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silent-stories · 11 days ago

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𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐇 𝐁𝐑𝐔𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐒 - 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄

Pairing: underground fighter! noah x reader

Series summary: You’re dragged to watch an illegal fight, and after the match, you meet Noah, a fighter who seems to be battling more than just his opponents.

Tw: mentions of deceased family members, drinking.

Series masterlist

The walls of the tattoo shop were full of framed flash art and faded photos of past clients, the front counter had stickers scattered across its glass surface.

Amber was sitting in the chair across from you, legs tucked under her, scrolling on her phone as you answered the phone: a woman booking a consultation.

Nick, as usual, was posted up near the back, focused. His gloves were ink-smeared, head down as he worked on the sleeve of some guy sitting stiffly in the chair.

You wrapped up the call, set the appointment, jotted a few notes, then hung up.

“So?” Amber prompted, “You were saying?”

You gave a small, tired huff of breath and leaned back in your chair, rubbing at your temple.

“I gave him the bracelet. He gave me back my shirt...clean, actually. And for a second it was almost… good. Like, normal-good. He even smiled. He was joking around.”

Amber blinked, skeptical already.

“But then I asked him why he still fights,” you continued. “He just...flipped. Said we weren’t friends. Basically yelled at me, so I left.”

You looked over at her. She didn’t look surprised. Not really, but still a bit disappointed.

“Yeah,” she said slowly, “sounds about right.”

You tilted your head. “What does that mean?”

“It means you should probably let it go, I'm sorry.”

"Yeah, I should." You said tapping your fingertips on your sketchbook.

The tattoo machine's sound faded as Nick powered it down. He carefully wrapped a layer of plastic around the fresh tattoo on his client’s arm and then peeled off his gloves.

The guy nodded his thanks, grabbed his coat and headed out the door, the bell above it jingling behind him.

“Really, stop thinking about him,” Amber said. “He's not worth it.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re right. The whole thing is pointless. We gave each other our stuff back, and that's it.”

Amber didn’t add anything else.

A few seconds later, Nick approached you, stretching his arms over his head. “Alright,” he said, raising a brow at the two of you. “What are you girls whispering about over here?”

You shrugged, giving him a faint smile. “Nothing important. Really.”

He tilted his head, unconvinced but not pushing. “Mmm. Okay. So. The butterfly, right?”

Amber smiled. “Exactly.”

Nick reached over the counter to grab his book of tattoo designs, but his forearm accidentally knocked your sketchbook off the table. It landed on the floor with a soft thud, pages flipping open.

“Shit, sorry,” he said, crouching automatically to pick it up. But then he paused, looking down at the open page. “Wait, these are yours?”

You leaned forward, a little flustered. “Yeah.”

“Damn. You’re good.”

You gave a modest shrug. “Thanks.”

Nick handed the book back to you, grinning as he did. “No, really. Now I'm scared you're gonna steal my job.”

You chuckled.

Nick turned his attention to Amber, flipping open his design book and gesturing to different butterfly styles.

“Okay, so...” Nick pointed to a geometric one in the book. “This one’s kind of sharp and very symmetrical. Good for forearm or ankle. Clean lines.”

“Too sterile,” Amber said, wrinkling her nose. “I want it to feel…alive.”

“Alive?” Nick chuckled. “Should it breathe too?”

As they began discussing placement and color, you sat back, flipping slowly through your own sketchbook.

If it had fallen open to the wrong drawing, Nick would have asked who the hell the guy on that page was. And Amber would have probably guessed it right.

Noah's face was drawn from memory, defined jawline, but not too sharp, dark hair falling just past his eyes. His expression was serious, but in his eyes there was something softer.

You’d shaded a darker halo around one of his eyes: one of the bruises that hadn’t yet faded. There was a small cut along his bottom lip, another along his cheekbone, and a bigger one on his nose, like the last time you saw him.

And then, almost invisible unless you knew to look for them: freckles. Just a light dusting across his nose and cheeks. You hadn’t even seen them until the morning in the abandoned building he called home, when the sun slipped through the broken windows and kissed his face in just the right way.

You flipped the page before anyone could glance over. Then again. And again. Until the drawing was buried deep in the middle of the book.

Amber laughed at something Nick said, and you looked up, forcing your attention back to the moment, tapping your pencil absently on the edge of the sketchbook and telling yourself not to think about him again.

The apartment door creaked open and slammed shut again in one fluid motion, the sound echoing through the quiet living room.

You glanced up from the couch, a blanket draped over your legs, your sketchbook balanced on your knees. The pencil you’d been idly chewing on stilled as Kole strode into the room, hoodie half-zipped, hair slightly damp from the drizzle outside.

“Hey,” he said, already halfway to the kitchen. “Just grabbing something to eat real quick, then I’m out.”

You blinked. “Out? Where...”

And then it clicked.

You sat up straighter. “Again? Seriously?”

Kole opened the fridge and pulled out a plastic container, something leftover from the night before. He didn’t even bother microwaving it. Just popped the lid, grabbed a fork, and started eating cold pasta straight from the container.

“Dean told me,” he said between bites, “there’s this guy fighting tonight, maybe Leo? I don't remeber his name. Says he’s got about seventy-five percent odds to win. Can’t pass that up.”

You stared at him, unimpressed. “Kole, this shit is not football. It's illegal.”

He snorted. “Come on, don’t be dramatic.”

“I’m not. I just…” You trailed off, setting your sketchbook aside. “You’ve been going quite a lot lately.”

“It’s not like I’m fighting,” he said quickly. “I’m just watching. Betting a little. That’s it.”

“That’s still your whole night.”

He paused, chewing slower, eyes flicking toward you. “I’ll be back before midnight.”

“That’s not the point.”

There was a beat of silence.

Kole sighed and set the container down, fork still inside and walked towards you.

“I know you don’t like it,” he said. “But it’s not forever. It’s just... a thing for now.”

You exhaled, crossing your arms. “A ‘thing’ that ends with somebody in the ER.”

He gave a faint smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Okay?”

You hesitated.

Then, finally, with a tired kind of resignation, you muttered, “Okay.”

“Okay-okay?” he asked, stepping closer. “Like... tranquility okay?”

You let out a reluctant huff of laughter. “I don’t even know what that means.”

Kole leaned down and gave you a light kiss, quick and familiar.

When he pulled back, his face was close, eyes scanning yours for a second like he wanted to say more. But he didn’t.

He just smirked. “I’ll text you if Leo gets knocked out in the first round, alright?”

You rolled your eyes. “Great. Can’t wait.”

He grabbed his keys from the dish near the door, then paused before stepping out.

“See you later, if you'll be still up.”

You didn’t answer. The door shut behind him with a dull click.

A moment passed. Then another.

Outside, the sound of his car engine hummed to life, then faded into the distance.

You sank back onto the couch, staring at the spot where he’d just been. The kiss still lingered faintly on your lips, but it didn’t bring much comfort.

You stayed on the couch for a while, wrapped in your blanket, the TV humming faintly in the background as some random movie played on Netflix. You weren’t really watching it. Every so often, you glanced at your phone, but there were no messages. Just the usual notifications: missed memes from Amber, TikTok updates, a promo email from a store you kept forgetting to unsubscribe from.

Eventually, you gave up on pretending to be invested in the movie and let your thumb wander over your phone screen, watching some tiktoks.

At some point, your eyelids started to droop. You barely noticed when your phone slipped from your hand and landed beside you on the couch. The last thing you remembered was a girl on your screen arguing with her cat.

And then—

bzzz... bzzz...

Your phone lit up, screen vibrating on the cushion.

You blinked awake, confused for a second, your neck stiff from the way you’d slouched into the side of the couch.You reached for your phone and squinted at the caller: Kole.

You answered on the second ring, voice scratchy. “Hello?”

“Hey.” His voice sounded… off.

You sat up straighter. “What’s wrong?”

There was a pause.

“I, uh… I’ve got a flat. Like, completely flat. Back right tire’s toast.”

You rubbed your eyes. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. I came out for a smoke and it was just… gone. Totally flat. I didn’t even notice at first, until Dean started laughing and pointed it out.”

You frowned. “Did you run over something?”

Another pause. Then: “I don’t think so.”

You stayed silent, waiting.

Kole sighed. “Look, I can’t say for sure, but I think it was the guy who owed me money. From the bet. He didn’t take it well.”

“Are you serious?”

“I didn’t see him do it,” he added quickly. “But he was pissed and acting twitchy. I wouldn’t be surprised.”

You let your head fall back against the couch. “Jesus, Kole.”

“I know. I know. But now I need you to come get me.”

You exhaled slowly, already swinging your legs off the couch. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“Late,” he admitted. “But I wouldn’t ask if I had any other way back. I swear.”

“I’ll be there in like fifty minutes.”

“You’re the best,” he said, "I'll be inside drinking something with Dean and the others."

"Alright." You hung up and went to grab your keys.

When you arrived, you made sure to park not too close. You didn’t want your car anywhere near the place, not after what had happened to Kole’s.

When you stepped out, the air was cool but it had stopped raining.

Somewhere nearby, water dripped from a pipe in slow, rhythmic taps. As you walked, your sneakers scuffed lightly against the asphalt, each step echoing just enough to make you feel too exposed.

Outside the warehouse, three men lingered. Two were huddled in a corner, cigarettes glowing between their fingers as they murmured to each other in low tones. The third paced slowly while talking into his phone.

You approached the steel door and knocked twice, and the sound echoed, sharp.

You waited.

After a moment, the door cracked open. The same guy from the last time stood there, thick arms crossed. He gave you a once-over, clearly recognizing you. Then he stepped aside.

Inside, no one was fighting, not anymore. The ring sat empty in the center of the room, and around it, clusters of people lounged or leaned against the walls, drinking, laughing and chatting.

You scanned the room. And then you saw him.

Kole was sitting on a worn-out leather couch near the far end with Dean and two other guys you didn’t know. A bottle of something half-empty in his hand, head tipped back in laughter. He didn’t see you. Didn’t even glance toward the entrance.

No urgency in his posture. No guilt. No "I called my girlfriend out of bed at almost 2 a.m. and I'm sorry" energy.

You stayed where you were, trying to decide if you should storm over or just turn around and leave him there for the night.

Then something pulled your attention.

On the far wall, half-obscured behind an old speaker and a stack of folding chairs, was a makeshift gallery, dozens of photos taped up messily, some curling at the edges. All of them from the fights.

Close-ups of broken noses, fists frozen mid-swing, blood spraying in arcs. Some people screaming. Some smiling through bloody teeth.

You stepped closer. And then your eyes landed on one in particular.

Noah.

Frozen in motion. Shirtless, chest covered in tattoos, hands still wrapped, mouth parted like he’d just let out a loud scream for the crowd. He looked flushed, victorious, a cut above his eyebrow barely scabbed.

He almost looked like he belonged here.

Suddenly, a voice behind you made you flinch.

“Ugly, right?”

You turned.

Noah stood a few feet away. Black hoodie. Hood up. Hands deep in the front pocket. His posture relaxed. You hadn’t heard him come up.

He gave a small, crooked smile. “If you want, I can sign it for you."

You narrowed your eyes at him.

“No thanks,” you said coolly, nodding once toward the photo. “I don’t need souvenirs.”

Noah’s smirk faded.

“Can we talk for a minute?”

You blinked. “Talk? Thought you didn't want to see me ever again.”

“Just… a minute. Please.”

You crossed your arms, keeping your voice low. “I didn’t come here for you.”

“I know.”

“I came to pick up Kole.”

And yeah, you were still kind of mad at Noah.

Noah’s eyes flicked over your shoulder toward the couch where Kole still sat, now leaning forward, animatedly telling a story to the guy on his right. His bottle swung loosely in his hand. Dean laughed too loudly at something, nearly knocking over a cup balanced on the floor.

Noah raised a brow. “Doesn’t look like he’s in any rush.”

You followed his gaze. And yeah, he wasn’t. Not even close.

Your jaw tightened. You looked back at Noah.

“…Okay,” you said, reluctantly.

He didn’t say anything, just turned toward the exit. As he walked, he paused at the door and pushed it open, then looked over his shoulder, waiting.

You realized he was holding it for you.

You slipped past him in silence, the night air greeting you again with its damp chill. The laughter and noise of the warehouse faded as the door closed behind you with a heavy thunk.

Noah walked a few steps ahead, then turned down the side of the building and toward a short stretch of pavement lined with a single skinny tree. Beneath it, half-hidden in the dark, sat an old wooden bench. It looked warped from weather, one leg slightly uneven, but still standing. Still enough for two.

He gestured to it wordlessly.

You followed. The sound of your footsteps on wet concrete filled the space between you.

And then you sat next to him. For a few moments, neither of you spoke.

“You’re wasting your minute, fighter boy.”

Noah huffed a quiet breath, almost a laugh, then he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, hands clasped.

“I wanted to say I’m sorry. For the other day. I shouldn’t’ve snapped like that.”

You didn’t answer, just kept your eyes forward, watching the way the leaves on the tree above you trembled faintly.

“It’s just…” he went on, “I don’t like certain questions. That’s all. But that’s on me."

You glanced at him, just briefly. His jaw was set, but not in that defensive, shut-everyone-out way he’d had before. It looked more like he was holding something in, like it actually cost him to say that out loud.

You shifted slightly on the bench, crossing one leg over the other.

