teris told Shouta. “I’m going to Kai’s for dinner. He’s right. You don’t own me. What I do in my free time is my business.”

Fierce eyes fixed on Shouta, Teris didn’t see Kai’s smug look. But Shouta did. He saw the Dragon’s gold eyes rake over Teris’ body and wondered how she didn’t feel the undressing gaze.

A warning growl sounded deep within Shouta's chest.

Thinking Shouta was growling at her, Teris growled back.

Shouta's eyes moved a fraction, focusing on Teris. His expression both softened and darkened at once. She had no idea the dangers she was entertaining in getting closer to Kai. And he was in no mood to suffer her bratty, too proud attitude.

“Get inside.” Shouta snapped without emotion, hand gripping his capture weapon.

Teris’ eyes widened, remembering Shouta’s threat. Kai’s smug look vanished at how quickly Teris obeyed.

Shouta met the Dragons glare but felt little pleasure at it given the coming interview and inspection Teris would soon face. Never mind that she would now be spending the evening with Kai.

This fic will have a LOT more world building than my others. Please feel free to comment or send me an ask if you have any questions.

Thank you to those who have left hearts. And a special thank you to those who have left comments and/or reblogged. They really mean a lot.

Special thank you to @inorganicone2230 who knows of my love for the mythic and encouraged me to start this fic without stressing about the other two I’ve got going. Your friendship means the world to me.

#aizawa shouta #kai chisaki #yamada hizashi #nemuri kayama #His Purple Highness #lost song

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prodigyofthesky · 6 years

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Empty Hearts Band Together

Summary: Virgil is in the midst of a panic attack but Patton and Roman are preoccupied; so that leaves Logan.

Word Count: 1080 words

Warnings: anxiety/panic attacks

Bonus Warning: This is my first time posting fanfiction to Tumblr and I have no clue if I’m doing it right. PLease help me :)

When Logan wasn't logicing the crap out of someone he could usually be found in his part of the mind palace or his room. It was a space of learning. His room was made of books, technology of various types, fitted with a calming atmosphere that, as Logan saw it, was the best environment to learn things in. No noises, no distractions, no bad Patton punch-lines just a steady, calm room that encouraged those within it to expand upon their pre-existing knowledge of the world. It suited the embodiment of Thomas' logic perfectly. He felt most...at peace in this part of the palace. That is until his dreaded enemy feelings came in and ruined everything. Well maybe ruined wasn't the right word but still, it certainly wasn't peaceful anymore. The feelings were actually very non-peaceful edging more on dark and negative just like the person who brought them in with him Anxiety, or Virgil as Logan had recently learned his name was. Logan looks up from his book just in time to see Virgil rise up into Logic's room, stalking over to the couch, grab a pillow, slump onto the couch beside Logan and scream loudly into it. Logan finds himself raising a brow at this. He wouldn't tag it as out of character for the embodiment of anxiety to scream into a pillow, what he did tag as out of character for Anxiety was too do it in Logan's room. Logan skims the next few pages as he waits for Virgil to calm down enough to properly explain his actions. It takes a couple more screams of varying length and intensity for Logan to attempt to hazard a question as to what Virgil's intentions were. "Are you alright?" Logan asks calmly. He gets a head shake of no in response. "Do you plan on screaming repetitively for an undisclosed period of time?" A sloppy shoulder shrug is his response. Virgil was more or less just hugging the pillow now. The pair sits in silence for a little while longer as Logan tries to figure out the best way to ask the question he really wanted to ask. A couple long silences more and a soft sigh escapes from Logan's lips. "Forgive me if I'm not the biggest help to you right now." He says. Another sloppy shoulder shrug. "Shouldn't you be with Patton he is a much better emotional anchor for you then I am or could possibly try to be," Logan asks finally. That got a response. A doe-eyed stare from the slumped over side. Without answering further Virgil buried his head in the pillow again. Logan wasn't sure how to interpret that. And now the silence was back, thicker and more emotionally charged this time. Logan did not like it. "I'm sorry did I misspeak?" The logical side tries again. More furious head shaking. Logic did not like not having the answers to a problem. He adjusts his glasses thoughtfully gazing off as he tries to deduce the answer to his conundrum. "Would you entertain the suggestion of telling me what's wrong?" Virgil looks up at the logical side looking wary but thoughtful. His eye shadow was smeared creating black tentacle blobs to layer the anxious side's cheeks. The two locked eyes and stared at each other for a period of time. Logan is curious. Virgil is weary. "Idonwanbeaburder." Logan feels himself arch a brow. "I'm.....afraid I didn't quite catch that," Logan responds cautiously. There's a loud dramatic sigh from Virgil as he raises his mouth from the pillow, keeping his head carefully lowered and his bangs framing his eyes as he usually did. "I don't want to be a burden." Logan thought moving the pillow away would have been an approvement but Virgil talked so quietly it was still hard to hear exactly what he was saying. "A burden?" The logical side responds not sure he's heard right. Apparently, he has, in fact, heard right because Virgil gives a pitiful head nod in response. Logan shakes his head. "I think you're overthinking things once more. Patton would be all too happy to aid you in your times of need." Logan replies confidentially. Virgil gives a side glance at his fellow side weighing the truth of Logan's words in his mind. He concludes his session with another defeated sigh. "I don't want to bother him. He's adventuring with Roman right now." Virgil explains. Logan hums in thought his brows furrowing as he finds the best possible way to attack this problem. But Virgil didn't want to hear it. "Look, I know you're the logical side and all but I really don't feel like trying to work through my anxiety with logic right now." Virgil shifts uncomfortably hugging his stolen pillow. "I just- I just kind of was wondering- if you'd just let me chill here for a little while. I won't talk, I won't bother you, you can still read or work or whatever, I'll just sit here and listen to music. I just-" Logan doesn't catch the rest it was way too muffled and quiet to properly pick up. The logical side glances over at the anxious side curiously raising both his eyebrows, silently communicating the fact that he had not caught all of his statement. Virgil managed to read the expression a talent he was only now discovering that he seemed to have a knack for especially with Logan. Another sigh as Virgil places his chin on top of the pillow resting the weight of his head against the weight of the pillow for support. "I just- you're room is like, the only one that doesn't give me anxiety. It's.....nice....it's calming." Logan smiles thinly but knowingly. "Did you know that a neat, well-kept environment can be very soothing and beneficial for individuals with anxiety?" Virgil's eyes widen a little bit. He did not know that. Logan smilies cooly at the expression, looking like such a know it all it almost bothered Virgil. But he was using his knowledge to help him out so Virgil kept his mouth shut this time. Sensing Logan wants to hear it out loud Virgil shakes his head no stating the truth that he did not know that. Logan seems as usual proud of his knowledge as he returns to his book at long last. "If staying here will ease your anxiety, then feel free to stay as long as you need."

#analogical #logan sanders #virgil sanders #sanders sides #sander sides fanfiction #platonic

39 notes · View notes

initiare · 6 years

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BASICS:

Name: Manon, but I’ve gone by the alias of Sae on the internet since I was about 12 or 13. It’s really stuck and caught on so much over the years that it’s as commonly used as Manon is, if not more (both online and offline). Age: 29. Pronouns: She/her. Sexuality: Hetero. Zodiac sign: Cancer. Taken or single: Single.

Four Things About This Blog:

1. Still unsure of how this worked exactly, but I’d decided to make a blog for Jace before I’d ever read (or seen) anything about him directly. A friend of mine had been in the fandom and I’d heard about him through her, enough that I’d peeked at a few basic bits on the wiki. And then one morning I woke up with this intense yet unexplainable urge to make him, this character that I knew next to nothing about. I read the first three books within a week and then I decided to launch him. I’ve never had a muse arise to the occasion quite in this manner, but then again, isn't this Jace we’re talking about? Nothing about him follows the status quo.

2. If I’d picked up the books without ever having heard anything about any character in specific prior to reading, I would’ve still likely found myself drawn to Jace’s character— but I would’ve made a blog for Valentine instead. They both appeal to me for different reasons, but ultimately, I’m very glad that I made Jace and I don’t regret not having made a blog for Valentine for a single instant.

