#SAME GODDAMN PATCH OF FLOOR

[bluetimeombre]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐚𝐝𝐲𝐩𝐨𝐨L 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐖𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐢e

Deadpool and Wolverine but your lady pool and an absolute SLUT for Wolverine.

[this is a complete self insert with just everything I was thinking about during the movie and since then I’ve watched it three times. It gets better every time. Snippets of the movie, will probably do a part two. SPOILERS!]

part two

Warning/disclaimer: femreaderxwolverine, sexual content, sexual language, offensive language, just being a whore the man, cursing, repeat daddy issues, never proof-read.

After digging up Logan and expecting to find a shirtless and oiled-up Hugh Jackman, you were a little more than disappointed to find the bones and metal. 'Damn it! Shit! Fuck! They Les Mis'd him!'

Eventually, you settled down next to the remains, against the same log that had impaled him. 'That was weird,' you chuckled. 'I'm much calmer now. Look, I'm not a woman in stem but you seem incredibly dead to me. Oh, you sexy lump of bones and metal. I would have let you slide them into me any day.'

'But it's good to see you,' you pat his knee. 'I gotta be honest, I've always wanted to ride you, Logan. Oh, whoops, I meant with you. Ha! Who am I kidding, no I didn't. Just you and me, getting into it. And I mean into it. Every style. Doggy. Sixty-nine. On the kitchen counter to the bathroom. Till my back broke. Yea, we'd have been good together.' You ranted, fantasies flying across your mind too quick to focus on one.

With your red-gloved hand, you jerk the chin. 'G'day mate, there's nothing that'll bring me back to life faster than a big bag of Marvel cash. Ha- I hear you, Hugh. But no, no, no, no you had to go and get all noble and die for real. I could really use your help right now. And a massage. Your big manly hands just rubbing all over me-'

Just as you were about to go into further detail about what you want him to do to you, the sound of portals opening and heavy boots stomping closer alerted you.

Quickly, you pulled the skeleton down on top of you.

'There are two hundred and six bones in the body. Two hundred and seven if i'm watching Van Helsing.'

Que the fucking montage.

You have a mission. Find a Logan to take back with you. First up you end up in a bar, catching an axe as it was thrown at you. 'Logan! I'm gonna need you to come with me.'

The Logan sitting at the bar slowly turned to you. 'Who's asking? ' He slipped from the bar stool to reveal a 5'3 Logan.

You coo. 'Well, who's this little ankle biter. Did you stick the landing little guy? Yes you did, comic-accurate short king. Such a cute little Wolvie.'

The little guy started stalking toward you.

'Que the fucking montage.'

You found a Wolverine for the seventies, or eighties, something close enough to that, one hand missing. 'Oh yea, sexy, you have anchor being written all over you.'

You found patch Logan. 'Oh hello, Patch. Should've worn my white suit.'

You found another old man Logan, sitting solemnly on his front porch. 'Howdy! Oh, I see, you're the daddy issues one. Good to see god has answered my prayers. So soldier, do I need to be a bad girl so you put me over your knee, daddy?'

Another was tied to a cross with red bloody skulls acting as a floor.

One was dressed in a tight yellow and brown suit, walking through the woods. 'Hubba hubba. Classic! Now, you fought the Hulk in this suit, right?' as he snicked his claws out, the green of the beast reflected from behind you. 'I am Marvel Jesus you dull creature and I will not be-'

One, your favourite, was working on a bike in a tight white vest and dark pants. You drooled. 'That's the whole goddamn package right there. You know from behind you look a bit- holy Shit!' he turned, and everything about him was Wolverine. Except for the fact he was Henry fucking Cavil. 'The Cavalry has arrived. The prophecy has been fulfilled. Can I say, sir, sorry, daddy- on behalf of all of humanity, this just feels right! We will treat you so much better than those shit fucks down the street!'

He took the cigar from his mouth, stalking to you. You had never been so aroused in your life. 'You were just leaving'

Giggling and twirling your hair, you hold a hand out, ghosting over his chest. 'Can I just, one- one touch. Oh my god! You're like Superman or something.'

He punched you right into the Logan you needed. Thank you Cavil.

'You two gonna fuck or fight?' asked the bartender. 'Both if i'm lucky,' you said.'

'Oh look at those sexy little jammies, that only took twenty fucking years!'

The trash heap was the last place you wanted to end up, but when you woke to Logan looming over you, a snarl on his face, you sighed in relief.

'Well, hello sexiest man alive, 2008. Wanna give me a hand? Or head?'

He sniked his claws out.

'Kinky! That's new for Disney!'

He dug his claws into your ribs and dragged you up with them. 'Where the fuck are we?'

'I dunno, but it looks a bit mad maxxy to me. But that would be IP infringement right?'

'Fucking jokes,' Logan uttered. He threw you over his leg, your back breaking.

'Till my back breaks, Wolvie!' you yelled out, quickly rolling yourself back up and shaking it off. 'Look, I think we got off on the wrong foot. I'm a big fan. How about we strip off our suits, take a tumble in the sand, get to know one another you know. Personally, I'm more of a cowgirl fan but I'm willing to do whatever you want baby.'

'You're unbelievable,' he grumbled. It was still sexy. He turned his back to you.

'Oh, I see, is that what you did when your world went to shit!'

He paused, his head slowly turning to you. 'Say again, bub?'

'Oh, I am so horny right now.'

The two of you engaged in a fight, and not the sexy stradling fight that would happen later, but the guns firing, swords slashing kind of fight. that was only interrupted by a familiar voice.

The only other voice that could have you dropping your panties as quick as Wolverine. He was hooded, hidden, but you knew him from your sex dreams.

'Dear god almighty, it's him.'

'Who?' growled Logan.

'Don't be jealous baby, I have two holes for a reason. Don't worry gorgeous, you're gonna encounter some delicate language, a smidge of ass play but we've been prohibited from using cocaine, at least on page.'

He raised a hand. 'They're coming.'

'Who's they?'

The three of you watch cars and trucks drive through the waste, keeping you trapped. There were familiar faces, Pyro, Toad. And Sabertooth.

The mysterious figure jumped down and mastered the superhero landing that had you clapping your hands and jumping up and down.

'Oh my god! Oh my god!' you held onto Logan's shoulder as you jumped while he just glared at you.

'I've got this,' the man takes down his hood, showing the beautiful, hot, strong, handsome, hubba-hubba worthy, Chris Evans.

'Oh yes, you do sexiest man alive, 2022!' you cheer.

'Stay close,' Chris- or Steve- called back to you.

You stalk over to him. 'Aye aye, Captain.' you wrap your arms around his stomach, fingers trailing over his abs. He removes you and you groan, sulking. You walk back to Wolverine and jump onto the side of his hip.

Instinctively he holds your ass which makes you giddy before he realises his mistake and drops you.

'You're not gonna love what happens next,' shouted the captain.

Your jaw dropped from behind the mask. 'Holy shit, omg! No way, he's gonna say it! He's gonna say it!' you flick one of your swords that was still poking out of Wolverine's chest. 'Avengers-'

'Flame on!' Steve- no, Johnny- yelled and took to the skies in a ball of fire.

It was sort of stupid in hind sight as Pyro lifted a hand and extinguished him, causing him to fall from the skies and go crotch first into a billboard.

'No!' you screamed, rushing to him and rolling onto his back to get a look at him. 'No, no baby, stay with me. Let me take a look!' you tried to pull down his pants but Logan literally pulled you off him.

You were tied up with Wolverine on the front side of you and Johnny on the back. When you woke, you giggled. 'Woah, just like my dreams.'

Johnny woke to, lifting his head from your shoulder. 'How long was I out?'

You smirk under the mask, looking back to him. 'Not all of you was asleep, say Cap, is that a Glock in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?

'Is that Chuck? Hey Chuck, over here! Hope it's you young, god, we got James Macovy in this?' you yelled as a wheelchair rolled out as you entered the thing that was apparently large Paul Rudd.

'Cassandra Nova. Charles's twin,' the villain introduced herself.

'Holy shit,' said Logan.

'How was anal birth?' you asked.

Cassandra smirked. 'You two are cute. I have a good feeling about this.'

'Right!' you cheered. 'Just wait till this ends, the smut is off the charts!'

She took the chain from around the two of you but you wrapped yourself around Logan's arm, he only grunted at you. He only pushed you off when you started to go off and off about what Johnny said about Cassandra. 'People think i'm a shit talker but this guy-' you chef's kiss. 'Next level!'

Cassandra, with a flick of her hand, shed the skin from him as he fell in a heap of bones and blood and skin,

You cried out, holding onto Logan for dear life. 'My favourite Chris!'

'You silly little bitch, you just got him fucking killed!' yelled Logan.

'Fine, spank me then! P.S. Do you know what he was doing to the budget!'

You were brought to Ultimatum with Cassadra, Oliath or the other British villain, but all you wanted was to save your world, bang Wolvy and go home.

'I didn't want it to come to this, either you help us or my boyfriend here is gonna perform the whole of Greatest Showman as a one-man show,' you warn.

'I'm not her boyfriend,' Logan grumbled.

Cassandra went on a trauma dump that had you groaning. 'Couldn't you just turn into accomplishment like the rest of us?'

But I'm not like the rest of you, except maybe the Wolverine, now we could be truly terrifying together.'

'Sorry lady, he's taken!'

'Not for long,' Cassandra smirked and as Logan attacked, she sent him in the ground and away from you. You only whined at his disappearance, a whine that turned into a groan when Cassandra's fingers entered you in the worst way possible. Through your head.

'What can I see here?' she asked. Cassandra gasped. 'Oh, you are a whore.'

Oh yes, she saw the million filthy things you wanted to do to Logan.

The two of you made it out and to the diner where Logan was intent on finding food and taking rubbing alcohol shots. When he sat across from you, chucking a tin of spam at you, you pulled of your mask.

Logan stilled, looking at you with finally something a little different than anger.

'What?' you asked.

'I thought you'd be ugly under there.'

'No- no, that's the Deadpool. I'm better, and a self-insert.'

The two of you took to walking through the rather nicer side of the waste. You had his hand in yours, swinging it happily like you were a couple before he threatened to chop your hand off.

'You said Logan was a hero, what happened?' he asked.

'You died. Technically you were chest fucked by a tree, but really you just ran out of batteries trying to save this girl- a kid really. Always wanted a man who's good with kids. The shit heels who grew her in a lab called her x-23, but she was just a kid. A smaller, cute and mean version of you. Yep, you saved her, very hero, very demure.'

The two of you were interrupted when a bark sounded over the hill and the BEST DOG EVER ran out to you, ears flapping in the wind, tongue out as it always was. The little boots. The collar. It was Dogpool.

You threw off your mask and picked her up, cuddling her close. 'She's coming with us.'

'No she's not!' he argued.

'Yes, she is!'

'No!'

You pulled out your puppy dog eyes and lifted the dog to your face and slowly the resolve in his face slipped.

'Sorry!' another man ran out, chasing after the dog.

'Fucking shit bag!' you cursed.

It was another dead pool, a good-looking one with long hair.

'What's Ryan Reynolds actually doing here, I thought I replaced him?' you said.

'In here everyone calls me Nicepool.'

'Can we have your dog?' you asked immediately.

He laughed. 'over my dead body!'

You nod, thinking about it but Logan holds out his arm before you can even move.

Whatever Nicepool was saying was you didn't care as you cooed and hugged the dog closer and Logan watched.

Fuck, he was paying attention to you.

'Why are you so nice?' you asked eventually.

'It costs nothing to be kind,' he said.

'Shutting the fuck up is also free,' said Logan.

You bite your lip in his direction. 'God I am so attracted to you right now. This is Logan, he's usually shirtless but he's let himself go since the divorce.'

Finally, the Nicepool took you to his ride to get you and Logan and the dog to the borderlands.

It was a honda fucking odyssey.

Logan wasn't willing to listen to your complaints. 'Get in the fucking car.'

'Make me, Daddy,' you said.

He took one step closer to you and you backed away with the dog. 'No, we're running away!'

Logan forced her from your arms and handed him back to the Nicepool.

'The corn was to dense girl!' you called after her, pouting.

Logan shoves you into the passenger seat while he takes the wheel.

You pull of your mask, hair falling around you like you were in an advert. 'So, what shall we do to pass the time...'

Honda Odyssey coming soon, that my friends, is called edging.

[strangererotica]

EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI

Steve Harrington x Reader • Includes oral (f receiving) unprotected p in v sex • Utter fucking filth :) Wrote this because I’m so goddamn tired of Summer/the heat, and Steve Harrington raw dogging me on a cool kitchen floor would make it all better… 😆

Tagging @thosefuzzywordfeelings 💕

Steve nestles his cheek against your inner thigh. Sweat slicks your skin and his; it’s mid Summer, hot as fuck. Every room in the house is miserably hot, except for the kitchen, with its cold, tiled floor. It’s so hot that going out didn’t sound fun at all when you and Steve were deciding what to do with your evening. But fucking around on the kitchen floor in nothing but your underwear? That seemed like a perfect way to spend the night…

The cold, smooth tile feels refreshing against your back. You hum softly, stroking Steve’s hair as he rests against your thigh. He’s watching the sweat drip down your skin, the way it catches in the curve where your pussy meets your thigh.

He feels himself getting hard, but Steve decides that can wait. For now, all he wants to do is rest here, watching your pussy glisten in the heat of the afternoon, your scent stronger than ever and so close to his tongue he can practically taste you.

Steve’s tempted to bury his face in your cunt right now, but he holds back, drawing out the moment, building the tension in both your bodies. He blows a cool stream of air against your lips, watching them pucker in response. The air carries your scent back to Steve and he closes his eyes, savoring you.

His self control is faltering; he won’t be able to resist tasting you much longer. As if teasing him for his lack of restraint, you playfully wiggle your cunt in Steve’s face. If you can smell yourself, you know he can. And you know it’s making him crazy.

He gives your other thigh a playful swat, his big paw of a hand putting you in your place: “patience, honey-wanna take my time down here-,” he chides. His hands on you always get you riled up; you like it when Steve uses a little force. You roll your hips again, curving your pussy into Steve’s face, bumping the tip of his nose. His heart practically stops; you’re fucking destroying him. He’s so hard it hurts, the scent of you filling his nose and painting his lungs, a slippery string of your arousal clinging from the end of his nose to your cunt.

He can’t wipe it away, can’t bring himself to, no matter how long he’s trying to wait, trying to stretch this moment. He’d make it last forever, if he could. If Steve had to choose a place to die, it would be right here, in the soft bed of your thighs, surrounded by your most intimate scent, the warmth of your skin against his cheek.

He spanks you again, your pussy this time instead of your thigh. You gasp, a little giggle squeaking out of you at the same time. Your lips flutter in the wake of Steve’s palm, a soft vibration humming through your lower body, electric and warm. Steve’s teeth catch the supple flesh on your inner thigh; he nuzzles his nose into the bite marks he leaves, spreading the string of slick over your skin. His tongue accidentally catches it, rendering Steve defenseless. As the creamy musk of you sinks over his tastebuds, he loses all willpower and restraint.

Steve slides his hands under your ass, tugging you forward so your cunt is pressed against his lips and nose. You choke back a sob as Steve eats you, wet smacking sounds coming from where he’s sucking your juices, his head bobbing as he ruts between your thighs.

Steve’s groaning as loud as you are, filthy, shameless sounds of absolute gluttony, gulping at your release like it’s the only thing that can sustain him. The salt of your sweat mixed with the musk of your cunt is driving him beyond the point of being turned on; Steve’s coming in his boxers before he even realizes it. His hips start bucking as a wet patch of semen darkens the cotton over his crotch.