“It’s your business,” you said, not unkindly. “I shouldn’t have pushed.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s not your fault. Since the first time you saw me, you’ve been… I don’t know. Just, so fucking kind. No one's kind to me around here, not unless they want something.”

He gave a crooked, almost embarrassed smile.

You cleared your throat. “Well, apology accepted,” you said finally. “But mostly because I hope I get to see Alpine again.”

That earned a short laugh from him. “Figured that might be the only way back into your good graces.”

You looked over at him fully now. The hood still shadowed most of his face, but the edge of his mouth was curled up. The tightness around his eyes was less than before, like he was relieved that you were joking again.

“I still think,” he added, “you should stay away. From me. From this place but your boyfriend seems to love it, so I'm not sure I can do something about it now.”

"Yeah. I hate him sometimes." You realized how this sounded just after you said it.

“You ever tell him that?”

You sighed through your nose. “He knows I don't like this. All he does is laugh, make a joke and kiss me like it could fix everything.”

Noah tilted his head, studying you. “So why are you here tonight?”

“Because I still care. And because a flat tire in this part of town at 2 a.m. is a pretty shit situation, even for someone acting like an idiot.”

“Fair.”

After a quiet moment, filled just by the wind rustling through the leaves and the distant voices from inside the warehouse, Noah shifted slightly beside you.

“You work?” he asked suddenly.

You blinked, turned your head halfway toward him. “What?”

He repeated, slower this time, almost like he wasn’t sure it was a weird question. “I asked if you work.”

You gave him a flat look. “Oh, look at that. Mr. ‘You should stay away’ playing Twenty Questions now?”

He laughed, and god, you loved that sound.

It burst out of him unguarded, loose and warm, with that almost high-pitched edge that didn’t suit his face or his body or anything about the way he usually carried himself. But it was real. The kind of laugh you only got out of someone when you caught them off guard in the best way. When they forgot to keep their walls up.

He ducked his head a little like he was embarrassed by it, which only made you smile.

“I’m just curious,” he said, still grinning. “I don’t actually know anything about you.”

“Exactly,” you said, “And I don't about you. That’s the point. You don't tell me shit, why should I?”

He looked at you for a moment.

"If you answer my questions, I'll tell you something about me too."

"This could work."

"Good." He chuckled.

“I work in a tattoo shop,” you said eventually. “Receptionist, mostly. Scheduling, phones, paperwork. I wipe down the floor too.”

He nodded, watching you. “Cool.”

He leaned back a little, shoulder grazing yours for just a second. “You got any pets?”

You let out a breath, half amused, half thoughtful. “No. I wish. But it’s hard, you know? Taking care of something… breathing, alive… in your house.”

He didn’t say anything right away, but you felt him look at you.

Then: “I think you’d do a good job.”

That surprised you. Your eyes slid over to him. “Why?”

He shrugged, barely lifting one shoulder. “Just would. I can tell.”

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “Come on. You’ve seen me, what? Three times? Don’t start getting poetic on me.”

He turned toward you more fully, eyebrows up. “I’m not being poetic. It’s just true.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I mean it, you have that.... something in you. Something good.”

You blinked at that. Your mouth opened slightly, like you might say something, but nothing came out at first.

Noah rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry. I know that came out weird.”

“No, it’s just…” you trailed off, then offered a small smile. “Unexpected.”

He smiled back, just a little.

You gave him a slow nod. “Okay, your turn. Tell me something.”

You expected him to dodge. To crack a joke or say something vague and slippery, keep playing the part of the guy who never lets anyone in. You didn’t expect what actually came next.

Noah looked down at his hands for a moment, thumbs rubbing together, his hoodie sleeves pushed up just enough to show the scabbed-over edge of a healing scrape.

Then he said, almost too quiet to catch, “I grew up without my dad, I never knew him.”

You didn’t move. Didn’t interrupt.

“My mom died when I was twelve.” He said. “I lived with my grandparents after that. They took me in. They were... good.”

He paused. The silence stretched.

“They’re gone now too.”

You swallowed, your heart heavy all of a sudden. “Noah…”

He shook his head once, not sharply, but like he was brushing something off his own shoulders. “It was a while ago. I was maybe seventeen when my granddad passed. Nana lasted a little longer. After her, I just… started doing this. The fighting. And I didn’t have anywhere else to go, so…”

He trailed off. You didn’t press. You didn’t need to.

There was a long, quiet moment.

Your voice was soft when you finally spoke. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t know.”

He didn’t respond right away. Just nodded once, like that was enough.

You reached over, without really thinking, and let your fingers brush his sleeve lightly. A small touch. Not much. But he didn’t pull away. Didn’t even flinch.

You didn't hold his hand, even if you wanted. Didn't even touch it. But that was the closest thing to it you could do right now.

You knew it wasn’t the whole story.

You didn’t know why he kept fighting. Or why he had started in the first place, and why he didn't even consider other job offers.

You didn’t know why he refused help, why if you offered him a way out, he shut the door harder.

But this was a beginning, because he’d opened up, even if just a little.

“No reason you would,” he said quietly. “I don’t talk about it. Not with people here. Not with anyone, really.”

“Why tell me?”

He looked over at you.

"I told you there was something in you, didn't I?"

And just like that, as if you’d both quietly forgotten you were sitting just a few steps from an illegal fight club, where your boyfriend was probably still downing cheap alcohol with his idiot friends, you and Noah ended up talking for almost an hour, in the middle of the night.

The conversation had shifted less heavy aspects of your lives.

You told him about that one guy who came into the shop to get a hyper-realistic portrait of his girlfriend’s face tattooed on his ass cheek.

“Dead serious. Full shading. Dimples and all,” you said, grinning as you mimed the size of it with your hands. “And the worst part? She broke up with him three days later.”

Noah had laughed, really laughed. “That’s tragic. But also, if you’re getting someone’s face permanently inked on your ass, you gotta be prepared for heartbreak.”

Then there was the time you and your best friend got completely lost in Italy, accidentally boarded the wrong train, and ended up two towns over, arguing with a bakery owner who didn’t speak English but kept handing you pastries.

Noah listened, smiling in that quiet way he had, like he wasn’t just hearing the story, but tucking it away somewhere, saving it.

At some point, he’d pulled the hood down from his head and now his hair was falling forward, a little messy, loose in the front.

A few strands framed his face, brushing past his eyes the same way they did in the drawing on your sketchbook.

It softened him somehow. He looked less like the guy who took punches for a living and more like someone who used to be a boy, who maybe still carried the ache of being one.

He told you about his grandma, how when he was a kid, she used to make him peanut butter and pickle sandwiches, just for him.

“She thought they were disgusting,” he said, the fondness in his voice so clear it caught you off guard, “but she made them anyway. Every single time I asked.”

You made a face. “That sounds awful.”

“No,” he said, pretending to be offended. “It’s one of the best things I’ve ever eaten. I swear. The sweet from the peanut butter, the salty and sour from the pickles... it’s... genius.”

“It still sounds kinda gross.”

“I promise it's good,” he countered, a hand over his heart.

You were both smiling now. The kind of easy, involuntary smile that just happens when you’re having a friendly conversation with someone you enjoy spending time with.

He let out a breath, leaning back against the bench with a quiet sound. “I haven’t had one of those in years. Kind of miss it, actually.”

There was something gentle about the way he said it. It was not just about the sandwich, but everything it stood for, like moments spent with someone who loved you and wasn't there anymore, moments of safety, of being looked after.

And you found yourself wanting, absurdly, to find him a jar of peanut butter and the weirdest pickles you could, just to give him that again. Even for five minutes. Even if it was dumb.

You didn’t say that. You just looked at him, watching the way the glow from the streetlight hit the edge of his profile, softening every part of him.

From this angle, side by side, you could see the curve of his nose clearly. Sharp but soft at the same time, the kind of nose that made you want to draw his face over and over again, trace it with your eyes just to memorize the shape. It suited his face in a way that felt unfair. You wondered if it had ever been broken, and if so, how it had healed back still looking like that.

“You’ve got weird taste,” you murmured eventually.

He grinned. “You’ve got no idea.”

You didn’t realize how much time had passed until a sudden breeze cut through the quiet and you reached for your phone out of habit. The screen lit up with the time.

3:12 a.m.

“I should… probably go check on Kole,” you said softly, eyes still on the phone. “It’s past three.”

Noah glanced over, the faint lines of a frown tugging at his brows. “Right,” he said after a second, pushing to his feet. “I’ll come with you.”

Inside, the space had thinned out since you'd left. Most of the crowd was gone, the ring dark and still in the center of the room. A few folding chairs were tipped over. Someone’s hoodie lay abandoned on the floor. Dean was across the room, stacking empty crates with the kind of slow, distracted movement that suggested he'd been drinking too.

Kole was slumped over at a folding table near the corner, head tipped back against the wall, mouth slack. His arms dangled limply at his sides. A scattering of empty bottles formed a loose semicircle around his chair. One had rolled to the floor and lay spinning slightly from the draft you’d let in.

You sighed, already exhausted.

“Kole,” you said, shaking his shoulder gently. “Hey.”

He stirred, barely. Mumbled something incoherent into the collar of his hoodie and turned his face to the side like you were the world’s most annoying alarm clock.

“Kole, come on,” you tried again, voice firmer this time. “We need to go. It’s late.”

He groaned, made a weak attempt at lifting his head, then gave up and slumped back down.

You straightened up slowly as you looked at him, not really knowing what to do.

Behind you, Noah shifted.

You turned and met his eyes.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at Kole, then at you. Then he let out a long breath through his nose. The kind of sigh that said he couldn't care less about your drunk boyfriend, but he still was going to help. For you.

“Take one of his arms,” he said simply, already stepping forward.

You bent down, looping one of Kole’s arms around your shoulder. Noah took the other. Between the two of you, you hauled him upright. His head lolled forward, chin to chest, as dead weight as a sack of wet sand.

Noah adjusted his grip. “I got him,” he murmured, as Kole started saying something like ‘babe… m’fine…’ into the crook of your neck.

You didn’t answer.

And like that, the two of you carried him out into the dark.

Noah’s arms ached faintly from holding Kole up, but he ignored it. The guy was deadweight, reeking of sweat, booze, and some awful cologne.

Still, Noah kept a steady grip, matching your pace as you both half-dragged, half-carried him toward the door.

It had been the first time in years that Noah had opened up to someone. Even just a little. He hadn’t meant to. But with you...he hadn’t felt the usual tightness in his throat when he spoke. You felt safe.

Every time you two talked, just a little longer than the time before, he felt lighter. Like something was slowly being unhooked from inside his chest and set down, piece by piece. He didn’t feel fixed, but he felt better. And that was rare.

He kept thinking about your hand.

About how, for a second out there in the dark, you’d almost taken his. You hadn’t. Your hand had just hovered there for a moment before you brushed his sleeve instead, just the edge of his hoodie, like you’d caught yourself at the last moment. Like you’d remembered who you were supposed to belong to.

But Noah had felt it. That almost.

And now, as he walked beside you in silence, Kole’s weight dragging against him, all he could think about was how it might feel to actually hold your hand.

To feel your fingers, smaller and softer than his, sliding between his. Feel the contrast, your clean skin against his, covered in bruises and tattoos.

Would your hand flinch? Or would it fit?

He tightened his jaw and swallowed the thought.

Because now he was here, helping carry your drunk boyfriend out of a half-empty warehouse at three in the damn morning.

No, he didn’t care about Kole. Not even a little.

He remembered that night in the alley. Kole had looked down at him, grinning like a dumbass, and said thanks for getting his ass kicked so he could win a couple hundred bucks.

The guy didn’t deserve you.

Not your kindness. Not your laugh. Not your touch.

But Kole was still your boyfriend.

And Noah was doing this for you.

Because every goddamn day that passed, it got harder to pretend he didn’t care.

About you.

About the way your eyes lingered on him when you thought he wasn’t looking. About how you smiled when he tried to say something funny. About the way you’d sat with him tonight, listened to him, chatted like two people who met under better circumstances and were slowly growing closer.

He focused on putting one foot in front of the other, repeating himself that you still belonged to someone else, and that just because you didn't deserve someone like Kole didn't mean you deserved someone like him.

Noah leaned back as you finally got Kole settled in the passenger seat, the door clicking shut behind his dead weight. The guy slumped immediately against the window, cheek smashed to the glass, mouth slightly open.

You turned back to Noah, exhaling. “Jesus,” you muttered, rubbing your hands over your face.

“I give him... maybe a 3 for effort.” He said.

You snorted, the sound pulling a tiny smile from him. “Generous.”

You glanced at Kole, who made some unintelligible noise and shifted in his seat.

Noah made a face. “I hope he doesn't throw up inside.”

"Trust me, I'm hoping harder than you."

He chuckled and watched you settle into the seat, but you didn’t start the engine right away.

“Night, Noah.”

Noah gave a small nod, stepping back from the car. “Goodnight,” he said. “Drive safe, alright?”

You nodded, then reached out and gently pulled the door shut with a dull thunk.

He stood there, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, as your headlights swept across the cracked asphalt.

Noah stayed there until you drove away and he couldn't see your car anymore.

He exhaled, and finally, with one last glance down the empty road, Noah turned and made his way back toward his building.

