#or let me put it this way. God’s wounds are pure wounds. they’re clean

[itspileofgoodthings]

I only half believe this because I truly believe that doing the right thing can be synonymous with doing the hardest and most painful thing but also——

good solid and true moral wisdom doesn’t hurt you past the point of ever healing or being able to function. if someone is recommending a course of action to you and it‘s tearing you apart to contemplate it or to follow it there’s probably something wrong with that advice.

[erodasfishtacos]

Hiii bestie!!! Could you write about y/n being in danger and gang Harry gets all worried and scared (of course) and saves her. (I love your stories so much)

warning: violence, blood, guns

Harry was waiting for YN at home after she was going to the store to buy tampons (he offered to go but he normally bought the wrong kind).

He’s watching a game of football as he also continuously glances at the clock - keeping time of how long she’s been gone.

After twenty-five minutes, he gets a bit impatient, he wanted to start their movie night (sue him sometimes he liked cute romantic shit).

When he rings her mobile, it picks up after the first ring, and what he hears next sends a straight chill down his spine.

“We were waiting for you to call, Diablo,” A gruff, smokey voice rasps through the speaker of his wife’s phone.

His heart fucking drops but anger takes over in mere seconds as he’s off the couch and storming to their secret weapons room through a hidden passageway.

“What the fuck do y’cunts want?” Harry hisses furiously, unsure of who exactly this voice belongs to on the other end.

He hears a whimper in the background. He’d know that sound anywhere - usually he heard it when she was underneath him but right now it sounded pained and scared.

“If you fuckin’ hurt - I guarantee you that your whole family will be dead by tomorrow,” Harry promises, pushing down the panic as he grabs a duffel to begin shoving a shotgun and assault rifle in.

His desert eagle was tucked in his waistband already - were it always sat.

On his burner phone, he manages to text and send out the GPS location of where his wife is at - idiots most likely don’t know that he has a tracker on her phone.

There was also a GPS tracker embedded in the ‘H’ necklace she always wore right behind the three small diamonds so no one would ever be able to spot it.

“Business. We know you have a shipment going into the South Bay at midnight. Rumor has it you have 6 million pounds of coke on their,” The man replies.

Bingo.

Harry automatically realizes that this dude is a fucking idiot and fell for a diversion tactic - that shipment was being delivered on the other side of the city at three in the morning.

He didn’t get to be the most dangerous, successful gang leader without his own skills and manipulation of his own.

Harry always had to try to pick off the rats and snitches in his gang because people like to squeal for money and drugs.

Every opportunity he got, he told a couple of his rookie members fake information to see if they’d betray him.

It looks like someone was given fake information that Harry had fed two newer members earlier in the week.

“Why the fuck would y’idiots just sneak attack? Why the fuck d’you have my wife?” Harry snarls, getting a influx of text from his associates stating they’re on their way.

“We were actually going to be nice, just hold her until you agree - not hurt her, you know? But your little bitch managed to kill two of my men before we could wrangle her.”

Thatta girl.

God, he really fucking loved his wife and had no fear of putting his on life on the line to protect her - would take a bullet for her any day.

“I can’t wait t’find you and torture you until you’re begging for me to just put you out of your misery,” Harry promises, his heart pounding, vein protruding from his forehead.

“You really shouldn’t threaten me when I have this pretty little number of yours tied up to a chair with a gun to her head,” The man laughs with amusement, “I’ll have you talk to her now.”

Harry hears the man bark at YN, “Speak bitch!”

“He-hello?” YN whimpers pathetically, “Baby, I need help.”

And it sounds wrong - but relief flushes through him at the sound of her pleas. It was completely an act because it’s not truly how she sounds when she’s scared.

“Brat, y’faking it right now right?” Harry makes sure, getting onto the interstate - uncaring of stop signs and red lights.

“Yes. Yes, come get me. Yes, baby,” YN continues and god, she could win an Oscar for her performance and it really shouldn’t get him hard right now.

-

When he pulls up to a brick building that looks abandoned, his men are already shooting with visible bodies collapsed on the floor.

Harry yanks his favorite assault rifle out of his trunk, tugging the strap over his head, and positioning it as he strides forward.

“Boss, we haven’t cleared it completely. You can’t go in yet,” Niall informs him as he reload quickly, breathing heavy.

“I don’t fuckin’ care. My wife’s in there,” Harry snaps, quickly taking out the last two visible men before he is able to step through the door.

He is about to turn a corner and a man steps out from behind it - Harry doesn’t hesitate to lay his heavily-clad ringed knuckles straight into his face knocking him down before landing one fatal shot.

When he steps into a bare, musky old basement - his beautiful wife is tied to a chair, ropes keeping her arms tied behind her, and a cloth in her mouth.

“‘Bout time you showed up,” The rival states, standing behind his wife with a gun running along her skin.

She’s still in her holey tee shirt and biker shorts with white sneakers that were blood sodden like her clothing.

Harry illuminates pure fury when his gaze meets her - but her eyes are twinkling like she knows something he doesn’t.

He noticed that there was a high concentration of blood near her left side and that the fabric was torn - he had cut her and she was bleeding.

But she spits out the rag, rasping out to her husband in a teasing tone, “Took you long enough, dickhead,” before she’s slipping her hands from the restraints that she had gotten out of in mere minutes.

Her hand goes right for the man’s crotch - taking him by complete surprise, he hunches over and YN is able to get off the chair and knee him straight in the nose.

“S’your turn now,” YN replies, “I need to bandage this to stop the bleeding - it’s just superficial.”

Harry doesn’t remember much from that point on beside the fact that he pulled that man’s teeth out one by one and just as he had told him - by the time Harry was done with him he’d being begging for death.

And boy did he beg for Harry to just end it because Harry’s torture methods was worse than being dead to the world.

After he’s done, he nods at his men to clean up the mess, and finds his wife instantly, intertwining their hands and assuring her, “I’ll stick y’up when we get home.”

-

YN’s sat on their bathroom countertop in nothing but a clean pair of underwear after Harry had gently bathed her dirt and blood away.

She had quieted, the confidence and adrenaline having faded off, and she lets out a loud whimper when he begins to thread the needle through her tender, swollen skin.

“M’sorry, my queen,” Harry apologizes sympathetically as he threads through to close up the wound.

“Hurts,” His wife hisses with a crack in her voice, hands resting on his bare shoulders as he concentrates on her side.

“It’s done, did s’good baby,” He murmurs encouragingly, disposing of the items before cupping her jaw, “How are y’feelin’?”

“I’m fine,” She replies instantly, swallowing and avoiding his gaze.

“You’re not okay and that’s okay,” Harry reminds her, chest hurting when tears start to dribble down her cheeks.

“I was scared,” She whispers, “And all I wanted was you.”

“Baby, baby fuckin’ look at me,” Harry urges, tilting her chin up and hands coming to massage at her thighs, “M’sorry I wasn’t there right away, I fucking would die for you.”

It was amazing how much YN changed Harry.

-

Jaymee was a really sweet girl, bright puppy dog eyes and a wide smile with cherub cheeks, “That was amazing,” she had giggles after Harry rolls off of her.

“Get the fuck out now,” He dismisses, swinging his legs off the bed and pulling on his briefs.

Her face drops, “But…we just? I thought tha-“

Harry cuts her off there, crushing the cute girl’s dreams when he scoffs, “Y’thought what? I didn’t want anything from you but your cunt. I don’t cuddle or give a single fuck - so get the fuck out.”

-

“You’re my soulmate, fuckin’ crazy with how gone I am for you,” Harry follows the sentence but a line of kisses across her breasts and collarbones.

“Please, need it,” YN requests lowly, hand coming to tangle into his curls and lead him to her breast to suck at her hard nipple.

“Y’side, brat,” Harry reminds her, “Let just lay y’out, make y’come, and then we can cuddle, okay?”

And he does, spread her out on their bed, licks deep into her until she’s quivering with pleasure, and then tucks her right into his chest and he soothes her to sleep.

[gaiuswrites]

Ashore

Part one | Open Waters

Pairing: Frankie Morales x fem!Reader

Summary: You and Frankie leave the beach with only one thing on your minds.

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 3.6k~

Warnings/tags: smut, ✨butt stuff✨, oral (f receiving), some lovey-dovey shit

Notes: Here we are friends. You don’t necessarily have to read Open Waters to understand the contents of this chapter (considering it’s mostly just booty bumpin’). You can thank heathens @javierpcna and @whataperfectwasteoftime for the debauchery to follow. It’s been a while since I’ve written and I’m genuinely nervous to post this lol but alas. We have arrived. Is it shit? Is it pure filth? Who’s to say hehehe. Cheers bebes x

Masterlist | read it on ao3!

The worst part was, you had to get gas.

Frankie drives. You sit beside him.

The return trip is hushed with anticipation—with sullied stain-glass imagery occupying the void. You've said next to nothing since you packed into the car; the only noise comes from the radio—the preset station phasing in and out as you wind along the backroads leading away from the shore—Journey, Jimi, Led Zep and the like all crackling dry through the speakers.

Everything, each micro-movement, feels stifling— like burning ants under a magnifying glass— each gesture riddled with intention, Frankie’s words echoing clear in the caverns of your mind.

He glances left right at an intersection.

‘Anything?’

He flips on the turn signal, blinking one two one two one two.

‘You gonna let me have your tight little ass?’

He steers the wheel with the heel of his palm.

‘When I cum, it’s gonna be here—filling you up.’

The engine rumbles as you idle at a red light—stalling. Dawdling. The sun spills lazily from the horizon, draining the last of the afternoon’s light with it, bleeding the sky scarlet—emboldening the horizon— and you watch as the setting glow catches the hair on his arm—there, resting on the console between you. His hand fists over the gear, knuckles creasing as they tense around the worn, leathered head. You’re playing a game—a silent, ruleless game. You know he can sense you observing him, can feel the heat of your gaze weigh on the flex of his fingers—the same fingers that had ripped an orgasm out of you not two hours before.

You almost unbuckle your damn seatbelt and fly out of your chair. You nearly break with it, with the unspoken tension filling the car like gas and fuck, how you crave him; how you yearn to put those fingers in your mouth and suck—lave the summer clean off his digits and bob around the long width and—

The light turns green.

Frankie resumes his hand to the wheel, your lewd fantasy dissipating along with it.

It’s minuscule. You would have missed it save the fact that you’re so acutely aware of every fucking breath you two share in the aluminum confines of your old Jeep. It’s a subtle thing: Frankie adjusts his hips— innocent enough— but your eyes flicker over to find the groin of his drying swim trunks tented.

You’re not ashamed to say it— your mouth fucking waters, you salivate— and as if on cue, he squirms again, seeking relief from both the blood rushing south and the blister of your stare. His lips part— the rasp of an inhale as he prepares to speak—before his focus is torn down to the dashboard, an orange symbol popping up in the gauge stealing his attention.

“Shit,” Frankie mumbles under his breath. Looking around, he scans for a nearby station and groans at the realization that he’s just passed one, spotting it in the rearview mirror. “Shit.”

You swivel towards the passenger side window, attempting to hide the I told you so expression pulling wry at your mouth. Not that you’ll hang it over him, but you did inform Frankie that the tank was empty on the way to the beach. You hear another muffled curse come from the man beside you, and the world goes topsy-turvy and reverses itself— the act of Frankie making a grumbled U-turn.

He puts the gear into park with a huff, Van Halen’s solo abruptly cut short mid chord.

The car door opens with a rusty squeal and Frankie clambers out, fishing his wallet from his back pocket and swiping his card through the reader at the pump—but not before he squeezes a palm into the plush of your thigh, thumb searing like a brand into your skin. I’ll be quick.

Fuck, you could have cum right then.

Your gaze follows his movements, dogging after him as he waits on the gas to fill— arms folded across his chest, strong build leaning on the frame of your car.