You watch Steve’s boxers fill up with cum, knowing that your cunt in his mouth is the reason he came without even being touched. It’s so fucking hot, such an ego trip for you, that you feel a surge of confidence and want to dominate Steve even more. You take a handful of his hair and hold him in place, swing a leg over his shoulder till he’s laying flat, with you straddling his face. Steve’s hands immediately find your ass again, groping the plump mounds of fat where your thighs and ass meet (his favorite place in the world) and he’s sucking your lips between his, while you grind your clit against the bridge of his nose.

You extend a hand behind you and place it on Steve’s crotch, feeling the gooey wet patch of semen spread inside his boxers. As you continue to hump Steve’s face, you bring your fingertips to your lips and suck his cum off of them. He watches you spread his semen on your tongue, the way you extend the soft pink pad and let him see, before swallowing it. Steve swears he could come again, just from watching you act like this. Something about the heat has turned you both into animals, acting on your most carnal desires.

Arousal pools in the contours of your body, trickling down your ass to the tile floor. Steve’s tongue finds every drop, pressing his hands against the backs of your thighs, bending your knees into your chest as he eats you. Your pussy is on fire, a beautiful burn that radiates to your center, a twisting spasm that catches you by surprise and unwinds through your body in waves. Your knees seize inward, fingers clutching onto Steve’s hair to keep yourself grounded. Your pussy trembles in his mouth, slippery cum spilling between his lips.

The puddle under your ass squelches as you twist on the floor, slathering the cold tile with your cum. Steve is hard again, his stiff cock dragging across your stomach as he crawls over your body. His mouth finds yours in a deep, wet kiss that’s all tongue and tastes like your pussy. He flips you over, one hand on your shoulder and the other gripping your hair, locking your body between his thighs as he mounts you.

You’re folded into a mating press, your breasts squished to your knees, Steve’s big hands cupping your ass as he sinks inside you. Your cunt swallows Steve whole in one slow, deep thrust. He growls inside your mouth, an open kiss connecting your lips, sweat dripping from the ends of his hair. You clutch at his shoulders, your fingers pressing into the contours of the firm muscles along Steve’s upper back. He rests his forehead against the puffy swell of your breasts squished together, rocking his full weight into yours, pinning you to the floor like conquered prey.

The sound of Steve’s heavy balls slapping your ass is deliciously sinful, a wet, thick sound that reminds you both how much cum he still has left to give you. Steve moves his hands up your body till his palms are pressed against the floor beside your head. You feel him tense, watch the muscles in his chest contract, hear the pretty, desperate grunts Steve makes as he begins to come. You seize on his moment of weakness, throwing all your strength into flipping Steve over. He’s on his back now, with you bouncing on his cock and absolutely ruining Steve in the most glorious way possible.

You drink in the subtle beauty of Steve’s features, each of them like brushstrokes made by an artist’s hand. His eyelids are heavy, half-concealing sleepy hazel eyes, his forehead wet with sweat and lined with concentration. The tip of his strong nose glistens with your sex still coating it, dripping down to pouty, kiss-bitten lips, rosy pink and slack as he surrenders fully to your control.

Closing your hand lightly over Steve’s throat, you slam your hips down against his, forcing his cock as deep inside you as possible. Steve moans, eyes lolling closed as he reaches to pull your lips to his. Whimpering as he empties himself inside you, a thick load of cum deposits against your cervix. You squeeze your pelvic muscles around Steve’s cock as tightly as you can, milking him. His body goes soft beneath you, all the tension draining from Steve’s muscles as the last of his cum drains into your pussy. You lift yourself off of Steve’s cock, watching between your legs as it lands thick and wet against his stomach. He tugs you into his arms, breathless and grinning, dotting your face with kisses and filling your ears with sweet, soft assurances of love…

[noorpersona]

Rivalry: Kyotani (Mad Dog) Pt. 2

You woke up sore.

Not gym-sore. Not pushups-and-core-sprints sore.

The kind of sore that settled low in your spine and bloomed through your hips when you shifted your legs. The kind that lingered in the shape of hands and teeth. It crept under your skin and curled behind your ribs—an aching reminder of where and how Kyotani had touched you. Held you. Bit you.

You groaned and dropped back into your pillow, eyes unfocused as you stared up at the cracked line in the ceiling paint. It stared back at you like it was judging your life choices.

"Stupid," you muttered to yourself, dragging a hand over your face.

Your limbs felt too heavy to move. You were already late. But your body didn’t want to cooperate, still humming with the echoes of last night’s chaos.

Eventually, you peeled yourself out of bed. Showered. Changed. Each movement felt a little too deliberate, like you had to stay ahead of your own thoughts.

You pulled your shirt collar higher, fingers twitching before you even looked in the mirror.

And then—you did.

You froze.

A bruise bloomed at the junction of your neck and shoulder, dark and stark against your skin. The teeth marks were faint, but visible. Centered. Unmistakable.

A perfect goddamn bite.

Your stomach twisted.

Because it wasn’t just the mark. It was what it reminded you of—his mouth on your skin, his breath ragged in your ear, the way he’d grabbed you like he was trying to burn you into his hands. It hadn’t been careful. It hadn’t been slow.

It had been savage.

And the worst part? Your body had loved it. You’d clung to him, gasped for him, arched into every bruising touch like your nerves were wired to his. The memory alone made your thighs clench involuntarily, heat crawling up your neck.

You slapped a hand over the mark and hissed through your teeth. "You idiot."

The mirror did not argue.

You grabbed your concealer, foundation, every desperate cover-up product in reach, and went to work like a soldier patching over a bullet wound. You could still feel the phantom sting of his teeth, the way his mouth had lingered like he wanted you to deal with this exact problem.

Eventually, it looked passable. Barely. You tugged your collar higher and gave yourself one last look.

No one would notice. Probably.

Still, your heart kicked like a rabbit as you walked through the gym doors.

And there he was.

Kyotani stood across the court, towel slung over his shoulder, tapping a volleyball lightly against the polished floor. Each dull thud echoed in your chest.

He wasn’t hunched forward in his usual aggressive stance. His jaw wasn’t clenched. No restless, agitated pacing. Just stillness.

Then he looked up.

Your eyes met—just for a second.

And just as fast, he looked away.

Something in your chest pinched. The kind of hollow, bitter squeeze that felt personal, even if it wasn’t.

You didn’t know what you were expecting. Maybe a smirk. Maybe the tiniest trace of recognition. Anything that said, "Yeah, that happened."

But you got nothing.

Like the night before hadn’t happened at all.

And it was worse than if he’d started a fight.

You hated how your chest tightened, how your mouth went dry. You hated that you noticed his silence more than you would’ve noticed his anger. That it made you wonder if last night meant anything to him—or if it was just a release. A mistake. Something forgettable.

The same heat that had curled your toes now burned in your throat. You straightened your shoulders, swallowed it down, and dropped your bag beside the bench a little harder than necessary.

Practice started. And quickly, the team started noticing.

“Are we just gonna ignore how weirdly civil it is in here?” Hanamaki asked during serve-receive, his voice low but clearly audible.

“They haven’t fought once,” Matsukawa muttered. “I feel like I’m watching two ghosts play volleyball.”

“They both seem... recharged,” Watari said, frowning slightly. “Kinda creepy.”

Yahaba’s eyes narrowed. “They haven’t looked at each other. Not even once.”

Oikawa stood with his arms crossed, tracking you like you were a new kind of puzzle. “I don’t like it. It’s too quiet. They're never this quiet. Something’s off.”

“I mean, she’s not yelling, and Kyotani hasn’t body-checked anyone yet,” Kindaichi added, confused and anxious in equal parts.

Even Kunimi glanced up from tying his shoe. “Honestly? It’s unnerving.”

Hanamaki squinted toward you. “Think they’re sick?”

“Maybe they killed each other and these are just really convincing doubles,” Matsukawa deadpanned.

“I don’t know,” Yahaba said, folding his arms. “But I’m watching them.”

“Everyone focus!” you snapped suddenly, voice sharp as a whip. “If we lose this next drill, you're all running sucides.”

The group jumped and quickly scattered back to formation. Watari coughed quietly into his sleeve.

“Yup,” Hanamaki said under his breath. “Still her.”

You tried to keep your focus on drills. On breathing. On not thinking about Kyotani.

Sweat clung to your skin like a second layer—salty, sticky, and clinging to the nape of your neck beneath your shirt collar. The gym buzzed with post-practice static: sneakers squeaking against the floor, stray balls bouncing lazily, the scuff of shuffling feet and the low hum of water bottles cracking open. It was the kind of tired silence that only followed chaos barely held together.

You dragged your towel down your face, the rough fabric scraping over overheated skin, when Iwaizumi’s shadow blocked the glare of the overhead lights.

“How’d it go last night?” he asked casually, voice even, but his eyes were razor sharp.

Your hand stuttered halfway through wiping your neck.

A flash—hands in your hair, breath caught in your throat, the weight of Kyotani’s body pinning yours to the mat—

You forced a swallow. “It went fine.”

A beat passed. Then Hanamaki’s voice cut through from behind. “You sure? That’s not what your aura’s saying.”

You didn’t turn, just rolled your eyes. “My aura is exhausted. Leave it alone.”

You reached for your water bottle, hoping the conversation would die there—but no such luck.

“Wait…” Matsukawa leaned in, eyebrows raised so high they nearly disappeared into his hairline. “Is that something on your neck?”

Your spine stiffened. “Nothing,” you said too fast, stepping back so hard you nearly tripped over the bench.

But it was too late.

Hanamaki gasped, clapping a hand over his mouth like he’d just witnessed a public proposal. “Oh my god. That’s a hickey.”

“It’s not a hickey,” you snapped, tugging your collar up like it might suddenly grow an extra two inches.

Watari leaned in dramatically, squinting like he was a jeweler inspecting a diamond. “No, that’s absolutely a hickey. High definition. Textbook.”

“I told you it’s not!”

“Maybe she tripped and fell mouth-first into a curling iron,” Yahaba deadpanned. “One with teeth.”

“Damn,” Kindaichi whispered, wide-eyed. “That’s kinda intense.”

Kunimi, who hadn’t spoken all practice, blinked at you and said, “Whoever it was, they had something to say.”

“Oh my god,” Hanamaki wailed. “It’s a scandal. A full-blown, gym-wide scandal.”

Matsukawa nodded solemnly. “We should hold a press conference.”

“Get away from me!” you barked, slapping at their hands as they closed in like a pack of cackling vultures.

And then, the final nail in your emotional coffin—

Oikawa swept dramatically into the circle like he was walking a red carpet, expression grave. “Perhaps... Kyotani finally snapped. And bit her in a passionate frenzy.”

You froze.

Every muscle in your body went taut.

Across the court, Kyotani looked up.

The pause was deadly.

Then, without missing a beat, he said flatly, “Like I’d ever touch her with a ten-foot pole.”

The court exploded.

Hanamaki collapsed onto the floor dramatically. “THANK YOU! All is right in the world again!”

“Balance has been restored!” Matsukawa echoed like a town crier.

Watari let out a long breath. “I was starting to worry. This—this I can process.”

“Damn,” Yahaba muttered. “They had me for a second.”

“Ten-foot pole is crazy,” Kindaichi mumbled, wheezing.

Kunimi shook his head, tone as dry as dust. “Takes commitment to be that mean, honestly.”

And Oikawa—arms folded, grinning like a cat with cream—sighed dramatically. “Ah. Love. So volatile. So stupid.”

Your eyes snapped to Kyotani like daggers, and before you could stop yourself, you hissed, “You wish, you rabid dog."

“Can we bottle this?” Matsukawa asked. “Sell it to Netflix?”

“Back to hating each other like normal,” Watari nodded approvingly. “I feel safe again.”

But just as quickly as they’d lost it, the team moved on.

Oikawa checked the clock, dramatically clutching his chest. “Well, we’ve got three minutes before the bell, and some of us don’t have time for your tragic lovers’ quarrel.”

You growled. “Say one more thing and I will rearrange your teeth.”

“Violence,” he said, finger to chin. “My love language.”

“Go to class,” Iwaizumi barked.

Like a switch had flipped, the team scattered, grabbing bags and water bottles and heading for the locker rooms like nothing happened.

You clenched your jaw so hard it clicked.

Smart. It was smart. But it still stung like hell.

The moment the gym started emptying, you were on the move.

He was almost at the doors when you caught up and yanked his sleeve—hard. He didn’t resist. Not even a grunt of surprise. He let you pull him like a dog on a leash, quiet and unflinching, his footsteps falling into sync behind yours without hesitation.

There was something jarring about it—how easy he made it. No glare. No sarcastic remark. No tension in the tug of war that usually followed your interactions.

He just followed.

Like he already knew where this was going.

“Are you serious?” you growled, shoving him back into the wall. “You bit me, Kyotani. Then you stood there and acted like I disgust you?”

His eyes flicked down to your mouth, but his tone was sharp. “What did you want me to say? That I liked it?”

You scoffed. “No. I wanted you to keep your goddamn mouth shut for once.”

“You were about to fold the second someone asked,” he said, stepping into your space. “Don’t pretend like you had it under control.”

Your hand slapped his chest. “I did have it under control until you opened your big mouth.”

“You didn’t even try to lie—”

“You didn’t have to go that hard,” you hissed. “Ten-foot pole? Really?”

His jaw ticked. “I said what I had to.”

“And now I look like a desperate idiot,” you snapped, grabbing the front of his shirt. “So congratulations. You win.”

The air between you was molten. Furious. Cracked open by everything neither of you were willing to say aloud.

He grabbed your hips hard, like he was ready to lift you onto the concrete ledge behind. “You looked anything but desperate last night.”

Your breath hitched, fury blurring into heat so fast you didn’t know where one ended and the other began.

“I should slap you,” you whispered.

“Do it,” he dared.

You leaned in. He didn’t move.

You were so close your noses brushed, his breath hot against your mouth. Your fingers fisted tighter in his shirt, anchoring yourself.

You were going to do it. Kiss him. Throw all of it into that one pull.

Because the way he looked at you in that moment made it feel like nothing else mattered. Like he would’ve let you break him open and crawl inside.

And worse—you wanted to.

Your lips had just barely grazed his—

When the bell shrieked overhead.

You flinched back like you’d been hit with cold water, heart slamming so hard it hurt.

“Shit,” you breathed.

You took a shaky step back, staring at him, your skin flushed and your stomach tight.

It had been so easy. Too easy. To forget where you were. To forget what this was. If that bell hadn’t rung…

You would've done it. Right there behind the gym.

And you didn’t even know if you regretted it.

You spun around, boots scraping concrete, and turned the corner—

Only to stop dead.

Iwaizumi stood a few paces away, leaning against the wall like he’d been there for long enough to hear everything. His arms were crossed, brow furrowed in that way that said he was somewhere between judgment and fatigue.

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Your heart pounded against your ribs, still aching with heat that hadn’t gone away.

Behind you, you heard footsteps.

Kyotani rounded the corner a second later, expression unreadable. His eyes flicked to Iwaizumi. Just once. He didn’t say a word.

Then he turned and walked in the opposite direction—shoulders tense, hands shoved in his pockets, disappearing down the hall like none of it mattered.

You and Iwaizumi stood in silence.

He didn’t speak. Just raised an eyebrow. Patient. Resigned.

You let out a long, breathless sigh and dragged a hand through your hair.

“Be happy I’m not murdering him.”

Iwaizumi sighed back, scrubbing a hand over his face like he aged ten years in ten seconds. "You're gonna kill me before this semester ends."

