#GOD FUCK I REALLY HAD TO CRUNCH THIS ONE OUT IT’S ALMOST MIDNIGHT

[milfmatsu]

totoko day!!!!! i love you crazy girls!!!

[iwanty0uu]

❄︎ all characters are 19+ y/n being 20, second female character being 19, and male character being 21, contains swearing and mentions of violence ❄︎

•unedited•

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟑…

Three weeks passed since the event with your “sister” and you didnt know how to feel. Life felt like a fever dream and as you sat down sadly in your college dorm, you received a dm, from Connie.. ?

You two had chemistry, well chemistry wasn’t the word, maybe advanced biology.. he was the type to make you think that he was all about you in private during your late high-school years, and then act like you were nothing more than friends in public. Considering that you two were friends, you couldn’t tell whether you were really trippin bout the way he acted or if you just caught feelings while he didnt. So for your own peace, you un-added him and went no contact. This went on for three years until tonight.You opened your inbox and the message read:

“long time no talk..heard niggas spreading shit bout you that aint sit right.. tell me wassup my heart.”

Your heart dropped.. the fuck was he talking about you like that for? HE CHEATED! WITH YOUR SISTER AT THAT!!

“Fuck it” you thought and began typing your paragraph..

𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤

You remembered the footsteps that entered your household, and it was her.. Your sister, Nataly and your newly EX BOYFRIEND entering your home, your safe haven. She was greeted with stares from her father, brother and yourself. “How could you do that to your sister?” Your father asked? His tone was low, and he seemed hurt for you, but this was no regular empathy, this was trauma.His face seemed as if he had seen one thousand years worth of pain and heartbreak, and it broke him to know that his daughter, his baby was just like the person who had hurt him. History repeats itself no?

“Y/n I’m not here to ask for your forgiveness but I did come here to apologize-“ before he could finish his sentence, his face was met with your fathers fist, his blood flew through the kitchen, spreading along the kitchen floor like wet fresh paint. The crunch of Ony’s nose filled the room which was followed by a gut wrenching scream.. He had no time to talk or explain himself. You would have never expected your father to move so quickly considering his size and weight but it seemed as if he took his anger out on the boy. The boy who looked too much like the one who betrayed him and slept with his gold digging…wife, his cousin. After your brother pried your father and ex apart, Ony was unconscious, and your father’s once dark blue polo almost looked the same shade as midnight, and was soaked..

You watched your sister to see how she would react, would she try to help him? Ask daddy “WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT?” in the voice she uses when she doesn’t get what she wants? But to your surprise, she tried to hug you, grabbing your hands and repeating “It was only twice.. it only happened twice.” Your brother must have seen the glint in your eye which caused him to act faster than you could, separating you and your sister before she got a matching broken nose.. “OH SO IM PEACE-MAKER TODAY HUH?” he repeated, pacing up and down the kitchen. “AWWWEEE SHITTTT IM GOING TO JAIL I GOT FINGER PRINTS ALL ON THIS BITCH- YO POP YOU MURDERED HIM- NIGGAS NOT EVEN BREATHING-“ his tattooed hands touched his waves, rubbing his face and fanning himself dramatically.

“You’re dead to me” you said to Nataly. And it was the last thing you remembered before leaving your home in a frenzy. “why does this shit happen to me god?” you pleaded in your car, eyes too swollen to drive causing you to pull over and take a break. After that, your memory was foggy, you did make it home though and skipped school for a week after..

𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭

You found that your conversation with Connie lasted for hours, then led to an instagram facetime, then let to an actual facetime, to talking every day for the next month, being shady to Ony together, throwing subs on social media about him, and having study sessions. Over this month, your time in the empty lecture halls with him were the best, being alone in a big room with someone who you “weren’t supposed to be with” always turned you on.. or maybe you were just a little perv, but Connie noticed this. He noticed this as he sat next to you instead of across from you one day, how you looked at his lips and not his eyes when he got the correct answer. You purposely told him that you would reward him if he passed his exam which he did, knowing exactly what you had in mind. He noticed how your soft plush lips eased into his as if they craved the intimate privacy that they once despised, craving the secrecy that caused your situationship to fail. Your slick coated your dark brown g-string under your long skirt that was now hiked up, as you sat on his lap, the way he played with your nipple piercing remembering how everyone said it was dumb to get just one but it fit you so well. This was his first time touching you this way in years, and he would make this a moment to remember. Although he wanted to continue, he stopped to wash his hands at the lab sink before he began, and then came back to finish your lewd scene. You sat patiently waiting for him to finish and this gave you time to think about your actions. Were you doing this because of Ony? No, so why do you feel so nervous?

He turned around and returned to his seat, kissing your skin which sent tingles up your spine, calming you down, but you still had something on your mind and it made your balls blue. Your high came down and as usual, he noticed. Knowing Connie for as long as you did, his maturity was now visible and in that moment he promised that you’d be his number 1. It was hard to trust niggas now-a-days but what did you have to lose? If all hell breaks loose just wait until it freezes over and go about your life as you did before him. So being you, it was easy to agree but even harder to believe him, but you ignored it. You knew yourself well and if he didn’t treat you how you were supposed to, then he’d be gone. The heat between you went back to its intensity as he deepened the kiss, leaving hickies around the open skin on your chest above your tube top. Your legs fluttered open at his touch and you felt his erection almost burning into the fat of your ass, he slowly put his fingers back inside of you, thrusting while curving his fingers inside of you, hitting your sweet spot. You could feel yourself coming to your high, gripping onto his shoulders riding his fingers, begging for his touch and affection. You pulled at his studded earlobe with your teeth as his erection stimulated your clit. You found yourself tugging on his sweats, begging to be touched by him… You slid your hand into his ethikas, pulling out his cock, it twitched while you rubbed his pink tip that was already lubricated with his pre cum. You played with the plump of his pink lips while you grounded yourself onto his dick, sinking your way onto him. You both were on the edge and near to cum, so you weren’t surprised when he bucked his hips into you before you could gain your senses. You lost control of your body as it bucked in return, matching his pace and his sloppy rythm. “Fuckkkkkk con- shit” you rubbed his shoulders as you felt your high approaching.

“You take this dick good huh ma-“ he grunted, his rhythm now inconsistent as he slowed down, edging the both of you. You felt as if you were on cloud nine, the way he caressed your skin, touching you in the places that were left cold by your ex… rubbing his favorite spots on your body. His tongue grazed against your own, swirling in the pool of your saliva, he bit your lip causing you to jump slightly. He laughed while kissing the both of your cheeks, his thumb re-located to your clit, rubbing faster and harder, pressing down against your sweet spot as you whined against his hips.

“Connie! I’m cumminggggg, oh my-“ You grabbed his body for support as you felt him release inside of you, he gripped your hips, holding you still as you jerked against him, still in the after shock of your orgasm.

“Hold on y/n- shittt” he whispered as he felt his seed leak out of you. He slightly moved his hips, pushing the other half of his girth that couldn’t fit inside of you. As it kissed your cervix, you felt your eyes roll back…but there was another pair watching you.You both heard shushed voices outside of the door, forgetting the time and how the night classes started at 8pm… it was currently 9:30 and by the grace of God no one entered the lecture hall whilst you and connie had your randevu.

“shit the time-“ you mumbled, quickly hopping off of him, loosing balance instantly as he held you up. You grabbed some wipes that sat in the inner pocket of your telfar, and cleaned you both up to the best of your ability. You couldn’t control the giggles that left your mouth as you fled the crime scene, but that night liberated you.

𝟏𝟐:𝟎𝟎𝐚𝐦

Connies head rested on your chest as it rose and fell,he slept as you were left alone with your thoughts. You didn’t regret what happened and were looking forward to a future with him..but who’s eyes were it that you felt?…..

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐟𝐤𝐢𝐧 𝐞𝐧𝐝.

hope yall liked this as much as i DREADED MAKING THIS jkjk..mwahh!~𝓵𝓮𝓵𝓮

[qqueenofhades]

I know you haven’t written for Kastle in a long time but something with 18 and/or 39 pls?

The wet grass crunches and squeaks under Karen's shoes as she crosses the lawn, slick enough that she's almost tempted to grab at the nearby tombstones for balance. She doesn't; it feels vaguely disrespectful, even if the occupants are dead and long past caring. The night is cold enough to see her breath, dew beading and freezing on the branches of the old oak trees, and if she had any sense, she'd be at home, tucked up warmly with the window shut and the heating cranked. But when it comes to this -- when it comes to him -- well. She has proved that she very much fucking does not.

"Frank?" Her voice comes out as a hissing whisper, taut with anger and fear. "Goddamn it, Frank! Are you here?"

No answer, no sound, except the distant rumble of traffic from the Long Island Expressway and the hooting of an owl on the branch above. It's almost midnight, the moon is full, and it peers then and odd from the thick scrim of clouds, casting ghostly shadows over the well-manicured cemetery greens. It sends a portentous chill down Karen's back, but she can't be sure if that's from the setting or just the usual thing that comes of dealing with Frank Castle: the awareness of prompt and inevitable impending doom. Fuck, this is stupid. He's either gone, or wreaking havoc elsewhere, or possibly just dead in a ditch, which seems convenient for already being in a cemetery. She's almost about to raise her voice, to call and summon God knows what, when she sees a dark silhouette slumped against the wall of an old mausoleum, some prominent Gilded Age New York family. Something that is, however tenuously, alive and not dead. Then, wet grass or not, she runs.

"Frank!" Jesus, Jesus, Jesus Christ it is indeed him, and he looks even worse than usual. His black hoodie is stained with drying blood, his nose looks broken (again), and he's holding a torn-up piece of rag to his eye in a futile attempt to nurse down the swelling there. Fortunately, Karen has come prepared for this eventuality, and she throws herself to her knees, digging in her backpack for the first-aid kit. "Asshole," she hisses at him, hands already moving to tear open a sterile wipe and find some clean gauze. "Asshole!"

Frank grunts, not bothering to deny it. One corner of his mouth twists in a very wry smile. "Good to see you too, Karen."

"Shut up." Karen reaches out by reflex, running her hands up and down Frank's torso to check for especially serious wounds. Nothing's gushing blood, so he's probably not dying, but she's long lost her ability to tell in regard to him. "I really am going to kill you."

"Uh-huh." She hears him grunt a laugh against her ear, the warmth of his breath shockingly intimate in the chilly evening. "Sure you are."

Karen is tempted to smack him or something, just to make a point, but he does look bad, and while she gives him a withering glare, she restrains from further remonstrance. When she's sort-of patched up the worst, decides she really doesn't want to know what the fuck he's been doing (Frank stuff, as usual), she digs in the backpack, pulls out a thermos, and pours him a cup of black coffee. "I'm not going to do this again," she warns him. "I'm not your paramedic, or your nurse, or even your girlfriend."

"Noted." Frank sips at the coffee, winces when it stings his broken lip. There's a long pause. Then he adds, "Thanks for this, yeah?"

"Yeah." Karen sits back on her heels, wondering (as ever) what on earth she's going to do with this giant idiot. The moon comes out again, casting his face in rugged shadows, and she clenches her fists to avoid doing something stupid. "You're the worst, Frank."

He huffs something that might be a laugh, but doesn't want to commit too hard for fear of jostling a broken rib. She pauses, then settles next to him in the lee of the mausoleum, close enough to brush their shoulders. Almost wishes she'd brought a blanket, like they're two teenagers sneaking away to the cemetery at midnight to make out and doubtless fall victim to some lurid urban legend. But Frank is more than terrifying enough to chase away the Hook-Handed Man or whatever boogeyman is lurking around Long Island at midnight, and for a moment, she half lets herself relax. They sit there together, staring out at the neat rows of the dead. Then she says softly, "You scared the shit out of me."

Frank grunts again, this one in the tenor of an apology. She's very good at reading his wordless noises, the shift of his body against hers, the soft moments and unspoken meanings, and yet again, she debates whether to let that be enough for her, to pretend it is, even if it isn't. He passes her the thermos cup, their hands brush, and Karen can feel herself teetering on the verge of something she's very much going to regret. But that, unfortunately, isn't enough to stop her. She turns toward him, sees the silhouette of his face in the moonlight, his mouth opening in a question, and just fucking does it. Grabs the front of his filthy sweatshirt in both hands, crowds him roughly back against the stone, and kisses him like a fist to the face.

Frank jerks, makes a strangled sound, and briefly she thinks he'll wrench free like a sea serpent and sprint for the hills (or whatever passes as such in the New York suburbs) and never be seen again. But then he grunts, gasps, mutters, "Fuck, Karen," and doesn't manage, regardless of any feeble efforts to the contrary, to pull away. Instead he swings her around and presses her against the mausoleum, the two of them the only living things here and kissing, breathing, moving raggedly, clutching at each other, his callused soldier's fingers roughing and tangling in her hair, and she makes short jerking gulps like she's drowning and can't get enough air, enough of him. It goes on for five, ten, twenty seconds -- it might as well be forever, it feels that way. Then with an agonizing struggle -- she's not above noticing that and enjoying the pain it's clearly causing him to pull apart from her, as much as it does for her with him -- Frank breaks away. "Not now," he says hoarsely. "I just -- please, Karen. Okay?"

It's clearly meant to convince himself as much as her, and she manages a stiff little nod. Not now at least implies a someday, though she still likes to think that she's done wasting her time by hoping for him to come around. The coffee has spilled in the crush of their embrace, steaming gently where it soaks into the chilly earth, and she imagines the sleeping dead tasting a sip. She looks at her hands, since she can't look at Frank's face. Maybe it will never end. Maybe it will never let her be free. Maybe there will only ever be him.

"All right." Her voice sounds thin, artificial. "Fine. See you around, I guess, Frank. Whenever you turn up half-dead again."

"Karen -- " He reaches for her halfway, drops his hand. "I am -- for this -- tonight. Thanks. Thanks. You take care of yourself, okay?"

You too. Asshole.

"Sure." Karen stoops, picks up the fallen thermos cup, puts it back into her bag. "See you around, Frank."

She doesn't look back. She doesn't let herself.

[thespiritssaidso]

Call Me Cinnamon

Chapter 1: Testing. Testing. Can You Hear Me?

There was a loud clap of thunder, and Shawn woke up with a startle. He could’ve sworn he’d just gotten into a- but no, he just had a really bad dream. He was here, safe in his bed. In his apartment. It was just a nightmare. That’s all. But… damn, it had felt so real. He could still recall the feeling of getting thrown through the windshield, hitting his head, and the blackness that came quickly after.

He looked outside, expecting it to be dark and cloudy. After all, it was thunder that woke him up. But it wasn't raining, much less storming. In fact, there wasn't even a cloud in the night sky. The stars were clearly visible, twinkling like glitter. And the moon was full, filling the room with a soft, white light. A short glance at his alarm clock told him it was midnight.

He was just about to fall back asleep when he heard something.

“Where the hell am I?”

Great, now he was hearing voices. "I really need to stop taking so much melatonin before bed."

“Who said that?”

That got him to sit up.

“Why does the voice in my head sound like some sorority girl from the Midwest?”

“Sorry? Wait- do I actually sound like a fucking- what??”

Shawn raised his eyebrows at that, a slight panic starting to set in him. These definitely weren’t his thoughts.

“Uhhmm, what the hell’s going on?”

He jumped out of bed, and practically sprints to the bathroom.

“Ow, what the f- almost gave me whiplash, holy shit.”

Flicking on the light switch, Shawn rushes to the sink and turns the tap on, splashing water on his face. But, something wasn’t right.

“Oh. My. God. No fucking way.”

Shawn slowly raises his eyes to look back at the mirror. What he sees makes him stumble back, colliding slightly with the wall. He looks at the mirror, but it’s not his reflection that looks back at him.

It was a… girl? Honestly, if it hadn’t been for the feminine voice, he would’ve had trouble trying to tell if she was a she or a he. And currently, her reaction was the polar opposite of his. She was standing still, mouth slightly open in shock, but the corners tilted slightly upwards in a lopsided open-mouth smile. Her hands were slightly shaking, and moving around, like she couldn't decide what to do with them.

“I’m dreaming. That’s it, it’s just another really freaky, really realistic dream.”

“Well, if this is a dream, then I sure as hell never want to wake up.” She slowly started leaning in, and tapped the glass of the mirror. “This is wack, man.”

"Who even are you? Please don't say you're the ghost of the owner's daughter I'm renting this place from and now you're here to haunt me."

That got her to laugh. “PAHAHAHA, nice. Love the reference. And no, not that I'm aware of. I just, kinda woke up here. And my name?” She thought for a minute. “Hmmm. I guess just call me Cinnamon. Or Cin. Or Cinny. Or Toast.”

"Cinnamon Toast? What, is your last name Crunch?"

“Pfftt, noo. My full name is Cinnamon Buttered Toast. I came up with it myself.”

She started looking a little bit more around the bathroom, taking in all of the details.

“So like, what year is it? What was your last case?”

“Why is that so important?”

Cinnamon raised an eyebrow. “So I know when I am? I mean, I don’t want to not know, you know?”

He shook his head a bit. “No, I don’t know.”

“Can you just- just tell me? Come on, man. I need to get my bearings. I need to know what to expect.”

“Fine! We just finished a case a few days ago. Uhh, Gus' buddy had died trying to bust a drug deal-”

She interrupted him. “Oohhh right right right. The- the one where Gus was like, part of a group, uhhh… Blackapella? Yeah, that’s right. And Diddle was murdered because he caught the- secretary? The woman across his cubicle? I don’t know. But anyway, he caught some lady at his office snitching where drugs were to people who like, sold drugs and stuff. And then when it was over, you were added as an honorary member, and you tried to convince the others to rename the group quarter-black.” She started slowly nodding to herself, and then stopped. Her expression soured a bit. “Wait, then that means… awww, man! I missed like, so much stuff! God dammit.”

Shawn froze, confused. “Okay, first of all: we had a vote, three to four. It was pretty unanimous. Second of all: what?? Third of all: ... What?!” He seriously doubts the story had already made it in the paper. And besides, she was saying stuff that was most definitely not going to become public knowledge.

“Oh, I know everything about you. To some extent, of course.”

The silence was so thick you could cut it with a knife, before Shawn broke it with a short, disbelieving snort of laughter. “You- eheh. You know everything about me? That’s a good one.”

“Are you kidding? Your whole life is practically ingrained into my psyche!” She stops, and giggles to herself. “Hehehe. Psych-e. HA!”

“Oh yeah? Prove it.”

“Prove it?”

"Yes!"

"Okay then." She thought for a few seconds and took a deep breath. "Your first case was about a kidnapping that had turned into murder. When you were a kid your dad would constantly train your eidetic memory for when you grew up to be a detective. You constantly break into people's houses just to look for clues which you pass off to the police as visions. You and Gus once went digging for oil in your backyard as kids and got caught by your dad when a pipe burst-"

“Okay, enough!”

She stopped.

He started pacing the tiny bathroom, thinking to himself.

“Okay, you know everything about me. That’s great… How do you know it, though?

“I-” Cinnamon stopped, and thought for a minute. Not much longer after, she donned a big Cheshire grin.

“…What? What- what’s that mean?”

“Well, I could tell you how I know-”

“Then tell me!”

“Mmmm yeah, but like. That’s no fun.”

Shawn bluescreened. “Not fun?”

“Yeah! It's a little more interesting if I just keep it to myself. To me it is, at least. Kind of like in a ‘Gaslight gatekeep girlboss’ way.”

"What-"

"Anyway! Where's Abigail? Aren't you guys at that stage where she has like, stuff here for when she spends the night?" She pointed at the sink, where there was in fact an extra toothbrush.

"That's even creepier, that you know about my relationship with Abigail. And she's at her house, something about wanting to stay in her own bed every once in a while."

"Ahh, makes sense. I'd do the same thing."

Then Shawn thought of a question, a very important one.

“How are you even here?”

That made her pause. “That is a very good question. I mean, I’m pretty sure I died in a car wreck.”

“Pretty sure you- wait, so that nightmare of me dying in a car crash was actually you?”

“You had a nightmare about my death?”

“Pretty sure, yeah.”

“… Okay, I’m starting to think that the headcannon of you being actually psychic might be a possibility.”

"Can you start saying words in a way that makes sense?"

"Nope. I think I'll just start saying things that make less sense, actually."

Shawn just puts his head in his hands and gives a deep sigh. "I'm too tired for this."

"Look, dude. I know you've got like, a million more questions. But this isn't gonna go anywhere. We could stay up all night, and you wouldn't get a single word out of me... Well, actually, I'd still talk. Just like, not about where I'm from, or how I know all this stuff. I like talking."

"And what? Just- just go to bed? Pretend like this is all fine and okay?"

Cinnamon shrugged. "I mean, yeah, if you want to keep your sanity. If you keep asking questions you won't get answers to you'll just lose your mind. So just... don't think too hard about it and you'll be fine. Maybe."