It’s not a novel concept to you, but God is that man broad. The ratty t-shirt he wears clings to him, pulled taut between the plane of his shoulders, the cut of his tricep apparent even from your vantage point; the corded muscle running up his neck flashing as he watches the digital numbers on the screen tick higher.

Shit, you’re aching for him— you can feel yourself throb into the crotch of your swimsuit. You’d have him right here—in the backseat, steaming up the glass— if it weren’t for the overencumbered bags and rickety beach chairs crowding the space.

With herculean effort, you wrench your eyes off him in search of a distraction, letting them drift to the dark flooring of the car. It’s been dirtied—white flecks speckling the interior—and you won’t be able to get the sand out of the matted carpets for weeks. It’s a nuisance, to be sure, but you have to admit that you’re sort of fond of it; little memories, vestiges in the grains, lingering long after the season ends.

Hello, remember me? each granule chirped, remember when we laughed giddy for hours, maddened by the grace of the sun? Remember when we burned red that time we forgot sunscreen? Remember when we bought soft serve from the surf shack and it globbed sticky down our wrists? Remember when we when we when when when…

Frankie, ever practical, hates it. It’s a pain in the ass, he’s told you, regaling you with the woes only a mechanic would care to know. It ruins the upholstery.

You’ve had your exchanges about the topic—your faux-squabbled back and forths—and yet despite himself, he can’t help but like that you like it. Conceptually, he gets it—it annoys him to kingdom fucking come and he’ll almost certainly take the vacuum to the mats first thing tomorrow, but he understands. He understands it.

He understands you.

You’re like that, you and him. You’re different. You are made of different things, a compository of fractures and fragments. Mosaic tiles. You don’t quite fit—not all of you—but you never force the pieces into any sort of place. You admire each other’s mismatched bits, those sweetly quilted jigsaws, and you hold each one up to the light and point at the unique curves, the notches and swoops there, and say I love you, I love this, I love this too.

When Frankie keys up the ignition and puts the car in drive, he keeps his hand on your lap. Arm resting over the median dividing you, calloused palm sealing over your quad, his fingertips knead a pulse into the meat of your leg with each bump in the poorly paved road— a reminder. A vow. Almost home.

You think he does it just to torture you.

It fucking works.

/

The sound of laughter parts the front door as you enter— Frankie had made some colorful comment about your absolute favorite neighbors, the ones who always leave their damn garbage bins in front of your driveway— and your key ring clatters as it hits the bowl on the side table.

You discard the bags, plopping the sandy things down in the entryway, and kick off your sandals— bare soles padding along lacquered wood paneling as you head to the kitchen for some much needed water.

The sound of the tap running camouflages Frankie’s movement, you don’t hear him behind you. He’s got stealth in him, harbored there from before. He’s light on his feet when he chooses to be—nimble-like, bordering on feline—and you startle with a bubbly chuckle when you spin around to discover him far closer than you anticipated.

“What are you doing?”

“Keeping us hydrated,” you grin, as if it were obvious. You’re welcome.

He hums, the note rumbling against the cage of his ribs, and lessens the distance between you with a single stride. “That can wait.”

He rids you of the glasses, hurriedly placing them on the counter, and meets you in a kiss—and fuck can that man kiss. Frankie, like with all things, is responsive—attentive. His lips are fever-laced and wanton, and he roves against yours like they’re designed to— fated for no one else’s but your own— nipping and tonguing at your honeyed whines, orphaned there in the well of your mouth.

His hands vine up your body, so deprived of the luxury of your form - of touch - and he grabs at anything he can— your hips, your waist, your breasts through the cotton of your shirt— their half moon curves sitting ripe in his palms.

After ushering you up to the countertop, he strips you of your jean shorts, your bikini bottom sloughing down your calves along with them, and hoists your feet onto the fake granite, prying your legs wide for him.

When he gets an eyeful of your gleaming pussy, pearled with arousal, the wind gets punched straight out of him.

“Jesus honey,” he groans, “you been like this the whole ride home?”

Your brain is numb, lagging with lust. You don’t trust your voice to speak—all you can do is nod.

“Poor thing,” he simpers. “Poor pretty thing, all wound up for me—all wet.”

You whimper at his tone—graveled, just shy of condescending—and your knees weaken shut before he snatches them apart.

“Sit still.”

It’s a command, there’s no room for disobedience; he orders it with a soldier's voice—that dead thing he wears like dog tags around his neck. Vice grip widening your legs, Frankie sinks down onto his shins, head leveled with your core, engrossed with the sight of your damp sex quivering.

Blotchy warmth creeps up your neck, like ivy crawling over brick.

He’s staring at you— hungry and possessed and simply staring at your open cunt and you begin to fidget once more—riling under his umbered appraisal.

“Sit still baby girl,” he murmurs, softer now and desperate too—intoxicated with the heady perfume of your heat. “Lemme just— fuck, I gotta taste you…”

When he swipes the deft muscle of his tongue through your slit, your head careens back onto the cabinets, plates and bowls rattling behind the wood.

Oh god, Frankie.

He’s got a talent for this— an excruciating, body wracking talent. He thirsts for you something dangerous, something unquenchable; he tugs at your labia, forming his lips around your clit, lapping at your essence— the ocean musk, that sea foam wet.

You fumble through his hair, mussing the saline woven strands with urgent fingers as you grind grind grind, rolling your hips to meet him in a covetous show of want and he purrs into your pussy as you fuck his face, the scratch of his stubble chafing at your legs.

It doesn’t take long, not with the fervor of how he’s claiming your cunt with his mouth. You soak Frankie’s chin— you nearly fucking drown him with it—and he’s glistening with you when he finally emerges for air, pulling you to him to slant his lips against yours, letting you savor your own taste on his hot tongue.

“Bedroom. Now,” he husks, breath hitching as his nose grazes along your ear, and with two hands under your armpits, he gathers you off the countertop. Frankie lands a swat at the plump of your backside, sending you scurrying through the living room with a shriek—completely bypassing the abandoned pile of laundry left lying on the couch.

He smirks—delirious and ramrod stiff—sauntering behind you, enamored with the pendulum sway of your hips as you lead him to the bed.

/

You’ve never been here. You’ve never gone this far. You both have tiptoed this narrow line for months; he’s fingered your ass plenty—you have even gone so far as to don a butt plug. You’ve discussed anal—toyed with the idea, flirted in circles around it like tittering birds.

But you’ve never taken Frankie’s cock. Not yet.

He’s been working you loose and limber for the better part of fifteen minutes, delving himself knuckle deep into your slicked hole until you’re sputtering for more— until you’re downright sopping and fucking shaking— and not with trepidation but with desire. Frankie’s made you gluttonous. Frankie’s made you voracious.

You’re starving for him.

“You gonna let me have this now?” He presses a digit over your ass, kissing his thumb into the knot there.

You tremble, nodding frantic.

“Think this pretty little ass can take me, baby?”

He serves you a slap, plush skin jiggling and pricking pink under his palm. You keen into him, in search of the promise he’s been baiting you with and you arch your hips, gyrating back onto fucking nothing.

“Yes. Yes—” You twist, chin corkscrewed around to see him. You want to watch. You want to watch as he disappears inside you— as you swallow him.

“A-Are you sure?” he asks, suddenly gone gentle around the lines fraying from his eyes—those wrinkles he’s hard-earned and won, like badges, like medals—from all his years spent under an unforgiving sun, all of that which he has seen and endured. Survived. Your Frankie, always thoughtful, always checking. A goddamn gentleman, even now—even as his dick brays hard and angry against the soft of his tawny stomach. “Because really, we don’t have to—”

You cut him off with a whimper, splaying your pelvis up to him—spreading yourself, letting him see the filth dripping from your seam, dappling your inner thighs. “Fuck me,” you whine, both holes puckering for him. “Fill me up, like you said you would— please.”

Something shifts across his features like a shadow and his expression morphs until it steels— his pupils dilating to a predatorial onyx— and he spits into his palm, coating his shaft, jerking himself with it.

He hisses as he guides himself into you, as you accommodate around him, as you envelop him entirely— inch by veritable inch. He has to station a hand to the base of your lumbar, struggling to maintain his composure—air rattling in and out his lungs as he attempts to breathe.

“Shit,” he gasps, “t-this okay?”

You fist the comforter, coiling the fabric into a ball. It’s a stretch— it’s a real goddamn stretch— and briefly you consider that he might, in fact, snap you in two...

Francisco Morales is going to split you clean in half—and God, if you don’t you love it.

“Yes - yes baby - keep going. D-Don’t stop.”

He pitches into you, setting a legato tempo— transfixed by the lurid juncture where you converge into one. “You- you’re so tight. Shit, you’re—”

He silences himself with a delicious moan, biting at his lower lip until the vessels there burst and it purples, and deals a particularly aggressive thrust— one you respond to with an ugly wail of your own, eyes somersaulting in their sockets.

You’re both impatient, verging on rabid, and it doesn’t take long for him to set a rougher pace and fuck you faster - harder - hammering into your ass until you see stars, popping and fizzing in front of your retinas, a symphony of guttural grunts and carnal praise fogging up the bedroom.

Your pussy feels so empty you could cry—weeping and gaping and fluttering for him as he takes your tight ring of muscle, fucking himself to the hilt. It’s like he’s behind your brain—like he’s carved his way up your spine and nudging at the nape of your neck with how deep he’s driving into you—restless. Ceaseless. His balls slap slap slap against your puffy cunt and you pant— girlish and buoyant with the dulled smacks to your sore clit.

“Please,” you sob, “Please, I need—”

You can barely push the words out—your mind is of no help and your tongue lolls useless, languid in your mouth. Your motor functions have all but puttered to a halt, every scrap of you fighting to stay above the sensation that’s threatening to drag you under its current. The rip tide of it all, of Frankie’s cock, coursing through your ass, tempting to hurdle you out into the dark, wet blue.

“Tell me,” Frankie rasps, scraping through his throat. “Tell me, pretty baby.”

Your response is pathetic—you can hardly dignify it as a response at all. Your temple is pressed into the mattress, hair knotted with brine and sand, and all you can do is coo.

Frankie folds over you, angling himself to graze his teeth over your shoulder—savoring the salt and sex tang bathing your skin, all those pheromones and velveteen chemicals anointing you—baptizing you anew for him. He’s gruff when he murmurs, his beard grating your freshly tanned skin.

“C’mon sweetheart - hng, fuck - what do you need?”

“My clit,” you rush out, needy. “My clit. Please, oh my god Frankie I-I need you to, I need – oh fuck—” And your pleas are mummed by a rapturous moan as he trails his hand from the hollow of your hip to the apex of your cleft and flicks.

Fuck. Fuck, oh Christ—

There’s a ringing in your ears, buzzing you deaf, making you dumb—or maybe it’s just your heart, beating loud and errant against your skull—you can’t say. You don’t feel human. Frankie’s pounding into that cinched channel and playing with your clit—swiveling eddies into your swollen nub—and you feel like an animal. You feel debased. You feel disgusting and perfect and you’re fucking drooling; cheek squished and mouth agape, saliva pools from your wagging maw, darkening the white linen you’re being driven into.

“You need me in your pussy, too?”

He doesn’t wait for you to answer him— he already knows what you need, how you need to have every part of you gorged on him— and Frankie dips his fingertips into your entrance, hooking them up and up and in, fucking in time to the cant of his hips.

He’s in you. Everywhere, everywhere—every possible neuron and synapse consumed with him.

“You need me like this—fucking you this deep? Fucking both your pretty holes?” he growls, weaving his hand lower to grab a fistful of your hair, rucking your head up. Throat stretched bare for him, your mewls muddle to cock-drunk cries as he spears you on himself again and again and again.

Yes yes yes fuck harder please please Frankie

You're pleading with him—you’ve been reduced to meager begging— and a chorus of slurs sings your release as you contract around him and cum, the cradle of your hips bucking reflexively.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he seethes, “you’re so good for me baby, Jesus fuck—”

He’s close now—his blissed finish drawing nearer and nearer with each sharp snap of his hips. Frankly, he’s shocked he’s managed to last as long as he has; it’s a small miracle he hadn’t cum the instant he slotted himself inside you with that very first stroke.