3. I’m an exceedingly opinionated person with very set norms/values and they definitely make their appearance within my OOC posts, and they’re not always popular opinions ‘round these here Tumblr parts by any means. However, I don’t let them influence my perspective when it comes to writing for Jace (or any of my muses). Of course, I may recognize some or many aspects, but I make it an effort and personal challenge to look at everything from as many angles as I can as to obtain the widest picture of any character’s behavior or any situation.

4. Despite them not being in full view as they used to be, my tags have been described as being the ‘arteries’ of my blog(s) and I couldn't possibly agree more. If you don’t read them, you’re easily missing out on 80/90% of my meta’ing. My posts tend to have some coherency to them, some logic, but in my tags you find my incoherency and that’s my heart and my passion. That’s where I’m most alive.

Three Mun Facts:

1. I recognize that I’m incredibly headstrong and it’s both my gift and curse. While it’s gotten me in the occasional trouble because I realize that I’m being too stubborn a bit too late, there have been and are a lot of moments where I’ve used it to my advantage and I profit from it immensely in numerous ways. So while I could condemn it as a flaw, it very much hits the extremes on both ends of the spectrum.

2. I’ve got fire for a heart, I’m not scared of the dark; you’ve never seen it look so easy. Okay, so two days ago, I had a day of massive cleaning. This always goes hand in hand with music playing, I sing and dance (of which I can only successfully do the latter). Youtube went through related videos, it somehow got to One Direction. I used to unfairly hate them on principle because I heard them everywhere and everyone loved them; in the same light, Harry Styles was always the one I disliked the most because he was everyone’s favorite. Since that day, I’ve listened to their non-Zayn stuff a fair bit and it’s catchy, I guess I’m a very late fan. All good. Nobody can drag me doooowwwwn.

3. A lot of my thick skin stems from being able to properly put the right weight to people’s words. And I'm able to do that because I value’s people’s actions infinitely more than I do their words. It’s so very easy to say or type ‘yes’ or ‘no’, but if your actions don’t reflect your state of mind or your statements, then I lose respect. We’re all guilty of falling short of this every now and again, myself included; we’re all human after all, but once or twice doesn’t equal constantly.

EXPERIENCE:

How’d you start: Tumblr back in August of 2012 is when I started in the world of RP’ing. I made Tatia Petrova from TVD (I went by the url herbloodlacedtheirwine). I never really dabbled much into the world of writing before that, except little snippets in early high school as to practice and try to further my English. Platforms you’ve used: Tumblr. Best experience: While the TMI/TSC fandom definitely has its bad apples and I’ve been in fandoms where things were consistently calmer, I do find my best experience to have been here because of specific individuals I’ve met while here. However, my Tumblr experience has overall been really good since my Ezio blog. I had a field day writing him and people seemed to really appreciate my input on his character. Beyond that, his blog was also from which I released my themes and I’ll forever remember all the positive feedback I've gotten on them. Despite this site not easily showing it, there are a lot of people with a heart of gold out there. Worst experience: I’ve never exactly found myself in a really bad situation that I can refer to it as the ‘worst’, as I tend to nip things in the bud but I’m also someone who mentally catalogs things quickly, it’s how I deal with things. That and awarding stuff the weight it deserves and not a shred more— numerous things that I use to generally avoid things from getting very bad or affecting me more than I want them to.

MUSE PREFERENCES:

Original or canon: Canon every time. Favourite face: Jeffrey Dean Morgan, Jamie Campbell Bower, Toby Regbo. Least favorite face: Actors or actresses that play the main protagonists in usually a show, as they tend to become over-used FCs. Note: I have zero problem with these actresses or actors themselves, I just get tired of seeing everyone use them even outside of canon characters played by them. —To name a few examples in past and present: Nina Dobrev, Ian Somerhalder, Emilia Clarke, Katherine McNamara and Dominic Sherwood. Multi or single: Running a multi isn't something for me, but I don’t mind writing with them in whatsoever way. Kudos and respect to multi muse blogs for having the mind to be so organized, though. I couldn't do it.

WRITING PREFERENCES:

Plots or memes: Plots, although I enjoy responding to memes on Jace as crack and light type of threads so fit him quite well, they’re a nice change from the immense angst that can be done in threads. Best time to write: I used to think the night, but looking back at threads and timestamps; apparently some of my strongest writing was done in the afternoon or early evening. Problem is, I don’t always have time to write a lot during those times. An issue? Yes, yes it is. Do you like your muse(s): I rarely make new muses, when I do, there’s a reason. So yes. How long (months/years?): For my current blogs? Jace’s blog was created in November 2017. Francis was made... July 2017 and Ezio in May of 2016. I’ve made no other muses since Ezio and any before him have been permanently archived. Fluff, angst or smut: Angst/fluff, I’ve no interest in smut as it’s written on Tumblr.

Tagged by; @takeseffort tagging; @deusidvult (come on Shae, please make me feel less bad for writing so much by outdoing me), @beastmade, @leuthros, @audacatrix, @edomson, @snakedhand. Who else do I usually tag, uhm, @cainmarked, @xncertainty. Anyone else? Say I tagged you. <3

#⌈✧⌋ if i could play any character from the book. it'd be church. who wouldn't want to be a cat? [ ooc. ]#[ i need a tag for these things in specific honestly. imma do that rn. yet another thing to add to the tags notepad. ]#[ jace-- you're almost surpassing even ezio in tags. what is this. ]#[ no one surpasses ezio in tags. this isn't right. this is iMPOSSIBLE. ]

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flslp87 · 7 years

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The Promise

A Captain Swan AU

Killian and Emma, two people longing for love. Come along on their journey of True Love, filled with romance, passion, and challenges as they fight for their Happy Beginning in The Promise.

Special thanks to @duathadun @hellomommanerd @linda8084 @juliakaze

Can be found on Tumblr (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (18) (19) (20) (21) (22) (23) (24) (25) (26) (27) Christmas Eve Christmas Day

Can be found on FF (Rating changed to M) Can be found on AO3 (Rating will remain T to T+)

Chapter 1

Words ~ 5400 Story Rating ~ T++

August 2014

Killian Jones had been born on the right side of the tracks on a night when the stars were in perfect alignment. He lived a life having parents who were overjoyed by his birth because they had given up hope of having a second child, a brother who allowed him to tag along wherever he went, and friends he loved and whom he could depend on whenever needed. He also had a solid head on his shoulders and grew up with such a thirst for all types of knowledge that he kept his mother busy taking him to and from the local library, where he would check out books on everything from ‘How to Grow the Best Orchids’ to ‘Making the Most of a Design’. Killian wasn't a one-dimensional child either, for he had inherited his mother's appreciation for beauty and could describe a painting as easily as he could recite poetry. From a very young age, he loved visiting all types of museums and asking questions of his parents and, eventually, of his teachers and their answers satisfied him for a time. But as he grew, while he continued to strive to learn and understand the world around him, he always felt that there was more out there. A part of him that was always searching for that elusive something that he knew was out there; but what or whom it was, the search continued.

As a young boy, his parents had been inseparable, and their love and affection for each other and for their children was apparent to anyone they were around. There was a sense of the Jones family against the world and, in a way, it had always been that way, as Katherine's parents never warmed up to the boy from the wrong side of London, whisking their daughter away from the society where they thought she belonged. Even after Brennan had made his way as a successful banker throughout Europe, a distance still existed, and for that reason their small family remained isolated, spending their summers together picnicking, boating and playing football, and skiing, skating and visiting museums in the winter.

Since learning had always come easily to Killian, he had high marks and found his way into the Imperial College London to study engineering at the young age of eighteen. Moving away from home and into dormitory life, where he met his best mate Robin Locksley, gave him a freedom that he had never known, and much to his mother and father's consternation, he had ended up on academic probation after the first year. A stern lecture by his father and the threat of being forced to join his brother in the Royal Navy seemed to be just the motivation he required for not only his status within the program but also his behavior in general. During his second and third year, his standing improved, earning him top awards. But then tragedy struck, taking both parents in one fell swoop and he had spiraled down, no longer caring about himself or anyone else, and wishing the person responsible for his parents' death hadn't died with them so he could extract his own revenge. Only well-placed guilt from Liam had pushed him to complete his final year and graduate.

