Tw: Alcohol Mention - Tumblr Posts

here have this ramshackle of a fanfic 🫴

might have been inspired by Genius Next Door by Regina Spektor, idk

others said it must have been the weather

Summary: Crosshair struggles to adapt to the complexities of civilian life, while grieving the loss of commander Mayday.

Characters: Crosshair, Hunter, Rex

Word Count: 6k+

Warning: This story contains graphic descriptions of depression and an attempted suicide, if you are sensitive to those topics fuck off no story is worth the cost of your mental health, love yourself by steering clear, unclenching your jaw, staying hydrated, and the sensation of suddenly becoming aware of your tongue in your mouth. It's a big muscle you know. The body of it goes away down your throat. Now is also probably the time to mention that Im high. But. Enjoy the story.

ps. I wrote this immediately after The Outpost so everything that happened in the season finale is ignored because fuck that noise

Crosshair shouldn't have been surprised when his brothers turned up to rescue him. He shouldn't have been, but he was. They were brothers after all, right? Wrecker had said it himself in the wreckage of Kamino: "We would have taken you back..."

It hurt anyways, of course, a confusing mixture of anger and guilt. He had warned them to stay away. Rescuing him was foolish, they had put themselves and Omega in harm's way for nothing, completely ignoring the warning he had sent, and he was infuriated by their foolhardiness, incensed by their rejection of his sacrifice. 

They were stiff and guarded—Hunter especially—watching him carefully from the corners of his eyes, as if he was a deactivated roller who might spring to life at any second. Hadn't they grown up together? Had his choice to remain with the Empire really damaged their relationship so severely that he was little more than a stranger to them? It has been a rational decision; a decision millions of other clones had made. They were soldiers, bred to die, purposeless without violence of war. The galaxy wanted nothing to do with them—even when they were war heroes the Republic had seen them as nothing more than droids with skin and bone. With the Empire, there had been a promise of food and shelter and purpose. Tactically, it made the most sense. 

Until it hadn't, and the Empire, as Lt. Nolan had made so perfectly clear, had no use for them. 

But perhaps, what he saw etched in the expressions of his brothers, was nothing more than a projection of what he felt he deserved to see. Perhaps the distance between them was artificial, built up like a wall to shield Crosshair from the burning agony of forgiveness. Perhaps he was afraid that, if they peered at him to closely, they would see everything he had suffered, everything he had lost and, being empathetic to a fault, they would fail to see the responsibility he'd had as the maker of his own suffering. Somebody much wiser than him had told him once, "We make our own decisions. And we have to live with them, too." 

Crosshair had never been a 'plan for the future's sort of person. War rarely ever offered that sort of long-sided perspective on things. He had never truly considered the possibility of having to live with the consequences of his actions. He had never truly considered the possibility of having to live at all, after the war. After all, the notion of a 'glorious death for the sake of the Republic' had been drilled into him as a thing to be celebrated for as long as he could remember. 

So, while Crosshair had been prepared to die on Tantiss, perhaps living was a more suitable punishment.

And Crosshair was more than prepared to wear his decisions, to let them line his pockets like pebbles. 

They brought him to some tropical planet. They had told him the name of the planet, the name of the town, over and over, but he couldn't ever seem to recall it. The information never stuck. It wasn't as if somebody was going to ask him where he lived. It wasn't as if that place was his home. Clones—regs and Clone Force 99 alike—had barracks and ships, places they rested as they waited for deployment. They weren't meant to have homes, to be domesticated. They were soldiers, that was their purpose. 

Was their purpose.

What was their purpose now? Who were they supposed to be? Where did they belong, obedient dogs, bred for battle? They were too vicious for civilian life, they didn't have the skills for it. They didn't know how to live without the structure of an army. Where would they live? How would they make money? What would they eat? Where would they sleep and for how long? Who would be willing to teach them how to function outside of war, how to manage the panic and the sudden fits of rage and the flashbacks and the immense sting of survivor's guilt because if anyone should have survived that avalanche—

What did it matter? Logistically, the clones were abandoned.

Crosshair's recovery had gone smoothly and he had expected, once he felt well enough to feel again, that he would, in fact, feel something—sorrow or regret or relief or even joy. But those feelings never came. Crosshair felt nothing except, perhaps, for the unceasing, insatiable anger that grew without incentive, and a distant ache that came with the realization that his life was, essentially, over.

When he had avenged Commander Mayday's death, under the shadow of the relentless scavenger, he had been prepared to die. He had anticipated his distress call to be his final words. He had been bred to be a soldier, after all. He had been taught, since birth, to prepare to die. 

Living was a much more difficult concept. A fitting punishment.  

Crosshair had only ever been good at one thing. And that one thing had been useful on the rare occasions that the Batch left the planet to assist Echo and Rex and their network of rescued clones, but those sorts of missions were becoming scarcer and scarcer as the rest of the Batch began assimilating into more domestic roles. They made money fishing or repairing machinery or hauling heavy equipment. There was no need to engage in mercenary activities when they had everything they needed at home. Besides, it was what was best for Omega's development to stay away from conflict.

Assimilation came easily for the others. For Crosshair, not so much. He came across as standoffish and rude and his skills as a sniper were worthless to the civilians. He was hostile and short tempered and the civilians, for the most part, gave him a wide berth. As they should.

Crosshair had always been an ass—rude and sarcastic. He said things, cruel things, because he liked to keep an aire of indifference, of superiority, around him. He had never been an angry man, merely cold and condescending. But now? Now, Crosshair felt completely out of control. The civilians and his brothers would do things that made him so angry he felt like his head was going to pop off—loud noises and bright lights were enough to make the sniper furious. He would get angry when the weather outside was too cold, and he couldn't seem to stop himself from making snide remarks about how much Wrecker ate, driven by a bizarre insecurity that there wouldn't be enough food left.

He snapped with people looked at him the wrong way; he snapped when he smelled ozone or heard sparks crackling; he snapped when he felt the texture of rough wool; he snapped when he heard Omega laugh; he snapped whenever a particularly cruel thought whispered, in a voice that was entirely vagal, that his brothers should have shot him on Kamino when they had the chance. 

He felt like he was losing his mind, like the all-too-familiar smell of the ocean had crept beneath his skin and settled into his bloated veins like a fat, indulgent parasite. The long days became plagued with migraines, and the bitter nights became plagued with restless dreams. 

He missed Mayday, wasn't that strange?

He missed having somebody who understood what he had gone through, what he had sacrificed and why. 

"So what made you want to leave?" Echo had asked once. 

Crosshair never answered and Echo never asked again. 

Crosshair never spoke of Mayday, never described the avalanche, or the armor that so many clones had lost their lives to protect. He didn't talk about the thirty-two rotations he had suffered on Kamino, that his body had metabolized all of his muscular tissue by the time that they had found him, that it had taken weeks to eat solid food again, and months before he could return to active duty. He never talked about Cody, or Dr. Hemlock, or Tantiss, or the torture, or Mayday—because wasn't it always fucking Mayday?—because he couldn't  the conversation would end with anything other than an, "I told you so." 

He didn't talk about any of it. Except, just once, to Rex. 

"Have you heard from Commander Cody?" Crosshair had asked, and Rex had responded tersely:

"I have." 

Crosshair had waited in silence for the captain to continue, but Rex said nothing. So Crosshair mentioned that the last time he had spoken to commander Cody was the day before he defected and—

And then he asked, interrupting himself, "Have you ever lost a friend before?" 

Rex had made a face as Crosshair had told the story. The sniper couldn't identify the expression—he assumed it was pity, or contempt. Which was understandable, he supposed. Rex had fought the chip tooth and claw, had made it his life's mission to help clones escape the Empire; Crosshair had fought tooth and claw to stay with the Empire. Expecting any sort of sympathy or brotherhood from Rex was astoundingly stupid, and Crosshair was quick to recognize the mistake and harden once more. 

"Have you told the others?" Rex asked. 

Crosshair pressed his lips into a thin line and responded, coldly, "They wouldn't understand," 

"You might be surprised," Rex had said. 

Crosshair had felt something burn within him, unidentifiable. "I think I know my squad better than you do, captain," he hissed, his voice dripping with venom. 

"They haven't been 'your squad's for a long time," Rex had pointed out, and Crosshair couldn't breathe. 

Still, Rex had been generous enough to offer him advice—sometimes, writing letters to the deceased helped with the process of parsing through one's grief.  

It was stupid, but Crosshair was desperate for relief, so he wrote. It helped, for a little while. It made him feel less alone, less numb. Never once in his letters, did he apologize. He had tried, many times, but the words were always wrong and every attempt ended in unceasing anger, as a little voice in his head whispered, "Remind me not to die on your watch." 

Crosshair was a quick learned, so it wasn't long before he found himself avoiding the subject entirely. Instead, he spoke of useless things in his letters to the dead man. He described the weather, made remarks about the humidity and the tropical storms. He spoke of the locals, the food, his appreciation that somebody was finally able to cook a dish that was spicy enough for him. He talked about the Batch, described them in detail and wrote of their antics—after all, Mayday had pressed, once, about who his squad had been. Surely he'd want to know? 

Crosshair found himself writing about his feelings—as distant and muted as they were. He spoke of the unfair resentment he felt towards Omega, of his unfounded inability to trust his brothers, of his immense shame. He about the gaping chasm of anger that sat in his chest. It was oddly comforting, talking to a dead man he had only known for three rotations. 

Just once, after a particularly frustrating day—the rain and the cold had made him inexplicably furious—he wrote himself a letter, as if he was Mayday—as if Mayday was still alive. He wanted to indulge in the fantasy that his shame was unfounded, that he hadn't failed his friend. 

The letter read only one sentence: 'Great to hear you're doing well out there.'

There, Crosshair froze. 

He deleted the letter almost instantly, as if, with a sharp inhale, reality dawned on him: What was he doing? What was the point? Mayday was dead. He was nothing more than an strewn pile of bones, picked clean by the vultures. What did he even care? They hadn't even been friends. They'd held two stiff conversations in half a rotation before the avalanche, and that was it. If he was alive, he wouldn't care about the weather or Crosshair's love of spicy food. 

They weren't friends. 

They weren't anything. 

Crosshair had nothing. 

There was nothing. Everything was empty.

He never wrote again, after that. The action was pointless. Mayday was dead. Writing letters wouldn't undo the avalanche, they couldn't turn back time. The dead were dead were dead. Crosshair, in a fit of frustration, cast the datapad across the room, hurling it against the wall with all his might. It clattered to the floor, abandoned, and was never touched again. 

It was funny, really; perhaps Mayday liked the letters because as soon as Crosshair stopped writing them, the commander started showing up in his dreams more and more frequently. Or perhaps the letters—the rumination—had appeased the commander in some way, had served as penance of some sort, as the commander's visage in the dreams became more and more cruel, more and more decomposed. 

Unfortunately, it wasn't as if the things Mayday said in his dreams weren't true. 

Everything was empty: even the yawning void where Crosshair's anger use live, festering. But there was nothing anymore, no unceasing rage, no flinching at the wrong smells and sounds and touches, even the nightmares, after some time, eventually faded until he stopped dreaming all together, and he begun to wake up just as exhausted as when he had gone to bed. 

The more time passed, the less real Crosshair felt. The numbness stretched across his skin and sunk deep into his belly. He no longer felt hungry or thirsty or tired. Even physical pain felt far away. He stopped speaking because his voice stopped sounding familiar, and he stopped spending time with his brothers and Omega because he discovered that, if he stared at them for long enough, their faces were no longer recognizable—like how a word repeated too many times becomes a noise without meaning.

Perhaps, he was no longer human. Had he ever been truly human? Or had the entirety of his manufactured life been artificial?

Food lost its appeal, spice no longer enticed him. Eating became a chore, but he never stopped—when hunger tugged at his stomach, his heart would race, gripped with something that might have been panic, if it wasn't so far away. 

Hunger was an interesting thing, Crosshair learned. When the pangs struck, he wasn't on the tropical planet, he was back on Kamino, with it's cold oceans and maelstroms—and the one rogue wave that had slapped the platform and nearly washed him away. The pangs of hunger transported him to a tiny platform in the middle of the sea, curled on his side as the wind howled and the rains fell in relentless sheets. 

Alcohol quieted the racing thoughts. He had never been a heavy drinker (although he certainly had his other vices) because he disliked the way it made him unsteady (and he was also driven away by the taste) but these days, it was the only thing that kept his head afloat. Otherwise, he might just drown in the vast ocean of nothingness that hung beneath him. The pointlessness, like a sea monster, might just consume him if he dared to let go of the bottle. 

On Kamino, there had been whispers of monsters in the water; creatures who could lure their victims out to sea with their voices, before drowning them. It was a stupid scary story that Crosshair had never believed, but perhaps there has been some truth to it: perhaps singing monsters truly did live in the seas. Perhaps it was their songs that had enticed Crosshair, that had called him to the ocean. 

Or, perhaps, he was simply a desperate, cowardly man who was too timid to admit that he didn't actually have the strength to live with his choices. 

Whatever it the reason, the outcome was the same: Crosshair began to stay up late, waiting, locked in his room, for the rest of the world, for his brothers, to sleep. Then, in the cool of the night, he would creep out and make his way to the beach. Despite the horrors of the Kaminoans platform, the ocean didn't frighten him. In fact, they enticed him, welcomed him, and he would wade out into the water, fully dressed, just to see how far he was willing to go. Each night, he got a little braver and swam a little farther. It was a game he played with the ocean—how far out could he swim before the relentless tides swept him away? 

He told himself he didn't want to die, it wasn't about that. He argued with himself that if he really wanted to die, he'd just shoot himself, plain and simple. 

But sometimes, he would fill his pockets with sand and swim out until the ocean floor seemed to drop away and he would let himself sink, just how far he could lose himself. 

It made him feel alive, in a way. 

It ended the same way every night: at some point, he'd lose the urge and return to shore, his chest aching with an emotion he refused to acknowledge. As the sun rose, he'd return home, dawning with a hangover, strip naked, and crawl into bed. 

The days became a blurry mess of salt and sand and alcohol. Any residual anger melted away, numbed by the drink and the sharp, cool tang of the ocean, and the distant awareness that, with the increasing stakes of his game, any day could be his last. It was that thought, truthfully, that brought the numbness, disguised as relief. 

"Crosshair?" 

Crosshair ground his teeth when Hunter's voice cut through the haze. He sounded tentative. "Rex and Echo have been looking for you. We've got intel from Howzer about a dozen clones in prison for deserting. We've got a rescue mission planned but, well, we could use a sniper," He sounded almost hopeful, or like he was pleading. 

"Howzer?" Crosshair asked, licking his cracked lips. He was thirsty. For the first time in weeks, he was aware enough of his body to recognize the heaviness of his tongue, the way it stuck to the roof of his mouth. 

Water wasn't a problem. Luckily, for as hellish as the ocean planet was, the rain was a constant, which meant that fresh water wasn't a big concern. What was concerning, however, was the lack of food. He had nothing. Perhaps he could attempt to fish, but the ocean was cold and the current was strong. He could easily be swept away by the- 

Where was he?

"He was a captain who served on Rhyloth under you and Admiral Rampart,"

"What?" he croaked. 

"He was a captain. He served under you and Rampart on Rhyloth," Hunter said again, more slowly. He looked concerned. His hands was halfway outstretched towards the sniper. 

"And Rex wants me there?" Crosshair  asked, blinking in disbelief. 

Hunter looked expectant or disappointed, Crosshair wasn't sure.

"He and Echo asked for you specifically. He, uh, he says he needs you sober, though," Hunter said with a frown. He sounded uncomfortable. Why did that make Crosshair angry?

"I'll be there," The sniper said simply.

"Crosshair, look. I think we should talk-" Hunter sound urgent, maybe desperate. 

Unfortunately Crosshair wasn't interested in finding out which it was so, instead, he turned his back on the sergeant, signalling the end of the conversation. 

Howzer. He remembered Howzer. He had allowed Clone Force 99 to escape, had defected against the Empire. Crosshair had thought it was such a repulsive thing to do—he had never liked the captain, and cuffing the captain had brought him a sick sense of pleasure. He had been pleased to punish dissidence. 

Would Howzer recognize him? What a stupid question. Crosshair was no reg. His face was- 

Unrecognizable. 

Crosshair was staring into a mirror. How had he gotten there? He didn't remember-

He could see the burn scar carved deep into his scalp. His heart hammered as he dug his fingers into the pits. 

Rex and Echo wanted him on that mission? With Howzer? Why? 

I'll be there. 

He would not.

He was no coward.

He spent the evening strolling the streets, gathering pebbles. When night fell, he swam farther that he ever had before. He fell deeper than ever, his pockets lines with pebbles. When his lungs cried out for oxygen, he surfaced, furious, cowardly. He was angry at Rex, angry at Echo, angry at Hunter, angry at Howzer, angry at Mayday, angry at himself. So he took it out on the ocean, cursing at it, as if he could enrage it enough to incense it to violence, as if it would crush him beneath a furious, rogue wave.  But the tides remained gentle, and the night was calm. 