"What do you mean, maybe?"

"Well, I haven't exactly done this before! But I have read enough books that the best thing you can do is simply accept this."

"Okay then, fine. I guess I'm going to bed."

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

My boss was feeling sick today so she let me have the day off, and you can bet that I took advantage of that and worked on finishing this chapter. Anywayyy... Okay, for those of you who don't understand: Basically, Cinnamon died (obviously) and somehow her soul has merged into Shawn's, so now they share a body. Basically, their situation is a little bit like Mark and Steven's from 'Moonknight'. If you haven't seen it, then it's like this: we can still have our own private thoughts, and the only way she can communicate with him is when there is a reflective surface nearby. And when she does talk, only Shawn can hear it. The reason she could communicate with him in the beginning was because the moon provided enough light so that any reflective surface was usable for her. But if he moves to a separate room or somewhere else and out of the original reflection, she’s immediately dragged to wherever he's gone.

AO3 link

Previous: Prologue,

Next: Chapter 2

[dangercocktail]

Ranger Danger

The vibrational dance of Noah’s cell phone dragged him away from the horror movie splaying blood across his television. As a young starlet screamed and ran with poor coordination through the woods, Noah scanned the stream of incoming texts. 

“Damn,” he muttered, running a hand over his dark hair. The incoming texts were from work. As his supervisor implored Noah’s help, he discerned they needed him to come in even though he was off duty. Some sort of mild emergency that he couldn’t quite put together. Glancing at his phone’s clock, he read that it was a little after midnight. He quickly replied ‘be there soon’, flipped off the movie, and headed into his bedroom.

Noah slipped off his gym shorts and quickly dressed in the forest ranger uniform all his coworkers wore. He gave himself a routine glance in the mirror to finish buttoning his shirt. Noah filled out his uniform with a lean beefiness acquired from miles of hiking and lifting fallen trees, his sizable biceps straining the short sleeve cuffs of his shirt. With his striking brown complexion, easy smile, and muscles, Noah was a handsome representation of the Forestry Department, frequently called in to give tours to visiting government officials or bored tour groups of sexually frustrated housewives. He always maintained a calm demeanor in the most straining of circumstances, deftly handling questions with charm. He assumed the ‘emergency’ he was needed for now was something that required his level headed thinking. Weaving his belt into the buckle of his trim waist and grabbing his hat, he headed out to his Jeep.

As Noah drove into the darker recesses of the woods where his ranger station was located, he lowered the windows on his Jeep to take in the bracing smell of pine trees and cool night air. He inhaled deeply. He loved these woods. Having worked as a ranger now for almost five years, he felt at home in this forest, having hiked its expansive trails many times over.

Pulling up to Ranger Station #04, Noah saw his District Ranger standing in the soft yellow light of the station doorway waiting for him. Taking the only remaining parking spot next to the station, Noah observed that Ben and Daniel were on duty tonight, their cars parked next to the DR’s own Ranger Jeep. 

“Hey Jim,” Noah said, lifting a hand in acknowledgment as he approached the station. “How’s it going? You were slightly ambiguous in your texts...what’s going on?”

“Hey Noah, thanks for coming on such short notice,” Jim said, his smile tired but friendly. Jim was middle aged and handsome, having served in the military for several years before leaving service for a position in the Forestry Department. His body was slightly thicker than Noah’s in the middle due to Jim’s fondness for doughnuts but the small rounded softness there was offset by thick arms that easily heaved many forest obstacles.

“Ben and Daniel missed their last two audio checks so I drove over to check the station,” Jim explained, walking with Noah into the small station. He gestured to the radio log. “Last I heard from them was at nine thirty, then radio silence.”

Noah raised an eyebrow but only slightly. This wasn’t a big emergency, the guys were probably taking their time on their latest rounds. Ben and Daniel were known for getting high on these late night shifts, then strolling deep into the woods observing the enhanced beauty of the stars.

“Where’s their observation log?” Noah said, shuffling a few of the scattered papers on the desk to the side.

“Here,” Jim said, handing a clipboard to Noah. Noah flipped through a few of the sheets before reading the top page. Ben and Daniel had logged every hourly observation walk up until 10 pm. The last two spots for the day, the eleven and midnight observation, were conspicuously blank. Still, Noah wasn’t alarmed.

“They’re probably sitting under a tree marveling at the Big Dipper,” Noah said with a smile at Jim, looking up from the clipboard. He handed it back to Jim who set it on the desk.

“You’re not wrong but let’s follow protocol and run our own observation. Shouldn’t be too hard to find these two” Jim said, adding a new sheet to the clipboard. “I apologize for making you come out here but safety first right? Two man teams always”.

Jim scribbled the time, his rank, and initials in the one o’clock slot then handed it over to Noah for his own initials. Both of them grabbed a flashlight and radio, locked the station door, and headed out into the woods, following the well worn starter path every ranger had trod day in and out.

The night air settled around the two rangers in a cool mist as fallen pine needles crunched underneath their boots. They made small chatter occasionally but mostly remained quiet, something Noah appreciated about Jim. They both enjoyed the quiet of the forest, preferring the majesty of their surroundings to the noise most humans make to fill the air.

Nearly halfway through their observational walk with no sign of other rangers, Noah stopped and looked closely at a break in the trail. The trampled and well worn path of the trail continued on but to the right, the undergrowth was disturbed. Pointing it out to Jim, the two concurred that this was a recent disturbance of the forest and most likely Ben and Daniel had veered off trail, high and looking for a place to watch stars. Picking their way through the flora, the two rangers followed the new trail.

Despite the circumstances, Noah was enjoying the walk into this new part of the forest. It was rare for the rangers to disturb parts of the forest beyond the trail without good cause. Finding Ben and Daniel was sufficient cause enough to walk in these uncharted paths and Noah took in his surroundings with a slight feeling of contentment and awe. The forest really was beautiful.

The upended pine needle path continued for some time, Noah estimating nearly fifteen minutes since they had veered from the main trail. He was starting to feel slightly concerned and opened his mouth to say something to Jim when he heard a sharp slapping sound. Glancing over, he saw Jim removing his left hand from his right arm.

“God damn mosquito,” Jim uttered, wiping the remains of the crumpled creature onto his pants. 

“Yea, consistently the worst thing out he-...” Noah started saying then cocked his ear as his sentence dropped off.

“Do you hear that?” he asked Jim, tilting his head further. Jim froze in place and listened as well. Somewhere in front of them, not too far, there was a low rumbling noise. It sounded almost guttural to Noah, like water pouring from a giant jug.

Putting a finger to his lips to keep silent, Noah began carefully walking forward with Jim right behind him. The noise grew slightly louder with each step they took until suddenly, it stopped. They stopped in their tracks. Noah cocked an eyebrow at Jim and motioned with a questioning gesture of his hand, “keep going?”

Jim nodded and the two men pressed forward through the darkness of the forest and bush. Noah noted in a corner of his mind that he had never been to this part of the forest on any of his inquiries or observations; the wood seemed completely untouched by humans save for the newly beaten down path they were following. Jim stopped for a moment and appeared to be fidgeting with his belt but at Noah’s curious look, he waved them forward and they continued. Eventually they reached a small clearing by a pond that immediately struck Noah with its serene natural splendor. However as they stepped out into the clearing, they both heard and saw them at the same time. It took Noah a beat to fully comprehend what he was looking at. 

Near the edge of the pond lay a blanket and small radio, still playing the local college station. On either side of the blanket were two enormous spheres of flesh, completely naked and wobbling slightly as Jim and Noah approached. 

“What the fuck…” Noah said as he approached the shapes slowly, observing them not moving from their spot but jiggling and shaking in place.

“Oh shit, it’s fucking Ben and Daniel,” Jim uttered as he drew closest to the quivering shape on the right. Noah’s face took on incredulity as he drew close to the left. The flesh colored ball was indeed a man but blown up to enormous proportions. His legs and feet hovered almost a foot off the ground from the immensity of his ass, Noah judging it to be almost eight feet wide. The legs themselves were encased in roll after roll of fat to the point that Noah couldn’t discern where the knees might have been, the feet themselves swollen almost unrecognizable and sinking into the fat above them. Moving his eyes up, Noah took in a belly that covered half of the fattened legs and spread out in all directions, matching the width of that enormous ass, with a belly button itself six inches wide and receding darkly into the piles of belly fat. 

Two enormous breasts sat atop the behemoth of a belly, swollen and perky like two plastic grocery bags filled with pudding. They shook slightly in the night air as Noah observed the entire body jiggle, then suddenly swell out a little more. The feet at the bottom of this mass had almost disappeared. Two arms lay to the side of the massive torso, seemingly stuck and disappearing into the expanding rolls of fat as well. As his eyes traveled finally up to the face, Noah saw the faint hint of the face that used to be Ben. His neck had ceased to exist as roll after roll of fat took up the space above his breasts and connected with his cheeks. Ben’s cheeks had become intensely rosy, swollen to a state that it looked like he had a baseball in each.

Noah saw Ben glance down at him and begin to grunt, uttering something that Noah couldn’t make out. 

“Ben, what the fuck happened…” Noah said in shock, recalling the two fit men who he had joked with a week ago in passing shifts. This quivering mass of fat was at least eight times fatter than Ben had been.

“Moosh..” Ben uttered, slurping and trying to enunciate with his fat forced pouty lips. 

“Moosh!” he forcefully said, his eyes darting wildly as that rumbling Noah had heard before in the woods sounded. It was coming from Ben’s belly. Glancing over quickly at Jim and Daniel, he saw Daniel’s belly start jiggling then begin swelling in all directions. The man was expanding massively. His arms and legs disappeared into the expansive fat of his belly, leaving him almost completely ball-shaped. He was nearly nine feet around, with only hands and feet still visible on his appendages. His breasts, the same size as Ben’s, inflated as they jiggled, nearing the size of basketballs.

Noah looked back to Ben, absentmindedly slapping the back of his neck as an insect bit him. The now almost unrecognizable ball of fat that was Ben was going wild eyed, trying in vain to shout something, his lips forced even more open from the recent gains to his cheeks.

“Msssh!” he sputtered, his whole body quivering. 

“I can’t understand you..what the hell happened here Ben?” Noah asked in horror, then turned sharply when he heard Jim cry out.

Jim stood next to the enormous ball that was Daniel, holding his stomach and looking down in shock.

“Jim, what’s wrong?” Noah yelled, beginning to walk over. 

“I..don’t...know…” Jim uttered, right before the first button on his ranger uniform popped off. It was quickly followed in succession by a second and third button as Jim’s dough middle rapidly swole into a beach ball shape. His love handles quickly expanded to the sides as his chest developed two breast shaped mounds. His cheeks fattened and a double chin wobbled into place as Noah heard Jim’s pants rip as his ass followed suit. In the matter of thirty seconds, Jim suddenly looked to be over three hundred pounds.

“Oh fuck, Noah, it’s happening to me!”  Jim yelled, waddling slightly over to where Noah stood. 

“The hell is happening here?” Noah exclaimed, his eyes shooting from the fat man in front of him to the unrecognizable blobs of men to his side. The rumbling noise came back then, but this time, it started with Jim. Jim’s eyes went wide as he clutched with chubby fingers at the fattened sphere now occupying his front. The noise rose exponentially as it began coming from Ben and Daniel as well. Noah watched as Jim’s belly began growing again, pounds and pounds of fat piling on in waves. Jim began waving his arms in shock as his entire body inflated and began to take on a generally round shape, his feet slowly slipping on the wet grass of the clearing until he fell with a thud onto his immensely fattened ass. Noah observed him begin rising in the air as the fat continued to grow and Jim began to become another ball.

Ben and Daniel themselves had also grown more, their faces beginning to sink into the sheer mass of their rolls of fat. Ben was still trying to tell Noah something but it was just sputtering noises at this point. Noah backed away from the insane scene like he had observed something otherworldly, his eyes wide and his feet stumbling occasionally. A pit in his stomach had developed which he attributed to terror but as he turned to begin running, something brought him up short. A small popping sound rang through the air as he tried to run and he felt something heavy bounce on the front of his body. Looking down, he cried as watched his own midsection, now the size of a fleshy basketball, wobble and grow double in size. 

“No…” Noah uttered, stumbled a bit as his chest began to swell. He looked back to Jim who now was completely naked and becoming fully ball shaped.

“No!” Noah yelled, as he heard the rumbling begin again in Ben, Daniel, and Jim’s bellies. He grasped at his shirt as it fully ripped open, then felt his fingers clutch his doughy middle when he heard the rumbling start in his own belly. Turning to face the other fattened spheres that were once rangers, Noah felt his entire body begin jiggling then quickly begin to grow…

[zuffer-weird-girl]

Welcome back...

Tartarus was a mess. The world was a mess.

He didn't care. Not one bit. The pain on his forehead was nothing. He had been hitting that door just for someone to finally open his cell for him to get out, as soon as he heard the commotion that was happening on that prison.

He wasn't the same anymore. His pride long forgotten as he could only mutter 'father' in a state of desperation as he saw the chaos and tried to run.

His arms were missing but his legs weren't. So he ran as fast as he could. Leaving the prison as well as a bunch of criminals.

God... now that he knew it how much he fucking ruined his life... He didn't even know if the Shie Hassaikai was still working after his left. Oh who was he kidding..? Pops was in coma as he the supposed sucessor of the yakusa was arrested.

He heard the screams and shouts as he ran. The chaos was established... this was Shigaraki's plan? He didn't know neither could care at the moment.

He walked in a state of shock and traumatized as he started to see the city over a few kilometers away... Tartarus was located 5km away from the mainland and he was a tad bit impressed on how much he could run still after those hellish months he had to endure on that place.

It was the dead of the night, almost midnight he guessed, when he dragged his feet at the desert street. Maybe the city was in a state of lockdown after the prisoners of Tartarus escaped...

No single soul was in that street, walking in a state of misery. He could feel the drop of blood slidding down from the middle of his forehead to his chin... he wanted to at leats wipe it off, but oh with what he would? With the remains of his long lost arms?

He stopped when he recognized the building he once used to live. His eyes widejing as his feet moved before his mind could as he saw that even after months, the walls seemes to be in construction to repare.

He licked his dry lips as he looked at both his sides to ensure none police or hero was nearvy before kicking the door with all his force in desperation.

He stopped dead when the gate opened just a bit to show a gun pointed at his forehead.

"What?" Came a harsh voice as he gulped the thick air stuck on his throat. "What do you want damn freack?!"

"Im... I..." why his voice was horrible and hoarse liek that he didn't know, but he soon got desperate at seing he couldn't even say who the fuck he was.

"Get the fuck out." The old male groaned but Chisaki got his foot in before the man closed the gate, hissing at the sharp pain.

"I'm Chisaki Kai. The adopted son of Pops." He blurted out in panicked pants as the old man eyes widened in horror.

The male opened the gate and reveleaved himself, an old colleague of pops for sure as he checked him form head to toe.

"The one who got arrested? The one that made experiments with my friend's actual granddaughter who is now on care fo heroes?" He asked with venom on his voice as Chisaki felt almost sick to the stomach at hearing but could only nod. "How did you get here? I heard you were locked in Tartarus."

"Tartarus broke down a couple of hours ago... I.. escaped." The male narrowed his eyes at him even more but sighed, opening the gate for him to enter.

"You look like shit. Come in." He swore he almost dropped to his knees at the moment. But tahnks to heavens his legs allowed him to walk enough to enter.

"I have to take you to (L/n)-sama first." He widened his eyes once again as he heard your name being spilled from that man's mouth.

You... you were still here...?

But.. you didn't contacted him. Not even once. Ever since he was arrested he eneber heard of you again.

"Pardon..?" He almost whispered as the male lead him.

"She was your partner, right? (L/n)-sama confirmed that when you were arrested. By our traditions, if the successor or the other boss get arreste don a state of coma." He glared at him whose truly made him want to vomit "The wife or partner of the last boss takes the lead of the said yakusa."

So.. you accepted that..? But he knew you, he knew hwo much you hated his work... why would you-

"Here." He opened the door for him to enter "Take a sit and wait here." He closed the door abruptly making him wince.

The office of Pops... that guy really wanted to torture him. It was almost untouched tha place. Even the couch felt the same as usually would...

He soon perked up when he heard footssteps and standed up the best he could. Almost tripping even.

Pathetic. He was pathetic.

The door opened and he felt his heartbeat stop as appeared, (E/c)'s eyes widening as soon as they saw his figurine standing there... you havent changed a bit. Only for the appearance of someone who has been overworking themselfs to death... face scrunched from nights of crying...

It was a silence and such a tense atmosphere as you both stared at eachother... his eyes burning at seeing you there... he thought he would never see you again...

He saw how you blinked and rubbed your eyes only for you to widen them even more at seing him standing there still.

"K...K-Kai...?" You managed to finally pet out as his heart clenches.

You still called him ny his first name... his true first name.

You stepped closer to him as your hands hovered over his face and widened in horror at finally noticing the missing of his arms...

"What... happened to you? What is this?!" You gestured to both of the rest of his arms and his bruised forehead.

For some reason.. hearing your still concerned tone of voice made him break.. how could you still use that tone of voice with him after what he has done?! After he put his iwn father on coma?! He hadn't heard of you ever since he was arrested and now you were being nice and concerned to him?! Was this some other torture?!

"Kai!" He hadn't notices he had fell into his kness and started to hiperventilate. He could feel your hands on him as you wiped whatever it was falling from his eyes. "Hey! Hey look at me! Kai!"

He wailed. Dropping his face on the crook of your neck. Tears casting down from his eyes like waterfalls as he shouted and sobbed loudly on you. Breath hitching when you hugged his bigger form and brought him closer.

The moment he finally calmed down you parted away from the embrace and helped him up.

"Lets get you clean up, come on." You went to grab his hand but immediately retreading to grab his shoulder.

He could only follow you. Feeling numb and the headache coming from how much he had cried on your arms.

.

.

.

The water was comfortably warm as he finally allowed to drop his shoulders at feeling the water dropping on his body. He was still in his boxers when you helped him up... he didn't even spoke a single word as you touched every part of his body just to help clean himself up since he couldn't even do that. Even surprising himself when you brought him his old clothes.

He couldn't understand... he thought that if you didn't even went to visit him, yomust had to hate him. Despise him for what he had done like everyone else... Luckily he didn't put you on the plans with eru or else the love of his life would be arrested as well.

"A penny for your thoughts?" Your soft voice manifested as he still looked down at the ground from the spot of his old bed.. it was so much comfier than the brick he was forced to.

"... is it because of pity you pushed aside your anger towards me?" His voice was so hoarse and pained himself crunched his face at hearing.

"Pity?" You giggled sadly sitting besides him "Not quite. I-"

"Why then you did all this...? You should had let me die ..." he whispered as your chest clenched at his words.

"Why would i do that with my boyf-"

"Dont. Dont say it. After all I've done you should despise me. Hell, I thought that so after being denied of even a fucking information if you were safe..." he dropped his head befoore hearing a gaso from you.

"What do you mean? I was told by the guards of Tartarus that visits weren't allowed. And I always at least send you a letter, pn your first week when I was denied entry I send you a mask and a letter." You said while arching an eyebrow as he catched what had happened.

"The guards didn't delivered... must have stocked or throw away..." you furrowed your eyebrows but sighed shakily.

Suddenly his breath hitched when you hugged his torso and burried your face against his neck. For the first time he hadn't tensed at sucha coforting touch, but felt warm after so long without it.

"I missed you so much..." you mumbled, wetting his neck with your tears as he clenched his teeth at feeling drops of water falli g from his eyes once again.

"Damn you... I already cried enough didn't I..?" He burried his face in your hair as he allowed to be hugged. For once wishing his arms were back only to pull your body closer to him.

[yee-fxcking-haw]

•Man After Midnight•

Summary: Shota teaches Hitoshi how it's done in a cemetery.

Pairing: Dom Shota Aizawa x Sub FemReader x Switch Hitoshi Shinsou (all 18+)

Warnings: Threesome, Fingering, Oral (female and male receiving), Multiple orgasms, Sex on a grave, Unprotected Sex, Creampie, Snowballing, Collaring, Dom/Sub dynamics, Poly dynamics.

Word count: 5,224

A/N: For once a fic if mine doesn't have Daddy kink, it does scream Daddy issues though lmao. I wrote the last 2k words of this in a hospital waiting room PLS bE NiCe.

Playlist

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You watch, transfixed as he slides his long, pale fingers up your skin. He moves the pesky fabric of your skirt out of the way, chuckling lowly when you shiver slightly.

“You’re a tease this evening.” You observe as his hand travels back towards your knee, away from where you need him.

Probably wise, considering you’re traveling at nearly ninety miles an hour down a very heavily wooded back road.

