#it's just a thing in their heads that mentally feels kind of thick and sticky but they both made something different of it

[lgbtlunaverse]

Nothing will dispell the "the curtains were just blue" myth faster than writing something yourself, because the amount of pretentious symbolism i am putting in my silly little fanfics is ridiculous. I mean SO much with these words, literally every single one of them. This fic has twenty five typos and zero correct uses of punctuation but if there's curtains you bet your ass I put thought into what colour they were.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Predatory Flora.

A Grab Bag Commission For A Very Lovely Anonymous Commissioner.

Summary: A lost little adventure meets a particularly sweet plant.

Word Count: 1.0k.

TW: Non//Con, AFAB!Reader, Tentacles, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Bondage, and Implied Mind-Break.

It tasted like honey.

Thick, viscous, painfully sweet, clinging to your lips and your throat as you struggled to choke it down. You thought it might’ve been nectar – some kind of natural by-product yet to be recorded in any of the logs you’d skimmed through in preparation for your journey. If you had heard about this, you were sure you would’ve remembered it, would’ve made a mental note to keep an eye out for plants with thrashing vines and bright pink petals that latched onto your lower face and forced their dripping pistils down your throat, for plants whose saccharine scent made your thoughts crowded and your body lag. You wouldn’t have taken a wrong step, wouldn’t have found yourself in a pit of squirming vines and blooming flowers. You would’ve avoided this, if you’d known what to look for.

You’d be trying harder to escape, if you had proof that anyone had ever encountered this thing and lived.

Slowly, jerkily, you managed to lift your hand and take the flower by its stem, but as soon as you made contact with its pulsing, dewy flesh, another tendril lashed out and wrapped around your wrist – this one a dark green, sticky to the touch and covered in long, tapered red hairs that seemed to squirm and batter against your skin. Oh god, your skin – you felt like you were burning, simultaneously buzzing with a numbing sort of static and overwhelmed with the aching need for something to press against you and stay there. It was almost a relief when another tendril rose from the creature’s main body, tangling around your unoccupied hand and dragging it downward, when another pair curled around your legs and dragged you off your feet completely. You twisted weakly in its hold, but your body relished the pressure, the stimulation. You could feel something dripping down the inside of your thighs, but where there should’ve been embarrassment, utter humiliation, you could only bring yourself to feel a sense of thrashing, twisting anticipation.

Anticipation that only grew more unbearable as the ground shifted underneath you, a mass of leaves and tangled roots coming to rest underneath your back. Or, no, wait, you were the one moving, the vines curled around your limbs maneuvering you deeper into the pit, closer to the base of this thing’s body, onto a bed of thick emerald leaves and coiled vines. The flower latched onto your face pumped one more mass of sickly sweet agony down your throat before recoiling, falling around your neck and letting its nectar ooze down your tunic, your chest. You mourned its loss, but the misery of separation was short-lived. Those red hairs were swarming you in a moment, forcing their way under your clothes, your armor. Your pack fell away first, then the sword at your waist – the only weapon you’d thought to bring on what should’ve been a routine expedition. Your leather armor was pulled over your head carelessly, and what remained of your clothes weren’t even given that much respect, torn and ripped until little more than tattered shreds remained.

Somehow, seeing the planes of your own exposed skin helped to clear your scattered mind, to jolt just enough sense into your lust-addled brain to remind you that you were in the mouth of a creature you couldn’t name, at the mercy of whatever it’d forced you to swallow. You made a half-hearted effort to kick out, to pull your arms out of its hold, but the creature only strengthened your restraints by way of response, its tendrils winding tighter around your limbs. You grit your teeth, dug your blunt nails into its vines, but for everything you ripped away, two more would emerge from the main body to take its place. Your legs were spread far enough for a tight throbbing to form in your thighs, your arms hitched upward and bound together above your head. Another flower found its way to your face, but you bit at its petals, staving it off with gnashing teeth and harsh thrashing. You held your breath, attempting to clear your thoughts, to put together something close to a plan and—

"Don't fight." Its voice seemed to come from everywhere, from everything. Your eyes darted from vine to vine wildly, but you only found its source when two hands descended from nowhere; long, tapered fingers coming to cup your face and tilt your head back. A poor imitation for something human hovered above you, its skin that same dark green, its eyes that terrible pink. It was smiling - or, it was supposed to be, at least. "It's so much more fun when you give in quickly."

You felt something push into you, a blunt head forcing its way into your dripping cunt. In tandem, a tendril with a flattened tip latched onto your clit, lapping over the hyper-sensitive bundle of nerves – the sensation not unlike that of a tongue. Instantly, your mind went blank. If your body had been burning before, it was on fire now, something vital and vulnerable inside of you melting as the blunt tendril lazily thrusted into you, only occasionally pausing to curl or coil. You could make out more of that awful nectar leaking out of your cunt, coating the tendril with a thin sheen of its own aphrodisiac. You could feel the creature’s body reverberate underneath you, letting out a resounding purr as it forced its way deeper into you. You could see it grinning above you, golden nectar dripping over its bottom lip.

A matching smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. Absent-mindedly, you spread your legs, letting yourself go completely slack. The creature took over, latching onto your chest and wrapping around your waist, pulling you further into its embrace. Pleasure rolled over you in thick waves, suffocating what few useless worries you still had until you couldn’t bring yourself to think about anything at all. You bucked your hips towards the tendril inside of you, savoring the slow shudder of arousal that crept down your spine as a reward. You couldn’t get away, but that was fine. You’d be here forever, but you didn’t care.

It wasn’t like you could ever want to leave.

[loveindefinitely]

00. prologue

༊*·˚ ALWAYS HAVE, ALWAYS WILL — task force 141 x reader

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, slow burn, friends to lovers, drama, action, hurt/comfort, mystery, polyamory, angst, mental health issues, minor character death, angst w a happy ending

series masterlist. read on ao3. fanfic playlist.

You’ve been to more funerals than you can count on your blood-stained hands.

Family, friends, teammates, superiors – at the end of the day, you’ve always found yourself staring at a casket being lowered into the earth. Or an urn.

Sometimes, there’s not enough of the body to bury, or burn. Just an arm, a jawbone, a blood splatter with a trace of ripped hair. Even then, the ceremonies are similar – morose and stagnant with the tension that only comes with grieving humans, merely waiting for the moment that their hourglass will fully tip. For when, they too, will be grieved. Lowered into the ground. Cremated.

If there is such a thing as an afterlife, you’re not too sure that you’ll want to endure more living, when the end goal is such a cruel one.

To love, to cherish, and then to wither away into nothing.

A fucked up joke.

The muddy ground squelches as you take a step back, hands tightly clasped together in front of your chest. Not a prayer, but a gesture similar enough to the patrons around you that you won’t be given a second glance.

Rain falls in thick sheets, but there’s no wind, and most of the people around you are underneath the dark grey marquee set up in front of the ceremony.

You aren’t. There’s something familiar about the clothes soaking your body, your body trembling just slightly from the chill, the dampness. A small punishment for your actions, small enough to not be noticed, but enough to repent just a thousandth of what you owe.

The Funeral Director gives his speech. Some religious nonsense, you’re sure, and the words wash over you like the torrents of rain.

You almost wish they could wash the guilt off of your mind, wash the blood that still feels sticky in your hands.

When you look down, they're pure and clean.

There’s crying. You’re not sure who from, how many, where. All that you register is the sound of gut wrenching heartbreak in the most raw, most physical of forms.

You swallow, once, your throat dry and tongue sticking to the roof of your mouth.

Needles, drugs, passing out, cells, torture –

“Sergeant.”

Even years of military training doesn’t keep you from flinching at the title. Turning your head, you’re greeted by a man that’s never failed to make your blood run cold.

His grey hair sticks to his forehead, his wrinkles highlighted by the dreary, bleak sky.

“General,” you incline your head respectfully. He stands to your right, arms folded behind his back. He’s suited in full black, and your stomach roils at the idea of this man grieving.

“You have been assigned a new unit,” he states, as one would discuss last night’s game over morning tea. “You’re set to leave at eighteen-hundred.”

You nod.

What else is there to do? Get down to your knees and beg for some time off, when you know that’ll leave you rotting in your bed for two weeks? Ask for him to be kind in his placement, because you’re not sure you can handle more of the emotional torment you’ve dealt with over the past three years?

Instead, no words fall from your cold-bitten lips, and your legs don’t buckle.

General Shepherd walks away without a simple ‘I’m sorry for your loss’. You’re sure that even if he had said as such, the words would’ve held no earnesty, no warmth.

It’s perhaps better this way.

So, you stand, and the rain hits your body in a relentless rhythm. So different to the torture of waterboarding, the cruelty of drowning.

Although, you can’t say that the mental whirlwind you’re stuck in the eye of is any less impactful. If you open your mouth, you’re sure that water will flood every crevice, leaving you to scream soundlessly for eternity, death sweeping you in with the turn of the waves.

You wonder, for a single moment, how many grievers would attend your ceremony.

By the time the rain stops, if only for a short period, everyone has left. The marquee’s been taken down, and there’s only you and your guilt left behind to stare at the stone. It takes everything in you to walk to it, your legs almost as weak as your will.

The headstone and rectangle of dirt dedicated to the fallen are both covered in flowers.

Bending down to your knees, you softly place a single blue hyacinth at the base. You allow yourself just a moment to close your eyes, deeply exhale, and revel in your guilt.

When you stand once more, it’s with a renewed strength.

Your Captain would have been proud.

The other seven fallen men – the ones that were under your care to heal – would’ve laughed in your face. You would’ve let them.

Now, you can only hope that their bodies will be found soon, so that they too, can be put to rest beside your Captain.

a/n. jus a VERY short prologue/teaser. this is by far my fav piece i've been writing yet. each chapter will be about 7-9k words long, so it'll take much longer to update, but i'm SO excited for it!! i hope u all will enjoy this journey as much as me :)

[elemit]

A Gift, A Curse

A story in which we discover just how damned an ascended vampire can be, and just how far you will go to save the spawn you loved.

Read in full on AO3

dead dove/not beta read

fic warnings: Abuse, Angst, Biting, Blood and Gore, Blood Drinking, Bondage, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Food Restriction, Hate Sex, Horror, Mental Coercion, Mind Control, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, Sexual Coercion, Torture, Total Power Exchange, Trauma, Vampire Bites

Chapter 11: Awakening

He is still trancing when you wake up. You are entirely enveloped by him: his arms wrapped around you, his thigh draped over your legs, his face tucked into the crook of your neck. Between your thighs, the stickiness of his seed tells you that he continued to take his pleasure from you after you passed out.

The thick curtains block out any light from the room, so you carefully extract yourself from his embrace and go to light one of the candles on your bedside. You've had little need for magic since you turned - most of your days have been spent driven to distraction by hunger pains - so it's only now that you realise with a sense foreboding that your magic does not come easily. Even producing a tiny flame to light a candle takes a force of will that you almost find yourself lacking, drained as you are. Still, although it flickers and wavers in a nonexistent breeze, you manage to hold the cantrip long enough to light the candle closest to you before falling back onto your pillows, inexplicably exhausted.

In the soft golden light, you take in Astarion's resting face. Lily white skin so soft and smooth that kissing it feels like a dream. Voluptuous lips partly parted in his repose. Long elfin ears, finely pointed and tinged pink like a blushing rose. A jaw that dances on the edge of strong and delicate.

You had thought that the ritual had aged him, but you see now that his face still possesses the unmarred youthfulness that you have always known. Rather, it is the near-constant half frown, the slight curl of the lip, the sneer that now so often graces his beautiful features that seem to age him. Here, unburdened by the thoughts of his walking self, he looks like the Astarion that you thought he was. The Astarion you fell in love with.

For a moment you are spellbound by his visage, and by the memories that replay themselves in your mind as you try to convince yourself that that man - the sweet, kind, gentle man - had not been imagined. 

"I can feel you watching me, you know."

The voice starts you from your reverie. He doesn't open his eyes - barely moves his lips - but suddenly you can feel his awareness of you.

"What's going through that pretty little head of yours, hm?" he asks as he reaches for you, pulling you back into his grasp with his new irresistible strength. "Nothing bad, I hope."

"Nothing bad," you confirm, and he gives a content sigh as he presses his body against yours.

"Things are going to get better," he says, his eyes still closed. You don't respond. You just lay there, caged or cradled in his arms, wondering - worrying - what better means.

[midnightcreator12]

And We'll Keep Marching On Chapter 12 - Trapped Like Rats

AO3

When you spend all morning hanging out with fam and set a 1 hour alarm for a quick nap before editing....only to wake up well past that alarm. Yeah, promise I didn't intend to skip again! I just usually edit day of posting but I had plans and then kinda passed out, lol. But! Enjoy the newest chapter! Hopefully it'll clear some things up!

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

Donnie slowly blinked his eyes open, head pounding an unpleasant rhythm through his skull.

The side of his face felt…sticky. And not sticky like he’d drooled all over his desk after passing out. It was…thicker? How could a sensation be thick? And his arms felt…really heavy for some reason? And his neck hurt and…was there something over his mouth?

Actually, better question, where the heck was he?

The last thing he remembered…he’d gotten April’s text and immediately felt a bit indignant about it. Because yes, some people did go crazy when they mutated but, as far as he’d been able to puzzle together from many, many, many hours of research, any negative mental effects were from the physical pain of mutating more than the mutagen itself. But he didn’t want to just go and tell her that with no evidence and since the bulk of his notes were back in New York, he’d gone for the source.

Most Kraang tech seemed to be connected in some way so Donnie was confident that there would be more than enough data for him to show April that, no, they weren’t going crazy and he didn’t know why she thought they were but she was wrong.

He’d gone into the basement and then…

Then…

Something had hit him?

He jumped fully awake when something banged loudly to his side, eyes darting around to try and find the source as quickly as possible-

Until his sluggish brain finally started to function enough to register where he was and the state he was in.

His face was sticky with blood, he was painfully familiar with what drying blood felt like on his scales, which meant something had hit his head. His arms felt heavy because they were pinned to his sides by…some kind of slime? The texture was definitely like slime but when he tried to free his arms it kept him firmly pinned. And the same gunk was covering his mouth, preventing him from moving his jaw at all. A hiss of frustration and disgust slipped out, muffled by the gunk on his face.

Another bang made him flinch and look around. 

He was in the basement of the farmhouse, propped up with his shell to the wall, almost tucked behind the Kraang ship. And the banging turned out to be….Raven?

Raven was in a similar state to Donnie, except she seemed to be trying to use the Kraang ship as a brace, leaning on it as she tried to hop and squirm her way around it. The bangs were when she started to tip too far one way and would jerk herself back hard enough that her shoulder smacked painfully onto the hull of the ship.

Donnie tried to ask what she was doing….except the slime on his mouth very effectively prevented any legible words from coming out.

Raven’s head still snapped around at the sound of his grumbling, eyes wide in the dark as she stared at Donnie. He tried to gesture without the use of his arms, as if to ask ‘what are you doing?’

Raven’s eyes pinched and she jerked her head towards the basement stairs.

Donnie leaned so he could see-

Which turned out to be a terrible idea because it made his head spin and nausea roll in his guts. And the sudden dizziness promptly caused him to topple over.

Without his arms free to catch himself all he could really do was twist himself to try and make sure his shoulder took the brunt of the fall and not his jaw. He still groaned when he smacked into the packed dirt, shutting his eyes against the wave of nausea and focusing on his breathing.

He did not need to vomit when his mouth was already obstructed.

Once the feeling passed he cracked open an eye, looking at Raven first then slowly making his way to where she’d been gesturing. His eyes widened when he saw Mikey, also bound and gagged, lying on his shell closer to the stairs. But what concerned him was that Mikey’s eyes were shut and he wasn’t moving.

His gaze snapped back to Raven, eyes questioning. He couldn’t remember how he’d ended up in their current predicament, all he remembered was coming down to the basement and then…nothing.

Raven met his gaze steady, with the even calm she’d had when they’d all sat down and asked her questions about where she was from, and tipped her head again.

When Donnie looked towards Mikey again, he finally saw what Raven was aiming for. Mikey’s kusarigama lay in the dirt, blade gleaming like a beacon. 

Donnie nodded, paused, then tried to gesture towards Mikey with his eyes, hoping Raven would understand the silent question.

Is he okay?

Apparently, Raven was good at translating non-verbal communication, because she watched Donnie for a moment before lifting one shoulder.

Donnie himself, however, wasn’t that great at translating anything that wasn’t one of Leo’s complicated stings of hand signals. Which meant he wasn’t sure if the half-shrug meant maybe, I don’t know, or no.

He huffed and shut his eyes, debating a course of action.

When he decided on one, he sighed again. None of the things he could do in his current state were pleasant but the most efficient one would probably mess with his very possible concussion.

But there was something in the house, something that had managed to get the drop on him and Mikey and Miss. Super Soldier. Leo was still not fit enough to fight and if whatever had grabbed them had managed to sneak up on two ninjas and Raven, it would definitely be able to get the drop on April and Casey, which left Raph as the only line of defense.

And for as much as Raph would boast that he could fight anything, he really couldn’t. No alone, anyway.

So he gritted his teeth, lined himself up, braced his bound feet against the wall, and shoved his body forward enough to start rolling.

As he suspected, the movement rattled his brains around and made his gut roil, but it was the quickest way to get to the blade and, hopefully, escape.

He’d roughly calculated how many rolls it would take to get to his goal. The pounding in his head made it a little difficult to count while rolling but he should land close enough. And if he didn’t, Raven was slowly making her way over. Shell, she might even take a page from Donnie’s book and roll her way over.

He meant to check for the blade when he finally stopped himself but he had to screw his eyes closed again. The spinning had worsened his headache and the urge to puke had climbed to be almost unbearable. His body instinctively curled in, trying to protect his aching guts. He breathed harshly through his nose, keeping his jaw locked as he mentally fought through the new waves of discomfort.

He was just getting his body under control when there was a thump next to him. He cracked an eye open, and saw that the thump had been Raven plopping herself on the ground next to him. He groaned when he saw that he’d undershot his roll by about a foot. 

He started to souffle, getting ready to do another roll, but Raven made a muffled sound of protest. He looked towards her again, and watched her scoot and shuffle around until she was basically on top of the kusarigama.

With the way she was tied, her hands were positioned behind her back. So when she got close enough to the weapon, she spun so that her back was mostly towards Donnie and she could grab it. Donnie frowned as he watched, knowing there was no way she’d be able to cut herself free without either being insanely flexible, or hurting herself.

But she didn’t try to use the blade on her own bindings. Instead, she swiveled again and started to side-shuffle towards Donnie. 

Something clicked sluggish in his brain and he grunted, quickly turning himself so that his carapace was facing her. She might cut her own arm open if she tried to free herself first but it was pretty unlikely she could put enough power behind the blade to do any damage to Donnie’s shell.

He heard her move a bit more before he felt the kusarigama rasp against his back. He held perfectly still, anxiously waiting and listening as the weapon started to saw through the slime keeping him captive.

He heard the moment when something snapped and felt the tension ease on his torso. He instantly ripped his arms free, hands going to his face and tearing at the martial muting him. Except pulling on the stuff didn’t seem to do much, only stretched it a little before it would spring back into place. Donnie let out a low, clicking growl of frustration and his fingers tensed. He hadn’t kept up with nail trimming as often as he did at home so, while small, he had the beginnings of claws on both hands.

Claws that ripped and tore at the slime and finally left him gasp in a lungful of air when he managed to get it off his face.

But the sudden intake of oxygen seemed to be the last straw for his guts.

Donnie breathed in, cut himself off, and promptly rolled away to vomit up the meager amount of food and fluid in his stomach. It was more bile than food, making the smell burn harshly in his nose and causing him to gag again.

Thank god it passed quickly. Donnie sat for a moment, gasping as he got his second wind back. He spit out the last remnant of sick before sitting up again and turning back to his fellow captive.

Raven was watching him, brow pinched and eyes…the look reminded him or Leo when one of them was hurt, all glassy and concerned. He reached for his legs, rasping out a soft, “I’m okay.” 

Raven grunted. He could feel her watching as he finally freed himself fully.

The urge to immediately go to Mikey was nearly overpowering but he forced himself to stay focused. The best course of action was to free all conscious people first, in case whatever had attacked them heard the noise and came looking.