You just sighed, before walking to the class you shared together. "I know." 

[deeranger]

Sam letting Dean suck on his breasts to calm him down when he is mad or angry is so real… It also makes perfect sense because in canon Dean misses Mary a lot and Sam is so much like their mother (save me Sam/Mary parallels save me). Dean definitely has memories of her, he probably sees her in Sam sometimes.

Oooh..... Oh. Mommy kink, anyone? 😏

"Yeah, that's it, just let me—" Dean babbles, cutting himself off with a moan when his lips close around Sam's nipple. His little brother has barely had the time to properly open his shirt, but Dean's already shoving his face in there, eager and so damn riled up that he's hyperventilating. It doesn't take many seconds before teeth graze the tender flesh either, any restraint and finesse forgotten long ago.

"Oww, s-slow down," Sam gasps, but there's a small smile tugging on his lip despite the pain. Dean whines in response, a high-pitched noise stuck in his throat as he suckles, tongue lapping greedily at the hardened nub.

"M'right here, De.... Not going anywhere," Sam adds, voice shaky, as Dean eagerly palms his other tit, strong fingers squeezing it like he'll never let go.

"Hmmm," Dean just mumbles, his hot mouth leaving smears of saliva to cool everywhere on the tanned skin. By now, he's so hard in his jeans that it looks downright painful, and Sam's no better off. There's no way either of them is going to last long. Every few seconds their hips involuntarily twitch, small stutters that they don't quite manage to conceal, but right now there's really no need to hide it. Not now, not anymore. They're too far gone for that.

"Oh, God...." Sam grunts when his big brother nips at him, only to let go of his nipple with a loud and vulgar pop. It's nothing short of pornographic, and as Dean stares up at him through dark lashes, the younger Winchester can't help a moan falling from his lips, raw and blatantly wanton. As he sits there on the edge of the motel bed, Dean looks so small between his legs, so.... Devoted. And the way he's leaning into Sam, just clinging to him like his life depends on it, it's making every fiber of him want to relieve the pressure building in his groin. But he can't. Oh, he can't.

"Please, can I just....?" Dean asks, and he sounds wrecked. Both his hands are now on Sam's tits, squeezing them together like they're actually big enough for it. Like Dean has done a million times with the bar skanks he'll pick up at night. Only, Sam's chest is firm and muscular, not at all as supple as the various C cups he usually gets his hands on. It's not the same. Oh, but it's Sam. And he's so warm and beautiful, endless planes of golden skin, smooth under his calloused fingertips. It's like he can even feel the heartbeat underneath it, just thrumming away in a strong jackrabbiting rhythm that perfectly matches his own. It's intoxicating. It's safe, it's home. And it's so much like her.

"Fuck..." Dean says, the word punching out of him in a breathless moan. As his fingers pinch and caress and squeeze, his eyes never leave Sam's face. God, he's beautiful. And he has Mary's eyes. Shit, he even has her smile.

By now there's a wet patch forming on the denim fabric of his jeans, and Dean can't help but grind himself against the side of the mattress. Sparks zap up his spine as he does, and a loud moan tumbles out of him.

"Oh, God, I n-need... I need to..." he whimpers, dark green eyes laser-focused on Sam's lips while he humps the edge of the bed.

"You can have whatever you want, De- just- take whatever you want," Sam babbles in return, hips twitching and mouth open as his brother squeezes his chest. The coil in Dean's groin tightens, the heat there flaring up in an instant by Sam's words. It's like a goddamn flip of a switch. And without hesitation, he's suddenly hauling himself off the floor and into Sam's lap knees digging into the bed on either side of him with a protesting squeal of the metal springs in the cheap mattress.

There's no more hesitation. No more second thoughts. There's simply no room for it anymore, and Dean's mouth crashes against Sam's in a wild frenzy of clacking teeth and prodding tongues. It's primal, and there's something so unique in the way Sam tastes, something that sets Dean's groin alight. He tastes like cinnamon and raspberries and coffee, like something long forgotten, like everything Dean ever missed... He tastes like friggin mother's milk.

A pitiful mewling sound spills from Dean's mouth, desperate and so, so hungry. He almost sounds like he's hurt, and he's pawing at Sam now, big hands roaming everywhere to squeeze and tug and pinch like he can't get close enough. He's almost there. Shit. He's almost there, he's so, so close but still just too far away to slip over the edge, that fire blazing in his groin and in his mind and everywhere, like he's going mad with it, like he's friggin dying from it, and his dick fucking hurts and—

"M-Mommy..." he whimpers into Sam's mouth, mind a whirl and body ablaze. He can feel Sam tense, feel the way he stiffens ever so slightly, insecure surprise making his large body go extra taut under him. But it's only for a second. Just a second, as scary and fleeting as a ghost. And then, Sam relaxes once more, delves deeper into the messy kiss with a throaty groan of his own. There's even a stuttering roll of his hips, eager and clumsy, and then they're suddenly grinding together, denim against denim. It's rough and the angle is weird, but it's everything Dean ever wanted. It's electrifying. And while they breathe each other's breath, tongues lapping and swirling and tangling, Sam whispers into his brother's mouth:

"It's okay, baby boy... I've got you."

The reaction is instant. Dean groans against Sam's lips, hips thrusting and grinding against his little brother's crotch, seeking release, touch, anything, just more, more more. The fire in his groin feels searing, like it's lapping at his spine, scalding tendrils shooting through his abdomen and spreading like wildfire. He's right at the edge, the point of no return rushing past him so fast that he's forgetting how to breathe.

"Please—" he manages to choke out, but it bleeds into a helpless moan before he can finish it. It seems that Sam knows exactly what he wants though, because suddenly a big hand drops to the bulge in Dean's pants, long fingers rubbing at him through the denim:

"Come on, baby... Let mommy take care of you," Sam whispers, low and throaty into Dean's mouth.

And that's all it takes.

With a whimper, Dean shoots hot and messy inside his jeans, hips jerking in cramp-like thrusts against Sam's hand. It's as clumsy as it is mindless, both of them writhing against each other. It's animalistic. The sounds they make easily rival the dirtiest porn flick, and Dean's mind is reeling with want and more and Mary and Sam, Sam, Sam. It's everything Dean ever wanted and everything he should never have. Oh, but it's beautiful. It's perfect. And he's finally home.

[les-pompiers118]

Last call for sin

900 words | rated Teen | Buck angst

A 1x01 coda ficlet for @911hiatus's week one prompt, "hunger." Title from All These Things That I've Done by The Killers, which is a perfect song for pilot Buck (in my humble opinion).

He managed the drive home okay—hands tight around the steering wheel, radio on too loud to keep his thoughts at bay, but he made it. He just put his mind on autopilot and drove. But now that he’s safely on his own front porch, fiddling with the keys in his jacket pocket, Buck feels like he can’t breathe. As if there’s a snake wrapped around his ribcage, squeezing.

He inhales sharply through his nose, then exhales more slowly from his mouth, talking himself through it like he’s his own patient. In… and out. There you go. You’re okay. On the far end of the porch, someone left an empty beer can in the potted geranium that’s languishing between two folding chairs. Buck keeps his eyes fixed on it, both to ground himself while he breathes and to have something—anything—to think about besides what happened yesterday.

He almost lost everything.

In… Out… In… Out…

The front door opens, startling Buck into taking a step back.

“Hey, I thought I heard you pull in,” Kyle says through the screen door. He’s wearing flannel pajama bottoms printed with puffy, cartoon Christmas trees and no shirt. “You okay, man?”

“Yeah, fine. Just didn’t get much sleep.” Buck walks over to the geranium, plucks out the beer can, and hands it to Kyle. “You guys, uh, have someone over last night?”

“Not me. Stayed up late watching a couple movies. I don’t have to work until noon.”

Buck follows Kyle inside, careful not to let the screen door slam. “Sorry if I woke you up.”

“You didn’t. Fucking car alarm next door again. I’m gonna let the air out of their tires next time, I swear to fucking God.”

“I did not hear you say that,” Buck grins, then gestures at Kyle’s pajamas. “Look at a calendar, dude. It’s January.”

“Yeah, so? My mom gave me these. They’re comfortable. Yo, I was about to make some eggs. You want some?”

“Nah, I’m good, thanks. Not hungry yet.”

Kyle gives him a thumbs-up and returns to the kitchen, and Buck goes upstairs to his room. The house is quiet at this time of day, at least on weekdays. Weekends are a different matter. Buck usually comes home to find a few friends-of-friends still hanging around for breakfast. Buck doesn’t care, as long as the mess gets cleaned up and no one has crashed in his bed.

God, he’s so damn tired. It’s not that they had a lot of calls last night; he just couldn’t seem to get his brain to switch off. Four straight hours in his bunk without the bell going off, and he wasted them listening to Chimney snore. Buck drops his gym bag on the floor and kicks off his shoes without looking to see where they land. Clothes are peeled off, replaced with sweats. Curtains get pulled closed. Autopilot. On the way to the bed, he catches his reflection in the mirror hanging over the dresser.

And then he can’t breathe again.

This is not a family.

The next time you screw up, it’ll be your last.

You’re done, kid.

In the dim light, Buck sees all the previous versions of himself staring back at him from the mirror, all with the same birthmark and blue eyes, the same nose that’s just a little too long. Twenty-six goddamn years’ worth of them—and it seems he’s no closer to figuring out how not to screw up his own life.

“I fucked up,” Buck whispers. “I fucked up again, Maddie.”

His reflection pleads with him in the mirror, begging for sympathy, but the voice in his head is brisk, sensible. Maddie’s voice.

Okay? What are you going to do about it, Evan?

He hasn’t seen her in years. It’s painful to think of her, still patching up idiots like him in the ER and then going home to her dickhead husband. At least she has one less thing to worry about with her little brother out of her hair. Buck hopes she’s okay. Maybe even happy.

It’s hard to imagine her happy.

It’s been five years since he left Hershey, hungry for something he couldn’t even name. So hungry it hurt. But now he understands what he was seeking as he was crisscrossing the country in her old Jeep: Purpose. Something he could hold up with pride. And people who gave a shit about him. He knows this because yesterday he almost threw all those things away for a couple of meaningless fucks. Jesus.

So. What is he going to do about it? The first step is obvious. Buck sits down on the edge of his bed and begins deleting every dating app off his phone. He’s done. He has to be done.

He makes the mistake of opening the last app. Four messages. Buck scans the profile pictures, his breathing picking up. God, it was an actual nightmare of a shift. That little girl dragged out of her house, bullets—actual fucking bullets—pinging off the fire engine. In two days, Buck’s going to be right back there, facing all kinds of awful shit again, having people’s lives in his hands. And then there’ll be the consequences of his screw-up to face. Bobby’s probably gonna have him scrubbing floors for a month.

Buck lets his thumb hover unsteadily over GirlOnFire94’s picture. The name feels like fate. He clicks.

One last time. He needs this.

His hands don’t stop shaking for a long time.

[ttupelohoneyy]

Darlin’

Sabine is young, scared, but smart. She gets sent to Colombia through the embassy, to help out the hospitals, and gets housed in an apartment building with other Americans. The DEA agents.

Javier Peña X f!OC

CHAPTER ONE

Sabine Puentes has been a nurse at the army base in Fort Worth, Texas for two years. Why she got sent to Colombia is beyond her...

She's strong, seen a lot of pain and death. She's worked hard and built up respect amongst her peers. But as she sits on the plane, she feels her tears welling up in her eyes. A pit in her gut. She feels like a scared little girl.

Meanwhile Javier Peña sits at his desk, chain smoking.

"Hey, did'ya know im gettin' a neighbor today?" He says, taking another drag.

Steve looks up at him with his tired eyes, "No, I hadn't heard that yet. Is it an agent?"

"No I heard hes a nurse, sent here to help out.

Used to be an army nurse."

"Mhm" Steve Murphy grunts out, "It'll be nice to have someone to patch ya up when you get home, huh?" He pauses a moment to take a drag,

"Whats his name?"

"I don't know, all it says on the door is S. Puentes-Leija."

"He was sent here by the embassy, yeah?"

"Yeah…”

"Well, we can look em up."

Steve flicked through files and files of names and faces... finally landing on Puentes-Lejia.

"Well, that man, the nurse," Steve's voice lowers,

"your, ahem, neighbor..."

Javier raises his eyebrows in anticipation

"Is a woman. A young woman. An attractive woman." Javier snatches the file from between Steves forefinger and thumb.

"Don't do it..."

"I didn't say anything."

"No but you thought something. Shes only 23 for God's sake. Leave the poor girl be."

Javier shakes his head, "Well, on that note, its time for lunch. Want anything?"

"Nah," steve sighs, "Connie packed me somethin.

Javi nods, stubs out his cigarette and walks out, with full intention of going home and making sure his new neighbor didn't need any help moving in her boxes.

The minutes turned into hours. The boxes where piled high.

“Goddamn it…” Sabine muttered to herself, “I coulda sworn I packed light.”

She starts with the kitchen, laying out a stack of pyrex mixing bowls. Next, comes the utensils, then the tea towels. She unpacks art, photos, and little “monitos” that she has collected over the years. While she was packing, back in fort worth, she decided that she couldn’t minimize her belongings to the point of not making a house her home. A harsh knock on her door inturprs her thoughts.

“Howdy, ma’am…” a handsome stranger starts. His Texas accent was comforting, already she felt not so foreign. “My name is Javier Peña, I’m your neighbor. I, uh, I work over at the embassy, and I thought I’d offer myself to uh,” his eyes trail down her legs, her shorts are in no way revealing, but nonetheless, they’re daisy dukes. “Help ya unpack your boxes. Or maybe uh, offer you any help I could give.”

She smiles while waiting for Javier to finish his run on sentence.

“Well thank you kindly, I appreciate your willingness.”

“Of course…”

After a few moment of slightly uncomfortable silence, she speaks.

“Would you like to come in?”

“Sure, I’d like that.”

He follows her into her kitchen, which is just off the entry way.

“I don’t have much to offer you yet, but i did run by the bodega down stairs. I got two beers and a bag of chips. Want one?”

“Why not? Ill take it.”

“Oh,” she says in disappointment, “got an opener? Im not sure where mine is…”

“No but I’ll do ya one better”

he brings the unopened amber bottle to his mouth, and bites off the cap, then does the same for her.

“Well, I’ll be damned. I’ve never been able to do that.” She shrugs, “ive always been worried i’d crack a tooth.”

“If your dumb enough, anything is possible.” He chuckles in response.

She squats down to sit on the floor, legs stretched out in front of her.

He follows her lead, doing the same.

“So where are you from?” He asks, as if he doesn’t already know.

“Fort Worth, Texas. Y tu?”

“Not too terribly far from you then, well, I guess nothings too terribly far when you live in Colombia. I’m from Laredo.”

“Mm I love Laredo…” she states as she takes her first swig.

So many things are going through his mind right now. First of them being, he just had that bottle rim on his mouth, and now you have it on yours. He feels childish thinking that, like a middle school boy. But he feels closer to you already.

Second one being “Who the Hell likes Laredo?” That one slipped through the corridors of his brain right out his mouth. He’s glad that was the one that slipped by.

She laughed, and it made his chest tight. Shes got a beautiful, loud and clear laugh. The kind that makes people laugh with her.

“Well it may not be picturesque. But y’all’ve got the Rio Grande. Plus, its close to the boarder.” She stops, trying to decide if it was a good idea to tell the rest of the story… she decided yes. It was a good idea.