“Where are you taking me, Shouta?” You ask quietly, cautiously, knowing he doesn’t like being bothered with too many questions when he plans evenings like this.

It’s date night, but not your regular Saturday night wine and dine type of date night.

Once or twice a month you and Shota will spend a night out of the house, reserve a room, find some undisclosed location, and fuck your hearts out. Your relationship had always consisted of an electric sex life, but as of late you’ve both been exploring your very dark, very carnal desires.

One of the more drastic steps was allowing a third individual to enter into your sexual dynamic. A friend of Shota’s, his name is Hitoshi Shinsou. You had been introduced to the idea over an exquisite dinner one evening. Shota had explained Hitoshi was very intrigued by the kind of kinky lifestyle you two lived, and that he was very eager and willing to learn.

After that, Hitoshi began his education under Shouta, with you as his greatest tool for teaching.

Hitoshi is an aspiring Dom with an inexplicable soft spot for sweet little brats like you. This is why he and Shota got along so well. Shota has been working with him for months now, letting Hitoshi watch with wide, depraved, lavender eyes as he tames you, fucks your brains out, as he bends you until you break. He watches from a chair in the corner of the bedroom you share with Shota, occasionally with his hands tied, but he’s usually allowed the freedom to pleasure himself.

He’s only allowed to watch though, never touch, not yet. He’s allowed to touch himself, he’s allowed to talk, but he has not been allowed to lay a finger on you. The closest he’s come is tasting your release off of Shota’s fingers, thanking him and lamenting about how sweet you are.

He may be an aspiring Dom, but Hitoshi Shinsou is a brilliant little switch.

Needless to say, you and Hitoshi have developed some very intense tension, after hearing him ramble about how pretty you look when Shota is making you cry, you can’t help it. You don’t know somebody that intimately, you don’t watch somebody fall apart like that, and not want to be party to their undoing.

“We’re meeting Toshi somewhere.” He says, as calm and collected as ever.

“You’re going to spoil him tonight.” His voice rumbles slightly, eyes on the road, steady and intense,

“I- I am?” You want to pry, wanting to ask what the hell that entails.

Will he be allowed to touch you, taste you, will he finally be able to fuck you?

“His lesson will be very hands on this evening.”

You pause, waiting for an explanation, but you watch his brows draw together, his jaw set, and you know you’re not allowed to ask any further questions.

You may be a brat, but you’re not stupid.

A few bends and turns later, you’re pulling up to large, wrought iron gates.

“Just a moment, dear.” He kills the engine then pops open the door and slides out of the car.

You admire the way his long legs look in his dress pants, desire seeps into your skin as you watch his shoulders sway, adorned by a perfectly tailored blazer.

The man drips sexual tension, exudes power, and demands obedience.

He pops the gates open easily, your blood runs cold when you see what's beyond them.

You run your hands up and down the tops of your thighs anxiously, eyes locked at the various graves spread across the seemingly forgotten field. Ivy swallows the stones and creeps across the ground like long green fingers. The hair on the back of your neck raises, a sick feeling drips down your spine before it settles in your gut.

You're jolted from your anxiety when Shota appears on the outside of your door. He pops it open and offers you his hand.

"Is Hitoshi here?" You ask timidly as you take his hand and step out, heals crunching the gravel as you smooth your skirt down.

"He is." Another final statement, one that forbids any further questions.

You nod and loop your arm around his strong bicep. You let him guide you through the gates, thankful for the balmy summer air against your exposed legs.

You're guided down the winding pathway of the cemetery, you should feel haunted, oppressed by the eerie energy that clouds the air. You can't bring yourself to feel fear though, not when Shota has made the promise of being able to finally spoil Hitoshi.

You find him sitting alone on a bench next to the path, one long leg crossed over the other with his arms spread like swings across the back.

“How's it goin'?" His deep, bass filled voice slips from his lips, finding its way into your ribs, sending shivers through your body.

Cocky as ever, handsome as ever, Hitoshi never fails to make your mouth water.

He's presenting so relaxed, but there's something tight in his posture, like he's wound up, ready to pounce.

"Good evening, Hitoshi." Shota, "Both of you follow me." His greeting is short, almost bored sounding before he strolls off down the path at his lazy pace.

Hitoshi winks as you before standing up, he rolls his shoulders back then offers you his hand, which you take a bit too eagerly.

You both follow Shota along the path, silent but buzzing with anticipation. Sparks fly from your clasped hands, your cheeks grow hot as you try to keep up with the long strides of both men.

Eventually you find yourselves at a massive, knotted, cursed looking tree. The only thing illuminating the scene is the washed out light of the pale full moon. It hangs in the sky like a God, waiting to judge you for your sins.

"Here?" Hitoshi speaks up beside you as Shota strolls up to the tree, voice full of apprehension.

Then your blood freezes, your eyes lock on a slab of concrete that sticks up from the ground right in front of the tree. Shota is standing right before it, standing on someone's grave.

The sight makes your hair stand on end, your hand squeezes Hitoshi's involuntarily, desperately trying to hold on to something as the situation feels more and more out of your control.

"Here." Shota answers, gazing up at the wispy branches of the ugly old tree. Where the hell are you? More importantly, who the hell was that? Does Shota really intend on letting Hitoshi have his way with you on a grave?

He turns to face the two of you, a small, almost undetectable smile plays at the corners of his mouth.

His hand motions for you to come towards him with the gentle beckon of two fingers. You discard Hitoshi's hand, obeying instantly.

Shota's hand slides into his pocket, then he pulls out something that makes your whole body ache.

Your collar.

You want nothing more than to feel the cool leather wrap around your neck, have Shota guide you by the small metal loop in the front. All reservations about your current location are snuffed out by the heavy headspace that envelopes you.

Such a beautiful little piece, reminding you of all the way Shota has taken you, loved you, tamed you.

"Please?" Is all you can muster, voice soft and full of longing.

His hand comes to the bottom of your chin, tilting it up as he considers your face. His dazzling, dark eyes take in every feature.

"Of course, sweet girl." He loops it around you so gently, clasping the back with care, keeping your hair out of the way.

A pair of hands slide over your waist from behind, the sensation sends a wave of chills down your body. He's allowed to touch you? Did he even ask?

Hot lips are on your neck, and Shota just watches. A look you can't decipher flashes through his eyes. Then, tenderly, he puts his index finger through the loop on the front of your collar.

Then your head really swims.

With Hitoshi's mouth working against your heated skin, and Shota's eyes ripping you to shreds.

"She's a pretty little thing, isn't she, Toshi?" Shota mutters as he pulls you forward by the guide on your neck.

"She's perfect… She's so soft…" Hitoshi confesses, hands tightening around your waist, lips never fully leaving your neck.

With his other hand, Shota reaches up to grab Hitoshi by the chin. You both stand there, frozen, captivated by the authority that possesses you.

"You'll both behave tonight, won't you?" He asks, it's a loaded question and you know it. If Hitoshi is smart, he catches it too.

He didn't say be good, he said behave.

You both nod, silent and entranced.

"Speak up, please." There's no impatience to his voice, only guidance.

"Yes Sir." It's said in unison, but it couldn't sound more dissonant.

Your voice is willing and obedient. Hitoshi's is reluctant, relenting of control.

Shota seems pleased, though, enough to lean forward and take your lips with his. Hitoshi takes this as permission to continue working his lips against your neck.

You lose yourself then, melting between them, heating pooling between your weak legs as you let the two of them pull you to the ground. You whimper at the tug against your neck, only slightly shocked by the feeling of cement beneath your knees.

Hitoshi's hands become greedy at your waist, tugging at your clothes as he starts to use less tongue and more teeth.

"Can I please leave marks?" Hitoshi huffs against your skin, he sounds so desperate, like he's barely holding back.

Shota breaks your kiss, meeting Hitoshi's eyes as he awaits permission expectantly.

"Can he?" Shota's eyes meet yours, eyebrows raised.

"P-please." It's quiet, it's needy, it tumbles from your lips without your brain's consent.

Then he's on you, vibrant and selfish as his mouth explores every inch of skin it can. He leaves pretty little red marks up and down your neck as he works, pulling sweet moans from your parted lips.

"Good girl, tell him what you like." Shota whispers. Then, his hands are on your waist, pulling you up slightly so he can spin you on his lap.

He reclines back on the headstone, pulling your back against his chest and he hooks your legs over the tops of his thighs. You're left completely exposed to Hitoshi whose eyes are already ablaze with lust.

"Help me get these out of the way." Shota says to Hitoshi as he tugs at your skirt.

And then they're both on you like animals. Pulling and tugging away all of your clothes. Hitoshi does most of the work as Shota directs your body like a puppet until you're fully rid of the pesky fabrics.

It's almost embarrassing, being naked while they're both so covered. It's not quite deserving of shame, though. If anything, it's exhilarating.

Still in your place on Shota's lap, your body is washed by the warm evening breeze, bathed in moonlight as Hitoshi all but drools over your exposed curves.

He kneels between yours and Shota's legs, eyes darting madly over the planes of your body, taking I'm every detail he can.

"Don't just stare at her, Toshi, make her feel good." Shota says as he slides a hand around your waist, inching it down to your heated center.

"You like to feel good, don't you baby?" Another kiss is placed under your ear as his hand dips lower.

The pad of his middle finger slides over your clit, making you jump just a little. Both men chuckle darkly as your jittery reaction, but the laughter dies when he starts to draw slow, lazy circles against you.

Your head falls back onto his shoulder, eyes fluttering closed as he starts to work his magic. He moves his fingers with so much skill and familiarity, your walls start gripping immediately.

"Start with your fingers, ease her into it." Shota instructs. Your eyes blink open, and the way that Hitoshi is looking at you makes you gasp.

He looks positively wild, dark shadows decorate his pretty face in such an ominous way. His eyes are less teasing, more focused and intense. He doesn't look like a brat. He looks like he's in charge.

Cautiously, he hand drifts down your inner thigh, eyes locked on yours the whole time. Shota continues to work at your clit as Hitoshi starts to tease the crux of your thigh with his thumb.

"Have some fun with her, that's what we're here for." Shota smiles against your neck when your hips buck after he applies slightly more pressure.

"Is one man not enough for you? You need two of us playing with that little cunt?" Hitoshi's words drip from his mouth like ice. You tense under their weight, shocked by his confidence.

His thumbs play at your slit, gathering the slick there.

"God, she's fucking soaked." He looks to Shota who only smiles while he slides his own fingers down to feel your wet hole.

"Oh she is." He says with a mocking tone.

"You think you can take Toshi's fingers? Ask him nicely, maybe he'll play with you." His other hand slides up to grab your jaw, directing your gaze to Hitoshi.

"Please- Toshi, please touch me." His whole body sags when he hears your sweet pleading, not used to it being directed at him.

He loves it, and god does he want more.

Your chest burns when he flattens himself into his stomach, hands splayed across your thighs as he watched Shota play with your clit.

Hitoshi's eyes stay on yours as Shota's lips stay at your neck. With an agonizing pace, Hitoshi finally brings his long middle finger to your entrance and slips it in.

The sensation is nothing but a tease, a preamble to what will inevitably turn into wild, blinding pleasure. For now, you can only lay there and shutter when he adds a second finger. Both men work together until your legs are twitching as sweat beads on your brow.

"You feel how tight she's getting? When she does that curl those fingers." Shota tells Hitoshi, his own fingers start moving a little faster, pushing down a little more.

"Oh fuck." You huff when Hitoshi does as he's told, kissing your sweet spot with his fingers as he curls them.

"Good boy." Shota groans, paying close attention to the way your body trembles.

"I wanna taste her, please let me taste her." Toshi begs with a frantic voice, fingers working mercilessly against your walls.

Shota doesn't answer, he only chuckles deep in his chest as he reaches out to grab Hitoshi by the hair at the front of his head. Both men remove their hands from your core as Hitoshi presses his hot, greedy mouth to your dripping sex.

All you can do is cry out and buck against his mouth as his tongue finds your clit, he moans against you, slurping and sucking obscenely as you shiver and sob.

Shota keeps his hand firmly planted in Toshi's hair, the other grabs you under the knee to crank your leg up, spreading you nice and wide for his prodigy.

"Flatten that tongue, press down." Shota tightens his grip on Hitoshi's hair, who listens well and executes perfectly.

Your back bends and your hands fly to Hitoshi's purple waves as shocks of pleasure shoot through you, you feel it building, capturing your very soul. Shota's other hand meets your other leg to mirror his hold on both sides.

You roll your hips against Hitoshi's mouth, his slick tongue glides up and down on your clit, eyes watching your every move, reading you, memorizing the way you react.

"Let him have it, Kitten, he wants it so damn bad." Shota mumbles against your ear, and that's all it takes.

You crest brilliantly, throbbing and aching between them both. Shota mutters his sweet praises while Hitoshi laps up everything you have for him, moaning like a bitch against your cunt.

"You taste so fucking good, your pussy is so sweet." He says against you, never fully removing his mouth.

"You should feel how tight she gets when she's got a dick inside her." Shota teases, laughing when you gasp and try to squeeze your thighs shut.

He keeps you held open for Hitoshi until he's licked up your entire mess. Finally, he pulls away, licking his lips with the devil in his eyes.

"Can I?" His voice is so shaky, so unhinged, driven over the edge of sanity by his desire to ravage you now that he finally can.

He looks between the both of you, waiting for someone to unhook his leash, desperate to be let lose you.

You wait with baited breath, looking back at Shota for his response. He looks down at you with eyes full of depravity and possession.

"Fuck her right, Toshi." His order sends you both reeling.

He doesn't need to be told twice, he barely needs to be told once. As soon as Shota grants him permission, Hitoshi is kissing up your body, his hands reach up to play with your firm nipples. He rolls them between his fingers as he kisses up between your breasts.

Shota stays steady behind you, still dutifully holding your legs open. He kisses your neck on occasion, tells you how good you're being, promising that Hitoshi will make you feel so good.

"Doesn't she look pretty with her legs spread?" Shota muses, his own long legs spread just a bit wider as he drops yours back over his thighs.

"She's perfect like this…" Hitoshi growls, teeth teasing your collar bone.

He makes quick work of his pants, only pushing them down around his thighs, in too much of a rush to take them off completely. As Hitoshi moves, you become painfully aware of Shota's hard length pressing into your backside.

You wiggle back against him, teasing him with your ass. His hands fly to your hips, stilling your movements.

"Does somebody need a cock inside her?" Shota says with a low, mocking tone, "You can help her, can't you, Toshi? You can stuff her little pussy?"

Hitoshi slides his briefs down to join his pants, nodding as he grabs himself and starts to pump. He's already so hard, he's so long and curved and pretty.

You whimper and wiggle, overwhelmed by Shota's words, by Hitoshi's beauty.

"So quiet tonight, come on, kitten. You can be so mouthy." Hitoshi says as he leans forward, he braces himself on the headstone behind Shota. His long body looms over yours as Shota snakes one arm around your waist, the other comes up to hold you by the collar.

You watch with tingling nerves as Hitoshi lines himself up with your center, running his thick head along your folds.

"Let him hear you, make this fun for him." Shota orders against your ear, it's a harsh whisper, leaving no room for negotiation.

"Yes Sir- Oh fuck, Toshi!" He pushes in, rough and sudden. A cheshire smile spreads across his lips as he watches you jump in Shota's arms.

"Take it, be still." Shota says, less authoritative, more amused.

Hitoshi presses in, a little too fast, a little too hard. He stretches you as he works his way in, obsessed with the way your walls pulse around him. Even the "too much" of it feels heavenly, so you don't stop it, you do what you're told. You hold still. You take it.

"Fucking hell." Hitoshi pants as he bottoms out, forehead falling against yours as your walls flutter. Your hands grasp at his muscular sides, nails digging in just a little when he leans into you a bit more.

"She's so fucking tight." He breathes, brows drawn together like he's already trying to hold in his release. He seems baffled, taken by surprise, but most of all, entranced.

"She always is." Shota says before licking up the shell of your ear. The action makes you clench, which makes Hitoshi shutter as a small, broken sound leaves his throat.

His eyes are locked on where you meet, fixating on the way he splits you open. Meanwhile, you lay there spellbound between their two strong bodies. The rise and fall of Shota's chest lolls you into a trance as Hitoshi sinks down against you.

He plants one hand firmly on the ground, the other grips the headstone like a vice, and then he starts moving.

"Tell him how you like it, sweet girl." Shota abandons his hold on your collar, opting to wrap his hand around your throat instead.

"Hard. Harder Toshi, please." You say, your voice is pathetic, but you can't begin to care.

His eyes lock with yours, that dangerous, carnal glint returns to them. His lips twitch into a smirk before he pulls back and slams back into you.

Shota's grip on your throat tightens as he laughs against your neck when you arch and cry out for Hitoshi.

"Like that?" He leans down to capture your lips with his.

It catches you by surprise, how soft they are, how easily they fit between yours. You'd imagined kissing him countless times, and this more than lives up to your fantasies.

He breaks it, leaning his forehead against yours.

"Speak up, kitten." Hitoshi says.

"Answer him." Shota adds on.

"Yes! Like that, just like that." You admit, your nails rake down his back as your hips roll up, desperate for him to move again.

"Show her how it's done, kid." Shota's voice is nothing but black velvet wrapping itself around you and Hitoshi. You know you're done for by the way his eyelids fall low, the way every muscle in his torso tenses.

Then he shows you.

With one swift motion he pulls back and lets loose on your poor body. He fucks you with every ounce of built up passion, remembering all the times he watched Shota have all the fun. Neither of you can stop your moans and pleas from leaving you, both completely enraptured with the way the other's body responds.

"Good fucking girl. You like it don't you? You'll take any cock you can get, huh?" Shota's words are firey now, lighting up your skin, burning away any self control you had left.

You nod frantically and muster one, pitiful "uh-huh" as Hitoshi finally rocks himself into your sweet spot. If it weren't for Shota's arm latching you against his chest, you would have jumped damn near jumped to the moon.

"Oh baby. Did I get it? Is that the spot that makes this kitty purr?" Hitoshi grins down at you, still thrusting with all of his strength.

His lessons with Shota have evidently paid off, he's a natural, his words turn you to mush, utterly compliant mush.

You can't answer, every time he sinks in he kisses it with his cock. Your legs start to tremble and the tears start to fall as the heat builds and builds and builds between your legs.

"It sure fuckin' is, poor thing can't even talk." Shota taunts, the hand around your throat tightens just a little, only enough to remind you that you're at his mercy.

"I'm- oh my god- I'm so close, so fucking close." Is all you can manage to say, and it's a fight to get the words out, all of your brain power is being used to focus on the electricity thrumming through your core.

"Let me help you with that." Shota says, his hand leaves your throat and snakes down your body.

His middle finger is on your clit before you can even blink. Then you break. You sob and buck and claw as everything comes to peak. You feel the ghost of Shota's lips on your neck, the phantom of Hitoshi's thrusts, but most of all you just feel yourself shatter.

"So. Fucking. Tight- shit!" Hitoshi grits out as he fucks you through it.

His rhythm is thrown slightly by the way you grip him. Shota's fingers slow in harmony with your clamping walls, easing you through your bliss.

With one last push in, and one last beautiful, almost sorrowful moan, Hitoshi buries himself inside of you. You watch how his body trembles when he finishes, how he bites his bottom lip and screws his eyes shut.

He's so damn gorgeous.

"What do you say?" Shota mumbles over your shoulder.

"Thank you, sir." You both sigh, bodies still twitching against each other.

A rough hand seizes your jaw.

"Hands and knees, girl." He spits.

There's your dom.

Reluctantly, slowly, Hitoshi pulls out of you. Somehow he's still hard, maybe even more swollen than before. Shota releases you from his lap, and your body moves to obey him instantly.

As you settle on all fours, the rough ground bites at your knees but you welcome it. Shota frees himself from the confines of his pants as you adjust your posture. He's not quite as long as Hitoshi, but he's thicker. Your mouth waters as he starts to move his fist over the weeping head.

Hitoshi settles behind you, his hands run over your ass as Shota leans forward to hook a finger into your collar. With a gentle tug forward, he glares down at you, his raven hair falling around his face in wild waves.

"Get to work." He commands as he pulls you down towards his length.

You open your mouth instantly, more than ready to obey.

As you take him in, reveling in the tangy precum spreading across your tongue, you feel a hand in the back of your hair.

But it's not Shota's.

Hitoshi's guiding hand pushing you down onto his teacher's cock.

"You too, Toshi, that cunt isn't going to fuck itself." You try not to choke around him as his words settle like ice in your gut.

You look up at Shota with watery eyes as he hits the back of your throat. Then you feel Hitoshi at your entrance again, making you moan around Shota as he pushes in.

Both men swear, voices low and harsh as they fill you. Hitoshi hands grapple at the fat of your hips while Shota's settle in your hair.

Then they both start moving.