Tags: @anything-more-than-human @ladyveronikawrites @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @fadingangelwisp @xmads-omensx @iwasntstable @thisbicc @pathion @flowery-mess @into-the-grey @lacy1986 @tosoundlessdarkistare @stardustsirenmelody @thewrstinme @hurricanesfollowyou @ichoosetenderomens @chey-h @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @follow-me-down-to-wonderland @missduffsblog @pandora-08 @geminigirlfromfinland @bloody-spades @rumoured-whispers @astronoids

Fresh bruises tags: @1toreyouapart @respectfulrebel @dragoncopper @overmydeadbodysblog @fear-its-beauty @xslavicprincess @concreteangel92 @super-btstrash-posts @pipidoll @pipidoll @bluehairpunklol @tktstomydwnfall @jesuisunchaton @brutallysoftmuse @acatatonicpeace

#noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian fanfiction #bad omens x reader #x reader #underground fighter! noah x reader #fb

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reveryfics · 2 months ago

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Neighbors pt.2

Frank Castle "The Punisher" x Male Reader

Summary: It's been almost a year since Frank walked into your apartment, revealing his life as The Punisher. You'd settled into a demanding routine as an overnight ER nurse, navigating that world alongside your relationship with Frank. Little did you know, those two worlds were about to collide.

A/N: I got a couple comments asking for a second part to the Neighbors fic, uh I wasn't exactly sure what to do with this so hopefully this is okay. Male nurse reader as well, cause we all know Frank would end up dead without you.

TW: Blood - Broken arm - Injury - Comfort

The automatic doors of the emergency room shrieked open, a violent gust of air preceding a surge of hurried footsteps and the staccato bursts of clipped radio chatter. Two EMTs, their faces etched with grim urgency, propelled a gurney through the opening. The insistent, rhythmic beeping of a cardiac monitor sliced through the already buzzing chaos, an electronic heartbeat in the pandemonium. "Thirty-something male, found unresponsive at the scene, possible overdose," one of the EMTs barked, his voice barely cutting through the din.

Across the crowded bay, a different kind of drama unfolded. Another pair of EMTs struggled to transfer a screaming elderly woman onto a hospital bed, her cries of pain echoing off the unforgiving linoleum floors. A young resident, his face pale and drawn under the harsh fluorescent lights, scribbled furiously on a chart, barking orders to a harried-looking nurse whose movements were a study in controlled frenzy.

You navigated this swirling vortex of controlled pandemonium, your own adrenaline still thrumming from the relentless stream of patients that had flooded in since your shift began what felt like an eternity ago. Just moments before, you had finished meticulously suturing a nasty, jagged gash on a construction worker’s forearm, the thick smell of antiseptic clinging to the air. Then the call came in – a multi-car pile-up on the highway. Now, you were heading towards the trauma bay, a knot of apprehension tightening in your stomach as you mentally braced yourself for whatever awaited.

The waiting room, visible through the smeared sliding glass doors, was a tableau of escalating anxiety. A young mother bounced a restless toddler on her knee, her eyes darting nervously towards the triage desk, a silent plea for information in their depths. An elderly man with a blood-soaked bandage wrapped around his head sat hunched over in a plastic chair, his face a roadmap of worry lines. The air in the waiting room hung thick and heavy, a cloying mix of antiseptic and raw fear, punctuated by the occasional, frustrated sigh that spoke volumes of unspoken dread. They didn't see the frantic ballet unfolding behind those closed doors, the life-and-death decisions being made in split seconds, the raw, visceral energy of a system stretched to its breaking point.

It felt like just moments ago, you had managed to coax a distraught teenager out of a full-blown panic attack, her rapid, shallow breaths and racing pulse fueled by pure, unadulterated fear of a phantom heart attack. Before that, it was a belligerent drunk, swinging wildly at anyone who dared to approach, requiring every ounce of your patience and a gentle yet firm hand to finally gain his cooperation. Each case, each individual, demanded a different kind of focus, a different wellspring of emotional and physical energy, leaving you feeling like a tightly wound spring threatening to snap.

As you pushed through the heavy swinging doors into the trauma bay, the scene intensified, the air crackling with a raw, visceral energy that made the hairs on your arms stand on end. The trauma team was already a well-oiled machine, each member moving with practiced precision, their movements economical and purposeful. A quick, sweeping glance told you the grim story: multiple injuries, a shocking amount of blood staining the sterile white sheets, the urgent, rhythmic whirring of suction machines battling to keep airways clear. You took a deep, steadying breath, pushing the gnawing fatigue that tugged at the edges of your awareness. Another life, or perhaps multiple lives, hung precariously in the balance, and in this moment, amidst the chaos, that was the only thing that mattered.

But before you could fully immerse yourself in the unfolding trauma, a hand clamped down on your arm, pulling you away from the organized chaos. It was Sarah, a newer nurse whose usual cheerful demeanor was replaced by wide, panicked eyes. "Hey! Can you come take a look at Mr. Wilson in room three? He's refusing his IV, and he's getting really agitated. I can't seem to get anywhere with him."

You let out a silent sigh. You knew the car crash victims were in capable hands for the moment, the experienced trauma team already orchestrating their care with practiced efficiency. Reluctantly, you nodded. "Okay, Sarah, let's go."

You walked down the quieter hallway towards room three, the frantic energy of the trauma bay fading slightly with each step. As you approached the open doorway, the distinct sound of a raised voice reached you. An older man sat propped up in the hospital bed, his face flushed with anger as he argued vehemently with another nurse, who held a saline-filled syringe aloft, looking increasingly frustrated.

You recognized the patient instantly. Mr. Wilson. A local elderly gentleman who was a frequent visitor to the ER, his unmanaged diabetes often landing him back in a hospital bed. He looked in your direction, his eyes, usually twinkling with a mischievous glint, now narrowed with annoyance, watching as you approached the hand sanitizer dispenser and meticulously washed your hands before pulling on a fresh pair of gloves.

"Oh, thank heavens you're here, Nurse," he huffed, his voice still carrying a note of indignation. "These youngsters don't got a clue what they're doing." He shot an accusatory glance at the two other nurses in the room.

You couldn't help but chuckle softly as you stepped closer to the bed. "They're doing their best, Mr. Wilson," you said gently, your tone calm and reassuring. You took the syringe from the other nurse. "Let's get this IV started, shall we?" Your practiced hands made quick work of locating a vein, the insertion smooth and efficient. Mr. Wilson barely flinched. "See? All done."

You shook your head slightly, turning around to grab his chart from the bedside table. "High blood sugar again?" You glanced over the recent lab results, noting the alarming number well over four hundred.

He waved a dismissive hand at you. "Nonsense, Nurse. I'll be right as rain, just like I always am."

You didn't respond immediately, taking a moment to ensure the IV was running smoothly before meeting his gaze. "I'll be back to check on you later, Mr. Wilson. Try to relax."

Hours bled into each other, the relentless tide of patients ebbing and flowing. Finally, as the first hint of dawn painted the sky outside the grimy windows, the ER began to quiet. You managed to steal a precious moment of respite in the cramped nurses' lounge.

Standing near the industrial-sized coffee maker, you pulled out your phone, a small beacon of normalcy in the chaotic day. A message from Frank, sent at the very beginning of your shift, greeted you. He often sent these little digital breadcrumbs – a silly meme, a brief update on his day, the occasional picture of him and your beloved pit bull, Frankie, their goofy faces a welcome distraction during your long, grueling hours. You tucked your phone back into your scrub pocket, the image of Frankie’s slobbery grin a momentary balm. You took the now-full coffee pitcher and poured yourself a much-needed cup, the rich aroma a small comfort.

You sank into a worn chair at one of the small, cluttered tables, barely managing a single, precious sip before the insistent buzz of your pager vibrated against your hip. With a heavy sigh, you pushed yourself to your feet, the brief moment of peace shattered. You headed back out to the bustling nurses' station, managing a tired smile for your coworker who handed you a chart. Your smile instantly froze, your blood running cold as you saw the name scrawled across the top: "Castle, Frank."

Without a word, your heart pounding a frantic rhythm against your ribs, you walked down the hall and into the designated exam room. The doctor was just hanging up a series of x-rays, the stark white images revealing the sharp break in Frank's arm. Another nurse was gently dabbing at a series of cuts and abrasions on his face and torso.

Frank's head snapped in your direction as the door creaked open, his eyes widening in surprise, then something akin to fear, as he registered the look on your face – a mixture of shock, disbelief, and a dawning anger. He watched, helpless, as the other nurse offered you a small, knowing smile and quietly slipped out of the room.

"You can't just leave me here with him," Frank pleaded, his voice laced with a theatrical desperation that didn't quite mask the underlying anxiety. "Common, babe." He groaned dramatically, leaning back against the pillows.

You didn't say a word, your mind still reeling. You simply set his chart down on the counter with a decisive thud and moved to the sink, the harsh fluorescent light reflecting off the cool metal as you meticulously washed your hands and pulled on a fresh pair of gloves, your movements stiff and deliberate. You picked up where the previous nurse had left off, gently cleaning the numerous cuts across his face and abdomen, your touch perhaps a little less gentle than it usually was.

Frank hissed, biting his lip as you carefully cleaned around a particularly deep gash on his side, the edges raw and angry-looking. "Fancy seeing you here," he attempted a weak joke, but instantly stopped when your eyes, usually warm and full of affection, now glinted with a sharp, almost dangerous light as you briefly glared up at him.

You listened in stony silence as the doctor began explaining the next steps, his voice calm and professional. "Alright, Frank, we're going to have to set that bone before we can put a cast on it. Looks like a clean fracture, but it needs to be realigned." He gestured to the x-rays. "We'll give you some local anesthetic for these cuts, and then we'll get started on the arm."

The doctor excused himself to gather the necessary supplies, leaving you alone with a very uncomfortable and apologetic-looking Frank. You picked up a syringe from the medical tray, the needle glinting under the bright lights, stopping just before taking the cap off.

"I've had a real shit day so far," you finally rasped, your voice tight with suppressed emotion. "Do you have any idea what was going through my mind when I saw your name on that chart?" You didn't wait for an answer, your silence hanging heavy in the air.

Frank let out a long, weary sigh, wishing he had just listened to his gut and insisted they not contact you. "I'm sorry, trust me, baby, I didn't mean to worry you." He groaned, shifting uncomfortably on the examination table.

You finally took the cap off the syringe, your movements precise and efficient despite the turmoil churning within you. You swabbed the area around the deep laceration on Frank's side with a cold alcohol wipe. "It's gonna sting," you whispered, your voice barely audible, before carefully pushing the tip of the needle into various points around the wound, injecting the numbing solution. Your chest tightened almost imperceptibly as he occasionally hissed in pain, his free hand instinctively reaching out to grip the sleeve of your scrubs, his knuckles white.

With the local anesthetic administered, you began to meticulously stitch the wound, your movements quick and precise, years of training taking over despite the emotional turmoil. Each careful stitch pulled the edges of the laceration together, closing the angry red gash. Once finished, you applied a clean bandage over the area.

You stood up straight, disposing of the used needle and other medical supplies with a sharp, efficient clink into the biohazard bin. Your back was to Frank as you bent over the sink to wash your hands, the sound of running water filling the brief silence. You heard a low whistle from behind you, a familiar sound that couldn't help but tug the corner of your lips into a small, involuntary smile.

You turned around, one eyebrow cocked in amusement. "Incredibly unprofessional, Mr. Castle," you quipped, a hint of your usual playful tone finally breaking through the tension.

"Can't help that my nurse looks incredibly hot in his scrubs," Frank hummed, a sheepish grin spreading across his face.

You walked back over to the side of the bed, leaning down to press a quick, chaste kiss to his lips. Frank’s hand, no longer gripping the mattress, came to rest gently on the small of your back, pulling you a fraction closer as he returned the kiss. You quickly pulled away when the door creaked open again, the doctor returning with a tray of casting materials.

He simply shrugged, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. "If kissing your boyfriend at work was illegal, half the staff here would be unemployed by now."

You couldn't help but laugh, the absurdity of the situation finally breaking the tension. You walked around the bed to help the doctor, a familiar camaraderie settling between you as you assisted him in the procedure.

The doctor explained the process as he worked, his tone calm and matter-of-fact. You carefully stabilized Frank's arm above and below the fracture site as the doctor applied traction and expertly manipulated the bone back into alignment. Frank winced but remained relatively still, his gaze locked on yours. The sickening thunk of the bone resetting made you flinch, but relief washed over Frank’s face. The doctor then carefully wrapped Frank's arm in layers of padding and wet plaster, molding it into a supportive cast.

Once the cast was securely in place, the doctor gave Frank instructions on how to care for it and left the two of you alone again. You stayed behind in the quiet exam room with Frank, pulling a couple of warm blankets over him and double-checking that his IV was running smoothly. He watched your every move, his eyes soft and full of affection. Just as you were about to leave, his hand reached out, his fingers gently closing around your wrist.

You turned back, leaning down to press a tender kiss to his lips. "I'll take you home once my shift's over," you murmured against his mouth. "Just get some rest for now."

Frank kissed you back, his grip on your wrist loosening slightly. "I love you," he whispered, his voice thick with exhaustion and perhaps a touch of lingering pain medication.

"I love you too," you replied softly, stroking his cheek. "But please, for the love of all that is holy, don't show up at my work again unless it's to bring me food." You managed a weak joke, and Frank chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that eased some of the tightness in your chest.