“Some of my family lives in Laredo, so when I was younger, learning whats right and whats wrong, my cousins and I would sneak out to a lil bar called ‘Restaurante Paris’ in Nuevo Laredo. Looking back it was dangerous as hell, but it was fun.”

He smirks, listening to her story. ‘When she was young’ he thought to himself. He would give his left nut to be 23 again. He smiles dumbly, in a bit of a trance.

Her voice wakes him up, snapping into reality.

“Well, hate to put my new friend to work, but would you like to help me move the couch from downstairs? I know I can’t do it by myself.”

“Of course. That’s what I’m here for.”

She stands up, offering her hand to help Javier up too. He chuckles, she weighs probably half of what he does, but his creaky knees are screaming for him to accept the help.

“Plus,” he thought, “I’d get to touch her hand… There I go again, with the embarrassing middle schooler thoughts.”

He clasps his hand in hers, making a hollow slapping sound as she pulls him up.

She laid in bed, her thoughts racing. She tried reading a book, but the words she read barely skimmed her eyes, not quite making their way to her brain.

So much to think about- the gunshots, the music, the man across the hall, her family, the empty apartment.

She circled back to the subjects that were swimming through her brain.

“The man across the hall…” she thought again. She starts her new job on Monday, it’s Thursday. She can figure out an excuse to see him again before then. “Maybe I can make him a meal? No. That’s stupid. Well, no. It’s not. That might do.” She scrambled around her bedside table, looking for a notepad and pen.

• steak

•vinegar

• tomatoes

•salt and pepper

•onions

•garlic

•potatoes

She wanted to show that she was not only a good cook, but also a woman that travelled. Lomo Saltado was perfect for that. Sabine decided she would go to the market tomorrow and prepare. Would dropping of dinner tomorrow be too soon? Would that seem desperate? Or would it be a friendly gesture? What if he asked why she made him dinner?

She started to come up with excuses in her head.

“Oh, I just thought I could make a new friend.” No. That was desperate.

“You seem hungry.” Are you serious? That was stupid as hell.

“Im not used to making dinner for only one person, usually I cook for my whole family. So I just thought I’d bring you the rest.” Mmm, better. Remember that one.

“Just wanted to welcome you to Colombia!” No you dumb bitch, you’re the one that just moved here.

She settled on hoping he wouldn’t ask. As she fell asleep, she thought about his hand in hers when she helped him up. “That is a stupid thought.” She said to herself, “you sound like a middle schooler.”

Oh well. It made her giddy with excitement. She hadn’t felt like that in a hot second. It calmed her down to think about the hot DEA agent next door that could protect her.

She woke up to the sun coming through the blinds, horns honking, and the chatter of people walking down the street. She stretched and yawned, reaching for her list. She grabbed the pen again.

•beer

She added that just to bring a little pizzazz to the dinner. Dessert seems like too much, so she just stuck with what she had.

She took a shower, put on a some makeup and decided on a sweet little dress. Right above her knees, and flow-y.

She steps out with her big grocery bags, turning to lock her apartment.

“‘’Mornin’ neighbor.”

“Jesus!” She jumps and turns around to see Javier, standing calmly with a briefcase and mug in tow “you scared the shit out of me!”

“Sorry about that, sunshine.”

“No, it’s fine! I guess I was just daydreaming.”

They stand there, parallel to each other. Eyes locked.

“I, uh… I hope you have a good day at work!” Sabine says, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“I hope you do too. Well, not work. I mean, you don’t look like you’re going to work. So… well maybe you are. I mean, have a good day.” Javier stumbles through his sentence. “Jesus Christ man… what’s wrong with you?”

Sabine laughed a melodic laugh. He smiled in response, relieved she didn’t think he was stupid.

“Thank you. I will.”

They walked to same way, down the same stairwell, to the same gate, of the same apartment building. As she turned right toward the market and he turned left, he one last snuck glance.

“Well fuck me.” He muttered under his breath.

A pile of papers and files and names and gory, horrible photos lay on his desk. he uses his forearm to swipe it to the side to make room for his mug.

"Hows the new neighbor?" Steve says, moving his legs from resting comfortably on the desk to the floor.

"Fine, I guess. I don't know."

"Don't tell me you didn't see her."

"I mean, yeah, I saw her struggling with the boxes going up and down the stairs."

"bullshit, Peña. I know you were the fine southern gentleman you are and helped her with the boxes."

"Fine, yeah. I helped her move her couch."

"did you help her with any other kind of box too?"

"Shut up, Murphy."

"Peña!" Messina's voice rang through the room. "You were late today. you need to have this paperwork done by 4pm. Understood?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Any leads yet?"

"With all due respect ma'am, I just got here. I'll be sure to update you as the day goes."

Meanwhile, Sabine is overloaded on the bus. Three giant, full bags of groceries, a book she picked up about the local flora and fauna, and a bundle of calla lilies under her arm. Beside her sits an elderly woman, a nun. They smile at each other, it felt poetic to Sabine.

"Buenos dias." the woman said, in a shaky but kind voice.

"Buenos dias, madre." she replied.

Sabine looked out the window, crushed by what she saw.

Absolute beauty.

There were kids walking home from school, kicking rocks and giggling about boys. there was a mother, talking to her friend about the latest goings on, braiding her daughters hair tightly and uniformly while the little girl complained. There was a young man selling bananas on the corner, talking about the car that he's saving up for to this pretty girl, around his age.

It was so contrary to the violence and bloodshed she had been sent down here to help mend. All of these people had lost someone. Most of these people were scared.

Sabine had reached her stop, paid the bus driver with two small coins and proceeded to wobble her way up the stairs. once she had got inside her apartment, she took a deep breath in. It smells nice. It already was starting to smell like her.

She unpacked her groceries, and started to chop away at the potatoes, onions, tomatoes and garlic, slicing the meat and cooking it at a high heat. she fried the potatoes into papas fritas and plated it nicely in a Tupperware container, drizzling its gravy onto it. she put two beers into the big paper sack along with the two containers of food, once for dinner today, one for lunch tomorrow.

she waited until she heard his keys rattle in the lock, and then his door close behind him.

she took a deep breath and *knock knock knock* she waited for just a few seconds before Javier opened the door.

"Hi..." she says with a warm smile

"Hey..." he says back with a softness in his deep brown eyes.

"I made you dinner... and um, I made enough for lunch too, for tomorrow, if ya want.... oh! and there's a couple of beers in there too."

nothing like this had ever happened to Javier. he was dumbfounded.

"Sabine, I, wow... Thank you, you didn't have to do this."

"oh, but I wanted to, its nothing really." there was yet another silence between the two of them. "well I, um... I hope you enjoy it! and if you don't, don't tell me. it'll hurt my feelings." she says with an awkward chuckle.

"I'm sure I'll love it, thank you."

She turned to walk back into her humble abode and he stopped her quickly by saying...

"Actually, do you want to join me? you can have the second portion."

"No, I made that for you! I mean, yes, I do want to join you. No, the second portion is for you," she laughs nervously. "let me just run in really quick and grab a plate, ill be right back."

She turned and went in, leaving the door open in a rush. He stood there watching her run off into her apartment, past her kitchen into her bathroom. He then heard the sink running, followed by the toothbrush tapping the porcelain edge of the sink. She scurried back into the kitchen and plated herself dinner.

"Okay," she beamed up at him. "sorry about that." he looked her over, bottom to top, not so subtly, taking in everything he could.

She was standing before him, in all her glory. barefoot, a little blue sundress, a freckle on her left shoulder, and a strand of curly hair falling right in front of her ear.

"c'mon in, hermosa, make yourself at home."

[cryptidko]

[They both reached for the gun.]

Short story, Pressure OC, Violence CW

A small study on how Travis acts during group expeditions, and his thought process on getting the crystal :)

(Art by yours truly)

Room 99, the door in front of him would be the room with the crystal, he had been there multiple times, he either died just before or right after managing to grab it.

This time wouldn't be the same, he would not die before he could get out with the goddamn thing, not again. But he had to be smart about it, it was a group expedition he was in right now, and the one of the other 3 expendables that had come with him had managed not to die.

He was used to most of the people that came with him dying before they even got to Solace's shop, but this one was different, they had this look on their eyes, just as determinated as him to get the crystal.

They both knew that only one would be pardoned, they were not expected to survive this, luckily he had that blessing, more akin to a curse, that kept him from staying dead too long.

Yet, in that moment, the realization hit him, if he didn't get the crystal now, he would be sent back to the ones that owned him before Urbanshade did. A glint of a panic begining to flicker in his gaze when he looked at the other expendable.

The other expendable looked right back with that same panic, a silent agreement of what they'd have to do, it was life or death, freedom or torture. One didn't have the privilege of coming back like the other did, so they had to get the crystal or die trying, and they were not going to do the latter, not after getting so close.

The room was silent, only their breaths and the low bubbling noises of the ocean outside the window, but the quickening beating of their hearts was almost deafening.

So with a step back, one seemed to search for something in one of the drawers in the room, not taking his eyes off the other expendable as they stepped back as well, going towards the door with the blessed green number next to it.

The expendable found a mere mechanical pencil in the the drawer, but seeing how the other approached the door they lunged forwards with it, going for the eyes.

They froze in place before they could react correctly, falling to the floor before managing to reach the door, it slowly opened, slower than it should, or it seemed like that as the other put all his weight ontop of them.

Gritting their teeth, exclaiming through a choked gasp, they grabbed the other's arms just in time before the pencil stabbed their eye, looking at the one on top of him and trying to get him off. They kicked him where they could, landing one blow directly the stomach, earning them the satisfaction of seeing him cough up a drop or two of blood.

They quickly stood up and glanced at the sharp pencil he dropped, kicking it away from the other who wiped the blood off his mouth, standing up quickly as well.

Panicked eyes were locked into eachother, it was their lives or the Crystal, the adrenaline of how close they were getting to their heads, sharp breaths and grunts were drawn when they landed a punch straight to the other's nose, leaving him with a bloody nose.

It didn't even take a second for him to strike back, not giving them time to get to the door, dragging them away by the neck, hands clasped onto their throat, nails digging into it.

They gasped for air, so did he gritting his teeth. The kick to his stomach having landed just ontop of a wound he hadn't patched up yet, leaving a trail of blood from his mouth dripping to his chin.

He coughed again, letting go of his grasp for just a second, but enough to let the other pull his hands away once again. A faint scream beginning to be heard in the background, the lights flickered as an something else approached the scene.

Noticing this they pushed him down, kicking down onto his knee, most likely breaking it, making him scream in pain. He had to think quickly if they were to keep going, knowing they might actually get the crystal if he didn't manage to get them, grabbing and pulling them down in a desperate attempt to not let them cross the door.

They groaned and tried to kick him again to get his hands off, but in their mindless attempt to get away from his grip they hadng realized he had grabbed his flash beacon, pointing it at the other and flashing right into their eyes, they fell back, blinded with a scream putting their hands over their face with a hiss.

Using this to his advantage he powered through the broken knee, having survived through worse. He could come back, but he had to make sure they didn't. So he began to hit them in the head with the flash beacon, breaking their nose in retaliation for his broken nose, the lights began flickering again so he kept going, it didn't matter if he died but they had to.

They groaned and pushed him off, yet let out a pained scream when they felt a sharp object break through the fabric of their pants, he had stabbed their leg with the pencil they had kicked away, a quick flash of regret in their eyes when they understood the other was coming for blood now.

If they didn't get out of this they wouldnt only die, but they would die before getting the crystal, the only way to escape. But he wasn't gonna let them, he stabbed again, this time going for the hand when they tried to push him away once again.

And he stabbed and stabbed, they pushed and screamed as their yelps were joined in by the approaching angler, a low rumble shaking the room.

Eyes widened as the screaming got louder, not knowing which scream was which they scrammed towards a locker but he had grabbed them by the neck once again, pulling onto their diving gear to not let them go.

They grabbed him and actually pulled him closer attempting to disconnect the diving oxygen tank from him or to grab the bloodied flash beacon, he took this opportunity to grab one of their code breachers, smashing it onto their head and with the pencil pressing onto his tank as he did the same and grabbed their oxygen tank the angler right behind them getting closer and closer they were unknowing of what he was doing with the code breacher closer closer the ground began to shake as a beeping got loud loud loud louder louder, first strike second stike at the third strike he smiled the ground shaking it was louder than life itself the angler just about to pass through

BANG.

Both heads were blown off.

Leaving only their scattered brains on the ground.

Death was listed as environmental hazards, but when Travis somehow reappeared back at the surface, everyone knew what had transcurred.

It wasn't his first time.

[swampstew]

What's the Magic Word?

Chapter 12: Rowena the Demon

Second chapter with a soundtrack - same rules as last time, an asterisk at the beginning of a paragraph denotes a song listed below:

Arcane soundtrack: * Snakes *Dynasties & Dystopia *Second half of Guns for Hire

Killer and the crew made repairs to the ship after their battle. They had a few days of sailing before reaching another island. Using raw materials from Kid’s workshop – to his annoyance – they patched every hole. To their luck, the ship had not sustained too much damage. Killer oversaw delivering meals to Rowena who had been exiled to her room.

After three days of untouched plates, Killer knocked on the workshop door.

“Enter,” Kid snapped.

His mood had gotten progressively worse since they left the island. Killer walked in, that night’s rejected meal in his hand. He passed it to the redhead who gobbled it up and threw the plate behind him.

“What?” the surly man barked.

“The Witch hasn’t eaten a single thing. She’s just been sitting on the floor in the dark.”

“Sounds like her problem.”

Killer made a tsk sound. “She needs to eat. She probably needs to shower.”

“Deal with it.”

“Rowena is not responding. At all. She’s like a statue. I think this would probably be best handled by you.”

“I don’t want to.”

Killer tilted his head.

“Fine but you need to be there too, or I might strangle her,” he rose from the seat, stomping out and up to the Witch’s room.

Killer had fixed the door so she wasn’t exactly imprisoned anymore, but like the man had said, Rowena sat in the center of the darkened room, unmoving. Lighting a lantern, Kid found her sitting with her legs crossed, two fists touching, arms resting on her thighs. Her eyes were closed but she didn’t appear to be sleeping or awake for that matter. She was still wearing the clothes from the fight, scuffed up jeans and top were wrinkled and dusty.

Kid stood in front of her, eyeing her warily. She had not acknowledged either men’s presence in the room.

“Rowena, are you home?”

Her eyes opened and both pirates took a step back, mouths opened. They weren’t her eyes anymore.

The alluring lavender color that had first caught Kid’s eyes were replaced with midnight blue orbs. The whites of her eyes were gone too, it was all gone. Instead, the dark orbs sat in her skull as she gazed out at them. He thought he could see little specks of white floating in the color, or maybe it was just the light’s reflection.

“I decided that your punishment is over, you’re no longer restricted to this room.”

She said nothing.

“You can go eat in the mess hall.”

She didn’t even blink.

“Since you think you’re hot shit now, tomorrow you’ll go through training again and it will be vastly different from last time.”

Rowena still did not react.

“Ugh, Killer drag her to the bath house and scrub her down. Force feed her too if you have too. I’m done with this fucking game!" Kid stomped to his room, slamming the door.

Killer muttered to himself, lifting the unresponsive Witch. At least she could stand straight up independently. He dragged her off to do as instructed. He was fuming by the time he was done.

The blonde haired man barged into Kid’s room, steaming mad. “You two fucking deserve each other. She is every bit as infuriating as you are when you act like a brat,” he paced around.

Kid was too shocked to say anything, watching his friend lose his cool for the first time in ages.