So he crawled over to Raven, grabbing the kusarigama from her and making quick work of the binds on her torso and legs. But he he moved to cut away the substance on her face,  she pushed the weapon away and violently shook her head before pointing to Donnie’s hands.

And the self-consciousness suddenly burned through him. There was a reason he usually kept his nails meticulously trimmed. The same reason he usually stuck his tongue out when he was focusing or frustrated, why he tried very hard to not tuck his neck too far into his shell in mixed company.

People didn’t have claws, or click, or tuck their heads into shells when they felt overwhelmed-

Raven let out a frustrated sound through her nose. Donnie jumped when her hand grabbed his and physically put them on her jaw.

…right, he forgot. Raven wasn’t a normal human either, she just looked like one.

She didn’t care. The only thing she cared about was not having a very large and very sharp blade near her face.

So Donnie bit the inside of his cheek and sunk his claws in, tearing away the muck quickly.

Raven pulled in a huge breath once her airway was clear, nodding and patting Donnie’s shoulder, “Thanks. Get Mikey free.”

She stood shakily and Donnie frowned in confusion when she started limping her way towards the Kraang ship again. But he didn’t ask yet, turning his attention to Mikey instead.

His fingers went to the pulse point as he cut away the slime and he breathed a small sigh of relief when he felt the steady, strong rhythm of Mikey’s heartbeat. He made quick work of the binds, dropping the weapon in favor of claws for the face once again.

“Mikey?” he called, tapping his brother's face  “Mikey? You with me?”

Mikey let out a breathy groan but didn’t move otherwise.

Donnie frowned, hooking him around his shoulders and lifting. But he froze when he spotted a small pool of red that was revealed when Mikey was picked up. His hand went to the back of Mikey’s head instantly, feeling a spot sticky with blood.

“It threw him,” Raven’s voice called from the other side of the ship. “He hit his head, not sure how responsive he’ll be.”

“It?” Donnie asked.

Raven limped back into view…with Scarp clutched in her hands, eyes black.

Donnie stared, “What-”

“He’ll be fine,” Raven murmured as she sat next to Donnie again, settling Scrap on her lap. “Both of them. But Scrap’ll wake up a lot faster than Mikey.”

“How’d you figure that?”

“Because I can do this,” Raven pressed her finger to the side of Scrap's head, causing a panel at the top to open. Donnie watched as she stuck her fingers inside and fiddled around for a moment before snapping Scrap's head shut again.

And like magic, as the opening clicked shut, tiny dots of light returned to the bot's eyes. He sat up, beeping and clicking quickly as his head flew back and forth.

“Calm down,” Raven murmured. “Think you can be a sentry for me for a lil?.”

Scrap beeped again but seemed to relax, hunkering down like a brooding bird. Raven placed him next to Mikey before turning to Donnie, “We gotta move.”

“What?”

Raven didn’t reply, merely pushed herself to her feet again and headed for the stairs.

“We can’t just leave Mikey here!” Donnie hissed.

“We can’t do anything until whatever…that was is taken care of. And I doubt anyone else has figured out that April’s mom isn’t what she seems.”

“April’s-” Donnie paused, recalling last night. Raven and Mikey had approached him in the barn and Mikey had gone on a rant about how Mrs. O’Neil was setting off his ninja vibes. Raven hadn’t ranted but she’d agreed something was off.

Donnie had blown them both off, told them to go bug Raph.

“What do you mean April’s mom isn’t what she seems?”

Raven paused at the foot of the stairs, turning as if to reply to Donnie.

An ear-piercing screech cut through the air, sending a chill up Donnie’s spine and making some deep-seated instinct in him scream ‘danger’.

Raven’s head snapped back around and she started climbing, pulling herself up faster with the handrail to compensate for her leg, “Move! Before we’re in deeper trouble!”

Donnie still hesitated, gaze dropping to Mikey. He was still out, the head wound would probably keep him down for a while…but the others were in danger.

Leo couldn’t fight in his state. 

Making a choice, Donnie carefully laid Mikey down again, pointing at Scrap and hissing, “Do not let anything happen to him.”

The bot's head swiveled around and he gave a short beep.

It would have to be good enough confirmation.

Donnie got to his feet, only stopping to grab Mikey’s weapon. He bounded up the stairs after Raven, catching up right before she hit the top. She hissed in pain when she got to the door but still moved to shove it open, Donnie quickly moving to help. But when they pushed, the door only rattled.

“Kriff,” Raven hissed, banging hashly on the door. “It locked us in.”

“Stand back,” Donnie narrowed his eyes at the door hinge, running calculations for angle and force as he snapped the kusarigama back to its nunchaku form. The metal and wood hummed as he built momentum and hit the first hinge with a satisfying crack, and the second followed quickly after.

Not accounting for the door caving in without any support from the hinges was a miscalculation on his part that he would blame on his head injury.

Luckily, Raven’s reflexes didn’t seem to be hampered. She pulled him back before he added another wound to his skull. The door snapped, the lock unable to hold it up and sending it fully to the floor. 

Raven’s hand whipped out, effectively shoving it to one side of the stairs as it tumbled to the bottom.

Donnie felt a flash on gratefulness that Mikey was to the side and not directly below. But he couldn’t dwell much on the feeling when another blood-chilling screech echoed from outside.

Both teens clambered out of the basement and Donnie took in the state of the ground floor. The front door was wide open, the entry hall rug had been shoved to one side, there was an awful screeching coming from outside-

Something thumped at the second story.

Donnie looked up and sucked in a panicked breath when he saw Raph leaning on the banister. Half his face was drenched in blood and his head seemed to be drooping listlessly and Raph was trying to forceable keep it up, his hands clutching the banister like a lifeline as he slowly tried to make his way to the stairs.

“Raph!” Donnie yelled. “Where’s Leo?”

Raph’s head rolled towards Donnie, eyes glassy and unfocused, “...‘eo…run…”

Raven shoved past Donnie, moving towards Raph and snapping, “Raphael, where is Mrs. O’Neil?”

“O’Neil,” Ralph’s words were slurred and he was clearly flagging but he still tried to get to the stairs. “Shessss….bad…Mike’s right…”

Another screech sounded from outside and Donnie turned his attention to it.

The door was open. Raph had told Leo to run. Run from Mrs. O’Neil…

Donnie took off in a sprint, following the direction the screeching was coming from. The sun was sinking and the treeline blocked out the light much quicker than the buildings of the city did. But there was enough light for Donnie to see…himself?

He was at the barn, screeching and howling as he clawed and bashed at the door.

Except that definitely wasn’t him. No, that was his worst nightmare. A feral, snarling, monstrous mutant version of himself.

But he couldn’t focus on that now. Because that copy wanted inside the barn, which meant someone must be hiding in there.

And that someone could be Leo, who was still hurt and still couldn’t walk or fully rotate his right arm.

Donnie snarled, extending the chain and blade on Mikey’s chuck, building momentum as he ran and letting it fly when he got close enough.

The blade hit true, slicing across the imposter's shell. The copy’s back arched, screaching as the blade cut and…bright green wept from the imposter's shell?

Donnie blinked, staring at…what he assumed to be blood?

The fake Donnie spun, eyes wild, teeth bared, face twisted into a terrifying snarl.

It lit all of Donnie’s instincts on fire, made his own lips pull back and gnash his teeth. He planted his feet, pulling the end of the kusarigama into his hand again.

The fake hissed, turning to fully face Donnie.

And then…smiled?

Donnie didn’t have much time to dwell on it. Because, between one blink and the next, he suddenly found the duplicate right in his face, overly pointed teeth snapping inches from his beak. He jerked back, quickly pulling in the chain so he could better utilize the chuck for close-quarter combat.

The fake growled, low and garbled, claws striking out lighting fast and striking Donnie’s chest. His plastron absorbed most of the blow but the power behind it still pushed him back. But he kept his footing, managing to bring an arm up to spin the nunchaku. It cracked against his imposter’s skull, sending it reeling away.

Donnie fell back, chunk spinning as he geared up for another attack-

The imposter moved again, too fast for Donnie to track. He gasped in pain when claws raked over his arm, focus faltering. And that was all it took for the handle of the chuck to go wild and crack Donnie in the jaw. The shock and pain caused him to drop the weapon, both hands moving to his now bloody chin.

It was another misstep on his part, since it gave the imposter an opening.

Donnie yelped as a fist socked him in the jaw, stumbling back. Another hit to his gut had him on the ground and he was pressed into the dirt by a powerful kick to his carapace that rattled his jaw badly enough that he accidentally sunk his teeth into his own tongue.

He coughed, spitting blood as he shakily tried to get his limbs back under him. But he was stopped by another hard kick to his side that forced him down again with a wheeze.

He looked up, glaring at the imposter. It just smiled back, eyes glowing a sickly pink.

A shade of pink that had Donnie freezing on the ground, memories of shattering glass suddenly surging to the forefront of his mind.

And then the imposter…morphed.

The green scales and yellowing plastron almost shivered, shifting and smoothing into pink skin and purple fabric. Bulky hands and feet shrunk, three fingers splitting into five, bare feet suddenly becoming a par of flats. Another shiver went through the…the thing, like it was setting the transformation. 

And then it was Mrs. O’Neil standing over Donnie, smiling wickedly.

Donnie let out a strangled sound, started to get to his feet again-

Mikey’s nunchuck cracked harshly against his skull, sending him down again.

He could feel more blood pouring down his face and his heartbeat thudded in his ears, almost drowning out any other sound. He tried to move, get up, keep fighting but his limbs refused to cooperate and he only managed to turn his head to look toward the barn.

He could hear the…shapeshifter? It was yelling, calling in Mrs. O’Neil’s voice.

Through blurry vision, he saw the barn door shake and he whimpered when it was pushed open. Desperately, he tried to move again, fingers twitching as he tried to fight through the pain.

The creature approached April, arms open, inviting, trying to grab and trap and Donnie couldn’t…that couldn’t…

His heart seized when April opened the door enough for him to see Leo, shaking and leaning fully on Casey and looking so, so scared. But his head turned to Donnie almost immediately and Donnie saw Leo’s eyes widen, saw his jaw tick.

He had to move, damnit, he had to move, Leo couldn’t fight-

Leo looked away, eyes snapping to where the shapeshifter was still approaching. Donnie tensed when he saw Leo’s body go taught, his lips pulling back in a snarl, eyes going fully white.

Donnie heard Casey yell, saw Leo shove him away and charge at the shapeshifter, heard and saw April’s cry of confusion.

Leo dug his claws into the creature's shoulders and dragged them down, ripping and tearing all the way down the thing's torso.

The ringing in Donnie’s ear lessened a little, enough to hear April’s scream more clearly. He gasped when Leo suddenly flew through the air, thrown by an invisible force. He could feel how hard his brother hit the ground, heard the strangled yowl of pain when he landed on his injured shoulder.

And finally, Donnie could move. He still felt too shaky to stand but he managed to force his arms to drag him forward, closer to Leo, close enough that he could curl himself over Leo as best he could.

He looked up, eyes finding April and Casey’s horrified expressions. But the two were looking at very different things.

Casey’s gaze was on the shifter, eyes getting wider and wider, probably seeing that Mrs. O’Neils blood was a neon green instead of red. But April was standing slightly in front of Casey and the imposter and her eyes were firmly locked on Donnie and Leo.

Donnie flitched at the raw fear and anger she fixed on them. He may not have her on a metaphorical pedestal anymore but…it hurt, seeing her look at him like he was a monster.

Then Casey’s voice rang out, clear as a bell, “What the actual fuck is that?!”

April spun and Donnie allowed his gaze to move to the shapeshifter. He watched in a detached fascination as its body spasmed, skin and clothing rippling as it curled around the gashes Leo had left. The pink, human flesh changed, turning a deeper red and seeming to almost…split. Smooth skin became a mass of ropy tendons, breaking apart at the end of the arms into a mass of tentacle-like appendages.

The creature lifted its head, the face a macabre in-between of a human and something…clearly not. Fair skin tone mixed with an ashy blue, a few spots along one cheek spasming into the red tendons, crawling up towards one eye glowing bright pink.

Its lips thinned, seeming to almost dry out as they pulled back to show needle-like teeth as the creature hissed.

April stepped back and Donnie just heard her voice saying, “What…what…mom?”

“Aaapril,” the monster growled, body still morphing, all human pretenses being overcome by rapidly expanding muscles.

The thing grew, towering higher and higher as its body became some kind of twisted, fleshy spider creature, another pair of arms dropping out of its sides before it fell onto it’s six limbs. The neck extended, giving the illusion of it being even bigger, the face fully changing to resemble a Kraang and the mouth opening wider and wider into a yawning maw. 

April stood, frozen as she watched her mom transform into a monster.

It loomed over April, grotesque face leering down as it rasped, “I only want to protect us April. You have to liiisten”

“Get away from her!” Casey howled, charging towards the monster, swinging his baseball bat over his head. “Goongala!”

He landed a solid hit on one of its legs.

The blow made it skitter away, attention turning to Casey. It screeched again, and a thick tentacle zipped out of its back, slamming Casey back into the barn.

Donnie tensed when the pink eyes then turned to him. His arms tightened around Leo, trying to pull him further under his own body as the creature released more tentacles from its back.

“It was always meant to be ussss,” It hissed, starting to stalk toward Donnie and Leo. “April issss mine. Aaaalll miiine!” 

Donnie screwed his eyes shut as the creature rose on its hind legs. Because he couldn’t do anything else. He was hurt, bleeding, unable to even entertain the idea of standing let alone fighting. All he could do was protect Leo. 

He tucked his head down, hoping that he could at least sheild Leo enough that he could make it, spare him from dying here. Leo couldn’t die, Donnie wasn’t going to fail him again-

Something screeched through air, there was a pop, a hiss of something hot burning flesh and the creature roared in pain.

Donnie's head snapped back up, just in time to see a flurry of pink laser bolt rain into the creature, forcing it back. He looked to where they were coming from.

Raven limped her way across the yard, Kraang laser rifle held in her arms and rapidly firing, eyes hard and focused as she pressed in.

The shifter screeched as the bolts burned into it, scrabbling away, tentacles moving in an attempt to shield itself, “Inssssolent creature!”

“Says the skanah who can’t fight fair!” Raven screamed back, adjusting her aim so that more bolts hit the shifter in the face. “Why don’t you come after someone who can fight back!”

The shifter roared, tentacles shooting towards Raven. 

She ducked, rolled, tried to avoid the appendages while keeping up her volley.

But the shifter was quicker.

Donnie gasped when one tentacle managed to trip Raven, and that was all the monster needed to get a hold of her. The powerful limbs curled around her, trapped her arms, forced the rifle from her hands. Raven kicked and struggled, even growled up at the thing holding her.

It hissed in return, coils tightening around its prey until it managed to turn Raven's growl into a scream of pain.

“Stop!” April’s voice cracked through the chaos like a whip. 

Donnie flinched at the shockwave he felt in the air, tucking himself down again to shield Leo. He heard April scream again, her voice mingling with the creatures as it screamed. Both voices rose with the feeling of power in the air, crackling like a live-wire.

And when the screaming seemed to reach its peak, when the  pressure in the air started to feel suffocating, when Donnie thought he might bust from all the noise and sensation-

There was a pop, and something slimy landed all over Donnie’s back.

And then… silence.

Slowly, Donnie peeked up again, taking in the scene.

The creature was…gone. The only thing left was a massive splatter of green slime all over the ground. Raven was slowly sitting up, one arm hugging her ribs. April stood, staring wide-eyed at where the monster used to be.

Donnie wasn’t fully sure what happened but…if he had to guess, he was pretty sure April exploded the shapeshifter with her powers.

And now that the danger was quite firmly gone…his body started to tremble. 

Donnie felt his muscles go lax and his eyes fell shut. He knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he shouldn’t pass out. He has…so many injuries to check, and all of his brothers had some kind of head injury…

But the adrenaline was leeching out of him and with it all his energy and willpower.

His world went black and the last thing he heard was Casey once again yelling, “The fuck just happened?!” 

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

Translations:

Kriff - fuck

skanah - fucker

[croppedandchopped]

My head feels weird, like I should be wearing something to cover it, I'm missing the feel of my headphones, the pressure specifically, makes my head feel safe. I wonder how long your brain can stay outside of your head until it stops working, does a human mind need to be in a body to work or if i put a brain in a jar and kept it alive would it still think. Sometimes I wish I could take my brain out and wash it, like scrub into its folds with heavy disinfectant kind of washing, set it alight for a little bit just to take the layer of dirt off the top. Feeling mentally dirty is weird, memories seem to keep a lot more than just dust in my mind, they're sticky and slippy so even if i wanted to think about it i can't, it just slips straight out back into those little corners of my head.

I think the inside of my mind looks like one giant picnic cloth, don't know why, just feels right. It's light green and gray checkers and covers of a layer of probably grass or dirt, not sure yet, i haven't bothered looking under it, probably find ants crawling beneath, they don't like to be ontop of the blanket, unlike the grubs and maggots which love having their little celebrations on one of the coloured squares. I saw three of them having a birthday party recently, little party hats and all, might have been six years old looking at the candles but Im not sure if maggots age the same way i do in my mind. Funny thing was, across from the little party of three was another one, just sitting on its own, it was invited I think but just prefers to celebrate on its own, I'll call him Hockney.

Did you know that when grubs turn eight they travel down the stream of glass into the big soup that is time and come back out as winged pigs? Only two years to go for those little guys until they can finally fly again. I guess when you are reborn you forget about where you came from so flying for them will feel like the first time all over again. I wont be able to experience anything for the first time again, thats not where Im going, time soup doesn't really agree with people like me, just kinda chews them up and spits them out into tiny green pebbles, even if you followed the glass stream right until the end. I guess that fine, I don't need to learn how to fly, or have another chance of life, i still havent worked this one out. But if I could do something for the first time again it would be breathing. I would want my first breath to be of smoke and fumes, choking of gasoline and the thick air of the city so when I reach my final meandering (which I know will be a field in the middle of nowhere) my last breath will be the cleanest of my life.

Is it better for you life to start happy and end sad or start sad and end happy. I think happiness is a conspiracy theory made up by the crane angels to let them use our shins for their rituals. Can't be happy if you still have your shin bone they say, but I have removed a shin bone before and I never felt any different. It wasn't my shin bone to be honest but I didn't think that mattered, they just put it on their weird pile and say that the happiness tied to the bone will wriggle out of the marrow and crawl up your nose while you're asleep. Maybe it does have to be your own bone but I don't think I'm ready to part with anything just yet, it makes me safer having it all around me. If they asked for one of my eyes instead, they could take that, but happiness can't grow outside of marrow so theirs no point.

I know why the crane angles want our shins, not for the happiness that crawls out but how when the shin bone is hollow their sadness can hide away in it instead. I guess they have too much negativity to be stored in such narrow bodies, no wiggle room for other emotions.

I did make sure to check all my bones for emotions recently though, happiness is still in my shins but I dont want to let go of them yet so no feeling that right now, but I still have a little bundle of joy right underneath my left kidney that keeps me going, just the usual amount thats left after a long trip to the grazing meadows. Put out to pasture they say, more like steal all your kidney stones. Can't trust farmers, they don't need medical certificates to remove your organs, just the blessing of your skin tearing itself open, which mine is prone to doing. As much as I warn it of stranger danger if anyone asks to look past my skin it just unfurls, I don't even sleep with it on anymore, always busy taking itself of for whatever reason. Don't really care its not like it's actually attached to me or anything.

My brain feels itchy, tired but mainly itchy, I can feel the dirt and crumbs on it. I think I will try and remove it this time. I already have no shin and I think that little hinge on my skull is still there so it won't do any harm to see what's in there and give it a good scrub down, might even hold it in my hands while I go into my mind to see those little partying grubs. That'll be fun and since I'm not in a big field right now, I know I can't be removed.