Crosshair in his anger, dived. 

Usually, when he sank, he simply exhaled and let the water drag his body down. There has never been any intention behind it, no motion of energy. But now? Now there was fury. Still-powerful limbs propelled the sniper into the darkness, too upset to really think about what he was so determined to accomplish. 

The first time his lungs cried out for oxygen, Crosshair, out of spite, pushed himself even deeper. 

The second time his lungs cried out, reality set in and, suddenly, all of the burning grief and desperation and rage, rage had been smothered, leaving only the smouldering ashes of regret, and the charcoal taste of terror. 

What had he done?

He was down so deep that the pressure hurt his ears. He twisted in the total darkness, suddenly away, for the first time, of the possibilities that big, hulking, singing monsters swam in the depths. He felt like prey. As he tried to right himself, he lost his sense of direction. Which was was up? He exhaled sharply, up went the bubbles. Crosshair, scowling, followed them up. He wouldn't die. He wouldn't let himself die. Just like on Bracca and Kamino and Barton-4. He would not die. 

He had no right to die. Commander Cody had said-

He clawed upwards. His eyes stang and his lungs felt like they were going to collapse in on themselves, but still Crosshair persisted. Up and up and up and up- 

The urge to inhale was immense. He refused. It would not happen. Even as black spots began to appear in his blurry vision, as his brain tingled and his limbs ached, the determination persisted. 

His body exhaled and inhaled in spite of himself, hijacked by instinct. Everything burned. He thrashed, attempting to cough and sucking down more water. 

The surface was close. The bubbles lead the way up. At the sight of them, Crosshair's brain produced an image and a voice. 

"Vicious creatures, but you've got to admire them. They find a way to survive."

He was the ice vulture. It was him. He had sacrificed everything to survive, he chose cast his brothers aside like carrion and now he had to live with those choices.

Vaguely, he recalled breeching the surface. He remembered thrashing and and choking. He recalled the itchy feeling creeping up the back of his throat, the way his stomach heaved, and the taste of bile. He recalled gasping, his body convulsing autonomously towards the shore, practically dragging himself against the current, which had grown strong. He recalled he recalled seeing lights beyond the shore and crying out for help, only for his salt-damaged voice to fail.

He continued to gasp and spew water until his toes touched the sandy shore, he heaved himself forwards and collapsed, at last, on the beach. It took all of his energy to roll up onto his knees. He pressed a fist against his stomach and pressed down on it as hard as he could, forcibly expelling the excess water from his lungs. 

It was funny—he remembered gasping for air. He remembered his eyes falling shut. There had been sand beneath him. When he woke, there was grass beneath him. He opened his eyes, blurred with seawater. Despite that, the figure who stood before him, arms crossed and back straight, was unmistakable. 

"Rex," Crosshair sneered, his voice rough. 

"Have a good swim?" Rex asked, his voice was cold. Before the sniper could answer, the former captain cut in sharply, "There better be a damn-fucking good reason why I found you half dead on the beach," he snapped. He almost sounded worried. 

"I don't answer to you," Crosshair growled, forcing himself to his feet. He staggered forward, stumbled and- 

Rex caught him, steadied him. It was a kind gesture. 

"You should have let me fall," Crosshair hissed, petulantly swatting at Rex's hands. He sounded almost... Mournful. It would have felt good to fall. To sink. It would have made him feel alive. 

"Crosshair..." Captain Rex didn't sound so cold anymore. 

Unfortunately, Crosshair was stubborn. Severe and unyielding. He wrenched himself from the reg's arms and staggered forward. "Fuck off," he spat, unable to think of anything more eloquently to say. 

"Don't think I don't understand what you just tried to do! This isn't something you can just walk away from!" Rex argued, reaching out to put a hand on Crosshair's shoulder. "You need help, Crosshair. What happened on Barton-4 wasn't your fault-" 

Crosshair reacted violently, balling up a fist and slamming it right into Rex's face, who reeled backwards. Adrenaline was a hell of a drug and, even in such a physically exhausted state, Crosshair still had a nasty right hook. 

He imagined Rex hitting him, returning the punch, blow for blow. He imagined it might feel good, in a self-vindictive sort of way. Crosshair imagined, just for a moment, that Rex's fist was clad in clone armor and rags, that his hair was dark and long, and his beard was-

It was deserved. 

But Rex never struck Crosshair. The sniper, anticipating the blow, stumbled backwards and landed flat on his ass. His heart was beating so fast, he thought it might just stop. He rolled onto his hands and knees, and vomited saltwater.

"Hey, hey, hey! What the fucking kark is going on!" Hunter shouted, emerging from the darkness. "What the hell are you doing?!" 

"The captain and I were just having a discussion about tomorrow's mission," the sniper said, panting, as if it was an acceptable answer. 

"Rex, what's going on?" Hunter demanded again, and Crosshair grit his teeth. 

"Did you hear what I said?" he spat. His whole body was trembling from the exertion and the cold, as the seawater evaporation from his skin. He shut his eyes tight and breathed harshly against the rising nausea. Hadn't this happened before? The cold and the exhaustion, the position on his knees, even the words were-

"Help him!" Crosshair cried out, gesturing to a body that wasn't there. 

Whatever Hunter or Rex might have said was completely lost on the sniper, who was trapped in a snowy wasteland, watching, barely conscious, as the worthless lieutenant circled around him like a vulture.

'Certainly not. That would be a waste of the Empire's resources.'

Crosshair's expression fell. The shaking worsened. "He'll... He'll die," he croaked. 

And that was the crux of it, really. He'll die. He had never felt so helpless before, pleading for the life of somebody else, at the mercy of somebody else's whims. He had never been so powerless before. 

Clone Force 99 had a 100% mission success rate. Crosshair had never failed his brothers before, he wouldn't fail Mayday now. He wouldn't.  

He'll die. He recalled prying the commander's helmet off, recalled watching his chest sink and his expression relax as the spirit rose up to march alongside Veetch and Hexx. It was horrific. Mayday could have lived. He would have lived if Nolan had just felt like helping. 

Was Crosshair so powerless that his life was at the mercy of—

"It isn't real, Crosshair. Whatever you're seeing isn't real," As Hunter's voice washed over him, Crosshair lifted his eyes. He felt like he was waking up from a dream. 

"Take a deep breath, Crosshair," That was Rex's voice, nasally from the damage the sniper had done to his nose. It was bleeding something fierce. Crosshair felt almost proud. "There you go. One more," 

He was still on his hands and knees, still dripping wet, gripping the grass so tight that his knuckles had gone stiff.

"Good hit," Rex grumbled. "Consider us even," 

Before the Empire, Crosshair would have smirked—he vividly recalled incensing the captain to violence by bitching about his previous ARC trooper. Before the Empire, he used to tease Echo about it: "It's cute how much your captain loves you. Let me guess, you were the Batch Baby?" 

"You should have let me drown," Crosshair blurted out because he wasn't the same person he had been before the Empire; because he couldn't seem to stop the words from tumbling out; because he so badly wanted the help but was so scared to accept it. 

Rex and Hunter were both kneeling beside him, Hunter had a hand resting on the back of his shoulder, while Rex had a firmer hold, as if preparing to catch him. 

"You crawled out of that ocean yourself," Rex pointed out. 

"Then you should have thrown me back in," Crosshair sneered, in a tone that Hunter had come to realize was joking—but the words felt wrong, and a little too intentional. 

"We're all worried about you, Crosshair. What were you doing out there?" Hunter asked, and the younger clone squeezed his eyes shut. 

"Swimming," he said venomously. 

"Cool off, spitfire," Rex chided firmly. "You're not fooling anyone," 

Rex was talking about his tone—Crosshair's thorns were only defensive—but the words hit deeper. A pained groan pulled from Crosshair's chest as he attempted to shift his weight. He realized quickly that if he moved, he'd collapse, and he didn't wait either clone to see him in such a state. He gripped the grass even harder as he drawled, "You know why," 

Crosshair anticipated stunned, humiliating silence, but Hunter offered none. Without missing a beat he asked, "Why?" When Crosshair didn't response, Hunter asked again, more urgently, "Crosshair, why?" 

"You should tell him. Your squad doesn't want to see you at the bottom of the ocean," Rex's voice was kinder than Crosshair deserved. He clamped his jaw shut and said nothing. 

"We're a patient bunch, you know. We can do this all night," Hunter said, irritated and insistent, panicked. "Rex is right. Nobody wants to see you dead,"

Slowly, Crosshair cracked his eyes open. "You wouldn't understand," he croaked. He sounded defeated. 

"I think you'd be surprised," Rex insisted. 

"He wouldn't understand. Neither of you will ever understand," he snarled like a feral animal. 

"Well, just try!" Hunter snapped, all of his self-proclaimed patience dissolving in an instant. "If you kill yourself because you can't be bothered to let anybody help you, none of us would forgive you! Can you imagine how upset Wrecker-"

"Hunter," Rex said sharply. 

The sergeant sucked in a slow breath and then said, "Crosshair, I meant what I said. None of us want to see you dead. I don't want to see you dead,"

"That's a lovely sentiment; where was all that sweet-talk on Kamino?" Crosshair growled, still adamantly refusing to look up. 

"You're right. But we're not on Kamino. I made a lot of shitty mistakes. My biggest regret is not trying harder to go after you immediately after Rex took the chips out. And I'm sorry. You needed up and we weren't there,"

Crosshair didn't answer. There was nothing to say and the silence was stifling—like being buried under snow. 

"Cross..." Hunter said suddenly, and there was a certain desperation in his voice, despite using such a gentle tone. "I really did mean what I said. You're my brother, I don't want to lose you. All of this shit—whatever it is you're carrying—you can't go on like this, and we can't lose you. Not again," He slipped his arm under Crosshair's shoulder. "Let us help you carry this," 

Crosshair expression tightened, his breathing hitched, and he instantly felt enraged. He grit his teeth, fingers digging tight into the dirt, and in his fury he began, silently, to cry. 

Beneath the numbness, beneath the rage, was sorrow and grief and guilt and so much regret. 

"I'm sorry..." he croaked, barely able to push the words past his ruined vocal chords and shuddering breaths. 

Hunter scooted closer, pushing his arm more firmly under Crosshair's shoulder, ready to catch him when he fell. "It's okay. We forgive you. It's okay, Cross," 

The resolute sniper never made a sound, and he turned his scrunched face away, too proud to let Hunter see him cry. His whole body shuddered and his arms, at last, gave out. 

Hunter caught him. 

He tugged Crosshair close. He flicked his head—a signal to give them some space—and Crosshair heard Rex's footsteps as he stepped away. He felt foolish for his inability to stop the steady flow of tears, but Hunter just held him tighter. He didn't deserve it, he tried to hold his breath to force the feelings away, but his battered lungs wouldn't obey. All he could do was slowly drag his arms up to cling to the sergeant. 

"I'm... I'm sorry," he rasped. 

"Crosshair, I forgive you. And I'm sorry too. I'm sorry it got to this point. We all knew you were struggling but we- we didn't know how bad it was. Rex and Echo and I figured you were struggling to adjust to civilian life. We figured a mission would be a good change of environment. I had no idea—" Hunter shook his head and tightened his grip once more. "It's not an excuse. I'm sorry. It's not an excuse,"

Crosshair managed, at last, to steady his breathing. If he wasn't so exhausted, he'd pull away and stalk off. It he wasn't so exhausted, he'd run away and hide behind all of his walls and thorns, and Hunter never would have caught him. He wasn't sure whether it was a blessing or a curse, to be caught before he could sink further. After all, living was so very difficult. 

"I'm kriffing pissed at you, you know," Hunter said softly, voice hardly above a whisper. "You can't do this again. If we lost you..." 

Crosshair scowled. "You already lost me once before, and you seemed fine," 

That must've hit a nerve because Hunter inhaled sharply and his grip stiffened. "You don't know shit, Crosshair. Is that really what you think of us? That we cared for you so little that we celebrated in your absence? When you said you had your chip taken out, you have no idea how hurt and betrayed-" Crosshair tugged away, and Hunter loosened his hold, immediately cutting himself off. 

There was that shame again, burning in the pit of the sniper's stomach. His arms fell. 

"You have every right to be angry," Hunter said with a sigh, as if he, too, struggled to let his feelings go. "I'm sorry. I'm saying all of the wrong things. I don't want to lose you and knowing that you-" he shook his head. "I'm having a hard time controlling my emotions. That's not your fault, it's mine. And I'm sorry. I don't blame you for staying with the Empire. I understand why you did what you did. We didn't get to you before Kamino. We weren't fast enough. But we did try," he insisted. "I don't- I don't want you to think that we never tried," 

Hunter's arms loosened again, and Crosshair steadied his breath, prepared to straighten, to stand up, to be let go. But Hunter didn't let go. After a moment of hesitation his arms tightened once more. 

"I'm not going to leave you again, Crosshair. I'm not going to lose you," Hunter said firmly. "Rex is off to wake the doc. We've got to give you a physical eval, make sure all that seawater didn't fuck you up. And you need to talk to her. Crosshair, listen to me, you need to tell her that when you went out into the water, you intended to end your life. If you don't, I will. You don't have to tell her why, but you have to tell her. I won't lose you, and you need help. None of the others have to know, you can tell them when you're ready, but you have to tell the doc," he said. 

"So... I'm on suicide watch?" Crosshair sneered, simultaneously sagging into Hunter and rolling his eyes. 

"You're on suicide watch," Hunter said firmly. 

'Tell me about your squad,' Mayday had asked, breath wet and raspingv painfully. 

'Hunter is a pain in the ass. Shitty leader, pain in the ass, but he's kind. So.' Crosshair had writen in one of his useless, fucking letters.

"I lost a friend," the sniper said so softly his voice was barely audible. 

"I'm sorry," Hunter said, and it sounded almost genuine. But it was just enough to prompt Crosshair to keep talking. 

By the time Rex had returned with the doc, Crosshair was barely awake, succumbing to the exhaustion. He remained firmly in Hunter's arms and, while nothing was truly fixed, not yet, it was a beginning. For the first time since before the Empire, Crosshair felt safe.

high for this — happy bday bkg !

— bakugou x kirishima x fem!reader

‘“Then hit it,” your voice lilts in his ear, a hand coming down to rest on his thigh while the other one brings the joint closer to his face. “Please? Promise we’ll take good care of you.”

His cheeks heat up at that, the implication all too present in the sultry inflection of your voice. In the way your bodies press against either side of him.’

☆ WORD COUNT | 12.2K

☆ SYNOPSIS | Bakugou shares a birthday with weed but he’s never smoked it before. He’s also never fucked you and Kirishima at the same time before. A birthday 2-for-1 special!

☆ CONTAINS | [+18!] quirkless/college au, drug use (weed), alcohol mention, dubcon due to the previous, bi threesome (emphasis on the bi), oral for everyone, double blowjob, spit!!!, facefucking, degradation + degrading names, praise, voyeurism, size kink, frotting, a lot of cum, anal play/rimming, anal sex, piv sex, daisy chain, some roughness, creampie, cum eating, squirting, kiri + bkg interact a lot, some softdom!kiri but switchy behavior all around, kinda imperfect poly dynamics, reader referred to as “girl” + she/her + has hair long enough to be pulled back, bkg gets slutted out ~

☆ NOTES | i know — i know ! this is very late. i hope i make up for it with the fact that this is basically all filth. there are non-monogamous dynamics here that are nuanced and a little messy, possibly confusing… but it’s not really the focus, it’s mostly just a lot of sexy fun. so i hope it’s still enjoyable! happy belated bday to the great explosion murder god himself ♡

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ CROSSPOSTED TO AO3 ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

“Come on, just one hit won’t kill you.”

White smoke curls up around your lips like tantalizing little vines, snaking through the air until it dissipates into the growing fog in your living room. You’re leaned in close on the couch, joint perched between your fingers and mischief mixing with the hazy look on your face.

Bakugou scoffs at you, but it’s softened by the few too many drinks you and his friends had pushed on him earlier in the night. And his ever-growing affection for you.

“Oh don’t pressure him,” Kirishima pipes up from behind the couch, big hand coming down on Bakugou’s shoulder and squeezing, “he’s the birthday boy, he can do what he wants.”

You pout up at the redhead. “That’s exactly why he should hit it.”

Normally, Bakugou would snap at you to stop fuckin’ talkin’ about him like he’s not here, something you both have become far too comfortable doing, but his sharp tongue seems to smooth out a bit when he’s alone with the two of you. Plus, he’s in a good mood. 

The day was… great, to say the least. Not too much of a fuss. Just drinks at a low-key bar nearby, and gifts that weren’t extravagant enough to make Bakugou feel awkward. And you and Kirishima had helped get him out of there before Kaminari and Mina could corral everyone into hitting up a strip club, or whatever other ridiculous shit their drunk minds could think up. Honestly, his birthday had been perfect. Not that he’d tell you both that. But he knows he doesn’t need to.