“And as if having to haul her around from point A, B, and C isn’t bad enough, she doesn’t say a word. Oh no that’s not right, she did say something. As I’m washing her, I ask her what her goddamn problem is and she opens her mouth and in the weirdest fucking voice says: ‘I’m observing,’ it was creepy!” He threw his hands into his hair, pulling.

Kid grunted, running a hand through his own hair; he was also on edge after seeing Rowena that evening. “I don’t know what to do with her.”

“And what the fuck is up with her eyes?!”

“Don’t know, creeps me out too.”

“Whatever this is, I need it to stop. I cannot be dragging her around and bathing her, I have shit to do.”

Kid nodded, giving his friend the rest of the night off and exempted him from the training for the following morning. He entered Rowena’s room; she was back on the floor. Killer had left her wrapped up in towels, the floor had water pooled around her.

Looking around her room, he found the book she called Grimoire laying on her table. He ran a finger down the spine, opening the book up. He found a piece of paper stuck in between pages. The page in front of him described something called astral projection. He skimmed over the page, not quite understanding the process. He took the book with him and pulling the blanket off the bed, he covered the Witch and blew the lantern out.

𓏧 𓏲 𓏲 𓏲 𓋒 𓏲 𓏲 𓏲 𓏲 𓏧

Waking up, Kid dreaded the day ahead of him. He dropped off the Grimoire outside Killer’s room hoping he could make sense of things. Entering Rowena’s room, she was still on the floor. She looked a little differently and he realized her hair was back to its natural black color. He went through her drawers and picked out some clothes for her, dressing her. Her eyes were closed and had been the whole time; still Kid flushed as he pulled the clothes over her body.

After he finished, he picked the small Witch up and sat her on the bed. She didn’t react until he stroked her cheek and called her name. Opening them, he was distraught to see the same dark blue orbs staring blankly at him. He stared into them, hoping that the woman he knew would come back to him. When nothing happened, he sighed and closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “

Fuck, what did I do?” he whispered.

No response.

At 9 am, Kid stood at the helm waiting for Killer to join him. The Massacre Soldier came on to the deck, gripping Rowena’s arm as he pulled her out with him, spell book under his other arm. He left her on the main deck and joined his Captain, the crew crowded around her. Climbing the stairs, he stood at the bow and looked down at his crew.

Kid cleared his throat: “Four days ago, Rowena decided to save civilians instead of pillaging with us. She put up a valiant fight against me and the Marines when she helped us escape. But you all know how I feel about dumb shit like that; it has no place amongst us, even if she’s not a full-fledged member of the Kid Pirates.”

Addressing the Witch directly, “I’ve been observing your use of Haki and while you’re far from an expert, it’s become increasingly stronger. So, you’re going to show us how skilled you are. For today’s training, Rowena will face off with everyone, minus Killer, without aid of a single weapon.”

The men gasped; one cried out “Boss, are you sure about this?”

Kid was about to retort when Heat called out, “What’s wrong with her eyes?!?”

The Witch had opened them, staring blankly at the crew surrounding her.

He scowled, “She’s acting out, just kick her ass.”

“Aha. Ahahahahahaaaaa,” Rowena’s mouth was slacked open in a defiant smile, an unfamiliar, grating voice emanating from her throat, her head tilted to one side. “You don’t know who you’re dealing with. This vessel is strong, my power is stronger,” her mouth twisted in a dangerous smirk.

Kid felt his hair prickling against his skin as his body broke out in goosebumps. Killer let out a gasp and started thumbing the pages of the Grimoire; the pirates all took a step back from her, uncertainty in their faces as their Captain’s lover took several steps forward.

*She had her hands held up in a defensive position in front of her face; she lowered her body down, stretching one leg out as if she was pulling down into a split. Before her ass touched the ground, she slowly raised herself, repeating the leg stretch movement with her other leg. She did this a few times, smirking at the crew.

“What are you waiting for?! ATTACK!” Kid barked at the men, hands gripping the rail.

Running forward with raised blades, the pirates charged at Rowena. She wasted no time, dodging each attack with ease, fluidly dancing around blades as they struck down at her. She didn’t attempt a single offensive attack. She ran around as the pirates chased her, blades clashing against each other, arcing in the air, or hitting the ship. Not a single blow landed on her, she snickered as she kept dodging. She slid across the deck on her knees as she threw herself across the floor, using her feet to kick out the legs of the men around her.

The Witch kept the chase going until she got bored, then she switched tactics. Moving with agility he had yet to see from her, Kid watched with shocked eyes as she hooked her arms and legs around the pirate’s limbs, using immense strength to lift and throw them down on the deck one after another. She cartwheeled on her hands, using momentum to kick out around her; her arm strength was incredible, keeping herself upright as she knocked back his men with calculated kicks.

Clearing out a small circle, she cracked her neck. She raised her hands; her fingernails had grown into sharp points and her hands up to her forearms had turned black. As a man rushed from behind her, she let him get dangerously close; her hair shot up and struck the man, wrapping around his hand and blade, strands wrapping around his throat as she began to choke him. With a growl she used her hair to throw him across the deck, he hit the mast and crumpled to the floor.

The pirates rushed her from all sides again; using her hair, she blocked the attacks. She used her body to twist around them, once again using her movements to flip and kick them down. A pirate thrusted a katana at her, she narrowly dodged it; it sliced her cheek. Blood spilling from the wound, she licked it with her tongue.

She let out a dark chuckle, “That’s as lucky as you’ll get,” she growled at the man; her canines began growing larger, protruding from her mouth, becoming more pointed – she ran a tongue over them, smirking. Rowena threw her head back as she unleashed an animalistic, no an otherworldly roar, her hair fanned out from her face, swirling around her. One by one, the crew began falling to their knees, some passed out.

Kid narrowed his eyes, Conqueror’s Haki huh. Only three men remained; Kid jumped over the railing and landed on the main deck, becoming the fourth fighter. Wire, Heat and UK remained, blades in hands, their eyes darted between their Captain and the Witch.

“Let’s kick it up a notch, shall we?” Rowena laughed before she clutched at her head, groaning; she faltered in her step. She let out another scream, not as intense as before, and Kid swore he could hear her real voice laced in the shrieking. Sleek black horns began to grow from her scalp, curving upwards; she stopped screaming, using her fingers to touch her horns.

“What the hell are you?” Kid asked her in disbelief. Her void eyes locked on to his, he felt a shiver run through his body.

“I’m you’re worst fucking nightmare, babe,” she said in her creepy voice, licking her lips. * She charged forward at the Captain; UK intercepted her throwing his katana blade down, it struck the ground as she jumped back.

Without slowing down she jumped overhead bringing down a foot that connected with the doctor’s head as he fell to the ground. He managed to grab her foot before she could move away, and he flung her down. It was to no avail, she landed on the floor but using her arm she pushed herself up and swung her leg backwards, kicking him with both feet. He was thrown backwards and he stopped moving.

She stood up, an evil smirk on her face as she stared down the three men. Bringing a hand up, she motioned at them to charge her. Heat and Wire ran forward, thrusting blades at her as she dodged and kicked at them. She threw herself forward between the two men, using her hands she lifted her lower body up and she began rotating quickly, both her feet knocked against their bodies and blades, beating them back.

“Rowena, I don’t want to hurt you but you’re giving us no choice!” Heat yelled at her in frustration.

Laughing back, “Care less!”

Heat charged at her, she dropped to the floor and tripped him. Bouncing back up, she threw punches at Wire, he was falling back as he blocked her blows. Wire’s back was to the wall as she cornered him but he managed to strike at her, causing her to jump backwards and Heat threw his blade down. She tilted her head and shoulders back, the sword just missed connecting with her body.

She twisted her upper body around and shot her fist out, rocking a punch into Heat’s cheek, he went flying sideways. Turning back to Wire she took a running leap at him, using her feet to kick him back into the wall. He bounced off, flailing forward; Rowena threw herself to the ground, using one arm to lift her body, she kicked him in the chest once, then twice – he hit the wall again. He fumbled forward, holding his chest. Rowena did a front facing flip, using both legs she kicked him in the chest again and he flew into the wall, cracking the wood. He did not get up again.

Letting out a roar, Heat ran at her unleashing a stream of fire at her; she ducked to the ground and side stepped him. Hands behind her on the deck, she thrust her legs forward trying to kick his feet out from under him but he managed to dodge. She laid back on the floor before flinging her body upwards, coming to a stand. Roaring back at him, she did a series of cartwheel flips towards him, reaching with her legs to kick him. He ducked and dodged, throwing a barrel at her which she punched through, wood and water flew in the air.

Heat rushed forward, another stream of fire coming out of his mouth, he poised his sword concealing it beneath the fire as he thrusted forward. Rowena leapt up, twisting her body into the air horizontally she just narrowly avoided the attack; her foot came down, connecting with Heat’s jaw as he fell forward, out cold.

Kid grit his teeth as Rowena turned to face him head on, dark eyes staring coldly at him.

“And finally, the big bad Captain. You know I really should thank you; I couldn’t have gotten out here without you,” she taunted.

He was furious, rushing at her with his sword. She dodged the blade and kicked out at him, making contact with his chest; he was shocked at the pain that registered. Using her clawed hands, she swiped down at his sword arm, knocking the hilt out of his hand. He closed his hands into fists as he started swinging at her – she hopped backwards sneering at him.

She faked a lunge at him, causing him to step back. Grinning wildly she lunged forward again, using her hand on the floor to steady herself, she launched a kick at the man hitting his abs. As she twisted her body to stand in front of him, she landed blows to his chest and body. As he stumbled backwards, she used her arms on the deck to twist herself forward, kicking him further backwards.

She stood, evil smile on her face. He threw a punch out, she lifted her leg hooking his arm under her knee and threw herself backwards, surprising him as she pulled him by grabbing his coat; she threw him over her body and he landed on his back. He laid there stunned for a split second before dodging his head to the side, her foot narrowly missing his face as she struck a hole in the deck. He snarled at her.

“Whatever you did, your Witch cried and cried her little heart out. It was delicious to listen to. And then she foolishly thought she could enter my realm, without tribute without permission? The little crybaby, wailing out to her lords, begging for help,” she laughed cruelly, dragging her claws over her own face drawing blood.

“She didn’t even notice as she was lured and trapped in my labyrinth. She’s still in there running, searching for anyone to save her.”

Kid ripped his coat off, it fluttered through the air landing on the floor; he gripped the dagger he had made the Witch in his left hand.

“KID SHE’S POSSESSED – WE NEED SALT WATER!” Killer screamed from the helm.

Kid lunged at Rowena snarling at her; Rowena did the same, bowing her head forward, light reflecting off her horns as she charged. She grappled her claws on his right arm as he lifted his hand:

“REPEL!”

Her claws tore long gashes in his flesh as she was thrown; the metal in her belt was enough for Kid to knock her back. Blood flew from the gashes to her face as he watched the Witch fly through the air, face twisted in a terrifying way. They could hear her body break through the water, injured pirates ran to starboard looking into the ocean. Kid searched the water; the ripples were fading out but Rowena was nowhere to be seen.

Panic rising in his voice, “KILLER SAVE HER!”

* Dropping his gauntlets the blonde man leapt off the ship, diving under the sea. As he swam down, he searched for her. Something caught his eye, sinking below him. He kicked furiously, reaching down. Rowena was laid out, hands above her as she sank; her eyes were closed and her mouth was gaping open, small air bubbles rising. He wasn’t fast enough; she was going to drown. In his peripheral, Killer saw several large masses swimming around him.

He froze; three sea kings surrounded them. Two circled around him, one was swimming up directly below Rowena. He thought it was the end for them, but he watched in sheer shock as the sea kings didn’t attack either of them. The one below Rowena was completely white in color, it’s body stopped the Witch’s dissent as her form laid atop it’s body.

The other two were black and blue in color, they continued swimming in circles around them but they did not appear aggressive towards the two humans. Killer cautiously swam forward, and when none of them attacked him, he grabbed Rowena’s body and he kicked off the sea king, swimming as fast as he could to the surface. Looking behind him, the sea kings swam back down to the bottom.

Killer’s head broke the surface of the water as he pulled Rowena up, keeping her face above water. A dinghy was near them and he pulled them up and over into the boat. He was gasping as the small boat was pulled up to the main ship. Looking down at the Witch, Killer’s panting hitched; her claws, fangs and horns were gone but she wasn’t breathing. He rolled her over to her side and started smacking her back – she did not react.

“UK WE NEED CPR!” Killer screamed as the boat came up, he picked up the woman’s body and jumped on to the deck.

The doctor stumbled forward but Kid reached them first. He patted Rowena’s face; despair flooded his body as he realized she was freezing cold to the touch. His blood spilled on her face. UK kneeled next to the Captain, he felt for her pulse and then began pushing down on her chest in a rapid motion. He did this in quick intervals, pumping her chest trying to get her heart to restart.

“She’s still not breathing, Boss. I need you to open her mouth and blow air into her lungs. If she doesn’t get any oxygen circulating to her heart and brain, she’ll die.”

Kid’s fingers trembled as he parted Rowena’s blue lips open. Was it only a week ago that those lips had been happily kissing him as they shared countless intimate moments together, day after day? He leaned forward pinching the bridge of her nose and placing his open mouth on hers; he began filling her lungs with his air. Working with UK, the two alternated their actions until- 

Rowena began convulsing; she partially turned as she coughed up sea water, gasping. Her eyes fluttered open, and Kid could feel his heart soar as her irises were once again the lavender color he adored so much. Still coughing, UK and Killer carried her to the infirmary. Feeling weak in the knees, Kid slowly rose. The crew looked at him with fear and uncertainty.

“Everyone gets the next two nights off; I need a fucking break. See UK for your wounds when he’s done with the Witch.”

𓏧 𓏲 𓏲 𓏲 𓋒 𓏲 𓏲 𓏲 𓏲 𓏧

Killer sat at Rowena’s desk closing the Grimoire with a thud. Kid was wrapping the Witch up in some extra blankets as she slept.

“How did you figure it out?” the redhead asked, sitting on the bed.

“I almost didn’t. It wasn’t until she – er, whoever it was – called Rowena the vessel. I remembered reading a passage about guardians in the astral projection section. At first, I thought that was what it was; a guardian is supposed to keep a person’s physical body safe while they travel in the astral plan. That is a little more difficult to explain. Think of it as a dish of lasagna. Each layer is a different plane of reality, and there are infinite layers. Anyways, people who project can contract a guardian to keep their body safe; but the thing is they’re supposed to keep the body in stasis, not talking, eating or anything. I don’t think Rowena did that.”

Killer took a breath from the lengthy explanation, “Because there are so many layers, it’s hard to tell where she went; according to the book, lots of entities live in those layers. What I can assume from this is that something malicious found her empty body and took over it. It said she was lured into a maze or whatever, that must have been keeping her from getting back to her own body. I remember she said that demons are deflected by salt or sea water, which is when I shouted that to you.”

Kid leaned back, sighing, “Why did she even do that to begin with?”

“Don’t know, you should consider asking her when she wakes.”

“Yeah,” Kid looked at her.

Killer stood up and left, before closing the door he asked, “Should I be bringing both your meals directly here for now?”

Kid nodded, not looking at him. The door closed quietly. Kid waited a moment before letting out a shuddering gasp, leaning forward he gripped his bandaged arm. Digging his nails into his arm, he tried to silence himself. Peeking at her face, he was relieved she was still out. He took a few gulps of air, calming himself down.

He began re-arranging the blankets around her body, as he pulled it off her he noticed a ragged bandage on her right shoulder. As he uncovered it, he remembered the day they landed on that infernal island they had just left. She had wanted to find a tattoo shop.