[hansolmates]

tingle (m)

summary; your super hot, super sexy tattoo artist manages to catch you off guard mid-session. at least his touch keeps the pain off your mind. pairing; tattoo artist!jungkook x tattooed!reader (f) genre/warnings; sexual tension, im tellin u being naked in front of your tattoo artist is something, pining, roleplay, soft dom!jk, descriptions of tattooing needles and the pain associated with it, rough language, man bun koo, really tender n slow lovin, mc has nice soft squishy boobies, heeavvyyy use of the petname [redacted] w/c; 1.3k a/n; we’ve unleashed tattoo artist!koo. it’s time. based on this hellpost that won’t leave my mind. first drabble for cami’s 7k share tyty

if you like this please feel free to give it a like n’share. enjoy✨✨

When he touches your bare breast, he’s injecting more than just ink in your skin. 

By any means, this isn’t your first rodeo. You’ve gotten tattoos before, in fact you remember how it took months for you to just let your mind kindly shut the fuck up so you could finally pick something out. You realized back then that there would never be a perfect placement or meaningful design that you had to cling to in order to get it done. Sometimes you have to do things simply because it feels right. 

Yet lying down on the leather bed, petal-covered tits out and free to grab (and he does, for leverage) you feel like a tattoo newbie as he angles the needle into your skin.

Jungkook’s fast and quick, they say. It’s why you chose him for this particular piece, a blooming lily in three parts, from a bud to a bloom that starts from the bottom of your sternum to the tops of your breasts. You’ve heard stories about how the sternum is the most painful area to ink, but you’ve had this idea in mind for literal years and you still haven’t been able to shake it off. You remember how badly you wanted to kiss him after seeing how beautiful the design looked on his iPad, but for the sake of professionalism you simply nodded your head and said you loved it. You’re sure it’s highly inappropriate to lay one on your tattoo artist for just doing their job. 

You wish you could see the ink as he’s working, but at the same time you’re excited to see the final project once it’s completely done. The only thing you can stare at is his face, dark brows furrowed in concentration as he scrutinizes every centimeter of his available space, making sure the shading is perfect as he goes in with his magnum. His eyes are bright and clear despite being in the shadows as he bends over your form, and the tips of his long hair wink against your vision as they pull out of his messy bun. 

“This part’s gonna hurt the most,” Jungkook mumbles more to himself than you, seemingly in a trance as he lifts his needle from the finished bud. The half-bloom sits right at the middle, and when he presses his finger in the spot you try not to visibly wince. The bone’s right there and you’ve already shed a couple tears from the first half hour. 

“I’ll try not to squirm,” you steel yourself, curling your toes as you prepare for the next round of needling. 

“Oh don’t worry, if you squirm I’ll just pin you down.” 

You could swear Jungkook’s squishes your breast a little firmer as he says that, but you chalk it up to him going back in and needing to move it around to touch up the inked bud. It’s not like he’ll fuck you on this table, the pain must be making you some kind of delusional if you’re fantasizing about your tattoo artist.  

Five minutes later he nicks you in a particularly sensitive spot, and you wince. You can’t help but shift away, kicking your legs. He's by his words, and Jungkook’s hand unflinchingly clamps down on your breast, pushing you into the leather. From the corner of your eye, you see the way your skin bubbles between Jungkook’s inked fingers, the fat from your breast practically spilling over his knuckles. 

Neither of you say anything as he switches needles, opting for a thinner one in order to start the illustration. 

Once the sharp metal pricks your skin, you exhale. Your eyes open slightly to see a thin smile veiled onto Jungkook’s petal pink lips. 

“Good girl,” it rolls off his tongue like honey and butter, and you have to clench your thighs and press every centimeter of your body to the table in order to not flip your shit. 

It hurts, obviously. The needle goes straight to your heart, akin to the heat that pools between your thighs as you repeat his praise over and over in your head. You feel your bones vibrate in your chest as he goes in, but you want to do well for him so you force yourself to stay put. 

You’re sure he means nothing by the nickname–or pet name in your dirty mind. Jungkook and all the other artists in Jamais Vu are known to be flirty when they want to. You’re sure he’s said that to dozens of other customers, considering his books are always full and his Instagram is filled with attractive men and women inked in the most intimate of areas. 

“You say that to all your customers?” you finally pull the question from your throat, Jungkook taking a wet paper towel to rub away the excess ink. You fight your contented sighs as the cold fabric soothes your burn. 

He hums, drifting away from your body to zoom in his perched iPad. “Only the cute ones,” he teases lightly, and you hold your breath for the rest of the appointment. 

Jungkook’s slow and steady. 

“Whoever did that tatt must be a freakin’ genius,” Jungkook says between pumps, tugging your right breast to the side to marvel at the finished work. The adhesive bandage gleams in the low light of your shared bedroom, due to the television displaying a muted version of My Hero Academia with all it’s vast explosions and super-powered rocket thrusters. 

The only thrusting you’re concentrating on however, is the tender, thick drag of Jungkook’s cock slipping in and out of your wet folds. 

“Y-yeah I guess,” you whimper when he swipes his thumb over the nipple, and his dips down to give your new flowers tiny, petal soft kisses, “the artist was trying to hit on me, though. I could’ve sworn he was trying to cop a feel during our session.” 

“What a loser,” he chuckles at the running joke, his large hand dipping to the edge of your tummy. He links pinkies with yours along the way, and the both of you moan at the vision of where you couple between each other’s thighs. Thrust for thrust, his dick bulges and bloats your tummy in a way that has him gleaming with want. “Did you tell him you have a loving, far more talented boyfriend?” 

“Ah, n-no,” it’s clearly the wrong answer, as Jungkook slips away from you and sits on his calves, thick golden thighs expanding tauntingly as he strokes his heady member right between your eyes.

“I thought you were a good girl,” he sighs, as if disappointed with your choices. 

“I am a good girl,” you whine, “your good girl.” 

“Then tell me what you’re really thinking.” 

Your teasing, sexy boyfriend makes no moves to touch you, pretending to be wrapped up in his own pleasure. His mouth parts, jaw slackening as his eyes flutter shut when the motion starts to increase in pace. 

“Mm, would’ve—would’ve let him fuck me on the tattoo bed if he asked,” you mentally beg for him to open your eyes and watch you, but you can’t wait. Your fingers travel across your stomach and down to sensitive bud, rubbing the slick pearl, “y-yes, really wanted him—no, I really wanted you to bend me over in front of everyone, Jungkook. P-please, I’m so good, l-let me cum–” 

Your ministrations stop as soon as Jungkook’s hand covers your own. He never got particularly rough, but his grip is firm as he replaces your hand with his own. His eyes are blown wide, his hand sticky with your combined arousals. 

“Stop moving,” he whispers in your ear, and you tamp the urge to cry when he pinches your clit,  “or else I’m gonna have to pin you down again.” 

[honeyatsu]

Loner [Junpei x f!reader] 3

warnings: minor mentions of bullying, minor blood.

Summary:

Junpei was suspicious of you. He always felt the world was filled with people who were naturally evil in some way, until you came into his life and challenged his theory.

crossposted here

masterlist

unorganized soundtrack

The sky’s the limit – a feeling that felt so far away to you, finally came back after years, while being at the top of the cheer pyramid, the crowd cheering you on for your team; for you as you strike the high-V pose, smiling at the crowd. It used to be scary, having to be at the very top, being the flyer, having to deny your body to react to the natural fatigue of bouncing around, repeating the same memorized routine, stunts, and cheers – only showing a smile and perfectly synched show to the crowd.

It used to be scary, having to trust your team to be able to hold you without dropping you. It was scary being brought into an environment where you were a part of a team, having only done sports where you would rely on yourself and your trained skills alone. To have a team where trust was such an important part of making things work, being at each other’s mercy when tossing you into the air, was horrifying to say the least. The act of trusting itself is scary.

Your eyes scanned the crowd slowly, subconsciously blurring them all out, it felt weird seeing all those eyes on you from that up high. Taking deep breathes you tried to steady your breathing, focus on being still and present and not let your mind wander because anything that goes wrong could lead to you falling down and being the cause of your team’s loss.

If you were being honest, you hated cheer – at least you did in the beginning. Admittedly, you were done with sports. You’ve been done with sports for a while, it’s not that you hated pushing your body past it’s limits, it’s not like you didn’t enjoy getting stronger, faster, more resilient.

But while being at the very top, while catching your breath and trying to be as still as you physically could, you couldn’t help but feel the excitement bubbling up in your chest by thinking about sitting with that black leathered sketchpad and a pencil. Honestly, a few years down the line, you found a new passion. The moment your pencil stroked along the first paper of the new sketch pad you’d gotten for your thirteenth birthday, you were hooked. It almost felt ludicrous, as if you’d be a part of an affair. Dedicating so much of your youth to athleticism, that being all you knew, your passion was led elsewhere while sitting on your bed with the fondest memory of your father teaching you basic sketching techniques.

But then are moments like this – the way the crowd would cheer for you, your team, the bright eyes beaming at you do what not everyone is willing to work hard enough to do, seeing the admiration of younger girls in the crowd, this feeling was enough for you too.

(You remember after your first martial art tournament, a young girl no older than the age of nine years old came up to you, saying when she grows up, she wants to be strong like you. Strong, that’s a word you would have never used to describe yourself as, but if sports are what brought the trait out of you, just leaving would be leaving a piece of you behind you weren’t sure you’d get back.)

You knew you would cause a minor deduction for your team, looking down at the dangling gold chain that slipped out of your cheer top, not keeping the eyes on the crowd for a mere few seconds can cause a strain in performance points along with the noticeable uniform violation. Mentally cursing yourself, you shot your head back up as you were thrown up in the air, performing the stunt known as the basket toss before landing on the ground. As soon as your feet touched the ground a familiar feeling of anxiousness flowed throughout your body like a stream, being done and awaiting the results were almost horrifying for you – knowing your small distraction could be marked as a huge slip-up. One thing you’ve gotten from being an athlete is you’re expected no less than perfection and being so new to this specific sport, you weren’t sure you were able to offer that, but it didn’t hurt your ego any less.

Waiting was the hard part – and that could be said for your entire team.

The motions of you and your teammates chest were shaky and slow, holding on to each other’s hands as you waited for them to announce first place. In your mind, the crowd was becoming larger while your team shrunk as their eager eyes gazed upon you, almost as nerve-wrecked to hear the results like you; every passing second, your team felt smaller and smaller. The saliva in your mouth becoming sticky and thick, rolling your tongue around trying run from the dry feeling surrounding your mouth. Your free hand subconsciously made way to the uniformed skirt, squeezing tight to the fabric– anything to physically release the unease churning in your stomach. For a moment everything was silent, you were so nervous that you put the world on mute as your eyes shut tight, anticipating the results that seemed to take too long to come.

The first thing you heard were the cheers, the announcement from the judges slipping your mind. In slow motion, you felt your team mates huddle around, crying, yelling, cheering, you all have just one first place to one of the most challenging competitions of the year.

You tried your best not to look at the section of your school, it’s been years since your mother has been to any of you sporting events; due to her heavy workload. A part of you was hoping to see one familiar face in the crowd, but you knew the chances were slim considering these types of things weren’t exactly his cup of tea. Before giving up your short search, you spotted the same brown hair you like to play with while sitting under a tree during lunch, the same long bang on the right side of his face that you want to push back so bad to get a full view of his angelic face he insisted on hiding from the world. He was sitting alone in an isolated row, far enough to be away from the large crowd but close enough for you to get a good view of him giving you a bright, wide smile, cheering for you loudly and proudly. You take it in – you almost forgot how good it felt to have someone cheering for you, it’s been years since seeing someone close and dear to you come to support you in these types of settings. You beam at him, waving frantically and cheering, giving him a smile that was so new to him, your cheeks high and corner of eyes wrinkled, a smile that says thank you, and he gave you a sheepish smile back, reassuring the same way you’ve been there for him, he will for you, even if it means coming to events that are out of his comfort zone.

After bowing and thanking the crowd for supporting your team, you guys head off to the back to go to the locker rooms to change and get ready to leave. Your teammates were chatting amongst each other while you were stuck in thought, how long it’s been since you’ve been in a competition that intense. You were used to being alone, not even having a consistent supporting system for a few years, it felt good to win alongside a team – a family that was given to you.

Before you made it to the locker rooms, you hear heavy footsteps frantically making their way to you. You turned on your heels as you see Junpei running towards you, out of breath and sweat dropping from his forehead. In a swift motion, he let his arms out and nearly tackled you – giving you the tightest and most affectionate hug he ever has in your time of knowing him. With him so close to you and squeezing you so tightly, you hope he missed the way your heart beat rapidly increased, you hope he missed the way that your body heated up feeling his chest so close to yours, feeling his heavy hot breathing trailing down from your ear to neck.

The few agonizing seconds was put to a halt as he pulled way, staring down at you, stars in his eyes with an enthusiastic smile, not even caring that he just ran the most he ever has in his life, not caring that catching his breath seems impossible, not even caring at those familiar glares from those girls you like to call your friends eyeing the two of you up and down with scowls on their faces.

“You did so good! You looked like….an angel! When they threw you in the air, a literal angel or fairy – or something.” He blurted out, the volume of his soft voice going a bit louder than you were used to. The laugh you let out sounded like warm honey, a laugh you weren’t even sure you could make anymore. Opening your mouth to thank him for his kind words, you were interrupted with sour snicker from behind you.

“Your new best friend is totally looking at your tits, babe.” Tsubasa said from behind you.

Your body tensed as her scratchy voice echoed in your ears, her sour voice matching the wicked personality she possessed. Your eyes followed where Junpei was looking towards, and you see that he’s taken notice to the golden locket that he hasn’t seen you wear before. You turn your head slowly, your face twisting as you saw the smug look on the girl’s face.

“It’s my necklace.” You spat back at her, “Mind your business.” You look back at Junpei, seeing the look of grimace on his face – you held in your chucked as you noticed the way his mouth was twitching, holding in his tongue trying not to let Tsubasa in the way of his personal celebration with you. The thing about Junpei, as soft spoken as he was, he always spoke his mind, always spoke up for himself, and if he didn’t vocally say anything, his face always gave away what he was thinking. You often wondered if he realized that or not, but you knew to save the question for another day.

Tsubasa resorted to rolling her eyes; deciding that snapping back wouldn’t be worth her time. She trotted away, disappearing into the hall – you wish she would disappear from your life, cheer captain or not, she was aggravating and bitter to say the very least.

Directing your attention back to Junpei, you place your hand on his shoulder, feeling his stiffened body and face relax at your touch, giving him a small reassuring smile, “I’ll meet you in a few, let me shower and change.”

The locker room was quiet – too quiet for a team that just won a competition that was this big. You kept your head held high making your way to your locker to grab your belongings to freshen up, not caring for the not-so subtle glances being suck towards you as you walked past all the girls. To be fair, after befriending Junpei you quickly knew why he was so antisocial and why you never met him before, even though you’ve been going to the same school since the first year. His avoidance tendencies no longer became a mystery to you when your friends would groan at the mention of him, the constant whining and reaction of disgust when you would leave them for him. It wasn’t long until you would see the subtle teasing he would endure because of your friends – it made you feel sick that these were your friends, it felt like you didn’t really know them after witnessing those small moments. But Junpei never mentioned it to you, never going further than ‘‘your friends are just jerks’’, since he never brought it up, you were sure not too, knowing how sensitive of a topic it was.

Once you stepped out of the shower, you hear the cheers and praises being sent back and forth between your team mates. Remembering the intense match, acknowledging their win and hard work being paid off. As you began to dry your body off you hear them mention going out to eat to celebrate their accomplishment as a team. Bringing your head up after drying off your legs, your eyes locked with Tsubasa’s and a sinister smirk spread across her face before she opened her mouth, “Don’t bother inviting (y/n).” she snickered, applying a thick coat of cheap sticky gloss to her chapped lips. “She’s gonna be with her boyfriend.” The word boyfriend being spat out venomously.

Along with the sneaky remarks being echoed throughout the locker rooms, bouncing from the walls you didn’t miss the hollered laughter, each shriek being equivalent to claws slowly inching its way down a chalkboard – being annoyed would be an understatement, “who knew you were into weirdos.” An underclassman on your team snorted out, that being the last straw for you.

You let out a load groan, frowning at the girls around the room with a sharp glare, “Can you guys just shut the fuck up? Are you guys sure you aren’t the ones who like him?” you said slamming your locker shut – causing the girls closest to you jump, nearly dropping the grip onto the towels that were covering their soaked bodies.

“Wha- ? We’re just joking, (Y/N). Plus, how well do you even know him?” Tsubasa displayed an over exaggerated look of offence on her face, mouth slightly open with her finger twirling the few front strands of her hair. You pulled down your shirt, your golden locket usually kept hidden fallen out as it did earlier during the competition. Eyelashes down, you lightly hold onto it with your fingertips feeling the eyes of the girls around you fallen onto the locket as well. The atmosphere of the room slowly changing, no longer a place of distasteful jokes but one of sorrow. It made your stomach churn, although this was your first time on the cheer team, most of the girls here were already your friends, including Tsubasa. It wasn’t until her remarks towards Junpei and the teasing you’d catch her do when she was sure you weren’t around that you distanced yourself from her, causing her to act out in a way that you were too unfamiliar with. The memory of you crying on top of your bed with Tsubasa and your other friends flooded your mind as you tightly gripped the gold heart that was now on your palm, the sweet words of comfort that once warmed you now becoming empty lifeless words as you become more familiar with the dark side of their personalities that they would usually keep hidden from you. After everything they knew about you, after everything you’ve told them, telling them how no matter how much darkness has spread through your life, you knew there was light and can see the good in everyone. You often voiced how thankful you were for them, having such kind-hearted friends, you could laugh now at how naïve and stupid you were to think that. “— We’re just looking out for you. Sure, you seem happy – or whatever, I guess. But we were here first, okay? He’s just a little…too reserved and weird. We just want to have you back. It’s just some fun teasing, anyways.”

You don’t remember when your chest began to feel heavy, or when the hot tears began to fall down your cheeks. You let go of the locket, bringing your hands to your face to wipe off the tears that snuck their way onto your face, “You guys – You know better.” You managed to say without choking, putting the locket back into your shirt to hide from the world – pulling up your jeans and grabbing your bag before you head out of the uncomfortable space.

Throwing your towel into the laundry bin, a firm grip was on your shoulder. You turned to see Ino, her pink hair up in a ponytail and large hazel eyes boring into yours apologetically, “Hey, I think it’s great you made a new friend you like a lot. Don’t be afraid to bring him around, not all of us are like that.” She whispered out. Ino was a transfer student, you didn’t know much about her other than she was soft-spoken, like Junpei, and a bit more reserved than the rest of the team. Earlier in the school year you were eager to befriend her but seeing her fall into the group of friends you were distancing yourself from, you thought it’d be best to stay away anyways.

“Right.” You said picking up your sports bag, “See ya next practice.”

~

“And then seeing you fly up so high…!” Junpei exclaims, his laugh going through your ear like a melody. His proud smile being the closest thing to resemble to sunshine in your eyes, his excitement on being a part of a school sporting event sending him on a quick adrenaline rush, “– It just felt good, finally having someone to cheer for. Y’know?”

You just nod, taking in the flushed look on his face as he begins to stuff his face with the ramen in front on him. As your friendship grew, so did his comfortability with you. The first few weeks of you coming into this ramen shop he would barley touch his bowl; it’s amusing to see him practically stuff his face without a second thought now. You didn’t know if it was his excitement on going to his first school sporting event or if he was just not shy around you anymore, but you didn’t care. Any slight display of vulnerability in your friendship with Junpei was a moment of accomplishment to you, so you made a deal with yourself to never think too deep into it and just enjoy these moments of breaking down his wall little by little.

As guilty as you feel, his voice vanishes as you stare at him longingly, his praises going in one ear and out the other. You notice the wrinkle in the corner of his outer eye, the way his cheek bone rises with each smile he makes as noodles hang from his mouth, you wonder if his excitement takes away from the worry he usually has when your too quiet – either way it wasn’t a horrible reason for your silence. You were just admiring his brightened face, feeling the small smile form on your face as your body reacts without thinking, pulling out your phone and taking yet again another photo of him, smiling off-guard, capturing another moment of pure happiness you never want to miss out on.

You see his lips stopped moving, eyes blinking back at you as he slurps up the last of the noodles that were hanging on his lips. You stare back at him – unmoved and unashamed of your sudden action. You snort after a few seconds of the silent staring contest that happened between the two of you, causing Junpei to lightly smile and chuckle to himself before asking jokingly, “Again?” Remembering the first time he caught you taking a photo of him off-guard.