You rise up on your knees, bringing the joint to Kirishima’s lips to let him puff at it. You’re both crowded around him, Kiri’s broad chest brushing against the back of his head, and your cleavage so close to his cheek that he could turn his face and be buried in it. He watches you in his peripheral, tits bouncing lightly as you giggle when Kiri coughs and retreats towards the kitchen for water. When you lower back down into the couch, you’re giving him a knowing look, and he fights the urge to reach out and squish your cheeks in his hand.

You infuriate him, in your own awful, annoying, endearing way — you always have, ever since Kirishima first brought you into their lives. Somehow that has led him here, unimaginably comfortable splayed out on this couch in yours and Kirishima’s shared apartment – an apartment he, admittedly, spends more time in than his own.

Leaning forward over the coffee table to tap the ash off the joint, you continue your devious nagging. “You share a birthday with weed and you’ve never even tried it. It’s unnatural.”

“Weed does not have a fuckin’ birthday,” he grunts, watching your glossy lips wrap around the thin stick once more. “And Kirishima’s hair is unnatural, you don’t seem to give a shit about that.”

You press on, ignoring the quip. “Uhh weed does have a birthday. And you’re twins. Happy birthday to you both.”

Bakugou snorts, waves away the smoke that swirls up between you, “That shit’s makin’ you sound even dumber than usual.”

“Well it’s making you look less ugly than usual.”

“Ugly, huh? Guess weed turns you into a dummy and a liar.”

Chips and water bottles plop down on the coffee table, interrupting your playful squabbling as Kirishima re-enters the room.

“You don’t gotta do it if you’re scared, bro. I get it, I was super nervous when I first smoked.”

Bakugou scowls over at his friend where he’s settling in on the other side of him. “‘M not scared.”

“Then hit it,” your voice lilts in his ear, a hand coming down to rest on his thigh while the other one brings the joint closer to his face. “Please? Promise we’ll take good care of you.”

His cheeks heat up at that, the implication all too present in the sultry inflection of your voice. In the way your bodies press against either side of him. 

The unspoken suggestion isn’t entirely out of left field. The nature of your triangular relationship is… confusing. More than platonic, less than romantically committed — at least where Bakugou is concerned. But what isn’t confusing is the fact that he already knows both of your bodies intimately, and you his. (Kirishima even more so than you.) 

But he hasn’t known them both at the same time — a fact that has been looming over all three of you for months now.

Apparently you and Kiri have decided that today would be the day. A birthday present for the hot-head you’ve absorbed into your relationship. 

Or maybe you were absorbed into his and Kirishima’s? 

The details are muddled static in Bakugou’s brain, his nerves making his mind race as you both watch him expectantly.

“Bro, you really don’t have to if you don’t—“

He’s cut off by an exasperated growl. “If I hit it, will you both shut up?”

Kiri grins, and the corners of your mouth twitch up, bringing the the joint back into view.

He plucks it from your hand, grumbling that he can do it himself as he brings the papery tip to his lips. Kirishima’s good-natured warnings about not hitting it too hard fall on deaf ears as Bakugou breathes in deep… and immediately sputters a cough into the crook of his arm. You snort and take the offending stick back, Kiri opening a water bottle and handing it over with mumbles of something just a bit nicer than “I told ya so”.

When the coughing fit dies down, there’s a heaviness settled over him, like invisible weights strapped to each of his limbs. His chest burns, and his head is foggy, and Bakugou isn’t sure he really likes the feeling — but then Kiri’s thigh presses against his as he relaxes further into the couch, and you run your hand over his bicep while you ask if he’s ok, and every little touch makes his whole body tingle. And Bakugou… finally gets why people like this shit.

You giggle, and he realizes he’s said that last bit out loud. “See, feels nice, right?”

Time seems to start dragging on a bit slower as the high really settles into his bones, and he feels somehow both profoundly relaxed, and buzzing right down to his nerve-endings all at once. You continue puffing away at the joint, absentmindedly playing with Bakugou’s hair as Kiri puts something on the tv before turning and gesturing for you to pass the weed over. Shaking your head at your boyfriend, you instead beckon him towards you with a crook of your finger. A saucy little “c’mere…” reeling him in closer as you take another big drag from the joint.

The both of you lean over the blonde’s lap, faces coming together just inches in front of his. Bakugou is hyper-focused on the sliver of space between your lips — the way yours purse to blow a slow stream of milky smoke, and Kiri’s fall open to accept your gift. So close, a simple swipe of tongue could connect you. It’s an intimate exchange, thick with a sensuality that Bakugou swears is coating his throat and making it hard to swallow. 

It feels like ages before the two of you finally pull away, and his eyes follow Kirishima as he settles back on his right. Red brows raise at him curiously, chest puffing out as he inhales the smoke a bit deeper. Bakugou is staring, he knows he is. He can’t help it. His friend has always been easy on the eyes — pretty, even. Although, if he ever told him that, he knows he’d chuckle nervously and deny it. So he just stares silently, and thinks it. But Kirishima has an uncanny way of reading his thoughts, better than anyone else in his life.

And this time is no different, amusement pulling up the corners of Kiri’s mouth, boldness guiding his calloused hand to the back of the blonde’s neck as he leans in. There’s a split second of confusion, Bakugou’s mind wading through the molasses of his high to try and catch up with what’s going on, but then Kiri is blowing the smoke still in his lungs right into the space between his lips.

From you, to Kirishima, to him. A link of breaths, an unconventional chain made up of musky smoke and sighs and things unspoken. It tastes nice on Bakugou’s tongue. It doesn’t burn his chest like his first hit did. It’s been cooled in the exchange, the harsh bite of it taken away with each pass from mouth to mouth, leaving him with something light and comfortable and warm.

Bakugou wonders if he deserves that.

Kirishima’s lips brush softly against his. Silent reassurance that he does.

And then, as things tend to do when you’re high and horny, one thing simply leads to another. It’s a whirlwind of kisses and wandering hands, and then the kisses become deeper, bleeding into each other, and the hands wander further, their touch melting together. And Bakugou ends up turned around to face you with Kirishima at his back.

Your tongue in his mouth is familiar, and yet entirely new, and in this state the contrast between kissing you and his best friend becomes even more obvious. While the man behind him feels rugged against his skin, he always kisses gingerly at first, maneuvering slowly, tenderly, like he’s savoring it. Like he’s handling something delicate and skittish. 

You, on the other hand, have lips like velvet, skin supple and smooth where he cradles your face. But you suck harshly and nip at him, pull at his bottom lip with your teeth and smile devilishly when he hisses. 

Where Kirishima is hard, you’re soft – and where you’re rough, he’s gentle. 

You’re halfway onto Bakugou’s lap, straddling one of his thighs and raised up on your knees so he has to tilt his head up to you. Holding his face in your hands, you lick eagerly into his mouth, suck at his tongue when you feel it slide against yours. That pulls a soft groan from his chest, and his hips grind just a bit against your thigh, giving you a preview of his desire in the form of a poke.

One of your hands trails down the side of his neck, over the muscular slope of his chest and the firm valley of his stomach until it’s found its target on the inside of his thigh. Bakugou can’t help but moan when you press your palm into his cock where it’s currently throbbing against him, trapped uncomfortably in the leg of his jeans. 

“So hard already,” you murmur against Bakugou’s mouth as you rub your hand up and down his length. 

“He’s been hard since we started smoking,” Kiri chimes in between wet kisses to his neck.

Bakugou glares back with a lighthearted huff. “Always starin’ at my fuckin’ dick, Red.”

A low chuckle. “Yeah? Am I in trouble?”

“You fuckin’— agh!”

Kirishima bites down on his shoulder, just hard enough to make the blonde’s mouth fall open, and you seize your chance to swallow the sound.

It would be embarrassing, how well the pair of you are currently playing Bakugou like a tuned-up instrument, but the weed has his mind so fogged that all he can feel is the pleasurable heat simmering in his veins. The plushness of your skin in his palms as he runs them over your waist, and the firmness of his childhood friend’s well-built body against his back, and both of your hands and mouths all over him all at once — it’s more than he can handle. So he just lets himself lean further into Kirishima’s familiar hold and watches with heavy-lidded eyes as you pull his shirt over his head and start working his jeans down his legs.

“Gonna let us take care of you, right, birthday boy?” Your voice is a siren song in his ear, gravelly from the smoke you’d inhaled, pitched down with temptation. The snarky comment you’d usually receive in return is lost to a pleasured little nnghh when you lower yourself down and press your warm mouth to his cock through his briefs, flick your tongue out to taste the growing wet spot on the fabric. Then you’re hooking your fingers into the waistband, watching gleefully when you free the rigid length from its confines and it bobs up to hit his toned stomach with a slap. 

All the while Kirishima’s calloused hands explore, tender in their travels, ghosting over scars and squeezing lovingly at the spots that make him crazy (his waist, his pecs, the inner part of his thighs). He hooks his chin over the blonde’s shoulder and licks his lips hungrily at the sight of his cock, which is jumping in frustration as you kiss teasingly over his thighs. 

It’s flushed a heated pink at the tip and oozing dews of precum that are simply too pretty to ignore, so Kiri dips his finger in it, spreads the sticky substance around the head to make it shine before raising his hand back up and watching a thick, clear thread stretch before snapping. 

“Bein’ so good for us,” Kiri murmurs under his breath, a secret for them to share, and brings his finger to his own mouth to taste the salty arousal on it. He rubs the mix of saliva and pre over Bakugou’s nipple, rolls it between his thumb and forefinger. “Let us know if this is too much, ok?” 

And it is too much, but not in a way that’s unpleasant. So Bakugou responds with only a shuddered breath and his head falling back on the redhead’s shoulder, heavy with his high and the creeping heat of pleasure as you finally drag your tongue up the underside of his cock. He lets the bigger man turn his face to the side with a gentle hand, slots his mouth with his in a slow, hungry kiss.

He’s pulsing against your tongue, impossibly hard and aching for the feel of your mouth, and still you take your time. Licking coyly around the head, letting it leak right onto your tastebuds. Bakugou finally finds his voice again to curse down at you, and it comes out hoarse, whinier than you’ve ever heard him. 

“Stop bein’ such a damn cock tease.”

You chuckle, but relent, abandoning your teasing to finally sink your lips down on him. It lights Bakugou on fire, his toes curling and nails digging into Kiri’s forearms where they’re wrapped around his torso. So sensitive. You bob your head up and down slowly at first, then faster, slurping and sucking until you’ve gotten it nice and sloppy – which is when Kiri’s hands come to gather your hair out of your face, holding it all back in one fist and using the other to grip Bakugou’s dick tightly, stroke him right into your mouth. 

You moan approvingly at the addition of your boyfriend’s hand, a sweet little mmnnn that rings out from your throat and vibrates down Bakugou’s length right to his very core. The sound joins the noisy schlickschlick of Kirishima pumping his hand up and down, the movements practiced and effortless as he grips and twists, squeezing more and more precum from the tip for you to eagerly swallow. You stick your tongue out, let Kiri slap the head against it with a cheeky smile spreading your lips and exposing your teeth, far too pleased with the way Bakugou is trying his best to stifle his own moans and keep his hips from rolling.

Wrapping your lips back around the thick cock being jerked off in your face, you hollow your cheeks and suck hard, making your shared victim curse brokenly. You and Kiri exchange a conspiratory look, and then he’s grinning sleepily down at you.

“How’s his cock taste, pretty girl?”

Your lashes flutter and you make a sound that could be “so good” if it wasn’t completely muffled by skin, refusing to pop it back out of your mouth for even a moment to answer. Your boyfriend chuckles, feeling his own cock stir at watching the enthusiastic way in which you suck someone else’s – but his own needs can wait.

“Need some help down there?”

An earnest nod from you, and then Kirishima is shifting carefully from behind the near boneless body in front of him, sinking down onto his knees beside you to properly assist in servicing the birthday boy.

You continue sucking while keeping your gaze on Kiri, now close enough that you can make out the inky dilation of his pupils, the lustful flush on his cheeks. And he watches you, enamored, hypnotized by your fuck-me eyes and the way your lips pout and your cheeks hollow — his sweet little girlfriend with a nasty little mouth. 

“Y’look so pretty with a cock in your mouth,” he muses, and saliva pools in his own when you hum your appreciation and trace your lips down the side of Bakugou’s shaft, giving him access to the other side. He leans in, licks up a pulsating vein with a groan. The taste is distinctly Bakugou, heady and musky and manly. And it’s distinctly you, sweet like those drinks you order, light like your flavored gloss. He goes back for another taste, and then your tongues are dancing in unison over Bakugou’s dick.

“Jesus fuck, that’s so— fuckin’ good—“ Bakugou’s words are clipped and strained as you both slather his dick with your spit. Up and down, up and down the length of him, until you’re meeting at the top and tangling together in a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss around the head.

It’s messy, uncoordinated, drool coating both of your lips and smearing across chins and cheeks. Wet sounds and muffled moans fill the air as you make out with a dick wedged between you. It’s a sight Bakugou had never known he needed to see, but now he’s watching intently, jaw slack and lids heavy, wanting to burn the image into his memory. If his brain wasn’t so scrambled he’d pull out his phone and hit record, keep the moment in his pocket for him to fuck his fist to later.

Wrapped up in the kiss, you both pull away, your hand finding the blonde’s cock to stroke it as you continue exploring Kiri’s mouth. The twist and pull of your palm is slippery, but not slippery enough, so you break the kiss and stick your tongue out. And Kirishima understands exactly what you want, making a show of placing his big hands on either side of your face and tilting it up for him, pressing his lips together and letting spit flow freely down onto your waiting tongue. You turn with a glint in your eye, letting his saliva mix with your own behind your lips before spitting it all out to coat Bakugou’s dick.

A thought flits through his mind about the three-way hit from earlier, but it fizzles out as soon as you suck him sloppily back into your mouth. “Awh, fuck–” 

And then Kiri’s tongue is lapping at his balls, and Bakugou’s head sinks back on the couch cushions. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—“

He feels like jelly, melting right into both of your hungry mouths. Nothing but the sensation of slick lips and warm tongues, and silky spit rolling down his balls and seeping between his thighs. You and Kiri are switching back and forth, sharing him between you like it’s an everyday couple’s activity, one you’re both especially passionate about doing together. It’s insane — you’re both insane, hell-bent on turning him into a puddle right there on your living room couch.

And Bakugou is a puddle, splayed out on the cushions, panting with his head thrown back and his arms crossed over his face, just lost in it. Until Kirishima suddenly sinks his teeth into his inner thigh.

“Agh—!”

Bakugou’s hips jerk involuntarily at the bite, ramming his cock up into your throat as his gaze is forced back to you both kneeled before him. The sound of you gagging stirs Kiri on, and he places a big hand on the back of your neck to keep you in place before delivering another, harsher bite to his friend’s thigh. Another buck of the blonde’s hips and your eyes begin to water. But you look up at him, and through the sparkle of your wet lashes is an expression completely glazed over with lust.

Bakugou sneers down at you, suddenly stirred on just like Kiri. “Y’like that shit?” You don’t have to respond (not that you can, with his girth filling out your mouth), he knows very well how much you do. “Here, take it then.”

And then there are two more hands holding you down, steady against the back of your head to make sure you can’t move away as Bakugou rolls his hips up towards your face. 

“Stick your tongue out, like that, yeah–” 

You obey, and he grunts his approval as he fucks your mouth like it’s nothing more than a warm, wet toy. It’s slow, lazy, but hard and invasive, cock dragging back and forth along your tongue, pumping precum so deep it feels like you might choke on it. Your throat spasms and aches as it takes the sudden beating from his cock head prodding at it, a copious amount of drool filling your mouth as your body’s natural attempt at lubricating. It bubbles around your lips, drips down in thick globs onto his lap. 

And that’s what Bakugou wanted, really, the mess – to see the way tears roll down your cheeks and spit smears on your lips, the way you seem to go perfectly dumb for his dick. It’s cute, honestly, and he can’t help but tell you so, filth tumbling from his mouth as he uses yours to get off.

“So fuckin’ cute,” he says between ragged breaths, “so cute when you’re chokin’ on me. Fuck, yeah, keep that mouth open–”

You’re doing your best to breathe through your nose, taking the rough treatment while trying not to drown in your own spit, when Bakugou suddenly stills his hips and gives your head a hard push down.

“All the way down, like a good little slut,” he grunts, angling his hips up to try and invade your esophagus, feel how tight it is around his aching cock. There’s still so much of him your mouth can’t fit, and you gag hard, instinctually trying to pull off. But you’re met with the resistance of not two, but three strong hands.

Kirishima pushes gently, but firmly, at the back of your neck, coaxing you to take his best friend’s cock further down your throat with coos of encouragement. “There ya go baby,” his voice is husky and dark in your ear, eyes blown and pink-tinged as he watches more of Bakugou’s length disappear past your swollen lips, “be a good girl and swallow that dick.” 