“Baby,” he warns, losing his rhythm. You saddle your spine, hollowing out the valley of your back and arch pretty and supple for him— preening under his weight. He moans at that, and through your fucked out haze you have the wherewithal to smirk at him, devious and prideful, a wild look owning your eye.

Frankie has to brace himself on your hips, untangling from your locks to bruise into the pillow of your skin— gripping on for dear fucking life as he plows you. You’re strangling him. You’re strangling the thick of his cock until he’s dizzy with it—until he’s feral and blind and he can’t hold on, can’t keep fighting this fucking monsoon that’s raging in his core.

“Baby, I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna—fuck me, oh shit—” He shouts, spurting inside you thrust for thrust, painting your virgin walls with his seed. It’s too much— after all that, and you’re still too tight— and he’s overstimulated to the point of delirium. Frankie roots himself still, cum dribbling out your stuffed hole while he rides out the high of his orgasm—his vision, his senses, his goddamn soul, slowly oozing back into him. When he slides free from you, he does so with a pained heave, leaving you yawning with his absence.

You feel shredded. Vacant. You’ve been sent to another fucking dimension all together.

Without wasting another second, Frankie claws you up. You’re easy and malleable, bones and muscles too strung out to protest, and he whirls you around to bar you to his chest—crushing your sweaty body to his with bullet marred arms— the same arms that have taken lives, that have spared them, too. The same arms that link around you, delicate and daisy-chained, like you’re the most precious thing he has.

And you are.

You are.

Frankie kisses you breathless, drinking rich from your cup— tongue greedy and reverent as he kneels there at your altar, praying his sins into your mouth.

So gorgeous, he croons, peppering your face—your flushed cheeks, your perspired brow—with his lips as he tells you over and over and over again.

So good for me, pretty baby

Was that okay?

Fuck, you’re a dream

You’re my best girl—you’re my only girl

Was that okay?

God, you’re my whole fucking world

Was that okay? Was I okay?

Are you okay?

You swoon, helpless to the contented sigh that seeps out from you like mist. You’ve gone limp against the breadth of him. He has reduced you to rubber, left wobbling in his grasp, and you’re so damn full—your heart and your body—all of it. You feel unequivocally complete. You feel safe, you feel home.

You are home. Francisco is home.

He’s flattening out the nest of your hair, taming the damage he previously delivered to it, earning from you a sleepy grin into the muggy crook of his neck. And with the last of your waning strength you hold his pieces up to the light—the light you left on in the hall as the night grew dark around you, the one who’s yellow glow your naked bodies bask in now, and you say

I love you

I love this

I love this too

tags:

@krissology @heartsofbeskar @madhattervanessa @andiesturgss @sharkbait77 @tenderwhat @javier-pena @pedros-mustache @frannyzooey @chasingdreamer @djarinsbeskar @thosewickedlovelies @juletheghoul @not-the-droids @filthybookworm @pilothusband @letterfromvienna @keeper0fthestars @greatcircle79 @day-off-inkyoto @mermaidxatxheart @lawfulgranola @heatherbel @quica-quica-quica @stuckonthefiction @janesbrontes

[rotshop]

GONNA B HONEST W/ YOU ,,,,,, i rlly dont like how this is written lmao ,,,, but also im sleepy tired so i get a pass dhmu /j

[ TW ; gore, some violence, death ]

notes ; based offa DIS ,,, u might wanna read it for some context n shit ,,, lawl ,,,

-

Between the two of you, it's hard to tell who's suffocating more. It's hard to tell if its you, with the little pants that pass by your teeth in shaky steps, hitching whenever they're cut down when you have to stop to cough up blood. It should be you, you who has your guts spilled out onto the floor and your blood staining all the concrete underneath the both of you. It has to be you, who's leaning heavy against 2b's chest and drawing unfocused circles onto his shoulder. It had to be you, you just had to go inside by yourself, you just had to be slow on the draw and nearly be ripped clean in two. It just had to go wrong with just you.

Even with all that in mind, he feels like there's nothing in him. There's no lungs to draw in breaths, no mind with clear thoughts on what to do and how to stop this once more, and certainly no heart beating steadily. In those places was instead viscera, a mangled, nameless mess of pink and red weighing him. There was some clump of pink that drew in some shaky puffs, barely reaching him as he choked on his own pride. There was nothing but tangled strings and weights in his head, making his skull pound as something in the back of his mind screamed to do something. There was a heavy weight behind his ribs that stayed put, a finality hanging over his shoulder as it always would.

He doesn't want to cry. He shouldn't be, you're the one with your innards exposed to the eyes of any and all and your face buried in the crook of his neck, it should be you who's crying in pain. He shouldn't be crying, he shouldn't be shedding tears when there's not a single bleeding wound on his skin. He shouldn't be and yet they're tight in his throat, threatening to tumble past his lips and create an embarrassment of himself. A shift brings him back from his thoughts, turning his attention back to you.

There's a little stutter in your movements, a quick pause as your vision momentarily fails you and your breath is wheezed past your lips. A quick, aimless grasp at your innards to have them follow your movements, rather than stay partially stuck to the floor, tugged further from your soon-to-be-cadaver as you readjust. You're just pulling yourself ever closer to him, little to no space left between the two of you as you support yourself on his figure. He can't help the way his own movements choke and pause as he moves his arms to wrap around you. He can't help the way he takes a sharp, shaking inhale as the skin of his arm ghosts over the start of your gash.

He remembers the first time he'd been with you in your 'final' moments. He remembers how the line had fallen dead on your side and the others all fell into a silence. They'd only told him later on why, they 'didn't want to scare him off.' He was still a little upset about it, even now. He had always been stubborn like that, it was a fact of him that you regarded with warm laughter and endearing teases.

He remembers the pure terror that'd gripped him as he came across you, choked squeaks and hisses leaving your lips as you writhed. The debris around you and the tangle of pipes and bars you'd been impaled on told the story he never bothered to ask, the one he'd never truly questioned you on even to this day. Something about the way you'd glanced at him in that moment never left him. Maybe it was how the pure agony you'd been in moments before shifted to confusion on his being there, shifted into something gentler yet still as forlorn and miserable, either way it haunted him endlessly. He remembers how you were such polar opposites after he'd managed to tear himself from his place.

The clatter of his goggles against the ground fell on deaf ears when he'd rushed for you. He barely even noticed how quick his breath was speeding up, he was far too focused on helping you, on getting you back to base so he could fix this. It'd taken your weak swipes at him and breathless pleads to just stop to snap him back, he didn't want to listen to you. He wanted to tear you from that metal and drag you back to base, he wanted to set you down and get to work, and then he wanted to grab you by the collar and ask just what was going through your head. He wanted to be mad, he wanted to argue and to let go of all the tension wracking him and making his hands shake. It was tearing him limb from limb in the worst way possible, in the one way he never wanted to feel.

He was afraid. Honest to god terrified from the moment his gaze fell on your bleeding-out form. It shook him to his core in a way he hadn't felt in forever, breaking past the facade he'd worked so hard to build in an utterly humiliating manner. He hated the way he had to clench his hands and bite his tongue as he stared down at you, his weak attempt at keeping his tears back that hung by a thin string. He hated how he fell to his knees, coming face to face with you as you looked back at him.

Your eyes were still soft with accepting misery in the moment, a weak smile finding it's way onto your lips as you reached for him. You'd struggled, finding it difficult to meet his face when the world was spinning so dizzyingly. He'd hesitated, hand shaking as it found your wrist, him leaning into your touch with an unsteady breath. If the tears weren't already hanging behind his eyes, they would've burst up with a vengeance when you started brushing your thumb over the bandages on his face.

He couldn't remember how exactly you'd spoken, how you'd been able to between the gurgle of blood in your throat and the copper piercing you, but you had. It was a request ; a final wish of sorts he didn't want to deny you. You could've asked for anything in the moment and he would've done it for you, he would tear through whoever and whatever he had to for you. He would rend flesh and ruin relationships and scar the world if he had to in that very moment. He'd never been an especially generous type, he could extend a certain amount of kindness to others but there was a limit to his softness. Yet, you managed to turn him so, managed to make him give an excuse of 'it wouldn't hurt,' or 'it's just a one time thing,' when it came to you.

Even so, you'd made such a simple request. One he would've asked you himself in other circumstances if he weren't so stubborn with what little ego he clung to. One he would've been happy to hear from you in the comfort of home and privacy. Even so, he'd nodded when you asked. Even so, he'd ignored how his own hands shook as he held his over yours gently.

It was an odd feeling, your blood seeping into his mouth, iron heavy on his tongue as his lips met yours. The taste would've been revolting under any other circumstances, making him recoil and pull away with a note to never repeat the cause. Yet, he didn't. He kept his lips against yours gently, experience slipping him in the thick anxiety of the moment. Even then, reluctance followed when he pulled away.

Content lost its footing when you'd given him once last smile, then it fell with a crash when your gaze grew glassy and unfocused. He'd never forget the panic that gripped him so tightly, enough of a disturbance to slip past his guard and make the tears start to fall. He didn't even notice them in the moment, all he saw was your corpse and the end of the compassion and emotion you'd helped him regain over time. He never asked the others if they heard him then, if they heard him plead with you, if they heard the sobs and begs he never would've given if it weren't you. He's glad they never brought it up, it was just a touch easier to forget how he'd completely broken down for the first time in a long time when you'd fallen still.

He was glad you weren't able to hear them. He's sure you would've made some dumb comment about it as you stood before him, alive and well as though nothing happened. He's sure you would've smiled and hummed a question he wouldn't answer, he's sure he would've reacted all the same. He's sure he still would have grabbed you by the collar and shoved you back against the wall, he's sure he would've still hissed at you to explain yourself, ignoring the desperation laced in his voice as his eyes began to burn again. You had an effect on him, one he wouldn't ever admit to even if you poked and prodded at it time and time again by simple virtue of you being yourself.

You were a surprisingly good kisser for someone on the brink of death once more, but you were better at it when you could count how many of him there were.

He's not sure what pulls him back as he looks down at you again, noting your still form blankly. He's not sure why he pauses for a few long moments, simply keeping his arms around you as your body grows colder and colder. He's not sure why he tucks hair behind your ear and lets his hand linger, warm by contrast against you. He's not sure when he pulls himself up off the floor, careful of your innards as he pulls you up with him.

He is however sure he feels a hell of a lot better when you sit up from your previous place on the table, hand trailing over the stitches that line your stomach and chest as you give a little hum of approval. He's sure he's smiling a little at that simple bit of praise. He's sure you'd make a comment about it if you noticed.

"Happy to see me, huh?"

He's happy to be right.

[nightingaelic]

Companions (DLC included) respond to the Courier getting drunk at their wedding.

Arcade Gannon: "What is wrong with you? You couldn't pick any other day to act like a brahmin who got into the broc patch?"

Super apologetic toward his new husband, he should've known the courier was going to make a scene, honestly, it's about the only thing they're good at, and gets so flustered he starts blushing and his newly-minted spouse has to reassure him that the courier isn't even the most inebriated person there. That award goes to Cass, who is pickling herself in a mixture of wedding joy and despair that the nerdy gay scientist of the friend group found love before she did. Arcade stops the courier from being a bad influence and forbids the bartender from pouring the pair of them any more shots. Will not hold the courier's hair if they throw up, but will slip them some Rebound for the inevitable hangover.

Craig Boone: "Take it easy. Here, I'll finish that one for you."

Ignores the courier's antics completely until they make their way up to congratulate him and his new partner personally, at which point his usual stony façade will crack a bit. He's well-acquainted with the courier's drunk personality by now, but hasn't let himself loosen up out of a strong sense of duty. Now, on this happy day, he's willing to relax an inch and share some extra drinks with them and the rest of the Lucky 38 crew. This is the one time the courier will be able to steal his beret and be able to hang onto it until after the festivities.