Once it was official and he was an engineer, he found it brought him no joy and he had set off to find himself. Thankfully, his fairly level-headed mate, Robin, had followed and managed to keep them both from causing too much damage. Then one night they sat around after too much rum and too little sleep listening to music when a classic rock song came on and both started singing. For the next several years, they wound their way through Europe, joining in with other musicians they met along the way, playing gigs at bars and pubs, taking responsibility for only themselves, and that was in a very superficial manner. And then life had once again taken a dive and the brother that he had always known as a happy, loving, caring and emotionally connected person had become a jaded, bitter shell of his once charismatic self.

Over the course of the next few years, their father’s best mate since college, Dakkar Nemo, had taken Liam under his wing, finally convincing him that a change was needed, and he had quickly left his old life behind and moved to the States. Once Liam had felt settled in his position with Nemo’s business, every correspondence between them called for Killian to give up his vagabond lifestyle and move to New York. It had taken another year, but there was something about staring thirty in the face and having nothing to show for it that made him feel it was time to wake up and be the man his mum would have been proud of. It had been almost ten years since his parents' death and while he finally had his priorities straight, to smoothly integrate himself into what Liam and Nemo were creating, he needed to further his education. Because he wanted what his parents had, and their romance had begun at Harvard University, he applied and when accepted, everything seemed to click into place. Something was telling him that, if he was open to what life held, the time to fill the empty spot in his heart was now. Now that he was here, he couldn't wait to see where the journey led.

Arriving at the Harvard campus, he was curious to retrace his parents’ steps and after strolling the campus found himself back where they told him it had all begun. As he walked out onto Harvard Yard, he slowly turned a full 360 degrees taking in the buildings and the trees around him. There was so much history, not only history of the school itself, but the history of his family. His parents had met and fallen in love right here, outside the Widener Library. His mother, Katherine, a young 18-year-old British woman away from home for the first time and his father, Brennan, a roguish older gent of 25 who was working on his graduate degrees in business and finance, with plans to take the international banking world by storm. Two individuals, who on paper should never have met, much less fallen in love, but to hear their story, one look had been all it had taken for them to fall for the other and stay that way until their death at far too young of an age.

Killian remembered he had been around five and was sitting on his father's lap, waiting for his mother to finish dressing when he had heard their story for the first time. He had been looking at the chunky ring his father wore on his right hand, admiring the gold coloring and trying to read the letters written on it when his father had asked him, "Killian, my boy, did I ever tell you the story of how I met your mother?"

"No, Papa," he had answered, but inside his head wondering why this information was important because, like every child, he had assumed that there was no beginning of his parents, just like there would be no end. They were and always had been together.

"Well, Killian, sit back and listen carefully. It's quite the love story," he had replied. His mother had walked through the room then and when his father had winked at her, she had smiled that special smile of hers that she reserved just for Brennan; the one that always made Killian feel as though he were walking in on a secret that they didn't want to share with anyone but each other.

After she had left the room, he had leaned back against his father's chest. "Alright. Papa, I'm ready.

"I had just moved into my new place of residence for the next few years, Weld Hall, one of the freshman dorms on the Harvard campus, where my job was to be a Proctor. That, my boy, is similar to my being your father, except it wasn't as much fun." He had tickled his stomach, which had earned a giggle and then continued. "In my twenty-five-year-old infinite wisdom, I decided that a good way to get to know my new charges would be a pick-up football game, the American kind. Little did I know that my life would change forever that day."

Brennan listened for the cadence and as soon as the center had hiked the ball and it was in the quarterback's hands, he took off. His goal was to get around the others, catch the ball, make the winning score and then meet up with his mate Nemo at The Burren for a pint. He watched the ball as it spiraled toward him, wrapped his hands around it and instead of putting his head down and running for a touchdown, he ran into a wall. Thankfully he had the wherewithal to drop the ball and twist his body so that the wall landed on him and not the other way around.

"Bloody hell," his wall spit out. "Let me go you beastly ponce!" Long legs and arms moving simultaneously to untangle from his.

Brennan looked up into the bluest eyes he had ever seen gazing back at him. Rimmed by long, dark lashes under the gentle arch of thin brows, her eyes shone like beacons, igniting a fire within his soul unlike any he had ever known. He smiled at her, watching as her eyes followed the line of his lips and darkened with something that could only be described as awareness. When he glanced at her mouth and could see the tips of her white teeth between perfectly pink lips, it was as if a lightning bolt had come out of the sky right then, for he knew without a shadow of a doubt that she was the woman he was going to marry. He opened his mouth to introduce himself and what popped out was, "Will you marry me?" instead.

Her eyes went wide and this time she was able to push herself up. As she bent over to pick up the books that he had knocked out of her hands, she tossed over her shoulder, "You might be dishy, but you are quite dim!" And with a toss of her head that brought her glorious mane of dark hair to his attention, she flounced off.

Brennan looked down at Killian, "And that my dear son is the story of how I met your mother."

Killian licked his lips and furrowed his brow. "But Papa, what about the game? Did your team win?"

His mother had walked into the room as he finished the question and started laughing. "Killian," she came over behind his father and leaned over his shoulder, "your father doesn't care for that part of the story. Am I right, my love?"

Brennan kissed her hand and a self-deprecating smile crossed his face. "You are right, my love." He cut his eyes to his son. "Alas, we did not win that game. While I was falling into your mother's eyes, I had dropped the ball and the other team picked it up and scored. Not the way I wanted my charges to see me, but once your mother allowed me to court her, I no longer cared."

Coming back to the present, Killian noticed that since he had been sitting various activities had taken over the yard. There were people tossing Frisbees, kicking a football, and throwing an American football; nubile young men and women, many their first sojourn away from home. They made him feel old, really old. Checking the time on his gold watch, the last gift from his parents before their deaths, he realized hours had passed instead of mere minutes as he had thought. Pulling out his phone, he sent a quick text to Robin.

K: Where are we meeting again?

R: The Burren in Davis Square, it's open mic night.

K: Alright.

R: Want your Gibson?

K: You want to play tonight?

R: The ladies do love it.

K: Wanker

Pocketing the phone, he took one last look around the square, wondering if he would be as lucky in discovering love while at Harvard as his parents. With hope on his side, he left to meet up with Robin.

cs~cs~cs

The stars had not been perfectly aligned when Emma Swan had been born, ostensibly on the wrong side of the tracks. She had been born on an unseasonably warm night in the middle of fall, not far from the group home in Boston where she grew up. Hours after her birth, she was left in a basket, wrapped in a blanket with the name Emma embroidered on it. The only other item in the basket was a note tucked inside that read, "For your best chance," which Emma kept tucked inside a box with other mementos. She didn't have a family by blood, and most of the people that she knew growing up were individuals whose paths crossed hers as they would move in and out of her group home over the years. Ruby and Ashley had lived in the home as long as she and were the only two she called friends. They had her back, just as she had theirs. A family of sorts, if only in the minds of lost little girls who seemed to be searching.

The home where Emma lived was presided over by Sister Blue, a rather austere woman on one hand, but on the other, one who could be very kind. She had taken it upon herself to help the girls grow up to be the women they were meant to be, and as such had encouraged the girls to read and challenge themselves, often pushing them to think outside the box; to expand their horizons and make dreams that they never thought would come true, but ones that inspired them to never stop trying. Because of her tutelage, all three girls excelled in school and higher education was not an insurmountable dream, but one that was theirs for the taking.

Emma’s younger years were spent inside her head, as in there she could create the perfect world and a perfect family with parents who loved her and never would have thought to leave her to grow up alone. When she turned five the Sisters gave her a gift, and that gift gave vision to her dreams. The gift, a copy of Grimm’s Complete Fairy Tales, filled her dreams with faces and places that, even though she knew were never real, made the loneliness bearable. She imagined her parents were Snow White and Prince Charming and the reason they had abandoned her was that they were cursed and that someday they would be reunited. Ruby and Ashley quickly became Little Red Riding Hood and Cinderella and she filled pages with simple drawings, often drawing her thoughts instead of using her words until they teased her that she was the mouse in Cinderella's story. She didn't agree with them, though, for she saw herself as the ugly duckling that would someday grow up to be a beautiful Swan. So enchanted was she with the story that she asked for it as a last name, and was granted her wish when she was ten.