You shrug back at him, picking up your own chopsticks and finally bringing your ramen to your mouth, you were so infatuated with Junpei’s praise and reaction you nearly forgotten how hungry you were. Junpei gives you a toothy grin as he goes back to his own bowl, with each smile he gives you, you feel the barrier he had up against the world slowly shrink in size.

Your eyes shift to your tote bag placed next to you, taking up that entire side of the red booth. You feel heat flush throughout your body as you see the leather black notepad sticking out, making itself known to you. You’ve been meaning to talk to Junpei about a project you had to do – one you’ve been working on anyways without his knowledge. Your friendship with Junpei was solid at this point, you knew that much. You knew your feelings towards each other was mutual, you were best friends, you also knew you had a tendency to often be too intense with the people you cared deeply about.

“You’re in my bag.” You whispered aloud, unaware completely of what you just said, your nerves getting the best of you.

Junpei gave you a quizzical look, his one visible eyebrow scrunched up as he swallows his food.

“I mean – ” you start off, “Pictures of you. I sketched pictures of you. They’re in my bag.”

His excited eyes burn through you, screaming at you without words to show him the sketches you were talking about. You gulp, heat rising to your ears, you hope he doesn’t notice your shaky hands reach for the book as you plop it in front of him, the first page being the first picture you snuck of him while he was at his club. He takes initiative and flips through the rest of the pages, seeing some of him sitting in class with his head placed on the palm of his hands, or him sitting under a tree.

Junpei’s fingers lightly trace over a specific sketch – it’s a drawing of a selfie that you two took together during lunch. He slowly looks up at you and you quickly avert your eyes to avoid his gaze, the feeling of embarrassment slowly introducing itself to you, a feeling you weren’t too familiar with.

Taking a deep breath, you look him in the eye as you clear your throat, “For my art class – ” you couldn’t hide the way your voice trembled with each passing word, “I need to paint something that makes my day, like, something you wake up and look forward to. Well, sitting next to you in class and coming here after, ditching practice and hearing you talk about some gross scary movie, it – that’s what I look forward to when I wake up…”

Your heart twists as you see the way Junpei’s face heats up, his face displaying different shades of red with each word you shakily spit out. You knew Junpei was closed off, becoming his friend and teaching him to let his guard down to form connections wasn’t easy – it isn’t easy. You fear anything too intense would scare him off, you fear being too open would crumble the friendship you were most fond of.

“I gotta – I wanna ask if I can paint you? A canvas and everything.” You mentally scold yourself at your choice of words, obviously a canvas – it’s a damn painting. The word vomit coming out and being stronger than you attempt steady train of thought.

You sit there staring at him – waiting, this felt like something that could bring you closer or pull you apart – if following him around, dragging him to this ramen shop, sneaking pictures of him whenever you had a chance didn’t kill the friendship, something like this possibly could.

What wasn’t expected was the warm feeling sneakily make its way onto your hand, a slight squeeze coming right after. You stared wide-eyed, seeing Junpei’s hand draped over yours. You watch silently in your booth, his hand placed over yours, a sight you would secretly fantasize about but quickly push away. Whenever the daydream occurred you would remind yourself, friends don’t look at each other that way.

“I look forward to you every morning too.” Was all he replied.

Needless to say, you had permission to use him as your muse.

_____________________________

Your fingers graze upon the corners of the pages of the magazine you were holding onto your hands, sitting with your legs crossed on the table with the four boys you slowly formed a friendship with.  You use your free hand to wave a cherry lollipop you snatched from Touya, one of the boys in the club with shaggy hair and glasses.

The chatter of the movie they’ve just seen and fallen in discussion to filled one ear while the music you were playing on your air pods filling the other, coming here to pass time by time has become a ritual for you. Once you’d gotten bored with the training that turned into gossip at the cheer club, you’d sneakily make your way to the Movie Club until it was time to go home, this place has become your safe haven. Here you have Junpei and the other boys, that you quickly made friends them, referring to them as your ‘sons’ as a joke.

You studied the pages from your favorite magazine – 6Teen— currently on the page of horoscopes. You usually skip these things, but the bright gold and purple designs caught your eyes, quickly finding your sun signs column, snickering to yourself at how generic these were. You weren’t one to go against the stars or the New Age spirituality that seemed to have your generation wrapped around their finger, but most magazine horoscopes were jokes themselves. You’d visit an astrologer before you ever took prediction meant to be read by their thousands of readers to heart.

‘ (sun sign),

You’ve been allowing your past to heavily effect your current circumstances. Keep an eye on those who keep their eyes on you, don’t be afraid of moving forward and allowing yourself to feel what you’re afraid of.’

You scoffed at the reading, bringing the cherry lollipop to your mouth and then releasing it with a loud ‘pop’! On instinct your eyes move up, catching Junpei staring at you and making eye contact with him. You see the flush spread across his cheeks, him seeing you twist and roll the candy around your tongue seconds earlier. The same feeling of butterflies fluttering throughout your chest caused you to quickly look down, avoiding his gaze that seemed to make you more nervous as each day passed by. Your eyes scanned the page you’ve just read “Keep an eye on those who keep their eyes on you…”, you quickly turn the page and pretend to bring your focus on the new article, on which hair style compliments you more based off the shape of your face.

Maybe you should think twice before mocking the stars and their messages – you thought – even if the messages are being sent through a magazine column.

You hear Junpei clear his throat as he goes back to his conversation, talking about how horrible the most recent Scary Movie was, something about how the franchise happened to get worse the more movies they made.

“Hey, what are you doing in here – (Y/N?)” You brought your head up, removing your air pod as you see a group of boys you were all too familiar with walk into the club room – their presence intimidating. Your eyes scanned them, remembering the moments you had laughing with them during lunch or after club hours, your stomach turning with disgust at these being the type of people you’d surround yourself with before you knew how they truly were, before you opened your eyes a little more and became a little less naïve with the idea that everyone was good.

“I mean, it’s our clubroom.”

“You guys aren’t in this club.”

You and Junpei replied in union, your eyes darted towards him, noticing his defensive stance. His trembling body didn’t match the stern look of assertiveness on his face. Good, you thought to yourself. A little teasing might not hurt everyone, but it was good to see him stand his ground towards the boys who would spit rude spiteful words to him in secret.

“Last time I checked, neither are you.” Shota said, the eerily forced smile he would impose throughout the day spread across his face– the same smile you learned to not trust when a classmate vented to you about him bullying him into doing his homework. The same smile you saw when he confessed to you, only hours after you heard him ridicule Junpei when he thought you weren’t around. “We were actually sent for you!”

You squint your eyes in suspicion, staring at the group of boys looking for any signs of malice. You don’t miss how two in the back hold in their snorting, trying to keep their eyes from you. “But – but no one knows I...”

Shota made his way towards you, bringing his head on top of your head and and patting it, “You aren’t as sneaky as you are pretty. I think you should head back before you get in more trouble than having us get sent for you.”

Your heads turn as you heard a slam on the table, Junpei’s teeth were gritted, eyebrows furrowed and griping onto the table, his eyes beaming with irritation, letting out an annoyed grunt seeing Shota get so physically comfortable with you and flirting with you right in front of him. Whether it was jealous – or your best friend simply being protective over you, it was hard to ignore the rapid beating against your chest, heat rising up through your body at seeing him get protective of you.

In an attempt to calm yourself down and ignore the racing thoughts, you take a deep breathe swatting Shota’s coarse hand from your head, “Right…” Collecting all your items you head towards the door, ignoring the snickering and whistles of the boys who began to uncomfortably surround you. “I’m gonna just go. See you after. Or just – just text me if you need me, for anything, okay?” You emphasize him needing you. Your stomach churned, feeling queasy as you prepared your leave.

Junpei just nods at you, his eyes not leaving Shota as you race your way out of the room.

The uneasy feeling never left you as you made your way back to the Movie Club room, and it only grew once you saw the sight of it. The chairs were spread across the room, one of the desks flipped over, and movies along with books scattered throughout the floor. Your mouth twists along with your chest, your vision going blurry and you began seeing red – red like the spots of blood you see splattered around the floor.

You dropped your bag as your legs reacted before you could process what you saw, tears forming in your eyes as you sprint towards the front of the school. The world around you became blurry, breathing frantic, you’re not worried about the strange looks from classmates or the ugly noises coming out of your mouth due to your drying throat. Once you make your way to the spot, your spot, you halt— the world around you still spinning, sweat dripping down your fingertips. The only thing going through your head is Junpei.

Junpei, Junpei, Junpei.

Where was he? Was he okay? Was the blood his?

He wasn’t at the spot in front of the school where you would usually meet at, he wasn’t at the club, and you didn’t even have his home address. You reach for your bag, cursing yourself as you noticed that you dropped it in his club room. Taking a few deep breathes you rush back, sprinting and ignoring the questions being spat to you when you pass the people you used to be friends with.

Once you got your bag you took out your phone, tossing your bag to the side as you shakily type out to him.

Sent: Why didn’t you wait for me? Told u to text me if anything. Are you okay? I hope you’re okay. Please just let me know how you are. Eat and sleep well for me, okay?

_________________

You lazily plop onto your bed, allowing your body to sink in the mattress. Your head was throbbing and throat scratchy, you cried your entire way home. You stare at the bag thrown across your room – coming home with no appetite you didn’t bother eating or making conversation with your mother. You decided your school work would have to wait until early in the morning.

Your mind was racing with questions, you turned and had your head facing the pillow, screaming into it while kicking your legs. Frustration took over your body, you didn’t even realize your eyelids slowly becoming heavier with each thought racing your mind.

You soon drifted off to sleep, not knowing that Junpei opened your message, leaving you on read.

You went to bed before realizing he was ignoring you.

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Sugar [Miguel Galindo x Fem!Reader]

I - I'm not sure what happened, because I didn't plan this lol. But it's probably because I had this song on repeat as I was writing. Miguel has been pissing me off this season, but I guess that's working for me? Idk, that seems like there's a lot to unpack there. Anyway, here's a one-shot!

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, smut (like, a bunch of it), unprotected sex, daddydom!miguel; language; references to sugaring (not the waxing kind) | Words: 3,295

Taglist: @chibsytelford

He had been coming in every Thursday morning for the last several weeks. He ordered the same thing every time. For Miguel, medium flat white with oat milk. An odd choice, in your opinion. Based on his appearance, you would have pegged him as an Americano guy. Or at worst, the type to order a cappuccino and casually drop the “I discovered cappuccinos at this exquisite little café on a Venice canal” line. Especially the first time he came in wearing that white suit. Might as well have been wearing a fucking straw fedora.

He sat in the café every time he came in, reading the paper and looking at you. Men did that, sometimes, but they all had the decency to look away when you caught them staring. But this guy would meet your eyes with not a hint of embarrassment and take his sweet time breaking your gaze to return to his paper. If he had been anyone else, it might’ve made your skin crawl. But the fact that he didn’t look away, as though he didn’t care that you knew he was looking, had you intrigued.

Your barista job was the way you were paying your way through school and you worked a lot. Having something like a handsome regular to look forward to made the time a little more bearable. So, your little dance with the stranger Miguel went on like this for several weeks. After the first few, you started making sure to have his order ready when he arrived, knowing he would show up at 8:15 on the dot. The first time you did that, you slid his drink across the counter as he reached for it, his fingers brushing yours lightly. You met his scrutiny with your own darkening gaze, daring him to say something. But also begging him to say something.

He didn’t. He simply smirked that infuriating smirk and took his usual place at a table near the door, opening his paper with a flick. You turned on your heel, sucking your teeth as your coworker arched her eyebrow at you.

The next Thursday, you had his order ready when he arrived, but in an effort to restore the power balance, you had your coworker bring it to the handoff. You could feel Miguel’s eyes on you as you zipped busily behind the counter, making drinks. He watched you intently for the entirety of his visit. You allowed yourself exactly three glances his way. Each time, you could tell that you were getting him riled up. You had the feeling that no one ever said no to him, and you weren’t giving him the attention he so clearly desired.

Perhaps the timing was right, or perhaps your brush-off worked, but the following week was different. You could tell something had changed when he walked in. He was all business, his shoulders squared beneath his navy suit jacket, his bearded jaw set. He looked… like he was done playing games. The thought sent an involuntary shiver crawling down your spine.

“Good morning, Miguel,” you said coyly as he approached the handoff where you had his drink waiting for him.

“(Y/N),” he offered in response, a devilish glint in his eye.

“I’d like to get this to go,” he continued, motioning to his coffee, and your heart plummeted, immediately assuming you had somehow messed this up for yourself.

“Uh, sure,” you retorted. “Not a problem.” You turned away to remake his drink in a to-go cup, mentally kicking yourself already. When you returned to hand him his drink, he was leaning nonchalantly against the wall, arms crossed over his broad chest, studying you.

“There’s something else I’d like.” He pushed himself off the wall and leaned over the counter conspiratorially, his mouth very close to your ear. His tone was smooth, with just enough authority to make your thighs clench. “You. On your back. In my bed.”

His words squeezed the breath out of your lungs. You pulled back for a moment to meet his gaze, the corners of your mouth twitching upwards. Your pulse thrummed under your skin. “Also, not a problem,” you murmured, proud of how smooth you managed to sound, despite the rolodex of emotions spinning in your head.

***

“Fuck – Miguel!” you moaned, your back arching off of his 1,000 thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets as he slid his fingers between your folds, his mouth and beard glistening with your juices. You watched him smirk from his position between your legs, his fingers stretching you exquisitely. He had one of your knees pinned roughly to the bed, keeping you spread for him. You clutched at the sheets on either side of you, but your hands started to wander as he found his rhythm inside you. His thumb circled your clit roughly as your fingers dragged themselves down your body. One hand found a home pinching and twisting your nipple, the sharp twinge punctuating the slow heat building in your core. Your other hand gripped at Miguel’s hair as his tongue lapped at your clit again, and you couldn’t help yourself as you ground your hips harder against his face, whining in pleasure.

Your first orgasm rolled through you like a wave, your whole body convulsing repeatedly as you rode it, wailing Miguel’s name in its wake. He climbed over you as you came down, his thick cock hanging against the inside of your thigh and you shivered, eager to be stretched around him as he fucked you into his fancy mattress. He eyed you hungrily as he moved to press his mouth to your neck, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses in his wake. When you had been lulled into the gentleness of his ministrations, he bit down hard on your shoulder, sinking roughly into you at the same time, and you cried out as the sensation took your breath away. You clung to Miguel, your fingers clawing frantically at his back, as he bottomed out, thrusting hard and deep.

A low groan rumbled in his chest as he rolled his hips against yours. You relished in the sounds of your fucking echoing in the spacious room, his hips snapping furiously against your ass. He tossed your legs over his shoulders and pounded harder into you, the new angle sinking him even deeper. The fire in his eyes excited you and had your pussy throbbing around him.

“Ahh, Jesus, Miguel, just like that,” you gasped, feeling the pressure building in your core. The higher he took you, the emptier your mind became, until all you knew was the ache to be filled. Miguel pulled your hands off of him, grabbing your wrists roughly and pinning them to the bed above your head, never breaking stride.

“Please don’t stop,” you cried, your eyes screwed shut, quickly approaching another orgasm. Miguel dropped himself onto his elbows to hover over you, the added stimulation over your clit wrecking you. Your second orgasm snapped, spots bursting behind your eyelids and you clenched around Miguel completely. He fucked you through it and moments later he was pulling out to kneel in front of you on the bed, stroking himself desperately before releasing ropes of hot cum on your chest.

He was breathing hard as he ran a finger through the sticky mess on your chest and brought it up to your lips. He watched with dark eyes as you opened your mouth obediently and sucked the taste of him off of his fingers.

After a moment, his face relaxed and he pulled himself off the bed, returning from the bathroom with a damp rag. He gently cleaned off your chest, grazing your clavicle with his lips. You couldn’t help the little laugh that escaped you, at the image of Miguel Galindo cleaning you up.

“What?” he asked with a lopsided smile.

“Hope you’re not expecting me to give you my employee discount from now on,” you snickered.

Miguel grinned. “I think I can afford a cup of coffee, querida.”

***

You were more than a little surprised when Miguel showed up at your door late one Saturday morning. You had been sleeping together for a few months by then; sometimes at fancy hotels, but usually at his home, in his bed. Well, and on a lot of his other furniture. But considering that he lived in a very expensive house with lavish trappings and armed security, him coming to your shitty apartment in Santo Padre was unprecedented. But there he was, standing at your door, while you stared back at him wide-eyed. You drank in his suited appearance while you stood before him in bare feet and an oversized Guns ‘n Roses t-shirt.

“Good morning, princesa,” he said smoothly, that notorious smirk fastened to his lips. “May I come in?”

You shifted from foot to foot. “Uh, sure, I guess.” You stepped back to allow him through.

You watched skeptically as he gazed around him. He kept his expression smoothed into neutrality, making it impossible to read him. Most apartments in Santo Padre were old and somewhat run down. You had worked hard to make yours feel homey. It was small, but your couch was new, and you had a nice TV you had saved up for. There was framed art on the walls and pictures on the shelves. If he had said anything negative about your home, the only space you had to yourself, you might have thrown him out. Perhaps he sensed this; either way, he kept his mouth shut.

“Can I get you something to drink?” you asked courteously, the nicety feeling strange on your tongue considering that not two days ago that same tongue had been wrapped around his cock.

“Coffee?” he asked, and you rolled your eyes, but still let the grin settle on your lips.

You padded to the kitchen and pulled out two ceramic pour-over sets, your grinder, and the most expensive beans you had on hand. You got started on the familiar, comforting process of making coffee, letting yourself focus on the grinding and the pouring and the steeping, while your mind tried to parse out what Miguel was doing here.

When the coffee was done, you returned to the living room to find Miguel sitting on your couch, gazing down at the papers you had been going through strewn chaotically across the coffee table. He glanced up at you as you entered, a rare smile gracing his features, but you caught the furrow of his brows before he looked up.

You handed him the cup of coffee with an arched brow.

“You need a better system of organization,” he chided, motioning towards the mess.

You shrugged as you dropped onto the couch beside him. “Probably, but I would need to find the motivation to organize it first. Looking at all of this makes me depressed,” you responded, only half-joking.

Miguel studied you seriously for a moment. Then his features relaxed and your chest unclenched accordingly. He set his cup on the coffee table and settled back into your couch as you pulled your legs up under you, getting comfortable.

“So,” you started, drawing the word out. “What brings you to the wrong side of the tracks this fine morning, Miguel?”

You caught the irritation that flashed in his eyes as he turned to look at you. But he eased up when he spotted your wry grin.

“Needed a break from work,” he said simply, his hands gently pulling your feet onto his lap.

“So, you came to hide out in the last place they’d look for you, huh?”

He grinned. “Something like that.”

He drew a low groan out of you as he pressed a thumb to the insole of your foot. You had worked a double yesterday and your feet were killing you. You closed your eyes, your head dropping against the couch cushions as you relaxed into his touch.

When you opened them a few minutes later, Miguel’s hungry stare was focused on you.

“Fuck, querida, the sounds you make,” he growled, reaching for your hips and pulling you roughly onto his lap, your back pressed against his firm chest. You let your head drop back onto his shoulder, his breath in your ear sending tremors down your back. His hand slipped beneath the hem of your shirt, his touch teasing against the fabric of your panties. Your pussy clenched in anticipation, and you moaned, a low, wanton sound that had Miguel restraining you firmly with his free arm.

“So needy for me, (Y/N).” With a quick flick of his wrist, he had pulled your panties off and let them drop to the floor. He draped your legs over his, opening you wide for him. His middle finger caressed your slick folds, frustratingly slowly. Patience wasn’t your strong suit, and Miguel very much enjoyed lording that over you.

A low rumble reverberated in his chest as he swatted at the side of your bare ass on his lap. “Beg for it,” he commanded, nipping hard at your neck. You yelped at the exquisite mix of pleasure and pain.

“Please, Miguel. Please, I need you.” You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, rocking on Miguel’s lap, as much as his hold would allow, desperate for more friction.

“That’s better,” he remarked as he plunged two fingers into you. Your mouth hung open in a silent cry, devastated by the feeling of him stretching you. The pace he set was savage, and you were quickly approaching the edge.