And then something in your throat gives, and your eyes roll back in your head as your lips finally meet a sticky pelvis, nose nuzzling into a dewy nest of dirty-blonde pubes. 

“Ugh– there it is, fuck yeah–” Bakugou groans, deep and guttural as he pumps shallowly up into your throat, the visible bulge in your neck making Kirishima echo him with a lewd groan of his own. The only sounds you can muster are gurgles – besides the obscene wet gluckgluckglucks of your throat being relentlessly fucked, but you can hardly claim that you are the one making those sounds ring out.

You’re finally set free, hands releasing you to shoot back up and gasp for air. You cough and sputter, a hazy smile curling your wet lips up once you’ve caught your breath, and you peer up at Bakugou, who returns your smile with a satisfied smirk of his own. But the cocky expression is quickly wiped off his face when Kiri takes him in his hand and replaces your throat with his own, descending on him with an ease that makes the blonde’s face contort.

Crawling up onto the couch, you smooth your hand down Bakugou’s chest. He looks positively ravaged; Lips reddened from where he keeps pulling them between his teeth, face and chest flushed pink and shining with a light sheen of sweat, honeyed hair mussed by his hands continuously running through it. And his eyes, usually piercing and fiery, have lost their heat. They’re glazed over, glowing with his high and swimming with pleasure.

He’s gorgeous like this, you think, picturesque in his wreckage, and you can’t look away — not when his eyes roll back and his mouth hangs open, not when his hands reach out and tangle in red locs, not when his gaze finally lifts back to you and he tilts his chin up to silently ask for a kiss. You give it to him, of course — it is his birthday, after all — but then you can’t help but nose against his cheek and tease him just a bit.

“And to think, you weren’t gonna smoke with us.”

He grits his teeth into a semblance of a smile, lids heavy as he looks up at you through thick, blonde lashes. “I like ya better with my—hahh— my cock in your throat. Talk a lot less that way.” Another moan seeps from between his lips, eyes darting to watch Kirishima suck at his balls before returning to you. He reaches out, fists impatiently at the hem of your top. “Take this shit off an’ come sit on my face.”

There’s a slick pop and then Kiri is rising to his feet, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and flashing you both a toothy grin. He suggests you all move into the bedroom, squeezing the obvious outline of his hard cock in his pants as he does so, and you’re being scooped up into Bakugou’s strong arms before you can reply.

He pads down the hallway with your legs hugged around his tapered waist and your arms wrapped around his neck. Hands grope roughly at your ass as he carries you easily — which is surprising only because he’s not looking where he’s going, too preoccupied with tasting himself on your tongue.

You’re deposited onto the bed with an oomph, bouncing against the mattress where you’re unceremoniously thrown. You look up to see Bakugou completely naked, cut body glistening in the dim light and cock bobbing heavy between his legs. He’s staring back down at you hungrily, like an animal that’s caught its prey, that sharp look in his carmine eyes back out to play – and you’re suddenly reminded of the incessant throbbing between your legs. 

“I said,” he grips the buttons of your pants, pulls them roughly down your legs as if their presence offends him, “take this shit off.”

You’re stripped and straddling the birthday boy’s face before Kirishima is even back in the room. And when he does return he’s got what’s left of the joint re-lit and held between his lips, water and towels cradled in his arms. He stops in his tracks when he sees the position you two are in; You, with your thighs encasing Bakugou’s head, bent forward and draped over him so your face is right over that pretty cock. And Bakugou, splayed out underneath you, one leg bent and propped up, dick still shining with the evidence of the treatment it had gotten earlier. It’s throbbing and jumping as you grind down onto his face, your lips formed into a cute little ‘o’ as he slurps loudly, shamelessly at your cunt.

Your eyes flutter open when you hear the light crackle of Kiri puffing on the joint, finding him leaned against the door jam, so big he fills up the doorway and his hair brushes against the top of the frame. He’s watching, ruby eyes glittering, taking another lazy drag and blowing the smoke out the side of his mouth. His sexiness is effortless, easy, like it's built right into that sturdy foundation of his – and the sight of him enjoying the sight of you goes straight to your pussy, sends a wave of arousal leaking from your slit and right onto Bakugou’s lips.

You mewl, and Kiri’s eyes wander down your connected bodies, palming at his cock through his pants as he takes you both in. “How’s he doin’, baby girl?”

“Mmnn… good. But he’s so impatient.”

A heavy hand comes down on your ass, squeezing the sting away, and a disapproving grunt vibrates against your clit. Much like you, Bakugou won’t unlatch from you to say what he wants – instead, he’ll scrunch his face up and let your core absorb his words. You imagine it’s something like “shut the hell up” or “it’s my birthday, you fucks” and you let out a snicker, which unravels into a squeak when you get another swat to your ass.

You straighten up and reach out to Kiri, wanting him closer. And he comes easily, tapping out the joint and setting down what he’d brought along, pulling his shirt over his head. He kneels on the bed, and dips his face down to drink up the little sounds spilling from your mouth.

Your fingers trail down the hard ridges of Kiri’s chest as the tip of Bakugou’s tongue trails up your slit. You keep feeling him, feeling the way his broad chest expands with each breath, the way his toned stomach tenses under your touch. He’s so big, muscular in a way that’s so different from the body underneath you; Where Bakugou is cut and rigid, Kirishima is thick, almost soft, the kind of muscle you can sink your fingers into. And you do, squeezing at him, earning happy little sighs breathed onto your mouth, your jaw, the side of your neck.

You’re kissing each other slowly, deeply, and the moment is sweet, yet so nasty — punctuated by the wet sounds of a tongue swirling around your clit. 

Kirishima curses when your hand finally presses against his cock, so hot with neglect that you can feel the warmth through the thick fabric of his pants. You smile against his mouth. “You like watching us, Red?”

His nose nuzzles against yours, panting as you rub harder into him. “Shit… yeah, I do.” A deep, shuddering breath. “A lot.”

“You like sucking dick a lot, too.”

It’s not a question, but Kiri bites at his lip and answers anyway.

“Yeah, I do.” 

You whine, heat crackling in your belly from both the admittance, and the harsh suck to your clit. Kiri adds on with a chuckle, “might like watching you do it more, though.”

Your fingers hook into his waistband and pull his hips forward. “Wanna watch me suck yours now?”

“Thought we were taking care of the birthday boy.”

You bat your lashes, and Kiri truly wants nothing more than to see your eyes water again. 

“I can take care of you both at the same time.”

“Fuck…”

He’s back off the bed and pushing his pants down his thighs without any further discussion, cock bouncing and bending under its own weight as he moves to position himself between Bakugou’s legs. There’s a surprised mmph from underneath you when his knees are pushed open wider to accommodate the larger man, but it tapers off into a low groan when he feels the heaviness of Kirishima’s hard cock slapping down onto his own.

Bending forward at the waist, you grip Kiri’s cock in your hand, so thick that your fingers struggle to connect around its girth, throbbing so hard it seems to grow even bigger in your hold. He watches you with dark eyes as you drag your tongue up the thick vein on the underside, breathes a little “so pretty” when you look back up at him. 

You flick your tongue teasingly at the tip and pull back so the sticky fluid of his arousal connects you for just a moment, before you wrap your lips around it to suck the rest off. He’s salty, musky, hot and heavy — adding to the growing cocktail of sin filling your senses and making your head spin.

You’re quick to try taking him all the way in your mouth, egged on by your own arousal, and gag hard when he hits the back of your throat. Kiri groans, tucking your hair out of your face gently as he keeps himself from snapping his hips forward and forcing his cock all the way in, despite how he knows you wouldn’t mind – despite how badly he wants to. Instead he watches you strain to fit him in your mouth, the way your lips stretch around him and your cheeks fill out with his girth. It’s almost better than forcing it – watching you work so hard to do it yourself. 

You bob and slurp, use your hand to stimulate what won’t fit in your mouth. And more and more drool collects around his cock, pools in your fist and drips slowly down onto Bakugou’s dick underneath it. 

“Ohhh shit, yeah–” the man above you pants, strokes sweetly at your cheek, “get it nice an’ wet…”

Holding him tightly in your fist, you dip your head down to lick up the spit that’s landed on the blonde’s milky skin, earning a desperate roll of his narrow hips. You wrap your lips around him next, let the redhead jerk his cock over your face while he watches – the way you know he loves to do – before switching back. You keep working like that, going back and forth from cock to cock, sucking Bakugou eagerly into your mouth and then letting Kiri guide you back with a gentle hold on your chin.

All the while, you’re giving Bakugou a view to rival the double blowjob – your cunt spread and bent over in his face, skin so wet and soft it’s like satin, pretty hole leaking endlessly down onto his tongue. He’s shameless, the way he digs his fingers into the fat of your ass, uses rough thumbs to pull your pussy lips apart before spitting right into it. He flattens his tongue, catches the drip and tastes you from clit to slit, then buries it in that little hole, spearing you on it like a man out to kill. You squeak, try to wriggle away, but he hooks his arms around your thighs and pulls you back down with a growl of “don’t you fuckin’ move” before diving back in.

The way he fucks you on his tongue is for him, really, not for you – but even so, the way the muscle stretches you out, swirls and flicks inside you as it tries desperately to push deeper, to taste deeper, it feels so nasty. So good. You arch your back, moan around Kiri’s cock about how good his tongue feels, and Bakugou just smirks against your cunt. Pleased with himself. He knows it’s fuckin’ good — he knows how to make you squirm.

He runs a thumb through your folds, wets it with the mixture of your slick and his spit, before circling it into your clit. It’s swollen, throbbing under the pad of his thumb, and your walls tighten, gush more bittersweet juice for him to drink up.

Kiri’s dick pops out of your mouth as you’re overtaken by the sudden swell of pleasure, and you cry out a shrill warning.

“Fuckfuck, Katsuki, if you keep doing that–”

“Do it,” he says, gruff and demanding, “fuckin’ give it to me.”

So Kirishima takes over in your mission of taking care of them both — presses his sticky cock up against Bakugou’s and fists them both together to the sight of you losing yourself. You’re bracing yourself with both hands on Bakugou’s stomach, tits pushed together so pretty between your arms, eyes rolling shut and mouth falling open on a moan. 

Kirishima is slack-jawed as he watches you buck and grind, fucking yourself back on his friend’s tongue. So beautiful chasing your own high. His fist is slipping quickly over both their cocks, squeezing them together tightly, rutting his hips and sending shockwaves of pleasure through them both. 

“Fuck, Ei, s-slow the fuck down” — is what Bakugou tries to say, but it comes out garbled, slurred into your skin. He’s so sensitive, and everything is so wet. Your pussy dripping, his chin slippery, his dick and Kirishima’s sliding over each other and squelching lewdly. And you’re all in his senses, coating his tongue, filling his every breath, singing like an angel as you tell him you’re gonna cum, you’re gonna cum right on his face —

So his hips jerk, and his voice strains in his throat, and he shoots his load hard, all up his stomach and onto his chest and between Kiri’s fingers. It just keeps coming, makes a mess of his torso and collects in Kirishima’s hand, coats both their cocks in milky white that he keeps pumping up and down the length of them.

And the sight is so messy, so filthy, both cocks sliding against each other, frothing with a gooey mixture of pre, spit, and cum. It makes that swelling wave of heat in your core grow bigger, bigger still — and Kirishima sees it on your face, whines as he overstimulates Bakugou and brings himself closer to the edge, encouraging you to “let it go, baby— there ya go, cum right on his tongue—” 

And then the wave is suddenly crashing, white-hot and roaring in your ears. 

You’re trembling, crying out, grinding down on Bakugou’s tongue, which he now has outstretched for you, hands digging desperately into your hips as he bucks into Kirishima’s fist – still, somehow, able to keep his composure enough to help you ride out your orgasm. Lightning is shooting up his spine, making him twitch and moan, but your release washing over his tongue may as well be the god damn elixir of life. He can see your pussy clenching, see it leaking liquid gold right onto his face, and it tastes like paradise in his mouth. He’s focused on slurping it up, making you scream and gyrate as pleasure wracks your body like something violent and unforgiving.

And, like some sort of carnal chemical reaction, Kiri grabs hold of your face, moans a strained “cumming— oh shit i’m cumming—!” into your mouth as he follows you both over the edge. He bucks once, twice in his fist and then his balls are tightening where they’re sliding against the other man’s, and he’s spilling over, thick and hot into his hand. 

It mixes with Bakugou’s cum, almost indiscernible from it as ropes shoot up and land on his stomach. But it’s thicker, heavier, it doesn’t reach all the way up to his collarbones. And there’s more of it, so much more that it splatters the smaller man with white, pools in the deep grooves of his abs and sticks there.

You’re all panting hard when you finally roll over and collapse into the sheets. It’s hot, stiflingly so, sweat collecting in the crease of your thighs – or is that your own cum? 

The boys breathe deep next to you, Kirishima sat on his knees, Bakugou with his arms up over his face. It’s silent for a moment, besides the sounds of you all gasping, and the hammering in your own chest.

You let your head roll to the side, checking that your partners are still alive, and are met with the sight of Bakugou’s torso absolutely painted with white. 

A stunned exhale. “Holy shit…”

Kiri’s eyes slide to you, dazed. “You ok?”

“Yeah, that is just… so much cum. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that much cum before. It’s like, cartoonish.”

There’s a choking sound – a snort – and then Bakugou is laughing, big and boisterous, mouth wide and teeth bared. It fills the room like fireworks, so bright it lights up yours and Kiri’s faces too. 

“Stop laughing,” Kirishima chuckles, clean hand forming a cup by Bakugou’s side to catch the cum currently sliding down it, “it’s gonna get on the sheets.”

“Well then gimme a fuckin’ towel, dumbass.”

The smell of sex and smoke hangs heavy in the air. It sticks to your skin, makes you feel tacky as you shift in the bedsheets. You reach out to take the joint (well, the burnt nub that’s left) from between Kiri’s fingers, puffing on it gingerly before blowing some into Bakugou’s mouth. He’s decided he likes it better that way – straight from your or Kirishima’s lungs.

“Doesn’t burn so damn much,” he’d grumbled when he’d asked you to do it for him. You’d rolled your eyes, but leaned in to give him some of your breath anyways. 

You’re all still half naked, you in one of Kiri’s t-shirts and the boys both in briefs. Laid out on soiled sheets as a thin haze fills the room, basking in the humid afterglow of your orgasms. Maybe it’s the weed, maybe it’s the three of you together, but you feel so profoundly comfortable that you find yourself sighing deeply and smiling up towards the ceiling. 

“What?” Bakugou eyes you from where he lies beside you, noticing the little quirk of your lips – which he often does, notices your little tells.

“Nothing, just high. And happy.” You roll onto your side, passing the joint back to Kiri as you prop your head up in your hand, “is that a crime?”

“The first one is in a lot of places, yeah. Maybe I’ll call the cops on ya. Turn your ass in.”

You push playfully at Bakugou’s chest, and he catches your wrist in his hand with a wolfish grin, holding you there against him. 

You jut your chin out at him defiantly. “Eiji’ll bail me out.”

Bakugou glances down to where the redhead is laid across the foot of the bed, his head resting on the blonde’s thigh with a hand behind his neck. Your gaze follows when your boyfriend stays silent for a beat too long, mouth falling open with an incredulous call of “Babe?” 

Kirishima blows smoke up into the air with a sigh, drags out his words like they’re hard to say. “Yeah, I would.”

“Tch. So fuckin’ soft for this brat.”

Leaning your weight on Bakugou’s chest, you lift yourself up over him to gloat – like a brat. “Jealousy’s really ugly on you, Kats–”

The room blurs as he flips you over, appearing on top of you in a second with a snarl. You kick your legs as he slots himself between them, giggling and beating at his chest with your fists – which he intercepts easily, gathering your wrists in one hand to pin over your head. 

“Y’talk a lotta shit for someone so weak.”

Fingers dig roughly into your sides, making you yelp and squirm against his weight, which is pressed down onto you, keeping you firmly in place. “Go ahead, brat – talk your shit.” He forces more gasps of laughter from you with a twisted grin, eyes on fire. “Can’t fuckin’ hear you, speak up!”

“Eiji, help me!”

And then, magically, the weight is lifted off of you. 

In a flash, Bakugou is laid out on his back, hands pinned by his head, held in place by two larger ones. He looks a lot like you just did, fighting and huffing – except he’s actually giving his captor some hell, Kirishima flexing and gritting his teeth as he holds him down on the bed.

It’s lighthearted, grunted laughter slipping out between heavy breaths. But it’s also intense, in the way two men wrestling just inherently is.

Locking limbs and bulging muscles, so much power packed into each strained movement and kept from exploding outward only by the strength of the other. Like two stags connected by twisted antlers, they’re opposing forces keeping them firmly in place. It gives you the impression that if you were to be wedged in between them, they’d crush you. And that… excites you.