Lily Bowen: "Go sit in the corner until you can behave yourself, dearie!"

Embarrassed by her surrogate grandchild's actions, Lily would attempt to scold the courier back into sobriety. Eventually she would realize her efforts are fruitless and take a few minutes to sulk, before the whirlwind happiness of the day and the flounce of her dress win out and she lets her spouse, the courier and her Lucky 38 and Jacobstown friends lead her out to the middle of the dance floor. After that, well, there aren't many spectacles that can top seeing a bunch of super mutants dancing.

Raul Alfonso Tejada: "Hey, hey, slow down boss! Tenemos muchos años más to act like fools together, eh?"

As soon as the courier jumps up on a table to give an impromptu toast, Raul will unleash his best grito and toast them back with the nearest bottle of tequila. Once deep enough into the alcohol himself, Raul would get a little weepy and start thanking them profusely for their role in his recent years of life, leaning on them as much as they're leaning on him. Largely forgiving of messes caused by clumsiness or turned stomachs, unless any of them threaten to ruin his suit or his partner's outfit.

Rose of Sharon Cassidy: "Well if this ain't an excuse to get wasted in the wastes, I don't know what is."

Cass lives up to her nickname "Whiskey Rose" and is probably just as deep into her cups as the courier. Through the laughter, stumbles, bumps and curse words, however, Cass is careful not to go past her point of no return, and cuts the courier off before they also slip over the edge. She's spent much of her later life trying to get blackout drunk, but today is not a day she wants either of them to forget. As such, she has a low tolerance for anyone who messes up something important in her eyes, and will toss them out on their ass. God help anyone who rips her dress.

Veronica Santangelo: "That's the first time I've seen anyone mix Jake Juice and ant nectar together. This should be interesting."

Rather than confront a drunken courier about their bad behavior, Veronica settles for blushing deeper and deeper shades of pink, until her new wife tells her to go outside and get some air. Like Cass, she is very protective of her dress, but mostly because she loves wearing it in general and wants to feel like a princess for as long as she can. Will definitely get lost in the bathroom with Cass and the courier at some point, complimenting everyone who walks in. Will hold the courier's hair back if they throw up.

BONUS!

Dean Domino: "Don't leave me out if you have plans for some grand finale. Marriage might've caught me, but this snake can still rattle."

As long as the courier doesn't start singing, Dean regards their drunken stunts with a charming smile and a wink or two. If the courier tries to start some impromptu karaoke, however, Dean will start heckling them and get the rest of the guests to join in. This is less about being offended by their singing and more about putting himself back in the center of the spotlight. If the song is a duet, though, he'll probably join in on the second part with some pre-war choreography.

Christine Royce: [scowls]

The Brotherhood assassin is quite good at piercing glares, which is exactly what the courier will get if they don't put the centerpiece down and melt back into the crowd around the bar. Christine is also unafraid of a confrontation, and if the courier's behavior doesn't improve after their first warning, they'll be kicked to the outskirts of the reception, or kicked out altogether. Veronica will take pity on them if this happens and sneak them some food, but Christine doesn't let her guard down easily anymore and removal from the party is permanent.

Dog/God: "Hrrrrrrn..."

Watching the courier overindulge is too much for the nightkin, who is painfully reminded of his own split personality. Still too polite to ask the courier to tone it down or leave though, he instead disappears until the courier leaves or until someone else deals with them.

Follows-Chalk: "Let's share a cup or two, then get back to things, neh?"

Though he's personally fine with the courier's lack of decorum, Follows-Chalk meets the disapproving glances from the rest of the Dead Horses with sheepish grins and hustles them to the back of the celebration if they get too loud. He'll share a few drinks with them though, and the alcohol will warm him up significantly toward letting them back into the center of things. Ultimately, he and the courier will wind up swaying together over a bonfire, singing songs off-key and reminiscing about their time together in Zion.

Waking Cloud: "Muddy your water if you must, but do not forget to let it run clean beneath the morning."

The tall, stately bride is polite and tolerant of the courier's drunken outbursts, but chooses not to partake herself when offered drinks. The Sorrows view mind-altering substances as something for serious, sacred purposes, and weddings are focused on celebration rather than ritual. Still, Waking Cloud can't help but smile when the courier tries their hand at the intricate, unending dances on the banks of the Virgin River. They might look foolish, and watching members of the tribe might wince, but the smile on their face is pure ecstasy.

Joshua Graham: "There is a fire that burns within the righteous, but that fire cannot prosper if you insist on quenching it."

As a Mormon, Joshua Graham doesn't drink, and he's very judgmental of those who overindulge. Seeing as it's the courier, his disdain is tempered into something more akin to disappointment, but he'll still take every opportunity to pull them aside and try to explain their faux pas in between their hiccups. Most likely to have a dry wedding in the first place, but we all know the courier has a trusty Vault 13 canteen and is great at breaking the rules.

Ulysses: "The Twin Mothers knew how to cure a wound with bitters, one drink at a time... some wounds need more. More bitters, and more drinks. There's enough bitterness already in our history."

Ulysses also doesn't drink, but he knows better than to try to separate the courier from a good time. He'll simply avoid them until they simmer down, grabbing his partner and ducking out of conversations right before the courier crashes them. He's so successful in this that the courier might start loudly complaining about how they "didn't know we were back in the Divide," and enlist ED-E to bob around the party in pursuit.

[playboysaleen]

Love Malady.

Summary: Daughter of the notorious gang of thieves. One day your brothers group kidnap a nobel woman. Feeling guilt you gave her warm clothes, tended to her injuries, and helped her escape. instantly the world falls under a deadly pandemic and is killing/infecting people left to right and you are the only one who is immune. All because you saved a girl years ago coming to find out... it was the goddess of death(Famine).

Warnings: Blood, injury, cursing, violence. (if theres more feel free to just let me know.)

word count: 1,980 (around there)

Ya’ll this is my first Wanda story(first ever on here) so bare with me. thank you. 

its in first person(ill learn 2nd person soon)

__________________________________

February 12th, 2017. 

God, I hate the rain. The sounds of the droplets banging against the roof outside my window is a wonderful way to keep me up. A loud crash rang throughout the room I laid causing a yelp to fall from my lips. 

            “Y/n?” my brother's voice was heard from the door that seemed to be miles away from my bed. His tall silhouette approached my nightstand switching on the lamp. The brightness that lit the whole room could light a whole village in this type of storm and night we’re in. 

        “Thunderstorm.” he humbled taking a seat at the end of my bed. I gazed at the window that painted streaks of clear droplets. 

        “So, what did dad make you and your group do this time?” I whispered, fumbling with my fingers. A sigh fell from his lips knowing how much I hated the deeds my father does, but it's our lives now. 

        “We crashed a business party.” He answered by handing a beautiful Rolex watch that held so many diamonds that cost more than the house we were in. 

            “Jaime! You know how risky that is right?” I raised my voice, swiping the blanket off my body walking towards my closet. I opened the doors rummaging through my hoodies finding a white Nike pullover throwing it on. I pointed at the black warmups next to Jaime, he stood up grabbing them, tossing my way. I slipped on my black running shoes heading downstairs. 

          “Wait Y/n!” Jaime shouted, sprinting from his position which was late by a second when a cry was heard from the entertainment room downstairs. I glanced at Jaime making sure he saw the glare I gave him as I made my way downstairs. 

       “At least put on a mask- you know how dad is with you and me.” He begged, handing me a mask which I snatched with a frustrated sigh. I placed on the face mask heading towards the door as another cry rang out the room. 

    “Oh we’d be dead if Mr. Rome was here.” the figure spoke turning his head towards the smaller figure standing in front of the stranger tied to the chair. 

       “But he's not.” the smaller guy breathed out picking up his hand sending another hit towards the “criminal”. I barged in pushing the small figure full force into the bar sending him over the top landing onto his shoulder. I turned towards the taller man which completely surprised me, 

        “Got damnit Adam!” I growled sending a hit towards the younger yet taller boy. I looked forward to the stranger with a bag over their head, examining them which sparked my curiosity seeing woman-like features. I grabbed the bag and gently lifted it making eye contact with the horrified woman. Her emerald green eyes filled with tears stared back into mine, I gasped not knowing what to do. Her eyes spoke a million words to me yet I could not find one to say. My hand moved towards her gently placing it against her cheek, she shuddered under my touch but it was not happiness nor relief. It was pure fear. 

       “It's okay, I'm not going to hurt you.” i reassured her not breaking eye contact letting her read me knowing my true intentions. Soon she nodded, I returned the gesture standing up facing the two boys with an emotionless expression.

            “Take off your masks.” I spoke- 

    “But Y/n-” I walked towards now seeing his face; Buck, grabbing the back of his neck squeezing down onto his pressure point. A cry dripped from his mouth as I faced him towards the terrified woman. 

                 “She is a woman! What did I mention to you all when you were introduced to the group? Hmm?” I asked pressing deeper into his pressure point causing him to grunt. I shoved his neck so his eyes can lock onto the woman's injured face. 

                 “WHAT DID I SAY BUCK?” I yelled, causing the woman to flinch at how loud I was but I didn't care, they're gonna get taught a lesson. He whimpered under my touch letting fearful tears fall from his eyes. I looked up towards Jaime nodding my head towards Adam, Jaime grabbed Adam placing him on his knees next to a crying Buck that stood in front of the girl. 

             “Respect the ones who mean no harm. We are not strays, we are survivors.” Buck spoke between his tears. I let go of his pressure point sending him to the ground, I huffed loudly looking towards Jaime with disappointed eyes. 

                   “But now since you don't have the right mind to follow those simple rules-” i spoke softly ripping off Adams mask then proceeding to Bucks. Snatching their hoods back to show their whole identity, Jaime placed his hand on my shoulder which I shoved off.

              “Now apologize.” Adam was the first to apologize with a small head bow, I nodded to him letting him leave the room. Buck remained quiet breathing heavily, I pushed his back awaiting his apology which nothing happened. 

          “I don’t owe you anything.” Buck spat towards the quiet woman spitting towards her feet. I grabbed the back of his shirt and sent him back first towards the wall, I grabbed the golf club swinging towards his knee. Screaming in agony clutching his knee I dropped the club sending blows towards his face. Jaime jumped between Buck and i knowing he had enough, i huffed fixing my hoodie walking towards the woman untying her from the chair. 

           “If I untie you, will you run?” i asked locking eyes with her once more, she shook her head awaiting for what comes next, i helped her up looking back towards Jaime picking an unconscious Buck. 

          “I want you to tell dad what he did. Both of them.” I ordered Jaime, he nodded walking down the hall to the pool house. I turned towards the girl helping her towards the staircase, she whimpered struggling up the stairs. I wrapped my arms around her waist placing her body weight onto me walking towards my bedroom. Walking into the bedroom I sat her down walking towards the restroom grabbing the first aid kit.  I knelt front the quiet woman's legs grabbing the alcohol wipes looking back up to her wondering eyes. 

          “This might sting a little but i promise i won’t hurt you.” I whispered, placing the wipe against her bloody wrist. A small hiss fell from the girls mouth as she gripped my hoodie, i quietly apologized dabbing the wipe around her wound on her wrist. 

        “Wanda.” She whispered under her breath when I grabbed the bandage from the kit beside her foot. My head snapped up towards her breathlessly smiling, I grabbed my hood gently taking it off. She watched intently as my hand ghosted over my mask pulling it off, and I looked up sending her a small smile. 

          “Hi Wanda, i’m Y/n.” i uttered letting her take in my profile, she let out a breath sending me a small smile. I moved up dabbing a warm rag against her eyebrow, I held my breath for some reason being around her made me feel at ease. I looked down to lock eyes with her own thoughts and ran through my head which I shook my head clearing up the dry blood that painted on her forehead. 