Underneath the bandage was a crescent moon sitting on the peak of her shoulder. It was a ghostly blue color against her tanned skin. He could see hanging off the bottom of the crescent was a red fur coat, as if the moon was a coat stand. Little lines indicated the wind was blowing the coat, the ends flowing freely as it hung. He sunk his face into his hands as his body trembled.

Read on AO3

[waynes-multiverse]

Oh God, I loved this! I was rolling on the floor and cackling like a maniac throughout most of this 😂😂😂

🥧 Dean:

Ah yes, classic man with his "I'm fine." He'd probably still say, halfway through bleeding to death 😂

"You're not fine," you testily reply. "You're not even 'Winchester fine.' You wanna know how I know? I'm driving the damn car right now!"

Hahaha such a good point! Hard to argue with that 😆

That's because he's more of a "pour some whiskey on it," patch it up, and forget about it kinda guy.

Yup, and have Sam stich you up with tooth floss, right, big boy? 😂

You detail his history and current symptoms to the best of your ability, and you make sure to jot down certain visits to free clinics in his past that he'd probably gloss over.

While she's filling out his form, I had Ross and Joey in my head, too 😂

The doctor informs Dean that he likely has a kidney stone.

Come on, I had to...

But underneath the embarrassment, the shit, I'm getting old bit cropping back up again, and the Dean Winchester quirk of not wanting to be fussed over, not wanting to be seen as weak or ridiculous — what finally surfaces past all that is you.

Awww, yeah ❤️‍🩹 But that's such a good point! Since Dean survived the finale and nothing ever happened in that barn, he has to face his mortality in a way. The "Fuck, what happens when I'm old and wrinkly" phase 😅

The ending was so wholesome! And I imagined the reader from Midnight Espresso. She was so warm, caring, stubborn, and sassy, too. Totally gave me the same vibes! 😭💜

Beau:

Oh, Beau... Not the prostate exam 😂🫶 Btw, I loved how you switched up the different doctors for each of them! The kind of doctor fit their personalities so well too and made it even funnier 🤣

"You know what, my throat still feels weird on the left side, especially when I swallow. Feels scratchy and, uh, kinda hurts. You think I should get it looked at? What if it's laryngitis, or pneumonia, or God forbid, throat cancer. I mean, throat cancer, honey! That's nothin' to laugh at."

Aaaah, I love that you incorporated this!!! Totally sounds like something he'd do too. Probably Jenny, Denise, and Cassie heard the same thing. He went on about it for days lmao

But when it comes to one exam in particular, he's your typical male of a certain age.

Ugh, so true... Been trying to get my husband to go to one (and also been trying to get him to have a weird mole checked out for ten years. The argument: it hasn't changed in all that time, so it's probably fine 🙈😂)

"You're just teasin' the cave. You're not looking for coal."

Dead 💀🤣🤣🤣 (And on a side note: that aspect should be more featured in fics lol)

"All right, fine. I'll go," he says. "But I don't want to hear a damn peep out of you when I get back."

Oh, I'd make so many jokes when he comes back. Probably buy him donuts and other hole-shaped treats 😆

Soldier Boy:

Fuck, Alex... Ben fucking killed me! The fact that you picked a therapist was just hilariously delicious 😂

"I'm fucking crazy, is that it? That what you're trying to say?" His voice raises, notch after notch. "I don't need a goddamn shrink!"

Oh, of course his argument is the "Only crazy people see shrinks." Classic (like him) lol

It's hard not to match his volume, but you manage to stand your ground while he huffs and puffs and eventually storms out.

So true! I imagine it's hard staying level-headed with this man-child when he throws a tantrum. You almost have to talk louder to get through all of his white noise 🙈

He volleys back with empty words. "Fine, fucking leave."

*sighs* Benjamin! 🙄 But completely agree. He'd do and say all of these things – as frustrating as that is lol

"It's different now. You know that, right?" you say quietly. "If we're going to do this, you and me together, then I need you to protect us. Protect us from you."

That broke my heart a little, although it's so true 😭❤️‍🩹

("What kind of quack fucking doctor goes by his first name, anyway? Christ.")

Pffff 😂 Reminds me a little of that Rick & Morty episode where Rick refuses to go to therapy. I already feel bad for that psychiatrist 😆

He has a willing (heavily paid) audience for all of his stories from "the good old days." Every gushy detail.

Like I said – I feel bad for that poor doctor, but oh my God, he so would! He found a sounding board for all his stories 😂

Russell:

And of course Russell, much like Dean, is too "tough" for a doctor. A bullet wound you say? Nah, totally heals itself lol

"Hey, baby," he greets you tiredly, even tries to kiss you, but you're too busy running gentle hands over his arms and chest. Searching."Hmm, someone's missed me. Miss Handsy-yy-ahhh..." His playful quip dies the moment you find it.

Hahaha I fucking knew she was checking him for injuries! Would've done the same thing 😂🫶 (Also, Russell, what did you expect? Sex? In this condition????)

"Ehh, yeah, but no biggie. I've got some tools in the car—"

You need a hospital not a hardware store, you big idiot!!! God 😂🙈

Only now does he begin to realize just how fucking unfair that is.

Yes, honestly, please quit. I wouldn't be able to sleep dating that man. What if he never comes homes from a job? 😢😭💔

And I'm really curious what her punishment would've been. I'd make him eat veggies only for a month. That would break him 😂😜

These were all so wonderful and so effing funny, friend! You nail these HC every time!!! ☺️💜

HEADCANON: Doctor's Appointment

HC: How would Dean Winchester, Beau Arlen, Soldier Boy (Ben), and Russell Shaw react when you try to take him to the doctor?

Pairings: Dean x Reader || Beau x Reader || Soldier Boy x Reader || Russell x Reader

AN: This one is a request from my lovely friend @spnbabe67 over on Patreon! 💜

Tags/Warnings: Established relationship, literal man children, medical stuff, angst, mentions of PTSD, hints of spice, fluffff

Dean Winchester

"I'm fine."

Ah yes, the same two growly words you've heard for an hour already.

"You're not fine," you testily reply. "You're not even 'Winchester fine.' You wanna know how I know? I'm driving the damn car right now!"

Dean shoots you a warning look.

One, you can tell he wants to say watch it on how you talk about his Baby.

Two, he doesn't want to admit that you're right.

He shifts in his seat with his arms crossed, trying to cover up a wince. It's the only tell that he's uncomfortable, even in pain, other than the fact that you've managed to hijack his car and take him to this damn doctor's appointment.

Dean can count on one hand the number of times he's been in a doctor's office for a genuine ailment, and not just trying to fish for information while impersonating some form of law enforcement.

That's because he's more of a "pour some whiskey on it," patch it up, and forget about it kinda guy.

And if we're talking about hospital stays, then that's usually a "one step away from death's door" kind of visit.

But when you first noticed something was off with Dean (confirming with Sam on the side of your suspicions), you did your damnedest to convince the man that he should see a doctor.

You even make the appointment for him as convenient as possible, around midday, so he doesn't have the excuse of it being too early to disturb his morning, or too late to mess up his afternoon.

Dean is a grumbly grizzly bear who only rolls his eyes in the waiting room when you offer him the clipboard to fill out his medical history.

"This is stupid," he says. "It’s probably just gonna clear up in a week or so anyway."

"You don't know that," you say. And you heave a sigh. Sometimes this man requires every last ounce of your ever-thinning patience.

You reclaim the clipboard and do this part for him too, filling out his fake-ass insurance information with his fake-ass name.

You detail his history and current symptoms to the best of your ability, and you make sure to jot down certain visits to free clinics in his past that he'd probably gloss over.

When the nurse opens the door and calls him back to see the doctor, Dean still glances over at you, mostly annoyed. But underneath, you sense his hesitation.

You slip your hand into his and get up with him. You grace a kiss over his knuckles — a moment of solidarity — and you go with him to one of the back rooms.

You later have to bite your lip against the vindicated urge to say I told you so.

The doctor informs Dean that he likely has a kidney stone.

If possible, Dean is even more sour the whole car ride home. He's convinced all the vegetables you've been trying to get him to eat are the culprit.

"This is what I get for eating fucking rabbit food," he grumbles. He levies a finger at you. "See? I told you. Nothing good comes of it."

"Right," you snort. "Zucchini is what's got you're, uh, pipe all blocked up."

But seeing the disgruntled look on his face, you remember just how much pain he's been trying to cover up for the past week. How many times you've found him hunched in the bathroom, dreading a piss.

You reach over and try to soothe him, gently stroking his thigh.

"It's okay, baby. We'll get the official test results soon. In the meantime, just keep drinking lots of water and get some actual rest."

"Whatever," he mutters.

But underneath the embarrassment, the shit, I'm getting old bit cropping back up again, and the Dean Winchester quirk of not wanting to be fussed over, not wanting to be seen as weak or ridiculous — what finally surfaces past all that is you.

Specifically, how much you push him to take care of himself.

Besides Sam, you're the only one who manages to keep him in check, the only one who cares that much, that you'd literally try to steal his car.

Yeah, I love you tends to cut through pretty much all the other bullshit.

Dean might not always express it words, but he does it now, taking your hand off his lap and pressing a kiss to your wrist, right over your pulse point.

You briefly take your eyes off the road to glance over at him, smiling. He's going to be out of commission for a while until this little problem clears up, in more ways than one.

The great Dean Winchester.

Beats Death itself, too many times to count.

Felled by pebble in his...well...proverbial shoe.

You try to hide your amusement, if not your affection. You bite your lip hard.

"Shut up," he warns, even though his lips twitch upward.

Your snort of laughter escapes before you can reign it in.

Beau Arlen

Beau is resistant at first, but he's probably the easiest to wrangle into seeing the doctor, whether it's yearly checkups or a man flu gotten out of control.

("You know what, my throat still feels weird on the left side, especially when I swallow. Feels scratchy and, uh, kinda hurts. You think I should get it looked at? What if it's laryngitis, or pneumonia, or God forbid, throat cancer. I mean, throat cancer, honey! That's nothin' to laugh at.")

You wish he'd have that "proactive" mentality with other areas of his health too, like not overworking himself at the precinct.

But when it comes to one exam in particular, he's your typical male of a certain age.

No matter how many times you remind him and write down the appointment on the calendar stuck to the fridge so he doesn't forget, he conjures some excuse for why he couldn't make it.

At first it's begrudgingly amusing, but by the third time, you're concerned, and even annoyed that he isn't taking his health more seriously.

"Look, I know it's not exactly pleasant, but this stuff is important. You gotta take care of yourself," you say.

You know you don't have to remind him that he has a daughter, but you will pull that card if you have to.

"Yeah, I know. It's just, uh..." Beau trails off, hands on his hips. He doesn't know what to tell you to make you understand how much he'd rather not go to this appointment.

"It's just a prostate exam, babe. I'll bet it's not half as invasive as a pap smear," you say wryly.

Beau shakes his head at you. "That very well may be, but believe you me, no man wants a latex finger up his..."

You raise your brows and tilt your head with a smile. "Well, you know. Some guys actually—"

Beau waves a hand at whatever you were going to say next.

"You know what, forget I said anything. I'd rather just live my life not knowing what's down there. Really, I'm good."

You utter a laugh, but you sidle up to him and grasp the open edges of his jacket. You turn your face up to him with a more sensuous smile.

"You don't mind when I do it," you tease.

Beau actually blushes. His cheeks and the tips of his ears tinge pink.

He clears his throat, his hands settling on the curve of your waist.

"Well, that's different," he says. His voice pitches lower, his green eyes taking on a slight mischievous gleam. "You're just teasin' the cave. You're not looking for coal."

Laughter bursts out of you like a gut punch. Your forehead falls against his chest as your entire body shakes with giggles.

Beau wraps you up in his arms. He tries and fails to temper his grin, even though his cheeks are still burning.

"All right, fine. I'll go," he says. "But I don't want to hear a damn peep out of you when I get back."

Soldier Boy (Ben)

(Oh, good fucking luck on this one.)

Ben rarely, if ever, gets sick. Of course, he's also nearly invulnerable.

However, you've been trying to get him to see a different kind of medical professional.

"Excuse me?" he growls. The first time you suggest it, he dismissed the idea with a roll of his eyes, thinking you were just trying to get a rise out of him. He doesn't appreciate you bringing it up again. "You better be fucking kidding."

"Ben..." You try to ply him with a gentle hand on his arm, but he shrugs you off, too irritated to curb the impulse.

"I'm fucking crazy, is that it? That what you're trying to say?" His voice raises, notch after notch. "I don't need a goddamn shrink!"

"I didn't say you were crazy!" you say. It's hard not to match his volume, but you manage to stand your ground while he huffs and puffs and eventually storms out.

You get discouraged and frustrated yourself, but you cling to every scrap of patience you can muster up for this man.

It's gonna take a few tries.

You start to suggest that maybe he should start easing up on the weed and the booze too.

Any time he snaps at you, you remind him that for as much shit as you've put up with him so far, this is the kind of shit that'll send you packing. Leaving his ass. For good.

He volleys back with empty words. "Fine, fucking leave."

You know they're empty, because every time you've called his bluff and packed a bag, he stops you.

"All right, enough. You've proved your fucking point."

After that, he tries to cut back on the booze, at least. He watches you pour out the Grey Goose and the Patrón.

Fucking fine by him. He's lost the taste for vodka, let alone that frilly French shit, and the cheap tequila.

But choking off the vein of one vice just makes another twice as strong.

Ultimately, it doesn't fix the problem either.

There's the time Ben blows a hole in the roof of your house (after a nightmare, he refuses to admit).

And there's a second time too. A third close call, and Ben pushes you clean off the bed so you won't get hurt.

If that didn't do it, he finally gets the picture after the second pink line appears on that white stick.

It now lies on your nightstand while you and Ben lay tangled together, bare skin against bare, flushed, sweaty skin.

A celebration, if you will.

His big hand lies splayed over your belly, protective, possessive, and deep down...grateful.

You glance up at the patched ceiling. Ben follows your gaze. His contentment fades into a frown, just like yours.

Both of you are thinking the same thing, if in different flavors of concern. Anxiety. (Guilt.)

"It's different now. You know that, right?" you say quietly. "If we're going to do this, you and me together, then I need you to protect us. Protect us from you."

At this point, you know he won't see a psychiatrist for his PTSD; not if it's to help himself (God forbid he admit that he needs it).

But if it's to protect you and your child, his own child...

Ben swallows a few acidic ounces of his pride.

Despite every cell in body that fights against it, he gets in his car the very next day and shows up for the appointment you made for him with Dr. David.

("What kind of quack fucking doctor goes by his first name, anyway? Christ.")

After the first couple of painfully awkward sessions, it's not so bad, Ben discovers.

He has a willing (heavily paid) audience for all of his stories from "the good old days."

Every gushy detail.

Russell Shaw

Russell is always quick to give reassurances, to downplay, to tell you that he's good.

But the day he comes home from a job with his bag hanging from his fingertips, almost dragging on the floor, his movements stiff as a rail — your heart sinks into your stomach.

"Hey, baby," he greets you tiredly, even tries to kiss you, but you're too busy running gentle hands over his arms and chest. Searching.

"Hmm, someone's missed me. Miss Handsy-yy-ahhh..." His playful quip dies the moment you find it.

Under his jacket lies the shoddy patch job on the bullet wound in his arm, located a few inches below the shoulder, just barely hidden by his sleeve.

"What the fuck is this?" you snap, half in anger, half in worry as tears spring hot in your eyes.

Russell immediately goes into damage control, soothing a hand down your arm and meeting your gaze.