She saw herself as a woman who was of average height, her body weighing slightly more than she wanted, and topped by a round face, slight overbite, and blonde hair that she wore parted in the middle and straight. She was neither happy nor unhappy with the way she looked but she did like her eyes. They were dark green with flecks of gold and brown in them, and they darkened when she was sad and lightened when she was happy. And inside where it counted, Emma was comfortable with the person she had become, because her life experiences had served in making her into the person who looked back at her from the mirror, and that was someone of whom she could be proud.

Her ability to draw paved the way to several awards at her school as well as at a local art museum, which held contests for children's artworks in the summer. As her confidence grew with her artistic abilities, so did her confidence in other aspects of her life, except when it came to allowing others to get close to her. Some called them walls, but she called it self-preservation. After all, what can't touch you can't hurt you. And protecting herself from being hurt became even more important as she moved through her teens and watched Ruby and Ashley fall in and out of love over and over again. Allowing herself to be vulnerable enough to fall in love with anyone was not something that she could even imagine at sixteen unless the vision that was her secret crush walked into her life, and then, she thought with a smile on her face and a flutter in her chest, all bets were off.

The possibility of that, she knew, was minuscule as he was someone created with her vivid imagination. He wasn’t someone that she had conjured out of thin air, but that she had created from the detailed description that J.S. Barrie had given his version of the one and only Captain Hook. After numerous readings of the story, her mind's eye kept creating a face for him, until one day she pulled out her charcoals and sketched what she envisioned: Dark, wind-tousled hair that constantly fell over a high forehead, a strong jaw that was never quite clean shaven, and blue, blue eyes surrounded by thick dark lashes that pierced her very soul. And his smile was one that involved his whole face, causing his eyes to crinkle and deep grooves to appear in his lean cheeks. So enamored was she with her dream man that the mere mortals that she saw in school every day didn't stand a chance, which gave her friends something else to tease her about. What could she do when her heart wanted what it wanted?

The part of Boston, Dorchester, where Emma’s group home was located, had its share of difficulties, yet Emma and her friends tried to stay away from the groups of rougher individuals, which often created tense situations. None more so than when she was fifteen and one of the boys, Neal, tried to get her to date him, not taking too kindly to her refusal. For weeks, afterward, he had followed her, attempting to intimidate her enough to make her change her mind until he was just gone and her defenses had dropped. Unfortunately, that was when he was the most dangerous, setting her up to take the fall for a crime he had committed. But with the support of Ruby, Ashley and Sister Blue, the real story came out and he was sent away to prison.

When they had turned eighteen the three young women had moved out of Dorchester area, leaving behind the only home they had ever known, in search of a new home. They ended up not far away in Brookline Village. Financially bolstered by a few scholarships and jobs, the girls were able to live in a nice apartment and go to school studying the areas they loved. Emma was at Massachusetts College of Art and Design pursuing her interest in art, and Ashley and Ruby at a local small private college, one taking education classes and the other trying to decide between being a healer of animals or to be a healer of people.

When they had all graduated with their bachelor’s degrees, it had been a joyous occasion but also a sad one, as for the first time in many years the girls would be going their separate ways. Ashley and Ruby were moving on to take graduate courses at Boston College and Emma was going to work full time at the Museum of Fine Arts. After several years, Emma found herself getting bored and, deciding she wanted more for her life, applied to and was accepted to Harvard University, where she planned to get her MBA, and where she was going to be able to get back into painting. Her grades from Mass Art and a generous recommendation from her employer helped her get a top fellowship which not only paid for her school but left enough for her to live in a small apartment on her own. And her experience from the museum helped her achieve a position as a teacher's assistant to one of the art professors, allowing her to pick up a brush and create, something that she had missed deeply.

“Earth to Emma,” snickered Ashley.

Emma glanced up quickly from the box she was taping shut. "Sorry about that," she gave her friend a sheepish smile, "just remembering."

Ashley smiled softly, her eyes twinkling, "We had some good times here didn't we?"

"We did, and then you and Ruby moved off and Phillip and Sean moved in." She looked around the room to see what else needed to be done. "This is the last box. Is everything else loaded?"

"Let's hope so, as they already left with Ruby. We are supposed to bring the rest of the stuff in Sean's car." A dreamy smile crossed her face.

"How's that going?" Emma was happy for her friends, who had been dating several months. The women made a quick walk through the apartment and after loading the car started the drive to her new residence.

Once on the road, Ashley answered, "He's wonderful Emma. I think maybe he's the one," she giggled and her cheeks turned pink. "So, what's the deal with you and Phillip? Sean told me he asked you out."

As they drove, Emma filled Ashley in on Phillip and how she had told him they were just friends and before she knew it they arrived at her new apartment. She had been fortunate in discovering that the professor whom she was the teaching assistant for, Sarah Fisher, had inherited an old Victorian home in Cambridge and had converted it into apartments; three, one-bedroom apartments and one two-bedroom suite that she only rented to graduate students. Thankfully, one of them came available and Emma was going to have her own space for the first time in her life. A new apartment, a new position, and a new school. Wondering what else new was awaiting her, she exited the car and ran up the steps to her new home.

cs~cs~cs

Killian walked into The Burren, a popular pub in Davis Square, to see Robin was already up on stage warming up with the band. After arriving he was introduced to Leroy, the drummer, Walter, on the keyboard, Tom, who played bass and sang backup vocals, and the lead singer, Doc, who also played guitar. Collectively, they were known as The Minors, a rather interesting group of musicians who had met in college over ten years ago and were seen regularly around the greater Boston area club scene.

Lifting his guitar strap over his head Killian strummed a few notes, tuning his instrument before joining the band on a few songs. While Doc sang, he played mindlessly and was able to observe the patrons. The place was crowded, small groups, large ones, and everyone seemed to be having a good time. Killian noticed Robin smiling at a few females and shook his head at his mate and his quick moves. There were many beautiful women in the pub, many obviously available but none reaching inside to touch that part of him that said, “I am worth your time. Know me,” and so he continued to play, getting lost in the music. He and Robin also sang a few songs, and as they moved seamlessly from Nirvana to David Bowie, he found himself relaxing more and more. As the set wound to a close, the band left the stage and moved into a back room to rest and regroup. Would set two be any different, he wondered?

cs~cs~cs

Emma waded her way through the crowd of people, hurrying toward the table in the corner where she was joining her friends Ruby, Ashley, Sean, Phillip and one of her new housemates, Elsa. Grabbing a beer at the bar, she scooted between Elsa and Ruby. "Sorry, I'm late. What did I miss?"

Ruby smirked at her. "Nothing. We were just trying to decide what to order." Once that decision was made they talked about innocuous things and Emma spent time getting acquainted with Elsa, who shared the larger apartment with her sister Anna. Elsa was a second-year law student and her sister was finishing her undergraduate studies and preparing for the MCAT. Emma found her to be a soft-spoken woman who was genuinely kind and also seemed to fit in nicely with her friends. She was even pleased to see that Phillip had turned his eye to the blonde. "Well, you must have not broken Phillip's heart too badly," Ruby whispered in her ear.

Emma rolled her eyes. "I see that. Think I should warn her about his wandering eye?"

Ruby peered around at the two and noticed that Elsa's attention had moved off Phillip and she was looking up at the stage where instead of the normal loud rock music, the music was soft, haunting almost. Glancing in the same direction, Ruby immediately noticed what had drawn Elsa’s attention as there were two new men, both playing guitar, "Forgive me, Father, for I'm thinking impure thoughts," she muttered.