#frank castle #frank castle x male reader #the punisher #the punisher x male reader #marvel frank castle #marvel x male reader #marvel #mlm #fanfic #fanfiction #x male reader #xmalereader #requested

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lilacliquors · 9 months ago

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kinktober day ten: fucking machine

pairing: phillip graves x reader

word count: 807

notes: welcome to day ten! i've been so looking forward to writing this all day even though i had a nasty nail break at work whoops but LOOK IT'S MY MAN MY MAN MY MAN

phillip graves was a busy man. he was the ceo and commander of one of the world’s largest private military companies, and he was running back and forth like a mad man. he always tried to make time for you, but sometimes, there just weren’t enough hours in the day. and he missed you like crazy, it was no secret. he knew it, his men knew it, and most of all, you knew it. and that was why a recent purchase of his didn’t shock you too much.

“it doesn’t replace the real thing, but it’s good enough,” he’d said when he showed it to you, and after laughing a bit, you had to agree.

he’d purchased you an automatic fucking machine, something for you to use in his absence. and while you both preferred the real thing, it was damn near close enough to him, you had to wonder if he’d done one of those molds, just for you.

and now, it was time to break it in, and send him the evidence.

he was busy, off in mexico on an assignment, when he got the message from you. worried, he excused himself from a debrief and went off to his private quarters, a bit of anxiety welling in his chest. when he was alone, he opened his phone and saw that it wasn’t a text, or an audio message, but a video. arching a brow, he clicked on it, and it began to play.

thank god he was alone.

the sight was obscene, deliciously so. you were on your back, your phone propped up at just the right angle, and the brand new toy he’d purchased for you was slowly pumping in and out of you. his eyes hungrily gazed at the recording, watching one of your hands grip your breast while the other reached down you spread those pretty folds, and rub gentle circles on your clit. the sounds of the machine mixed with your moans, and god, how he missed you, how vocal you were, how eager you were.

“oh, phil …” your voice whispered, just loud enough to hear over the whir of the machine. this was downright sinful, and he was glad he’d left religion behind long ago. he could feel himself growing hard in his jeans, so with his free hand, he unbutton them, and slipped his hand under the waistband of them, and his boxers. his hand wrapped around his leaking cock, and as he watched that pretty pussy of yours get stretched, he pumped his hand in time with the rhythm of the machine.

“that’s it, baby,” he muttered, watching the video intently. “so good for me …”

he continued to stroke his cock, watching your face as you let the machine hit just the right spot to make your toes curl, and he could feel an almost primal growl bubble up in his throat. how badly he wanted to be there with you; on top of you, behind you, inside of you …

he continued to watch intently, his heart pounding his his chest as he watched your lips part slightly, your eyes squeeze shut, and your brows pinch together. he knew you were so close to that orgasm, and so was he. he watched your chest heave, your muscles tense, all of your tells in one perfect video. and just as you were about to cum …

“o-oh my god, oh my god, oh - oh phillip! oh!”

that sent him over the edge. his legs nearly buckled beneath him as he came over his hand and boxers to the sound of you crying out for him in his absence. he had no idea how badly he’d needed to hear that until just then. he leaned back against the wall, his face damp with sweat and hot with exertion. but the video wasn’t over yet.

he watched as you fumbled for the remote to stop it, and whirring sound died. the room was silent, save for your soft, panting breaths. then, you looked at the camera with those beautiful eyes he loved so much, and you smiled. it was a soft, blissful, fucked out smile.

“i miss you, baby. come home soon,” you said, your voice soft. then you blew a kiss to the camera, got up, and crawled over to stop recording. despite what he’d just seen and done, he smiled, and he closed the video to go back to his text messages. he hit the microphone icon, and began to record an audio message for you.

“appreciate the gift, darlin’. i’ll be back as soon as i can. be good for me, love you.”

he hit send, then exhaled a bit. he had some cleaning up to do before he went back out to his men.

and he had a cover story to whip up.

#phillip graves smut #phillip graves x reader #phillip graves kinktober #lilacliquors kinktober 2024 #kinktober 2024 #kinktober2024

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woewriting · 1 year ago

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wednesday addams is good at everything.

──

The sun was setting in the distant horizon, the orangish color painting the sky, the dim lights automatically turning on as the room became darker, all you could see was the silhouette of the girl sat in her chair, rapidly typing on her writing machine. Watching Wednesday work on her novel always left you mesmerized, she wasn’t allowed to make a single mistake as the antique machine didn’t have an erase button and the writer refused to stain the paper. She was brilliant.

“You’re good at fencing, botany, writing, and I’m sure you’re great at killing people too, but…” You stop, unsure if you should proceed with your, stupidly and terribly planned, plan.

“But?”

“But I doubt that you’re good at kissing.”

Wednesday’s hand stopped typing as she turned her face to the right, her side profile illuminated by the fairy lights that, somehow, you convinced her to hang over her working desk. The perfectly drawn nose, the plump lips, and God, her jawline! So sharp that you’ve always wanted to run your finger over the bone to see if it would cut.

The girl kept her eyes on the wall, her brain working in what her next step to this, obvious, teasing should be. You could almost see the engines twisting inside her skull.

The moment she stood up, her eyes were fixed on your face, jaw tensed up, hands in fists. It was like she was ready to throw a punch at you, it wouldn’t be the first time… but when she took a step closer and you closed your eyes, waiting for the collision, her fingers pulled you by the collar of your shirt until you felt her hot breath against your lips.

“I’m good at everything.” Her voice was serious.

Tilting your chin up, a small smirk tugged the corner of your lips. Eyes slowly opening, meeting hers.

“Why don’t you prove me wrong then, Addams?”

Wednesday loosened the grip on your shirt, the stretched fabric showing your collarbones, a few moles adorning the skin. For a second, in an intrusive thought, the brunette wanted to count each one that covered your body. She had seen a few whenever you wore sleeveless shirts or shorts, they decorated your skin like stars in the night sky, but there was one she had never seen before and, now, got her full attention and became her favorite, a small mole near the vale of your breasts.

She wanted to touch, her hand reaching down to invade the ruined fabric in a curious act, but she stopped midway when she felt the deep breath you took, she could see goosebumps all over your chest with the sudden proximity. You had been next to each other before, but not like this. Not with her eyes peeking through your shirt, her plump lips taking all your attention, so close to yours.

Wednesday was so kissable, and she didn’t even know that.

Not with her hands on your neck as she looked up, big brown eyes staring at your soul. She took a deep breath, swallowing the air to her lungs almost as if it was hurting. And when she closed the gap between you two in a bruising kiss, it felt like a burning knife pierced her throat.

Her nails dug the back of your neck, her teeth biting your lower lip. You knew Wednesday wasn’t gentle, but this was a whole new level. Wrapping your hands on her thin waist, you finally pulled her impossibly closer.

Her tongue licked yours deliciously before sucking hard on it, a struggled sound escaping you, a small string of saliva connecting your lips before she kissed you again, the ragged, unsteady breathing making your lungs burn, begging for air. Pulling back, your chest rose and fell aggressively, your lips lingering over hers, almost touching, uneven breathing colliding with your face.

Before you could kiss her again, her hand pressed down to your chest, pushing you away. Your knees buckled against the bed frame, and you awkwardly fell onto the mattress.

Wednesday was blushed, eyes half open and red, swollen lips. She looked like a mess, and you’re sure you look even worse, you could feel the burning feeling on every centimeter of your body, your hair all over your face.

“Good enough for you?”

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prettykittycastle · 1 month ago

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From 1 to 10

Summary: Volunteering for Shuri's new invention, you can't make up your mind about what to rate it.

(The reader is gender-neutral and AFAB. The ethnicity/race is preferably Black. )

(Content Warning: Fuck machine, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, sort of threesome, squirting, passing out)

Every whimper that escaped your mouth was automatic now. At first, you were attempting to hold it in, embarrassed to be doing this in front of her even though Shuri insisted on it. Every plunge into your fucked out, creamy pussy was like a strange mix between torture and heaven that was slowly driving you to insanity. Gripping the edge of the lab table, you tried to hold back your sounds but failed, everything too much for you to handle.

"How do you rate it, luv? Scale of 1 to 10?" You heard her ask behind you, but you couldn't bring yourself to turn your head. Watching the purple and black vibranium dildo become covered in more and more of your white cream combined with the feeling of the head grazing and stretching your walls was becoming too much.

Oh fuck, I'm coming again, you thought, feeling small tears beginning to trail down your cheeks as you felt your peak getting closer.

"Come on, (Y/N)," Shuri spoke placing a hand on your shoulder, rubbing it softly. "I need an answer. What's the number?"

"I...I...," you tried to tell her, but it was too much for your already fucked-out mind, and suddenly a rush of fire overcame your body so strong that you couldn't even make any noise or catch your breath.

"What number is that, your highness?" Aneka asked, walking over to flick one of your nipples. The action made you clench the dildo hard and let out a squeak.

"Mmm. I don't know."

Hearing the machine continue to fuck you through your orgasm, you were beginning to slightly regret volunteering for Shuri's experiment. You knew it would be exciting being the first to try out her new sex toys and fuck machines, but you thought that your lover would at least show some mercy towards you. Instead, she's been enjoying watching you slowly lose your mind.

"We need an answer, sweet thing," Aneka told you, bending her knees, so her face was next to yours. Even with lidded eyes, you watched her closely as she raised a slender hand and moved it towards your open legs, where the dildo continued to pound your poor pussy. "The queen needs a number."

"W-W-Wait! Ane-" You stuttered out already predicting what she was about to do.

"Right now." With that, two polished fingers began to gently rub your untouched and swollen clit. It was so sensitive, and the dildo still stretching your walls and going deep inside you forced another tidal wave of burning pleasure to rock your body.

"F-Fuck! Fuck! Shuri! Aneka!" Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as you mindlessly called their names. "Oh Shit!" Aneka continued to rub your clit, sandwiching it between her fingers and rubbing it faster in a back and forth motion. It all felt too much, and your legs began shaking, desperate to escape the machine and the merciless Wakandan.

"It's alright, dear. Just cum for us again. Real quick." Suddenly, Shuri's hand wrapped your throat, giving you a nice firm squeeze, careful that it wasn't too hard.

"Sh-Shur-" you tried to get her name out, but before you could, a sensation like no other took hold of your body, and suddenly, it felt like you blanked out for a quick second. The only thing you could hear was ringing in your ears, and your vision was all of a sudden blurred. The most you could see and hear the sound of yourself squirting all over the table. Then it was lights out for you.

When you came to, only a couple of seconds passed, but your body was sore and sticky with sweat. The fuck machines had been turned off and Shuri stood beside you taking the vibranium dildo off of it. Even though you were no longer getting fucked, your legs were still shaking and you were slightly out of breath.

"How are you," you looked to your right and saw Aneka standing to her full height, looking down at you, smug expression on her face.

"Uh,...g-good, I think." That was the best answer you could give.

Hearing that you were awake, Shuri quickly turned around and cupped your cheek. The scientist who had volunteered you for her sexually sadistic experiment was gone, and now was your lover checking on you. "How are you feeling, baby?"

"I'm alright, Shuri," you answered, smiling deliriously, your mind still foggy from before.

"Good," she said before placing a kiss onto your cheek.

"The number is 10, by the way." You finally gave your answer, before feeling your body finally give in to exhaustion and let itself fall back into the table.

"Good to know, love," she chuckled, letting you lay there as she began to clean up the area, her mind already coming up with another experiment to try with you.

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sophiuhhsthots · 2 months ago

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LOVE NOTE : photo booth

WORD COUNT : 807

────────── ୨ৎ ──────────

they’re wandering around a mall, and mal drags him into a photo booth.

she spots it out of the corner of her eye — tucked between a claw machine and one of those stupid little massage chairs no one ever actually uses — and her whole face lights up.

“oh my god,” she gasps, yanking on dean’s arm before he can even register what’s happening. “get in. get in.”

“what? no—mal,” he groans, dragged half-laughing across the tile, nearly sloshing iced coffee all down the front of his jacket. “babe, c’mon, we’re not sixteen—”

“exactly,” she grins, shoving him through the little vinyl curtain. “so you don’t get to complain.”

he lands with a thud on the bench, grumbling but secretly grinning, because of course he is. she wedges herself onto his lap before he can scoot over, one leg slung across his thighs, her knee bumping the wall. the booth smells like popcorn and cheap plastic, the little light flickering like it’s been half-dead since 1993.

“you’re ridiculous,” he mutters, but his hands are already on her hips.

“smile,” she says sweetly, hitting the button. the screen starts counting down.

the first photo is blurry, her kissing his cheek and him mid-laugh, trying to dodge it.

the second’s clearer — he’s grinning now, all teeth and dimples, and she’s holding his face in both hands like she owns it, eyes half-lidded, lipgloss a little smudged.

the third, she’s licking his neck.

“jesus,” he laughs, twisting away, which only makes her giggle harder.

“one more,” she breathes, flushed and gleaming and bright with mischief, eyes locked on his like they’re the only two people in the world. “don’t move.”

he doesn’t.

in the last frame, she kisses him full on the mouth, deep and soft and slow — his eyes fluttering shut, hers already closed, his hand splayed across her jaw and neck.

the strip prints a minute later, curling into the little metal tray like something sacred.

they tuck it in the glove box. right next to condoms and fake IDs and emergency cash. and every time dean opens it, he pretends not to stare.

but he does. every damn time.

sometimes, on long drives when the highway stretches out forever and the radio’s nothing but static, dean fishes the photo strip out of the glove box and flicks it against the steering wheel. he never shows it to sam. never says a word about it. just traces the edges with his thumb and lets the corners of his mouth tilt up, soft and helpless.

mallory always pretends not to notice. she’ll lean her head against the window, one foot propped up on the dash, pretending she’s asleep — but there’s a smile tugging at her lips too, lazy and secret.

once, months later, after a hunt goes sideways and they’re both bleeding and laughing about it in the impala’s front seat, she plucks the strip right out of his hand.