Shota fucks up into your open mouth as Toshi builds a slow, deep rhythm behind you.

"You're just a little cocksleeve aren't you? You live for this shit." Shota moans as he throws his head back as you take control and start bobbing your head up and down.

"That's my girl, suck that cock." He puts his hands behind his head, relaxing against the headstone.

The image should make your skin crawl, but it only makes your core clench tighter, which only makes Hitoshi fuck you harder.

"How's she feel, kid? Is that pussy everything you dreamed of?" Shota asks, marveling at the scene he's created.

"She's perfect- fuck- she feels so damn good." He finds your sweet spot again, staying right on top of it when you moan around Shota.

"Oh she likes it. She loves taking that cock." He chuckles, earning a sweet, high pitched moans from Hitoshi.

Hitoshi may want to be in charge, but he's quickly remembering who is in charge.

You focus on breathing through your nose, allowing your throat to open so you can take Shota even deeper. He hisses as his hips stutter up, cheeks flushing as he watches you work.

"Good girl, open up for me." He praises, nodding his head as he speaks.

Drool seeps out of your mouth and down his length as the tears finally fall, you feel your slick run down your thighs as Hitoshi rams into you over and over. All you can do is tremble and take both of them, but you wouldn't want to be doing anything else.

"You feel so good, kitten, you're taking it so well." Hitoshi moans from behind you, nails digging into your ass as he pounds away.

"She always takes it so well." Shota says fondly.

Your next orgasm hits you out of nowhere, all consuming as it rips through your body. The praise of both men going directly to your core. You pull off Shota's cock to gasp and moan, but you replace your mouth with your hand, pumping him up and down.

Suddenly, Shota is standing to his feet, grabbing you under your arms so he can push against Hitoshi, who gladly grabs you around the neck with his hand. The new angle prolongs your aftershocks, body limp and buzzing as Shota stands with his legs spread and his cock in his hand.

"Open wide, kitten. He's got somethin' for you." Hitoshi whispers in your ear before crying out against you as he stills inside you once more so he can spill into you.

Shota watches with selfish eyes as you both fall apart for each other. He lets the head of his cock fall against your bottom lip, a low groan rolls out of him as he fills your mouth with his release.

"Don't swallow it. Hold it." You answer by keeping your eyes on his as your hands slide up his thighs.

Hitoshi pants against your shoulder as you take Shota's load. His taste spreads across your taste buds, warm and familiar.

With one last pulse, he finishes completely.

"How about you be a good girl and share?" Shota says with a dark tone, nodding at Hitoshi.

"God, please, let me taste it." Hitoshi begs, his hands squeeze at your waist as he slips out of you.

He kneels beside you before taking your face in his hands, then he opens his mouth and looks at you with wide, expectant eyes.

Hitoshi Shinsou, what a brilliant little switch.

You grab his jaw and lean forward before you part your lips, allowing Shota's load to dribble down onto Hitoshi's tongue. The depravity of it all sends a thrill screaming through your soul. Every inch of you aches for more of this, more of both of these men.

Hitoshi moans as he takes everything you give him, swallowing with greed before wiping his mouth with the back of your hands.

"Look at you two, just a couple of cumsluts." He grabs you both by the hair, forcing you to look at him.

"You both did so well." He sighs, looking at you both affectionately.

"I should let you play together more often."

If it means you get to end up like this, skinned knees, covered in sweat and cum, fucked well over some poor soul's grave. You hope he lets you play together more often, you crave it more than anything now.

Hitoshi Shinsou could definitely learn to be a dom, especially with more lessons like these.

[humanitysburrito]

log off // shigaraki x fem!reader

@yayabalckstonethefirst how about visiting an amusement park after hours with a dash of exhibitionism thrown into it. It was to be a makeup date with a moody or mad fem reader and the only thing they can think of is something out of a shouja manga to get them laid.

𑁤 SUMMARY; When you asked your online boyfriend to take you on your first date so you could finally put a face to his voice, getting bent over a porcelain horse on a double decker carousel surrounded by flower petals and candles was not what quite what you had in mind.

᨟ WARNINGS; 18+, smut, language, exhibitionism if you squint

᨟ WC; 1k

authors note; Here’s a short little drabble ;_; There were at least five different ways I could have taken this but they all ended up long as hell. I like this one though, straight to the point :) My life has been hectic and although this isn’t my favorite thing I’ve written, I still wanted to post it.

You drove Shigaraki absolutely crazy.

Your voice, even through the discrepancies of his headset, danced into his ear canals and made his brain feel like mushy jelly doughnuts - quickly rotting away his sense of rational thinking in the few short months he’d known you. His wants quickly took precedence over his needs and you seemed to be really damn good at turning them into something insatiable - an itch that only you could scratch.

But, as cute as you were, it still wasn’t enough to quell his desires to wrap his hands around your pretty neck and disintegrate you when you constantly refused his requests to ‘take it all off, angel’ so he could see your most precious body parts through the image of your shitty quality webcam.

Yes, you knew damn well the effects that you had on your online boyfriend. You knew who he was, what he was, and what he did for a living. Of course, you were sure that if he got impatient enough, he would’ve had you brought to him on your knees by now. But he didn’t. Because playing this game with you was worth it. 

Regardless of what you were getting yourself into, there was no doubt in your mind. You were in love. With a black screen.

Maybe it was wrong of you to constantly goad the man into revealing his face. You quickly realized that he struggled with confidence issues in the appearance department even though he would never admit to it. But damn, to you, his voice was the most erotic thing you’d ever heard. The raspy, rugged tone of his demands when he ordered you touch yourself and the soft, sweet scratching of his come down when you both finished always played in your head like it was just background ambiance.

But all you wanted was to finally put a face to the black box you knew him to be.

His latest request to have you give him something with nothing in return made you log off last night in a fit of rage. You dramatically unplugged your computer and powered off your phone, knowing that Tomura was expecting you back online within minutes. 

You couldn’t sleep at all. You weren’t sure if the thought of someone breaking in and stealing you away was terrifying, or arousing. But when you logged back on, you were surprised to see a detailed message with instructions to meet at a nearby amusement park by midnight.

You arrived in a red dress per his request and a bottle of your favorite cheap wine in hand. He stood at the bottom of a two-tier carousel decorated with tea lights and candelabras - flower petals crunching under your feet with every step you took towards him.

And that’s how you ended up, quite literally, in the position you’re in right now.

“Are you still mad at me, y/n?” Your boyfriend hummed, wrapping his partially gloved hand through your hair to tug your scalp back, raising your leg to wrap around the porcelain horse's head he had you bent over to reach a more pleasurable spot for both of you.

“N-no, Tomura, please-,” All you wanted to do was see his face for the first time, not get fucked in the middle of an amusement park in the dead of night.

He tugged your hair harder, craning your neck back to press your forehead underneath of his chin, pushing one of his palms in the middle of your back to cause an almost painful arch. “I did everything I could to make this garbage heap look good for you, and you still wanna beg? Pathetic,”

The date - if it was even a date to begin with - seemed wholesome at first. It was almost like a water color painting; dazzling orange specks of light littered on a background of pastel, cotton candy like carnival animals on a carousel laid under a canopy of flowers with an s-rank villain and a lowly civilian sharing their first kiss in the middle.

But it quickly turned into a give and take situation.

Tomura’s face was what you had expected it to look like due to the descriptions he gave you. It took some coaxing to have him take his dark hood off and push his silver-blue hair to the side, but when you showed nothing but acceptance, his ruby orbs lidded with something dark and full of desire - an indicator that your bottle of wine was already long forgotten.

You didn’t even have time to protest before he had you on the ground of the ride. Your red dress was nothing more than a pile of ash and you two were completely naked in seconds, fulfilling every desire you ever talked about.

God, he was good. Way better than you could have imagined. Your feelings of being duped faded away every time he fucked into you, causing you to squirm underneath him. “Tomura - what if someone sees - ah!” Your climax was quickly building inside of you as he removed the pressure off your back to snake around and play with your sensitive clit. 

“We already have an audience, didn’t you know?” Tomura yanked your head underneath his chin to look towards your right - your eyeballs meeting nothing but darkness. “There’s a security guard over there enjoying the view. He must be a pervert or something. Don’t worry, angel, if he comes over here we’ll make sure to give him something to look at, won’t we?”

Your vision clouded with white stars, your orgasm barely at the cusps of release.

“And if he gives us trouble, I’ll kill him. My queen - my pet - no one will lay a finger on you but me.”

Was it sick of you to come at Tomura’s words? Maybe. But that didn’t matter. Headphone sex could never compete with this. He came undone with you, leaning in to lick a wet trail down your neck towards your collar bone, wrapping his arms around you in pleasure and relief.

If you knew logging off would make him cave, you would have done it a lot sooner.

[boognish-worshipper]

Midnight City AU

this is an au where the main characters are all young adults!! (or millennials ig? they’re in their 20s basically) i gave a rundown of what’s what on a diff post,, i’m also splitting it up into diff chapters,, so this is gonna take a looooong time to finish. i’m posting this before i nitpick my writing to the max

it’s basically a lot of references to that point in time, artists, pop culture etc. all the chapters are named after songs from that era (including the name of this au bc i love midnight city and what better way to describe LS ‼️), and the lyrics r usually connected to what the chapter’s about, or about a character dynamic :D i hope this isn’t too cheesy, or sounds off ig. any typos in this were probably over looked bc i constantly reread my writing and rearrange stuff and make sure it sounds good 🥳 hope y’all enjoy !!! i’m also including a tag to find the chapters under :)

//Chapter 1: Crimewave

Trevor would never, ever admit it, but he had fallen into the category known as “post-hipster”. This was a strange era that began culminating, taking LS by storm. Whether he liked it or not, he could never avoid it. Even if he swore up and down he wasn’t like them, it was practically a paradox. Saying he wasn’t like them just made him a branched off version of the thing he denounced. Each aesthetic that was churned out as the 2010s rolled in were tied to a style, a sound, and Trevor couldn’t care less. It’s not like people liked what he liked. He didn’t belong to anything in particular, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t like them. If anything, he just became another obscure genre in the mix.

One of his favorite music groups was a Canadian duo called Crystal Castles. He enjoyed a good number of their songs, developing an interest for electropunk and pop punk. There was something unique about the sound, and it made Trevor feel special, like he discovered some sort of hidden treasure. He was into pop punk groups like Paramore too, but it was something about them that was just different. People knew Paramore. He often lingered around Sterling Lake, where other post-irony hipsters and classic hipsters resided, careful not to fully associate with them. After all, he apparently despised them, even though he participated in their strange… “culture”. If you could even call it that. From time to time he would find himself discussing his favorite artists with whatever semi-normal person was there, making a couple friends himself who weren’t the snooty kind he’d grown used to.

They all loved talking about how exceptional their taste in music was, a wide variety of people hanging around with their own cliques. Some liked Fall Out Boy, while others liked Blink-182, and then there were the weirdos who liked groups like Radiohead. Most of those guys were whiny, proclaiming how misunderstood they were. He knew maybe one Radiohead song at most (he definitely, definitely never cried to “Creep” and even if he did, so what) but never found himself willingly getting into their music. Then you had the nosedivr crowd, which consisted of mostly girls, and the occasional hipster guy that defected. Their taste was.. alright. Consisted of artists like Lana Del Ray and Marina and the Diamonds, who were their idols. He found almost everyone there besides the few friends he made kind of edgy, and not in the cool way. But he figured all hipsters and guys like them were kind of uncool. Don’t even get him started on those other indie rock types. God. He still came back as often as he could though, establishing some kind of routine. Most people there avoided him anyway, which he preferred. He had enough troubles with them in the past. There was one day he grew tired of the people gawking at him, and he launched a hipster right into the lake. So yeah, nobody within their right mind so much as looked in his direction. That was just how he rolled.

Today, he sat on a nearby bench in Sterling Lake’s park, watching some ducks float on water. His usual friends had been there too, seeing his clowncore buddy Wade with his cousin Floyd. Wade was extremely different than the pretentious fucks around them. He had a shit ton of piercings, and ICP was his favorite music group. Floyd on the other hand, fit right in. Almost too much, like it was something he was forced to do. But he did genuinely enjoy Weezer, of all things you could enjoy. Wade started waving at Trevor, while Floyd hid behind him. All he did was awkwardly wave back, turning his attention back to the lake. He liked Wade, but the clown stuff he wore sometimes spooked him. He didn’t pay much mind to his relative. Looking back across the water, he saw someone new, observing the area. Some dude a little above the average height, hands in his pockets walking around. He seemed a bit lost, and Trevor figured he should help if he was. After all, what was this guy doing here? New people didn’t show up often.

“Hey bud, you lost or something?”

“Oh uh, nah not really. I’m just looking for this girl I met a while ago, said she hangs out around here?”

“What she look like? I’m here pretty often.”

“Uhh kinda short, dark brownish hair? Wears fishnet stockings, high waisted shorts or whatever those grunge people are into.”

“Let me guess, she into the Neighborhood?”

“How’d you know?”

“Yeah, that’s Amanda, she’s a bit of a regular. Not too fond of me I must say.”

“How come?”

“She’s just petty towards me.” He said with a shrug. He didn’t feel like relaying his encounters with her if the guy was dating her or something.

“Oh… well d’ya think you could help me find her? I don’t really know anybody else here. I could actually use the help, since you know her.”

“Eh sure, why not.”

It’s not like he had anything better to do. The two began to walk around the park, gravel and dirt crunching beneath their feet.

“So.. what’s this place about?” The strange guy asked.

“Hm? Oh, it’s just one of those places the hipster folks meet up I guess. Don’t understand it much myself, nor do I really like them.”

“Then why do you come here?”

“Dunno. It’s relatively peaceful, those freaks keep to themselves.”

The man, who was only a smidge shorter than Trevor, glared up at him.

“Hey man, don’t call my girl a freak.”

“Ehh I don’t really count her in with the generic skinny jean wearing hipsters. More of a.. what is it called.. nosedivr type. Whatever that stupid website’s called. Why do you think she dresses like that?”

“Huh.. Never really thought to ask her.”

As he thought about the stuff Amanda wore, he took note of how the man next to him was dressed. He sported an olive jacket with a black turtle neck, and a plain pair of jeans. He wore beat up black converse to top it off, and a pair of Rimmers sunglasses sat upon his head. He looked simple, yet distinguished with the way he presented himself, hair neatly combed back. He figured the two would look nice standing next to one another. They would’ve made an attractive couple, if they weren’t dating already, the kind that turns heads. Trevor wasn’t like them. He wore a black beanie over his mullet, and his favorite pair of red Dix sunglasses rested on the bridge of his nose. The rest of his fit looked disheveled. He had thrown on a wrinkled top, solid black with little surf boards and cars along the bottom- he was a sucker for Hawaiian shirts. His pants were tan colored but had some bleach stains, with old combat boots on his feet.

“Yeah, we may not like each other but I don’t really consider her a freak like those guys.”

He jutted a thumb in the direction of a circle of guys huddled around a phone. The man holding the phone had strawberry blonde hair and a clean outfit on. An expensive looking outfit.

“Who are they?”

“The people here I absolutely cannot fucking stand. The genuine hipsters.”

“Oh.. and you’re..?”

“I’m my own kind. I’m not like these losers, all uppity and shit.”

“Right. Gotcha.”

They walked around a bit more before finding the group Amanda was with. She sat on a bench, chatting with a few girls who dressed similarly to her. All of them had black incorporated into their style. She herself had a black jumper on, tucked neatly into the front of her jean shorts. Just like the guy described, she had fishnets on under them, skater shoes to match. Loose braids fell on her shoulders, and a small black choker was wrapped around her neck.

“Oh, there he is now! Babe! Over here!”

She narrowed her eyes upon seeing Trevor standing next to him.

“Hello, Trevor.” She huffed.

“Relax, I was helping your boyfriend or whatever look for you.”

Her face softened slightly, but still kept a small glare in his direction. She pressed her lips together tight before replying.

“Thanks, I guess.”

“Yup.”

The man turned to face Trevor, sticking out a hand.

“Hey, thanks for showing me around. Trevor, is it?”

“Don’t wear it out.”

He shook his hand, noticing how soft it was. It was in stark contrast to his own, which was rough and calloused.

“Name’s Michael. I’ll see you around most likely? Thanks again.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

Amanda huffed again, nudging Michael’s shoulder.

“Let’s go hun, Bean Machine closes soon!”

“I’m comin’ I’m comin’!”

The two sauntered off, hand in hand. Trevor stood dumbly, watching them walk away. He was right. They did look good together. He wondered if he would actually see this Michael again, kicking a rock. He went back to the bench he originally sat at, putting his earbuds in, listening to some Crystal Castles again to pass the time. The beat thumped in his ears, and all he could think was how much better this shit was compared to that club music shit that played on every radio station in a 5 foot radius. He sat there, scrolling through his own secret nosedivr account, reblogging some photo of a lit cigarette. Right before a hand touched his shoulder causing him to jump.

“What the fuck- Oh. Ron.”

Ron was another friend of Trevor’s, a guy he had met outside one of the iFruit stores talking about how “they’re tapping the phones they sell in there!” and all that conspiracy nonsense. He was a paranoid guy, but Trevor kind of liked that about him. Those were the kind of freaks he liked. He was shorter than Trevor, sort of frail in stature. He wore a bright red windbreaker over a faded tourist tee that read “I went to Liberty City and all I got was this lousy t-shirt!”, along with khaki colored cargo shorts. It didn’t help that he wore some goofy looking bucket hat, and socks with sandals. He dressed like someone’s middle aged father.

“Trevor! Have you seen Wade around anywhere?”

“Last I checked, he was with Floyd.”

“Did he say where he was going?”

“Uh no, but my best bet is they went to that vinyl shop Floyd’s girlfriend works at.”

“Will ya come with me to find him?”

“Now why the fuck would I do that? What do you need him for?”

“Well I- I uh- um..”

“I uh! I uh! Spit it out Ron!”

“It’s about the Merryweather Night Club.”

Merryweather was a big organization that had a wide range of private clubs all over the country, and complimentary body guards to suit. They were all expensive as fuck, and anywhere they settled jacked up the prices of everything else. A lot of neighborhoods became gentrified as a result, and people actually considered it a good thing. What a fucking joke. Trevor of course couldn’t stand it. He hated bullies, and Merryweather was no exception. He’d been wanting to dismantle the club since they settled in LS, seeing as they only amplified the fake feel of the city. Let’s just say he’s gotten into more than a few scuffles with the club. And let’s just say it ended with someone getting stabbed as a result. The guy had it coming to him anyway. Between bouncers and the clubbers, they didn’t like Trevor or his kind loitering around the joint. It didn’t stop him from plotting some sort of revenge though. Ron per usual was on board, his reason being Merryweather’s violent history that had been swept under the rug. They were rather forceful relocating people who had lived in certain neighborhoods for years, Ron being one of their victims. Wade only decided to tag along because he wanted to be included.

“Ah fuck, what’d those bastards do now?”

“They’re throwing some big party!”

“…What fucking for?”

“All I know some guy’s coming to visit, somebody they labeled important and he’s-“

“Woah woah woah wait, Ron. Who?”

“Steve Haines.” He breathed out, careful not to be overheard.

Trevor’s eyes widened, his gaze shooting over to the posse he had poked fun of before. Steve was talking to the group, all of them doing that fake laugh they always did. God, even their humor was pretentious.

“Those fucking hipsters!” He hissed.

“I abhor them, you know that-“

“I know. I know. But, that Weston guy’s gonna be there with him-“

“Weston? Devin Weston?”

If Trevor hated hipsters, then he utterly loathed rich daddy’s money boys like Devin Weston. He had only gotten that stupid fucking night club because his father paid Don Percival enough money to let Devin do whatever he pleased with the Merryweather body guards. It was an elitist club, and they only allowed the best of the best in there.

“What the fuck’s going on there?”

“Something to do with those guys he hangs out with. I think they’re doing something major, expansion maybe-”

“And him and Devin are working together or..?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t hear much after that, that’s why I wanted to grab you and Wade and-”

“Then let’s fucking go get him, Ron!”

The two rushed out of there, heading for the vinyl store to look for Wade. Trevor knew a shit storm was coming, and he absolutely couldn’t wait.

//the next chapter’s gonna be longer i promise lolz

[silkentragedies]

Twilight Haze 

Misfit/gang member! Seungmin X fem! reader (mentions of gang leader! Chan X reader)

1.3k words, mentioned smut, angst

Warnings: Mentions of violence, angry/vengeful internal monologue, mentions of sex, a good amount of swearing

This piece of fiction does not reflect the actions of the real-life Stray Kids. Not meant for minors.

Playing baseball as a middle school student had blessed Seungmin with more arm strength than he knew what to do with. It was all fun and games when his coach praised his pitch in every match until he learnt of where else said arm strength could be of use. 