Emma heard her comment and started laughing, "Since when aren't you thinking impure thoughts, Rubes?" When Ruby didn't answer, Emma turned in her chair to see what had caught her friend's attention.

~~~~~~~

Walking back up onto the stage, Killian noticed how loud the atmosphere had become as the night wore on. As he strummed a few chords, his attention was captured by the melodic laughter of a female sitting off in the corner with a group. He couldn't see anything but her profile, but the joy he heard in her laugh captured his attention unlike any other. Her friend on the right turned his way as did her friend on the left, sending a wolfish smile toward the stage. As they played the opening bars to his song, he decided he was singing to the mystery woman in the middle.

“I've been alone with you inside my mind And in my dreams, I've kissed your lips a thousand times I sometimes see you pass outside my door Hello, is it me you're looking for?”

He saw her turn in his direction as he continued to sing.

“I can see it in your eyes I can see it in your smile You're all I've ever wanted and my arms are open wide Cause you know just what to say and you know just what to do And I want to tell you so much, I love you.”

~~~~~~~~

When Emma turned to see what had captured Ruby's attention, the waitress had been standing there with their order. Passing the plates around she heard a voice start singing Hello, a song she always enjoyed listening to, but this man's voice took the lyrics to an entirely different level. Smooth, rich and sexy quickly came to mind. Wondering if his looks matched, she turned and what she saw caused her pulse to race and her breath to catch, for she was looking at what came close to being her very own Captain Hook come to life. The face from her dreams after reading Peter Pan so many times was singing, and as their gazes locked across the sea of people, Emma felt his words were meant just for her.

“I long to see the sunlight in your hair And tell you time and time again how much I care Sometimes I feel my heart will overflow Hello, I've just got to let you know Cause I wonder where you are and I wonder what you do Are you somewhere feeling lonely? Or is someone loving you? Tell me how to win your heart, for I haven't got a clue But let me start by saying I love you.”

Feeling her face flame, Emma turned back around, "Ruby, you see the resemblance too, right? I'm not dreaming, am I?"

"I see it." She clutched Emma's hand. "You know what this means, right? It's fate. He's your destiny."

Emma turned back around as he sang the last few bars of the song.

“Hello Is it me you're looking for? Cause I wonder where you are and I wonder what you do Are you somewhere feeling lonely? Or is someone loving you? Tell me how to win your heart, for I haven't got a clue But let me start by saying I love you.”

As the music faded, he tilted his head in her direction, just a slight nod to indicate that he was feeling something too. But could she take a chance?

"My destiny? Right!" She finished her beer. "My destiny is school on Monday. I don't have time for anything else."

Ruby glanced at the stubborn set to her jaw and looked over at Ashley who shrugged her shoulders. "Can't fight destiny, Emma. But we'll play it your way tonight."

They finished their food and cashed out, all going their separate ways with promises to get together soon. Since she and Elsa were going in the same direction, they stopped at the ladies room on their way out and, as was usual in a pub, had to wait in line. Listening to the women around them, she learned that it had been the first time the man who had been singing and his friend had played with the band. She also learned that if he chose, he would not be going home alone tonight, which reiterated her thoughts that a man that nice to look at had playboy written all over him. There was no way he would be interested in an average girl like her.

"I hope this line moves faster or we won't make the next train." Elsa's comment stopped her wayward thoughts.