Bakugou hooks his legs around Kiri’s waist with a biting smile, muscles tensing as he tries to twist and buck him off – and the bigger man falters, almost flips over, but slams the blonde back down with a smile of his own.

“Get off me you fuckin’ brute!”

A breathless laugh from Kirishima, red hair shaking loose around his face. “Oh I’m a brute?”

“Yeah!” One of Bakugou’s hands slips free and he claps it around the back of Kiri’s neck, pulling him down until their foreheads are knocking together. “You are.”

And then there’s a shift, the energy suddenly heavy. No longer playful, but thick and serious. Wanton.

They’re panting, naked chests pressed together, expanding in time with each other. Bakugou huffs, his eyes flickering down to Kiri’s mouth. There’s a moment of anticipation, suspended and buzzing in the air, heating up until it starts to boil.

“All that hair dye’s gone right to your fuckin’ brain.” Bakugou’s voice is low, breath puffing against parted lips. Kirishima’s nose slides against his. “Made you a damn animal.”

“Whatever you say.”

And then they’re meeting in the middle, mouths coming together in a heated kiss. Kiri’s face pressing down, Bakugou’s chin lifting to chase after that pressure. The redhead’s tongue darts out, asks for entry at the seam of his partner’s lips. And the blonde gives it willingly, passionately, answering with an eager tongue of his own.

They kiss like that for a moment, hot and heavy, pushing and pulling, exploring each other’s mouths like new lovers and not like ones who have been here many times before. Their skin glistens and muscles ripple, tangled so tightly in each other that it’s almost hard to tell where one ends and the other begins. And you can only watch, feeling like you shouldn’t be — like a voyeur.

And that seems to make your whole body hot.

It’s almost like you’re watching through a screen, a slab of glass fogged over by your high and the haze of smoke, and the thick steam that is your own desire — until suddenly that screen is punctured, a hand reaching out through the fog. 

Kirishima pulls you into their orbit gently, but with a strength that makes you feel comfortable, like you can lean all the way into it and not float away. His hand cradles the side of your neck, coaxes you to come closer and kiss him. His lips are already wet and swollen, and they taste slightly different — an added sweetness you can’t quite place. Before you can think about it too long, another hand is redirecting you down, Bakugou stealing your lips away.

Wet sounds and pleasured sighs trickle through the air, you and Bakugou locked together hungrily as Kiri litters kisses down the smaller man’s chest. He takes his time running his tongue over the skin, sucking at it, tasting the sweat there — gratuitously, selfishly, knowing Bakugou won’t hurry him along like he usually does. Not with you tugging at this scalp and moaning into his mouth.

Kirishima is not a selfish lover, not by any means, but he’s also not wholly an angel. So he takes what he can get when he can get it. And right now that means taking advantage of the time he has, descending slowly. Slipping Bakugou’s briefs down his legs and running his lips along the scattered freckles on the insides of his thighs and hips. He could stay just like this, ruby eyes cast up to watch you both indulge in each other, while he indulges in the body beneath him.

But then he gets a little too eager, pushing Bakugou’s legs open wide and breathing a small “fuck…” at the sight of his hole before dipping down to taste it.

Bakugou breaks the kiss, gaze dragged down by the slick feeling of a tongue between his cheeks. His mouth falls open, face feverish as his hand moves to cup his balls, kneading them softly and holding them out of the way to give Kiri better access.

Kirishima’s tongue snakes out, big and thick just like the rest of him, and runs achingly slow over the little ring of muscle. Around and around in deliberate, wet circles. Then he’s drooling down onto it just to lap it back up with a wide, flattened tongue. His eyes flicker down, taking in the wet mess he’s already made before he dips the tip in, stuffs as much of the muscle as he can into the tight hole with a hungry groan. 

It’s a different kind of intimacy, watching them like this, and it fills your face with warmth and drips down your spine. Has your hand traveling absentmindedly between your legs to satiate the ache that’s returned there. The way Bakugou’s head falls back on the mattress, the way Kiri looks up at him with eyes that are both soft and yet sharply calculating — it’s different. You’ve never seen them like this, the way they were together far before you were ever in the mix, at least not at this level of vulnerability. And maybe it should make you feel jealous, or unsure of your place, but, truthfully, all you feel is a burning, unmitigated need.

You almost forget that you’re even there — physically there — until a big hand is cupping one of your tits, an arm hooking behind your back and pulling you close again. Propped up now on his elbow, Bakugou twists his body to peck at the side of your breast and squeeze the other in his palm. He laves his tongue over it, scrapes his teeth along it with a pant before sucking a bruise into the skin. His face is hot where it buries into you, his breath even hotter where it huffs out against the new, wet bloom of red. He looks up at you through heavy lids, brows pinching as Kiri licks sloppily at his fingers and pushes two in.

“Just gonna watch, y’little perv?”

You raise your brows at him, swipe your tongue over your lips. “Maybe– unless you’d like me to do something else.”

He nods down, towards where his cock sits oozing fresh precum onto his abdomen. “Come sit on it.”

You want to, your body’s aching for it, walls clenching at the thought of it stretching you out. You can imagine distinctly how it fills you, how it hits certain spots so perfectly. The memories alone making your stomach tight with need. But you narrow your eyes anyways and say, “that’s a funny way to ask.”

He smiles sleepily, and his eyes rove down your body — and Bakugou realizes, that he’s the weak one. Weak from the weed, weak from the way Kiri works him open, weak from the sight of your cunt wrapping so pretty around your fingers. But, somehow, in this moment, he’s comfortable in that weakness.

So he sucks at his teeth, closes his eyes for a moment before looking back up to you.

“I need you. Fuck– need’a feel your pussy on me.”

The please sits heavy in his eyes. He doesn’t say it, but you hear it nonetheless. 

You press forward, slot your mouth with his and let him wrap his arms around you to pull you onto him. Swinging your leg over his body, you come to rest atop him, hovering your hips over his just so until he’s growling in frustration and pulling you closer. Closer, he wants you closer – wants you both so much fuckin’ closer. So he hugs you against his sweat-dampened chest with strong arms, opens his knees wider and thrusts up to rub himself against you. 

The hot length of him sliding through your folds makes you gasp, and your body reacts on its own to grind back down on it. That’s all it takes to get it slippery, your pussy so wet already, leaking slick onto his skin and making it shine. 

With three fingers now stuffed knuckle-deep in Bakugou’s hole, Kirishima is getting impatient. His cock is so hard again that it hurts, throbbing in anticipation of feeling that elastic tightness currently gripping around his fingers. And now he’s watching you roll your hips back, seeing the evidence of how wet you are right there on the underside of Bakugou’s cock every time you roll them forward again. He’s squeezing his own cock at the sight, pushing his briefs down to free it so he can spit down on it.

You keep working yourself up, teasing yourself with slow grinds, letting the ridges of Bakugou’s hard cock stimulate your sensitive clit. His lips ghost against your jaw, teeth nipping lightly. “You want it?” He asks, breathy, just as worked up as you are. “Want my dick inside you?”

“Yes,” you feel him pant against your cheek, his cock pulse against your sex, “I want it so bad.”

“You want it so bad, put it inside you, then.”

Eagerly, you reach back behind you, wrap your fingers around his throbbing cock and swipe it through your folds once, twice, before slotting the tip at your entrance. Then, finally, you sink down.

There’s a resounding curse as your pussy starts to swallow Bakugou’s cock. 

From you, as you’re slowly filled to the brim with heat, his cock rigid and heavy as it makes room for itself inside you, the ache in your core finally soothed by the heady feeling of being completely full. 

From Bakugou, as your walls start to envelop him, quivering and squeezing around him, so snug and warm and wet that he can feel your arousal coating him and rolling down his balls. 

And from Kirishima, as he watches it all happen, sees the way you open up so eagerly for cock, the way your cunt gushes around it, the intrusion pushing your juices right out. The way it splits open and sucks in inch after inch after inch, until his cock has disappeared completely inside of you. 

Once you’re sitting all the way down, ass meeting skin, your clit resting against blonde curls, Kiri decides he can’t wait any longer.

You’re tipped forward as Bakugou’s legs are pushed open and back, and then you feel his breath hitch beneath you when Kiri’s dick begins to sink into him. 

“Oh— fuck—!” His jaw goes slack, eyes wide and brow furrowed, as he’s stuffed completely and utterly full of Kiri’s cock. It’s huge, a fact you know well, so you coo your encouragement into his skin, kiss down his jaw and the side of his neck with each reassuring whisper. 

“Ohh god, that’s so good,” Kiri sighs, eyes trained down to where his dick is being swallowed up, girth squeezed so tight it’s almost painful, “Takin’ me so, so well. Shit, so tight—“

The little, pink ring sucks him in deeper, stretching impossibly far around his thick cock. Kiri spits down on it, spreads it over his free length with his hand then pushes the fluid in with a shallow thrust. He does it again, slowly, answering each one of Bakugou’s choked groans with sweet, albeit equally choked words of praise. 

And you sit there, patiently, tasting Bakugou’s skin and scratching lightly at his scalp with his cock nestled inside you. 

The sensations are overwhelming — the impossible fullness in his ass, the delicious sting of Kiri working his cock in deeper and deeper. And the snug fit of your pussy around him, damp walls clenching every so often, like a warm, wet hug for his aching cock. His dick is jumping and tensing inside you, no doubt coating your insides with more and more sticky arousal with each careful push of Kiri’s hips.

And then Kirishima is finally buried to the hilt, balls meeting the tight muscle of his ass, and the long, low groan Bakugou lets out seems to vibrate right up your spine.

Kiri pulls out, the tight ring squeezing like a vice the whole way, and then slams back in.

“Fuck!” Bakugou’s face is pinched and flushed, sweat beading on his forehead when he pleads with you in a strained voice. “Need you to move. N-need you to ride me…” And this time he says it out loud, a hoarse and needy “Please.”

So you move for him, push your hips back on him so his cock is sliding slowly in and out of your pussy. It glides easily, so slippery with the mix of your juices and all the precum he was leaking right into you. You roll your hips steadily back and forth, back and forth, pulling pretty moans from Bakugou’s lips with each careful movement.

Strong arms wrap around your waist, pulling you down and hugging you close, and then a new set of hands is gripping your ass. Kiri pulls you open, squeezing hard as he watches the dick slide in and out of your wet pussy, watches your silky skin hug and drag every time you roll your hips up. 

He has the most perfect view of you creaming around Bakugou’s cock, making a mess of white that coats it and collects right around the base. It makes his mouth water — so he spits down on your ass, watches the glob drip onto your hole and down over the dick you’re impaled on. It mixes with the fluids there, makes it even wetter, messier.

“Fuck, that’s so hot. Look at you…”  He murmurs, awe-struck, snapping his hips harder into Bakugou as his big hands push and pull on you, guiding you back and forth on another man’s dick. “Ride that dick, baby. So pretty… God damn, these holes are so pretty.”

“Y’like what you see, Red?” Comes your voice, sickeningly sweet as you smile over your shoulder at him.

“Mmm yeah, look so pretty stuffed with cock.” A smile of his own playing on his lips when he adds, “Both of you do.”

You send your hips back again, slowly, teasingly, and Kiri’s gaze drops back down to watch your pussy swallow Bakugou’s length. And right underneath that is Bakugou’s ass swallowing his length, over and over with each buck of his hips. Both holes so greedy, so wet and tight and eager for cock — the sight alone is overwhelming, downright pornographic, and Kiri feels his stomach tighten up with the tell-tale sign of his release—

So he pulls out, clenches his jaw and grips the base of his dick to stop himself from cumming so soon. “Shit, I almost…” He laughs, light and breathy, as he cards his other hand through his hair. “Just need a second.”

Fingers gripping your chin pull your attention back, Bakugou catching your mouth in a needy kiss before grinning up at you. The mist in his eyes has parted, nothing but fire outlining the deep, dilated black of his pupils.

His voice is quiet, but rough when he tells you, “‘m gonna fuck you now.”

You don’t have time to respond before you’re being flipped over. (Not that a response is needed. It wasn’t a question.)

You’re on your back once more, your legs being pushed open by hands cupped under your knees, Bakugou mounting you with a tongue swiping hungrily over his teeth. He slides his dick back inside you in one foul swoop, the head of his cock hitting your walls hard and knocking a shrill cry from your throat.

He’s so pent up from having you grind on him slowly, being a puddle underneath you despite aching with the animalistic need to pound you, that he just can’t hold back. He’s ruthless, needing to fuck you hard and fast and mean – and your pussy responds so beautifully, syrupy juices gushing out around his dick, practically spraying all over him with the force of his thrusts.

“God, this pussy’s so fuckin wet. So fuckin’ sloppy. All for me, yeah?”

Your staccato moans are the only answer you give – besides the loud squelch of your cunt when he buries himself to the hilt.

“Say it,” he spits, squeezing your face in his hands to force you to focus on him, “say it’s all for me.”

So you do — you chant it like a holy truth, with your eyes on him and your legs shaking. “All for you, it’s all for you!”

You’re rewarded with a more violent snap of his hips, pulling all the way out and slamming back in. “That’s. fucking. right.” He’s growling down at you, crazed, punctuating each word with a wet slap of skin.

“You like bein’ a little slut for us don’tcha, princess?” He drills you into the mattress, pinning both of your legs back, bending you painfully so he can fuck into you deeper. “Like bein’ my little cocksleeve?” 

All you can do is squeal, mind going blank as he bullies into you — so he answers for you, he knows the answer anyways. “Fuck yeah, you do.” Another hard thrust, and you’re sliding further up the bed. His hands hot, possessive when he drags you back. “Nasty little bitch — god, this pussy feels so fuckin’ good—“

But then he’s falling forward, being pushed forward, catching himself with his hands on either side of your head. He shoots a glare behind him, spits a “what the fuck” back at Kirishima, who has a hand braced on the blonde’s shoulder and his eyes cast down.

Kiri grabs hold of the smaller man’s hip, squeezing as he pushes into him, in turn pressing Bakugou further into you. A collective hiss echoes through the room.

Kiri is sheathed back inside him and, like a switch being flipped, Bakugou goes silent. His breaths are ragged, his eyes glazed. His hips still. 

Kirishima pulls out, then fucks back into him just once, making Bakugou’s cock reach even deeper inside of you with the force of his thrust.

“Don’t stop.” A firm command, punctuated by soft kisses to Bakugou’s back. “Keep fucking her.”

Bakugou grits his teeth, breathing a curse out between them, then sets his jaw hard with determination and rocks his hips again. And Kiri stays still, lets him fuck himself back on his cock.

The blonde pulls out and slams back in, over and over, harder and harder, resuming his brutal pace. He’s fucking into you feverishly, spearing himself on Kiri’s dick as he spears you with his, seesawing back and forth between the two. 

“Ohhh fuck… there you go, good boy.” A big hand appears, wrapping loosely around Bakugou’s throat, fingers gripping right under his jaw to tilt his head up and make his back arch. Not choking but possessing, commanding. Dominating. The blonde pants, eyes rolling back, hips moving faster as he succumbs to the will of the man deep in his ass — and he looks positively blissful doing it.

Kirishima leans in and presses a cheek to his temple, eyes dark and piercing as he grips his jaw tighter. “Keep going just like that. Make her cum for us.”

Then he turns his gaze down to you. “Be a good girl and play with your pussy while he fucks you.”

You’re quick to obey, fingers finding your clit to rub fast, harsh circles into it. You were already close, dangling right on the edge from Bakugou’s rough treatment. And now the way your boyfriend is looking at you, looming over you both in a way that’s so different than you’ve ever seen him — you’re practically boiling over with desire.

Bakugou keeps fucking you, hard and deep, caught in between the heat of your cunt and the stretch of Kiri’s dick, and the sounds he’s making are downright sinful. Grunts and whines and broken curses that meld together in his mouth, sometimes spilling right over your lips, sometimes being swallowed by Kiri as his face is turned back by a hand on his jaw. He’s taken Kirishima’s cock before, and he’s given you his, but both at the same time has his eyes rolling so far up into his head that he can’t see straight.

He looks totally wrecked, completely fucked out, glassy-eyed and flushed and panting like a dog — it’s egging you on, making you rub your engorged nub faster as you feel pleasure winding tightly in your core.

And Kiri sees it on your face, so he brings his lips closer to Bakugou’s ear. His voice like cocoa, dripping dark and sweet.

“Want you to tell me when you feel her cumming, Katsuki. Tell me when you feel her gush on your dick.”

And something about that – being talked about like you’re not there, like you’re just a toy being shared, or a precious little pet being played with – makes the tether in you suddenly snap.

You do gush, hard, shrill chants of “ohmygod, ohmygod” and “yes, yes, yes” joining the chorus of wet sounds as you cum on Bakugou’s dick. His eyes go wide in realization before they’re rolling back, lashes fluttering against his cheeks. He groans long and low at the feeling of your walls clenching around him, leaking more and more slick that he fucks right out of you with each stroke. 

“Ohhh fuck— I feel it—! She’s so, f-fucking tight. So wet.”