A killer right hook, for instance. The amount of damage he could wreak with a baseball bat, no less with barbed wire twined around it.

 As much as they were loath to admit it, the city underground cowered before a truly angry Kim Seungmin. They knew all too well about the sharp tongue and back-handed revenge that lived behind that ice-cool, whip-smart demeanor. 

Be careful around that young one, they murmured. He'll break your bike or your nose one day, there's no saying which. Or both. 

The end of his trusty baseball bat trailed on the gravel as he made his way to the abandoned warehouse that doubled as their inventory and garage. It was almost sunset, so the guys were all still out on errands while Chan and Jisung had gone on some recon mission they kept frustratingly tight-lipped about. It was the perfect time to commit a felony, especially one of the traitorous kind.

The sheer frustration that had brought him to the garage was one he would never bring himself to admit out loud. He felt the ice-cold burn slink its way down his spine, an emotion he wasn't the most familiar with taking over his actions- spite. 

His grip on the baseball bat tightened, his teeth gritted in an annoyed snarl as the root of his problems floated in front of his mind's eye, tantalizing and so, so fucking vexing. You. 

He had never been your biggest fan. You were nothing but a liability, a sitting duck, an unnecessary distraction- at least, that's what he kept saying to convince himself of your uselessness. Sadly enough, he knew that wasn't true. 

Your sharp tongue was a near competitor for his, much to his chagrin. You didn’t back down from a fight, with that glint in your eye and your hands already curled into fists. You would probably have gained his begrudging respect for the way you'd demanded trust from his brothers and settled into the misfit life almost too well, courtesy of tenacity and street smarts….If only you hadn't taken to hooking up with Chan. 

He was used to the barely muffled moans that came with the hookups that the boys indulged in every so often, the guy or girl(s) leaving immediately afterwards. What he was not used to, however, was hearing the same musical, high whimpers and throaty moans from the room next to his every night. What he was not used to, was getting impossibly horny every fucking time said sounds reached his ears, followed by quite possibly the lewdest fantasies of how he'd wring those sweet sounds out of you himself. 

What's worse, it looked like all the other guys knew of your arrangement with their leader and collectively decided to never address their (frankly, not the quietest) midnight rendezvous. 

The smallest, darkest part of him knew that the only reason he disliked you was because he could never have you- but no, he’d never admit it to himself, never act on it. You were nothing but a distraction, a pointless game, he convinced himself every time you levelled that dark gaze at him, a smirk teasing the corners of your lips. He was managing fine too, with longer night patrols and pointless flirting until-

Chan’s words the previous night came back to his mind, the leader’s normally warm, controlled tenor a feral growl- “You belong to me………... No one else, as much as you try…... You and I both know the boys won’t make a move on you because- fuck- because they know exactly whose bed you’ll crawl into at the end of the day……... Admit it, princess. I’m the only one who can fuck you right and you love that…..”

Like hell you were his. Like hell he wouldn’t make a move. Like hell-

Pulling up the overhead garage door, his eyes landed on the victim of the evening's bashing. Chan's bike was like the leader's crowning glory. It was a glorious matte black contraption, sleek and powerful and honest-to-god beautiful. Pity that it had to be damaged this way, he thought belatedly, his bat already raised for the first blow, muscles tensing and swinging, thoughtless and rough and so, so angry- 

Hit. Dented back fender.

Hit. Dented fuel tank.

Hit.  Shattered tail light. 

Each crash of the baseball bat against the smooth metal gave him a sense of cruel satisfaction that only exploded further with every second- First his bike, then his girl, then his whole fucking gang- 

"Quite a number you've done on that baby." 

Seungmin's shoulders stiffened as he swung once more, the shattered mirror crunching under his boots as he turned around. Oh, of all the fucking people-

“I don’t see how it’s any of your business, sweetheart.” He raised an eyebrow at you, the cool façade back again. You only grinned at him, that deceptive curl of your lips that made you look more innocent than he knew you were. “It would be Chan’s business, though. That’s his, isn’t it?”

Seungmin almost rolled his eyes, hefting the bat over his shoulder and turning entirely to you, the trashed motorcycle entirely forgotten. “If that wasn’t hopelessly predictable of you, I’d actually bother being scared.”

“Oh, you should be, Kim Seungmin.” you walked closer to him, slow and even. It was almost twilight, but he could clearly see the glint of your eyes in the dimming light from the garage door. “I wonder what will happen if I tell him that the only reason you trashed it was because you’ve been wanting to have your way with me.”

A shiver ran down Seungmin’s spine at the sheer ruthlessness in your light voice. For somebody new to the misfit scene, you had too much of a way with your words. Despite everything, a smirk snaked its way onto his face, his tongue running over his bottom lip as he looked you in the eye.

“I’d rather have my way with any of the other boys than you, sweetheart.” He stepped towards you, closing the distance between you even further. A beat of silence passed between the two of you, the air charged with something electric, writhing and alive. “ Besides, I have better things to think about than fucking you and Chan knows that.”

“But oh, he doesn’t.” You responded, shrugging noncommittally. Too casually. “I see the way you look at me, Seungmin. You’re not the most subtle, you know.”

“And you really believe he’d take the word of a new chick warming his bed over his brothers.” Seungmin let out an incredulous laugh, his bomber jacket rustling as he rested the end of the bat on the floor. “You’re as naïve as you look, sweetheart.”

You tilted your head, not breaking eye contact with him. “Maybe I’m naïve, but you, Seungmin, are a dirty, dirty liar.” Finally closing the space between the two of you, one of your hands snatched the bat out of his hands before sauntering to the work-bench on the garage with the bat held over your shoulder and behind your neck.

In a moment of weakness, Seungmin couldn’t help but be thrown off-guard with the ease at with you handled the baseball bat, much like it was an extension of your own arm, and how hot you looked with that leather jacket and that fucking provoking smirk on your face when you turned to sit on the bench-

“You want to kiss me so fucking bad, don’t you.”

Another word and he would likely end up doing just that- “Like you’d stop me if I said yes, sweetheart.” and you raised a single brow, the challenge brewing in your demeanour.

“Why should I?

The Seungmin brainrot that happened after watching the accursed concert VCR resulted in this whole.... situation. 🥴😂 Do let me know what you think! xoxo, A 💕

[connordavidscamera]

Christmas Confessions | Connor Brashier

A/n: this is absolute trash and I’m sorry, but sometimes you gotta put out the bad stuff to get to the good stuff. This is also for @wondershawns winter writing challenge, so I hope you enjoy it! My prompts were “old Christmas family photos” and “we’d make a cute couple.”

Summary: Christmas time brings up some feelings for these long time friends

Warnings: friends to lovers, fluff

Word count: 2.2k

***

Christmas vacation has always been a big thing in our family. It just became even bigger once the Brashier family started joining us. Which, while I like to say our moms are the reason for that – they are, for the most part – it’s really because Connor and I have been attached at the hip since we were in preschool. But it also helps that our moms became best friends too when Connor and I had our first play date. Then if we flashforward a couple more years, Sam and his family joined us too.

Yeah, Christmas vacation is quite an adventure, but it’s truly the greatest time to be surrounded by the people I love for two whole weeks. No responsibilities, just a fuck ton of cookies, egg nog, and Hallmark Christmas movies. The boys claim to hate the movies, but by the middle of the movie – every single time, without fail – they’re arguing over whether or not the main character should be with the big shot lawyer guy that she was supposedly getting engaged to at the start of the movie, or her old high school crush. (Sam votes lawyer, Connor and I say high school crush. But it’s funny how this is the argument every time and even though we’ve seen hundreds of these movies in our lifetime, Sam still votes for the big shot.)

“Kids! Look what I found!” Mrs. Brashier comes into the living room where the three of us are sprawled out on the floor arguing. We all turn to look at her and I furrow my brows at the scrapbook she’s holding.

“A scrapbook?”

“Yes, it has all kinds of pictures of the three of you from all the trips we’ve taken here. You should look through it. Take a trip down memory lane.” She hands the book to Connor, who in turn hands it to me since I’m in the middle. “There’s the cutest photo of you three in there from two years ago, when you’re all under the mistletoe.” She says before heading back to the dining room to sit with mine and Sam’s moms.

“Pause the movie,” I tell Sam. “I wanna look through it.” I reposition myself, taking my pillow off Connor’s back, where I was previously resting my head.

The first few photos are just of me and Connor, and a few with Dylan too, but Dylan hated being in front of the camera as a kid, so he was rarely in any photos with us. “Awe, look at little y/n missing her tooth,” Connor laughs.

“Mhm, that was the Christmas where I wouldn’t stop singing ‘All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth.’”

“Oh, I remember. You were tone deaf,” he dead pans and I gasp, slapping his arm.

“Don’t be an ass! I was six!”

“I’m aware. You’re better now.”

“Well, only a little,” Sam says.

“You both suck! I’m a great singer.”

“Mhm sure,” they say at the same time.

“I did not ask to be attacked like this.”

“You don’t have to, it’s our job as your best friends to keep you humble,” Sam nods, nudging my arm with his elbow.

I hum and turn the page, and Sam makes his first appearance. He’s putting way too many sprinkles on his cookie that looks like it was supposed to be Santa. The next photo is of all of us with our decorated cookies. Mine looks almost bare because I didn’t have enough frosting on it – I was never a frosting person, it’s too sweet. Connor’s somehow has the perfect ratio of frosting to sprinkles. Of course, it’s kinda hard to mess up a candy cane.

The next couple photos are of us in the snow – snow angels, snowball fights, another one of just us smiling at the camera, arms all locked around each other. It takes a few more pages before we get to the photo Connor’s mom was talking about.

I’m squished between the guys, Sam on my left, Connor on my right and they’re both kissing my cheeks. My eyes are shut tight and the picture is a little blurry from where the camera tried to catch my hands pushing them away.

“Hey, if you take Sam out of the picture,” Connor starts, going to cover Sam with his hand. “We’d make a good couple.”

“Don’t be a dick!” Sam shoves his hand away so he can cover Connor’s face. “Obviously we’re the better couple. You’re just the third wheel.”

“Okay, that’s enough. Turn the movie back on. We have like three more to watch tonight.” I change the subject, but I look back at the photo and I can’t help but think that Connor’s right. We do look like a good couple.

---

After we’ve all eaten, the guys and I make our way back to the living room, all the siblings following, scattering on the floor to watch movies with us. The parents have resorted to their rooms, the moms most likely wrapping last minute gifts while our dads all start drifting off so they don’t get asked to do anything. It’s their own tradition.

Once it hits midnight, most everyone has gone to their rooms, except for Connor, Sam, Dylan, and me. But Sam and Dylan are asleep and snoring loudly beside Connor and me. He’s scrolling through his phone and I have my head on his shoulder, watching the movie that’s still on. It’s one of my favorite Christmas movies. Sam hates it, which is why I turned it on after he fell asleep.

“What is it about this movie that you love so much?” Connor asks quietly.

I shrug, “I don’t know. I guess I’m just a sucker for a good ol’ friends to lovers story. It’s the best of all the clichés, I think.”

He just nods. “Yeah. I guess friends to lovers is kinda nice.”

“What? Are you gonna tell me that you don’t like the idea of knowing someone your whole life and slowly realizing that they’re your soulmate?”

“No,” he shakes his head staring down at me with a fond smile. “I – I like the idea. But, I don’t know if it would happen for me.”

“Why not?”

“Well, what if she doesn’t feel the same?” he asks seriously.

“What if she does? What then?”

“It’s not possible.”

“Says who? Any girl would be crazy not to be in love with you.”

He clears his throat, “Any girl?”

“Yeah, any girl,” I say, but I don’t think he quite gets what I’m saying. Because he just nod and looks back at his phone.

“Hey,” he says a few minutes later. “It says it’s snowing. Let’s go.”

“But it’s late.”

“So? We always go out for a walk when the first snow hits. Go get dressed. I’ll get blankets.”

I don’t argue because he’s right. It’s our tradition. Since we started coming here, we always go on a walk together during the first snow. Sam came with us once, but that just resulted in a snowball fight and this was the only quiet time that Connor and I had. So we made it a thing to go when it first started snowing, and then we’d go back out with Sam and go as crazy as we want.

I shiver once we get out there, shrugging my jacket on. “Oh god.”

Connor just snickers and takes my hand. “Come on, let’s go. It’s really coming down out here.”

I follow him and we soon fall into step with each other, our feet crunching the snow beneath us at the same speed, our breathing synchronized.

“Hey, y/n?” he says on our way back to the house.

“Yeah?” I breathe out.

“What you said inside, about liking the whole friends to lovers cliché.”

“Mhm, what about it?”

“Did you mean that you would like it if it were to happen to you?”

“Oh,” I nod and think about it. “Yeah. Yeah, I would. Why?”

Connor shrugs, “I don’t know. I was just – just wondering.”

“Do you want a friends to lovers cliché?”

“I don’t know. Maybe,” he looks down at his feet while he walks. “I mean, I could see it happening maybe… with you?”

“With,” I clear my throat, “with me?”

He sighs and climbs the steps, walking over to the porch swing where we left the blankets. He sits down, “I mean, I’m just thinking like… if I were to have a crush on you or something. Would – would it be possible that those feelings would be reciprocated?”

“Um,” I sit down next to him and look down at his hands that are clasped together in his lap. “I think that if you had a crush on me, it is very, very possible that those feelings are reciprocated.”

He looks up at me with wide eyes, “Wait, you’re – are you serious?”

“What you said earlier, about us looking like a good couple. Did you mean that?”

He licks his lips and I glance down in time to see his pinkie twitching. I reach forward and place my hand over his. He winces. “Fuck, your hands are cold.” And he covers mine with his, blowing on them to keep the heat. I stare at his rosy cheeks, and eyes that seem even brighter in contrast with the bright white snow. “Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, I meant it.”

I nod once and exhale deeply. “So… what does this mean?”

“I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t even really know what just happened.”

“Well, I think we might have just admitted we have feelings for each other.”

“Yes,” he confirms. “We did that. So where do we go from here?”

“I have no idea,” I admit. “But hopefully inside, it’s freezing.”

Connor laughs, “Yeah, it is. Let’s go.” He stands, still holding my hand and he pulls me to my feet, leading me inside. We’re quiet walking back in, careful not to wake Dylan and Sam who are still sleeping, the movie still playing on the TV, but long forgotten. Connor leads me to the kitchen, and he pulls two mugs from the cupboard and gets the kettle from near the coffee maker, turning on the stove before filling the kettle with water.

“So,” I say, hoisting myself up on the counter. “Are we gonna talk about this next move thing?”

“Yes,” he answers, jumping to sit next to me, our legs touching. “I think we need to go on a date.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?” he asks, and it’s clear he wasn’t expecting that to be my response.

“Well, actually, I would like to be asked on a date.”

He blushes and looks down. “Sorry.” But then he looks back up and he has a very bright smile on his face and I’m reminded why I fell for him in the first place. His smile could light up the whole world, and no I do not take constructive criticism. “Would you, y/n, like to accompany me on an outing, one that is often referred to as a date?”

I can’t help but laugh, “Sure, yes. I would very much like to accompany you on an outing often referred to as a date.”

“Yeah? That’s – that’s great! I’ll start planning tonight.” He says matter-of-factly.

“Okay. That sounds good.” I nod and swing my feet as we both fall silent, waiting for the water to boil.

“Y/n?”

“Hmm?”

“I really want to kiss you.”

I choke on air. “What?”

“Sorry,” he shakes his head. “I didn’t – I wasn’t going to say that out loud. I just – well, yeah. I want to kiss you. Because I’ve been thinking about what it would be like to kiss you since I was fourteen and now that we’re going on a date I feel – excuse me for assuming – like I’m that much closer and it’s absolutely killing me to not know what it’s like to –”

“Connor, kiss me,” I interrupt his rambling.

He only hesitates a second before his hands are on either side of my jaw and his lips are covering mine in a heated kiss. I hum against him and reach for his hair, tugging a little, which in turn causes him to moan against my lips. And holy hell, what wouldn’t I give to hear that again over and over for the rest of my life. His tongue teases my bottom lip and I part my lips, allowing him to roam. This kiss is heaven. It’s everything I could have ever wanted with this boy in particular. It’s the type of kiss that leaves your toes curling and your mind spinning. It’s perfect until –

Eeeeeekkk!!! The kettle squeals, startling us both, and causing Connor to bite my lip as he pulls away.

“Ow,” I hold onto my lips while Connor jumps from the counter to take the kettle off the stove. He pours the water into our mugs and then grabs the tea bags from the cupboard above him, placing one in each of our cups before turning and handing me mine. “Thanks,” I say, still holding my lip.

“What’s wrong?”

“You bit my lip when you pulled away.”

“Oh,” his face falls. “I’m so sorry.”

“S’okay. Is it bleeding?” I ask, taking my hand away.

He leans closer to inspect it and shakes his head. “No, it’s not. I’m sorry.”

“You’re okay. Why don’t you kiss it and make it better?”

Connor raises an eyebrow, “You want me to?”

“Please?”

He sets his mug down beside me and I do the same. And then he’s taking my face again and kissing my lips softly. He pecks my lips six times before I groan.

“Kiss me like you mean it, Brashier.”

He chuckles and pulls me closer, doing as he’s told.

***

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[angelicmichael]

God is a woman

(Fem!Michael Langdon x reader)

Summary: After being stranded a few days before Halloween, Reader resorts to going into the forest to look for help and instead runs into our favorite blonde antichrist and instantly becomes infatuated.

Words: 5.5k+

Warnings: This fic gets rlly fucking dark and this is lowkey dark! Michael, very detailed sacrifice scene in the beginning, stepping on someone’s neck, manipulation, neck bruises. No smut but LOTS of sexual tension hehe.

A/N: I’ve never written anything this dark before so I’m lowkey nervous to post 👉🏻👈🏻 also this is my first wlw fic! 🥳 plz reblog or heart if you enjoyed and let me know if you wanna be on the taglist! I saw a prompt about where a main character hates Halloween so that inspired me to write this. Also, romance doesn’t rlly happen until the second half of the fic so I guess this could be considered slow burn haha.

It was exactly three days away from Halloween night. In the past, you and your friends always had a ‘get together’ right before Halloween but by the looks of things; you weren’t going to make it. On the car ride over to your friends you had gotten lost, and when you stopped to look up directions on your phone - your phone died. And then.. as if the night couldn’t get any worse, your car refused to start either. You were fucked, in the middle of fucking nowhere, scared out of your mind.

So now - here you were. Lost and left only with the choice to test out your survival skills. You went into the forest to try to go find help or maybe find a house.. After all, you heard rumors about how teenagers would often go into these woods to conduct rituals, but those were just rumours.. right? Those rumors were especially prevalent near Halloween and it was only a mere three days away. It was nearing on midnight too which only seemed to make things even more creepy and set you even more on edge.

The gentle breeze that shook the trees and the brush almost made it sound like as if you were being followed. Everytime you swore you heard footsteps behind you - you would see nothing execpt a nearly black, dark green landscape instead. Shadows started to dance in your peripheral vision, you felt as if you were going crazy. You breathing quickened and you took faster steps, wanting desperately to find any signs of life or to run into another main road.

The sound of your heavy breaths and the leaves crunching under your feet seemed to be the only thing that occupied your senses; until you saw a light. In fact, it wasn’t one light but several little lights - you counted about ten of them. They seemed to be spaced out strategically, it almost looked like a circle but the shape seemed to be more intricate than that. The flames stayed low to the ground, and as you cautiously took steps closer and closer, it was easy to tell that the flames were attached to small white candles.

It wasn’t until you slowly crept forward when you noticed that in between the candles were several hooded figures. You couldn’t make out faces or any distinct details, but you could tell the robes that were a silky red satin, and that all the figures appeared to be holding hands around the odd circular shape with.. something that almost resembled a body in the middle of the circle.

You brushed that thought off about quickly as it had came; there was no way that could be a human body.. right?

You took a silent deep breath before taking more quiet steps toward the mysterious individuals.

You finally stopped venturing forward and settled on leaning on a tall tree that was only a couple feet away from the group; just close enough to see what was happening but - still concealed by the leaves so that they couldn’t see you.. unless you made a sound of course.

You jaw dropped once you realized your suspicion was right, it really was a fucking body that the group seemed to be huddled over. Trying to breathe quietly was now more a struggle and you could feel your body start to shake like a leaf once you started to get a horrible idea of what was happening here.

The genders of the small congregation was mixed but, the leader - the one who previously had sat in the center or tip of the ‘circle’ and had now sat crouched next to the civilians body - was female.

There was no denying how beautiful she was. Her hair fell to about her shoulders in perfect golden ringlets, it was as if she had curled her hair but it seemed to looked natural - like it had just happened to naturally fall down her shoulders in that way. Her eyes were a light crystal blue and were framed with thick black eyelashes which were angled down; staring at the body that lay in front of her. And finally, another unforgettable feature she had were her lips. Her lips were full and you couldn’t stop yourself from daydreaming about how soft and plump they looked until you were brought back into reality - when you saw this woman grab a dagger that was lying next to the random civilian.