"Fingers crossed," she mumbled as they inched their way forward.

~~~~~~~~~

Killian saw her and her friends leave the table and head toward the exit, and really wished he could go after her. He had felt something sizzling through the air and he wanted a chance to see her up close and not through the haze of a dark room. When he saw her and the blonde turn in the direction of the facilities, he let out a breath and finished playing the song before following.

Turning the corner toward the hall leading to the ladies room, Killian was hit in full stride hard enough to take his breath away. Unconsciously he caught her arms and started to ask if she was alright but when she looked up at him, he got lost in the dark green of her eyes. "It's you," he whispered.

Her eyes crinkled at the corners as she smiled "It's me," she laughed before she was pulled from his arms by the other blonde.

He reached out and caught the side of her bag. "But wait, what's your name?"

Her friend tugged again, pulling her bag from his grasp. She looked over her shoulder as she followed her friend out the door. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

Killian watched her race off. "Perhaps I would,” he mumbled. “after all it is customary for the groom to know his bride's name." Looking down at his hand he realized something from her bag had broken off and he was holding one end of it. What he saw caused a huge grin to light his face, for he was holding a broken paintbrush, which he was sure might give him a clue about her identity. He started to toss the broken brush into the garbage until he noticed it had writing on it. "Emma," he read. Walking back to the stage, he finally understood what his father meant about one look being all it took for him to know that his mother was the one for him, and it seemed that there was a very good possibility that one son had just followed in his footsteps.

Thanks for reading. Stay tuned for Chapter 2. Also here’s the song Killian sang to Emma - Hello

#captain swan au ff #cs ff #cs crew #cs mafia #a love story #ThePromise

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lovehaswonangelnumbers · 5 years

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New Post has been published on https://lovehaswonangelnumbers.org/karmic-tools-weekly-forecast-january-6-12-2019/

Karmic Tools Weekly Forecast: January 6 – 12, 2019

By Kelly M. Beard

The Karmic Tools Weekly Forecast covers the current planetary transits which affect people in different ways and to various degrees of intensity. Take notice when it is a Personal planet (Sun / Moon / Mercury / Venus / Mars) interacting with a Social (Jupiter/Saturn) or Collective planet (Uranus / Neptune/Pluto). And pay extremely close attention when it is a Social planet interacting with a Collective planet because that means something *big* is brewing that will move large groups of people along their evolutionary paths. Tuning in to the energy and rhythm of the planets can serve as a useful *guide* as you move along your Individual Path. It also helps to understand your place within the context of the larger Social & Collective Story. Below, you will find out how these energies tend to manifest, as well as guidance and direction.

*NOTE* There are some days when there are NO CONTACTS (besides the Moon), please note that there are no missing entries, we just list the actual Activations of each week + the day they happen.

Weekly Forecast:January 6 – 12, 2019

1/8 ~ Mercury (ideas, thoughts & concepts) ~square~ Mars (desire & actions):

This activation can be a tough one for some. If your beliefs are out of alignment with your actions, if you are not self-aware or you act-out unconsciously, being selfish or childish, then watch out, because squares test you to grow and change in some way. Often, this also means that you are suppressing your own nature in some way, which is never really a good idea. When you suppress your Soul, it can make your human more sensitive or defensive, taking things personally as a threat or challenge. If you catch your Self feeling irritable for no apparent reason this week, try to step back and gain some perspective before responding to either your own thoughts or another’s words. Mercury & Mars getting together, in this challenging way, can provoke debates and, in some people, actual fights, so be careful. The deeper aspect of this activation is that some part of you wants to express, perhaps in a new way, and your monkey-mind has got you all off track. Mars demands that you know who you are and what you want, and is the Sacred Masculine part of you, which is supposed to hold good boundaries, protect you and negotiate on your behalf in the world. If you know something that you are not acting on, this can be frustrating. If you are acting in ways that are not allowing you to think things through, this too can cause accidents, problems and delays. It is best to pull in until you are clear. And also keep in mind, you may not be out of alignment in the above ways, but those around you may be and will likely have no context for what they are feeling and therefore, become indiscriminate with their own choices & actions. Self-preservation is not selfish but essential at this time.

1/11 ~ Sun (source & essential Self) ~conjunct~ Pluto (purification & transformation):

This energy brings to mind a quote, “circumstances don’t make a man, they reveal him”. The Sun (ego) and Pluto (transformation) are connecting and you are often a different Being once this energy passes and the two planets separate again (they meet once a year). Pluto brings into the Light, aspects of our Selves which may have been buried, neglected or ignored lately (or for some, a very long time). Sometimes that is miraculous & life-saving, and other times this can be arduous & exhausting, but it is a completely natural process. With this energy, you can now more fully access your own Source (Sun) and transcend (Pluto) who you “used to be” and begin to truly embody who you are becoming. Bringing things into the Light comes in many forms, as you question all that you thought you were or thought you knew about what you really want to express in this lifetime. You can use this as a Rebirth of Light within you or you can look at it as Light being brought to your deepest, darkest places within to heal them with a pure Universal Light. It is an initiation that often requires a release or sacrifice of some kind that, ultimately, allows you to grow & blossom in new, more authentic ways. As always, concentrated power (Pluto) must be responsibly directed, so watch any projections or provoked power struggles and pick your battles (everybody doesn’t like Light in their dark places). It’s time to question if the sacrifices you’re making are truly worth it? Relationships often strain under this influence because it is such *raw truth* rising from the Soul but it also brings things to the surface that are better addressed sooner than later. (Think The Tower card in Tarot.) It doesn’t have to be destroyed necessarily (or maybe it does) as much as it needs to be transformed (new form). Remember, breakdowns always precede the breakthroughs!!

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segadores-y-soldados · 7 years

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Um hello everyone??

??????

I hit another follower milestone and like???

How are there so many of you here??

Thank you to everyone for your support! I hope ya’ll are enjoying the stuff I put on this blog!

So for new and old followers here’s some stuff about me and a mini writing showcase:

Tumblr username: Segadores-y-soldados AO3 username: clickclickBANG Twitter: https://twitter.com/SegadorYSoldado (I am very new at the bird website, please send help) Semi-personal info: transdude from California, please use he/him for me Semi-relevant skills: slowly improving my Spanish - feel free to correct my nonsense (also, 00halle, I saw your comment - I’ve been meaning to respond! Thank you again for the offer, I super appreciate it and will be coming to you with some questions when I get a chance)

Content: All Overwatch stuff, lots of Reaper76 shippy stuff - be sure to look at my About page to find my other ships I’ll reblog

Things I’m most well-known for: My essays (tagged as “my essays”) including references on Reaper, Soldier, and Ana; little dialogue scenarios (tagged as “dumb stuff”), usually involving Reaper/Gabriel and Soldier/Jack in some way; doing research on lore and locational stuff in Overwatch; writing fics about Gabriel and Jack being ridiculous smartasses who are in love (and oftentimes the poor people who have to witness their shenanigans).

Little writing showcase:

SEP: Sunsets (written for the amazing Vapewraith!)

They’re in one of the halls of the SEP facility - tucked away into a deep mountainside “somewhere out west,” the building is hard angles and brutal concrete and cut-steel, as soft as titanium and as gentle as the injections they get every morning and evening. Yet even here, in “wherever’s-range,” there is still beauty: the massive windows, normally just cold, crystalline glass, are open to the sunset, bleeding colors across the land and sky, dripping into the hallway with the vibrancy of oil paints. Reds smoke into bright, endless pinks, golds melt into bold, sunshine yellows, oranges shift into liquid amber, and at the edges of the atmosphere, velvet purples sigh into silky blues, tinting the more vivid colors and steeped clouds with the dusk of night and the emerging stars.

It’s a sight neither Gabriel nor Jack will ever get tired of -

No matter how exhausted they are.

“The doctors will see you shortly -” the SEP instructor starts to say, reappearing at the far end of the hallway, before he looks up from the papers on his clipboard and scowls at the group of crumbling supersoldiers, snapping, “Is that what you call ‘lining up?’”

“Maybe if y’all didn’t work us so damn hard,” Number: 141 growls, his voice climbing into a hoarse yell, “We’d still have the energy to fucking stand!”

There are shouts of agreement and calls of “Yeah that!” and quiet mumbles of assent. Gabriel huffs to himself, sliding himself onto the concrete barrier and trying his hardest not to wince as his muscles settle into a sitting position. He’s used to hard work and even harder workouts, but today had been…brutal. 3 am running through the facility and into the mountains and back, to 10 am sparring and boxing and hand-to-hand combat, to 1 pm “simulation training” where they ran teams in rubber-bullet fire-fights, to 4 pm regulated work outs of push ups and squats and curls, to now - 8 pm - where they fall to their pieces in concrete hallways, waiting for doctors to take their biodata and continue churning them into statistics for the U.S. government before jamming more needles in their arms and sending them to brutal, uncomfortable cots in the dorms.

Jack slides himself up next to Gabriel, sighing just loud enough for his best friend to hear, “Today…was pretty bad.”

“Would’ve been easier on you if you hadn’t burned yourself out on those push ups,” Gabriel grunts back, pulling a pack of cigarettes from a pant pocket. He taps one out, muttering with some confusion, “Why were you doing all those one-armed push ups?”

Old Habits (aka “the big fic”) - Rating: T - Action/Adventure for R76:

“PULL BACK,” Reaper’s shouting at the three goons who got blasted the fuck back with a concussive rocket, “ASSHOLES, THOSE ARE HELIX MARK VI, IF THEY FIRE A REAL ROCKET YOU’RE FUCKING DEAD.”