"Hey, I'm okay. It's just a graze."

"Yeah fucking right. You're still bleeding!"

"Ehh, yeah, but no biggie. I've got some tools in the car—"

"No! We're going to the hospital."

"Sweetheart—"

"Right now! Let's go."

The man doesn't have the heart to argue with you too much after that. He knows he should've taken proper care of this before he got home. He really just wanted to, well, get home. To you.

But he regrets scaring you. He regrets making you worry.

He brushes the tears from your eyes and is grateful you don't ask what happened. He can't really tell you, even if he wanted to. His contract work with Horizon keeps his lips sealed for your safety, above all other reasons.

Only now does he begin to realize just how fucking unfair that is.

It really hits him when you sit with him for an hour and a half in the Emergency Department, waiting after the guy who fell off his moped, a kid with a little green army man stuck up his nose ("Hey, retro," Russell whispers to you), and a lady who can't seem to stop hiccuping.

Russell takes in a deep breath. He leans over to your ear.

"You know, we could just fix this up at home. A little needle and thread and some alcohol. Perfect First Aid kit," he says.

You narrow your gaze at him. "We're waiting to see a doctor. And don't think I'm done with you. When we get home, prepare to get punished."

A little smirk tugs at his lips. He brushes said lips across the back of your ear. "What am I, a little kid?"

You smile slightly as well.

"Well, if you're not going to tell me when you're hurt and try to cover it up like a little kid, that's how I'm gonna treat you."

Russell chuckles. His hand slips over your thigh.

"Gotta say, I'm kind of liking the sound of punishment. What'd you have in mind, sweetheart? Gonna spank me?"

And he's willing to give you more ideas.

You roll your eyes. Despite wanting to remain strong, his touch, the sensation of his lips brushing your ear sends a shiver curling down your spine.

"Oh, you just wait."

AN: lol I always have so much fun writing these. Let me know which one was your favorite this time! 💕

@waynes-multiverse You gave me another perfect little tidbit for Beau on Man Flu that made it into this one. 😂

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Dean Winchester Imagines

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Beau Arlen Masterlist

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Russell Shaw Masterlist

Main Masterlist 

Dean, Beau, Soldier Boy + Russell Tag List (Part 1)

@kazsrm67 @foxyjwls007 @luci-in-trenchcoats @lamentationsofalonelypotato

@mostlymarvelgirl @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester

@deans-spinster-witch @sanscas @hobby27 @kaleldobrev @spnwoman

@samanddeaninatrenchcoat @pieandmonsters @globetrotter28 @midnightmadwoman @chevroletdean

@lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @spnfamily-j2 @deansbbyx @chernayawidow

@mimaria420 @stoneyggirl2 @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @waywardxwords @twinkleinadiamondsky

@my-stories-vault @0ccvltism @rizlowwritessortof @cookiechipdough @mrsjenniferwinchester

@fromcaintodean @k-slla @jackles010378 @deanbrainrotwritings @alwaystiredandconfused

@mrlonelycat @deans-daydream @leigh70 @aylacavebear @kmc1989

@siampie @rubyvhs @winchestergirl2 @winchester-whiskey

[bbuunyy]

ok session debriefing w myself. i think its thematically so fun to have sara be amadeu's first kill. like hear me out, all of his friends (including his best friend at school whom he had been slowly drifting away from) abandoned him. he called for help and they all refused to come, right after they were just betrayued by somebody else. right after everybody refused to believe on him that shit was about to go wrong and then it WENT wrong. hed run away. his friend (can he still call her friend? all his friends are leaving him). wants to go back. they cant leave those two there (he can though. he can. he really can. but can he let her go on her own? to die? that he cant.) and so he comes along despite her not wanting him to tag w her. hes just a kid, she says. im not a fucking kid, he says. and then when they get there, they find a monster and they find an ally trying to attack them and they find a friend becoming a monster. their ally, some fucker they met YESTERDAY turns on them. begins attacking them. hes scared. hes so fucking scared. the monster watches him. tries to control him. hes felt this before. he tries to attack. hes got a HORRIBLE strike with getting his attacks to hit (blame my bad luck with die) so he misses over and over again. the ally wounds his friend hard. shes down on the floor, half bleeding to death. shit explodes and they get burned and still their ally wont stop. the monster flees but still the ally stays. she hits him over and over and over and over trying to bash his head in. he misses every single shot. the only way for him to wound her was to burn away half his sanity to try and cast a spell with his own blood to hit her with blood daggers and only then shes down. his head hurts. hes wounded. hes going insane. he checks on his friend, shes alive. she checks on the ally. shes still alive. dying, but alive. he could leave her there to die. hes the only one who knows how to patch up a wound. he kneels by her side. "help her", says his friend. "no", he says. "please help her". he ignores her pleas and he plunges the very same pocket knife hed asked her to carry deep in her throat, slicing it open fast, not half a thought formed, even though hes never had it in him to kill anything before. he doesnt care for her reasoning. thats another betrayer to the pile and thats what people who betray his trust get.

hes a killer in his mind, hed told himself before because he wants to believe it so hard, but hes a coward in his heart. but hes lost so much. too much. he doesnt care anymore. he never had it in him to kill. he wasnt even the one who was making up the plans for the massacre. but now its fucking personal. dont mess with his goddamn trust again. dont play with his heart.

[barbiegirldream]

My review of Hyacine's story quest 5/10

1 point for Agalea and Cipher's flashbacks. 1 point for Phainon's speech. The Aquila fight is fucking Awesome literally 3 points just for it

lost points here

Boring

Too many identical puzzles

The temperature mechanic sucks

Why is Mem doing our work WE'RE the Demigod of Time

Why would they make a foil to Aglaea and never have her meet Aglaea

BORING

We have to listen to some dumb ass animal lore in the middle of boring people lore

Anyways... gotta get through this quest to get to the other quests so obviously still play it but I genuinely recommend hitting the summary choice whenever provided.

Specific spoilers under cut

No but in all seriousness I was incredibly hyped for the titan of time stuff and am entirely let down by Mem just doing... the same shit as before. And we do nothing.

Every other heir they let be developed and fleshed out slowly. They are dumping absolutely everything about Hyacine into her release patch and it feels bad. The story is way too much to digest if it was even interesting enough to Want to digest. I genuinely have started to dislike Hyacine after all of this she has no personality beyond recite lore. She's not just a bad hsr character she's a badly made character. Pink and blue Barbabra (she literally has the same model and heals with water it's outrageously stupid) who is just here to give us lore about Aquila they didn't know how to share otherwise. And also she did Himeko's line but worse lmao. Hyacine is industry plant propaganda I will not be falling for!

The whole super famous ancestor Seliose NEVER being mentioned before now when she's shoved down our throats endlessly... give me Aglaea and Cipher lore instead. Their small portion of flashbacks mean more than literally everything Hyacine has said.

We don't know these sky people I don't care about these sky people. In fact I'm glad these yappers aren't bothering us beyond this stupid quest. And I did not skip any dialogue I tried to give it a fair run it's just so goddamn boring....

I don't enjoy the fights with the unremovable fire dot that gets worse the longer you take to clear it's not nice to people who aren't pulling Hyacine which makes we want her Less than I already did. They made us complete the exact same puzzles over and over again on different floors. Again with us not getting any buffs as titan of time in lore >:(

Phainon interests me like he's so... fake lmao I need him to peel back his damn masks.

[jadetheshifter]

EMILIA ROMAGNA GRAND PRIX .

Autodromo Enzo e Dino Ferrari

Imola, Italy

16th - 18th May 2025

Started: p3

Finished: p1

This is how my weekend in Imola went, what I wore, and how I spent the free time I had ;

15 May, THURSDAY — Media Day.

Thankfully the flight from Cannes to Imola was just a little over 2 hours, which means no jetlag, however, I was still incredibly exhausted from all the socializing I did. My social battery was completely depleted, and so I immediately crashed out the second I got into my hotel room, sleeping for almost 12 hours - hence why I was able to arrive at the paddock for media day bright and early. Lord knows I needed the recovery for all those damn questions.

I arrived to media day wearing: COS - Collar Wool Jumper in NAVY • Zara - Women's Mini Skirt • Adidas - Gazelle Indoor in Core Black • Linda Farrow - 960 C1 Angular Sunglasses • Saint Laurent - Cassandre Phone Holder with Strap • Good Girl Eau de Parfum (I usually stick to Orebella perfume since it's my fav, but a fan gifted me this and I thought I'd try it out).

Aside from greeting fans and letting Tank explore for a bit, I didn't really leave the garage. I grabbed lunch with George in the hospitality unit, had some wicked pasta, and then just went right back to Bono for some strategy talk.

On the drive back from the circuit, I had an almost three hour phone call with my mom, because I realized it had been so long since we spoke because of how busy I've been, and there was so much to tell her.

/ / /

16 May, FRIDAY — FP1 & FP2.

I started my day bright and early again, joining Carlos, Lando, and George for a little game of paddle. Turns out, George and I make a great team outside of racing too, as we did, in fact, wipe the floor with Carlos and Lando. After, we grabbed a light lunch, got bombarded by some very passionate fans whilst leaving the café, before going our separate ways to then later link up at the paddock.

I arrived for Free Practice in: Zara - denim zip-up, white tank top, black mini-skirt • Dorothy Perkins - 'Systematic' Leather Knee High Boots.

Tank was more than delighted to be around Simba and Leo again, he was completely winded later and slept through the entirety of FP1. Missed mamas crash.

On a scale of 1-10, I would rate my crash a 4; I just picked up too much dirt, and the car went spinning in the gravel patch before slamming it's body against the barriers. Was I slightly concussed ? Yes, but more so because of the whiplash than the actual crash itself. It happened so fast, but otherwise, although head hung in annoyance, I got out of the car okay.

After the session break, I grabbed a little downtime with Tank and Lewis. Lando followed me around for hours, hounding me with questions about if I'm fit to get back in the car later. It got too much, and although I greatly appreciate that he cares for me so much, I had to shake him for a bit. I hid out in Lewis' drivers room for a while, before retreating back for the beginning of FP2.

I was honestly in shock the team were able to fix the car in time, a little skeptical, because they only had a few hours, but grateful nonetheless, because FP2 went much smoother.

17 May, SATURDAY — FP3 & Qualifying.

Started with a nice run, that later turned into a sprint because Tank spotted a squirrel and bolted.

I arrived for FP3 and Qualies in: Agolde - Jeans • Jil Sander - Slingback leather pumps • Advene - Age leather bag • Le Specs - Outta Love in Cookie Tort & Smoky Mono, some graphic tee i picked up yesterday in a store, and a beaded necklace a fan gifted me at the airport.

FP3 went alright, although I was picking up some gravel in the same damn spot every time, and it heavily effected my time.

There was no chance I was going to make the same mistakes in Qualifies; although I didn't get the pace I wanted, I was happy with starting third on the grid, because there's nothing I enjoy more than fighting for first. That's goddamn racing.

After the team debrief, I grabbed some yummy pizza with Lando at a restaurant Kika recommended.

18 May, SUNDAY — Race Day.

I arrived for Race Day wearing: COS - denim shorts • The Amelie Top in Gingham • Zara - Crossbody bag with flap • Adidas - Samba OG in Cloud white • Bassana Gioielli - 9KT Yellow Gold D-Shape Flat Hoop earrings • YDE - Gold Plated Princess Coin Pendant necklace • Coach - Liz watch (yes I did swap out my watch for my Tag Heuer one when changing into my race suit, sponsors or whatever).

The 1st stint: I was juggling charging down Piastri's relentless pace whilst defending my position against a hungry Norris on my six. A few times her overtook, but I immediately claimed it back whenever I was in DRS again. The little shit was getting desperate, kissing my rear left at one point that had me shouting a warning over the radio. I fight fair, not dirty, and thankfully he got the message.

The 2nd stint: the safety car played in my favor, and I was able to pit, and then gain my position back within three laps. I found myself on Piastri's rear again, but this time I had more pace and fresher tires, so overtaking when I was within range and had DRS came easy.

The 3rd stint: Now I had a Redbull in my sights, and I went hunting. There was a significant gap between Verstappen and myself, one I was making up, but the second safety car helped a bunch. When the safety car was ending, I was idly behind Verstappen, just waiting to get the jump on him - and boy, did I. Taking the inside line, he was'nt backing down, but neither was I. I was persistent, and eventually a corner became mine, and he didn't have a choice but to let up. He's viscous, but not an idiot. From there, I picked up some lovely clean air, and built up a 10 second gap before taking the checkered flag.

I shared the podium with the two McLarens, almost got blinded by champagne by Lando, before hopping on Max's jet back to Monaco.

/ / /

[saiakv]

Patch

action prompt : accepting patch, sender patches up receiver's wounds.

Shoko's residuals were still lingering in the hollow room; like second-hand smoke sat on the ceiling. This place had come to be synonymous with her presence. Suguru could no longer count the amount of times he had sat in the infirmary the last few months if he used up all of his fingers — toes, too. Usually he would be found waiting for the resident doctor to hand him his pills, exchange a few sullen words, go for a smoke out back and have his skin pinched again before she'd make some idle comment about how he's dehydrated. Cue the empty promise to drink more water. Pointlessly, he withheld from her the methods with which he self-destructed, sunk his feet deeper in the proverbial mire. It felt good to sink. It felt good to be parched.

There was a sick comfort to be found in the home that had become of misery. Physical pain was something familiar and safe for people like them — sorcerers. And Suguru had always indulged it as an escape, in the same way Shoko did shochu on their scarce nights out and the way that Satoru kept running.

It was why he was left staring at his own chipped molar in that moment.

A deep chasm ran through the enamel, not quite breaking it in half but denting the bone irreparably. It had come flying out and clattering onto the dojo floors, beyond the mat, urging Yaga-sensei to stop the spar right then and there. It was almost comforting to be scolded again in unison; to be scolded like they were pesky children, still, when both of them had long been forced to bid farewell to their youth last summer.

In hindsight, Suguru wanted nothing to do with that goddamned tooth. In his eyes, it served as a testament of his failure — and a white flag forced upon him. His fractured arm had been easier to hide and push through, not out of egoism; but to honor their waning bond and meet his better half as an equal; even though he had fallen behind. But failing to block that single blow enforced with naught but the familiar trill of Satoru's cursed energy had sent him flying on his back and scrambling for footing on the blood-spritzed mat.

Because his guard had lowered. His trembling arms had kept drooping all throughout the spar; he hadn't been able to keep them high and sturdy, only momentarily raising them every time Satoru barked at him to fight proper or quit alltogether. Where once his force would have been the bellowing ocean crashing into the rocky shore ( and their collision, once upon a time, would have created those gargantuan waves that had the sea and all its creatures bow respectfully before the magnitude of their bond ) now their spar had resembled a mere man running into a wall repeatedly.

It would be so much easier if his best friend had truly been someone as dense and careless as others assume him to be. But when Satoru sat by his side on the examination table and carefully held the ice pack to his swollen cheek, Suguru could tell he had seen it, too. And that burn felt worse than any swelling, any pounding arteries could ever hope to inflict.

His fingers had been idly fidgeting between his legs, hunched under the weight of his own spine. A pliant head caved to the offered help, tilting slightly to let the icy sting overpower the lingering sear of Shoko's technique. Conveniently, unruly tufts of black would hide the nuances of shame in his hollow expression. A small hum escaped when Satoru's cold fingers wrapped around his chin to tilt the freshly regenerated jawbone into place and his lips curled into a melancholic smile.