“you’re such a sap,” she teases, voice raspy with exhaustion.

“yeah,” dean says, without missing a beat. “for you? absolutely.”

and she kisses him again, right there on the side of the highway, blood on her knuckles and love in her bones.

they’re stupid and reckless and way too young to know any better. but god, they’re happy. at least for a little while.

one day, months later, mal catches dean sitting on a motel bed, just admiring it.

“oh my god,” she says, holding it up to the light, grinning so hard it aches. “were you just sitting here… staring at this?”

dean scrubs a hand over his face, groaning. “jesus, mal. don’t make it sound pathetic.”

“it’s not pathetic,” she says immediately — and softer than he expects. she crawls onto his lap like she belongs there, the photo strip still dangling between two fingers. “it’s sweet.”

“great. exactly the vibe i’m going for,” he mutters, but his arms are already wrapping around her, automatic, instinctive. like breathing.

she glances at the photos again — their younger, wilder selves captured forever in a busted old mall booth — and then at him. same green eyes. same stupid smile that makes her feel like the world might actually be good.

“you’re such a sap,” she says, but it’s all fondness, her thumb brushing along his jaw.

he tilts his head back, lazy and smug. “yeah, well. you’re the one who picked me, sweetheart.”

“tragic mistake,” she teases, dropping the photo strip carefully on the nightstand before tugging his mouth to hers. he tastes like toothpaste and a little like bourbon, and he’s smiling against her lips, the bastard.

neither of them remembers to turn off the light. the photo strip stays right there — tucked beside the bed, half-hidden under a receipt and a room key — like it’s still something sacred.

because it is.

always will be.

#sophiuhhwrites #dean winchester #dean winchester smut #supernatural #mallory hawthorne #supernatural smut #mallory hawthorne smut #he’s so babygirl #i’m so in love with them #precious babies

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osleeplessflowero · 1 year ago

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<- First Part 🔒 -> Oneshot Masterpost

time for some answers! that..lead to more questions.

AmalgaMATE

a science sans x amalgamate reader series

The sound of the scanner was all Sans could seem to focus on as Alphys hooked up the machine to give it a test run. The "Insert", or rather, You were waiting behind some glass windows, hands pressed against them as your heads shifted between shapes. Somehow a chill goes down the skeleton's spine at your staring, even though he can't actually feel temperatures. Perhaps that's just an effect you have on him, heart shaped voids where your eyes would be unable to pull away as you observe his subtle movements.

"O-Okay, just hold still and let me look over your soul for a few seconds. Try not to move too mul- much." Alphys' claws can be heard clicking the keys on the keyboard beside her before she presses a button on the machine.

"don't gotta worry too much about that, alphys. it's not like i need to breathe." He simply falls limp where he sits as he feels himself being scanned, Alphys focusing intently on what the machine says. Ooh, he really wants to make a joke right now, but he'd hate to know what could go wrong if she loses focus. Maybe some other time. The two wait in an agonizing silence as the results slowly pull up. Jeez, someone really needs to do maintenance on this..

"Okay, let me take a look at..oh stars." Alphys' brows knit together as she looks at the screen, briefly glancing back at the skeleton.

"you're making me nervous, am i dying or something?" A hint of a chuckle is heard in his voice, but also a small amount of anxiety.

"Well, n-no, but..um..okay. Do you remember the concept of Soulmates that we went over?"

"well yeah. everybody has someone compatible for their soul that they can be bound to, and when a perfect match is found the souls are linked automatically. ..what does that have to do with this?" He tilts his head as he leans to the side, shifting his weight onto one of his hands resting on the seat below him.

She shuts the machine down but keeps the results screen up, shuffling about as she talks. "Those..strings that you saw are all soul links. Links connected to your soul." She turns to face him directly, a serious expression on her face. He freezes, eyesockets going wide in shock.

"..you're saying i have connections to every soul fragment in their body?"

"..Yeah, which means..you're soulmates with the entity." She turns the screen around so he can face it, pointing at each individiual string that's connected from his soul to Yours. Various different colors and styles all link right to him, wrapping around his soul and almost trapping it. "S-Somehow, you've..bonded with every soul here. That is why the entity likes you so much."

"how is that even scientifically possible?" He sits up, adjusting his glasses that had begun to slip and getting off of the chair he'd been sitting in to get a closer look. "how did i manage to bond with a bunch of soul shards we found out and about? i mean, it's not unheard of to have multiple soulmates, but this many?"

He turns back to look at you, watching as your melty grin stretches once you've been acknowledged. Well, it would explain the clingy behavior and why you didn't attack him on sight..

"how could i be bound to that many souls? it's impossible, i can't be..it doesn't make sense." He stares off at a desk in a nearby corner, covered in scattered papers and blue prints for various projects, allowing himself to think.

"I-I don't know myself, it should be impossible. But ten- then..after seeing the results..it's definitely possible now. You're bound." She looks out of the window at You, and You break your staring at Sans, focusing on her as your eyes shift back into circular voids, tilting your head in curiosity.

"i don't get it..there has to be some explanation for this. a mistake somewhere, somehow- why would?.." He puts a gloved hand over his teeth, trying to think of some sort of reasoning, something he's not seeing. But what is it? What is the piece of the puzzle he can't seem to place? He turns back to look at you, watching as your eyes shift back to adoring little hearts. He walks over to the glass without a word, standing behind it as you perk up, gently pressing various shifting hand shapes against it with a wide smile.

"Wh-When you find your soulmate..o-or soulmates, in this case..you're bound for a long time, Sans. And..I think you two are gonna be stuck with each other for a long time." She joins his side, looking at You as you lightly hit the glass, wanting to go inside.

"what am i going to do, al?" He lowers his hand, eyes softening as he looks over you. She sighs, putting a hand on his shoulder and waiting for him to turn to look at her. She looks back at you for a moment, before shifting her gaze back to him.

"Well, for now..we just need to keep working and observing it until we can figure out how all this mess works. M-Maybe there's a chance you can detach somehow! Or..figure something else out! Something..something crazy, b-but possible!"

"i guess we'll have to see, huh?" He puts his hands in his lab coat pockets. Alphys removes her hand, walking over to fully shut down the scanning machine and push some of the previous scientist's journals out of the way. He walks over to the door, letting it scan one of his eyelights before exiting. You're on him in mere seconds, clinging to him like a cat to a scratching post. He lets out an uneasy chuckle, still not quite used to this sort of thing.

"hey. i'm back now." He reaches up to pet your rapidly shifting heads, having a bit of a struggle as your heights constantly change. "you okay? ..all of you?" He pauses, hearing something muttered from your mouths and freezing. ..He didn't think you could speak. "hey, i..i couldn't hear, can you say that again? try again."

"Ssss.." You strain yourselves, voices changing between different pitches and having the tone of a whisper. "Saaaans.." A wide smile crosses your faces, pleased at your discovery. He lets out a little amused huff, stepping back a little.

"so you can talk, huh? well.. you're progressing similarly to the others, at least. won't be long before you can say full sentences again. if you keep working at it, that is."

"Saaaans. Saaaans? Saaaans!" Giggles of differing pitches erupt from your mouth as you cling to him again, Alphys shaking her head as she exits the room behind you both.

"They're like a puppy." She smiles, observing your behavior. "Only without the licking and biting part."

"hey, don't jinx it. they might try it." Sans warns, earning a laugh from the lizard as they both begin walking down a long hallway, motion lights activating above as they pass through. They both find themselves staring off into space as they walk quietly, sounds of content coming from you. Alphys simply types away on her phone, probably to Undyne, Sans thinks. All of a sudden, he feels a sharp pain.

"ow-" He looks over to see your forms biting onto his shoulder before he quickly pulls you off, holding you up by the scruff of your melty neck as you let out sounds of discontent. "no biting, that's bad."

Alphys lets out a laugh, barely able to contain herself. "IT ACTUALLY- IT ACTUALLY BIT YOU-" She wheezes, holding her chest. "Oh my stars, I'm gonna pass out!"

"shut up, al." He murmurs as the three of you enter the elevator to go down a floor. It's quiet for a bit before Alphys perks up, putting her phone away.

"You know, I see what you mean about the lack of elevator music now."

"right? it'd make it a lot less creepy, that's for sure. just goin' in here and listening to..i dunno, casual bongos."

"Bongos? Sans, please. I am not playing bongos in here." She puts a hand on her hip.

"don't hate on them, you just can't handle their power." Sans finally puts you down after a hot minute, and you go right back to clinging to his back. "plus it's funny."

"Oh my stars." She pinches her nose in frustration as the doors open, and the two scientists enter the new hallway. Machinery can be heard moving nearby, likely for Mettaton's routine maintenance. As to which Mettaton? They have no idea. But it's one of 'em.

Sans perks up to make some sort of robot joke, but pauses when the sound of something moving in the air vents interrupts the peace. You perk up, heads all turning to find the location of the sound, before detaching from Sans quickly. He holds out an arm in protest, but is unable to stop you as you go to hunt down whatever it may be.

"that's..probably not good." A bead of magic sweat rolls down his skull, Alphys facepalming shortly after.

"Why did you let it go?! C-Come on, we've gotta find it before it hurts one of the other patients or something." Alphys grabs her phone, opening an app so she can see her security cameras, trying to pinpoint your location. Sans follows the trail of goop you left behind, running after it quickly.

"hey! don't go chasing after stuff, get back here! you don't have enough HP to go running into danger right now!" He shouts at the ceiling, hoping you can hear him from wherever you are. The noise in the vents is much louder, the movement of what sounds like multiple figures able to be heard echoing as the chase proceeds on. The sounds finally stop near a keycard locked room, Sans opening it almost immediately upon hearing a loud crash. He pops his head in, turning on the light with a worried look, before letting out a sigh of relief.

You sit in a little goopy, shifting blob as the patient "Endogeny" sniffs you, barking happily at the fact that it's made a friend. You simply remain still as it seems to "sniff" you, despite having no nose on its body whatsoever, before lying down on the ground beside you, various legs and all.

"thank the stars it was just endo. so that's how something kept getting into the dog food, it's been going through the vents." He pops his head out. "al! it's okay, it was just endo!"

"Are you serious? How did a dog that BIG get into the vents?"

"i dunno, but that's what happened. they're fine now, everything's good."

"Thank the stars..they almost gave me a heart attack. Remind me why I'm working down here again?"

"because we've experienced The Horrors and have to live with that for the rest of our lives?"

"Oh yeah. True."

"Sans? Are You In Here? You Didn't Come Home For Your Break, So I Decided To Visit And Ensure You Are Alright!" Papyrus' voice echoes through the hall. Sans somehow pales despite literally being a white skeleton, tensing before shutting the door. Alphys looks at him worriedly.

"papyrus can not know about this situation right now. just let me handle this, watch over them okay?" He rushes away before she can respond, leaving her frozen in place as she slowly looks into the room you're in. You press your faces against the glass abruptly, causing her to scream and jolt backwards, before she regains her composure. You let out a series of distorted laughs as she sighs, putting her hands on her hips.

"A-Alright, you troublemaker. You're gonna have to get used to me one way or another, and if this is how it'll be then so be it."

You grin smugly at her, Endogeny comically rising up behind you so it can look outside too. Such a good dog. Dogs? Something like that.

"okay sans, just act natural, it's your brother. your brother that does not know what you have been doing with human souls and does not know that those souls are your soulmates now. just act..natural." He opens a door, being greeted with the face of his younger brother.

#sleeplessflower's oneshots #amalgaMATE #science sans x reader #gender neutral reader #amalgamate reader #science sans #lilies divider by saradikagraphics #sciencey divider by animated-glitter-graphicsnmore

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vorteckpackagingmachinery · 1 year ago

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5 Essential Features to Look for in a Vacuum Packing Machine

In the world of food preservation and packaging, a vacuum packing machine is a versatile and invaluable tool for businesses and households alike. Choosing the right vacuum packing machine is crucial for ensuring the freshness and longevity of products. Here are five essential features to consider when selecting a vacuum packing machine.

I. Vacuum Sealing Power

The primary function of a vacuum packing machine is to remove air from the packaging to prevent oxidation and spoilage. A machine with sufficient vacuum sealing power ensures that the maximum amount of air is extracted, extending the shelf life of the packaged items. Look for a machine with adjustable vacuum settings to accommodate different types of products.

II. Sealing Bar Length and Width

The sealing bar is a critical component of a vacuum packing machine, determining the size and type of bags it can accommodate. Consider the types of items you plan to package and choose a machine with a sealing bar that suits your needs. A longer and wider sealing bar allows for packaging larger items or multiple smaller items in a single bag.

III. Durability and Build Quality

Investing in a durable and well-built vacuum packing machine is essential for long-term use. Look for machines constructed from high-quality materials, such as stainless steel, which enhances durability and resistance to corrosion. A robust build ensures that the machine can withstand the demands of regular use in a commercial or home environment.