Louis is, remarkably, the only one who stays on his feet, although now that they’re all wearing their visors it’s getting difficult to tell who’s who. The other two roll backwards, flipping over a few times before slamming into the cliff wall behind them. Reaper could fucking push both of them off the ledge and into the depths of the canyon with how annoyed he is at them, but that’s not important right now.

Three of the Helix fliers pop up from behind the rock ledge, hovering just a bit above the ground - low enough to get shelter again, but just high enough to give them a subtle height and maneuverability advantage over the Talon and Deadlock ground units. He hears Widowmaker and Henri fire off a few more rounds, but distant screams are the only reward for that - they’re aiming at the U.S. military soldiers who are stupidly rappelling down from the stable parts of the train still up on the tracks and making themselves easy targets.

“Widowmaker, Helix units, on the ground, below you!” Reaper growls out over the comms before he fucking dematerializes -

- and reforms himself directly behind the three Helix fliers.

God, that hurt like a FUCK.

He punches one of them in the back to make up for it.

FUCK THAT FUCKING HURT TOO

WHY DIDN’T HE JUST FUCKING SHOOT THEM LIKE A REGULAR ASSHOLE

(More under the cut)

76 + 127: How We Were Made - Rating: E - Reaper76 SEP fic

Jack stands by one of the dull, concrete walls and bends himself over before slowly reverse-walking his legs up the side. The rush of blood to his already throbbing head just makes it feel worse, but the weird mix of exhaustion and energy courses through him and he -

He cannot tell if he wants to fight something

Or fuck something.

...Probably both.

That was the other thing: the fucking raging mix of hormones and chemicals - both natural and artificial - had only cranked individual personalities, energies, attentions, aggressions, and desires to the fucking max. It had been apparent from the day of orientation that all 150 of them were between 18 and 25 years old - all physically fit, largely martially-oriented people from a multitude of military programs across the country. Jack and Gabriel had been the top two picks from West Point, but Jack had recognized a handful of the others as being from the academy - like three upperclassmen and ten lowerclassmen and two from their own group - Adrien and Sarah.

So yeah

Of course both fighting and fucking had started occurring within the first week.

Pinche mierda, there had been packets of lube and condoms in their supply chests in their bunk rooms from the very first day onwards. The program directors had certainly known what to expect from a bunch of high-energy, high-intensity young adults.

Jack sighs again, not sure if he loves or hates the pressure in his head and neck, before pushing his arms up off his elbows and onto his hands.

Upside-down push-ups suck.

Gabriel’s wide, smug, fucking charming grin flashes into his head.

Sharpshooter: Hit Me Like A Drum - Rating: T - McHanzo meeting fic

Jesse flicks his eyes from the apparent quiver back to the man’s amazing face and his dark eyes and immediately knows two things:

1 - This man is absolutely the most handsome person Jesse has ever had the blessed fortune of meeting.

2 - He does not understand a word coming out of the man’s mouth.

“...Pardon?” Jesse asks absently, blinking awkwardly. The...archer (?) tilts his head a little and scowls a bit - oh jackrabbit turds, I pissed him right off - before saying in flawless English, “It is your turn.”

Oh. Jesse thinks lamely. English.

“Oh uh, thanks, partner,” Jesse says awkwardly, glancing back towards the counter where one of the chefs is waiting with an expression of stern politeness that is fading into increasing annoyance. Jesse makes eye contact with the chef and she gives him a small handwave of “hurry up, tourist, I don’t have all day.”

“Uh…” Jesse glances back sheepishly at the man behind me, giving him an embarrassed smile, “You wouldn’t happen to know which one is the spicy pork ramen, would you?”

The man’s scowl fades for a quick second before returning, and he says with startlingly serious focus, “Oh. You can’t read it.”

“Uh…no, sorry ‘bout that, darlin’,” Jesse apologizes without thinking and the man raises an eyebrow, asking, “‘Darling?’”

OH FUCK ME AND MY DUMB ASS

Why, yes, please do, the wiseass side of Jesse cracks in his head and he fucking flounders over the barrage of shame and embarrassment and attraction.

“Oh, damn, shit, sorry - oh cheese on a cracker, I shouldn’t be swearing, oh god you’re gonna think I was never taught manners - shoot, sugar, I’m so sorry, it’s a bad habit I got from my pa and - Shit, I just did it again - sorry, it’s been a long trip here and, oh Lord, I just swore again, this is so embarrassing -”

A startled look of wonder blossoms on the man’s face and if Jesse wasn’t so fucking flustered, he would love to try and mentally catalogue how the man looks so open and surprised. Jesse is in the middle of tripping over his words when the unthinkable happens.

A miracle occurs.

The man gives a surprisingly broad and genuinely happy grin and starts to laugh.

#personal #about #writing showcase #segadores-y-soldados #thank you all for your support!#you guys are amazing #<3

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minusram · 7 years

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4/? bonny and blithe, good and gay

actually yelly anon reminded me that i forgot to crosspost the penultimate chap of bbgg. not sure i actually have any tumblr-only readers, but hey; better safe etc etc

[ch 1 / ch 2 / ch 3] [do make tomorrow a sunny day series here]

They emerge into a carpeted receiving room thronged with what must be at least half a hundred psychics—even if a significant percentage of them weren’t palpably genuine practitioners Ritsu would recognize their trade from the terrible way they all dress.

‘Significant’, of course, is relative, but considering the concentration of spiritually gifted individuals in the general population, meeting even one other esper is noteworthy.

Ritsu and his employer remain mostly unnoticed by the mass of people clustered away from the door, but a few turn to peer at them suspiciously, to size up potential competition. Reigen's taken aback for less than a second—and Ritsu only knows because of the particular way he rolls his shoulder—then he gets started, working the room with his usual oily flair and carving a space for himself where he doesn’t belong with just fast talk and the force of his repugnant but bafflingly effective personality.

He wades into the crowd, a cloud of jovial introductions left in his wake, handing out business cards and subtly enforcing his social superiority in a way that is confident, but not overly so; avoiding alienation by the sprinkling of a few specks of modesty amongst the uptalk. Ritsu trails silently behind.

Reigen cuts a swathe through the room, speaking the way he does to clients and moving with purpose in the face of his skeptical marks. It’s difficult for Ritsu to tell which of them have powers; a staticky aura hangs in the air, but his impression of the energy’s source remains indistinct. He’s unused to sensing others of his kind—every psychic he’s ever met has found him first.

Reactions to the rapid-fire establishment of their standing vary from baffled to condescending. Psychics are either good with people, intimidatingly bizarre, or just extremely lucky, but even in all the strangeness of this past year Ritsu has never met anyone quite like the man he follows now. His employer, energetic, manic with possibility, reaches a new target, and begins again. Ritsu can feel his mood souring, the longer they’re here with nothing happening. He didn’t come to network, he came to help people. And, yes, to serve himself; in hope of personal gain.

Judging by how many people are here, the lure of money or fame had a similar effect on his fellow exorcists.

He’s spared half an ear for Reigen’s spiel, the prattling stream of words a ceaseless rhythm that's grown familiar over time, but tunes right back in, affronted, when he hears the direction it’s taking.

“Oh, yes, I’m Reigen Arataka, and this is my assis—”

“I’m not—”

“My assistant, Kageyama Ritsu. Bright kid, but a little uppity, if you know what I mean. Won’t you excuse us for a moment, please?”

Reigen ushers him away and they reach the edge of the crowd. His employer bends for a harshly whispered exchange, unaware or uncaring of the fact that whispers in public tend to draw more attention than they deflect.

“Hey, Ritsu, pipe down, alright? I liked the silent act, that was good. Keep it up, and follow my lead unless for some incomprehensible teenage reason you are actively trying to blow this. If you ruin our reputation, then where are you gonna find your little exercises, huh?”

“You mean your reputation. I have nothing at stake here, I just work with you.”

“You work for me, kid, and if you don’t want to be cut off, you’ll stop trying to screw up my moves.”

“Your moves, Reigen-san, are the pathetic graspings of a man past his prime and lost in a world on which he has no bearing, a con artist who can only survive by leeching off society and the gullibility of desperate fools.”

His employer’s lips part, then twitch up into a smirk.

“Tell me how you really feel,” Reigen says, raising arch eyebrows at him, “And, by the way— I’m twenty-seven!” he hisses, before turning to greet another psychic who’s just walked up.

Ritsu fades back subtly, uninterested in ingratiating himself to strangers or to Reigen Arataka, and disappears to lean against the wall. No one notices him there, so it leaves him free to watch.

The people move, swirling together and apart in patterns Ritsu’s sure would be easier to track from above, but he does his best—his habitual level of effort; customarily more than adequate for his purposes. He compares what he sees to the display the day before, and finds substantial differences. The cultists were constrained, stuck together in a static train despite their wild laughing. Their grouping was starkly different from the one he observes now. Unnatural, even, though he has yet to devote the matter much thought.

The psychics here are stiff but organic, clustered in clannish clumps that remain cohesive with and within the greater group. Ritsu can’t deny that there seems to be a hub, some sort of slimy nucleus around where the century’s self-proclaimed shining star is making his way through the crowd, interrupting the previous order like sediment irritating a mollusc. Noise rises in the room, low conversations springing up like weeds in his employer’s wake.

A few more people show up, on the verge of being late as the start time on the invitation grows nigh, and receive the same scrutiny that greeted his own delegation of two. The crowd murmurs, louder now, energized by impatience and anticipation, his employer’s voice and bright hair lost in the thrum.

He catches sight of the eccentric uniform—black with pale wooden beads—of the Psychic Moon System, which may or may not be the organization’s real name, but he can’t tell from his limited glimpse whether there are any bandages on the person’s face. Guilt twinges regardless, and it occurs to him that he has no idea how long a Glasgow smile takes to heal. What happened to Shouda Katsukaru is tragic, and no little part of the blame falls at Ritsu’s feet; both because his association with Reigen was what got the man involved with such a dangerous spirit in the first place, and because Ritsu was unable to subdue it when the time came for him to step up.