❝ It's fine. It's already gone. ❞ He said, not looking at him directly. On the wake of a feint bickering session over whether Satoru owes him ramen in compensation for the lost tooth, the awkward silence had grown heavy on them both. Through the openings in his bangs, Suguru could note those subtle telltale signs that he wasn't the only distressed person in the room; one hand calmly rested atop Satoru's bouncing knee. The other reached up, gently prying his wrist to lower the ice pack.

❝ Shoko is meeting the first years at the Craft Beer Factory. There's an open-mic night and Haibara has written a comedy skit to perform. I think you should go. ❞ His head cants, a knowing glare coming to silence the expected protest. ❝ It's been three weeks since you had a day off. I don't feel right about you spending it here. ❞

[boozeforblues]

Your Memory Will Always Be A Nightmare To Me And I’ll Forever Beg For Sleep

It's a dedication to standoffishness with every breath She exudes indifference, and emotion is the harbinger of death Perpetual vigilance to keep that wall intact She said "my middle name is Marie, in fact" All I could think was that it didn't sound very French She's a one man team and the other starters flood the bench An NBA highlight reel, but everyone is missing The ground beneath her feet still aches for kissing Like a dish from the oven, she's much too hot to hold And I've the callouses to prove it, from fingertips to arm folds And right over the cuckoo's nest I've flown A paradox with a pulse, it's a love I hate to own It's a double edged sword and neither side is pleasant Around here, the queen never fraternizes with peasants My moment was brief but memorable Funny how we both agreed a quick death would be preferable We were almost exactly the same, and I'm still developing your traits And every day's a new disaster, perpetual dire straits Before I met you, I could never imagine working this hard To push someone away, now it's second nature to pull that card So much for walking around the block, your feet must be killing you I'm patching holes in walls, emotions spilling through Dusty hearts littering the lost and found No more, I'll burn it to the goddamn ground Before I give an inch, scorched earth is the new mantra Be careful with those vices, they'll forever haunt ya Memories jabbing at my soul with the sharpest intent Every source of capital has long been spent I'm the poorest man I know, making mistakes I can't afford Every lost game has been recorded and scored My jersey is hanging from the rafters of your heart Never uttered a goodbye but you sure knew how to depart It's hard to put a finger on the ultimate source of misery Even harder to conjure up a sense of chivalry When etiquette left me the same time you did And this pen is out of ink like a forlorn squid Roaming the ocean floor for the scraps that once saw sunlight Fighting gravity and depression to keep myself upright It's a losing battle that society says I must wage An old soul who just can't act his age Metaphorically dead since before my third decade Forever on a subdued and silent tirade Against the inequities of modern life and all it entails I'm just a ship whose wind was stolen from sails And I've only got myself to blame, forced accountability is my curse I'm off to create fresh wounds to nurse Self harm has developed a certain charm It's left its marks up and down my tired arms Hindsight is just choice words for poor decisions I'd say our history could use a few revisions…

[queennicoleinboots]

Hatari 2024

(sequel to "Patches' Nightmare")

Garfield, Kissy, Nugget, Patches, and Peter greeted me as Kurt ushered me away from Queen Megen Ace, King Bruce Ace's wife, not the Queen Megen that was going to appear in the future and take over the catering operation. Garfield, Patches, and Kissy meowed a few times. Nugget barked several times.

"What the fuck do these cats want?!" King Dark Chocolate Blueberry Gummy Bear screamed. "What does that dog want?!"

"God only knows-" Lindsay started to say.

Someone called King Dark Chocolate Blueberry Gummy Bear's number. He picked up the phone. "Hello?!"

"Is this King Simmons?" some goofy man asked slowly. He sounded like a country version of Scooby Doo.

"No. You have the wrong number," King Dark Chocolate Blueberry Gummy Bear said flatly as he stared straight ahead.

"Are you sure? I'm looking for KING SIMMONS," the country Scooby Doo repeated.

"Yes I'm sure! Get yo country ass off my fuckin' phone!" King Dark Chocolate Blueberry Gummy Bear shouted before he turned his phone into a chocolate bar. He ate that chocolate bar.

Garfield and Kissy meowed a few times. Nugget barked several times. Patches meowed a long meow.

"I fed them! I gave them water! I hosed their shit and piss off in a landfill! What the fuck do they want?! Vanille! Pet Garfield, please! He's meowing near me!" King Napoleon-covered Cherry Gummy Bear screamed.

I rubbed up against Garfield and said, "Quit! I'm busy!"

Peter bleated loudly. Nugget barked again.

"Happy Relationship Day, and Happy Fucking Birthday, Uncle Evan!" I screamed before I growled at him.

My Uncle Evan, a short man with a bald head, a gray goatie, gray eyes, and a pointy nose appeared with a huge pot of spaghetti and meatballs. "Thank you. I brought spaghetti and meatballs," he said in a pleasant voice.

"Oh sure! This gentleman gets a birthday on the same day as Relationship Day. Fuck it. I'm eating rice," Cody said as he walked toward us before he walked away from us backwards. He added turkey and gravy to his rice and ate again. Hot damn that dog was hungry.

"Did you bring chicken nuggets?" Nugget asked Uncle Evan.

"Yes, I brought chicken nuggets. I remembered to do that after I yelled at the yellow spoon that refused to go in the goddamn drawer for 20 fucking minutes," Uncle Evan said in a flat tone. "Fuck that shit. It can stay on the floor."

A clone of Uncle Evan walked like a robot and brought a 20"x12" pan of chicken nuggets to us.

Peter bleated before he trotted away and started eating many leaves from the trees. He was bleating between bites.

Elephants were making their own holiday commotion. They were arguing, stomping, drinking water, and eating.

John Wayne shot at them.

The elephants bellowed in unison one more time before they traveled together to another watering hole to continue to bitch.

"Ugh. The holidays are dramatic enough. We don't need the elephants to add to the drama that is Relationship Day and family gatherings," John Wayne commented. He reloaded his shotgun. "This shit is a fucking joke, bro."

A rhino ran at us and wanted more drama.

Nugget and Lindsay took the pan from the clone of Uncle Evan and ate the nuggets.

The rhino ran past Nugget and Lindsay.

"Sis, I'm sorry for causing you issues earlier. There was too much bullshit going on during the Christmas holidays," Nugget said.

"I forgive you," Lindsay said as she fed him a chicken nugget.

Patches meowed with joy.

"Hot dammit," John Wayne said as he shot at the rhino. "I can't get away from it. He's a big one. Take your time with him, Pockets!"

"Yes, Bwana. I'll be careful, Bwana," Pockets said as he chased the rhino around while doing a monkey walk. Pockets was a literal circus clown without the outfit, hair, and make-up.

The rhino chased Kurt around.

"You're supposed to chase HIM around," John Wayne said.

"Tell him that!" Kurt screamed as he climbed the same tree Peter was eating off of.

"Casa Camba!" Pockets screamed at the rhino.

"Casa Camba!"John Wayne also screamed at the rhino.

"RILEY!" I sang. "The Ace of Riddling," I added.

Riley the Ace of Riddling scarfed the remainder of the turkey and rice from the table before barking 28 times. Then, he went out of his way to exist elsewhere and eat chicken nuggets. Duke the Ace of Dodging barked 28 times and followed him before eating a huge turkey leg. Nugget continued to eat chicken nuggets.

"Crazy ass dogs," Peter said as he shook his head and bleated. "I wish Tug were here. He was normal."

Then we heard a familiar howl as a familiar basenji charged up near the tree where Kurt and Peter were located.

"TUG! You have returned!" Peter said with an excited bleat.

"Hello, Dad," Tug said as he wrapped his body around Peter's leg. "Happy Birthday, Uncle Evan!"

"Thanks, Tug! Would you like some spaghetti and meatballs and chicken nuggets?!" Uncle Evan asked.

"YEAH I WOULD!" Tug shouted as he raced over to my uncle.

Uncle Evan then poured the spaghetti and meatballs onto a plate, and the mountain of spaghetti and meatballs grew so high that it consumed all of us.

Nugget floated above the spaghetti and meatball mountain and spun in a circle in the sky. An angel played with Nugget's black curly tail, and Nugget spun around and chased the angel and his own tail. He barked repeatedly in the process of spinning. He spun so fast that the spaghetti and meatball mountain unraveled and opened a portal to the sixth dimension.

[anikabooker]

Fuck everything. She must've lost her mind. It wasn't like Anika to lose herself in the bitter taste of whatever was burning down her throat. It wasn't like her to let lips roam her own, to let another taste her secrets, invite someone close enough to see those green eyes flash with sorrow and longing. If his hands would strip her out of her clothes, he could trace every vile thing that's ever touched her. If his tongue was to press against her scars, he'd taste all that blood still seeping through torn up flesh that hasn't healed right. You've lost your mind. For a woman who prided herself on her wits, she was acting like a goddamn fool. Fuck everything. The promise of a friendship ruined (they never were that close anyway, were they?) and of bags packed all over again, dumped outside her door, because this was only ever going to end up in ruins, and she wasn't sensible enough to meet him in the morning like nothing has ever happened. Because tension has been building up within her for days, thick and adhesive like a dream. And she didn't want to think of faces drenched in daylight, and eyes no longer heady and hands no longer needy — No. Maybe if she snuck out, without him noticing, they'd never see the light of day. Maybe then this would only remain something veiled under that dimmed, amber light. Half-shadow and half-light.

She'd never seen him beg, never heard him say please, but the way her name slipped past his lips felt a lot like a plea — don't let us do this, or ruin me, ruin me, ruin us, please. His kiss tasted a whole lot like the latter. So she obliged — damning them and pressing herself into him, her body moving in perfect rhythm with his own, like in a dance. It was the only thing that had felt right, in so long. She'd call that the whiskey talking, that hissing of unholy offerings in her ear, like a snake — the devil urging her to strip her defenses, to appeare bare and vulnerable, to satisfy that hunger she'd been suffering.

Then they tangled further, like vines on a long, abandoned building. Legs hitched up, hooked around him tight, hands buried in his hair and harshly tugged on the sun-kissed mess, that infuriating scent of his shampoo filling up her nostrils. She could get drunk on that alone. Her lips slit away to melt on his jaw, down his neck and over his throat. They were taking turns, devouring each other, while he guided them away from the cold of the wall, and into the light of the corridor. This time, in the right direction. The one that led to the apartment they shared. Because unlike Anika, Reid wasn't shameless enough, to let them come undone on that nasty floor. She didn't care where they were, or who was watching.

Anika thought breathing was absolutely unecessary in this moment, but he parted them anyway. And she whispered back, "Yeah — I'm okay. You okay, roommy?" a sultry look in her eyes, and a grin to her lips matching the one on his. Her gaze dipped to his mouth then, to take in the sight. Beguiling, she thought. Bodies molded together crashed into the door. Then barreled inside sloppily like a gutterball, headed straight for the dark pit. The world turned upside down in full force, when they went over the couch, and she found her back against the hard surface. That sofa had always felt to her like a pile of fucking bricks. Their mouths only parted briefly, when she hooked her fingers on the edges of her shirt and lifted it over her head. Then gravity pulled the thin fabric into its embrace, and Anika fell back into Reid's.

She flipped them around, so she was straddling him now. A déjà vu. This time absent the knife to his throat, but her kiss was just as deadly. Her tongue could pierce just as sharply, with the same warning of death. But not just that. Her mouth offered a whole lot more than that. The place was still and dark, except for those patches where moonlight had peaked through the giant windows and scattered over. Eyes half-lidded with want went over him spread beneath her, with her lips wet and parted to draw in those raggid breaths and her heated palm to his chest, pinning him down. Like she'd won.

Brows dipping inwards, mouth opening in question; he wants to say that she doesn't know what she's saying and amber-coloured glasses have her delusional. Reid should've stopped this because lucidity will come crashing down on them, tomorrow. And he will have to explain — what? In between licking his wounds and scraping away that hurt from the bowl of the pan, scratching and cursing. Say some bullshit about how whiskey is a motivator that dulls and fuels hungers; that makes him a boy again, thinking he's running off the football pitch, unbuckling his helmet as he whisks his second girlfriend of the month off her feet at the sidelines, kissing her in front of the crowd. Unaware he'll have a quarterback boyfriend the following week, and get suspended for breaking Kyle's nose for making an under-the-table remark about it.

Much like the pain of a broken bone, the aching of regret, or never knowing what could've happened if Reid had let it die. He knows that whatever lost time Anika implies, he never would have done this before tonight. Never without losing something first and he only let himself shed that skin when she had a marker lid between her teeth and held his hand like she had no idea of what kind of mark she'd left on him.

It burns all over again, that auric caramel bubbling on the stove scenting the room in the sweet but bitter scent of candy left unattended; left to boil over. It's difficult to clean and hardens like rock when cooled. It clings to every surface, just as Anika's hand clutches the fabric of his shirt, bundling it up, nails ghosting through to catch the skin on his chest. Fuck everything. He'll bench self-loathing, even if it's screaming put me in, coach, because that core value of selfishness will take this, whilst it climbs into his lap. Shit.

"Anika—" but, at the last second he realises he doesn't want her to say anything, when he silences her with a visceral response. A hand travels to bury in the crook of her neck, holding her there, as another tentatively wanders to her waist. He can feel the glacier melting; the icy walls of his resolve crumbling down as roaring flames lap at its walls. Battling wants to remind each other of lines they've never crossed.

Forgotten is the corridor either side of them or the flickering light above their heads, basking them in yellow. Shoved down is the voice that warns him this is too close for comfort, prompting his focus on the pairs exploration in warring tongues. The roar of those flames turn into the thundering rush of the blood in her veins, the twitch in his mouth that lapses when he has to shutter the part of him that might cut her open. He can't — won't hurt her, and he'll be the one to run if he has to. Denying Anika the chance. Hard to run, when she's on his lap.

It will be an awkward manoeuvre whichever way he looks at it. The cool hand on her waist slips lower, grabbing her underside for support as he holds her steadily against him. He's twisting them over so he can brace one hand on the wall; the corridor rushes back to him, an awareness that has his senses enflamed against Anika's mouth in pauses to peck the corner of her mouth and trail along her chin. Reid's hand squeezes her ass as he manages to get one hand purchased on the wall, and he brings himself to a stand with Anika still wrapped around his waist.

He rests her back against the wall for a moment, mouth dips to plant something on her throat, but signals for a recourse when he steers in the other direction, stealing lips he isn't entitled to. Voices in a head louder, goading him; laughing like he might shatter this painted picture.

"Okay?" He whispers when he has to let her breathe. He hoists her further up his body, smiling like he's scored a Touchdown in the fourth quarter. That he's successfully pulled the woman from the waters, and they're remembering how to walk on solid ground again. He's feeding a monster he doesn't know how to defeat; The Bydo Core in the final mission of a forgotten video game. And all he allows to win in his mind is, fuck it all. Because the sandstorm has the line drawn in the desert, lost.

He doesn't ask, or wait when he carries her in the right direction down the corridor; weightless as he has to break away from feral exchanges to peer around her for the lock — he's searched the tight pockets of her jeans for the key, as he one-handedly gets it in the hole in the door, to nudge it open with his foot. He's laughing about that, too. This. Them. Shit. Terrible idea. He doesn't know how to do this. All he can think about when he gets the door closed is that if he focuses on this, then he won't know the taste of her verbena-poisoned blood.

He's embarrassed enough. Unlike in youth, where everything came so easily.

The keys are dropped carelessly to the carpet and he doesn't know what surface they've hit with closed eyes in the messily mapped apartment in the back of his thoughts. Instead, he's mapping the curves and the trembles of her body as Reid busies her hand back in her hair; they're feeding hungry creatures.