IV. Ease of Use and Maintenance

A user-friendly interface and easy maintenance are key considerations when selecting a vacuum packing machine. Opt for a machine with intuitive controls, clear instructions, and easy-to-understand settings. Additionally, choose a model with easily removable and washable components to simplify the cleaning process, maintaining hygiene and prolonging the machine's lifespan.

V. Additional Features for Versatility

Beyond the basic functionalities, look for additional features that enhance the versatility of the vacuum packing machine. Features such as the ability to vacuum pack liquids, a pulse function for delicate items, and the option to control the vacuum pressure can provide added flexibility for various packaging needs. Consider your specific requirements and choose a machine that offers the features most relevant to your use case.

#automatic pallet wrapper #sleeve wrapper #pallet stretch wrap #taping machine #machine packaging companies #packaging machine #packaging machine suppliers #packaging and machinery #packaging machinery equipment #stretch film wrapping machine dublin #Vacuum Packing Machine #`

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klunkcat · 6 months ago

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sun digs its heels

rottmnt characters: mikey & klunk & oc part of the archer au by @goodlucktai!

trigger warning for animal death in this (not on screen) read on ao3

Days seem sometimes as if they'll never end Sun digs its heels to taunt you But after sunlit days, one thing stays the same Rises the moon Liana Flores, Rises the moon

The night Mikey has to say goodbye to Klunk is just a regular day in December.

Life is funny like that, he thinks; you find things and lose them in nearly perfect semicircles. The world feels like it’s supposed to stop right there in its tracks, the sun burnt right up in the sky, but it goes on. People step across the grates on their way to work, cars beep in the streets, and nothing changes. It’s a hole punch through the wet paper of your heart, a boulder in the middle of a river, but somehow you breathe around it anyway. The ripples grow farther and farther out to the horizon until you nearly convince yourself they’re leaving.

You’re the orbit: the tragedy stays. You never learn.

Regular days for him are a long continuous trudge down an empty hallway anyways. There’s nothing to count meaning by, really. Home hasn’t felt like home in a long time, just a place he has to go. Sometimes he fantasizes about getting up, springing up from the cold couch like he used to have the energy for and sprinting straight down the sewers all the way out to Times Square. Sometimes there’s a rage in him that could demand that the world shut itself down the same way his family has.

Parts of him crave the idea of just running until it stops feeling like sludge and concrete in his heart just to exist here like this. He stares at the front door without meaning to, drawn back again and again. Sometimes he thinks he can almost break through the pins-and-needles numbness in his scarred hands and move, and then he’ll hear Don’s chair squeak down the hallway, or the click of Dad’s door, and it leaves him all at once.

For a while the gravity well that kept him locked in step was just as simple as Klunk. The world’s sweetest cat, but not quite talented enough to open his special kidney care food all on his own. No one was left to love him right if Mikey went away, so he stayed put.

Don regularly got too swooped up in his projects and missed hours entirely, even before everything else. He couldn’t feed himself at the right times without Mikey sliding post it notes or leaving saran wrapped bowls in the fridge for him to graze on, let alone a pet. Raph… slept. More than he probably should. Crept around in the shadows and worked himself half to death at whatever odd jobs he found when he wasn’t. And Dad was— well. Mikey wasn’t sure how Dad felt most of the time. He couldn’t leave Klunk with him either way.

(There’d been a long warm stretch of sepia toned years where he’d have thought of Dad and warmth as the same words spelled in different ways. None of the words fit together like that anymore.

If he closes his eyes, he’s back there. Nursing a fractured elbow and staring up at the sky like it could house a miracle. Listening to the static coated goodbye message of someone none of them could bear to lose. None of them ever left the island, not really. They’re all watching the sky tearing itself apart and drifting farther away.)

Once, he’d have said that Klunk was spoiled rotten, completely overflowing with love and attention in all the ways the smartest cat in the world should be. Before Klunk needed special diet wet food only, Don had rigged up an automatic feeder for him and a machine that would give him scritches behind his ears if Mikey was away on a mission too long. Raph would let him climb all over his shoulders when he worked out and send Snapchat selfies to their group chat of the two of them with silly captions most days.

Leo used to call him Sunspot.

Finding Klunk had been something special, he used to brag about it a lot. Kismet souls colliding, he’d say because he read it somewhere on an artist's post and adopted it for them. A soul cat, because Klunk was the perfect cat and so sweet, and always rubbed his fluffy head right under Mikey’s chin when he was stressed over a drawing or a comic cliffhanger or when he was sorting through grocery lists.

Now, it’s hard to think anything cosmic could have ever minded him. He thinks it’s the way things go: something good comes in, and it can’t stay.

Mikey can’t make it stay.

The regular day in December stands out even without the semi circles funneling back. A regular day is also a bad day; most days float somewhere ambiguously between barely manageable and knock down all out brawls to claw through the evening. There’s something frigid around each step forwards, even before Mikey knows.

When Mikey wakes up he knows that Dad hasn’t moved since last evening, his room still and dark, and Don’s circular stages have taken him all the way back to bargaining. He’s lost in another project around timelines and paradoxes that Mikey knows will only sink him down further into that barbed wire place the grief sits. He’s fixated on something, a project to help dad’s memory maybe. Or to mend his own. The way Donnie’s eyes land just to the left of Mikey’s face when he stops by still cranks up the dread in his chest like a vat of acid boiling over.

(‘I can fix this,’ he’ll say, not with words but in the set of his jaw and the sudden feverish flicker of his hands. It never lasts, it’ll tire him out worse and drag him farther out to sea to believe it. “There’s a new study,” he says instead. “They found proof, traces of old collapsed universes.” Mikey will nod, carefully wedging himself on the ledge of Don’s empty cup laden desk, trying not to drum his fingers or let any of his nerves through.

“There’s been ones, maybe just like ours. Expanding all the way outward and sinking back in, the science is there.”

Mikey will steel himself, brace for impact. “The science for what, Don.”

He can never say it, Donnie can never make himself believe it. There’s another universe out there to him where he’s still one part of two wholes; it’s not the one that Mikey got for them.)

Don’s mostly outside himself these days. He says a lot of harsh words and burr laced insults for the want of being alone. Mikey can’t fault him for it, has only ever been grateful that he has the miracle of Don sticking with them anyways. It’s hard not to think Donnie knows, with every inch he creeps forward into this halflife. The magnitude Mikey failed him.

He’s never blamed Donnie.

He ends up calling April, just for the excuse to be somewhere else for a minute. To satiate his guilty, constant urge to run. She’s always happy to have him, even though she doesn’t come by much anymore, even though she glances at him sideways sometimes with a resigned sort of helpless loss he can’t hold enough of for both of them. The relief is enough, to know there’s a world still outside of the haunted house his life has become, even if he also wants it to stop.

She hands him tea, brewed exactly like he likes it (like Leo taught him to like best) and he listens to the clock ticking loudly on her yellow painted wall. He still thinks he could run. He always thinks he could run. He can’t leave Klunk.

Klunk’s getting old.

April takes a breath in, pauses. Gives him another quick side glance before saying, “How’re things?” All hesitantly and unsure, like she thinks Mike might be mad. He doesn’t have it in him to be mad about anything anymore, least of all his big sister that won’t come home.

He manages a shrug for her. It’s been okay, he means to say, because it’s what he always says.

“Worried it’s too cold down there for Klunk,” he says instead.

April’s eyes widen slightly before she schools herself. Her hands are tight around her own mug. “You can bring him up here, Mom won’t mind.”

(She’s been taking care of her mother lately, she’d had a bad fall. June was always happy to see Mikey just like April was. Everyone was always happy to see him. He wonders if they would still if they knew.)

Klunk would love the windows. All the smells and the carpet. They’d remember to feed him, too. Could probably get him the vet care he needs, and would have the funds to fix whatever might be wrong. It would be an excuse for Mikey to—

No, he smiles ruefully. He was never going to run.

(He can’t be the thing that leaves, he knows he’s always going to be the thing that's left.)

“Thanks, Apricot,” he pats her knee. “Think that might be a big scare for him, is all.”

She nods like she knew what his answer would be already. “Well, if you change your mind. He’s always welcome.”

You’re always welcome, she means. Like she has to say it, like things have strained so far apart it might be a question anymore.

Like it maybe doesn’t go both ways.

The old him would have had some inspirational thing to say, some soft spoken hand-held speech to convince her that her place with them will never change. The new him knows they lost all of their words the moment the purple in the sky ripped apart into orange and green. He mostly just lets her hold his hand and pretend like the pieces of their hurt are something that can be scooped into anything meaningful.

“Love seeing you, M,” she says kindly, every time, but he knows Casey stays there most weekends when he works late at his new job, and the unspoken everything between them is making her choose between family in a way she shouldn’t need to. She has a job, a career now. She has responsibilities they never had as kids when she could drop her bags off at the dinner table and slouch her way onto their overstuffed couch. She can’t be there and up here helping Casey sort things out, she can’t be there and watch them anymore than Mikey can.

(The thing about grieving is that it never folds up small enough to carry only within yourself. It spills out, black holes and whirlpools in everything you’ve ever loved. It hurts everyone with you, and there’s nowhere for the love or the blame to go.)

It’s hard for her, too. Big sisters and big brothers and all. It’s hard for Mikey to let himself be little anymore. He can manage.

He never stays longer than a few hours, drives the smaller motorcycle Donnie made for them years ago so nobody will miss him too much. Don has trackers upon trackers, and the loss has made his need to know a more paranoid fragile thing, but he never asks.

Going home isn’t anything— Don’s stuck on the evening to late night shifts at his remote gig, which suits his sleep schedule mostly alright. It means he won’t be around for Mike to talk to, because the job restructuring means that he has to take incoming calls instead of the management role he’d been promised. Raph hasn’t said anything more than a hollow ‘hey’ at him in weeks. He pretends the way he has Dad’s schedule mapped out in his mind as a series of Do Not Enter’s is normal.

The radio plays a song he’s growing to hate. He takes the long way home and turns the volume up.

It’s winter, there’s the barest hint of snow in the air that twirls under the streetlight on their garage’s street. He remembers the first time they ever came up top in the winter, the way his hand had been firmly wrapped in Raph’s mitted one because he’d wandered off so much as a kid. The way Leo had tried to dare Mikey to stick his tongue to a fence and Donnie had burst into a series of lectures about frostbite. He remembers the smirk Leo gave him, the secret one he used to have only for baby brothers, before he’d shoved a handful of snow down the back of Raph’s too big parka.

The winter is just cold now. The snow only means driving will be harder in the morning— he tries to remember if he has ingredients for anything special for dinner and gives up. No one will eat it anyways.

April likes to give him care packages for the weeks he doesn’t stop by, and thoughtfully includes a special goodie bag of cat toys and treats. He’s been using them sparingly, mostly because Don says they don’t have the budget for the kind of treats Klunk likes. He wonders if Donnie has factored in the pizza he hasn’t been ordering— mostly because he keeps defaulting to toppings Leo likes and losing his appetite— but he’s not sure it matters. Regardless, it feels like an anniversary of something.

Tonight is a good night to spoil his best pal, an early Christmas present.

The Lair is empty and dark when he wanders in, and the sigh he lets out echoes into nothing. Klunk doesn’t meow happily and trot over to him like he used to, but he’s older now and sometimes naps under Mikey’s bed where it’s warm. The familiar tuft of greying orange appears like clockwork the moment Mikey has a throw over his legs and a crinkling package in his hands.

“There you are, buddy,” Mikey coo’s at him, leaning down to lift him onto his lap. Jumping is harder for him, he’s done enough research about kitty arthritis and its signs. Klunk’s getting old in all the ways Mikey feels.

He’ll be twenty five next year. Every stolen second feels like an eternity and nothing at all.

His big brother had been sixteen: the year Mikey turned sixteen, he’d spent the entire day curled up on Leo’s bed. Raph had left a lopsided cupcake in the doorway with a single candle, and sat down on the floor beside him without saying anything. They stopped counting Donnie’s.

(Leo used to sing him to sleep sitting on the floor beside him, just there. He’d wake up bleary as anything at two in the morning and find him with his head tilted back, tapping the beat to his favorite song softly on the sheets by Mikey’s ankle, scrolling through his phone. The missing of it is a hole he’ll spend his whole life dancing around, he understands why Raph sleeps.)

Holding Klunk feels like nothing, his skin holding a heartbeat and a warm pocket of love in between his bones, and nothing else. He’s still soft; Mikey presses his face into the back of Klunk’s head and thinks about universes.

(In the morning, Klunk will be gone. He’ll do Mikey the favor of not having to contend with medical details they don’t have access to, or the horrible long drawn out playing god decision he doesn’t want to make. Quietly slipping out the back door, smartest boy in the world as always. Mikey will doze off on the couch and find him, and tears he doesn’t think he has left in him will burst through anyways, and he’ll sit for hours just outside of Donnie’s door without ever daring to make a sound.

Raph will find him, of all people. He won’t remember throwing himself into the crush of Raph’s arms, or the way he’ll press his beak into the divot of his shoulder. He’ll remember his heart spilling over and shattering in the cold winter air and think that he only has his family when they’re all sinking down with him.)

He’s alone in his loving of Klunk. Klunk’s always been his. Maybe it will be a comfort to think of a pawprint just his size living inside Mikey’s heart, or to imagine Leo lurking nearby, just outside of Mikey’s broken ninpo. Ready to scoop his Sunspot into his arms and doze off on the couch together again. Maybe Don will stumble out for his mid day coffee and find Mikey curled over something that’s already wandered away, and remember himself outside his grief long enough to hold Mikey under his chin like he used to.