“Fuck, I – I’m so close,” you wailed, the rolling in your hips no longer under your control.

So he pulled his fingers out. A petulant whine escaped your throat before you could stop it and you heard Miguel tut chidingly in your ear.

“Up,” he ordered, and you rose off his lap. He pulled at your waist and bent you over the arm of the couch, positioning himself behind you. You heard his pants dropping to the floor before a firm smack landed first on one cheek, then the other, making you rock forward against the couch, wetness sliding between your thighs.

“Please,” you whispered, and Miguel cracked, pushing his thick cock between your folds. He sheathed himself inside you, his grip bruising on your hips. After giving you a moment to adjust to his size, he pulled out and slammed back into you, returning to his brutal pace from earlier. He looped a strong arm around your torso and hauled you up, his fingers finding their place in a firm grasp around your throat. He fucked furiously up into you, your living room permeated with primal grunts and moans.

Your fingers wandered needily to your clit, twirling around it until the tight coil in your belly snapped and you were coming, writhing so forcefully that you broke from Miguel’s grasp and caught yourself with trembling hands on the arm of the couch. Miguel reached down and gripped your hair, tugging just enough to turn your head to the side, watching you come down from your high. His cock was punishing inside you and you were trembling from overstimulation, but you knew he was close. His jaw clenched and he leaned over you, pressing his forehead against your spine, fucking you deep.

A few more thrusts like that and Miguel was coming undone inside you, his cock twitching with his release. From the corner of your eye, you could see the heavy rise and fall of his chest as he pulled out, immediately going to fetch a towel from the bathroom. He cleaned you up, placing gentle kisses on the red marks on your ass and combing his fingers through your hair. You grabbed his hand and led him to your bedroom, pulling under the covers with you, your eyes already heavy with sleep.

A short nap later, you shuffled back out to the living room, leaving Miguel asleep in your bed. Despite your little interlude, you had to be somewhat productive today. You sighed, steeling yourself for the stack of bills still awaiting you. Your rent and tuition bill would be the priority. There had been more fee hikes at the school, so you were probably looking at another couple of months of pulling as many doubles as you could manage to cover expenses. Plus, you had to consider the cost of your textbooks. As you perched on the edge of the couch with your elbows on your knees, you scanned the sea of papers looking for the tuition statement. Your eyes widened as you located it, a soft “what the fuck?” escaping your lips.

There was a check on top of it. For the total amount of your tuition for the semester. Signed by Miguel Galindo.

You picked up the check with trembling fingers, as though terrified it might disintegrate if you thought about it too hard. You stared at it, your thumb tracing over the check amount, as you stood robotically and made your way back to the bedroom.

Miguel was still asleep, facing the edge of the bed, the almost permanent stress lines around his eyes and mouth gone. You sat heavily on the floor beside him, your head almost touching his, still staring down at the check in your hands.

“Miguel, what is this?” you asked softly, and with a groan, he opened his eyes.

It took him a moment to register what was happening, but when he did, he shrugged nonchalantly. “I don’t want you to have to work doubles all month. Then I’ll never get to see you.”

A quiet hum thrummed in your throat. “This is a lot of money,” you muttered.

His lips turned up into a grin, a hint of condescension behind his sleepy eyes. “No, it’s really not, princesa.”

Your brain worked hard to process what was happening. What he was doing. “Does this mean you’re like, paying me for sex, essentially?”

Miguel heaved a heavy sigh and sat up in bed, pulling you into his lap. He buried his nose in your shoulder, his lips gliding softly across your skin. “Consider it mutually beneficial. I need something from you,” he growled, trailing a hand teasingly under your shirt, “and you need something that I can give you in return. And like I said, I would be a very unhappy man if I never get to do this,” he continued, pinching your nipple roughly, eliciting a fragile whine as your mind snapped to attention, “because you’re always at work, especially when I can do something about it.”

You nodded, a little dazed, and Miguel pulled you against him as he laid back down, spooning you. You began to relax as you talked yourself into the arrangement. You were already having sex, right? So, this was just… sweetening the pot? You imagined for a moment how much less stressful your life could be if you didn’t have to spend all your time either in classes or at work to pay for classes. You could have more time to study, more time to cook so you wouldn’t be living on fast food. And you certainly weren’t going to turn down more time with Miguel.

You chuckled quietly and Miguel squeezed your hand questioningly.

“Does this make you my sugar daddy?” you asked with a laugh.

Miguel scoffed. “Not a fan of that term, but I suppose that is an accurate description.”

You rolled over to face him, meeting his heated gaze. You wrapped a leg over his hips and threaded your fingers into his hair, desire blossoming in your belly. “What about just daddy, then?”

You watched that signature smirk appear, the clenching of his jaw hinting at his swelling arousal. He rolled you onto your back, pinning you roughly to the bed. “Now that, querida, I can work with.”

[333sth]

dove. (frankie morales)

chapter ii. previous. series masterlist.

pairing: frankie morales x ofc (’dove’) no use of y/n

warnings: ptsd/military service, violence, injury detail, language, angsty.

summary: santi’s hunch is no longer a hunch, but only will knows how close they are to finding frankie’s girl. 

rating: mature wc: 1.8k 

When a strong hand had clamped around her shoulder, Dove’s instinct was to break it. It wasn’t menacing; they were just waiting at the bar to be served.

A burly, middle-aged man was towering beside her, clutching a beer bottle that looked miniature in his thick grasp. His arms, still holding the shadow of what was once impressive muscle, were littered with military tattoos. Dove could spot a stick-and-poke from a mile off.

“I recognise that,” He gestures to her neck, where a small Delta Force tattoo was usually disguised by her long hair. “You ex-forces? Delta?” 

She wanted to kick herself. The sticky atmosphere had gotten the better of her and she’d thrown her hair into a ponytail without thinking.

“Yeah, but that isn’t exactly public knowledge ‘round here.” She murmurs. 

Across the room, Roni throws her head back in exaggerated laughter. A group of men, who looked barely out of their teen years, had come over to make some desperate attempts at getting laid. Dove had excused herself to buy the next round after one of them had cracked a mortifying joke about liking older women.

“That’s understandable.” The man held out his hand, which she took hesitantly. “My name’s Mark, I just retired out here. Served for twenty three years.” He chuckled gruffly, his voice thick from cigarettes. “I got jack shit to show for it, mind you.”

“Tell me about it.” She laughs, but she doesn’t offer her name. 

Mark notices as the conversation lulls. “I trained with a guy who made Delta. Santiago Garcia - we called him Pope, ‘cause he just had that way about him. You probably knew him.”

Dove swallows, chest lurching. “Sounds familiar… You know how it is though, the nicknames all blur into one eventually.”

That’s a lie, you never forget your teammates’ names. Mark knows it and so does Dove. Thankfully, he doesn’t push a conversation she clearly doesn’t want to have, and raises his bottle to her.

“Well, it was nice to meet you anyway. Enjoy yourself out here.”

“You too, Mark.” She tries to smile, but her lips press into a thin line that probably looks more like a grimace.

*

Mark had called Santiago the following day, the alcohol-blurred memory peaking his interest once he remembered his old friend’s plea a few months back. He’d asked around for any heads-up if any ex-Delta women around their age popped up. Mark had thought the man was delusional when he’d heard. If she was Delta Force, she wouldn’t be found unless she wanted to be. 

Apparently, he was wrong. Maybe even the best of the best got rusty after a while.

The town Dove had been spotted in was questionable to Santiago. It was too cosmopolitan for a woman who was starting over. However, after a onceover on a map of Mexico, Santi spotted its smaller neighbour. He’d never heard of it, which meant it must be the place. Small population, right on the coast, with enough amenities and business to get by without any trouble.

“And, man, she had a wicked scar on her throat. Sort of shit you’d only see on a Delta.” Mark had added, with a chuckle. “I can’t imagine that ain’t your girl.”

‘Dove isn’t my girl,’ Santi wanted to bite back instinctually. He bit his tongue, and instead offered, “It sounds like her. I can’t thank you enough, brother.”

*

Santiago only told Will what he knew about Dove. He had the mind to retain that information no matter what this trip threw at them. Plus, he trusted him with his life, plus a couple other lives that came to mind. Call it insurance, if things went south.

Plus, Will didn’t have Tom’s mouth, or twisted morality. Tom was more than willing to accept that Dove would miss out on their prospective fortune, that the ‘hunch’ would have to wait until Lorea was dealt with. Santiago knew his brothers well enough to know Benny would throw a hissy fit if they knew where Dove was and she wasn’t included. She’d spent enough time stitching up their war-torn skin and shoving them out of bullets to deserve a cut.

So, Pope told a little white lie. They had a stop in Mexico to meet with a contact. 

Frankie had murmured, “Better be worth it, stuck in this shitty car with you fuckers for ten hours.” 

Santiago resisted the urge to agree. God, he hoped it would be worth it too. He hoped he wasn’t driving them into a dead end, a bluff on Mark’s part. Or even worse, invading Dove’s beautiful new life without them. That would destroy everything; Dove, the boys, Frankie. What if she had settled down? What if he pulled into that idyllic beach bar she wanted and she’s there, a baby with the same brilliant eyes balanced on her hip? She was never sure about kids. A vivid mental picture of the wrong diamond, glistening on her ring finger in the afternoon sun, and the wrong man pecking her lips, made Santi physically wince. 

Fish would never forgive him. Will and Benny would never forgive him. He’d never forgive himself. 

It was a long, apprehensive drive. Santi’s eyes were drying, squinting against the headlights that occasionally glared past them. His jaw had been clenched for the last few hours as his anxiety grew, nothing but open road to stare at while he contemplated over and over as to whether it was the right decision. It didn’t help that Frankie never really slept like the others did on the move. While the other boys passed out, Frankie’s soft eyes continued scanning the scene flying past the window. It was like he stayed awake to watch Pope’s back, as if they were still in combat, or as an unspoken act of kindness to keep him company. 

Really, Frankie was a terrible sleeper. Santi remembered that from the early days, before he and Dove gave it up and became an item. He was the last to drift off and first to wake up, always restless. Once Dove started tip-toeing over to his cot in the night, he became the worst snorer in the division. Always splayed on his front, one arm tossed over Dove’s waist and the other under his pillow. She’d kick him in the night so he’d roll over and shut up, but it never lasted long. 

One night, Benny had enough, and groaned to Dove, “Put us out of our fuckin’ misery and smother him with your pillow, for the love of God.”

Dove had snapped back, “Fuck off, Benny, just ‘cause you aren’t getting any of the action doesn’t mean you have to get all bitter.”

“I’ve told you guys - I’m more than willing to join in-”

“Ben.” Frankie grumbled into her shoulder. It was gruff with sleep but still menacing enough to make the hairs on Dove’s arms stand on end.

Before a pillow smacked into his head, Benny guffawed, “Oh, so he is alive after all.”

*

Wringing a soft rag for polishing glasses between her fingertips, Dove descends the wooden steps at the entrance of the bar. The last huddle of regulars holler behind her, wrapping up their weekend drinks as the evening creeps closer to the early hours; Dove always notices the time when moths start colliding with the lanterns.

Roni rises from a crouch on the ground, dropping a paintbrush into a can with a clatter. “See, your own little touch!” 

The wooden panels that constructed the side of the bar, usually concealed by a stack of cardboard beer boxes, is decorated with little doves. Despite studying criminology, mainly for the satisfaction of her parents, Roni loved painting and insisted on brightening the exterior of their beach shack.

Dove cracks a half-smile. “It’s lovely, Ron. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” She beams, throwing the half-empty cans into the nearby bins. She pauses, glancing hesitantly at the older woman over her shoulder,  “Dove’s not your real name, right?”

“No, no. Nickname from when I was nursing overseas.” Dove chuckles, before adding, “Feels more like my real name than my Christian one nowadays.”

Roni passes Dove on the steps as she returns to the bar, “It suits you. You’re always graceful, but… you’re fucking fast.”

Dove laughs with her, ignoring the familiar clench in her chest. It’s exactly what Frankie used to say. The difference is Roni notices when she almost drops a glass, or her tray of drinks starts to wobble, and Dove is there to catch it with such fluidity Roni never saw her coming. Even the way Dove’s knife slices through fruit like each piece is a slab of melted butter. Frankie witnessed the extreme of that, the stealth and grace that usually ensured the enemy was dead before the others had even thought to raise their guns. Still, he admired her the same way Roni was right now. It was like awe.

It’s probably because he loved her effortlessly, every single aspect of her being without a glimmer of doubt or judgement. And now he wasn’t here.

The group of regulars stumbling down the steps break Dove from her thoughts, chortling and wishing her goodnight. One of the older men turns and jerks his thumb towards the road, “You might wanna tell them you’re closing, bonita.”

Before the road becomes the sand, there is a small, dusty wasteland that doubles as a makeshift car park. A vehicle is parked, glaring headlights facing towards the ocean and forming peculiar, alien-like beams in the dark. She’s definitely getting rusty; she’d barely registered the idling truck.

“I’ll sort ‘em out, Miguel, don’t you worry.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it,” He jokes, waving to her. “Buenos noches, Dove.”

Military habits are practically impossible to shake, and immediately, Dove’s mind launches into overdrive. She raises her hand above her eyes, squinting against the blinding white LEDs in an attempt to make out a registration plate or even a recognisable model. Her mind is fine-tuned to memorise; most of the locals’ cars are already catalogued in her memory, but this isn’t one of them.

Maybe they’re tourists, ready to push their luck with the opening times. That’s the reasonable side of Dove’s mind. The irrational, dark edges whisper, ‘What if someone found you?’ By someone, it means someone bad. Someone she wronged during her service, an enemy or straggler that got away. Even a civilian that might have been caught in the crossfire. She thought about those ghosts often. Hell, some of them she could still name. When she can’t sleep, sometimes she lists them, pictures their faces if she can recall them, just in case they ever came back.

She inhales a sharp gust of ocean air through her nostrils, welcoming the clarity that spreads through her mind. Parting her lips (the lips Frankie always teased were in a permanent pout), she released the breath slowly, trying to relax the stressed scrunch in her features.

“Your face is gonna get stuck like that someday.”

The voice is familiar. A deep, breathy chuckle, barrel-toned and gravelly. It sounds like home.

taglist: @mishasminion360

[plethora-of-imagines]

Reassurance

AN: I took a bit of an unusual approach to the prompt choosing to focus on the aftercare side of things more so than the active kink for this day. You can't always write full-on horny porn. Sometimes you have to write the soft aftercare that is a part of a BDSM relationship.

Word Count: 1566

Warnings: implied smut/lemon, praise kink, aftercare, dom drop

Description: DW Kinktober Day 1; Prompt: praise The Master needs some reassurance after a session that he didn't harm his submissive.

Tag List: @c-s-stars @queerconfusionthings @how-masterful @truthbehindthemysteries

Flopping back onto the bed with a content sigh you nestled under the blankets. Aftercare shower completed you were nice and clean. Only a few tender spots on your skin, rubbed raw this time from the ropes that had tied you up. They would be nicely healed in a few days, if not a little bit tender to touch. The fresh sheets were still warm from when the Master fetched them from the dryer. You burrowed further into the warmth. Face just barely peeking out from under the blankets. It was just what you needed after the intense sesion. With the sheer amount and force of the spankings that Master had given you, you were certain to have some bruises in the following days too. But they hadn’t formed yet so you didn’t count them in your own personal check in.

You were so cozy and comfy, all that was missing was the Master. He was still finishing up his own washing up. Part of your newly established aftercare routine involved the Master changing the sheets while you started your shower. After the bed was ready for the two of you to cuddle in without all of the gross sticky fluids from sex, the Master would join you in the shower. Carefully washing your whole body while checking for any tender areas from restraints or forming bruises from the impact of his hand or a spanking instrument. You would then dry off and wait for him to finish washing his own body. It allowed both of you some time alone to decompress and leave headspace while also letting him make sure you didn’t need any specific aftercare.

Drifting in the afterglow you waited patiently for the shower to shut off. The gentle downpour was reassurance that the Master was just taking his time. He would be next to you, where he belonged, soon. As the minutes dragged on you started to worry. Was something wrong? No, no. He must just be enjoying the hot water.

Your mind raced with reasons as to why the Master was avoiding coming to join you. None of them fully formed, just the vague panic and fear of having done something wrong when you certainly hadn’t done anything wrong. Crawling out of the cocoon of warmth you had made you slowly crept towards the bathroom. You almost hoped for the Master to saunter out before you got to the door and tease you for being impatient for your nightly cuddles.

Creaking as you opened it, the door swung inwards stopping just before it hit the wall. The wet towels you had discarded serving as a doorstop. The Master was sitting in the bathtub, water from the shower hitting his downcast head. He wasn’t reacting to the water pouring down his face, covering his eyes. It didn’t even look like he was breathing. Panicking, you rushed to turn the water off.

Once it was off you paused for just a moment, just a second to think about what was happening. He was experiencing a dom drop. That had never happened before. Once the remaining water had drained you stepped into the bathtub, kneeling down in front of him. Looking down at him you tried to think of what to do. What would help the Master? He still hadn’t moved, but you could help him. You would help him. The only thing you could think to do was to treat him with the care he typically showed you.

With slow and clear movements you cradled the side of his face with your hands. Grounding him in the moment with your touch, or at least trying too. Gently you lifted his face up until you could look into his eyes. His eyes avoided yours, still staring down. His hands, he was looking at his hands. That had to be a part of what was wrong. Looking yourself you couldn’t see any signs of injury or harm.

“Are you okay?” You softly murmured.

Eyes locked on his hands which were now shaking he slowly pulled his gaze away to look up at you.

“I’ve hurt you,” he numbly stated, “and I enjoyed it.”

“Master,” your voice was thick with emotions. 

How could you have let him wallow in his own worries and self hatred like this? You had been warm and cozy by yourself for ages, while he fell into the trap of his own mind. Stopping yourself from spiraling you reminded yourself that you couldn’t have known. Besides, having the both of you mentally and emotionally dropping at once wouldn’t help either of you.

“I’m not hurt, Master.”

Reassuring the Master with your words you slowly guided him out of the tub. Picking up the second towel from the floor you patted down the Master’s dripping skin.

“You have never harmed me without my consent, Master.”

 Kissing your way up his chest along his throat and adam's apple, up to the corner of his lips. Continuing to speak softly to him between each press of your lips to his skin. Kind words meant to reassure him that everything was okay, that you were okay.

“You’ve always treated me with care and reverence, even when I have made you angry.”

His hair was dripping wet, conditioner not fully washed out. You decided that it wasn’t worth the maneuvering it would take to get him to lean over the sink to finish washing it out. Toweling it as dry as you could get it to be, before dropping the towel onto the floor. His hair would drip but you could handle damp sheets. As for the towels, the two of you could deal with it tomorrow. Or maybe depending on how he was feeling, you could deal with it tomorrow. You didn’t want to risk bringing these feelings back to the forefront of his mind tomorrow.

Hand in hand you lead the Master back into the bedroom. You were even more thankful that the sheets had already been changed. It meant that you didn’t have any reminders that could make him spiral further. Sure, he still was quiet, not really interacting with you. But at least he wasn’t completely lost in his own head, alone in the shower anymore.

Wrapping him in his fuzzy purple blanket you hovered over him until he settled. You could remember him joking the other day when he brought home that blanket that he had a motif to follow, of course he would get himself a purple blanket. If he was to take off his jacket he needed something to replace it with. 

Climbing into bed next to him you guided him into your arms. It felt unusual to be the one holding him, normally he was the one to hold you. Still, you held him tightly to you afraid that if you didn’t his mind would fully wander away from you again. Into his own little world where he was a horrible person for consensually hitting you.

“You’ve never done anything I didn’t want you to do, Master. You’ve always done what I’ve asked of you.”

Shuffling closer to you, he hid his face from your sight.

“I’m a monster, with no better nature who’s dared to harm you. Yet I still want to hold you close like I’ve never hurt you,” he aguishly admitted.

Your soul ached. Was this what the Master felt whenever you cried after a session? The two of you would have to talk once he was in a better headspace about if you had been putting all of this emotional burden unintentionally on his shoulders. He may be a Time Lord but that didn’t mean that he could truly handle everything. Even if he liked to claim he could.

“You’re not a monster, Master. You're my Master, the best man and dominate in the universe. You’re so good to me, Master.”