This random person; whom you knew was random because unlike the other members of this odd ‘cult’, they wore normal street clothes - like how you did. This made your blood run cold, you could be next. What made you different from this person who - by the looks of it - was about to be killed in cold blood? Absolutely nothing.

You knew it was cowardly to just hide and watch but you felt terrified, and in denial. This person was tied up with their hands and ankles bound with some kind of cloth, along with a cloth gag around their mouth. Although they looked to be unconscious - so maybe the woman was grabbing the dagger to free them? You could only hope.

You couldn’t help but think back to the rumours that always seem to float around this time of year about a local satanic cult, but those were just rumours.. stupid fucking rumours. And you were just paranoid because of the fact that it was literally midnight and you were stranded.

You tried to shake away these irrational thoughts as you remained at the tree; holding your breath as you watched the woman hold up the knife. She let out a slight giggle, and you swore for a second she almost looked childish - the way her eyes lit up and how the corners of her mouth turned in a small closed mouth smile. For a second she looked genuinely happy and excited, and then she did the unthinkable.

All it took was three seconds for her to plunge the knife right into the center of the persons chest cavity, blood instantly spurted out from the mans chest and if he wasn’t dead ealier.. He certainly was now. she ran the knife up a bit in his chest before quickly throwing the knife out of the way, somewhere in the forest. She quickly plunged her hand into the persons chest with no hesitation - it was obvious by the way her armed moved that it was as if she was searching for something or a certain organ?

Your reaction was immeadite, you couldn’t help but to gasp and let go of the tree in shock - shaking harder than ever. But yet; you still stood and watched. Like a idiot. You could slowly feel your body succumb to shock and you knew you only had so much time to move and get the hell out of there before you passed out but you felt frozen in place. You couldn’t bring yourself to move your legs or any other part of you. Maybe it was some kind of fucked up fate or destiny that you were meant to be here and witness this.

You flinched at the awful squishing sounds that omitted from this woman’s victims body, it was clear to you now what she was looking for in the chest.

The heart.

You started to shake with fear as you watched her forcibly rip the heart out of the chest cavity and away from the blood vessels that previously connected it to the body. Blood continued to ooze off of it as she slowly raised it up closer, and closer to her. She wore a sly smirk but her eyes seemed to be turning darker and darker; which made it impossible to read her emotions but for some reason; you felt if you could see her eyes - that they would still hold the same wonder and excitement you saw in them ealier.

That thought made you dizzy.

“Ave satanas”. She spoke.

Her voice was clear and smooth, the murder and this horrific dissection didn’t seem to disturb or affect her in any way, or any of the members that were witnesses.

The rest of the members watched her as diligently as you did, their eyes daring to not leave her body for a second. They also repeated her sick mantra.

She swiftly raised the heart up to her lips and took a bite, blood instantly staining her porcelain skin and cascading down her mouth and neck. Her eyes rolled back into her head - her entire pupil was now pitch black, even the whites of her eyes seemed to turn black as well.

This image was almost seductive to watch. Your not sure if this was your way of discovering you had a blood kink, or if it was the way she bit into the heart.. or maybe it was how content she looked after the bite.

But, you knew that this was fucked up and that if you wanted to make it out alive - you had to leave NOW. It was a human heart, she was a fucking murderer and possibly a cult leader at the very least. It didn’t matter if she looked like Aphrodite - she was a fucking killer and you would be next if you didn’t start to think logically.

You turned to leave; your intention was to walk away as quietly as possible but as soon as you moved your legs - it only took a couple seconds for you to break out into a clumsy sprint. Very clumsy.

It felt as if your heart had temporarily left your chest when you tripped (a stupid tree branch had fallen onto the pathway), and you felt scared out of your mind. Your breathing turned heavy and erratic as you opted to lie on forest floor; too terrified to get up.

You weren’t that far away at all from the tree you were previsoily standing at, you knew there was a good chance they had heard you fall.

You could hear hushed voices.

“Did you hear that”? You heard a male voice ask and immeaditly you heard a quiet chorus of voices that seemed to affirm his suspicion.

You listened as he offered to go look but a female voice spoke up again.. for some reason you felt as if it was the woman you saw ealier and you don’t know if that excited you or scared the shit out of you.

“No.. I’ll go”. She replied.

You heard a subtle rustling of clothes and a distant crunching of leaves as she approached and your heart leapt in your throat. You couldn’t breathe. You screwed your eyes shut; fighting every single instinct you had that was screaming at you to stand up and run for your life. The earth underneath you seemed to grow extensively more uncomfterable, the rocks, mud, dirt and the scratchy grass made your urge to leave even more stronger.

For a second; this state of being uncomfterable made you forget about the predicament you were in and how a literal cult leader was approaching you. It wasn’t until you smelt something new; a slight musky scent with a hint of floral that you knew she was nearby even though you couldn’t hear footsteps anymore.

The sharp, blowing pain you felt on the back of your neck threw you off guard so much that you couldn’t help but let out a soft scream - choking on air, your lungs grasping for more of that sweet delectable oxygen. You thought you were dying at first but you quickly realizing that she was stepping on your neck. You could feel her body weight shift as she crouched down, closer so that she could talk to you.

“Your not a very good actress. I know your not dead; I can hear your heart beat.. pathetic”. The woman above you mused, you could hear it in her voice how she was smiling.

You continued to wheeze for air desperately and you let out a weak, “please”! And miraculously, you felt her shoe slightly let up. Just enough so that you could breath but the agonizing shooting pain still remained.

“Please?! That’s all you have to say for yourself? Use your words. Beg”. Her voice stayed cool and confident as she spoke.

Meanwhile you could feel tears at the edge of your eyes as you gasped at the relief of finally being able to breath properly again. Your voice came out as rough and you stuttered at first as you struggled to find the right words.

“P-please, I just need help. I’m stranded - I only came out here to look for help. I don’t want any trouble”. You said.

You tried to push yourself back up - to see if she would let you atleast sit back up but you felt the pressure remain, even come back a little more forceful than before.

“Why should I let you go? You really think I didn’t notice you the second you started watching? You didn’t just happen to stumble upon us - you watched for a solid fifteen minutes”. Her voice held rage and fire as she started to speak, however by the end of her statement she maintained to retain her cool tone.

However there was a hint of urgency in her voice, as if she knew that her members would be coming back any second to see what was taking their dear beloved leader so long.

This entire time you were looking at her shoes - and the forest floor. You crained your neck in a way that was awkwardly painful just so that you could make eye contact with her before you spoke. Sure enough, it was the same woman who you had watched eat the human heart of the poor civilian ealier. The same.. undeniably gorgeous woman.

Most of her forefront was still stained a messy daunting red, most notably from her lips down to her chest. You also noticed how some of the ends of her hair was also dipped a messy matching red.

“Look - I couldn’t help it. When I saw you, I had to stay”. You replied dumbly as you continued to make eye contact; praying that she would pick up on your cue of what you meant.

You knew how fucking stupid it was to even try to flirt with her when she had the perfect opportunity to kill you. Out of all the stupid stunts you had pulled off in your life this had to be the worst - you didn’t even know if she was gay. Fuck, you didn’t even know her name but to be honest - you didn’t really care. You were simply enchanted and enthralled by her presence alone.

You two continued to make eye contact until you could hear the voices of the congregation start to grow louder and louder.. she didn’t looked exactly panicked by this but she looked bothered and annoyed.

You felt the pain on your neck subside as she retracted back her foot; standing up as she turned around and quickly left. You took that as your cue to get the fuck out of there, and that she wasn’t going to hurt you.

You laid on the forest floor for a couple minutes as you gathered your bearings and mustered up the strength to stand up, and attempt to find a way back home away from this hellish nightmare.

~

That horrid night of your run in with the satanists not only plagued your dreams to turn into nightmares, but it also become your go to story to tell at parties.

You knew telling ‘rumours’ of a satanic cult (espically around Halloween) was incredibly cheesy and you doubted anyone really believed you, but it always made people laugh and kept them intrigued. Hence why you were at currently at your own party on Halloween night, telling the same story yet again but worded a bit

The party you decided to throw remained somewhere in the middle between a casual friendly house party, and a frat party. This left you (and your friends) with a cup of alcohol in hand, in a somewhat revealing angel costume. You wore a silky white dress along with a cheap pair of angel wings and a halo to go along with it; along with makeup to match. Right now you just happened to be conversing amongst some acquaintances but more and more people seemed to be filing through into the house; people you didn’t know.

You knew you were just borderline tipsy because you couldn’t help but laugh at every line that this person whom you were talking too was saying but they seemed to look amused too.

“No way that happened”! The person you were talked too replied.

“Yes way! Why do you think I’m wearing this scarf? The number she left on my neck wouldn’t exactly go with the rest of my outfit”. You said with a small giggle at the half truth you told.

That definitely wasn’t a lie. When that woman had stepped on your neck she left a trmendous amount of bruising on your neck. Your neck was painted dark blues and purples, the real tone of your skin barely peeking through. Luckily you were able to pin wearing scarves on just the cold weather, and no one really think twice or seemed to question you over it.

You took another sip of the beverage you held, preparing to tell more of your notorious story before you heard the doorbell ring. You excused yourself as you walked through the dense crowd, wondering who the hell it was.

All of your dearest friends and everyone else that was invited was already here.. you could feel fear and anxiety start to nag at you but nevertheless you quickly opened the door without a second thought.

And you were speechless.

It was her. The woman who was the main character of the horror story you were previously telling stood in front of you, and she looked pissed.

You immeaditly felt in shock as you stepped outside with her and shut the door. You would’ve invited her inside but who knows what the hell her intentions were; you knew what she was capable of.

“How did you find me”?! You asked, the words came out as if you were angry but you really weren’t - just in shock and a bit scared.

She looked amused when you said this, like she could almost laugh but she just smirked at you instead.

“You made it too easy. It was common knowledge you were throwing a party this weekend, all I had to tell them that I was some relative of yours and I got your address just like that. Do you like my outfit”? She mused, throwing her hair over her shoulder as she did a quick spin for you.

It was obvious she was attempting to dress as the devil, she wore a headband that had small devil horns on them along with a beautiful red dress that clung tightly to her skin, showing off the best parts of her body. She also wore a black cape on with two metals clasps on either side with a chain connecting them; she looked beautiful. Although this did nothing to the fact of how confused and mildly annoyed you were at her appearance.

“I know your not here for the party. What do you want? If you wanted to just see me, or find another victim - this is not the place or time to do it” You said.

You two stood outside by the front door, the air was just cold enough to make you want to go back inside but not to the point where you were uncomfterable. The sounds of halloween filled your sense, the vague smell of pumpkin and the sound of kids roaming the neighborhood for candy was a comforting distraction. However it wasn’t enough for you to forget about the woman standing in front of you. She lost her smirk and amused look completely before she replied to you.

“Who exactly do you think you are to know what my wants are needs are? And what makes you qualified to fulfill them?” She asked and you stood there.. utterly speechless.

She took a step toward you and looked at you directly in the eyes - clearly not intimidated or scared of you at all. It was almost as if she was teasing you; taunting you.

You felt so fucking stupid, you didn’t have a good answer to her question. In fact you don’t really know why you even asked her that. You took a deep breath and even though she was a mere foot or two away from you; you refused to back up and look as if you were intimidated.

“It’s just, I don’t even know your name. I don’t know the first thing about you or how you even found about this party. I just.. don’t know what your intentions are”. You stated dumbly.

You had no expectations or guess for what she would do next but you felt your soul leave your body for a split second as she advanced toward you even closer - almost like she was going to kiss you only for her to just brush up past you and open your front door. She got so close to you to the point where you felt her soft blonde hair brush up against your face for a moment.

“I can’t talk to you about it out here”. She stated and grabbed your hand, pulling you inside behind her. You held onto her hand as walked you into the house, not even letting you shut the door which stayed open ajar.

You couldn’t help but blush at how soft and smooth her hand felt, yet the feeling also made you shudder since her hand seemed to be ice cold.

You were worried about getting weird looks from people about holding another girls hand but everyone seemed to preoccupied to notice, or merely just didn’t care.

She led you into one of the first rooms that was visible from the front door, clearly not caring whether it was a bedroom, bathroom or some other kind of room. She quickly opened the door and closed it after nearly pushing you in. Almost immeaditly she pulled off her headband and took her heels off, throwing them carelessly in the room as she rolled her eyes.

“I’m so glad I don’t have to wear that shit anymore”. She said with a slight chuckle.

“Why dress up then if you hate it?” You asked, genuinely curious.

“Because I had to look the part in order to come to this party to get to you. Anyone not dressed up on Halloween always looks suspicious, I thought you knew that”. She answered.

You blushed at her first sentence but out of being shy you decided to ignore that part, assuming she was probably referring to something else - there was no way she would’ve came all the way here just for the sake of asking you on a date. The thought was stupid and irrational.

“You could’ve just dressed up in your satanist outfit, you did look beautiful in it”. You said.

As soon as the words came out of your mouth you felt stupid for even admitting that you thought of her as attractive let alone beautiful.

“Beautiful? Even with blood dripping down my neck you think I looked beautiful”. The second part was said as if it were a statement.

She took a couple steps toward you, putting her fingers lightly on your cheek as she gently pushed her thumb under your chin - forcing you to look up at her. It didn’t hurt by any means but it definetly felt uncomfterable. You waited for her to make a move; either to kiss you or say something but she did neither. She merely stared at you. To break the suffocating silence you spoke.

“You know, you never answered my question ealier”. You said as she still held her face gently on your face. She looked at you as if she was studying you, observing - waiting for you to do something.

“The one about why I came here? I already told you - I came for you. I’ve heard all of the crazy bullshit rumours you’ve been telling - and if you were anyone else I would’ve just slit your throat and sacrificed you by now but.. I think I’ve already tainted your beauty enough with those delicious bruises I left on your neck”. She said, she eyes traveling down to the scarf that you wore that covered the bruises.

You felt beyond bewildered and as if the air had been completely knocked out of you once again. The fact that she was trying to gaslight you into thinking that what you saw that night wasn’t even real was the most shocking. The next was how she commented on your beauty, was she returning back your feelings or was she just trying to lead you on before she murdered you? Under your own roof? You wouldn’t put it past her.

“Take it off”. She spoke, her hand that was on your face slowly traveled down to the end of your scarf, giving it a gentle tug.

You gave her a slight smirk, you figured you might as well flirt - who knows how this night was going to end after all.

“Your not even going to buy me dinner first”? You teased.

Your hands gently started to unwind the scarf that you had tightly wrapped around your neck and she watched intensively, almost like she was in a trance.

“Sorry angel but I’m not really the type who likes to go on dates, or let alone has the time or patience for them”. She said, making eye contact with you again.

A darkness gleamed in her eyes but you still tried to stand your ground and not let her intimidate you.

You threw the scarf on the floor. You still were fully clothed but you couldn’t help but feel naked and exposed, your embarrassing bruises on full display. She pushed your chin up and got even closer. Taking a finger and very lightly traced the outline of one of the more prominent bruises. It didn’t hurt but you felt on edge, and scared at the fact that your neck was on full display for basically a cannibal. What was stopping her from pulling out a knife or doing something crazy such as biting into your throat?

The idea of your life ending so suddenly with this woman you didn’t even know the name of made your heart start to beat rapidly, and you felt sick.. anxious.. you needed to get out of this room but you stayed put.

It was almost as if she could sense this and she drew her hand back, as you lowered your head back down in its normal position.

“You look divine, beautiful isn’t even the right adjective to describe your beauty. You would put a real angel to shame with your looks”. She said. For a second, you completely forgot it was Halloween or that you were even in a costume to begin with.

She only strayed a inch again away from your face now. She slowly approached closer and closer, you felt her cold hands gently grab at your waist - and you couldn’t help but jump just slightly at the suddenness of it. You couldn’t help but breathe faster when you felt her nose gently bump against yours - knowing what was about to happen.

“Are you okay”? She asked you, barely whispering.

You swore you could almost taste her breath and feel her lips moving at how close she was. Close but yet not close enough.

You wanted this; you wanted nothing more than to close the gap between you two but you also knew deep down this was wrong. This woman was a murderer, she didn’t deserve love.. right?

Everyone deserves compassion and acceptance - sure. You could offer her that but you knew certainly it wasn’t your place to forgive her for her acts but.. after all that’s not why you were currently in the posistion that you were in. You weren’t about to kiss her because you felt sorry for her, it’s because you felt hopelessly drawn to a woman you barely even met. A woman you didn’t know the name of.

Like a moth drawn to a flame, you knew she was dangerous but yet.. that almost made you want her more.

It felt wrong to speak out loud so you merely nodded your head very slightly, the posistion you were in made it hard to move but you were still able to move your head a little bit. You doubted her eyes were open to see your movement but you were hoping maybe she felt you move instead; and that was when you heard her soft sultry voice ask you,

“Can I kiss you”?

You swiftly wrapped your arms around the back of her neck and you moved in a inch closer, just enough so that the distance between you two was finally closed.

The kiss was wet, and short lived. The taste of her lipstick lingered as you pulled away rather reluctantly. The way how her lips lingered on yours told you that she didn’t want to stop but you knew you should pull away; this chaos had to stop.

This was a dangerous fucking game you were playing, what were you thinking? That you would somehow be different and that she would decide to spare you for some reason? You removed your hands from her shoulders as you awkwardly stumbled back. Your heart started to race and you could feel yourself start to turn backwards, getting ready to open the door and just dip. You could never explain how you feel, how would she understand? More importantly - why would she care?

Just as you felt your feet move to turn your heard her voice, it was soft yet still held onto her confidence that her voice typically held but.. she sounded a bit defeated.

“Your scared”. She stated.

You froze as you took a deep breath, now facing the door with your back facing her.

“Scared of what?” Your words hung in the air for a few dense, quiet moments.

Scared of what she would say, yet scared of the thick silenceness that seemed to be your only other option. You decided to muster up the courage spontaneously to turn around and face her and that’s exactly when she answered your question.

“Of me. Your scared of me. I can hear your heartbeat, I can tell your terrified of me”. She stated.

Her words felt like they cut you as if she had thrown knives at you; you immeaditly felt embarrassed for how you felt, the urge to just leave was stronger than ever but you had a feeling she wouldn’t just let you go so easy.

The mention of her hearing your heartbeat seemed to fly right over your head, you didn’t give it a second thought.

You wanted to move to leave, or to hug her but you did neither. You stood frozen, as you felt tears start to well up in eyes and run hotly down your cheeks.

I’m sorry. I-I don’t want to be scared of you but it’s not fair for you to assume that I can just ignore what I saw”. You answered.

Taking another deep breath you looked up and met her eyes, she looked at you curiously - still as if she was studying you.

She took steps toward you, up until her hand gently rested on your cheek and you couldn’t help but foolishly lean into it ever so slightly.

“Baby, I’m not expecting you to ignore it - all I want is for you to keep quiet about it. I can’t have the entire town thinking I’m a satanist anymore darling”.

You wanted to argue but you merely giggled and smiled.

“That’s understandable. Speaking of.. your hobby.. shouldn’t you be elsewhere on Halloween? Like at some elaborate death ritual or some kind of Halloween ceremony”? You asked.

You felt completely shocked when you felt her hand suddenly pull away and you felt her tongue lick a stripe directly from your chin up to your cheek, licking up your precious tears. She kissed the side of your mouth before pulling away.

“Halloween was never my favorite holiday. My job.. requires a lot out of me. Some of which you’ve seen but celebrating a holiday that practically mocks who I am and makes it into entertainment just isn’t my style”. She explained.

“Then who are you”?

She gave you a smirk, and just as you heard a crack of thunder (or lighting, it was impossible to tell) you swore you saw her crystal blue eyes turn a jet black, before returning to their typical appearance. You swore maybe it was just your mind playing tricks on you or maybe a trick of the light.. you supposed you would never know.

She wore a shit eating grin as if she wanted to say ‘if only you knew’. She swiftly walked past you once again and opened to the door to let herself out;

“Call me Mikey”.

The door slammed shut and there you stood, feeling defeated, hopeless but determined. Determined to find her again, even if all you had to go off was a appearance and a nickname.

You were going to be this woman’s girlfriend whether or not it killed you.