Kirishima smiles, big and wicked, then reaches out to grab hold of your hips before plowing forward. 

He pounds hard and fast into Bakugou, big hands wrapped around your hips for leverage, trapping him between you. Each thrust is an explosive chain reaction — Kiri fucking into Bakugou, forcing Bakugou to fuck into you. You’re caged underneath the blonde, his forearms on the bed and his chest pressed to yours, his eyes squeezed shut as Kiri gives him every thick, rigid inch like a man possessed.

It’s merciless, the way Kirishima is manhandling you both, the mattress squeaking and the headboard thudding against the wall. And it’s hot, all of you damp with sweat, two hulking forms crowded over you and making you feel like a small animal caught in a trap. 

Your head digs back into the cushion, back arching off the bed, fingers scratching mindlessly at the sheets as you’re fucked into oblivion. You’re given no chance to come down from your high, everything so swollen and sensitive as your orgasm is prolonged past the point of sanity. 

Bakugou is so deep inside you, reaching so far up into your cunt that you swear you can feel him in your throat. Every pull has him dragging deliciously against your walls, and every push has him carving out the space again, his tip hammering right into your sweet spot like a pleasurable punch to the gut. You scream, babble incoherently about how deep he is, how it’s too much, how you can’t take it.

And Bakugou echoes you, voice hoarse and face pinched.

“Fuck— W-wait— if you keep— I’m g-gonna—“

Kiri shushes him, kisses his shoulder, coos so sweetly as he continues his relentless assault on both of your holes. “Take it a little longer, baby. Doin’ so good, so fuckin’ good for me.”

“Fuck , Ei—!“

“Go ahead.” Sweat rolls down his temple, red hair sticking to his forehead. He cranes his neck down, watches Bakugou’s ass swallow him up with a groan. “Cum for us. Do it inside her. Let it all out in that pussy.”

You’re practically brainless at this point, wet and warm and perfectly pliant underneath them, but Kiri’s filthy command brings you back down to earth. You hook your arms around Bakugou’s shoulders, as if he can be anymore trapped, and plead breathlessly for his cum.

“Please! Give it to me, please—!”

His eyes open, fiery red reappearing from behind his lids as he takes in the desperate, fucked out look on your face. He feels his balls tighten, stomach tingling — aching to give you exactly what you want. “Fuck, you want it? Want this load in your cunt?”

You nod furiously, open your legs up wider, wanting him deeper. “Fill me up, Kats. I want it— want it so fucking bad.”

A loud curse and another hard thrust, and his own hips start matching Kiri’s rhythm, chasing the slippery drag of your walls. You’re so tight around him, almost like your body knows what’s coming and is trying to milk it right out of him. 

“God damn— I’m gonna cum, gonna dump it all so deep inside you.” He burrows his face in your neck, his voice shaky and vibrating against your skin. “Fuck, take it— take all my fuckin’ cum—!”

Burying himself to the hilt, he gives it to you, shoots it all out against your walls, his dick pulsing so hard with each thick rope that you can feel it. It’s warm, flooding your insides with heat that spills out around his cock and trickles down your ass in hot, gooey trails.

And Kirishima feels it too, his cock caught in a vice-like grip as the muscles around it contract. He can barely move, sucked in by Bakugou’s orgasm, but each twitch and squeeze feels so unbelievably good — he throws his head back and lets the pleasure wash over him, pumping his cum right into that tight, needy hole. And then he pulls out, fists his cock wildly and shoots the rest of it out onto Bakugou’s ass. 

The redhead is panting as he strokes the last bit of cum from his tip, grabbing a handful of the blonde’s taut cheek to pull him open and watch the mess of white dribble from his loosened hole. There’s so much of it, oozing out in thick globs over his balls, dripping down to mix with the cum slipping out of you and coating his dick. “Such a mess…” he chuckles under his breath as he shifts out of the way enough for Bakugou to roll off of you.

But then a rough hand is tangling in his hair, pulling the redhead down towards your used up pussy as warm cum continues to seep out of it. Bakugou’s face comes right up to his, nose to cheek, with a nasty grin splitting his lips open.

“Then clean it up.”

Kirishima’s face is pushed down between your legs, and you gasp at the sudden contact of his mouth. His tongue is downright greedy as it laps the bittersweet cum from your folds, and you’re so sore and sensitive that you immediately whine and try to scoot away.

Two muscular arms hook tightly around your thighs, Kiri pulling you back in and looking up at you with big, pleading eyes. “Stay still, baby, please,” his tongue darts out again, groaning low at the taste, “gonna clean you right up, ok?”

“S-so sensitive—!”

“I know, baby girl, I know. Just let me…” But he can’t finish his thought, lashes fluttering as he continues licking up the cum from your entrance. The mix of you and Bakugou swirls around on his tastebuds, makes him dizzy with desire. He extends his tongue, drags it all the way up from your ass, letting it dip into your slit and collect more of the mixture for him to hungrily swallow.

It’s filthy, watching your boyfriend eat another man’s cum out of you like he’s starving for it — and you’re already so sensitive, your clit engorged and your folds swollen from friction. A thick finger pushes inside you, sinking knuckle deep to scoop more cum out of you, and your back arches high off the bed.

“Ohhhh— ohmygod fuck!”

Bakugou is right behind Kiri, watching with low eyes and a snarling smile. He pushes the bigger man’s face harder into you, laughs meanly when you gasp.

“What was that shit you told me?” He rasps, craning his neck down to talk in Kirishima’s ear. “Tell me when you feel her gush.”

It’s like a game between them, and you’ve somehow become the ball.

There’s an excited glint in Kiri’s eyes when he opens them again to stare up at you, plunging another finger into you and curling them hard as he latches his lips onto your clit. You writhe in the sheets, bucking and squirming as you’re overstimulated. But Kiri keeps you firmly in place, holding you down like it’s nothing with a thick arm barred over your hips, and quickly brings you back to the edge.

But this time is different, your insides so swollen from the beating they’d gotten, so sensitive from your last mind-numbing orgasm, so responsive to the beckoning curl of his big fingers… You feel it, the intense build of pressure, and your eyes go wide, pleas to wait and hold on tumbling from your lips as your body curls in on itself. But Kiri just keeps going, grunts his encouragement onto your clit as he sucks and licks it, flexes his forearm as he fucks you even harder on his fingers — and you fall right apart with a scream and a rush of fluids.

“Ohh shit!” Bakugou laughs as Kiri pulls his face away. 

The redhead braces a hand on your abdomen and pushes down to keep you still, then hooks his fingers into you, moving his arm hard to attack that spongy spot and fuck more squirt out of you. It sprays violently out of your cunt as you scream, showering them both in your essence, so much that it drips down their bare chests and soaks the sheets.

Bakugou slaps at your clit as you come down, laughs again when you buck up involuntarily. “Now that’s a fuckin’ mess.”

They’re both glistening, Kiri’s face dripping, droplets of your cum snaking down their stomachs. It’s nasty, everything muggy and wet and covered in somebody’s cum.

And you all look downright blissful about it, panting heavy and smiling like cats that got all of the cream.

Bakugou reaches out, kisses Kirishima hard and licks the taste of you off his mouth. Then he’s pulling you up and pressing his lips to yours, passing the sweetness on to you.

“Happy fuckin’ birthday to me.”

[Moon and Sun are bickering]

Sun's cat: *Throws a bottle off wine off the counter, it shatters*

Sun: THAT SOUND IS WHAT I THINK OF YOUR OPINION

Moon: YOU PIECE OF *Bleep*

i got bored of the whump thing im writing itll be back i just dont want to refine here's some fluff i made when i first wanted to write medieval ish fantasy there's a bit of whump later in the wip

When I heard Goose’s soft snoring, I looked over at her direction and kissed her on the forehead. Starborn had been discharged from her duty as my guide and slept with Pandolin in the large wyvern bed.

Goose had her arms folded in front of her, judging by the position of her shoulders, and I unbraided her dark hair and brushed through it with my fingers. 

I could feel it was curly, and she mumbled, “Pandolin, what’re you doin’?”

I didn’t respond.

“Hrm,” Goose mumbled. “‘M tired, stop,”

I stopped brushing through her hair and turned over, then felt her breath on the back of my neck.

I turned over again, then touched her cheek. 

She flinched back, and I said, “Hi, Goose,”

Goose yelped and fell off the bed with a heavy thud. 

I reached out my hand and pulled her up, then hugged her.

I could feel her rapid heartbeat, and she whispered, “Why were you doing that?”

“Sorry for scaring you, and I don’t know,”

She pressed closer to me and said, “Please don’t do it,” before rolling back onto her side.

I looked up and waited, not able to sleep. Goose grabbed my hand, and my heart began racing. 

Goose pulled me closer and said, “Empeza, you didn’t happen to kill a seer named Nadia Guseva, right?”

“No. Why? Did you know her?”

I remembered hearing of that poor girl. I have no idea of her fate, but she was used by Nasilje for political and religious gain. Most thought Guseva to be insane, however, and almost everyone disregarded her as just a lunatic who thought she saw the future.

“She was my sister, and-,”

I gave her a tight hug and said, “I’m sorry. No one knows what happened to her,”

“Oh,” she whispered.

She sniffled softly and whimpered, “I- if she’s alive, she’s the only family I have left. Other than Pandolin, but you know- he’s more than family, he’s a part of me,”

“I’ll ask Nasilje, alright?”

“Alright.”

I stood, and she grabbed my arm.

“No, not now, Nasilje, I assume she doesn’t like being interrupted,”

I sat down and she said, “Stay safe,”

“Of course, paxariño,” I said, knowing she wouldn’t understand my affectionate nicknames once more.

I lay down and she lay on my armored chest, and I said, “Goose, wait a moment,”

She sat up and I took off my armor and stripped off my tunic to my underclothes.

I sat back down and let her lay back on my chest and rubbed her forehead, and she slowly drifted to sleep. I let her stay on my chest, I didn’t want to wake her up.

I heard Starborn hyperventilating, and Starborn flew over to me and sniffled, Empeza, I had a nightmare. 

I touched her spiky scales on her snout and replied mentally, Don’t worry. What happened?

I’m scared. I saw a monster.

She curled into my arms and I hugged her close. She was about the size of the medium sized brown dog I had until it died when I was three.

You’re my best friend and sister, you should’ve come to me.

She started crying in a way I wasn’t used to. Typically, she never even laughed. It sounded like patchy growling and her scales shifted up and down underneath my palms.

Empeza, I love you. Starborn whispered.

“I love you too,” I replied. Starborn flapped back over to Pandolin, then went back to sleep.

I closed my eyes and let dreams take me.

—

It was a normal execution, it should’ve gone without a problem, but the prisoner spat out his gag and pleaded for his life, just as I killed him. Just as I killed my brother.

I sink to my knees, it was a bad omen, the executioner screaming from insanity just after ending a life, but I couldn’t stop.

I stare up the sky and whisper, “Forgive me, Santi, please,”

I cradle his body close and wail, wishing I could bring him back. Wishing I could join him. I take my sword, and Nasilje grabs it out of my hands as I slit my wrists.

She calls for a medic, and someone comes by and bandages my wrists, stopping the blood.

I-

—

The horn blew, and I rolled out of bed. 

Goose took my hand and pulled me up, and I thanked her. Starborn woke up and fluttered over to my shoulder.

No more nightmares? I asked.

None.

She stretched and yawned, and Goose took my hand. Starborn described Pandolin flapping over to Goose as clumsy, exhausted, and dragonfly-like.

Pandolin lay on Goose’s shoulder, and Goose whispered, “You don't have to work ‘til breakfast, alright?”

Pandolin didn’t respond audibly.

Goose took an unlit torch from the wall and pressed her palm against it. I heard flints, and I could tell that there was light nearby.

“Let’s go,” she said. She sounded a bit like what I’d nicknamed her, a goose.

“You alright?” I asked.

“Yeah,” she replied. “Just, a really weird dream. Something about controlling dragonfire, somehow,”

“Well, dreams are meant to be strange, the gods don’t want us knowing what they mean without careful thought,”

“True,”

I put on my tunic and pants, but not my armor. I didn’t feel like it, and my shift wouldn’t be for another six hours.

She and I walked to the kitchens, where Ivan stopped us.

“Market day. Go do whatever you want, here’s breakfast,”

He handed us two slices of toast each and some bacon. 

I ate quickly, and Goose asked, “What’s market day?”

Ivan paid her, and I explained it to her quickly.

“I typically go riding in the mornings on these days, since I’m off. Want to come with?”

“Um- alright,”

I took her hand when she finished eating and took her to the stable.

—

Igor handed me Xenebra’s brush and said, “She won’t let me anywhere near her,”

“Odd,” I replied. “I’ll do it,”

I walked over to my child’s stall and she knickered irritably.

I got in the stall and cleaned the stall very quickly, then put feed in her empty trough and started brushing her thick coat. 

I spoke to her through it all, and she listened.

Eventually, I guided her out of the stall, and she reared when she saw Igor.

I tried to soothe her, but she broke out of my grip and ran out of the stables. I chased after her, and saw she’d stopped right outside the stables. I mounted, and Goose stopped next to us. She rode a chestnut bay, the one no one had ever wanted, according to Igor. It was about three quarters of Xenebra’s size, according to Starborn, and Pandolin sat on its head. 

Pandolin was small, for a wyvern, Goose had said he was twenty, like her, and normally, they ended up the size of a shepherd’s dog at around that age, no longer able to fit on a shoulder at all. Starborn was five years younger than I was, as I’d gone blind at a later age, but even then, she was much bigger than Pandolin.

“What did you name her?” I asked.

“Myata,” Goose replied.

Myata followed close behind Xenebra as we went down the road. For such a small thing, she was fast.

—

We traveled down to the beach and Xenebra galloped across the sand, outpacing Myata.

Xenebra suddenly stopped, and I heard a thud. 

I dismounted and before I could open my mouth to apologize, Starborn described a tall man with thick red hair and blue eyes, who snapped at me, “Who decided to let a blind person ride a horse?”

“Hey, izvini, I didn’t mean to hit you, and Xenebra was going too fast to slow down. Did anything break?”

The other person stormed off, and I got back on Xenebra, waiting for Goose to arrive. Goose got there a few minutes later, Myata walking slowly.

“Sorry, Myata refused to canter. Who was that?”

“Some guy. He wasn’t looking where he was going, and he came too quick for Starborn to tell me,”

Xenebra and I continued in a trot so Goose could keep pace, and eventually, we dismounted and walked over to the water. Pandolin jumped off Goose’s shoulder and into the mudsand, rolling around and Starborn doing the same a few minutes later. 

Xenebra lay down for a rest, and I sat on her back. Myata did the same a few moments later, judging by the heavy thump in Goose’s general direction, and I looked over the horizon, listening to the waves.

Starborn jumped onto my shoulder, scales waterlogged.

Why? I groaned.

Water is very nice.

Not for me.

She nuzzled my cheek and I rubbed her forehead. 

She cooed happily and raised her snout to touch my palm, then licked it.

I heard someone running near us, then stopped.

That guy you hit has a knife. He’s getting closer.

Burn.

A burst of heat, and I heard someone scream.

Xenebra whinied, and I quickly shifted my position so she wouldn't throw me off. 

Goose followed suit and we rode off, quick as we could. 

The man didn’t bother chasing after us.

I felt sunlight on my face and realized the sun was rising. I stopped Xenebra and looked in the direction of the brightness. 

Starborn described it to me, and I imagined it as it was. All the clouds everywhere, orange, pink, and purple fire.

I closed my eyes and inhaled, feeling the sea breeze on my face.

“Beautiful,” Goose breathed. 

I took her hand, and she whispered, “I’m sorry you can’t see it,”

I didn’t reply, I had no need to see. It actually made me better, it stopped me from following in my brother’s footsteps.

I looked in her direction and said, “I’m here with you,”

I kissed her hand, and she sputtered, “Empeza- we can’t,”

“Yes we can,”

“Its illegal,”

“I lived with raiders, you think I care about the stupid bitching laws dictating love?”

“Privacy?”

“Ah. Right. Back to the keep?”

“No. I wanna have fun first,”

She rode up the beach, toward the pier, and we rode back up the dunes and through the dune grass, then dismounted. 

I took out the frog to clean Xenebra’s hooves of sand, and found wet grass and leaves and dirt, like her hooves hadn’t had the field residue removed.

Why? I wondered. I walked over to Myata and cleaned her hooves of wet sand, and instructed Goose to guide her through the rest of the town.

We approached a shop that Xenebra seemed interested in, and I smelled sugar.

Where’s the line? I asked Starborn. The stall sold sugar cubes for horses.

No line.

I walked over, and heard Goose and Myata close behind.

“‘Ello ma’ams, how’d you like somethin’ for yerselves?”

“Just our horses,”

“Wouldn’t yeh like a snack, lovebirds?”