Mentally you relaxed as his whole body melted. Words finally reaching him. He was accepting what you were saying, beginning to peek his head out of his mental fortress to realize that the way he was seeing things wasn’t how they really were. About fifteen minutes passed before he spoke again.

“You’re okay?” He asked, voice filled with unshed tears. You could feel how close he was to crying, his eyes buried at the base of your neck.

Arms wrapped themselves around your body. He was clinging back now. It wasn’t perfect but it was progress. You were overjoyed with any amount of progress.

“I’m okay Master.”

You were enveloped into his embrace fully, the blanket moving to wrap you up into its warmth with the Master.

Whispering words so quietly against your skin you almost didn’t hear them.

“Such a good girl you are, truly. Helping your Master so well.”

You melted at the praise. He knew you loved being called a good girl.

“It’s easy to be a good girl for you, you’re such a good Master for me.”

An amused huff of air left his lips at your inflection. You had unintentionally copied the way he said ‘good girl’ to you when praising him. The smile and soft peck he left on your shoulder reassured you that everything would be okay. He would be back to his normal self in no time. Even if he wasn’t, you would be here to help reassure him and bring him back to himself again.

[keilemlucent]

tiles & released tension

(r18+)

gang orca | sakamata kugo x reader

continuation of this fic 

word count: 2.2k

the cycle of lust 

warnings: fem reader, monsterfucking, weird tongue, weird dicks, marking, mouthfucking, heat cycles, 

commission for @baroque-baby!!! thank u so much!!!!!!! 💗💗💗

a/n: wow here it is!! the second of the two comms :’’^) enjoy some more... Monster fucking esque stuff AND heat cycles!!!! enjoy y’all :’’^)

|||||||||||||||||||||

Despite how physically demanding the overall experience of Kugo’s rut was, you were well taken care of. Beyond that, even. He spared no expense, forgot no detail, and left no need or want unattended.

He was a dutiful lover despite his carnal hunger.

...

You vaguely knew when it was day and night. Your temporary home had large, arching windows and skylights that let sunbeams in to bend against the rippling pool. You knew when it was bright outside, though the exact time of day didn’t seem to matter much to Kugo or you.

That ‘morning’ (whenever you awoke, it was light outside), you’d woken up in the pool, tucked against Kugo’s chest in the lapping, gentle current of the water. It was always a bit scary, waking up being naked and half-submerged.

Yet, you were always mentally-reminded that no harm would come to you. Drowning? Absolutely not. Kugo was literally holding you. If any other danger entered a twenty-meter vicinity, you were sure Kugo would be ready to crush the threat instantly.

But, there were no threats. A peaceful courtyard that let in nice light during the evening with lots of pretty flowers and landscaping.

In some of your more fucked out and fucked up moments, arms braced against the wet tile as Kugo reamed you for the umpteenth time, you found yourself dazing off at the reflections and colors as you blinked back overstimulated tears.

Yet, that morning, you’d woken up without a writhing cock in you. Though it was close by and ever-hard, just as always.

“Mornin’,” You yawned, stretching to pop a kiss onto Kugo’s cheek. His chest rumbled out a sound too low for you to hear, a new, cetacean-based feature he’d developed over his rut. “Sleep well?”

“Very.”

Considered how much cum he spilled into you and the surrounding pool the night prior, he had to be exhausted, right?

To some extent.

He was a pro hero, with the stamina to match. Not to mention most of your days were spent in the pool of perfectly treated and temperate water, allowing Kugo to be in his most optimal state whether he was fighting villains or fucking your brain out.

You weren’t complaining.

Once again, dutiful.

Kugo adjusted you as he needed, a low growl pitching from his throat.

You ended up on your knees, skin scraping the tiles on the submerged bench below. It was a favored position, allowing the upper half of your body to be up and out of the water. Though you had, several times, gotten a mouthful or noseful of water due to Kugo breeding you (so fucking well) in the pool, it wasn’t preferred.

(Most of the time.)

Kugo rumbled as he floated in the water behind you, thickly-taloned hands coming to rest on your hips under the water, “You’re so beautiful in the mornings, you have no idea.”

He’d been waxing more since all of this started. In the moments he wasn’t insatiably worked up by his primal state, he was lavishing you in compliments and kindness as you’d never seen.

Kugo fished around in a nearby float basket, pulling away with a fancily crafted bottle of lube. It was a light lavender, oil-based, and heavenly smelling as he poured a bit of it on his hand.

Considering how long and sharp his nails had become, it was far too dangerous for him to prepare you like he once did.

Good thing his cock was tapered.

You could feel the bump of it against your ass, almost slivering against your hot skin under the water. Kugo slicked it down with the lube as he grabbed another item from the basket— a small bullet vibrator, waterproof and strong.

You beamed as he laid it on the pool deck by your arms.

“Am I allowed to use that?” You asked, keeping your voice teasing and sweet, still scratchy from sleep.

Kugo grunted another primal noise.

Consider it’d been several hours since he’d had his fill of you, he was bound to be insatiable. He tended to get a bit more... animalistic when he got so needy for you.

Social conventions had been mostly negated during the weeks of Kugo’s rut, it was a necessity. Not to mention that they were difficult to even think about with the distractions at your disposal.

The tip of Kugo’s cock, slick and squirming, teased as your entrance as he settled behind you, towering over your bent frame. The water sloshed around both of you, though neither of you minded.

You were far more focused on the way the appendage was teasing from your clit to your leak cunt without rest.

Laying your head on your arms, you arched your back at an even harsher angle, just barely grinding against Kugo as he prepared you as much as his cock would allow.

(It wasn’t entirely necessary considered how often he’d been stuffing you full— your cunt was practically shaped to him by that point.)

His chest bore down on your back, heat radiating off of him as he pressed you into the tiles and pool wall. You swallowed as his hand grabbed around your throat and jaw, pulling your head to the side so his long, (also) tapered tongue could lave along your shoulders.

“You always taste so good in the mornings,” Kugo spoke low and rolling. You squeezed your eyes shut, rolling your hips back to bump against his own.

As much as he fluffed you up verbally, you could feel how he was holding himself back from wrecking you.

His talons bit into the meat of your hips, his tongue licked its way to your ear, gooey saliva mixing with the water and sweat against your skin. His deep breaths, coming harsher each minute, made his chest bear down on your own, flattening you to the til, though not fully squishing you.

“Kugo,” You spoke in a singsong voice, grabbing the vibrator and flicking it on. “Why don’t you fuck me like you mean it instead of being polite? I thought we were past formalities.”

He went still, aside from the twirl of his thin cockhead at your entrance.

“I mean,” You were pressing your luck, but that was part of the fun. “I know you want to breed me so well that I leak all day, so why not get to it?”

You hummed, just for a moment, before Kugo was pressing you down, hard, squeezing the air out of your lungs in the best possible way.

“Is that really what you want?” Kugo growled, the sound shaking in several different pitches as he fucked into your cunt in one clean stroke.

You choked on your breath, scrambling against the wet tile as the vibrator slipped out of reach into the water.

Taking him at full length in one go wasn’t impossible, but the stretch of it all at once ached. His cock pressed and writhed in your cunt as he held his hips steady, shaking slightly.

You took a shuddering breath as his fat tongue rolled over your shoulders.

“How badly do you want to be ruined?”

If you could’ve melted into the water of the pool, you would’ve.

Part of you wanted to give one last fiery retort, but you were far too mushy to muster it up as Keigo thrust fully once more. He nearly bottoms out, you figure, considering the way his cock twists against your inside, pressing at your knot of nerves.

You moaned, lips parting and falling open.

Kugo greedily took the opportunity to further crane your neck, his thick tongue dipping into your mouth, snaking along the backs of your teeth.

You were caught up in it all, the sensations seemingly so fresh after sleep. Each new slam of Kugo’s hips, the taste of him filling your mouth, and the sounds of slapping water all felt magnified.

Whining, you bucked back into his thrusts, feeling the slow expansion of his cock inside you as Kugo grew ever closer.

His throaty laugh vibrated into your own mouth, the sound almost too loud for you to fully catch as your bones rang in your flesh with the tone He took your shock to push his tongue further, deeper into your mouth, licking at the back your tongue and molars.

It was almost too much, as oxygen became a luxury.

Except, Kugo grounded you easily, the hand on your hips and the pressure of his body above yours tethering you to reality as he fucked you in earnest.

Each slap of his body against your own ignited a new wave lust in your, slick spilling down your inner thighs and into the water. Your clit ached, helplessly ignored under the pseudo-surf. You didn’t have the mind in your to try and clamor for the lost vibrator, your mind swimming far too deep to think that far.

Instead, your ground back into Kugo all your could, your noises and moans dampened by the tongue throat-fucking you.  

He didn’t seem to mind at all.

You could feel yourself getting fuller and fuller, as impossible as it seemed. Kugo’s cock expanded as it neared climax, pressing at your walls before painting them white and sticky.

The grip on your jaw released, his tongue recoiling from your mouth as his head fell against your shoulder.

“How is this for ‘breeding’ you?” Kugo knew your asked, but asked anyway, chuckling at the way you desperately dripped for more of him.

You nodded, “Very, good. Very—”

Kugo’s pace became rougher.

His hand slipped under your, into the water to rub the meat of his palm into your clit in small, insistent circles. The nearby scrap of his claws only served to make you twitch and want more.

“P-Please, more!” You cried out, laying your head onto the tile as his thrusts got rougher, his teeth scraping and sucking at your neck, and his tongue soaking your skin—

And with a few final pressed of Kugo’s hand and you were coming undone for him in time with him absolutely filling you up.

It was filthy in the best possible way.

You sputtered out profanities as you came, Kugo’s hot seed spilling into you in thick, creamy spurts. The heat of it was almost scalding against the temperature of the bathwater.

Kugo kept a firm grip on you, despite the way how his skin had become so slick, fucking you through his long orgasm. It was something to do with his rut, but Kugo tended to spill into you not for seconds, but rather minutes.

It gave you time to come down as his fattened cock filled you.

You went pliant against the pool deck as another spurt of cum filled your core. Kugo was still in the throes of it, grunting every few moments and grinding into your insides. You weakly pressed back, shaking with your own breath.

Kugo’s hand pressed into your stomach, feeling the bulge of his own cock and cum filling you. The touch only strengthened your own sensations, the mix of it, and your full womb causing your eyes to roll back in your skull.

And then, it all slowed.

You were both still for a moment, the remnants of your movement told in the slosh of the pool and its harsh ripples.

Kugo gently turned your face to his, smoothing back some of your hair and dropping a few deliberate kisses against your cheeks, “Are you alright?”

You nodded, blissed-out and fucked out, “Very alright.”

It was all the response you could manage.

You couldn’t help but feel a bit disappointed as Kugo pulled out of you, an odd rush of water and fertile nut mixing below you. The absence of the stretch of his cock left you wanting.

But, Kugo was a dutiful mate, even in this state.

He carefully lifted you in his arms, carrying you out from the breeding pool to a nearby room.

It was one of the rooms you slept in, that of a handful of others. This one had a rounded ceiling and high windows, cream-colored walls and a large, water-proofed lounging bed.

Kugo gently set you down on it, grabbing a blanket-sized towel and wrapping you in it as fully as he could.

He tended to focus on your physical needs after fucking, especially when you two had been doing it so much. You’d never complain about how there was almost always a perfectly chilled water bottle in your hand and a bottle of massage oil at the ready.

Still, you wanted him—

That was why you were there, after all.

Kugo had stepped out, undoubtedly gathering up the supplies to tend to your body as he knew you needed.

You flickered your gaze to a nearby mirror, taking in your own visage.

Clearly, you’d been through the wringer. Dark circles punched under your eyes, your skin pruned from so long in the sweet-smelling water, and a smattering of rakes from Kugo’s teeth laid across your shoulders.

You looked like hell.

...

You smiled.

Kugo walked back in a moment later, just as you were standing up, wobbling on your jellied legs.

He was quick to wash to you, pulling you up against his slick body (as his cock began to re-harden again), “Sit down, love, please. I can get you anything you need.”

“You can,” You beamed up at him, craning on your tiptoes and pulling him down by his neck. “And guess what I need?”

He rumbled out a laugh, undoubtedly knowing where your words were going based on your suddenly tender affections, “And what's that?”

“You.”

[beewolfwrites]

The Oar in the Sand - Chapter Seven: The Second Day of Nostos

@cheshiya @tenseoyong @szallejhscorner @something-more-original-please @ofsunsetsandpoetries @nek0dzuken @allozaur @serenzippity @hiqhkey

Another update! This was supposed to be posted yesterday, but life just kept getting in the way. But thank heavens it’s here now :) 

I’ll stick the AO3 link here  for the ones that want it. Thanks for reading <3

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

There were two things I had come to enjoy here in the Borderlands. The first was the freedom I had now that the old world and all of its problems were gone. The second was waking up beside Chishiya.

Usually I was the first to fall asleep and he was the first to wake up, so it was rare that he was still around when I opened my eyes. This morning was different. His face was angled away from me, and his hair was splayed across the pillow, almost obscuring his face from view. Almost, but not quite. Curling up at his side, I observed the way his sly smile had become slack, disappearing entirely as it made way for something far different. 

He probably hadn’t intended on sleeping in like this, but the exhaustion of the previous day was overwhelming. I remained there for a long time, peeking out at him from beneath the sheets until his breathing lightened and he started to stir. One eye cracked open, squinted, then slid over to mine. 

‘What are you doing?’ 

‘Just enjoying the fact that you’re not dead.’ 

He raised a brow. ‘Between the two of us, you’re more likely to get shot than I am.’ 

What should’ve been a snarky comment came across flat and uninterested. Now that he was awake, the shadows beneath his eyes were more pronounced, and I could see the dark roots of his hair had grown longer. It was strange to see him looking this weary, but even Chishiya was only human. He was no more immune to bullets than I was. 

‘What are you thinking about now?’ 

I could tell by his tone that he was trying to taunt me. But my thoughts were detached. I couldn’t stop thinking about the game. ‘Yesterday, it wasn’t just me who cleared it. An was there too, with two girls from the Beach. They said that the King of Spades attacked their camp right after the second stage started.’ 

He quietly considered it for a moment. ‘And we were close enough to hear the gunshots. He probably started with the camp before heading over to us.’ 

Heading over to us? 

‘You don’t mean…’

‘He knows the location of all the players,’ Chishiya said. 

That’s not… 

No, it was fair. Once a player knew about his game, it was easy to avoid him just by mapping out the location of his blimp and remaining as far from it as possible. Him knowing the players’ locations only evened out the playing field. 

‘An told me something else too. Apparently he moves all across Tokyo. Aside from the other game venues, the whole city is his arena.’

I thought this would’ve piqued Chishiya’s interest more, but as expected he was already a step ahead. ‘I realised the same thing when he chased you. It makes sense they would plan things this way. They’re trying to drive players into the game venues.’ He sat up a little, resting against the headboard and lacing his fingers together. ‘While you were in your game, another one was cleared. The King of Clubs.’ 

The hardest of the Clubs games. It made sense that those ones would be completed pretty quickly, given the chance of survival was the highest. ‘That was pretty quick.’ 

‘I suppose it was,’ Chishiya retorted. ‘But I have a feeling I know who cleared it.’ 

‘Hm?’ 

‘Arisu.’ 

Arisu? The last time I had seen him was when he was with… ‘Kuina was probably there too. An said when their camp split up, she got into a car with Arisu and Tatta. They must’ve gone to the game venue together.’ 

And if they cleared it, that meant they were still alive. They had to be. Knowing Arisu, he would’ve taken Usagi with him too. I almost felt like I could rest easy if the four of them were safe. Although they must’ve met the King of Clubs while they were there. 

‘The Queen of Diamonds died.’ I hated how thick my voice sounded. ‘But I wish she didn’t. Is that okay?’ I looked up, meeting Chishiya’s stony gaze. ‘I mean, is it okay for me to like her?’ 

‘I don’t see why it matters whether you do or don’t,’ he replied. ‘The outcome is the same.’  

I could still see her smile right before the wood gave way, a sort of peace mixed with relief. ‘I thought she was going to be evil or scary, kind of like Mira.’ The way she’d picked out the footage of mine and Arisu’s first games, the provocation was like a test. The Queen of Diamonds though, had been totally different. ‘She wasn’t like Mira at all. Right from the start, she wanted us to win.’ 

Chishiya was watching the dust motes glide in the sunlight, idly listening. ‘Did you find out anything?’ 

‘I’ve dedicated my whole life to the pursuit of knowledge, but I’ve learned to be satisfied with not knowing.’

‘She was a player,’ I told him. ‘She didn’t know about the Borderlands either.’ 

He mulled it over quietly. ‘I thought so.’ 

Chishiya knew they were players? 

I sat up in bed. ‘There’s no way you could’ve known that.’

‘It was just an idea,’ he replied. ‘I’ve been here longer than you. I’ve thought a lot about the possibilities.’ He paused for a minute, then smiled ironically. ‘It’s very possible we could all be dead.’ 

It was a horrible idea, the thought that all our efforts to survive were in vain. Or perhaps, it was one big test of character to determine our place in an afterlife. And if we died in a game, would it be a second death, or would it allow us to proceed to a further level of some kind? Was it a true death at all? 

‘I’d like to think we’re still alive,’ I admitted. ‘You probably don’t care, but I’d like to go back to the real world with you.’ 

‘Oh? And what makes you think there’s a way back at all?’ 

Hatter’s theory had been only half correct. But while the Queen had avoided telling us everything, she’d revealed even more than she perhaps intended. ‘The Queen of Diamonds said she went through the same thing we did, found all the cards, and then completed the face card games like we’re doing now. But then she called the others citizens. If we’re currently here on a visa-basis, maybe clearing all the games gives us the chance of a permanent citizenship—’

‘If that’s so, it’d only prove my point.’ 

‘No.’ I shook my head, thinking back to the game. ‘She also mentioned that she chose to stay here. If there’s a choice to stay, it means there’s a choice to leave.

I could see Chishiya’s mind working, taking it all in. It was as if he absorbed all the knowledge he encountered, storing it up and processing it for use later. He didn’t respond to my theory, but simply accepted it, and relaxed against the headboard, staring at the ceiling. As he tilted his head back, the dressing over his neck was exposed, and I suddenly became aware that we were still wearing our old, bloodied clothes. 

I really, really need a wash. And new clothes. And new bed sheets. 

Climbing out of the bed, I left Chishiya and made my way to the bathroom to clean up a little. However, when I passed the mirror above the sink and saw the face staring back at me, my mouth fell open. 

This can’t be me. 

My skin looked thinner and sallow, and without the Beach’s constant food supply, I’d lost weight, only not in a good way. The girl in the mirror was haggard and I barely even recognised her. While Chishiya had cleaned the dried blood from my forehead the night before, there were still flakes in my hairline and my face was dirtied. 

I reached for the bottle of water beside the sink, except the plastic crinkled, empty. Throwing it away, I then checked the bathroom cupboards for our extra supply, but they too were empty. 

You’re kidding me… 

A quick search of the store revealed that we’d run out of water entirely. If our little hideout were closer to the river, it wouldn’t be a problem. However the river was too far away to collect water on a daily basis, and with the King of Spades out there, it wasn’t worth the risk. There had to be some way of storing water for the long-run. 

Standing in the small kitchen, I could hear the muffled creaks of Chishiya moving about upstairs. And then the idea hit me. Walking out into the hallway, I called up the stairs, ‘I’m just going out to get something! I won’t be too long!’ 

There was no reply, but I knew he’d heard me as the noises quietened. He then appeared at the top of the stairs, leaning against the banister with an unimpressed smirk. 

‘Are you sure that’s a good idea? The last time you ran off on your own, you stole the Queen of Diamonds game.’ 

His words stung, even if they’d been said teasingly. I hadn’t intended to steal the Queen of Diamonds Game. I only ran inside the building because there were others sheltering in there. I desperately wanted to tell him this, but it wouldn’t have made a difference. Chishiya may not have directly blamed me for what happened, but there was clearly some resentment that he hadn’t been able to complete the game himself. In his eyes, it didn’t matter. 

And that hurt. It really, really hurt.  

‘I’ll stay away from the King of Spades,’ I called out before leaving the furniture store. 