[fromparishwithlove]

Nothing But Handprints

[2,663 words, Destiel, mostly canon compliant]

A/N: Hey, hi, it’s midnight and I spent three days writing something and I actually finished it. It’s not that long, maybe 3,000 words but it’s something and I’m kinda proud of that. Ever since Supernatural ended I’ve found myself writing more and more. I’m actually working on a full fic and right now, it’s the most words I’ve ever written for one story, even though it just a shitty first draft. But before I publish that, I wanted to share something smaller, ease my way in so to speak. So this is a lot of Dean Winchester angst and a sort of continuous ‘Oh Shit’ moment in which he processes lots of memories and realises the impact Castiel had on his life, many of which are connected by the significance of the handprint. Ahhh the beloved handprint! Tbh I was kind of inspired by Jensen’s enthusiasm for bringing it back in 15x18 so you can thank him if you like this story. I think I’m going to eventually add this to Ao3 and it may get a sequel but for now, I hope you like it. Or at least don’t hate it.

Cas was gone.

Dean felt the loss as surely as if one of his lungs had been ripped out. Maybe it had. Maybe that’s why it was so fucking hard to breathe. And still he kept dragging in air, each breath a razor blade - Inhale. Exhale - forcing himself to endure the exquisite pain of survival.

Survival, he knew, was its own brand of suffering; barbed with regrets and heavy with the keen sting of memories.

Behind his eyelids bullets ripped through a dusty trenchcoat. A familiar voice admonished him; he was almost out of minutes. The cool press of fingertips brushed against his forehead. The silver streak of an angel blade caught the light. A fist collided with his jaw with a sickening crunch. A huff of involuntary laughter escaped from reluctant lips. Stubble scraped his cheek as he pulled the angel into a hug. Shades of blue crowded his vision - the garish blue of a crappy general store tabard, the endless blue of the morning sky as he wrestled his way out of his own grave, the untamed blue of angel grace, humming with raw energy. And best of all, the solemn blue of that unflinching gaze. There was a discarded cowboy hat on the backseat of the Impala. A game of Sorry pushed across a table and into his hands. A shitty four door saloon the colour of middle-aged misery.

And the brand of salvation burning on his skin - the Righteous Man, touched by an angel. The same handprint that now stained his jacket bloody.

As hard as he tried, all he could do was remember as shuddering breaths turned to wracking sobs.

*

Whatever this thing was, it had marked him. Searing it’s own handprint into the flesh of his shoulder, staking its claim.

Dean couldn’t help but feel... violated.

He looked like a walking advertisement for one of those crappy tourist spots: take nothing but photos, leave nothing but footprints but in his case it read: take nothing but liberties, leave nothing but handprints

He ran a tentative finger over the raised flesh and hissed at the contact. It felt raw, like a burn; still stinging and angry.

He glared at it, hoping the sheer force of his loathing would somehow dissolve it. But it remained, stubborn and resolute.

It looked human. That was the worst thing. To think there was something out there - something monstrous - masquerading in the body of an innocent person... And with enough power to pull him from the pit.

That thought alone was enough to chill the blood in his veins.

And what did that mean for him? He bore its signature on his skin after all. Did that mark him as it’s property?

He belonged to no man. And no monster.

He would rather spend a lifetime in Hell.

*

Getting up off the floor had been the hardest thing he’d ever had to do. Turning his back on the last place he’d seen Cas near impossible.

What if, by some miracle, he came back? He deserved to know Dean had waited. After all, Cas was the only one he’d ever really had any faith in.

But Dean had given up on miracles long ago.

He let his phone ring out again and again; the sound too harsh in the grief-stricken silence. What if he never answered? What if he let Sam believe he was dead? Cas too. Because in reality, he felt as good as.

*

When she saw the mark on his shoulder, her eyes widened a fraction, her mouth parting in what Dean recognised as wonder.

Dean Winchester is saved.

The words came back to him as she aligned her palm with the echo of Castiel’s, caressing the raised skin with a gentle touch.

Something about the contact made him feel nauseous. Even though they were pressed together, not a breath between their bodies, he felt as though she had dug her nails into an open wound. A shudder of revulsion ran down his spine. He suppressed the urge to shake her off, instead drawing her attention away with a searing kiss.

The feeling of unease was harder to dislodge.

The mark itself no longer bothered him; it had faded somewhat and by the time Pamela used it to make contact with Castiel it hadn’t so much as tingled. This sudden display of hostility triggered by Anna’s touch unnerved him.

Maybe it was because she was an angel. Maybe it could sense her power, reacting with whatever traces of energy Castiel had left behind.

Or maybe it was something subconscious in Dean; something he didn’t want to acknowledge - couldn’t acknowledge - for fear of what that might mean.

But he couldn’t outrun the truth.

He noticed how Castiel turned away when Anna leaned in to kiss him goodbye. Thought he saw a flicker of jealousy contort his features. But only for a split second.

And once again that involuntary feeling of distaste rose up inside him, rearing it’s head, demanding to be heard.

And this time he listened.

And this time he recognised the ceaseless lament of his guilt.

*

Every cell in his body screamed in protest as he staggered out of the bunker. Every step a monumental effort. It was as though The Empty had created a vacuum when it had taken Castiel, and now it threatened to drag him into the same darkness.

He was exhausted; more than once he had to fight the urge to lay down and never get back up. But he knew he couldn’t.

He had to get to Sam, had to confront Chuck and demand he bring Cas back. He pinned all his hopes on it. Because if Chuck - Lord God Almighty himself - couldn’t bust Cas out of The Empty, what hope did he have of doing it himself?

So he dragged himself behind the wheel of the Impala and tried to ignore how normal it felt to sit there, as if he were just heading out on another case. As if the whole world hadn’t shattered apart and been clumsily glued back together in a matter of heartbeats.

He refused to look over at the passenger seat, refused to acknowledge the empty space beside him. Castiel had occupied that space just a few hours ago.

Could that be right? Had it only been a few hours since they’d made the journey to Lebanon, their silence weighted with shared worry yet still companionable? How had he lost so much in so little time?

*

Castiel arrived in the nick of time.

Zachariah had been gearing up to do some serious damage. He might not have been able to kill Dean on account of his status as Michael’s Vessel but he could still make him suffer. And Dean knew he had riled him. But nothing, not even the threat of what was to come would induce him to say yes. Zachariah had simply given him an advantage, a roadmap of what not to do to. He wouldn’t end up a cold, callous, merciless soldier like his future self. He wouldn’t. He refused to believe there would ever come a day when he would willingly sacrifice his friends and family - his fellow comrades - no matter what Heaven or Hell put in front of him. He would rather die than live to see himself become so despicable.

“That’s pretty nice timing Cas.”

“We had an appointment.”

His answer was so matter of fact, so practical, that Dean couldn’t help the smile that broke over his face. It implied that Dean could’ve been minutes away from death or simply completing the crossword and Castiel still would’ve come for him at that exact moment. But there was something coy about the set of his features, something like amusement twitching at the corner of his mouth.

Dean was under no illusion that, somehow, Cas had sensed he was in danger and, despite his apparent ignorance, had slipped in and taken Dean while Zachariah’s back was turned. It was crafty, calculated, almost petty in its brilliance.

And now Castiel stood looking at him, ready to talk, to plan their next move, without even a hint of expectation in his gaze.

He didn’t boast or demand gratitude. He didn’t want Dean’s thanks; he just wanted to be included.

The realisation hit Dean all at once, Castiel’s own words coming back to him as he considered how the balance between them had shifted.

You don’t think you deserve to be saved.

But Cas had saved him. Had been trying to save him for a while now but Dean had just been too blind to see it. When he had freed him from Hell he had been following orders but now, he had simply taken it upon himself to remove Dean from trouble’s path.

Against all odds and the interests of Heaven, an angel had his back.

Dean took a step forward and, placing a hand on Castiel’s shoulder, he said, “Don’t ever change.”

What he meant to say was: Don’t ever change back. Don’t ever serve the interests of others when you know in you’re heart they’re wrong. Don’t ever become unreachable, unknowable. Don’t ever stop being the angel on my shoulder because without you, I’d die.

There was so much he had meant to say but the words died on his lips. He hoped that Cas understood just from the look in his eyes, the force in his tone, the significance of that hand on his shoulder.

Dean knew that he didn’t always tolerate human contact but Castiel didn’t shrug him off. He allowed Dean to grip his arm, the fabric of the trenchcoat screwed up under his fingers. For a minute Dean held on and when he finally drew away, he half expected to see the shape of his palm imprinted there, just as Castiel’s handprint adorned his own shoulder.

*

He drove on autopilot, trusting his body to react accordingly; his mind was otherwise consumed by bittersweet memories that made his throat ache and his eyes sting.

He replayed every journey they’d ever made together, nothing but open road before them and unsaid words between them.

You changed me Dean.

His tears ran hot, spilling down his cheeks and splashing into his lap.

Dean had immediately recognised the truth in Cas’ words, but they still reverberated through him like the tremors of a distant earthquake. Letting himself consider the possibility that he, an insignificant stain on the Earth’s crust, had changed Castiel, a centuries old celestial warrior, was incomprehensible.

It was like... staring into the sun.

The more he told himself not to, the more he became blinded by its glare. Dean wanted to squint whenever he looked at it, shield his eyes from its radiant sincerity.

Because he had known it this whole time. Known and never admitted it to himself.

He had witnessed firsthand Castiel’s transformation from a finely tuned, emotionless instrument to a discordant orchestra of empathy and feeling and not once had he suggested it was his own influence that had inspired such a change.

Because how could he have inspired such honesty and compassion, gentle humour and tenderness? He was stubborn and defensive, worn down by years of trauma and still so full of anger.

But he was wrong.

Of course he was wrong.

I cared about the whole world because of you.

It felt too big to accept so readily and yet... Dean remembered the first time he’d made Cas laugh, the first time he’d heard doubt creep into his voice, the first time his cheeks had flushed with embarrassment, his eyes had filled with sorrow, his shoulders had sagged with relief. He remembered it all and he remembered his own despair, his exhaustion, his cocky bravado. He had begged and reasoned and joked with reckless abandon. He had unwittingly smothered Cas with his humanity and instead of suffocating, Castiel had simply taken a deep breath, filling his lungs with every human emotion they’d ever dared to beat out of him.

*

His body felt beaten, his mind battered and broken.

Sam didn’t even have to ask as he forced himself out of the car to meet his younger brother’s eyes.

Understanding glimmered there. He might not know the details but Sam recognised the same heartsick anguish that gripped his own soul. The same bone-deep weariness that had settled over him ever since discovering Eileen was gone.

They had lost everything. Everyone.

Details would come later; coaxing out the truth one shot of whiskey at a time. Although, looking at the state of his brother, Sam wondered whether it wouldn’t take several bottles.

*

Dean took another pull on his beer.

He couldn’t understand why he’d done it. Maybe he hadn’t meant to. But sure enough it was gone. Every day the past slipped further and further away, fading as quickly as dreams but still he couldn’t help but reach for those memories.

There was barely anything left to remind him. Sam was... Well, Dean found it hard to think about Sam. And Cas... Dean hadn’t seen or heard from him in almost a year. He was starting to think Cas had removed the mark on purpose; some deluded attempt at helping Dean forget. Perhaps he thought it was a mercy.

But Dean didn’t want to forget. Not if it meant forgetting what it felt like to belong.

Once again he found himself in front of the mirror, beer on the counter, sleeve rolled up, his own hand pressed to the place where Castiel’s had once been.

He could hear Lisa moving around downstairs, glasses clinking, Ben’s laughter loud and jubilant out in the yard. He shouldn’t be here. Not again. Not today. He should be down there manning the barbecue, joking and celebrating with his family.

But he couldn’t seem to tear himself away. There was nothing to see and yet he kept on searching.

Mary had always said that angels were watching over him but his angel had abandoned him, leaving no trace behind.

Dean’s grip tightened, nails digging into his flesh. He relished the pain but it was not enough.

*

“You’ve got to bring him back.”

He’d ground out the words with deliberate force, still reluctant to admit Cas was gone, to admit that he alone couldn’t save him.

But Chuck had merely shrugged off their surrender. Apparently he was happy to simply watch them flounder. With no one left to fight for and no monsters left to fight, the brothers would be effectively made redundant. Just Sam and Dean and an eternity of suffering stretching out before them. How could that be the end?

In Dean’s opinion it was shitty, lazy writing. Surely Chuck would grow tired of their struggle soon enough and then what?

Stripping him of his power, his divinity, his immortality had been deeply satisfying. Dean relished the moment he turned his back on him, refusing to expend the effort it would take to kill him. That was, after all, not who he was. Not anymore.

For the first time in his life, he was going to carve his own path - without destiny or prophecy or some omniscient douchebag shoving him around on the chess board.

The thought terrified him. Did he even know how to live a life when his every movement wasn’t being dictated by someone else?

He supposed his first move would be the obvious one. But it was the only one he really wanted to make. With Jack taking on the role of God, his task of liberating Cas from The Empty seemed fractionally less intimidating. They would find a way.

Dean swore to himself that no matter how long it took, no matter the lengths he would have to go to, he would see Castiel again. And when he did, he intended to drag him out of the darkness and cover his soul with his handprints.

[missroserose]

the neon light's on me tonight

part 1 | part 2

or read on AO3

here I am, back on this bullshit again.  it's like y'all's enthusiasm is addictive, or something. <3

And yes, three chapters means it's playlist time.

(Thanks as always to @anarchist-billy for being the best beta. <3)

*

The January nighttime air is a shock, whiskey vapors and cigarette smoke and beer fumes cleared from Billy’s lungs in one bracing breath. Something about the cold is soothingly familiar—it mirrors the gnawing emptiness deep in his gut, soothes the constant itch beneath his skin. He takes another lungful, can practically feel the ice crystals forming inside his lungs.

Billy’s not drunk, not really—though not for lack of trying.  He shotgunned each beer and downed every shot somebody bought him, but the buzzing is still there, energy scrabbling in circles like the lyrics of that Ratt song playing on the bar’s jukebox. Between that and the icy fingers that creep under his collar and inside the corners of his leather jacket, what little comforting haze had dropped between him and the world is cleared away within moments.

Still.  It’ll be better soon enough.  He struts out the door, boots crunching on the gravel, gives an extra little swing to his hips for the sake of the man following him.  The weather is the perfect excuse for a quickie—it’s too goddamn cold even to stay out for a cigarette.  No names, no awkward small talk.  Just long enough to get off in the almost-dark beneath the bar’s window signs.  Long enough to feel gravel beneath his knees, to taste bitter salt at the back of his throat.  Long enough to quench the restlessness that vibrates through him, long enough to find his center, to keep up his front of self-preservation—

A pair of headlights clicks on, flooding the darkened space between the lot and the roadhouse where they’re standing.  Billy mutters a curse and throws up a hand to shield his eyes, wondering what kind of clueless asshole—and then something clicks in his mind as the door opens.  Even before the figure emerges, even before it stands silhouetted in its Members Only jacket (in this weather?) and that ridiculous hair and that fucking nailed baseball bat—well, Billy knows who it has to be.  Knows what he has to say.

“Am I dreaming or is that you, Harrington?”

But Steve doesn’t do the expected thing.  Doesn’t give the reply that by now might as well be their secret code for come kick my ass, or pound it, could go either way.  Instead, he walks towards Billy, knuckles tight around the grip of the bat.

“Who the hell is this?”  The question could’ve come from either of them—Steve, standing in front of him, or the nameless man behind him—a little taller, maybe, a little older, a little less hair product.  But the slightly-nasal tenor is the same, the fancy clothes, the flicker of assessing glance.  Like they only make one model of closeted queer in Indiana.  Or maybe it’s just the only one Billy likes.  

Fast cars.  Cigarettes.  Pretty rich boys.  Billy always seems to love the things that could destroy him.

“Aw, that’s sweet,” the man behind Billy says—Billy’s fairly sure it’s him this time, can practically feel the disdain emanating from behind him as the man looks over Steve.  “Your boyfriend drove all the way out here to defend your honor?”

“He ain’t my boyfriend.”  He isn’t, not even sort of—Harrington’s been avoiding him, after their last encounter, and for the sake of his own safety Billy had decided to take the hint. He takes a step forward, grabs Steve by the lapels, gives him a shove. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Steve returns the favor, shoves Billy back.  “I need your help, jackass,” he says.  He tilts his chin up and to the right, moving his gaze over to Billy’s companion. “You realize he isn’t even eighteen?”

Billy’s punch lands right on Steve’s jaw.  It’s a bolt from the blue—no windup, no warning, just a swing and a connection, hard enough that Steve stumbles back.  Billy turns, already pasting on his most charming smile, opens his mouth, ready to spin some shit to repair the damage—

It’s too late.  The guy has his hands up, is backing away.  “Thanks, but no thanks. This is way too much drama for me.”  And with that he’s turning, going back—hair metal guitar solo spilling out briefly as the door opens, then shuts, leaving them out in the cold.

Billy stands for a moment.  Savors the heat that fills him—something like anger, something like lust, something completely different from both—whatever, it’s enough to drown out the buzzing, to give the scrabbling energy a much-needed outlet.  He turns back, smile still in place, eyes bright with coiled menace.  

“God, Hargrove.  You’re such an asshole.”  Steve’s standing by the car, holding a hand to his jaw, split lip oozing blood; the nail bat leans against the bumper next to him.  

“Born and bred, baby.”  Billy watches Steve, waits to see which way this is gonna fall.  If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll get in his car and drive right the hell away.  If he cares what’s good for Billy, he’ll man up and throw a punch in return—but he doesn’t, of course he doesn’t, because when has Steve Harrington ever been smart?  He only straightens.  Sneers a little.

“Look, do you want to help the kids out or not?  We could use some backup on this.”

“Oh, is that what’s going on?”  Billy can’t keep the sarcasm out of his voice—of all the pathetic, weak-ass excuses for his erstwhile hookup to cockblock him at the one fucking homo bar in the county—he stalks towards Steve.  “You drop me like a hot potato, not so much as a Christmas card, then one day you just decide to ruin my night because something came along that your little midnight chess club couldn’t handle?” Billy waits for the sidewise slide of the eyes, the backing down, the slinking away—all the shit Steve’s been pulling on him since November, that leaves Billy fuming.  But something tonight is changed, charged; Steve’s eyes narrow, and something in his eyes looks—delighted, almost.  As if he’s missed this fire as much as Billy has, as if the pit yawns in his gut the same way it does in Billy’s.  

Billy feels his heartbeat kick up a notch, feels the buzzing under his skin tune itself, become a humming, harmonizing with whatever electricity always seems to fill the space between them.  A power chord, the fifth to Steve’s tonic.

Oh fuck yes.  The King is out to play tonight.  

“You wanted to know what’s going on in this town.”  Steve’s hands find Billy’s hips, fingers curling in his belt loops.  “Now’s your chance, Hargrove.  If you’re not too chicken.” He gives a sort of half-smile, pulls him forward, pulls their crotches flush against each other, and goddamn if Steve isn’t halfway hard and getting harder.  Goddamn if Billy isn’t right there with him.  “Or would you rather just go at each other right here in the parking lot?  Your call—”

 “ksssssh—eve, you there?  Code re—kssssh—can’t find—over—”

Steve doesn’t take his eyes from Billy, but something in his expression changes—goes from seductive to steely.  He reaches back, grabs something from a belt clip—it’s one of those fucking walkie-talkies the kids are always using.  He uses his teeth to raise the antenna, brings it to his mouth.  “This is Steve.  What’s your position?”

The static hisses, breaking up the words—they must be right at the edge of its range.  “kssssh—odog—got Max—chasing—towards you—”

Billy feels his heart give a jump, much less pleasantly this time.  “What’s going on with Max?”

Steve steps back, his face grim.  “I don’t know, but if Dustin didn’t get after me for not saying ‘over’, it’s bad.”  He hits the button on the walkie.  “Do not engage.  Repeat, do not engage.  I’m on my way.  Over and out.”  A pause as he clips the walkie back on his belt, looks up to Billy’s face.  “Look, I’ve got to go.  I could use your help.  But you should know.”  His expression changes again, steel giving way to a—hollowness, almost.  Hauntedness, at a depth Billy wouldn’t have credited him with even a few minutes ago.  “Once you’re in, there’s no going back.”

He should be worried about Max.  Billy can feel it, practically etched into his forebrain.  Out of sheer self-preservation alone—if something’s happened to her, Neil will have his hide regardless of whether or not he was supposed to be watching out for her.

He should laugh this off.  Billy can feel it, deep in his gut.  The idea that this boy from podunk nowhere has something life-changing to show him is patently absurd.  He should throw another punch, maybe two, rough Harrington up a little.  Teach him not to mess with his personal life. It’d let the energy out another way—less satisfying, maybe, but just as sure. Billy realizes he’s starting to shiver, deep against his bones—soon enough it’ll take over his whole body, leave him visibly trembling. Thinks, for a moment, about the heat that he and Steve always seem to bring out in each other.  Remembers the way it roars through his veins, his muscles, drowning out everything, until the world is pure and breathless and beautiful—

“Just tell me one thing, Harrington.” He steps back, squares his shoulders.  Squelches the shivers that’re threatening to work their way up his spine.  “Whatever it is that we’re chasing—can we burn it?”