           “Why did they bring you in Wanda?” I asked standing, picking up the used wipes tossing them into the trashcan heading towards the closet. I grabbed a track suit handing it to her,

         “I was doing my nightly stroll and I walked past the Richland Suite and I heard crying and it was a little boy. He said his dad was hurt and I saw some people hurting these men and I just froze. Next thing I know I'm getting tossed into a trunk with a bag over my head.” Once Wanda finished I huffed leaning against the bathroom door shaking my head. 

        “I am truly sorry for what these men have done to you.” Looking down whispering, she walked towards me placing a hand against my cheek,

         “ Why am i feeling like this towards a stranger?” she asked gazing into my timid eyes. I gently placed my hand against her waist looking into her eyes. 

      “Will it make it better if I told you, you’re not the only one?” I whispered my eyes flickering down to her lips. The flashing from her lips to her eyes was repeated multiple times until I leaned in capturing her lips into mines. 

Complete bliss. 

After what seemed like forever but was only a couple seconds, Wanda pulled away resting her forehead against mine. I sighed knowing it’s wrong to leave her with me, grabbing her wrist I dragged her towards my bedroom door. 

     “You can’t stay here. My father finds out you were brought here and you’re still here he’ll kill us both. Let’s get you home.” I spoke untying my red bracelet tying it onto her wrist. She watched my movements and slowly looked into my eyes, 

        “I will never forget you my love.” She spoke but what caught my attention was her voice didn’t sound like a regular American as of before, it dripped with this foreign accent that made my heart flutter. She placed a kiss against my cheek making her way downstairs to the door, I held it open watching her walk down the steps. 

      “We will meet again Y/n.” She said before walking down the street towards the corner then disappearing into the night. I sighed looking at the sky that cried droplets of water, why am I feeling this way. 

          “Hey.” I snapped my head towards the hallway to see Jaime playing with his fingers, i hummed waiting for his response, 

           “We have to take Buck to the hospital.” I scoffed slamming the door walking towards the back door, 

           “I didn’t even mess up his knee that bad, a little ice and a clean up will do” I grumbled out picking up my pace as I opened the back door walking into the pool house. 

          “No Y/n, he’s sick.” Jaime defended opening the door for me, walking in I gasped watching a pale Buck throw up into a small trash can that stood near the small couch. Furrowing my eyebrows I leaned down placing the back of my hand against his head- 

       “He’s on fire- Buck what did you do?” I couldn’t bring myself to look away from his fatigue state but so many unanswered questions danced through my head. Jaime turned on his flashlight on his phone, shining it into the trash can. I gagged seeing the black blood and mixed vomit that pooled inside the can, I wobbled back looking out the huge window. 

          “My head hurts..” Buck wheezed out, squinting my eyes watching sweat trickle down his temple I noticed his eyes weren’t as blue as they once were. I placed a hand against Jaime’s chest patting rapidly, 

        “Call Pedro. Get the car ready. Somethings wrong.” I ordered, Jaime fumbles his phone in his hand trying to type in Pedro’s number with shaky fingers. Once Jaime gave me the okay, I grabbed Bucks hand gripping it tightly. 

          “I’m sorry for the harsh punishment.” I apologized sighing deeply, he weakly smiled tapping my wrist 2 times. 

         “Gotta learn some way huh..” he tried joking, coughing dryly black and white substance dripped from the side of his mouth. 

       “Pedro’s here.” Jaime breathed out running in. Jaime grabbed Buck taking him into Pedro’s car, I leaned against the window frame glancing back at a wheezing Buck. 

      “Keep me updated when you get to the ER with him okay?” I scolded Jaime, he nodded looking at Pedro giving him a firm nod. I stepped back watching the car back away from the driveway riding off into the rainy night. 

Part 2

Part One. 

Im trying guys.

[diavolosthots]

DARK DECEPTION CHAPTER 19

READ CHAPTER 18 HERE

Warnings: flashbacks to the previous chapter, mentions of injury and death

Pairing(s): Lucifer x reader, michael, the brothers, Barbatos

Loud… everything was so loud. There was shuffling and the clinging of metal. There were too many people, too many voices both which he recognized and which he didn’t. His eyes couldn’t open and everything hurt, he wasn't going to lie, but his pride also didn’t allow him to actually groan out in pain, or, at least not very loudly. People were touching him, he could feel them. They worked on his wings and for a moment, he was so out of it, he about attacked someone for touching him in the first place, but then he remembered. He remembered nearly everything. The pain, the breaking of Diavolo’s wings right beneath him and then the head in his hands. He remembered the pure rage that filled him, and he remembered Satan. He’s still not sure how the fourth born did this, binding them back together. Lucifer hadn’t felt that kind of anger, that kind of power, since the celestial war, and he never thought he would feel it again, either. “Satan….” His eyes slowly opened as worry settled into his mind, and he had to blink a few times in order to focus on the picture in front of him. 

A soft hand, a gentle touch, cupped his cheek and Lucifer leaned into it. It felt familiar and comforting; it felt like you. He turned his head a bit, groaning when the pain rushed through him and right now, he wasn’t trying to hide it. “(Y/N)....” his mouth felt dry, his throat and voice hoarse. It felt as if there were sand stuck in his throat and talking hurt more than anything, well, almost. Tears were streaming down your face and he could tell that you had been crying for longer than you would ever willingly admit to him. One of his hands was held firmly by yours, the other one still cupping his cheek. “Lucifer…” it was a sob, a noise of relief, and if he wasn’t so bandaged up right now, you could throw yourself at him. “I was so worried….” You were. After Lucifer left, you begged Michael to let you run after him, or at least that he ran after him, but the angel locked you in that room. You had no idea what was going on and paced the space until your feet hurt. It felt like eternity to you until Michael finally returned and decided to bring you down, “it’s not pretty…” and it wasn’t.

You remember seeing the bodies. You didn’t know what happened, at all. Some demons were still fighting with each other, others were on the ground. You found Beelzebub first, who was all scratched up and beaten, but still standing which you deemed as good. Belphegor was with him too so at least you knew those two were fine. “Where is he?” But neither of them had an answer. You found Asmo with Mammon and Levi and you almost screamed when you saw the very open, very gaping, very bloody wound in Levi’s abdomen, barely held together by Mammon and Asmo. Mammon’s leg was broken, very clearly so, but nothing he wouldn’t survive. And for some reason Asmo, although exhausted, still looked good. Levi worried you though and you doubted he was even conscious anymore, “get…. Get him to the house… clean the wound…. Asmo, please…” but you didn’t know if they ever made it, not at that point at least. And then Satan… his golden hair stood out and you ran over there as quickly as you can. He was face down and right beside him was Lucifer, holding onto his hand. Neither of them reacted to you and you freaked out, screaming for Michael who you hoped was still there. 

And that’s how you ended up here. Michael had carried Lucifer to the house, ordering some angels down to help the rest of the brothers. For a very long time, Michael worked on Lucifer’s wings, barely speaking to you or anyone for that matter, and if he said anything at all, it was mumbled, almost as if he was embarrassed, or ashamed. Beelzebub stayed the whole time and Belphegor and Asmodeus made their own little nests in Lucifer’s room, watching over the eldest as the five of you hoped for the best. “I was so worried…. You didn’t wake up….” Lucifer could hear your pain and it pained him more than any physical pain he felt at the moment. “I… I made a promise…. I didn’t intend on breaking it…” he forced a soft grin, although it truly did nothing but hurt him; it was worth it. You laughed softly, letting yourself fall onto him as you hugged him tightly. Pain shot through him and he groaned loudly, carefully lifting his hands to place them on your back and he wished he could hold you tighter. 

“I’m sorry… Darling…” you shook your head, quickly pulling back to look at him. “No I am… I’m sorry for not fighting… I’m sorry for going with him…” A hand was placed on your shoulder and you quickly turned your head, seeing Michael look down at you, “it’s not your fault little one.” the angel looked at you for another moment before looking at Lucifer, “you have a lot to clean up, Lucifer, but my task here is done. You should heal just fine, as should everyone else. Don’t forget your promise to me…. But I will take my leave now.” You looked confused at Lucifer and then back at Michael, “promise?” but the angel only smiled, stroking gently through your hair, “don’t worry, child. It’s nothing bad. Take care of him, hm?” And then, in the blink of an eye, Michael was gone. Lucifer smiled softly, still, although the confusion was written everywhere on your face, “don’t worry….” “What did you promise him?!” You were freaking out. A promise? Made by Lucifer? To Michael? This can’t be good. Lucifer’s hand reached out slowly to grasp yours again as he swallowed thickly, “I promised… to mend our relationship… to try again…” and he hated making that promise, but for you he would do anything, including putting his pride aside and forgiving Michael. 

The words rung in your ears and you know you understood them, but you couldn’t believe them. Fresh tears spilled over as you nodded at him, looking at Beel and Belphegor on the other end of the room, and then at Asmo who took it upon himself to give you some tissues, “thank you….” Lucifer nodded, closing his eyes again, “my brothers… they’re okay…?” Asmo laughed softly behind you and nodded eagerly, “yeah… Michael brought some of his cute friends with him… they stitched everyone up.” Belphegor walked up on the other side of the bed and held up his bandaged arm, “they were pretty nice…. Levi is making it, too, and Satan just needed some rest. He slept almost as long as you.” Lucifer turned his head toward Belphegor, raising an eyebrow, “how long was I sleeping, as you put it?” “About a week.” It was Beelzebub who spoke. Lucifer’s eyes went wide and he almost immediately went to sit up, groaning loudly when his wings hurt him and he felt the pressure of your hand pushing him back down, “oh no…. You’re not going anywhere! Your wings are taking forever to heal. You had a few broken ribs too and it’ll take a while, even with Michael’s help.” 

God, he hated this. He feels useless right now. “The house is still standing…. Seems like you three didn’t do too bad.” Belphegor rolled his eyes, walking over to the door, “there he is. Lucifer is back everyone, we can leave now.” It made you laugh, genuinely, and it’s nice to see that nothing can truly ever keep Lucifer away. When Belphegor opens the door, though, he gets interrupted by Satan pushing Mammon, who’s sitting in a wheelchair, in through the door, and Levi kind of wobbling after them, “Lucifer! I knew you would make it!” You smiled at the rest of them and then looked back at Lucifer, who seems like his usual self, “is this a family meeting now? I’m glad to see you all alive. “ Especially Levi. For a while, he didn’t think the third born would make it, but his eyes actually ended up falling on Satan, “what was that?” The blond smiled smugly at him before shrugging, “it was more of a theory than anything until I tried it… but I figured since I was made from your anger, maybe you needed that anger in order to win… I didn’t think it would work so well, though.” 

“Are ya kiddin’ me?! Ya knocked the whole Devildom out!” Mammon wasn’t even exaggerating. The wave that pushed through everyone was immense and none of them ever felt anything like that. “It was amazing!” You were confused, looking between Mammon, Satan, and then back at Lucifer, who only shook his head. “No worries…. It just helped us win…” He sighed softly, closing his eyes again and holding your hand tightly, “I still need rest but… do whatever you six want for a while.. Just make sure the house is still standing for when I can walk again.” “well… actually..” Levi started and the way his tone sounded, it didn’t make Lucifer too happy so he opened his eyes again and glared at the third born, “Leviathan I swear…” but the otaku shook his head, “there’s something you need to know….” not another war, please. Please don’t let it be another war. Leviathan stepped aside, letting Barbatos enter the room. The servant was smiling as always, his hands folded behind his back. 

“Glad to see you alive and well, My Lord.” 

[infinitebells]

the act (s. moran)

sebastian moran doesn’t know how to love. incessant pressure from his father to “do better” erased any kind of bond he could have formed with him. his platoon was murdered in front of his eyes, and when he woke up the realization that he was dead too wiped away any chance at love.

sebastian moran prides himself on his ability to bed women (and men if he so chooses) at the snap of a finger. taunts and mocks come at the expense of his actions, but why should he care? he’s always been the butt of the joke while working with the moriarty family. it’s not like they’re going out and picking up people left and right. they don’t have the ability to do so. the colonel claims it’s a god given gift, but fred knows better than to buy into the defense mechanism that is moran’s sexual habits.

sebastian moran doesn’t care for anyone. sure, he’ll give his life to keep william alive, but that’s simply out of pure obligation. he’s well aware that his own like is expendable. why should he spend time trying to convince himself otherwise?

sebastian moran is a defensive, brash, sexual man who does not need anyone to stay alive. that is, until he meets you.