It was warm out here in Tokyo, but not a pleasant warm. The air was dull and sticky, as if the city was thirsty for rain. 

There must be a storm coming.

I took my time wandering through the silent streets and deeper into the city centre. Even here, the only sound was that of the birds building homes in vacant office blocks, and aside from a deer grazing on the grass in an empty lot, there was nobody around. 

Luckily, I had explored this side of Tokyo enough that I’d formed my own mental map of the area, and I easily found the camping store where Kuina had picked up our current stove. Inside, the place was scavenged, and I had to step over several boxes until I found the section I was looking for. There were several water containers, but none of them were quite what I had in mind.

I ambled further down the streets until the road opened up into a car park. It was lined by several walkways leading into large, white interconnected buildings. Two tall clocks stood above a disused bus station and taxi rank. And as I walked further down the road, there were ambulances lined up outside. 

I followed a series of steps led up to the main entrance, but once I was inside, the sunlight cut off. While an abandoned Tokyo was eerie, a dark, dusty hospital was a thing of nightmares. Just inside the entrance was an international poster stuck to the wall, with the same phrase written in different word-art fonts and various languages. 

‘Welcome to Nihon University Itabashi Hospital!’ 

I walked further inside, passing a reception desk and a waiting area. It was evident that other players had been inside here, as there was litter on the ground, and some of the store rooms lay open, their contents emptied out.

Strolling along the corridors, I explored the theatre facilities. There were drawers upon drawers of syringes and sterile metal trays of surgical tools, and aside from a thin layer of dust, the hospital beds were all intact. If it weren’t for the King of Spades and the danger of other players, the hospital would make a decent camp for a group of survivors. But on second thought, I wasn’t prepared to give up the warmth and comfort of waking up next to Chishiya. Retreating back out of the wards, it was in a main corridor where I finally found what I was searching for. 

A water dispenser. 

Unlike the others, this didn’t open from a cap in the top, but rather the container had a tap at the bottom. It was perfect for Chishiya and I. Rather than having bottles of water lying around, we could simply fill it up and keep it as a main water source. It was balanced on top of a platform, unattached. But the container was filled with water already, and barely budged when I tried to lift it. Wrapping my arms around the body, I lugged it forward, right as a loud clap resounded through the hall. 

The echo of a drawer slamming. 

Someone’s here?! 

Holding my breath, my arms slid away from the water container. I could hear it clearer now, the rustles of someone rooting through drawers of supplies. It was coming from the ward opposite me. Every instinct told me to leave quietly the way I came. My thudding heart screamed at me to get out now. 

I should’ve listened. 

Inching forward on tiptoe, I peered around the doorway into what looked like a recovery ward. On the right, the door to a stock room had been kicked open, the rustling growing louder as I approached. A tall man with dark fabric wrapped around his head was hunched over a desk. He muttered something, and my heart stilled. 

‘What the hell’s this shit? Ah, forget it.’ 

No. 

He was dead… wasn’t he? 

‘Where the fuck do they keep the morphine anyway?’ 

He’s alive, he’s alive, he’s alive. 

My eyes gaped, unblinking, at the stock room door. I didn’t want to look but I couldn’t bring myself to look away either. The memory of his eyes burned through my mind. The sheer, unrestrained rage, and the desire to kill, I’d seen it all through the tatters of his singed shirt as he looked up at me from down below in the hotel lobby and pulled the trigger. I needed to leave. I needed to leave now. 

I took a step back. 

Clink. 

The tiny, hollow clatter of a syringe rolling across the vinyl had never felt louder. It rolled across the width of the hall, before tapping against a doorframe. The rustling inside the store room suddenly stopped, and at that moment, we both knew. 

[alecxaheart]

Someone's Someone | Bang Chan Oneshot (1)

✎ Genre : CEO AU, Soulmate AU, Fluff

✎ Pairings : Bang Chan X Reader

✎ Word Count : 3.5k words

✎ Synopsis : We all just wanna be someone's someone that we can't live without. At this time, Chan was looking for his. And unexpectedly, he was already tied down to someone.

✎ Warnings : Explicit Language

✎. . . I actually just played my songs on shuffle then Monsta X's Someone's Someone played so.. yeah, I'm inspired. Also, this is my first post in tumblr btw. :)

✎ Parts : 1 , 2

The relaxing sounds of nature enveloped him as a whole. His shoulders less tense and eyes closed as he sat on the cooled sand, facing the burning star and calm waters ahead. Seagulls could be heard in the distance as they caught themselves a dinner to eat. The refreshing cool wind hit his body, slightly making him shiver for a second. Waves, created by the sea and wind, kisses the shore repeatedly. For once, he was far away from worries, stress, fears and regrets. Just him, contented with the company of nature.

As he fluttered his eyes open, he was met with a stunning view of the sun meeting the ocean. The ocean reflecting the sun's visuals as well as the sky above it. Even though the reflection was blurry, it's still pleasing to the eye. Just perfectly imperfect.

However in his opinion, it wasn't stunning as it seems. This secret escapade paradise of his doesn't quite appeal to him yet. A missing piece that could be anywhere on this wide world. That thought kind of bothers him every time.

Sighing, he figured that it was time to go back. He slipped onto his slippers and headed out of his escapade paradise with a head hung low. Hopping on an enormous boulder that happened to break the wired fence and fixated there, having easier access to and from the place than climbing over the fence.

With a last glance towards his escapade, he knew he'll be coming back and that next time will be the scenery he's been looking for, hopefully.

Frustrated with the task at hand, Chan ran his fingers through his blonde locks as he leaned back on his chair and head facing upwards toward the ceiling. Taking a brief break from a whole 6 hours straight of writing and staring at the monitor. Followed by him grabbing his coffee and taking a sip, eyes boring on the monitor. He was just half finished with his paperworks at the time of nightfall, which made him more in distress and felt crammed.

His eyes then wandered around his office, landing onto the view of the opposite building of his company in the end. Where he could see the workers of the Marketing Department bidding their goodbyes to one another, closing the lights and exiting the room. Oh, how much he too wanted to leave and rest right at this moment. Although his belief of 'getting things done before going into slumber' is preventing him to do so (even though he already got a lot of things done). With a sigh, he faced back in front of his monitor and papers, determined to get everything done before tomorrow starts.

" Sunbae-nim, aren't you coming with us? We're having dinner at the Chicken & Barbecue restaurant just a block away from here. " Seungmin asked, grabbing his suitcase below his desk. You leaned back on your chair while stretching your cramping arms and a yawn escaping your mouth.

" As much as I want to, Seungmin, I can't, " You started, rubbing your temples to ease your aching head. " Because our new boss literally gave me 5 thick documents to finish before tomorrow morning without any mercy. And that's just bullshit. I don't even think I'm halfway through it! " Seungmin replied with a chuckle to your short rant, an amused expression written on his soft face. You were having another small mental breakdown as you stared at your unfinished pile of work, feeling your soul escape your body.

" I think you're overreacting. "

" Well, what if I am?! "

Laughing, Seungmin leans his side on your cubicle, looking over at your messy desk filled with sticky notes, papers and pens. " I don't think it's that much. You're lucky that your boss isn't here to hear any of your complaints, " He muttered as he took a peek at one of your documents. You scoffed, not my fault that I'm not as good as you.

" Hear what? "

Frantically, you immediately hide yourself behind your cubicle and pretend that you were focusing on your work. On the other hand, Seungmin casually brushed his navy blue coat with his palms and lifted himself off from the cubicle. Making it all seem like nothing happened.

" Oh, it's nothing, Ms. Ka- " Seungmin paused as he met the owner of the voice who wasn't the person they were expecting to be there. " M-Mr. Bang?! " He stuttered, eyes widened at the blonde headed CEO. Seeing in the corner of your eyes, Seungmin bowed ninety degrees at him as a sign of respect. Even with his heated glare on you, you continued your work like no CEO even entered. Thanks to your cute height, for sure you wouldn't be spotted.

" What are you doing here? Working hours are done. "

Seungmin stood straight and scratched the back of his head. Curiosity slowly arose in you as seconds passed - since you've never met a CEO called by your colleague as ' Mr. Bang ' - although as much as possible, you didn't let go out of hand and kept your focus on the documents silently. The least thing you wanted to happen to you right now is get caught by one of the company's CEO. " I was about to head out, Mr. Bang, " Finding an excuse, he pulled up his sleeve to check the time on his wristwatch. " Uhm.. Yeah, I'm late for dinner. Sorry, Mr. Bang, I have to leave right now. Have an great night! "

With a last bow to the CEO, Seungmin dashed his way out of the building, leaving you alone with your work. The blonde head noticed how the room was still lit up despite it being unoccupied, which he thought. Heading to the switches, everything around you darkened. The only source of light you had was the monitor, and Chan caught it in the corner of his eye.

" Is someone still there? " His voice, catching a bit of foreign accent with it, echoed in the hushed area.

Baffled as he approached that light with a few slow strides, you freaked out mentally. Swiftly but silently, you left your chair and hid yourself underneath the desk next to yours. As he neared your cubicle, you held your breath, slowly starting to feel lightheaded. You don't know what are the consequences if you get caught after working hours since you're still kind of new - got hired just 5 months ago. Dumb you overthink random shit first before even going to the thing called 'common sense' and the rules you heard just goes in one ear then out on the other.

The moment Chan was about to reach your cubicle and take a glance to his right, the sound of marimba playing a soft tune echoed in the room. Stopping in his tracks, he felt his phone vibrating in his pocket and grabbed it, swiping to the right to answer the call. You let out a hushed yet shaky sigh of relief, your shoulders less tense than a while ago. In your mind played a chant, thanking whoever was your savior.

Chan narrowed his eyes at the back of your cubicle while his phone is still pressed against his ear, listening to the person on the other line's complaints. " I'm on my way. Don't do anything stupid, " Not too soon you hear heels clacking against the polished marble tiles, the noise fainting as he left the room.

It took you a good couple of seconds to get out of your hiding spot (since you had to catch your breath and calm your heart down from the thrill), slightly shaking your whole body first before heading back to your seat and continuing your pile of work. Mentally groaning at yourself.

Oh. My. Gosh. These. Eyebags.

Is the first thing you thought as you looked at yourself in the mirror. The cause of it appearing badly because you obviously lacked sleep. All due to the time allotted for slumber was consumed by finishing your 5 thick documents that will be passed this morning. You could've cared less if today wasn't a work day, which fortunately for you it was still work day and these damn documents aren't gonna pass themselves to your boss this instant.

Fumbling around in your bag, you found your makeup kit and started fixing yourself. A little bit of touch ups here and there, just a little to look like it's still more natural than a lot to look like a plastic doll barbie.

Once satisfied, you smiled sweetly at yourself just to start your day nicely and exit your household. While walking on your way to the train station, incoherent mumbling leaves your mouth. A train of thoughts clouding you about your worries if you've left something important behind. In all honesty despite of your current good looks, you look stupid or crazy for talking to yourself in public. Well, at least you aren't as worse as someone yelling nonsense.

" I have all my files, identification card, phone, wallet, pocket knife 'cause anything could happen, keys- " you paused as soon as you misplaced your shoes at the edge of the last stair, falling forward. Luckily for you, you caught yourself and regained your balance. Wide eyed, you saw a kid, a giddy smile plastered on his face as he saw your commotion with a lollipop in hand. You felt embarrassed but laughed it off anyway, a light tint of pink decorating your cheeks.

You rushed towards the gates as soon as you realized the time with the card in between your fingers. Three beeps emitted from the machine when the gates opened after you placed the card on the scanner. With a few more strides, you caught up to your train ride as it was about to leave. You sighed in relief and sat down on a vacant bench, head automatically leaning back on the window. Your eyes boring at the ceiling while taking steady breaths after your short marathon on the way.

On the other hand, across you sat Chan. His right leg crossed over the other while scrolling through his phone. He wore a button up shirt, the first two still unbuttoned revealing more of his chest. His navy blue tie hung loose around his neck while his coat is still folded around his arm. His slacks were the same color as his tie and coat and wore black pointed shoes to finish the statement of his overall clothing. Blonde hair locks were scattered around his face but still managed to look stunning and attractive.

You haven't noticed his presence, so did he to you, and the fact that you both don't know each others' appearance even though you go to the same company just adds to the reason for you two's ignorance to one another's existence.

You got yourself to go back to slumber comfortably in your current position although you know when you wake up, you'll be greeted by your neck aching. Hopefully you don't miss your stop while gaining more sleep. The train swaying you lightly from time to time that you found quite relaxing, like a cradle rocking back and forth lightly to put a baby to sleep.

A child was running around the train with a joyful smile, giggling. He only stopped in his tracks when he reached in between you and Chan. His eyes glowed like there were stars decorated around his chocolate brown pupil when he eyed you two. Looking around, he spotted a roll of red thread underneath your bench and grabbed it. He thought it was just right.

With you being the closest, he starts to tie the thread around your pinky finger. You were too tired to even feel his small cold fingers run around your fingers nor the string tighten around it. Once done, he smiled to himself, his dimples appearing on either side of his cheeks and eyes forming into small crescents.

He left your side and skipped over in front of Chan, who was now too deep in thought as he gazed outside the window and his phone tucked in his pocket. Holding the other end of the thread, he wrapped it around Chan's thumb. Chan's body shook in surprise as he felt cold fingers ghosting above his hand and averted his attention to the child. He saw him knotting the red string tightly, strange that he barely even feels the string tightened around his thumb. " What are you doing? " he questioned although the child only responded with a bright smile, followed by a giggle.

The child turned and ran away from him, more giggles leaving his lips. Chan stood up and tried to chase him. But stopped as soon as he saw the child in the distance, dissolving into little particles in thin air and completely vanished in his sight. In disbelief, he rubbed his eyes and looked for the child around his area. Thinking that he was out of his mind, he sighed in defeat. There's no way anyone could do that in reality. It's either I'm insane or living in a fantasy or a chosen one blessed to see ghosts. Maybe, all of the above.

Chan looked down on his thumb, following where the other end lead to. Then, he spotted your sleeping beauty state, the other end attached to your pinky finger. With the sun rising in the horizon, a ray of gold-like light shines through the window, casting a shadow on you. And he thought you looked mesmerizing like that, peaceful and lovely. At least he wasn't tied up with a bitch or a hag.

Your eyes slowly fluttered open as the sun shined upon you. Squinting at its brightness, you raised a hand above your eyes to see more, only finding a red string wrapped around your pinky finger. You examined it, wondering what prank is anyone even planning and why did it have to involve you out of all people. Before anything stupid could happen, you attempted to loose the knot, ignoring the curiosity for a while of where the other end was. Looping and tugging it, even tried to chomp on it with your teeth, but all attempts failed. Well, that's until you gave up, untying it was impossible, unbelievably there's a knot that couldn't be untied. Sounded like marriage when you think about it, but there's the annulment and divorce ruining the picture.

Tearing your gaze at the string, you caught a pair of bewitching dark brown eyes staring back at you. In that particular moment, everything just froze in place. Time has stopped just for the two of you, you thought.

You felt your heart melting, probably from the warmth emitting in your body or from the warmth his eyes give off as you saw little sparks decorating the pupil. Unfamiliar light feathers tickling the insides of your stomach is what you felt other than the heat and that thawing heart of yours. Your mind knew it well that you shouldn't feel this way towards someone who you just met but your body and heart reacted so differently. There's just something about him that made you feel so exposed and vulnerable in his eyes that you couldn't come up with a possible answer to your 'why's.

Both of you didn't notice how seconds turned into minutes, too lost into one another's orbs. That was until the train stopped, causing Chan to break the eye contact and lose his balance. Before his hands made contact on the metal floor, he took a step forward in order to regain his balance which he successfully did. A small chuckle left your lips, eyes turning into crescents as you saw the commotion. He narrowed his eyes at you as the train was back in motion.

Chan fixed his clothes first before asking, " Who are you? ". Grabbing the pole next to him to prevent him from falling again on the next stop.

" Shouldn't I be asking you that as well? " You replied with a gummy smile, which quickly faded when you remembered what's the problem.

" What is this on my finger and why is it connected to yours? What kind of trickery is anyone pulling? Why am I involved in this? " You kept firing questions at him while he stayed there unbothered. Unlike you who did some more attempts to remove the thread, silly you even tried aggressively shaking your hand in hopes of making it a little loose. But no prevail happened once again.

" Just get rid of it. I didn't want this too, you know. " Chan taps his foot impatiently as he eyed your useless attempts.

" I am trying! " You exaggerated. Deciding to bring out the best tool you have for the situation in hand, your hands fumbling in your bag. Once you felt the cool metal on your fingertips, you brought it out and flipped it open.

Chan's eyes widened at the sight of the pocket knife in your palms. " You carry that on a daily basis? Are you insane? "

You rolled your eyes in annoyance. " It's not insane when it's used for self-defense purposes. I'm too nice to be the murderer you're assuming, " You replied, head throbbing as things aren't going well with the charming blonde.

He responded just before the blade and thread were in contact, starting with a scoff. " Yeah sure, nice. Anyone can wear that façade anywhere. "

" You know what, " You started as you withdrew the pocket knife back and glared at him afterwards, pissed off. " You deal with this shit yourself, I'm done with my part and I could care less about this red thread anyway. You look like you don't need any of my help 'cause you look fancier than me and it seems like you're not taking any gratitude towards my kindness. Damn these crazy rich people. " You threw the tool towards his direction and looked away from him, arms crossed. Chan instinctively caught it without getting any cuts despite the fact it's closed, his eyes burning through your figure in fury.

" If I actually got wounded instead from your little stunt, I would've sued you this instant, " He growled, only to be ignored by you.

Irritated by your sudden change of attitude, Chan flipped it open and skillfully ran the blade through the string. Only for it to just fall through like the string never existed, ghost-like perhaps. " It's not cutting, what the hell, " Chan muttered under his breath as he tried a few more times again.

"It's just a string, how could a- " You spoke as you turned your head back to his direction, only to be cutted off as you witnessed the unusual. Mouth a little bit agape in disbelief. The thread didn't fall apart even while the blade was just sitting in between of it on air. Maybe that explains why you could barely even feel the thread wrapped securely around your finger. You could tell that this stunning blonde head was just as puzzled as you were.

" Sir, if you're having any problems that includes this woman, we can sort it out. Just withdraw the knife first please, " a man suddenly blurted out, his voice a little bit shaky. That's when you realized the commotion you both have caused, everyone around you two took steps back away. All had fear in their eyes.

" Wait, you don't see the thread we're trying to cut? " Chan questioned, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. At that, he was more misunderstood.

" There's no thread..? " With that, it got the two of us surprised. Is the crazy one here them, who couldn't see this string, or us, who could?

Chan tried to explain our situation thoroughly but when he was about to speak up, out of the blue, a voice spoke in the speakers. " Please mind the gap, " You immediately grabbed his arm, carried his belongings and dragged him out of the train. Leaving its passengers confused as they eyed us. They might be thinking that you two are idiots.

The doors just shut a second later when you two got out. You felt a bit suffocated for an unknown reason, your hand reaching for your chest where you could feel your heart beating. Panting, you shoved Chan's belongings into his chest. " Are you alright? " He asked as he tried to place a hand on your back, the least thing he could do to comfort you.

But his hand only stopped in mid-air when you took your last deep breath, replying. " Let's just part ways here, " Saying those words felt a bit disheartening at some point, yet you chose to disregard it.

You walked forwards, while Chan stayed in his position, wearing his coat and fixing his tie. Although, something stopped you. As in you couldn't go forwards as much as you force to. Well when you did force yourself, it only tugged Chan towards you. Turning around, he was already eyeing you. " What was that for?! "

Glaring at the thread, you thought out loud, " Is this string telling me, it can only stretch itself approximately at 7 meters?! "

Continue

[dickwheelie]

this is a few days late but it’s still technically Hanukkah, so! here’s a fic about Jon and Martin celebrating Hanukkah in the safehouse (shhh timelines aren’t real) because I like to project and I really like the idea of Jon being Jewish. a lot of us are having weird holidays this year, away from friends and family, so the boys having a weird one too seemed appropriate. in particular, Jon not having a menorah because I don’t have one this year either :(

the stuff in this is based on my own experiences celebrating Hanukkah growing up in a pretty secular household, so if you see anything that’s “wrong” then that’s why, lol. the prayer is accurate as far as I know though, it’s the same one my family and I sing every year.