They were all lucky that the thing was so indivisibly linked with the myth it was based on. Ambiguous answers and tossing anything they could find in their pockets confused it long enough for all three of them to get away—but not unscathed. Another one of his failures; something he can use now, and does, when he needs a little extra boost from his powers.

He wonders if every psychic’s abilities fuction this way. If this negative existence, life spent relying on a capacity powered by murk and suffering, is how it’s meant to work.

A clock strikes the hour from somewhere out of sight, across the room and the mass of people that despite their numbers don’t come close to filling it. Ritsu steps away from the wall to find Reigen, in order to present an arguably united front in the face of their competitors and the expectation that suffuses the room.

The leather doors open, swung by suited security personnel, and a man enters, clad in a pinstripe suit.

Ritsu finds Reigen, finally, or is found, and they stand together in the midst of the crowd as their client, mustached and desperate, steps forward to introduce himself.

Asagiri Masashi has, apparently, put stringent effort towards only inviting bonafide psychics to this event. Ritsu and Reigen trade a silent, speaking look while they can still see each other, before the room darkens and they turn their attention back to the presentation.

Through a slideshow, Ritsu learns about their client’s spoiled daughter; a year older than him but miles further from mature, the product of wealth and an upbringing unfettered by empathic concerns. The kind of girl his mother would call a minx and his father would call a hellraiser.

“Something is inside her,” Asagiri intones ponderously, lit by spilled light from the image of his locked up daughter, ten feet tall. Minori is tied to a bed, ropes snug on her wrists and snaking under the blankets, watched by spirit tags and a sleuth of toy bears; a disturbing picture.

Ritsu reserves judgement on the possibility of possession; he’s experienced enough of the evils of his peers to wait on a verdict until he sees for himself, and can decide on his own what’s been happening. Familiar too are the evils of adults—intimately, a hole in his family only half-healed—whether parent or child is in the wrong here, it’s inarguable that something must be done.

The crowd shifts uneasily, an atmosphere of apprehension gathering at the revelation of their task, but Ritsu is ready to understand, to learn if it’s delusion or premonitive intuition that’s thrown Asagiri Minori to the dark.

Asagiri opens a panel in the wall, a hidden spiral staircase, and leads them down to find out.

The stairwell is narrow, and it takes minutes for every one of them to make it down the story and a half to the small anteroom at basement level. Ritsu ends up next to Reigen somewhere in the middle of the relocation, which means queuing at the top of the stairs and loitering at the bottom until Asagiri shuffles to the front of the herd to open the plain wooden door that is the room’s only other feature, leading the ragged lump of them behind him when he’s the first one through.

It’s an observation room, made of depressing concrete, dominated by the enormous pane of one-way glass that practically composes one wall. Their side, filling in tighter all the time as people jostle to get a view of the occupant, is dimmed; the inside, lit up bright enough that the mirror must be opaque to the girl staring blankly across her coverlet, is fishbowl-like, leaving Ritsu with the uncomfortably voyeuristic impression of being at a zoo.

Reigen, behind him, speaks right into his ear and Ritsu twitches away from the feel of warm breath against the side of his face.

He turns to talk over his shoulder, meeting Reigen’s eyes level with his own since the man is partially bent over to invade his personal space.

“What?” Ritsu hisses, irate.

Reigen flicks his eyes reprovingly from side to side, hands in his pockets, indicating the people that surround them and how little he wants every one of them to be party to this conversation. Ritsu turns back around and mutters out the side of his mouth.

“What? And don’t breathe on my neck this time.”

“I was just asking, what do you think?”

Ritsu concentrates, and senses... nothing. Just a person, kept and unkempt; a girl his age stifled by her father and pinned behind glass for people to peer at, offered up to a parade of probing eyes that seek to find her flaws.

Minori’s head rolls on her neck until she’s looking at the mirror, giving the illusion of eye contact. She looks weary; deep bags dug in under her eyes, blonde hair lank on her forehead.

“Nothing,” Ritsu says quietly, “I don’t sense a thing.”

He stares, rude but comfortable with his lack of etiquette since he knows he won’t be caught, tracing her searchingly with his eyes for signs of possession while Asagiri answers questions, going into a narrative explanation of the smeared blood on his daughter’s whitewashed ceiling.

Ritsu looks and pretends she’s looking back at him, like this whole farce isn’t a gross violation of her privacy. Her head tilts a little as she looks at herself in the mirror, a wry smile fleetingly upon her face, and Ritsu wonders what she sees in her reflection, how differently she thinks of herself compared to his picture of her, built only on what he can presume to discern from the outside.

The psychics grow loud around him, each asserting their experience and suitability; Reigen rises to the top of the pack with glib presumption and loud aplomb, claiming the case in their name about as sophisticatedly as a dog marking territory.

The room devolves, adults barking at each other like animals as they yell and argue, except animals aren’t driven by avarice and pride. Ritsu considers whether the glass is soundproof; concludes it must be since Minori has no reaction to the disagreements being bellowed just beyond her walls.

It resolves in a rock-paper-scissors tournament, a juvenile solution; fitting considering the behaviour of people that are ostensibly—according to society, though he has massive trouble believing it right now—his betters. His employer employs mind games and Ritsu uses strategy. Either age or experience declares Reigen the winner, leaving him triumphant in first place while Ritsu languishes in seventeenth.

Reigen gloats his way through the door, drawing the ire of everyone in the room as he disappears down the hallway that curves around to open on the far wall of Minori’s upsettingly ursine bedroom. He enters as all of them watch, closing the door gently behind him, and goes into one of his usual routines.

Ritsu recognizes his manner, courteous and comforting, as the way he deals with the more delicate clients, fragile people with ghostly problems that seek remedy at the agency. For the first time, Ritsu wonders how many of them he never sees; how many clients’ issues are solved with just kind hands and words, and the attention of someone willing to simply listen. He feels the violation all over again, watching the work, like an intruder to the private rapport Reigen is building with Minori.

The observation room is silent, ogling with bated breath as Reigen massages and chats, drawing a chilling, sordid account of her time here out of Minori’s waifish throat. The psychics turn again, inconstant as a weathervane, to stare mistrustfully at their client when she pleads to be let go.

Reigen emerges, subdued, and Ritsu tries to get a hint of what he’s thinking. Reigen notices him and subtly waves a hand, wait, with an enigmatic cant to his head. Ritsu waits, for now, with silent and watchful eyes, as their client is berated by the mass of people he’s hired for what is seeming increasingly likely to be no reason at all.

It’s looking like a consensus, the room united against a common enemy and piling on Asagiri with the easy conviction of a mob. Majority rule, maybe, but it’s one against many until his employer steps out to speak in their client’s defense.

Ritsu, attuned to Reigen’s theatrics, is not surprised the man chose the most dramatic moment possible to proclaim their client’s innocence.

Well, almost. Reigen’s moment is blown out of the water when a psychic—someone who slipped away into the room while Ritsu’s attention was elsewhere—is blown like an explosive cannonball through the glass, instantly transforming the wall into an expanding burst of shrapnel.

A piece of whizzing glass cracks to splinters on Ritsu’s barrier; his employer is gashed across the face, a shallow cut that in defiance of its depth weeps heavy blood in a curtain down Reigen’s cheek.

Ritsu glares, first at the minefield of glass shattered across the room, then at the psychic who was so destructive an instrument in spreading it, before he’s drawn inevitably to look at the source of the power that caused the victim’s unfortunately violent exit.

Minori laughs at them, lively and spiteful at the chaos she has wrought. Ritsu berates himself for feeling betrayed.

She challenges them with chuckles and mocking words, reveling in the panic that’s starting to poison the room, and Asagiri, reactive, shouts at them to save her. If anyone were to consult Ritsu, he would say that she’s not the one who’ll need saving, an opinion borne out by the maniacal cackling that throws back her body’s puppeted head.

A psychic with long straight hair and a ruched shirt—third in line of fifty-eight—steps forward to try his hand; his incomprehensible but intensely delivered chants prove extraordinarily ineffective. The next is also unsuccessful, and they all blur together into a useless chain until it’s almost Ritsu’s turn, attempt seventeen.

Reigen guides him off to one side for yet another private tête-a-tête and hovers a hand above his shoulder, a pseudo-touch that’s just on the edge of what he’ll tolerate.

“Are you okay with this?” Reigen asks, “You don’t have to do it, we can leave it to someone else.”

The condescension burns, and Ritsu knows they’re both remembering his failure at that apartment building, and in the face of the Kuchisake-onna. He thinks the second man, the ballistic psychic, was also a member of the same group—another tally, two of them now he hasn’t managed to save.

“I’m fine,” he snaps out, crisp, and turns away to end the subject.

“If you’re sure,” Reigen says dubiously, just to twist the knife.

“Positive,” he says, quellingly frosty.

“Okay, pricklepuss, just checking.”

“Well, don’t. I know what I’m doing.”

“Right,” a brief pause, and then:

“If you say so,” Reigen says with a mocking grin.

“You know what—”

“Fine, fine, sorry. I get it. You’ve got this,” Reigen flashes him a confident smile, another expression Ritsu recognizes from work. “Knock ‘em dead, Ritsu, let’s show them how it’s done.”

Ritsu shrugs off the hand that bracingly pats his shoulder as they rejoin the group.

There’s no ‘let’s’ about it when his employer stays behind, one of many watching Ritsu step gingerly through the broken glass. Ritsu makes it through without cutting himself and looks up again to find himself closer than he expected to end up; in arm's reach of the comforter, practically the foot of the bed.

“Asagiri-san,” he says, wary and lacking anything else to call it, whatever’s wearing the body in front of him like a human marionette.

“Ritsu-kun,” she—it—replies.

And smiles.

for added verisimilitude, wait three months before reading the next chapter on ao3! although life willing it won’t take that long for the next chapter

#dmtasd #ritsu #mp100 #fic #mogami arc #for the moment anyway #arataka #bonny and blithe good and gay #the good stuff

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