•••

when he first sees you, it’s across the street in town. you’re arguing with a vendor, claiming the fruit you’re trying to purchase is much too expensive for the meager salary of a maid working for some self-centered noble. it’s not like the vendor will cave on their price, but you hope they’ll remember the interaction for the next time someone can’t buy any of their produce. you’re two seconds from walking away until a tall (very handsome) man slides next to you, paying for the fruit in full. he offers you a cocky smirk, but you know better than to buy into the fact that some strange man is buying the entirety of your produce just for the hell of it.

meanwhile, the colonel is trying his very hardest to not blush like a maniac. because in reality, the suave act that he puts on for the men and women swooning over him in bars and sleazy alleyways is just that. an act. so when he realizes you’re absolutely nothing like the people he puts the act on for, he’s stumped. he’s intrigued by your soft eyes, the slight downward curve of your lips as you frown at him, and the way your fingers fiddle with the thin gold chain hanging delicately off your neck.

“there’s no need for such a beautiful person to frown and mar their face. i’m simply being polite,” he’s well aware his comment strikes a bone in you, but he’s thoroughly surprised at your remark.

“i’m beautiful regardless of the face i’m making. only some people can truly appreciate such beauty,” you say with confidence, straightening your back and staring up at him (you’re just now made aware of how tall he is). his smirk fades into a childlike grin, and you come to appreciate how he almost looks like a young boy smiling widely in a candy shop. but you know better. the hard lines of his face and the small scar peaking out from beneath his buttoned shirt indicate that the man’s mind is far older than you realized. his dark eyes reflect pure joy at your challenge, but you can still detect the faint traces of panic. you’re confused as to why such a confident looking man would experience panic when talking to you. you won’t know why he’s panicked around you until much later.

“i suppose you’ll have to teach me how to appreciate your beauty then,” he hopes he maintains the same confident tone he spoke with before, but with the way you’re looking at him he’s positive you see right through him.

“you can only see true beauty once you’ve seen it in yourself. i’d suggest dropping the act, it makes it much easier to appreciate yourself if you’re true to who you are,” you finish, turning away from him and walking away. the vendor looks between you and moran, but moran’s eyes focus solely on you. he’s sure that the next time he sees you he’ll fall even farther than he already has.

•••

the second time he sees you, you’re picking up a brand new tailored suit for the nobleman you work for. you’re very clearly tired, the bags under your eyes a dark purple, but sebastian moran is still in awe of your raw beauty. he doesn’t even try to put up his usual front when he walks in line next to you, head turned down.

“if you’re having trouble with such a heavy bag, i could help you carry it,” he tries hard to keep the bubbling feeling of bashfulness out of his voice, but your small giggles prove that you’ve already detected it. when you look up at him, eyes shining with amusement and mouth wide in a breathtaking smile, he thanks every deity in existence for bringing you to him.

“i see you’ve learned to at least drop your act around me. i’m impressed, i didn’t know men like you could learn to do it so quickly,” you admit, turning back to the heavy package in your hands. at that, his face turns down into a confused frown.

“what do you mean men like me?” he’s curious, wanting to know how you see him.

“men who so clearly put up a charming front in order to seduce others when in reality it’s simply a defense mechanism to hide their insecurities,” you say it as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. sebastian on the other hand takes a moment to process your words before scoffing indignantly.

“and what do you think i’m insecure about?” he glares down at you, trying to keep the anger in his voice. it’s difficult for him to do so when you look up at him with pure mischief in your eyes.

“that would probably be a third date kind of conversation. how about we start with date number one tonight at the bar near the vendor we first met at. 8 o’clock sharp,” you say it with ease, and he’s taken aback by your brazen words.

“but i’ve never been on a date,” he blurts out without thinking, looking down as his cheeks flush a pale red. sure, he’s met people at bars, but it never escalated past the one night they shared between sheets. you’d be lying if you said it didn’t make your heart beat a little faster at his obvious embarrassment.

“i’m sure you’ll do just fine colonel moran. i look forward to tonight!” you call out, turning left at the intersection. it takes him a second to register that you just said his name, and he never said it to you in the first place, much less his military rank.

“how do you know who i am?” his voice is loud enough to catch the attention of a few noble women who giggle and stare at him. he pays no attention to them. he only watches you as you turn around to smile coyly at him.

“you’re not the only one with connections,” you say before disappearing into the crowd. it’s a simple sentence, but the implication has his head spinning dangerously fast. he’s ecstatic to see you again.

•••

the third time he sees you, it’s not at the bar. it’s in the basement of your nobleman’s house, where he had you locked up five days ago. your clothing is practically ripped to shreds, blood seeping out of angry red cuts on your arms and legs. you almost look more dead than the noble upstairs. the only tell tale sign that you’re still alive is the shallow rise of your chest with every labored breath. you barely stir when he carefully cradles you in his arms, rushing you out of the house and back to the manor.

when louis opens the door to find a frantic moran and a near-dead maid in his arms, he lets him by without a word. he knows better than to question the colonel when he looks as panicked as he did. louis helps him bandage you up without a word, washing away dried blood and cleaning old wounds as moran carefully wraps bandages around the bigger cuts. william, fred, and albert return back to the mansion all together, watching moran in awe.

“colonel, who is this?” william finally speaks up as the two men finish bandaging up your still unconscious form.

“a maid for that dead noble,” his answer is short, curt. he doesn’t speak again as he carries you bridal style out of the kitchen and into his bedroom, letting you rest. he’ll explain everything once you’re awake, but for now, he’s content with watching you sleep. as fred stares quietly from the doorway, he’s well aware that sebastian moran has never cared for anyone in his life. but with you, there’s clearly an exception.

•••

he sees you everyday after that, keeping a silent tally in his head. he’d never admit that to you though, knowing he’d never hear the end of it.

he learned your name the day you woke up, your raspy voice still ringing clearly in his head. the first time he heard your name, he had to stop a blush from spreading across his face. a beautiful name for a beautiful person.

“so colonel, are we ever going to make up that bar date? i was really looking forward to it you know,” your soft voice pulls him out of his head, staring at you from across the couch. you’re wearing his jacket, claiming it was cold in the house since winter was coming. you both knew that was a lie, that william always had measures in place to keep the house warm. yet, neither of you said a word about it.

“you want our first date to be in a bar? why can’t i take you out on a proper date?” his question is genuine, and the exasperated look on his face makes it very evident. but you couldn’t care less.

“yes i would like it to be in a bar. i’m sure that’s where you put your act on the most. it would make sense that that’s where you start to drop it as well,” you say nonchalantly. the sentence is loaded, and he can see the piercing gaze you send his way as you speak. the knot in his throat grows, and for the first time in years, sebastian moran feels nervous. downright anxious.

“no pressure colonel, i can see the cogs in your head spinning wildly. i just want to see who you really are, not the panty dropper the other maids used to fantasize about while working,” you can’t help but giggle at your own words, and the silliness of it all forces a laugh out of moran. you’ve never seen him laugh before, but it’s the most beautiful sight in the world.

•••

the seventh time he sees you, you’re dressed in nicer clothes than usual, a glass of whiskey in your hand as you giggle over another story moran’s told you that night. both of you are breathless, laughing over the story about how one time albert tried sneaking a girl into the manor, but everyone was awake and awkwardly watched as he escorted her into his bedroom. the bar incites lively conversation, patrons bumping into you two as you stand at the wooden countertop.

“i thought albert was a gentleman!” you can’t get the sentence out without giggling once more, leaning forward a bit.

“apparently he’s not as much of a gentleman as we thought he was,” moran responds, a bright smile painting his face. he looks absolutely gorgeous like this, cheeks flushed and smile so wide you could fit a coat hanger in his mouth. once your laughter dies down, both of you sigh, taking sips from your respective drinks. you’re the first one to break the silence, smiling warmly at the colonel.

“i think i could come to like this more accurate version of you colonel,” you say with sincerity. his smile grows impossibly wider at that, a heavier blush accompanying it.

“excuse me mr. moran? i was wondering if maybe you’d like to join me upstairs?” a high pitched, almost whiney voice sounds to the left of you. a woman, probably a few years older than you, bats her eyelashes seductively at the colonel. his blush fades instantly, and his smile turns sharper. you watch as his eyes glaze over with their usual cockiness, turning to face her and whispering what you can only assume are sweet nothings in her ear.

“i think i’ll be taking my leave, i seem to only be interrupting something here,” you say dryly, setting your glass down on the bar and walking away from the pair. you can feel moran’s eyes on you, but it doesn’t matter as you push your way through the crowd. the doors fly open with the force of your push, and it catches the attention of almost everyone in the bar. not that you care. all that matters is getting away from the sight of the shell of sebastian moran and the woman who was so clearly was eye fucking him right in front of you. you don’t realize your hands are shaking until you feel a larger pair envelope your own and they stop trembling. moran’s eyes are wide, trained on you. you’re positive if you look up they’ll simply take your breath away.

“why’d you leave so suddenly?” his voice is steady, but you know better. you were always terrible at reading people up until you met sebastian moran.

“i’d rather not be abandoned in a bar while you went off with some woman, so i figured i’d save myself the trouble and just leave,” you keep your voice even, eyes still on the ground. that is until his fingers lift your chin up to meet his face, and you come face to face with the softest smile you’ve ever seen on his face. it should be illegal the way he’s looking at you.

“i was telling her i was on a date with you, and that she should think twice before coming up to a man who’s clearly with someone else,” he says softly, fingers still on your chin. embarrassment washes over you as you tug your hands out of his grasp and bury your face in them. he chuckles from in front of you, and before you process what’s going on, your world is tilted sideways. the yelp that escapes you is completely involuntary, and when you open your eyes you realize you’re in sebastian moran’s arms, and he’s carrying you back towards the manor.

“why are you carrying me?” your hands wring together, desperately trying to calm yourself down before you pass out from sheer shock and humiliation.

“i heard jealousy makes people do irrational things, so i figured i’d just take you home before you could do any damage,” he speaks with confidence, but it’s not an act this time. and the teasing smirk he shoots you is genuine. so you bury your head in his chest, hands fisting his jacket.

“i’m not jealous,” you speak boldly, but it sounds muffled in his jacket.

“sure you aren’t princess, sure you aren’t,” his laughs are deep, and you whine in protest, the alcohol warming your senses.

“shut up,” you grumble, and you’re only met with more laughs.

“make me sweetheart,” his voice is right next to your ear now, breath tickling you. so you do.

the seventh time he sees you, you kiss him for the first time. you grab him by surprise, hands removing themselves from his jacket to hold his face close to yours as you push your lips onto his. your eyes are squeezed shut, and your face burns with shame as you pull away. it takes all of your self control to not kiss him again with the way he’s gazing down at you, eyes wide, lips slightly swollen from the force of your kiss, and face painted a pretty pink. you bury your face back into his chest, hands finding purchase in his jacket once again.

“keep walking,” your voice is quiet, almost scared to break the silence. moran doesn’t trust his voice at the moment, so he quietly walks back to the manor, grip on your body tightening marginally. the only thing that runs through his head is how soft your lips were against his, and how warm your hands were on his face. he prays to every god that he’ll have the chance to kiss you again.

•••

the fifteenth time he sees you, he’s beyond annoyed. you had deftly avoided him since kissing him, but now he had your cornered in your own room.

“are we just going to ignore the fact that you kissed me the other day and then completely ignored me for an entire week?” his voice is stern, commanding. any other day you’d be fighting a blush at how sexy he sounds like that, but now you’re beyond terrified.