A smile slowly grows over Steve’s face.  A kingly sort of smile.  And Billy has to fight the sudden urge to drop to his knees right the fuck there in the parking lot.

Luckily, Steve moves.  Grabs his bat, crosses to the trunk.  Pops it.  Reaches in, and pulls out something long—Billy only sees it in shadow until Steve tosses it to him, until he catches it by reflex, feels the uneven weight, sees the dinged red paint on the head.  An axe.

“Get in,” Steve says, opening the driver’s side door.  “We’re gonna start ourselves a fire.”

[callmefitz]

HomeBound, a TTP Fic

PSA- I don’t know how to do the “read more” thing and this is a long fic so, apolgies in advance for this long post. Also I wrote this at midnight in my notes app with absolutely no editing so, read at your own risk.

Summary: It’s been weeks since the Crown Prince of the Heartlands, Prince Wensclaus ran away from home. During his absence, he’s taken a spunky aspiring knight under his wing to distract from the pain of his disapproving parents. Although, anyone can tell it’s more than that. He genuinely cares for the kid. As for his own family, however, they are not content to lose him. Featuring aro/ace future Wensclaus, a non-binary TTP OC I made named Law, and an older, wiser, but generally unchanged Joan.

————-

Although it’s been years since Wensclaus has been to the Hinterlands, there’s something familiar about the way the wind whips at his hair, heavy with the promise of rain. There’s something familiar about the dull, incessant roar of leaves in the breeze, and there’s something familiar about the dry crunch of dirt beneath his heels as he bites his lower lip, drawing blood as he parries and ripostes a rather impressive attack to his left side.

This place definitely had never held the warm glow of home to him, but the landscape tugged at Polaroid memories all the same.

His assailant, far more used to the northernmost elements than Wensclaus, circled at a wide radius, letting limp their wrist in exertion and dragging the point of their sword in the dirt. Their face was leveled in an annoyed glare (it was rather early). Beneath their tunic, their chest rose and fell in quick succession.

“Careful,” Wensclaus muttered, “We just had the blacksmith sharpen that.”

His adversary lept back into action, once again assuming a rather bold offensive strategy, yet left their form with much to be desired. At any moment, really, he could send them toppling on their back, but this skirmish wasn’t staged for the purpose of an expedient victory.

Although they only employed a handful of successful attacks on Wensclaus, he couldn’t help but to find himself surpised by their skill level. That, or the fact that without the rigid background of swordsman training, they were afforded the ability to combine techniques in a fluid manner without so much as a second thought. It was a skill that he himself envied.

The sparring match between the pair often drawn a crowd of onlookers, as entertainment in the Hinterlands dwindled after Barrabas returned to the Midlands. However, the mist on the plains had yet to evaporate and the cock had yet to crow, so they were alone in their back and forth dance.

Or so they thought.

Through the mist, an imposing horseback figure drew closer and closer, regarding the fight with vague curiosity. She watched the epic climax, and subsequent end, as the younger swordsperson unexpectedly threw Wensclaus off balance and tumbling to the ground.

“Do you yield,” Law said with a false air of suave.

“Ah, I’ve been bested,” Wensclaus replied in a similar play of false airs, “I yield, I yield! Spare me, lest I suffer a worser fate.”

Law laughed and held out a hand to Wensclaus and pulled him up.

“Good work with your offense,” Wensclaus praised, “Your footwork has improved greatly.”

“While yours has only grown sloppier since you’ve been gone.” The mystery spectator cut in. Her horse drew closer in the mist, and with horrifying realization Wensclaus realized it was his Aunt Joan. She dismounted and strode towards the pair.

Wensclaus gripped his sword, unsure if he wanted a fight or a reunion.

The head knight in question stood with an innate intimidating posture that made Wensclaus feel like a child again. However, that clearly wasn’t the case; Wensclaus had grown into his gangly limbs and assumed a self-assured posturer, and the constant eroding factor of time had etched wrinkles into Joan’s face and dusted Grey into her hair.

“Look, It’s the no-fun police,” Law scowled, crossing their arms, yet hiding slightly behind Wensclaus. He only sighed.

“Your fathers have been worried sick for you, Wensclaus,” Joan said softly, “they miss you terribly.”

Wensclaus kicked a stone, “Thats very inconvenient for them. I hope they feel better.”

“Wen-“

“No.” Wensclaus shouted. He wanted to continue, but he then became hyper-aware of Law, himself over seven years their senior, ducking behind the heavy mass of his cloak and gripping it slightly. He sighed. Not here.

“Can we continue this somewhere else?”

——

After a whispered argument that warmed Wensclaus’s heart but ultimately convinced him of Law’s protective yet stubborn nature, he found himself seated across the table from Joan in the only tavern in town and Law sulking outside as they waited for the adults to finish up. A daunting mug of root beer sat in front of him, which was much more interesting than the steely grey eyes of his pseudo-aunt.

“I can’t believe they sent my babysitter to come pick me up,” Wensclaus began, deciding to skip the small talk and poke the sleeping elephant with a stick. Or whatever the idiom is about.

“Wensclaus,” Joan began.

“Like, ok, they have a kingdom to run, but I’ve seen my Dad pull holidays out of his ass so we could have a vacation. They could have come themselves-“

“Your fathers did not send for me, Wensclaus.” Joan cut Wensclaus off with an impressive gulp of definetly-not-root beer. “I doubt they even know where you are. Not that they haven’t been searching, of course. As far as they’re concerned, I’m farther up North to check up on a dwarf problem your Uncle Darling is having.”

Wensclaus’s face drew up as he straightened in his booth. “Wait, then how did you-“

“It just made sense,” Joan replied, “You experienced perceived rejection and to cope you returned back to the place where you first received rejection. The little knight you found, however, was a nice touch. They’re coming along quite nicely. I’m proud.”

The explicit praise did not fly over Wensclaus’s head, “I’m that predictable, huh?”

“You’re not predictable, just human,” Joan shrugged, then at Wensclaus’s face, continued, “That’s just what Cecily has been telling me. And for the record, I’m not telling them you’re here until you’re ready to be found.”

Wensclaus leaned back in his chair and stared down at the frothy mess of his root-beer.

“They all miss-“

“It’s just hard.” Wensclaus said, without emotion. Joan remained quiet this time.

“It’s hard when, you know, everyone is talking about you, like, oh look at Prince Wensclaus! He’s like, I don’t know, in his mid-twenties, and tied down to no one,” Wensclaus laughed dryly, “His parents, they were married by age eighteen. Basically invented love and all that shit. How massive of a failure do you have to be to not love anyone when those are your role models?”

“You must be pretty fucked up.” He wiped a tear from his eye. “God it’s just... it’s so hard. I’m nothing like them and... it’s so hard.”

“You love me, don’t you?” Joan said, “And what about your Aunt Cecily?”

Wensclaus regraded Joan strangely, “Well, yeah, but not like-“

“What about your Uncles up North, Darling and Percy?” Joan continued, “Or your little knight?”

“Joan, it’s not like-“

“Your fathers?” Joan pressed, “Do you not love them?”

“I do, Joan, but that doesn’t count!” Wensclaus snapped. A few patrons across the bar glanced over. Face flushing, Wensclaus lowered his voice and relaxed his clenched fists, “That’s not the point, it-“

“You’re right,” Joan said, “The point is that you feel angry because of the high expectations inadvertently placed on your shoulders by your fathers because you’re different. But to say you love no one is so... far from the truth. Love takes many forms, and they can all be fulfilling.”

Wensclaus gave no response, instead favoring the mug in his hands than making eye contact with Joan. He was holding himself back from lashing out again.

“When I came out to my father, as both gay and a knight,” Joan began, “He tried to fix me.”

This caught Wensclaus’s attention.

“He set me up with all kinds of guys,” Joan laughed, “even a pig farmer. Enrolled me in all these classes for lady-etiquette and had me fitted for a ball gown corset. I was so angry, I ran away.”

“But you and your dad get along great,” Wensclaus said, “He’s over at your and Aunt Cecily’s cottage almost every weekend.”

“Now we get along great,” Joan corrected, “But this was all when you were very young.”

This satisfied Wensclaus’s confusion.

“I guess in the end he was afraid for me and afraid for himself,” Joan said, “Everything I was doing he had never seen done before, and that was scary. When people are scared, they do dumb things, like threaten to estrange their children.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Wensclaus asked slowly.

“When Cecily found out about what my father had threatened, she marched her little sequined self down to the pub he was hiding out in and gave him a piece of her mind,” Joan continued, “After you left, that’s exactly what I did to your fathers.”

“What?” Wensclaus finally cracked a smile, “You yelled at my dads?”

Joan shrugged, “It’s not the first time. I love them, Wensclaus, I really do, but they can be incredibly thick sometimes.”

That sobered him up, “Yeah.”

“They reacted the way they did not because they didn’t love you anymore, Wens,” Joan reaches across the table and grabbed his hand, “They reacted that way because what you were describing was something they had never seen done before, and they were scared for what that meant for you.”

“That still doesn’t make it right,” he replied.

“You’re right. It was wrong, which is exactly why Rupert has written and rewritten his formal apology to you several dozen times, so you know that in fourteen different languages that he loves you no matter what,” Joan replied, “And Amir is currently drafting legislation to nationally recognize aromanticism as a romantic identity and provide funding to revise public service announcements to include it. It was wrong of them to react the way they did, and they only thing they want in the world is to take it back.”

“Wow, I-“ Wensclaus suddenly found himself speaking through tears, “I don’t-“

“I’m not going to force you to come home before you’re ready,” Joan said steadily, “But I want you to know that when you are, there’s a place for you.”

It was embarrassing, the way that Wensclaus began sobbing in the tavern like that. The eyes of half a dozen hitherlandians landed on his shaking frame as the head knight of the heartlands held him to her chest. She ran her fingers through his hair, just like she used to when he had nightmares about the Despair. But this was so much worse, because this was not about an enemy he could defeat; rather, it was the floodgates of relief mixing with the festering hurt that had been building in him ever since he stepped foot out of the palace gates. Dimly, he was aware of the soft reassurances his aunt whispered into his ear, but in his determination to speak through his tears it all was mush.

“I want to go home,” he said hoarsely, and he felt the same relief within Joan.

—-

As the door to the tavern opened, Law jumped up from the ground and ran up to Wensclaus. However, after they took in his tear-stained face and Joan’s arm on his shoulder, they stumbled back, as if flinching in pain and disbelief.

“So you’re going back?” Law seethed, “Just like that?”

Wensclaus made brief eye contact with Joan, who released her arm from his shoulder and walked off with a nod. He returned his attention to Law and wiped his eyes.

“Yeah,” he said, “I’m going back. I can’t hide here forever.”

“But they said-“

“And they realized they were wrong,” Wensclaus finished, “I want to give them another chance before I cut them off entirely. If Joan can do it... then I guess I can too.”

His rationalization only caused his mentee to spiral further, “A-And what are you going to do, huh? Just.... leave me here?”

Wensclaus’s face drew up as an emotional knife stabbed cleanly through his heart. This scene felt all too familiar, except never from this perspective.

“No, no, of course not. No. Never. You’re going to come with me and Joan,” he said, placing his arms in Law’s shoulders in an attempt to ground them, “I mean, only if that’s what you want.”

“I won’t fit in,” Law said quietly, “It will be... weird.”

Wensclaus laughed, “I didn’t fit in either. It’s not that weird.”

In a conspiratorial tone, he added, “Plus, everyone there is weird. Just wait until you meet my Uncle Darling.”

That caused Law to smile as they held their hands on top of Wensclaus’s on their shoulders.

“Wensclaus,” Joan called out from her horse, “Little Knight.”

The pair glanced up from their conversation as Joan trotted closer.

“You coming?”

Wensclaus straightened up, leaving a hand in Law’s shoulder.

“Yeah. Let’s go home.”

[cole-winchester]

18 Miles Out...No Going Back

Reader rescues an injured Shane after Rick, taking Randal in tow, leaves him for dead at the walker infested DPW lot.  Will two broken souls be able to join forces and survive this new world?  Or will they butt heads and drive each other apart?

Tags:

@hanaissupergirl @coffee-obsessed-writer @spnhollis @harrysthiccthighss @sourwolf-sterek32 @superdeadwalker @mcuwomxn @miss-cap21 @hannuhbuhnana @stormy-weather-in-classics @hellosassymcsasserton @samanthawells89 @mannls @thanossexual

Part Two

Shane grunted and tried to brace himself against the passenger door as your truck balanced out of the fishtail.  

After a few moments you eased up on the accelerator.   Realizing Shane was staring at you, you glanced over.  Blood glistened from his brow and bridge of his nose.  His gaze hard and wary but your eyes flicked towards his torso.  His breathing was heavy, painful.  His left arm cradled across his ribs, blood seeping from behind his hand.  

Must've been stabbed, walkers didn't get close enough to him.

A sun glint caught your attention and your gaze landed on the handgun he had trained on you in his lap.  

You raised your eyebrows as you looked up from the gun.  'Really?'  

'Turn the truck around.'  His voice was low but authoritative.

'What?'  

'Have to go back.'

You let out a sharp laugh shaking your head.  'Not happenin'

'Stop the damn truck!'  His voice barked inside the cab.  

Gripping the wheel you slammed the brake pedal to the floor.  Shane braced himself against the dashboard, glaring at you as you turned in your seat to face him as the truck rocked to a stop.

'Go back to what exactly?  Your 'friend' that basically killed you back there by leaving you as walker bait?'

His jaw hardened as he glanced away from you out the windshield.  's'not like that.'

'Yeah?  Why don't you enlighten me then!'

'The hell with this!'  He seethed as he jerked open the passenger door and stumbled to the pavement.  

Let him go, he obviously has a death wish.  You don't need him.

No...you weren't that type of person.

'Ugh!'  You followed after him.  'Hey!  Dumbass!'  You called out to the stumbling moron a couple yards away. 'Just how far you expect to get bleeding all over the place?!'  

'I ain't yer problem, sweetheart!'  His steps began to slow, the sun, heat and his wounds taking their toll as his adrenaline waned.  He shook his head and pressed on.

'Alright, I get it, you're a big macho dick.  Now get back in the truck before-'  

As if on queue, he stumbled and collapsed to the pavement.

'-that.'  You sighed and jogged up to his lifeless form and rolled him to his back.  

Still breathing.   

An unmistakable snarl came from behind you, causing your heart to leap to your throat.  

You spun to your left and sure enough,  a walker about 20 feet away was heading straight for you.

'Shit shit shit!'  You scrambled around Shane, lifting his shoulders enough for you to lock your arms around the front of his chest.  Willing the adrenaline to pump faster you began dragging him back towards the truck.  'Please wake up.  Please wake up.'

Just leave him!  Save yourself!

You stole a glance up at the walker only to find 3 more joining in behind it.  

'Fuck!'

Panic began to creap into you.  You didn't have a knife on you and your only firearm was the rifle currently in the bed of your truck.  

You cried out in frustration as you continued to haul the both of you backwards.  You looked over your shoulder at your truck... ten feet to go.  The passenger door was still open from when Shane bailed moments before.  

Your legs burned as you forced yourself to move faster.  The snarls and groans growing louder with each painful step.  

The tail of your truck came in your periphery.  8 more feet.  The walkers were almost on you. 

You'd never be able to get him into the truck without getting eaten, so you leaned down and slumped Shane against the rear tire.  As you stood to reach into the bed for your rifle, a nauseous stench enveloped you and you were slammed from behind.  Pain shot up your arm as you landed hard onto the pavement beside Shane.  You quickly flipped to your back and screamed as the walker clawed and snarled above you.

You clamped your hand around its throat trying desperately to keep it from biting your face off.  Your arm threatened to give way as you frantically looked around for something, anything, to use as a weapon.

Then you saw it.

There, in the rear waistband of Shane's cargo pants...was his handgun.

You reached for it, just barely brushing it with your fingertips.  Your hand was slipping, the skin of the walker tearing beneath your grasp.

You cried out, your arm barely holding the walker at bay as you forced yourself to reach again for the handgun.  

Please be fucking loaded!

Your fingers wrapped around the grip and in one swift motion you yanked it from his waistband, raised it and fired through the walker's eye socket.  Shoving the corpse off of you, you sat up and began firing at the remaining walkers now inches from Shane.  

You dropped all five of them and lowered the gun as you leaned against the bed of the truck to catch your breath.  

You grunted as you moved to your feet after a few moments, checking the clip in the gun before stuffing it in your waistband.  

'Alright, let's try this again.'  You steadied yourself as you began to drag Shane back to the truck.  

After a few non-ladylike noises you'd managed to get Shane up and into the cab of your truck and shut the door.  

You settled back into the driver's seat and looked over at the still unconscious man, gauging his breathing for a moment.

'I sure hope I'm making the right call here.'  You said quietly, turning the key as your truck roared to life.  

***

You made it back to the small cabin in record time.  The cabin belonged to your uncle who had used it as a hunting camp for years.  You were pretty sure you were the only one who knew its location besides him.   Buried in the thick forest barely reachable by vehicle, it was the perfect spot to hide out. 

You eased the truck up as close as possible to the front porch and killed the engine.  The sun was setting and with the thick tree over, it was practically dark already.  You had to move fast. 

'Hey,'  you looked down and shook Shane's shoulder.  'Shane, can you hear me?'  

His eyelids flickered slightly as a weak groan rumbled in his chest.  

Good enough.   He was alive at least.

You threw your door open and slid out of the truck.  Turning slowly in place you quickly scanned the area for any movement.  Last thing you needed was a walker to come up on you again while dragging him inside. 

You shook your arms and puffed out a breath, gathering yourself.

Leaning back into the truck, you maneuvered Shane onto his back.  Hooking your hands under his arms, you began sliding him towards you.  Backstepping, you grunted as you continued to haul Shane out of the truck.  Somehow you misjudged, his weight overbalancing you and knocking you to the ground in a heap.  

'Shit,' you wheezed as you struggled to roll his unconscious body off of you.  'Fuck, man, you're heavier than you look.'  You hauled him into a semi sitting position and moved behind him, locking your arms across his massive chest.  

After a few painstaking minutes and several embarrassing grunts, you managed to drag him up the steps and into the cabin.  

Leaving him on the floor in the entryway, you quickly ran back outside, securing your truck and gathering your bags.  

Dropping everything, you locked the door behind you before readying yourself to move him further into the living room.  You knelt beside him ...and froze...

'Shane?'

He wasn't breathing. 

'No!  No, the fuck you don't!'  You immediately began hard chest compressions, feeling the cartilage crunch beneath your hands.  'You are not dying on me after all of this!'  You leaned down and gave him mouth to mouth before checking for a pulse.  

Nothing.

'Shane!'  You threw your full weight into your fist as you pounded onto his chest.  'God dammit!'  You opened his mouth and blew hard, forcing air deep into his lungs.  His body jerked and gasped, causing you to flail backwards.  His hand clamped in a vice grip around your neck before you could move fully off of him.  His eyes wild as he continued to gasp below you.  Your hands failed and clawed at his trying to pry it from your throat, your lungs screaming.

Just as your vision began to darken, his eyes shifted and rolled.  His head lulled to the side as his hand released you, dropping to his chest.

You fumbled backwards, choking in panicked breaths as your mind reeled.  You were sure he'd turned and that was it, but it was merely an involuntary reaction of him being brought back to life.  

'Holy...fuck.'  you ran your hands over your face for a moment before your mind kicked back in.

He needs stitched up otherwise he will die and turn.

You gathered yourself and clambered back over to him and continued moving him further into the living room.   With the adrenaline coursing through you, after having almost died yourself, you'd managed to haul him up onto the couch.  Retrieving one of the medical kits from your packs, you went to work.  

Cutting his shirt from his body, you quickly found that there was more than one stab wound.  Your heart sank. This was going to be more difficult that you'd expected.

You huffed out a breath and set your mind to the task at hand.  He was not going to die on your watch.   You worked quickly and diligently as you cleaned the wounds and wiped the caked blood from his body.  

Now to focus on the stitches.  You couldn't tell how deep the wounds were and you hesitated.

What if all of this was for nothing?  What if he died overnight and then decided you were a perfect midnight snack?

No.

Get your head together.

You chewed your bottom lip as you gathered the needle and thread.  You were going to do everything in your power to make sure he lived.

Why?  You don't even know him.  Say he survives and then just kills you.  

No.  He won't.

You sterilized the needle with a lighter before turning back to him.  You drew in a breath and went to work.

 

*~*~*~*~*

A/N:

Thanks so much for hanging with me! I'm sorry I don't update quickly. My daughter takes up most of my energy so I'm writing as I can! I hope you're enjoying this so far! I'm working on Part Three and will post as soon as possible! Let me know if you want tagged! 💜