In the morning is a long time away.

When he’d found Klunk it had been on a day like this. Mid December, frosty outside in the thin sheet of snow that ever existed in New York. It had been a lot louder then. April and Dad and Hueso, and a family that existed in shared spaces like it was the one place they always fit. Warmer and lighter, lights thrown on and noise everywhere.

Now, he keeps blankets stocked on his favorite corner of the couch, and folds them up neat for guests they don’t have. He gets colder, easier.

He’s had Klunk for twelve years. They’d been coming back from April’s place, the new lair still feeling expansive and unexplored, feeling light and jazzed up in the way youth does. He remembers that there’d been a mugging in an alleyway, that the fight with Shredder was still fresh on their minds. Mikey’d been all but unstoppable. He’d shared a half glance with Leo before his big brother had smiled back, all smiling easy confidence as he opened up a portal for him and said ‘showin’ them the Angie special?’.

He almost hadn’t seen the cat behind the dumpster at all until he’d thrown one of the thugs into a wall and the ka-thunk of the lid had scared the thing straight out into Mikey’s arms. The way he’d immediately started purring while Mikey had stood there stunned made his brothers snicker.

‘Told you to stop going dumpster diving, Angie, he thinks you smell like munched up fish food,’ Leo’d joked.

‘Great, another thing for Raph to be allergic to,’ Donnie had sighed.

‘Raph’s not allergic!’ Raph had complained, eyes watering. ‘This is adorable! He matches your mask, little man.’

Mikey had held the tiny, scrunched up ball of hackled fur and gotten an almost instant green eyed blink back. ‘Yeah? How’s that sound, buddy? Wanna match with me?’

The cat had sneezed, and carefully stretched a paw up to hook onto the ledge of Mikey’s plastron. He remembered thinking Gram Gram might have sent him at first, or that they’d found each other in some other past life, or that he had a magic way with cats. He thinks now that Klunk just loved like that.

Big and open, bright enough for the whole world.

Leo and Klunk had spent a lot of time together, he remembers. When he was smaller and more likely to spring up on all of them around corners and fight their bandanas from the backs of their shells, it seemed like he ran off an endless battery. With Leo’s chronic issues with sleep, it made for a perfect pair.

Sometimes he’d wander in to fry up breakfast, turn on the big overhead lights in the kitchen, and find Leo curled up just outside on the couch. Klunk bundled in a tiny ball right on his stomach, snoring with him.

Semi circles stretching out beyond the horizon. His blankets stay folded.

Klunk rumbles at him now, wide green eyes staring at him as he stretches slowly on his lap. Mikey lets him purr and nudge his cheek into his finger happily. “Long day of catching Z’s, my man? Least one of us has it all figured out.”

Klunk pads at his legs, curling slowly into the divot and settling down. Burying his face between his paws as the TV lights bounce off his fur in the background.

He doesn’t move very fast anymore. He can’t jump, he doesn’t eat all of his food. Mikey watches his sweet boy pace aimlessly around stone floors like he can’t remember where to go. Everything Mikey has in his day to day is someone else's, but Klunk has always been his.

“I love you,” Mikey tells the sunshine burst of peppered fur right there on his lap. “I wish you could stay.”

Tomorrow, he’ll have to consider how thin Klunk is getting, or the way he paces aimlessly, or the rabbit-quick way he breathes. Tomorrow, he might creep into Raph’s room and see if his big brother is awake enough to let him crawl into bed beside him like he used to, like he’s still small enough to want things and ask for them.

Tomorrow he’ll have to be okay with another kind of missing, even if he doesn’t want to.

Right now, Klunk is warm against his knee. He’s loved because Mikey loves him. They don’t have anywhere else they’re supposed to be.

Mikey scratches the top of Klunk’s head and tries to be something warm enough to stick around for. He knows the leaving is not up to either of them anyway.

There’s a gentler world, one where Mikey gets to know he was always strong enough. One where there’s no floodwaters to sink in, no need to float.

An unfamiliar turtle brings his big brother home, and there’s nothing at all to miss.

Sometimes Mikey wakes up feeling lost, a deep dark place he can’t name sputtering and going dark for all of a moment, terrifying him in a way he can’t explain. The kitchen lights, he thinks, nonsensically, and scrambles out of bed in a flurry just to make sure they’re still on.

It’s never cold here, not even in the winter. The couch is messy with snack bowls they forgot to put away, and dragged in blankets from all of their bedrooms. He shivers anyways.

Days like this he thinks of ripples in pond water. Big long stretches of silver circles spinning out infinitely. He thinks about the news on TV he heard the other day, about universes from millennia ago: there’s an old sob caught in his ribs he thinks must not belong to him.

The door slides open, a quiet click.

Gio stands there, strangely soaking wet and bedraggled in a way Mikey’s sure he’s never seen. In the six months he’s known the guy, he’s always been a steady, stoic source of calm and cool. Sometimes it’s funny to watch, Gio with his flat expression in between the twins, bouncing and raving off some bit only they understand, hands on his shoulders like he’s a launching pad for their next insanity. He always thinks Gio looks happy underneath it, though, the kind that’s soul deep.

Dark eyes blink at him in the darkness across the Lair. “Oh,” Gio says, simply. “You’re up.”

Mikey plods forwards, as unafraid as anything with Gio. “You’re freezing,” he gasps, pulling at Gio’s scarf. It’s bunched up strangely at his front, he hopes he didn’t rip it again. Gio had gotten all quiet sad last time, which was a travesty worth committing several crimes for. “Were you sewer swimming? It’s December!”

Gio shakes his head, pauses. Nods. Mikey plants his hands firmly on his hips with his lower lip jut out— Gio always gives him a strange look when he lectures him like this, but he listens. Mikey sees him listen. “Turtles don’t do well in winter, you know. If you froze into a popsicle, I’d have to fish you out, and that would definitely bother Raph.”

“Sorry,” Gio says, all fond and sly like a secret he’s keeping. “Emergency.”

He holds the wet front of his scarf out, and a tiny orange head pushes through. “Oh,” Mikey says.

Green eyes blink at him, it sneezes.

“You found a cat.”

Gio shrugs. “He found me.”

Mikey reaches forward tentatively, the poor thing's hair sticks straight up on the top of its head. Damp as anything. The cat sniffs at his hand, then rumbles happily at him, pushing its face directly into his palm.

Gio pushes the pile of fabric into Mikey’s arms. “He looks like you.”

Yeah, he thinks of ponds and ripples and universes. He does, doesn’t he.

#rottmnt #my fic #rise of the tmnt #hamato michelangelo #hamato giorgio #the archer au #this is basically just me having big feelings about my old lady cat sorry

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inkformyblood · 1 year ago

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needed: a better hiding spot (CWFKB #18)

Butterfly kiss, Canon Era, pining~ @codywanfirstkissbingo

“Here.”

Cody barely has a moment to register the pressure of Obi-Wan’s hand around his wrist before he’s pulled sideways. The door slides shut behind them with a click that echoes in the recesses of Cody’s brain, the final notch in a tally he’s been keeping since he first walked onto the bridge and saw Obi-Wan. He is completely and utterly fucked.

The cupboard — because calling it anything else would be an insult — is lined on both walls with shelving. Cody blinks in the sudden and complete darkness, waiting for his eyes to adjust. His helmet lies discarded somewhere on a higher level, a lucky shot cracking the visor and rendering it unusable, but the small beacon wired into it would still be active and they would be found. Eventually. Cody may be dead by then, his heart which carries by itself a price tag of seven hundred credits giving out due to the strain of how close Obi-Wan is to him. He can make out the flutter of Obi-Wan’s lashes, the faint floral scent that clings to his breath as he sighs, his mouth pursing into a faint whistle.

It is how they trained them in Kamino, whistles and hand gestures, twisting them one way and then the other like a pack of hunting shrills, and Cody looks where Obi-Wan indicates. He can just make out the impression of his hand, one still wrapped around Cody’s wrist, the blunt reflective sheen of a callus that swallows up the side of his thumb, before Obi-Wan releases him. His hand falls to his side and Cody misses the moment of contact. It would be for the best. He is used to surviving on rations stretched as far as they could go and Obi-Wan’s touch could be divided up similarly.

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan murmurs. His face is tipped towards Cody’s ear, his hair falling free from the rough bun he had hurriedly tidied himself into before they stepped onto the ship and the strands fall across Cody’s shoulder like a tidal wave. There’s an absence of scent to it, the neutral nothingness that comes with the products supplied to the clones, and Cody’s thoughts slowly tip into Obi-Wan in the showers before he tears himself back into rote procedure.

He’s dead. He is never going to leave this cupboard.

Cody swallows and the sound echoes in the cavern of his skull, too loud to be anything other than a point blank blaster cocked against his temple. “Sorry for what, sir?”

Obi-Wan catches himself on the edge of a laugh, biting it back as his shoulders shake. He lowers his head, pressing his forehead to Cody’s shoulder before he breathes in and straightens up once more. Grief breaks into fragments across his brow blending with the lingering joy, his lower lip caught between his teeth. He clears his throat softly and Cody’s attention snapping back to him. “I should have tried to pick a better hiding spot,” Obi-Wan says, an apology layered beneath his words. He presses his regrets into Cody’s hip, the motion hidden from the door by the bulk of their bodies and the fall of Obi-Wan’s robes, close but still apart.

“Next time, I’d like one that has a caf machine installed.” Cody leans into Obi-Wan’s touch still. It is like he is starving, trying to tear himself away from a banquet. He can carve half-moons into his flesh from the jagged edges of his nails and sear the brush of Obi-Wan’s fingertips into his bones and it will never be enough. He wants to kiss him, but he can’t. Cody is a good soldier, he follows his orders, and Obi-Wan is his General. There isn’t a space for them yet, not here, not like this.

“I will try my best in the future.”

They are silent for a long moment. Distantly, the wail of an alarm begins to sound and the light bleeding through the narrow gap of the doors flickers a deep red. In the fresh hue, Cody looks up at Obi-Wan, meeting his gaze. “What are you thinking, sir?”

“Lots of things,” Obi-Wan answers automatically. His mouth curves into a small smile that doesn’t go anywhere near his eyes, the same expression he wears when a politician breaks into his orbit, manufactured politeness brandished like a saber to get them away from him. Cody doesn’t know what the Force feels like, how an entire universe's worth of input could cram itself into a single person’s mind, but he squeezes Obi-Wan’s hand. A tremor runs through the other man, a realigning of planets because of Cody’s touch and he wonders if the Force feels better than this, if shifting the flow of the universe could compare to holding Obi-Wan’s hand.

Obi-Wan continues, his voice perfectly level in stark opposition to the shiver rattling his teeth. “I am thinking that I really would like to kiss you.”

Cody starts, his breath tearing through his chest before he rights himself in the same moment, perfected Kaminoan engineering at work. “I’d like you to kiss me.”

“Not like this, but—” Obi-Wan cups Cody’s jaw in his free hand, smoothing his thumb over Cody’s cheek, “—hold still, love.”

Cody obeys. The ship could fall out of the sky and every single one of his brothers could tear open the door to this cupboard and Cody wouldn’t move. Obi-Wan leans closer, pressing his cheek to Cody’s before he turns his face closer. He blinks deliberately, his lashes dragging against Cody’s skin, his breath warm as he exhales, and Cody closes his eyes. He wants to remember this. It is an unconventional kiss, but they have never done things in the typical way.

Obi-Wan straightens slowly. “I will be able to kiss you properly after the war.”

“I liked that kiss,” Cody murmurs, his voice cracking, his cheeks suddenly burning. Obi-Wan chuckles, squeezing Cody’s hand once more.

“I’m glad.”

#codywan #cwfkb2023 #cwfkb #star wars #commander cody #obi wan kenobi #my writing #fanfic #cody x obi wan

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seraphimart · 7 months ago

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Juggernaut

(( Missions don't usually go as planned for team RSM and sometimes they do ))

Alarms and sirens blared through the speakers, lighting the corridors in shades of red. They rang loudly throughout the base. Two figures huffed running through different hallways, each one identical to the other, trying to find the way out of this confusing maze.

"Over here!" The figure leading them motioned towards a large automatic door that was currently sealed shut as a defense protocal. Rose gave the second figure, a petite, elf princess named Kayda, one of her pistols. She quickly corrected the way the princess was holding the weapon and held it in the direction they came from.

"You're going to shoot whoever or whatever comes through that door. Understood?" Rose explained. Kayda stood stiff, eyes glassy, as the tremors ran up and down her hands became noticeable.

Rose gave a look of sympathy, understanding the fear the other must have. Her touch lingered over the princess' hand, "Relax, take a deep breath, and pull the trigger with certainty. Any hesitation will get you killed."

Her team's mission was to infiltrate the base to rescue a valuable princess that was kept hostage under strict surveillance as Spades and Miyuki play decoy. With the way everything is shaking with explosions, she's sure Spades is having a great time causing havoc.

She quickly returned to her task at hand. "This will only take a second.." She muttered as she reached her hand out. Her fingers stretched out into long wires, connecting themselves into the passcode bar. Her cybernetic markings and her eyes glowed a faint cyan as she started hacking, unlocking each bolt holding the door shut. She stepped away once she was done, watching the door rise.

However, she wasn't expecting anything like this on the other side.