I stiffened and said, “Just two sugar cubes,”

“We’ve a special deal for four for the price o’ three,” 

“Just two sugar cubes, sirrah,”

“Fine,” he sighed, Starborn described him going under the desk, and I suddenly got a bad feeling. 

I put my hand on my sword’s hilt, and he rose with a firearm. Rare here, but I’d seen them, my parents were raiders, after all.

I pulled out my sword and he hissed, “Put all your valuables and that pretty sword in the sack, and a’ll spare you,”

I called for a fellow guard and before the man reacted, I knocked the firearm out of his hands. As I’d been trained.

He growled, “That cost me a fortune,” and the firearm went off at random, a bullet ripping through my leg.

I cried out, and Xenebra ran. I let go and had Starborn catch up to her so she didn’t get herself or someone else hurt. Myata, stubbornly, ate the dune grass, chewing slowly.

“Empeza!” Goose called. She dismounted and I heard the hissing sound of a wyvern breathing hot fire. 

The man cried out, and I ran in the direction of the gun and turned on the safety and made sure it was unloaded.

It was still hot, so I waited, and the man ran up to me. 

I smacked him with the butt of what felt like a rifle, and sent him sprawling. My leg shook, and one of the guards arrived a moment after I collapsed.

“Empeza!” Zdrajca called. 

He lifted me and I winced.

“I saw Xenebra and came running,” he explained, before I even asked.

He whistled, and Xenebra and Starborn returned. Starborn clung to Xenebra’s mane like she was a tick, after she sent me the mental image. She flew over to me and licked my cheek.

By the way, Papa’s in port.

Oh. 

Zdrajca mounted me on Xenebra and told me to go to the nearest clinic, and I obliged. My parents knew what to do.

I steered Xenebra to the port and heard Goose following behind.

“Who was that?” Goose called.

“Zdrajca,” I elaborated. “Another guard,”

She caught up to me, and Starborn told me to stop. I dismounted, my leg hurting like the eleven hells, and listened for a familiar voice. I heard ship jargon, merchant jargon, things everywhere.

“-request an audience at the keep-”

“-five pounds lost over the edge-”

“-Ben tripulación, parada rápida, entón nós-”

“Mama!” I called. 

I limped over, and felt a giant hug on my shoulders.

“Oh, Gaivota,”

“Ola, mama,” I whispered. “Así que me dispararon hai un momento,”

“Quen o fixo pagará, non importa quen,”

She scooped me into her arms and carried me onto our ship.

“CARDENAL!” she called. 

My father came by and saw the injury, and broke into the common tongue.

“Alright, let's just get the bullet first, then we-”

I zoned out and stared back at nothing.

“Empeza!” Goose called. 

“Gaivota, do you finally have a friend?”

“Yes, that’s Goose,”

“Let her board!” my mother called.

I heard footsteps, and felt Goose’s touch.

“Hey,” I mumbled, before kissing her on the nose.

She kneeled next to me and I felt the bullet exit my leg.

“Alright, we’re gonna cauterize your leg, alright, Gaivota?”

“Ben, papa,”

He left and got a torch, then had Starborn light it. The injury hurt as he brought the heat source closer, not at all like how Goose did it, but it wasn’t safe for her. 

“Goose,” I croaked, “Can you hold my hand?”

“Sure, Empeza,” she whispered. 

She pulled close and took my hand, and I squeezed, tight. 

“I’m going to scream n-” I started, before the pain increased and I screamed.

Goose rubbed my forehead, and whispered, “You’ll be safe, you’ll be safe,” 

She brushed through my hair with her fingers and her fingers heated to a gentle warmth. Whether on purpose or not, I don’t know, but I liked it all the same.

Eventually, the fire came away from my leg, and my father bandaged it, then gave me a walking stick to use for a while.

I returned to my darling horse, and Goose followed.

“So those were your parents? They seemed… cold. They didn’t even use your name once,”

“In my culture, we… nickname others. I have many, including one from my time in the army when I got stung by a bee and cried for two hours,”

“What?” Goose asked, clearly startled.

“Yeah they called me Tristeza Abella for the rest of the time. Means Bee Sadness, ‘cause the bee died and we had a funeral,”

I took her hand and said, “It was just silly, however,”

I showed her the scar, the result from all the itching, and she touched my shoulder, right where it was.

I mounted Xenebra and had her follow behind Goose and Myata. 

—

Xenebra reared suddenly while we were traveling to the outskirts of town, knocking me off and into a crevice.

My arm cracked, and I tried to scramble out, but couldn’t find a handhold.

Starborn, how high are the walls?

Straight up for about ten feet. Miracle we survived.

“GOOSE!” I called. “Do you have like, twenty feet of rope?”

“No!” I heard Goose call.

“Can you go get some?”

“Probably!” she replied.

She left, and a few minutes later, returned with rope. She threw it down, and Starborn caught it. I started rappelling up and my knee gave out. I fell back, pulling Goose with me.

“Ow,” Goose mumbled. I rubbed her forehead, and I felt a pain in my chest, right on my rib.

“Owowowowowow,” I mumbled.

I heard hissing, and for a moment, I thought we were surrounded by snakes. Then something started talking.

“Ooh. Two little humans, wandering into our territory? Good. Fresh meat,”

Starborn described a bug-like creature that looked like the fae out of picture books. Snow skinned, big-eyed, luminescent wings.

It nipped at my arm, and I unsheathed my sword. 

It hissed, backed away, and I slashed at its leg.

It screamed. Unearthly and vicious.

The creatures all backed away from me, all but one.

Starborn described it as a man with shiny golden skin, black bug wings, big bronze eyes and a beetle’s mandibles.

He walked forward, and grabbed my chin. 

I raised my sword, and he spun me around almost effortlessly as I jabbed forward, hitting one of the bug things.

“Now now, little human,” he crooned, “Drop your little needle. After all, you don’t want to upset the master of the underground, do you?”

I felt my fingers open, and my sword clattered to the floor.

“Good. Good. Now, what brings you down here? Come to sacrifice yourselves?”

“I- I fell,”

His grip tightened. 

“How does an ordinary human fall into here with no intents to meet us? Unless-”

He inhaled deeply and said, “Magic. How I hate the creatures,”

He grabbed my arm and I felt something sharp and wet touch my skin. His tongue.

“Now, go on, little human,” he hissed at Goose. “Say goodbye to your little friend,”

Starborn described Goose looking up at him, and she stared right into his eyes, then hissed, “No,”

She grabbed my sword, and he left me. 

“Well, now, my little servants, what do we do to stubborn humans and their friends?”

A resounding choir of dozens of threats came from the mouths of these bug things. 

When it died down, the human thing said, “Wrong, we make them see as we see,”

Starborn warned me about the creature lunging at me, and I pivoted to the side and tripped him.

He hissed at me and grabbed me, then pressed his finger to my forehead, and it felt like my ears popped as sounds I’d never heard before entered my ears. He touched Starborn’s snout, and Starborn nipped him.

Starborn described him approaching Goose, who’d been forced into an incredibly awkward position by the bug monsters, her arms spread out at her sides and her feet forced to the floor by two of the monsters sitting on her boots.

He touched her forehead, and she screamed and burned him with her fire. He recoiled, and-

I felt the breeze on my face, and heard Goose gasping for breath. I stumbled over to her and hugged her. 

She hugged me back and gasped, “That actually happened. That was… weird,”

“I know,” I replied.

I whistled for Xenebra, who came running. I patted her shoulder, only to realize something was terribly wrong. Her hair felt like it was solid bark, and when I patted her mane, it felt like it was made of leaves. 

“What in the eleven hells?” I muttered. 

Xenebra raised her head, then muttered in my language, “Cando imos ir?”

I yelped, and Starborn told me Xenebra turned her head to look at me with one eye, then lowered herself to look closer to Xenebra. Xenebra’s face was made of loose twigs, underneath, there was hair and leaves, but the outer layer was still bark.

“Podes entenderme? Hurra!”

She licked my face, her tongue still a normal tongue. 

Alright, so her outer layer is patches of black and white bark, and from far away, she still looks like a semi-normal horse. Starborn told me.

Interesting.

Xenebra started running without my command, and I heard Goose’s horse galloping after us, Goose on its back.

“Empeza!” she called. 

I told Xenebra to stop, and she obeyed.

Goose approached, and I had Xenbra approach her, then held her hand and our horses walked back to the market. Xenebra didn’t talk when we hit town.

At least, not until we approached a different stall that sold sugar cubes, and she showed quite a bit of interest, begging me for a sugar cube.

I patted her mane to direct her toward the stall, and dismounted, and bought her and Myata a sugar cube. This merchant was far less pushy, and didn’t pull a firearm on us, so, all around pretty good.

Xenebra ate the sugar cube from my hand, and I gave Goose one to feed Myata.

“Grazas!” Xenebra whinnied.

She trotted through the streets and toward the keep.

We went up the road and Xenebra snorted when we stopped outside the stables. She snapped her head back and bucked, the animated, albeit annoying, personality she’d displayed dissipated.

She whinnied and bucked once more, before finally stopping and saying, “Malo,”

“Que?” I asked.

“Home de comida,”

“Quen?” I asked.

She knickered and hit my nose with her head, and I called for Igor.

She reared, and Igor pulled her down when he exited the stable. With surprising strength, despite his small stature.

She butted him with her snout, and I pulled on her reins, then patted her neck.

Igor looks… wrong. He’s like the golden-skinned creature, but instead gray skinned, and he has colorful and glittery membrane wings. I think he can tell something’s wrong.

“Empeza? Why’s your horse still acting weird?” His voice still sounded normal.

Xenebra lowered her head and bellowed, and I told him to go.

“Alright,”

He left, and Xenebra calmed. I dismounted, and my leg exploded into pain when I hit the ground.

“Xenebra, foise.”

I limped over to the stable, guiding her and Myata into their stalls.

I hand fed Xenebra a handful of oats, and she knickered happily.

“Ata pronto,” I whispered, before pressing my forehead to her snout.

She snorted and walked away, then lay down on the floor and closed her eyes, according to Starborn.

Goose took my arm and said, “If you need to rest, tell me, and we can sit down,”

“Alright,” I replied. She and I walked, and I tired, but forced myself to walk on. Embarrassed, I just shut up and stayed walking, even when my exhaustion and pain got to be too much.

I tripped, and found I could barely stand.

“Goose, I can’t move,” I mumbled.

Goose took my hand and attempted to pull me up, but the difference in size made it near impossible for her.

She ordered Pandolin to go get a medic and he flew away.

Goose squeezed my hand tight and I sniffled, “Hurts,”

“Don’t worry, Empeza, don’t worry,”

She hugged me and I cried into her shirt and I reached for the familiar grip of my sword’s hilt. I wasn’t going to use it, I just felt comforted when it was in my hand.

I heard someone shouting, and I heard my brother shout, “I DEMAND AN AUDIENCE WITH NASILJE!”

“Santi!” I called.

Santi ran over and hugged me, every second step with the thud of his un-oiled prosthetic spring-leg. 

“Empeza!” he called. He hugged me and shook Goose’s hand, then broke to speak to me rapidly in our native language.

He finished with, “-Onde esta Anika?”

“Levarona,” I whimpered.

“No. No,”

He broke off. 

“When’s her trial?”

“I don’t know,”

“The rei está chegando,” he said.

I heard a fellow guard, Artyam's approach.

“Sirrah, please leave,” Artyam said.

“Arty, no. He’s my brother, he just wanted to talk to Nasilje about someone in the dungeons that’s at risk of death,”

“Who?”

I swallowed and scrambled to think of someone whose crime was as severe.

“My wife, Anika. She’s the-”

I cut him off, “She’s the one who killed my husband,”

“SHE WAS FRAMED!” He snapped.

“Framed? How so?” I asked. Starborn told me it was her.

He whispered in my ear, “Someone wanted to hire her to kill him, and she refused. Next thing we heard about the hit, she had a warrant for her arrest because someone said she was the one who killed him,”

“What?” I hissed. 

“Get me to Nasilje, help me clear her name, didn’t you see who killed him?”

I glared at him with my empty eyes and said, “I can’t,” 

“Sorry, forgot. Hi Starborn,”

He scratched underneath Starborn’s chin and Starborn shivered.

Goose helped me to my feet and said, “That’s your brother?”

“Yep,” I sighed. 

He went off in the direction of Nasilje’s audience room and Sascha approached. He lifted me onto a portable cot and he and Goose carried me to the infirmary.

“Bleh, I feel pain,” I mumbled.

“Just wait,” Sascha ordered. 

He set me on a permanent bed, and I closed my eyes, falling asleep.

—

“Will she be alright?”

“We’re keeping her for a few days,”

“No,” I croaked. “My- executions, my parents, my- home- Xenebra’ll throw a fit,”

“Don’t listen, she’s delirious,”

“NO I’M NOT!”

“Have some brandy, you’re in for a long, painful night,”

“Can Goose stay?”

“I have to go back,” she said. “I work tomorrow, after all,”

“Hrmph. Alright. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Goose replied.

She shooed Sascha away, closed the curtains around my bed, and kissed me on the forehead.

“Good night,” she whispered.

ACT 1 // CHAPTER 1: Heart

beginning // previous // next

ACT 1 // CHAPTER 1: Heart

beginning // previous // next

Imagine your F/O(s) getting you/your S/I addicted to drugs (including cigs and/or alcohol obv) and then controlling your supply to manipulate/control you.

❛ are you sure you’re okay with me going out with someone else ? ❜ to babylon from mikee!

" sure. " babylon says, emotionless, as he reaches for the bottle of vodka and pours himself a shot. he tips it back, allowing the other to see the complete and utter nothingness on his face. his free hand slides across the small knife in his pocket, part of him feeling threatened by this .. this nobody that mikee had decided to start seeing. " tell them to watch their back. wouldn't want something unfortunate happening to them, would we? "

I love reading about characters getting into mischief and causing chaos. This was so nice to read!!

Flash Fiction #93 Prompt: Broken Windows

Another bout of self-indulgent TSS writing thanks to @flashfictionfridayofficial​!

Bar Fight

Word Count: 882

TW/CW: violence, alcohol mention, cursing

Synopsis: The post-book 1 Karics have chosen violence tonight. (Mentions a book 1 climax spoiler).

It was one of Emry’s favorite nights in Senne- which was to say, it was as cold as hell.

Snowflakes drifted lazily downward, melting on his shoulders and on Marley’s gloves as she walked with him along the frozen canal. The frigid air, thankfully undisturbed by any sharp wind, refreshed him with every breath. Between the snow, the chill, and the stars above, he had half a mind to take another lap around the canal before heading home.

If only his legs were up to the task.

 “How are you feeling?” Marley frowned up at him as he winced and grabbed the snow-dusted stone barrier that ran along the canal. His grip tightened on the cane he had borrowed from Nana.

 “Fine.” The word came out automatically. Marley sighed.

 “No, come on, we’ve talked about this. How are you actually feeling?”

He leaned against the stone to take some weight off the ache in his legs.

 “It all still hurts,” he muttered. “Thought I would’ve recovered by now. S’been, what, a month?”

 “Well, you were asleep for the first quarter of that.” Marley hugged his arm. “And no one else has been possessed by a spirit and lived. Cut yourself some slack.”

 “Hm.” He pushed himself back up onto the support of the cane. He hadn’t cut himself any slack in three years. “Think we can head back? I’m sure Georgie and Aspen have beat us home from the tavern, with how slowly I’ve been walking.”

Marley was about to turn him around when a frenzy of shouts, glass, and cracking wood careened out of the building ahead of them.

 “Out!” someone boomed. Both Emry and Marley flinched when an empty glass bottle crashed through the window and shattered on the cobblestones, glittering shards skidding along the ice.

 “Yeah, out!” A vine of thorns whipped another bottle through the hole in the window.

Emry and Marley looked each other in horror.

 “I don’t think they beat us home.”

Keep reading

Murder Drones Fanfic - A Mother's Wrath, A Father's Softspot, and Brave Girl

Tessa and J were in the library drawing pictures together laying on the floor. It had maybe been a week or two since J had been built and assigned to be Tessa's drone.

The 9 year old held up a doodle of her and J as slightly square-ishly shaped dogs. She giggled as she kicked her feet back and forth, "I drew us as Bluey dogs!"

J looked up from her drawing of a little shadowy girl with a beautiful white unicorn. "That's really good, Tessa," J encouraged warmly, "I'm really proud of you."

Tessa glanced over curiously. "What are you making, J?" she giggled, being a little nosy by slightly raising herself up onto her knees and elbows to get a better view.

The worker drone with the synthetic white ponytails finally relinquished and showed Tessa the drawing. "It's silly, it's nothing special..."

Tessa sat upright in a criss-cross-apple-sauce way before picking up the drawing and admiring it. "WOWIE! THAT'S SO PRETTY!" she exclaimed before explaining, "And I love the unicorn! Unicorns are the best horses!"

J sat up right, moving closer to Tessa. "Well, it's a rainy day today. Do you know what that means?"

Tessa trilled excitedly as she side hugged J, "We get to watch the archive of Bluey videos!"