“well that was the plan,” you hope your sarcasm is well received. judging by the way sebastian’s eyes harden and he crosses his arms across his chest, it is most definitely not well received.

“if that was the plan i would’ve appreciated a heads up you know,” his voice is somehow deeper than before.

“well i was kind of drunk so i wasn’t thinking you know,” you stumble over your words, fingers finding your thin golden chain and tugging harshly at it to fight the anxiety bubbling up in your stomach.

“so it was a mistake then?” he’s closer to you now, inches away from your trembling body. you don’t know how to answer the question, not knowing if even you knew the answer. sebastian takes your silence as your answer, turning to walk back out of the room. in an ungodly moment of clarity, your only solution is to scream a rushed ‘wait!’ and promptly jump onto his back, your arms wrapping around his neck as your ankles hook around his waist. your head is tucked into the crook of his neck, and he just about falls over at the force of you flinging yourself onto him.

“what in god’s name are you doing?” his voice is loud in your ear, and despite his attempts to tug you off of him, you stay wrapped around him.

“getting you to stay!” your line of logic is borderline at best, but that doesn’t matter now.

“what? why?” his hands grip each of your ankles tightly, intending to pry them apart and pull you off of him.

“because it wasn’t a mistake!” you’re consciously aware of the fact that you’re practically yelling in his ear, but it does the trick as his hands stop tugging on your legs. both of you are silent, save for the heavy breaths falling from your mouths.

“get off of me,” he speaks lowly, practically growling. it’s a tone you’ve never heard, and it sends shudders up your spine. you don’t waste a second, nimbly detaching yourself from him and falling to your feet just behind him. you’re positive he’ll walk out and not look back, so when his hands grab your face and he kisses you harshly, you all but pass out on the spot. your hands easily find purchase in his hair, tugging lightly at the roots as he backs you into the wall behind you and pressing his body into yours. his tongue claims every inch of your mouth, hands moving from your face to hold your hips tightly. when he pulls away, both of you gasping for breath, you catch a glimpse of that same soft smile he gave you outside of the bar.

“i thought you were mad at me,” you blurt out, consciously aware of how your hands are still tightly wound in his hair. you’re scared if you let go you may float up and away from him. he laughs lightly, staring down at your wide eyes and mouth slightly agape.

“i couldn’t stay mad at you if i tried,” he confesses, forehead resting against yours. it’s calming, comforting.

“why’s that?” you’re still breathless as you stare at him.

“because i don’t think anyone has ever looked through the front i put up and proceed to call me out on it the first time we met,” his answer is blunt, straight forward. you suddenly remember how panicked he seemed when you two first met. the puzzle pieces click together nicely.

•••

the forty seventh time he sees you, sebastian wakes up to see you peering down at him in bed. he’s hyper aware of the fact that he’s only in boxers.

“rise and shine sunshine!” you’re smiling widely, and the sudden shock of waking up to your face jolts him awake.

“jesus christ why would you do that,” he groans out, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palm.

“because you have to do chores today. louis is already annoyed at you, and i’d rather not wake up one day to find you dead because you never did what he asked you,” you say, hands on your hips. he comes to realize how beautiful you look while you stand next to his bed.

“how about you just come join me in bed all day,” he says, reaching out and grabbing your arms. you yelp with the force of being pulled forward and tripping over the end of the bed. you bounce onto the bed, strong arms wrapping tightly around your smaller form. your face grows increasingly warm, hands unconsciously pressed against the firm planes of his chest and head tucked under his chin. you look down on instinct, heart practically jumping out of your chest.

“sebastian! you’re not wearing clothes!” your voice is high and strained. your hands push against his chest, but he keeps you against him, rolling over so that he’s hovering above you with both of your hands intertwined above your head. when you look up, he’s grinning down at you, but it’s completely genuine.

“i have on underwear though. does that count?” he’s teasing, you’re very aware of that.

“that is probably the thinnest piece of clothing you could possibly have on right now. can you please pu-” you’re cut off by his lips on yours. it’s not like his usual kisses that tease you and only rile you up. it’s soft, passionate. he squeezes your hands ever so slightly as he feels you kiss back. everything about it is perfect in spite of his lack of clothes. when he pulls back, your eyes are gleaming in the sunlight pouring through the window, and you have the faintest hint of a smile on your face.

“how about instead, we get you out of all these unnecessary clothes instead,” he offers wiggling his eyebrows at you. neither of you can stop the laughs that follow his words, your eyes crinkling as you’re overcome with a fit of giggles. in the midst of your laughs, you don’t see how sebastian moran stares down at you. you don’t see how his heart beats inexpicably faster. you don’t see how he blushes madly. you don’t see how he’s fallen in love with you.

but it’s okay. because he can’t see the way you’ve fallen for him too.

•••

sebastian moran doesn’t know how to love. his past all but erased any chance for him to form a deep and meaningful connection with anyone. and he’s lived that way for the majority of his adulthood. that is, until the eighty third time he sees you.

he’s woken up to see you trembling in bed beside him, and he knows it’s not from the cold. your shared body heat keeps both of you comfortably warm.

“love? what’s wrong?” it’s still dark outside, probably well into the night. that doesn’t matter as he turns your shaking body to face his, and he sees the gleam of your tears reflecting the pale moonlight filtering through the curtains. he immediately pulls your body impossibly closer to his, smoothing a hand over your hair as you sob quietly into his chest. he waits until you’re calmed down before leaning back to look at your face. his thumb rubs over fresh tears, lips brushing against your forehead as your cries quiet down to occasional sniffles.

“i had a nightmare about the man i used to work for,” you admit, hands trembling between you two. it’s not the first time you’ve had one of these nightmares, but the last time it had happened was weeks ago.

“do you want to talk about it?” his voice is soft, gentle. you’ve come to love how sweet he is, how careful he is of you.

“no. can you just hold me for now?” your eyes are still shining with unshed tears, but he nods and pulls you closer, wrapping an arm around your waist and one around your back. he pushes your head onto his chest, your ear lining up just above his heart. he’s found that hearing his heartbeat helps you calm down after the more severe nightmares. he sighs in relief when he feels your breaths come out more evenly, your stiff body relaxing significantly in his arms.

“feel better princess?” you nod at his question, pulling your head back to shoot him a watery smile.

“thank you sebastian,” your voice still shakes slightly, but it’s considerably better than it was before. 

he tried to seduce men and women in bars until he met you. he never cared for anyone until he met you. sebastian moran didn’t know how to love someone until he met you. and now that he’s met you, he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to live without you. so when he murmurs those three words that he hasn’t said since he was a young child, he feels tears prick the back of his eyes. because if he can make you smile the way you are right now, tears spilling onto your cheeks and a rushed ‘i love you too’ falling from your lips just so that you can kiss him as hard as you can, he’ll gladly tell you he loves you every hour of every day for the rest of his life.

[dallonm-archive]

TABBY | SHORT STORY UPDATES #4

In Tabby, a reclusive man who’d rather exist as a phantom than a human notices the neighbours aren’t feeding their cat, and is sucked into a world that breaks the stillness of his own.

Genre: literary fiction, “soft” noir (??)

POV: 1st person present, very observational and detached for most of the narrative

Setting: late 1940s/early 1950s, unnamed US city but implied to be Los Angeles 

Atmosphere: a summer that’s sickly, orange juice, the smell of paint, shaky hands, peach skies, sunflowers, blood splatter, a cats purr, the gut feeling that something is very, very wrong

Literal Logline: this cat is my friend and he doesn’t judge me over silly little things like the murder i just committed (also i think he might be god??)

Hi I wrote a story about a cat and got way too into it and accidentally made it about murder and now it might be my favourite thing I’ve written! Lets talk about it! cw for murder and blood imagery!

general taglist ; @kowlazovdi​ @avi-burton-writing​ @ryns-ramblings​ @melpomeny​ @kitblogsthings​ @ezrathings​ @aetherwrites​ @bookphobe​ @haldimilks​ @alicewestwater​ @bookpacking​ @shaelinwrites​ @writingamongthecoloredroses​ @harehearts​ @zemnian​ @onlyganymede​ @theelectricfactory​ @write-like-babs​ @oceancold​ @notphilosopherstudentblog​ @veiliza​ @sidhewrites​ @wolf-oak​ @feverdreamwritings​ @oasis-of-you​

This entire story sparked from this photo, which I couldn’t find a specific source for, but is cute and a Mood nonetheless! 

My thought process was essentially “man sits on bench with cat...........and also.......murder?” I don’t know why my brain is like this!!! 

I imagine this story being set in the late 40s/early 50s, but haven’t pinpointed exactly, in a suburb of Los Angeles (but this also isn’t clear in the story as of now). This used to be my go to setting when I was really into noir, and it was fun to return to that in a non-noir piece! This started out as purely literary, but now I do see some noir elements here. They’re just very subtle - nor was I intentionally trying to capture any - and the story misses some of the fundamental conventions. To me it’s almost like...soft noir? Noir lite??  I feel like it’s inherently noir and inherently not noir at the same time but I love the vibes of it a lot. There’s this “glow” to the story that I can’t exactly put into words, like a very subtle golden hour that is very tranquil and strangely undisturbed by the general chaos going on in the actual story

I took this setting, the vibes, and the idea of a character with an innate connection to this cat, plus a murder chucked somewhere in the middle and ran with it.

I wrote this over the course of a couple days, and it came very naturally! The prose is a little more sparse than my usual writing which made the process much quicker, and I’m really into this style at the moment. A lot of it is also internal thought, which y’all know is right up my alley. I really, really love the voice in this. It starts very unremarkable, but there is an unsettling undercurrent that grows and grows and it’s been very fun to blend the mundane and the creepy. This story really reignited my drive for short fiction because the trend lately has been coming up with an idea I love that just doesn’t translate on paper, but this one despite needing a good deal of work was very smooth!

I’d say this is my first successful attempt at a nameless/faceless character and it’s one of the most interesting experiences of character development I’ve had in a long time?? The only other time I’ve done this is in my story Rinse Cycle, but the narrator never really felt much like a character (which is very unusual for me), whereas the narrator in Tabby feels as fleshed out and nuanced as any of my characters with names or faces. I rarely focus on appearances for short story characters anyway, but I’ve never struggled with finding a name for a character and this narrator just Does Not want to be named. But I think that really fits him! He likes to be invisible and drift through life unnoticed, where he is merely an observer rather than a participant; so when he does get chucked into the middle of a very messy, very chaotic situation he essentially shuts down. I really like the tonal shift this creates where we go from a very detached narrative to very in the moment, very vivid and intense, like we go from 0 to 100 real quick. I don’t want to share a lot of plot details (which makes writing this a little frustrating sigh), but it ends with him committing a murder that, whilst intentional in the moment, is entirely impulsive and practically out of his control. He is not a natural killer and goes from barely being an emotional participant in his life to fully immersed in the moment and absolutely terrified by that. I’m really looking forward to digging deeper into his psychological state as I work on this draft because Boy We Don’t Have Time To Unpack All This. A quick summary of him would be though

people watcher, picks up more than he realises

living in a house he inherited from his dead father 

made eye contact with a stranger and it was physically painful

quietly unhinged

doesn’t feel like he’s a person 

oh no, now i have to face the consequences of my actions!

I’m trying to limit the amount of excerpts I post when it comes to short stories [because I am always basing the value of my content on prose I share which is! not healthy!], so the only writing I’m going to share is this little description that’s not very plot relevant, but is a good demonstration of this narrator’s funky little voice:

Every morning, at seven sharp, I routinely sit on the swinging bench behind my house to eat over easy eggs and burnt sausages. I still don’t understand how to cook meat. Behind me, cars murmur and sputter into the city, housewives chatter from their separate square gardens and I do not exist in the same reality as them. I am boxed in by off-white picket fence. The fence dividing my neighbours and I – a saffron coloured house with sunflowers bordering the perimeter – is painted pinkish red like an infected tongue. Every morning, I routinely think, that I do not know what’s stranger: how the red jolts the sun house’s otherwise harmonious existence, or the way the job was never finished. It’s not as if the painter died, because if the painter died there would be a corpse; perhaps blood spatter would darken against red wood, perhaps paint would pool out of the dropped can and mimic the presence of an exit wound. 