There it was standing at eight feet tall, wrapped in layers after layers of Kevlar, foam, and plastic armor. Held on their gloved hands was a large, heavy machine gun, with 12 millimeter sized bullets hanging on their side like a tail.

Rose held out her arm protectively in front of the elf princess as cold sweat dripped down her neck. She was in disbelief out of all things she wasn't expecting this.

"Oh, fuck me. They sent out a juggernaut..." Her voice rang through the intercom in her team's ears.

----------

Miyuki ran after Spades, the sounds of the alarm rung through her ears. Far more louder than normal, as she quickly disposed of a few of the soldiers chasing them.

"Reaver, I need your location." She said into the intercom, coming to a hault in front of two passages. When Miyuki didn't hear an answer, she was going to tell Spades that she could probably scent Rose if they're close enough, but he ended up taking off into one of the corridors.

She reached out, "Stonefist, wait!" But he was gone before she knew it. She ran a hand through her blue hair, growling in slight frustration. "Why am I stuck with two wreckless idiots?"

She looked at the corridor. On the right, the one Spades didn't take. She knew Rose could handle far more than a juggernaut, and with that thought in mind, she took off after Spades.

She hid behind a corner, peeking out in time to see an explosion from down the hallway left in Spades wake. She took out a pistol and aimed at the remaining soldiers, shooting them accurately in the head.

She covered the lower half of her face with a special mask most assassins in their organization carry. Miyuki didn't want to risk breathing in the smoke left from the explosion.

She ran across the debris, almost slipping on a puddle. She held onto the wall for support and realized it was a puddle of blood. It trailed towards a direction she started to follow subconsciously until she ended up catching sight of Spades. She noticed a few soldiers surrounding the other end of the corridor, blocking their path. They had their guns aimed at him.

"Stonefist!" Miyuki ran towards him right when they started their round of fire. As she ran her limbs stretched, her stature grew in size, doubling her height. Her teeth became sharper as her nose grew into a snout stretching over the mask.

Long blue hair darkened into black fur, eyes glowed yellow. Her clothes were torn in some areas due to the sheer size of her werewolf form. She couldn't fully change. She needed to keep in control of the situation.

She encased her large body around Spades, taking the blunt hit of the bullets. They wouldn't hurt her too much unless it was cased in silver.

She glared down at him, the look more intimidating in her werewolf form. "Can you still shoot?" It came out as a low gargled growl, as if she's never spoken before in that form.

Without waiting for an answer, she gave him a pistol and threw him over her shoulder. She used her hind legs to kick off the ground and swiftly make her away around the debris. Bullets flew past her head, richocheting against the walls.

Soldiers shouted to fire everything they got. At first, Miyuki was okay with running away from a rain of bullets, but once they brought out heavier weapons such as explosives, she looked rather concerned.

They were going to blow this whole place down regardless of who was stuck in the radius of that blast.

----------

Rose hid behind debris that fell from the ceiling after the third explosion hit. Her intercom wasn't working, and she couldn't stay hidden for too long, not when she had someone she needed to protect. She would've been fine if she was on her own. She could have been more wreckless, got the job done faster, but Kayda is making it difficult. Not only because she was a vulnerable target but because she decided to have a death grip on Rose's arm and not let go no matter how much Rose tried to pry them off.

Rose shot a round of bullets at the juggernaut's head, only to have them uselesly bounce off.

"It's like I'm shooting fucken blanks!" She laughed in disbelief, trying to think of her options.

She could make a run for it, that heavy machine gun takes a few seconds to power up before shooting so she can have some time to get to cover. But she couldn't risk Kayda getting shot, so she scrapped that plan.

She looked up at the ceiling, most parts destroyed by the explosions, cracks, and pieces hanging off, ready to fall with another rumble.

She was going to mention a plan she thought of to Kayda, but a small, fiberglass ball rolled towards them. It flashed in warning, beeping more urgently as seconds went by.

Rose couldn't react fast enough and stood in front of Kayda to get the blunt force. It flashed once more before denoting. It sent out a sonic wave, pushing both of them out of their hiding spot, knocking them back a few feet.

Rose felt the air be knocked out of her as she laid on the floor gasping. What kind of grenade was that? She never came across a sonic wave that was strong. Her stomach seized, and a strong feeling of nausea came over her.

"Kay.. Kayda! Are you... okay?" She looked over at the princess, who was in a similar position of trying to get her breathing under control. Lucky for her, she didn't get the full force of the blast.

Ears ringing, stomach doing flips, Rose tried to crawl towards the Princess, only to be pushed back down by a heavy armored boot, pain shooting up her spine.

She yelped, clenching her jaw closed.

"We all know who you are. Who you work for. Do you really think you're doing good in this world?" Came the muffled voice behind layers of protective gear.

"You work by organizing crime, you steal, kill, kidnap." Juggernauts beady eyes shifted from the redhead he was grounding his boot into, towards the frightened princess, then back.

"You shed blood wherever you go. You're a disease. And I will finish you." He aimed the large, red muzzle of his heavy machine gun straight down towards the assassin.

"Let's hope there will be nothing left of me because I'm going to kill you if I'm still alive." Rose turned her head to the side, glaring from the corner of her eyes straight at the Juggernaut.

"That's a fucken promise. So make it count."

The barrel started to shift, warming up the machine gun. It started to fire; debris, dust, and smoke were picked up as bullets penetrated wherever it landed.

Juggernauts manic laugh was almost louder than his weapon, as he hailed bullets.

When he was done, he waited for the smoke to clear, to find Rose missing from her spot. "What the fuck?"

"I'm over here asshole." Rose stood by Kayda. Part of her forearm was open and presenting a hologram of a rocket launcher. Her markings on her face glowed a bright cyan as she materialized the weapon into existence.

The juggernaut laughed again, "You think that will kill me?"

"No, but this will." She aimed the materialized rocket launcher up towards the ceiling at one of the pieces dangling off. The rocket exploded with a loud boom, shaking the whole base, rumbling the floors and walls, and large chunks started to fall from the ceiling.

One piece of debris collapsed above the juggernaut before they could move out of the way. Their heavy armor made it difficult to move quickly.

It folded him like paper weight. Rose stood there for a second, waiting to see if they'll get back up. When blood started to leak out from underneath the rubble, she knew it was done.

Rose turned to Kayda with a grateful smile, "I wouldn't have made it if you didn't teleport me out in time." Kayda smiled softly before her eyes rolled back and fainted. Rose caught her before she hit the ground.

Rose carried her bridal style over the pile of rubble, trying to quickly make her way out before the whole place fell apart.

"We need to retreat!" She tried to say to her intercom only to realize it was still broken and static was the only feedback she heard.

----------

Miyuki used her heightened senses to track Rose down, at the same time making sure she didn't out run Spades in her haste. However, she was surprised he was able to keep up so easily.

It was more difficult the longer they ran due to smoke gathering from fires caused by the explosions. Everything seemed like it was on the verge of collapsing, and if they didn't get out in time, they'd be trapped in the rubble, left to suffocate by the smoke.

"At this rate, the whole place will cave in!" She growled, her snout trying to form those words. They ended up back at that divided corridor, this time taking the other side instead. "Her scent is getting stronger, but so is the scent of smoke..."

In fact, most of the smoke came from this area the further they traveled, darkening their vision.

She stopped sharply, stretching her arm out to the right to catch Spades. The walkway in front of them was destroyed, hollowed out by an explosion, leaving a large crater in its wake.

She wasn't sure how it happened or what the hell Rose got herself into, but before she could ponder it more, she spotted said assassin on the other side of the crater holding their objective. The ground continued to rumble as parts of the base started to cave in. Rose had placed her mask on the princess to help her from breathing in the smoke as she tried to cover her own face with her arm. The flames spread towards them, no other escape than over the crater.

"Matriarch, I have a grapnel! Can you catch it?" Miyuki's wolf ears twitched, as Rose shouted from the other end. If it wasn't for her enhanced hearing, she would've missed it. Miyuki howled in return.

Soon after, Rose's markings become the only thing visible as smoke engulfed them. A grapnel shot out from the smoke towards them at a high speed.

Miyuki dug her claws unto the wall beside her and stretched out to catch it. It wrapped around her forearm, the sharp edges digging into her furred skin.

Spades's eyes glowed an eerie grey, helping Miyuki pull the grapnel with his own inhumane strength.

Rose wrapped the rope around the princess' waist and then secured it around her own wrist. She then placed the princess over her shoulder with a vice-like grip. She saw smoke erupting from the hole she blew up prior, thick and all consuming.

It swallowed them completely right when Rose used her cybernetics to enhance her throw. She ran, giving herself some momentum before jumping over the edge. She had enough trust in her teammates and knew they wouldn't let her fall to her death.

They swung across as she held on tightly to the rope. They emerged from the black cloud of smoke at a speed that was too fast. They were going to crash harshly against the other end. Rose twisted them, so she took the blunt force of that hit. She grunted, her shoulder aching from the impact, but her hold was strong. They swayed a few feet below. Rose looked beneath her dangling feet, and debris and rubble crumbled down into the fire.

She could feel the heat rising, fire licking up the walls. "Matriarch!"

"Stonefist, I'll need you to pull them up." Miyuki held on tightly. She was stuck between holding onto the grapnel and digging her claws in the wall as support.

Rose looked at the rope as it was pulled taunt. The fibers of the rope started to come undone with their combined weight the longer they stayed suspended in the air. She really hoped it held long enough.

As they were lifted up inch by inch, she kept her eye on the rope, hearing it starting to tear more and more.

"Can you guys hurry? I don't think it'll hold long enough!" She started to feel fear creep up her spine. Falling to their death was not a way she'd want to go. Maybe doing something cool like crashing a chopper, but not this. This would suck.

Debris fell from the ceiling, collapsing all around them. They really needed to speed things up. Their time is running out.

Sweat dripped down to Spades' eyes, but he kept pulling the rope. Each tug was painstakingly slow, and he was starting to get lightheaded from the smoke.

Suddenly, he grunted in surprise as he fell back, landing on the floor in front of Miyuki's feet. He huffed in disbelief, looking at Miyuki in horror, showing her the rope in his hands.

The end was torn off.

Miyuki howled, leaping closer to the edge and peered down. She couldn't see them. She couldn't see anyone but black smoke and the occasional flare from the flames. Her heart hammered away.

"No, no, no!" Spades stopped her from trying to jump over the crater. It took a lot to shove her back, especially in her werewolf form. Her eyes streamed with tears. Spades held on to Miyuki's face, and he tried to get her to look at him.

"She'll be okay! She's gonna be okay!" Spades wasn't sure if he was trying to convince Miyuki or himself.

"We need to get out! Or else we'll also be stuck here." Spades tried to reason.

"I can't leave her here!" Miyuki kept looking over Spades' shoulder as if she'll find Rose standing there telling them how they got juked, but there was no Rose. There was only rubble and smoke and that torn rope she should've been tied to.

Spades kept pulling her away from the crater. "Matriarch, we need to leave now!"

Miyuki reluctantly turned away with a small, pained whine. She turned back into her human form and followed close behind Spades, wiping her tears with the back of her hand.

----------

Rose looked at the rope and then back down to the abyss they'll fall into. Her breathing was quickened either by the lack of oxygen or anxiety. Probably both.

They were almost there, Rose could see the edge, and she could almost reach it. Then she could pull them up, and they can get out of here -

Snap!

There was a moment when Rose felt her heart drop down to her stomach, and then she was falling.

She screamed, the speed of their fall increasing by every second. She held onto Kayda, not sure what else to do.

"Fuuuuck!" She curled up in fear around the elf princess. Then it came to her, the teleportation that occurred earlier with the Juggernaut.

"Kayda, wake up! Kayda!" She desperately tapped the elf's face, trying to rouse her awake.

Oh, God, they aren't going to make it in time. Smoke engulfed them in inky blackness, Rose couldn't see, couldn't breathe. She could only hold on for dear life and hope upon any deity to spare them from a gruesome death.

A small gasp escaped the elf princess as she startled awake, but Rose couldn't form words fast enough to tell her to teleport.

Rose squeezed her eyes shut, waiting on the inevitable impact. Waiting for the pain to take her.

Instead, they floated for a mere second, feeling weightless and light. Then, the wind was knocked out of her as they landed in a patch of soft green grass.

No smoke or fire to be seen. No flashing red lights or the blaring sounds of alarms. No more collapsing facility. It was all replaced by sweet scented flowers and a large field that stretched for miles.

Large chunks of land floated over head, ruins, and ancient markings engraved on the soil, giving it the magik touch to keep it elevated.

There were stepping stones all around to travel from and to each section. It was dark out, and Rose had never seen so many stars that weren't drowned out by city lights.

It was breathtaking, giving the redheaded assassin whiplash from their near death experience.

"Holy shit. Holy shit." She kept muttering, trying to get her racing heart under control. Kayda wasn't fairing any better. She looked pale, and her face was frozen in shock. She was trembling from head to toe.

Rose sat up, not moving the princess from her place on top of Rose's lap. Rose placed her own trembling hands on either side of the elf princess' cheeks and laughed a bit hysterically, pulling her in so their foreheads touched.

They were covered in sweat, soot, and blood. But they were alive. They made it.

"You saved us, Kayda. Holy shit, you fucken saved us."

#oc: rose #oc: kayda #rose scarrlette sinclair #kayda kexx #oc: miyuki #miyuki koimizu #spades #oc lore #oc #oc story #anime #original character

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