The two had spent the last 30 minutes watching episode after episode together, sitting on the floor together, laughing at the antics of the Heeler family. The Maid drone and her favourite human were in the middle of watching the episode about Bingo dreaming of being in space with her stuffed rabbit when Louisa walked into the library so she could read her true-crime novellas.

J quickly turned off the episode and whispered to her favourite human, "Tessa, I think we should get out of here, you know how your mother gets when she's in the library."

The young Elliott heiress nodded and took J's hand to try to sneak out of the library. She looked worriedly left and right as she reached the edge of the row of books before she started to bring J along with her.

"Just about home free..." Tessa whispered to J, the two were almost to the doors of the library when...

"TESSA JAMES ELLIOTT!" the Elliott Family matriarch shouted.

The ebony haired girl turned around, meeting her mother's gaze. "Oh.... h-hi Mother, we were just leaving.."

"You know the rules, young lady! And so should your drone!" Louisa snapped cruelly as she slammed her book down on the table.

Tessa flinched, hugging onto J like a scared koala. "W-we were leaving... honest!"

Louisa stood up, storming over to the girl and her drone, looking over the two like an ominous obelisk before she commanded, "Let go of your robot, Tessa."

Tessa held strong, refusing to let go of J. "NO!"

J hugged Tessa back and whispered, "Tess, you should probably listen."

Tessa shook her head no, making her braids fly back and forth. "I'm not letting go, J, you didn't do anything wrong."

Louisa got angrier, now shouting, "LET GO OF YOUR ROBOT OR YOU WON'T BE EVEN ALLOWED OUT FOR DINNER!"

Tessa didn't want to let go, she didn't care.

Louisa slapped Tessa hard, sending her flying back.

J looked on in horror at what happened, she went to run over to her favourite human who's right cheek was now red from the slap, when she was picked up by the back of her maid dress. She struggled a bit but gave up, letting herself be held like that to avoid any further punishment.

Tessa pleaded, "Mother no! It's not J's fault. Please, please!" trying to chase down her maternal figure who was walking with J towards the cellar door.

Louisa yanked open the cellar door and dropped J down onto the floor and commanded, "MARCH DOWN THE STAIRS, THAT'S A CORPORATE ORDER!"

J looked back at Tessa, her expression almost emotionless, save for a worried frown. She turned away from her favourite human and marched herself down the stairs, she didn't have a choice.

Tessa stared up at her mother, tears filling her eyes as she watched the woman lock the door. "W-we were trying to leave..." she sniffled, holding her face where it was sore.

"Do you think I care?" Louisa barked at her daughter, towering over the little girl like a monster, "You know the rules, when I use the library, no one else is allowed in! NOW GET OUT OF HERE OR YOU'LL BE OUT IN THE RAIN UNTIL YOUR FATHER GETS HOME."

The ebony haired 9 year old girl ran out of the room, too scared to scream or cry, her heart was breaking. Tessa hid in a closet under the grand staircase, pulling knees into her chest and crying, since she didn't want her mother to find her crying.

J meanwhile, was in the dark and lonely basement of the Elliott Manor. She was distraught after everything she saw, and yet, she didn't feel much at all. "Corporate's spoken," she whispered to herself, the dark barely brightened by the LED light coming from the backs of her hands and her LED eyes. She walked around the dusty and cold space used for storing barrels of wine and rum as well as extra chairs for the ballroom. "Looks like this is home until Boss gets back."

J sat on the basement stairs and sighed, she wished she could've done something to protect Tessa, but, she couldn't do anything to disrespect her employers.

After some minutes of quiet brooding, the silver haired drone girl could hear gentle sobs coming from somewhere. She followed the echo that to J sounded like a precious angel crying to a vent in the ceiling. The maid looked up through the air duct into a dark room. "Is someone there?" J asked softly, she knew it was Tessa but, she wanted to not startle the little girl.

The girl in the room above stopped her sobbing and looked to the grate on the floor beside her. "H-hello?" she sniffled as she looked down, eventually seeing her favourite and only drone's eyes through the dark. "J.... I'm so sorry... I should have listened," she sniffled, her heart heavy with remorse.

J had her chance now, to get back a Louisa for hurting Tessa, J thought for a bit and instructed firmly but kindly, "Tessa, remember the story of Little Red Riding Hood?"

Tessa let out a small and sorrowful "mm-hmm" in response to J's question.

The maid drone called up through the small air shaft, "How she was a big brave girl when the wolf was going to eat her, and she hit him in the stomach with a table lamp and went to get help from the lumberjack?"

"Y-yeah?"

"Tessa, I'm going to need you to be a big brave girl and sneak into your Dad's office and phone him."

Tessa went silent for a bit and started crying again. "B-but I'm scared... I don't have you to protect me... what if Mother catches me? A-a-and how will I get into Father's office, he locks it when he's working or away."

"She won't if you're careful," J insisted pleading the sorrowful girl above, "Get to the ballroom's kitchen and use the dumbwaiter to get up to his office, "

Tessa responded with a little laugh at the word dumbwaiter, yet her voice still wavered with sorrow, "What's a dumb waiter?"

J couldn't help but smile a little at her favourite human's giggle, responding back caringly, "It's the little elevators the manor uses for food, the ones you hide in when we play hide and seek." She asked again, "So, are you going to be a big brave girl for me?"

Tessa responded, her voice still a little shaky from crying, but more sure of herself and the goal now, "I'll do it... I'll be a big brave girl for you, Jaybird..." She reached her little hand as far down as it'd go into the short air vent.

J reached up into the small duct, her finger tips just tapping Tessa's. "You can do this, I believe in you... Get to your Father's desk and call him from the phone and tell him everything.

Tessa pulled her hand back and whispered into the vent, "I'm going to go be brave now, thank you, Jaybird, you always know what to say." She stood up as tall as she could, dusting off her black overall dress and opened the closet door carefully. She looked around the room to ensure no one was there, she looked over to the library, seeing the frosted pane doors to the library still closed. She made her way along the wall carefully to make sure that if her mother was looking out the door that the movement wouldn't be as detectable. Once she got to the blindspot of the library doors, she took off her shoes and hurried to the ballroom, knowing that socks made far less noise from her midnight sneak-downs to the kitchen for cookies.

Tessa walked by one of the mirrors in the small corridor to the ball room and saw a small purple ovular bruise on her right cheekbone. She ran her thumb over it, pretending it was a battle stripe that she had painted on herself, and headed into the ballroom, doing her best to not step on the creakier floorboards along the edges of the room. Some maid drones were chatting as they worked polishing silverware. "Like I said 77, it's just dreadful, poor 1001, she's been having back issues, and not even Reginald can figure out how to fix that." 117 interjected, "Could you imagine having to dust the hallways with a hunched back from a damaged spine?"

Tessa dropped to the ground and crawled under some tables to get through without being spotted. She knew if any drone saw her, they'd want to chat, and that would get her caught in a heart-beat. She crawled out from one table and tucked and rolled to another one like a little spy, making her way carefully over to the curtains along the wall. She stood up as she made her way behind them.

A little hunched over maid drone hobbled by the curtains, her little voice greeting to her coworkers, "Oh... hello ladies," she held a hand on her back, "Alright, I've finished sweeping the vestibule... any idea what else I could do?"

Tessa peeked out from the curtains seeing the unnamed drone who always turned a blind eye when she went to steal cookies from the pantry but couldn't keep a secret very well. She held her breath.

"You could dust the curtains," 77 suggested.

1001 smiled at the idea and started walking over to the curtains after picking up a rubber carpet-beater. She did her best to hobble over to the curtains, happy to be able to do a job despite her disability.

Tessa shuffled as quick as she could while trying to not make the curtains move too much. "Shoot!" she whispered as she was just shy of the edge of the curtain, turning back to see 1001 glancing at her from the curtains' other side.

"Hello, Miss Tessa!" 1001 greeted happily, waving in the direction in which she saw the girl, only for when the curtain moved for Tessa not to be there, "Oh... I must be seeing things...."

Tessa was under the table closest to the curtains, she had another 5 feet to go before she could get into the dumbwaiter. She had to do something... anything to distract the drones. She looked around for anything she could throw. There was no cutlery under the tables, not even a ball-bearing. She thought and thought before she realized she'd have to take a risk and pull the table cloth and knock the vase over on her table. She got out from under the table, kneeling at the edge to stay hidden. The little girl breathed in and out and shook the table cloth, making the small vase with a single rose tip over and spill.

The drones began looking around for the source of the sound. Tessa dove for the kitchen door and slid around the corner, leaving the 3 maid drones to assess the table and the mysteriously knocked over vase. She clambered up through the little square hole in the wall into the cubby of the little elevator. She closed her eyes as she pressed the button on the outside of the dumbwaiter and pulled her arm back in as the tiny lift made it's way up. Tessa exhaled, feeling she was in the clear, until... she heard a distinct voice coming from the room below the office, as she rode up in the elevator shaft. It seemed that Louisa had gone back to her personal study to get something. "M-mother..." Tessa worried to herself, "She's on the floor below Father's office..." she insisted strongly to herself in a whisper, "I can't back down now, I need to be a big brave girl and save Jaybird." She climbed out of the window-frame entrance of the dumbwaiter and began shuffling herself across the floor still in her socks. She made it to her Father's desk and stood on her tippy toes to grab the receiver. She pressed the button on the older style landline to get a-hold of her father directly as she thought to herself, "Why do we still have a landline, those are over 1020 years old."

The phone hummed slightly as she held the receiver up to her ear, hoping to get through to her father. She prayed softly to herself, keeping her eyes shut, and then...

"Hullo! Office of James Elliott, James speaking!" the man's voice echoed through the speaker. Tessa spoke up in her little Aussie voice, doing her best to still be mostly quiet, "Father... I... I need you to come home."

"Hullo Tessa," he greeted in a friendly tone before he sounded a little annoyed, "I really can't right talk right now though. I have a lot of paperwork to do."

"N-no wait", Tessa pleaded into the phone, trying to say quickly but also quietly, "Father... Mother, she... she got mad and took away, J.." Tessa explained further, her voice getting shaky with tears, "She hit me, and now I'm unsupervised."

"Uh huh, I see..." James' voice echoed through the phone, his tone becoming more serious, "Well, I thank you for telling me what's going on, Tessa, but I won't be home for a little bit."

Tessa got scared, her voice getting louder as she pleaded, "Father, please!"

All of a sudden, there was the sound of a woman shouting from the floor below and the sound of footsteps. Tessa left the phone off the receiver and climbed back into the dumbwaiter to try to escape.

When Louisa eventually reached James' room with a key, she saw the phone hanging off the hook, emitting a dial tone, and no one in the office at all.

Tessa hid once more in the under-the-stairs storage closet to stay hidden from her mother. She waited in hiding until her Father got home, listening to the shouting match ensue outside of the closet where she and J held hands through the small opening in the floor to keep Tessa from crying. She eventually emerged from hiding once she heard her James Elliott, the CEO of JC Jensen call out for her. "I'm here, Father.. I'm sorry Father," she greeted, slightly bowing out of respect.

The Aussie man in the top hat approached his 9-year-old daughter and soothed, "Oh, Tessie. I'm so sorry for what happened today." He picked her up into his arms, before he laughed, "Crikey! You're becoming a big croco aren't you?" He looked to her face and saw the now darkened bruise. He frowned. "Oh Tessie... I'm so sorry,"

Tessa couldn't help but laugh a little, drying her few tears. She pleaded, as she looked into her Father's more bold greyish eyes, "Can you let J out of the basement?"

James sighed sternly, "Of course, let's go together, alright?" He scowled as he walked along carrying his daughter, "I am very upset at your mother, she should know that you're too young to be left all alone. That's why we built J, so you'd have someone to watch you."

Tessa leaned her head against her father's. "I... I was really scared... but, J called out to me from the basement and told me to be a big brave girl."

James stopped walking and he couldn't help but smile. He ruffled Tessa's hair, messing up her already messy bangs, before he chimed in, "Well, I'm not exactly happy you called me away from work, but I'm glad I could help. You're going to be the boss some day, young lady," he put his top hat on Tessa's head over top of her bow.

Tessa giggled and clung to her dad like a little koala. "I am?"

"Of course y'are, so it's good you're practicing being brave now. CEO's have to be brave, you daft little dingo. Best part, you'll get to have all the drone listen to you, and you can put anything in your tea that you like," he suggested, implying his addiction to adding vodka or rum to his morning tea.

The girl's innocent mind went immediately to the thought of putting 10 lumps of sugar into strawberry tea and she giggled.

The two finally made it to the library and James approached the door, hearing the sound of kicking. "I command you stop, drone!" James hollered at the door before he realized it was Tessa's robot and it wasn't really his place to get mad at J for trying to break down the door to come save Tessa.

"J! I called in the cavalry!" Tessa shouted to the hatch on the floor, she gave her father's hat back and hopped down from his arms.

J called out from the cellar door, "I'm so proud of you, Miss Tessa."

The JC Jensen CEO handed Tessa the key to the lock and stood back as he watched his daughter open the door. He smiled happily, watching J run up the stairs and pull his daughter into her arms, lifting the girl into the air before pulling her into a big hug. "J, you're a very good and protective drone."

J set down Tessa beside her and stood tall as a reaction to the validation from her boss. "All in a day's work, sir," she proclaimed proudly, making a small two finger salute to James.

The well-dressed Aussie man closed the basement door and suggested to Tessa happily, "Well, how's about we make you another drone, so J has a helper."

J and Tessa liked the sound of that, both saying in unison, "Yes please!"

It had been a week, and the new drone was starting to get on J's nerves. J, the new little butler drone, and Tessa were in the library drawing Bluey characters. J scoffed at N's drawings, "You really aren't good at art are you?"

N chimed in proudly, "I know, but I'm good for a drone that's one week old!" He looked up to the girl with the ebony braids and the romper dress with brass buttons.

"That's the important thing!"

The three heard Mrs Elliott's footsteps approaching the library.

Tessa gathered up her art supplies and papers and hid them behind some books. She whispered to her drones, "Brave squad, it's time to go. N, you're on distract mode."

N took a microfibre cloth out from under his hat.

Tessa let out a little quiet giggle upon seeing the drone's little bald head. "We're going to have to give you some hair later, N," the little Aussie admitted before she was hoisted up by J onto the maid drone's shoulders.

J whispered to Tessa as she started walking briskly with the girl sitting on her shoulders, "Come along, kiddo! Let's get you to safety."

N ran over to Mrs Elliott's favourite place and dusted off the table.

Louisa approached, raising an eyebrow in annoyance at the butler.

N bowed politely and greeted, "Good Morning Mrs. Elliott, enjoy your reading. Would you like some tea?"

The wicked hearted matriarch of the Elliott household's stern expression softened slightly as she was taken aback by the drone being polite. "Chamomile, strong brew, two tablespoons of cream, and don't forget a table spoon of honey," she informed sternly.

N nodded and headed on his way out of the library. Once he caught back up with J and Tessa, the three all looked at each other with serious expressions.

The 9-year-old girl started giggling at how well their plan had went, she hopped off of J's shoulders and pulled N and J into a group hug. She squealed with delight and informed to her favourite butler and maid, "Ooooh! I love you two so much! You're my bestest friends!"

N smiled to J who just rolled her LED eyes before she nudged him with her elbow.

The End

Which parent scared you the most? It seems N and J both say your father.

-big breath- I had a feeling this day would come...

Just a warning, I'm going to talk about domestic violence and emotional abuse, so if you're not strong enough to read something dark, that's ok, I'm not going to judge you.

Well, it's like this anon... Father was wicked and cruel to drones, and sometimes he would side with my mother if he felt I was making a fool of myself in front of his work friends, but... when it was just him and I, he was a little nicer. It could've been from the rum or vodka in his morning tea, but, when I was around 8 or 9 he built J for me and then N a couple weeks later. There were times he would yell and scream at Mother when he found out how bad she treated me, but as I got older and more weird, he started to ignore it a little... But, Mother... she really scared me. -starts rubbing her gauntlets- nothing was ever good enough for her. She was vile and wicked. She made my life a living nightmare... She was never happy with me. Either I was overdressed or underdressed, my hair was too short and unlady like or too long and 'unkempt', either I was too strange or too plain. I was never enough... and she would hit me... and I don't think mothers are supposed to hit their little girls. Chili never hit Bluey or Bingo.... And she kept trying to take away my drones and hurt them...

-feeling tears coming on- just.... it was difficult. So Too Long Didn't Read would be my Mother.

yeah... I sent this one. I just wanted to hear you say you'd put Mother in a wooden nightgown for me <3 Sorry Jaybird, luv

Time for the cousin of Kiss Marry Kill, this game is called: Maim, Kill, Cuddle!

Your options are: Tessa's Mom, Tessa's Dad, and RoboTessa

=] have fun

A no brainer.

Maim: James (the alcohol might as well finish him off)

Kill: Louisa

Cuddle: Tessa