(also this is not a good representation of how to make rugelach! if you really want a good recipe, hmu and if you ask nicely I might share my mother’s 😁)

enjoy and Happy Hanukkah!! 💙🕎✡️💙

___________

“I just feel bad,” Martin said, watching from the sofa as Jon put the challah in the oven. “You’re doing all this cooking, and I’m just sitting on the couch like a lump. And this is supposed to be your holiday.”

“Martin, for the tenth time, it’s fine. Besides, the holiday doesn’t actually start until sundown,” Jon called, cheerfully enough, from the kitchen. Jon liked cooking, Martin knew, and he didn’t really see it as a chore in the same way Martin did. Still, this was a special day for Jon (well, eight days, really), and Martin wanted to be of some use. He’d offered to do everything from peeling potatoes to rolling matzoh balls, but Jon, ever the control freak in the kitchen, had stopped him at every turn. Still, he couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty about not helping out as Jon bustled about, trying to make Hanukkah dinner for the both of them.

More than helping out, really, Martin just kind of . . . wanted to share this with Jon. The way Jon talked about it, it sounded as though he’d had more Hanukkahs alone than with friends or what little family he had. Martin wanted to make Jon feel like he didn’t have to be alone this year, and even if Martin was new to this, he was game to learn. Jon had already told him about the holiday and all the different foods he was making, but there was still some distance there, a disconnect, that Martin knew Jon wasn’t putting between them on purpose. It seemed to Martin more like a force of habit than anything else.

After setting the timer for the challah, Jon nodded, satisfied, and came over to join Martin on the couch. He slouched against him comfortably, and Martin automatically put an arm around his shoulders. Jon had a bit of flour on his nose, and Martin gently swiped it off, which made Jon’s face wrinkle up like a disgruntled cat. Bloody adorable, Martin thought.

“I get a bit of a break before I have to start on the latkes in a few hours,” Jon said. “Got to make those right before dinner so they’re fresh.”

“Can I please help with those?” Martin said, half-joking.

“Fine,” Jon laughed, “yes, Martin, you can help with the latkes.”

“You won’t regret it.”

“I’m sure.”

“Is there dessert?” Martin asked, offhandedly. He hadn’t noticed Jon getting out any sugar or making anything sweet that day. “Do people eat anything sweet on Hanukkah?”

“Well, there’s gelt,” Jon says. “Chocolate coins. But the grocer’s didn’t have any. Unsurprisingly.”

Martin laughed. “Yeah. Probably not a huge priority in the Highlands.”

“People also make rugelach, sometimes.”

“Arugula?”

Jon laughed, not unkindly. “Rugelach. Different from the vegetable. Very different,” he said. “It’s a pastry. A kind of holiday cookie, I guess you could call it. Sweet dough with chocolate or cinnamon inside. It’s simple to make, but I didn’t buy the right stuff for it, and honestly I have enough cooking to do.”

“Yeah? How d’you make it?” Martin asked, innocently enough, though an idea was brewing.

As Jon explained, he waved his hands in the air, miming the process. “You just roll out some pastry dough, cover it with chocolate or cinnamon or walnuts or whatever you like, cut it into strips, and roll them up.” He thought for a moment. “They look a bit like seashells.”

“Huh,” Martin said. “Seems easy enough.” He’d never made dough before, but how hard could it be, really. The hardest part, he figured, would be actually making the things in their tiny cabin and even tinier kitchen without Jon finding out.

Soon after that, the oven timer started beeping, announcing that the bread was done. Martin took advantage of Jon busying himself in the kitchen to slip out the door, giving him some offhand excuse about wanting to get some air, to which Jon waved him off.

In the baking aisle at the grocer’s, Martin quickly realized he was out of his depth. He stared at the display of flour and sugar and baking powder and all sorts of other stuff, utterly at a loss as to what one needed to make pastry dough. He tried, once again, to Google a recipe on his phone, but once again, there was no service and no wifi.

Well, there was always pre-made, frozen dough. Not ideal, but it’d probably work in a pinch. Much faster to make, too, Martin thought as he dropped a couple cans of it into his basket. The filling, at least, he knew he’d be able to handle; he grabbed a few bags of baking chocolate and a shaker of cinnamon, and brought everything up to the checkout counter.

Martin didn’t even know which lucky stars to thank when he arrived back at the cabin to find the kitchen empty, and Jon passed out on the bed in a post-challah, pre-latke cooking nap. Martin gently closed the bedroom door and immediately set to baking.

Going by Jon’s vague descriptions, he rolled out some of the dough into a flat oval shape, but the pre-made kind wasn’t meant to be used all at once, and the end result was a sort of lumpy mass. Digging around in the cupboards, he was able to find some flour, which helped make the dough less sticky, at least. Eventually, he was able to get it flat enough to cover it with the filling, like Jon had told him. Half of the dough he covered in cinnamon, liberally shaking it out all over the dough. The other half he covered with the baking chocolate, which came in little chunks, but he figured it would melt in the oven just fine.

Next, just as Jon had described, he cut the dough into even strips, thin and rectangular, and rolled each of them up, so the filling made a little spiral shape inside. The chocolate ones were a bit chunky and awkward-looking, but, well, it was the taste that counted, wasn’t it.

Martin turned to face the oven, realizing he had no idea how long they ought to bake for, or at what temperature. He checked the instructions on the tins of pre-made dough, deciding to go by whatever they suggested. It wouldn’t do for the dough to be raw, he figured.

Soon enough, the pastries were in the oven, and Jon was still dead to the world, none the wiser. Martin felt quite satisfied as he cleaned up, mentally patting himself on the back for a job well- and stealthily-done. He’d hide them in the oven, he decided, until after dinner, and then he’d surprise Jon. Smiling, he went to join Jon in bed, curling up next to him as he slept, until he fell asleep himself.

Martin woke groggily several hours later to Jon gently shaking him awake, telling him it was time to make the latkes. He’d already got the batter done, a thick, floury mixture of potato and onion, and a pan of oil was bubbling on the stove. Jon showed Martin how to drop spoonfuls of batter into the pan, patting them down to shape them into little fist-sized “pancakes.” He let both sides brown in the oil until they were nice and crispy, before transferring them onto a paper towel-covered plate to cool. It was simple enough, and Martin was able to finish up the batch as Jon set the table, bringing out the challah and matzoh ball soup he’d made, as well as sour cream and apple sauce to dip the latkes in.

Once the latkes were done (and Martin was quite proud to say they’d come out very nicely), Jon retrieved some red wine he’d gotten in the village and poured them both a glass. Then, as Martin was getting ready to sit down, Jon glanced around sheepishly, gesturing at an empty space on the kitchen counter.

“I, ah, normally I’d have a menorah to light. But obviously I didn’t bring one when we came up. And out here, well, it’s the same as with the gelt. No real place to buy one.”

“Oh,” Martin said, heart sinking. He reached out to squeeze Jon’s hand. “That’s a shame. I’m really sorry.”

“Really, I just wish I could show you,” Jon said, shaking his head as he took his seat at the table. “It’s really lovely. You light a new candle every night, and when they’re all lit . . . I’m sure it’d look nice here, especially.” He gestured at the space in front of the darkened kitchen window.

“Yeah,” Martin agreed, wistfully. He’d seen photos of menorahs before, and he could just picture it, he and Jon gathered around, lighting candle after candle as the eight nights passed.

“Well,” Jon said, turning back to face Martin at the table, “we may not have a menorah, but I can still do the blessing.”

“Blessing?”

“Yes. You’re supposed to do it while lighting the menorah, but, well. I’m sure this will do, given the circumstances.” Jon reached his hand across the table, and Martin took it.

“Alright.” Jon cleared his throat, almost self-consciously, and then began to sing in Hebrew, a melodic, practical tune that sounded comfortable and familiar on his tongue, like a well-worn shawl. “Barukh ata Adonai, Eloheinu, melekh ha’olam, asher kid’shanu b’mitzvotav, v’tzivanu, l’hadlik ner, shel Hanukkah.”

Martin couldn’t really sing along to the words, but he nodded along to the melody, and when Jon was done he looked up at him and smiled, and Martin beamed back. They both raised their glasses and drank.

They ate heartily, or at least Martin did, because Jon kept shoving second and third bowls of soup at him, and insisting he finish off the latkes. Not that Martin was complaining, of course; it was all delicious, and Jon did praise him for how nice the latkes had come out.

They left the dirty dishes for later (or, knowing the two of them, tomorrow morning), and after dinner they went straight for presents. Though his options were limited without online shopping or anything outside of the tiny village, Martin had managed to find an adorable little painted china Highland cow in a local antiques shop.

“I know you think they’re cute,” Martin said as Jon lifted it out of the box.

“How did you know,” Jon deadpanned, but he grinned as he brought it up to his nose and stared at its little painted snout. “I love it, Martin, thank you.”

Jon had gone the homemade route, and knitted Martin a scarf. And a pair of mittens. And an entire bloody sweater.

“Oh my god, Jon,” Martin said, staring in disbelief at the mounds of knitwear before him. “How did you find time to do all this? How did you find time to do all this without me knowing?”

Jon looked away sheepishly. “I, uh, I’m a fast knitter.”

Martin shook his head fondly. Unbelievable. But he immediately took off the sweater he’d been wearing and pulled on the one Jon had made. It fit rather well and was as cozy as it looked. “Thank you, Jon,” he said, feeling the sleeves, knowing that every loop and stitch of the fabric had been purposeful. He could practically feel the care and love Jon had put into each one of them. “I love it,” he said, leaning over to kiss Jon at the corner of his eye.

“Well,” Jon said, cheeks darkening, “Happy Holidays, then.”

“Oh,” Martin said, rising from the sofa, “I’ve actually got one more thing. Sort of a last-minute gift.”

“Hm?”

Martin went over to the oven and took out the trays of rugelach. He’d checked them earlier to see if they were cooked through, but hadn’t gotten the chance to taste one yet. “Tried my hand at a bit of dessert,” he said, selecting a couple nice-looking ones and putting them on a plate for Jon to try.

Jon had followed Martin into the kitchen, and was staring at the pastries lined up on the trays. “Oh, well, thank you,” he said, surprised, taking the plate Martin handed to him. “What are they?”

Martin cocked his head at him. “Rugelach,” he said. Wasn’t it obvious?

Jon’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “Ah,” he said, voice strained with positivity. “Of course. Right.”

Martin was starting to get a sinking feeling in his stomach.

Gingerly, Jon took one of the rolled-up pastries, and bit into it.

Martin tried one as well. It was one of the chocolate ones, and it was . . . crunchy. Very crunchy. The chocolate, it seemed, had only partially melted in the oven, and the pastry dough itself was a bit hard to bite through. Besides that, it wasn’t very sweet, the chocolate being too dark and the dough being too salty.

He tried a cinnamon one. Again, the dough was crunchy, and the cinnamon was overpowering without any sweetness to it. Martin considered the possibility that perhaps he ought to have added sugar.

Jon, for his part, was doing his best impression of a person who was very much enjoying the pastry they were eating, honest. “Mmm,” he said, demonstratively, as he swallowed one of the cinnamon ones. “Thank you, Martin, these are . . . delicious.”

Jon was actually reaching for seconds, which Martin knew he was only doing to make him feel better, so he reached out a hand and placed it on Jon’s, stopping him short.

Jon looked up at him. Martin shook his head wordlessly. Jon cracked a smile.

“They’re not good,” Martin said, putting them back on the trays one by one.

“Martin--”

“It’s okay,” Martin said, smiling back at him, “I know. They’re rubbish. I didn’t even use a recipe, of course they were gonna turn out--”

“Well,” Jon said, stubbornly, “you tried. It’s the thought that counts. Thank you, Martin, really,” Jon said, bringing up Martin’s hand to kiss the back of it. “It was very sweet of you to put all this effort into it.”

“Next time, I’ll look up a recipe,” Martin said, bringing one of the trays over to the kitchen bin. Jon was quick to assist him.

“There’s seven nights of Hanukkah left,” Jon said, after a moment’s thought. “We can always try again. Tomorrow, we’ll get more ingredients, and I’ll show you how to do it properly. It really is easy, you just need . . . well. Sugar, for one.”

Martin laughed as he tossed the last of the batch away. “Okay. We’ll try again tomorrow.”

“I mean it, though,” Jon said, looking at him fondly. “Thank you. For this, and for the cow, and for sharing the holiday with me. It’s . . . this has been really . . .”

Jon was gesturing in the empty air, struggling for the proper word, but Martin understood well enough. “Yeah,” he said. “And thank you, for sharing it with me.” He pressed a kiss to Jon’s cheek.

“Happy Hanukkah, Jon.”

[lesetoilesfous]

For DADWC: "Is it too late to come on home?" for FenHawke :)

Ah this was delightful, thank you so much!! I love writing this pairing. Hope you enjoy!!

(If you’d like me to write you a dragon age fic, send me a prompt from here!)

@dadrunkwriting Pairing: m!FenHawke

Characters: Fenris, Garrett Hawke

Tags: modern AU, sometimes you just need to drive for a few days whilst you figure shit out, angst and fluff, hurt/comfort, vague reference to sex

Rating: Mature

It’s 3am in the desert when Fenris realises he wants to go home. He’s been driving for a week, stopping at seedy motels or sleeping in his truck when he feels safe to do so. He feels as if he’s worn out the cassette tape Hawke made for him six times already, but it still plays when he jams it into the cassette player, the worn ribbon making the music sound thick and soft as melted chocolate. He’s worn the same t-shirt and jeans for three days straight, and his body feels warm and sticky with dirt. He wants a shower. He wants a long, hot shower, one long enough to scour the scum from his body and give him the chance to step out of it made anew, with no old heartbreaks or blocked phone numbers. Without the tattoos in his skin.

There’s no one around. It’s part of what Fenris loves about the desert. Once an hour or so, another car comes blasting across the horizon, but eventually even the echo of its engine bouncing across the dunes sinks into the dark like a pebble in a pond. And Fenris is left with nothing but himself, and the moon, and the sighing of the sand. It’s cooled off by now, enough that the heat from the day has long since evaporated from Fenris’ skin and goosebumps are pulling up on his bare arms, his teeth seconds away from chattering. He grabs a hoodie from the back and shrugs it on blindly in the dark, not stopping to think before the thick, heavy fabric is enveloping him and suddenly his lungs are full of Hawke.

Fenris’ first instinct is to pull the thing off before the burning in his eyes turns into actual tears. But he finds that he can’t make his hands move, once they’re full of the thick, soft fabric. So after a moment he gives up, slumping against the side of the car before sliding down to sit against the wheel, feet kicking sand up into the dunes. Fenris stares up at the sky. This far out into the desert, light pollution is a foggy memory. It’s a clear night, and here he can see the dust of the milky way clouding the arc of the sky like an arch of glittering mist speckled with the fragments of shattered worlds.

It makes something in him hurt, but Fenris thinks it’s a healing kind of pain. Like the strain on an old injury when he stretched it in the morning, or cramps after a long run. Fenris fishes a flask out of his bag and drinks deeply, something high-proofed and bitter that burns his throat on the way down. Even with the flask, the liquid had grown warm in the hours spent in the desert sun. But now the outside is cold to the touch. Fenris drinks, and shuts his eyes, and thinks of a grin as bright as sunlight and thick, warm arms wrapped around his chest. He thinks of Hawke, snorting and laughing until his nose wrinkled. He thinks of the way his eyes creased at the corners when he smiled at him. He thinks of Hawke finding his way to The Hanged Man at 6am every morning with a cup of takeaway coffee, acting as if it were no trouble for him to get up at the break of dawn and steal an hour with Fenris whilst he opened the bar.

Fenris thinks of Hawke, falling asleep with his mouth open and drooling as he slumped onto his chest. He thinks of Hawke leaning over to elbow him in the side whilst they played Super Smash Brothers. He thinks of Hawke playing with his mabari, talking to her as if she were the puppy she hadn’t been for a very long time. He thinks of Hawke, breaking the nose of some Tevene businessman harassing Fenris while he worked. He thinks of Hawke, nose bandaged and striped with red, laughing before he winced and holding Fenris’ hand so tightly it hurt.

Fenris thinks of Hawke’s hands, unutterably gentle as they slide down his bare sides. He thinks of the way Hawke shivered when he kissed him, and sighed his name like it was something sacred. He thinks of the warmth of Hawke’s thick, bare, hairy thighs braced against his own. He thinks of Hawke’s arms around his back, and his hot, sweat-slicked skin.

Fenris drinks from his thermos. Then he gets out his phone. His lockscreen is a picture of Hawke’s mabari, Dog, which is his excuse for it. Next to her, Hawke is laughing, wearing the same hoodie now keeping Fenris from the desert chill. He’s just caught the moment of the camera, and is looking just above the lens at where had been, unable to stifle a smile of his own.

Fenris takes a deep breath, and presses the home button. The phone unlocks. With sweating fingers, Fenris slides his thumb across the screen to his contacts. He has fourteen missed calls from Hawke. He tries to ignore the way something in his chest shrinks at that. Instead, he hits call and lifts the phone to his ear. The wind rushes across the sand dunes in a dusty echo of the sea.

The phone rings once...Twice....

“Fen?” Hawke’s voice is rough and tired. Fenris realises abruptly that he hadn’t considered that he’d be waking him up, at 3am. He nearly considers hanging up. As it is, he’s frozen, tongue tangled in his mouth. There’s a rustle of sheets on the other end of the line. “Fenris? Is that you? Are you alright?”

Fenris clears his throat and Hawke falls silent. Fenris can almost feel his anticipation on the other end of the line. He wishes he could sink his hands into his thick black hair. Instead he curls his fingers around the overlong sleeve of Hawke’s hoodie, and forcing himself to jump off the cliff his heart is teetering on.

“Is it too late to come home?”

Hawke’s breath catches, then releases in a gust that distorts into static over the speaker. “Of course not. Where are you? I’ll - I’ll come and get you -” There’s the sound of sheets, and clattering, and then Dog barking as Hawke gets to his feet.

Fenris grins, and ignores the tickle of wetness on his cheek, pressed between his skin and the plastic screen of the phone. “No, that won’t be necessary. I’m - it’s fine.” He does some mental math, and tries to breathe past the lump in his chest before adding. “I could get there for 10 o’clock tomorrow night? Unless that’s too late -”

“No that’s perfect.” Hawke breathes, and Fenris feels a chuckle push up out of his chest at the sheer sincerity of it. He feels as if he’s been drifting for too long, and it’s only now that he’s hearing Hawke’s voice again that he’s remembered how to keep his feet on the ground. As if the phone in his hand is the only thing stopping him from falling up into the vast black sky. Hawke goes on, “Fen, I’m, I’m so glad to hear from you. I was so - it doesn’t matter, I wanted to say, I’m so sorry - for - I was wrong and I didn’t want to rush you into anything and -”

“No,” Fenris cuts him off, all too aware of how quickly Garrett might throw himself down a verbal hill. He shifts, and tries to ignore the crawl of old hot shame across his skin. He fiddles with the sleeve of Hawke’s hoodie. “No, you didn’t. It was -” Fenris stops, unsticking his tongue from the roof of his mouth. “It was good.” He says the words in a whisper, as if there’s anyone in a forty mile radius who might hear him. Then he clears his throat, “It wasn’t you. I just. Needed some time to think.”

Hawke is quiet for a moment, after that, and Fenris finds himself wishing for an analogue connection - something like the familiar fuzz of his anachronistic cassette tapes, to fill the quiet and do something to ease the aching of his racing heart. Eventually Hawke asks, carefully neutral, “Did it help?”

Fenris tilts his head back, bumping it against the plastic body of his car to stare up at the stars, feeling the warmth of his phone against his skin. “I think so.”

Hawke’s sigh is a rush over the microphone, and Fenris half imagines he can feel it tickling his ear. “Good. Then, that’s good.” Hawke pauses, and again digital silence fills the miles between them. “Fenris?”

“Hawke?” Fenris imitates, more warmly than he means to.

“I missed you.” Hawke’s voice is rough with sincerity, and Fenris’ desire to hold him is an almost physical thing. His fingers tighten around his phone case, and his eyes burn. He shuts them when he replies.

“I missed you, too.”