Y’all might be wondering, where does the cat fit in all of this? And the answer is it’s complicated! In terms of form, we bounce between observations/interactions of the cats behaviour and the “main plot” of the story - which is to do with the rather unhinged new neighbours disrupting our neighbours unremarkable life. Thematically, the cat definitely symbolises a lot of things and opens up a lot of conversations that I still haven’t polished because well, we’re on draft one and I was focused on some funky Cat Descriptions. Some fun ideas include the distinction between human and animal, how capitalism is impeding on our chances to live a fulfilled life, and the idea that all humans do is overcomplicate everything. It’s presence also acts as a grounding technique for the narrator, since he so easily detaches himself from the rest of the world. The writing started with a scene of the act killing a mouse and how clean and simple it all is that I’m lowkey obsessed with, and is definitely some non-subtle foreshadowing for what comes later. 

I like to joke that the cat is God because sometimes the narrator says some weird shit like, how the Earth stops orbiting the sun when the cat goes to sleep and how the cat doesn’t need to worry about predators because it hasn’t invented any. So the cat is not officially “God” but like,...,,It Might Be

Quickly adding this to the end but! Your girl finally has a (working title) for her collection! I’m not ready to share it yet because I’m still not 100% on it, I feel it matches the stories thematically but not always tonally, however it captures the core idea that I’ve been following so it’s good enough for me. This was a really important step because as much as I tried I could Not Visualise a collection at all without a title, which is v annoying because titling a collection is the worst!!! I was fine just writing short stories and letting them exist but I really wanted to build them as a cohesive collection as I went, and now I really like where it’s going - it’s definitely got a long way to go but I feel like I’ve finally managed to take control of it and steer it into a direction that reflects what I enjoy to write. I spent a lot of months clinging onto the collection I started in late 2018 before The Great Writing Hiatus Of 2019, even though it really didn’t resonate with me anymore, so I’m very happy to feel like I’m now on the right path and I feel the collection really shows my growth as a writer this year! This is definitely not set in stone, but I have a lot of fun imagining the potential order of the stories and right now it looks like:

[Some of these are stories unfinished, and some of them are finished and I just haven’t talked about them because I am the Worst at remembering to write short story updates, but tbh I’m thinking of just talking about them all briefly in a big post about the collection when I write a proper intro for it in the future]

We love to see it! I’m hoping to put a lot of time into this collection in 2021 and get some submissions rolling too (I had the goal of submitting at least one story by the end of this year and I! Don’t know if that’ll happen but January definitely). I’m likely going to be taking most of the year out of uni due to the whole global and mental turmoil rn [also I’d have to apply for writing masters atm and that is NOT happening lmfao], so I’m v v excited to have some extra writing time and see where this all goes!

[jcycold]

Gods au! Atsumu

someone requested war god atsumu x love goddess reader but I deleted the ask lmao I hate my self 🤡

n e way i’ve always been a huge fan of gods au! oand I love this idea of war god x love goddess

tw : grammar errors ( i’m sorry ) , implied nsfw at the end

Atsumu and y/n knew each others for years more like centuries

y/n was the goddes of beauty and love, she was so pure, the literal definition of innocence and kindness and Atsumu, was the exact opposite. he was rough, strong, he was the god of war, one of the strongest god

Atsumu was like y/n’s personal guard, he always protected her and making sure she would never be hurt. she was so frail, how could she protect herself if someone wanted to hurt her ?

he was amazed by her beauty and kindness. ever since they were young, she always took good care of him, healing his wounds whenever he got into a fight with his twin brother. her small hands on his bare chest, cleaning the blood, was something he deeply cherished

Atsumu was in love, he was so obvious Osamu was always teasing him about that. The only ones who didn’t notice were him and y/n

As the god of war, Atsumu often went to battles, y/n hated this. She was always afraid, maybe he would never come back, maybe his injuries would be so bad he would die in her arms and she wouldn’t be able to do anything to save him.

Y/n was sitting by a lake, her feet playing with the cold water, she tried to think about something else, tried thinking about something she loves to forget about Atsumu who was fighting for his life right now. He was probably injured, his armor was surely damaged, maybe he even lost an arm or an eye... And here she goes thinking about him again.

The young goddess was just worried for her friend, Atsumu was the only person she had. Men, humans or gods, they love her. She’s beautiful, pure and so kind, they’re all carving for her attention but none of them seems interesting enough to y/n. And women, goddesses, they’re all jealous. Why is she so perfect ? Why is she always so kind with everyone ? And why is Atsumu always with her ? He deserves someone better.

"Please come back... please, please, please..." The goddess was looking at the forest, hoping that Atsumu would come out of the wood with his usual smirk accross his lips and not a single scratch. She waited, she waited for so long, days maybe even months for him to come back. She promised she would wait for him here so she did but maybe he forgot about her ? Maybe he was already back and he was celebrating his victory with alcohol and a few ladies ? No Atsumu would never, he would never forget about his beautiful goddess

Y/n was sleeping on the grass when she heard wood cracking. She stood up and started moving away from the sound. Atsumu wasn’t here, if someone wanted to hurt her or even worse it was the perfect timing.

"Y/n ?? Are you here..?" The goddess sighed in relief, it was Atsumu, he was finally here. The moon was high in the sky, illuminating both of their faces. The god’s eyes were half lidded, he was sweaty, dirty, covered in dirt and blood his armor was almost completely missing, he was exhausted. Y/n ran to hug him, holding him in her arms as if she haven’t seen him for years. He was also holding her, using what little strength he had left to hug her oh so tightly.

Atsumu missed her, he missed her so much. The young god was always thinking about her on the battlefield. Is she alright ? What is she doing right now ? I hope she’s taking care of her, I hope no one tried to hurt her. "Please don’t leave me like that anymore... I was so scared..." He was about to reply but his legs were shaking, he tried to stand still but he couldn’t. Atsumu laid down on the grass. He was panting, it was so hard to breathe.

"Please... tell me this is not your blood..." Y/n lightly touched his injuries, as if it would ease his pain. "I think there’s a bit of everyone’s blood in here..." Atsumu tried to joke a bit, but he gritted his teeth because of the pain. "Atsumu stop with attitude... Let me take care of you" The young goddess started to take care of his wounds, carefully so she wouldn’t hurt him. The god was staring at her, he was completely at ease with her, he just forgot about his injuries, the pain was gone. She well deserved her title of goddess of love and beauty. Atsumu was crazy about her, her and her smile, her touches, her laugh, her smell, were the reasons why Atsumu was still alive.

Atsumu took one of her small soft hand in his large dirty and rough one, the way they are both so different is quite funny to him. He had the softest smile on his face while he was looking at both of their hands. The god was in love, he was madly in love. Y/n was so strong, she turned the tough and unbeatable god of war into a soft and sweet loverman.

"Atsumu stop I need to heal you..." Since he was so stubborn, he didn’t let go of her hand, rubbing the back of it with his thumb. "I love how sweet you are with me, I love how you take care of me." Y/n opened her mouth to speak but she was soon cut off by Atsumu "come here..." he whispered softly, wanting nothing more but to kiss her. The young goddess looked really confused about what he wanted to do. The god giggled, she was so innocent, it was just adorable "I wanna kiss you, please"

Y/n hesitantly put her lips on his mouth, even their lips were so different. Y/n’s ones were soft and sweet, they tasted like strawberries and her kisses were gentle and a bit shy. Atsumu’s ones were rough, a bit chapped, he had no choices but to follow her tender kiss, he loved it, it felt like he was finally complete. His hand came up to her neck and hers came up to his cheek, gently stroking it, in order to deepen the kiss. They both parted, they were panting a bit. Y/n kept her eyes closed as Atsumu was pressing his forehead to hers, he couldn’t stop smiling.

"I love you Y/n"

"I love you too Atsumu"

The young god pressed his lips against hers once more, but this time he placed her above him, both of his hands going down on her hips, he wanted more and so did she. The goddess stood up, sitting on his lap, she let the top of her dress fall down reveling her breasts to the young god. He looked at her body with a smile, she was so beautiful, he was amazed

"Wow..."

[ididntneedanewfandom]

BakuDeku Winter Week 1 - Reparations

"I'm home."

There's no reply to Katsuki's words. Granted, they were quiet enough that they might have gotten lost under the music playing softly in the living room. It's been a long day and he's too tired to even speak at his usual volume. The 'heroing' part of the day went fine; it's filling out forms afterward that completely fries his brain. He thought he was done with useless paperwork when he graduated from U.A.. No such luck. And to top it all, the unseasonable spring heat has been horrendous. It's helpful for his quirk, sure, but after a point it's just oppressive.

He's late enough that he'd have expected dinner to be waiting for him, or to have received a request from his nerd to pick up takeout on the way home. But there are no yummy smells to greet him--not even burnt ones as sometimes happen--and it looks like if he wants food he'll have to work on that himself. Any other night it'd be fine, but he's tired enough that the prospect isn't all that appealing.

Although...

That deep-seated tiredness seems to melt away when he walks into the living room to find Deku reclining on the couch with his back to the armrest and one of his notebooks propped up on his raised knees. He's wearing that too big, slightly misshapen wool sweater in All Might's costume colors, the one Katsuki always teases him about. How he can bear to wear that warm thing in this weather, Katsuki has no idea.

"Used to be, you'd be all over me when I walked in the door," Katsuki says with a mock-wounded look as he approaches the couch. "I guess the honeymoon phase is over, huh?"

Deku blinks those big eyes up at him a couple of times.

"Oh, hi Kacchan," he says with a small smile. "I didn't hear you come in."

Katsuki snorts. That much was obvious. Climbing over the end of the couch, he crawls up to Deku, pushing his knees apart to settle between them, unceremoniously dropping the notebook and pen he takes from Deku to the floor.

"Hey, wait, I was--"

Katsuki silences what was coming next by pressing his mouth to Deku's. He suddenly feels a lot better, but there's still room for improvement.

He lifts his mouth and body off Deku's just enough that he has room to tug at the sweater to get to the delicious, warm skin beneath.

"Kacchan, please be careful," Deku mumbles.

"Careful about what? You're not as breakable as you used to be."

Even with Deku helpfully lifting his hips to free the bit of sweater stuck under his ass, Katsuki has to work hard to get it off him. It's caught underneath him, but one last tug--

"What... What was that?”

Deku sits up properly now, dislodging Katsuki from his lap even as he reclaims the sweater from him with shaky hands, a steady stream of "No, no, please no" rising from his lips.

"What's gotten into you?" Katsuki asks, frowning.

"It felt like..."

He falls silent as his fingers find the large rip on the back, longer than Katsuki's hand, multiple strands of frayed wool hanging loose. His expression is one of pure grief; Katsuki's stomach twists unpleasantly.

"I asked you to be careful," Deku murmurs, and Katsuki knows that tone of voice. Years ago, it'd have been accompanied by tears. Deku doesn't cry so much anymore... But it doesn't make things any better when he's really upset. He just clams up, and fuck knows what Katsuki can do to fix it when it happens.

"It's just a cheesy old sweater, " he mutters. "I'll get you one from my merch line. Better quality and better colors."

His pointed look dares Deku to protest that--they once spent a very pleasant night arguing about costume colors in between rounds of fucking, and Katsuki wouldn't mind a repeat. But when he crawls back up Deku's body again, when he slides a hand over Deku's ridiculously tight abs, Deku slaps his hand away and shimmies out from under Katsuki until he can stand, still clutching the mangled sweater.

"It was Toshinori's," he says in a cold voice, glaring at Katsuki.

It's so rare to see Deku direct actual anger toward him that Katsuki's old defenses go back up instantly. Stinging words fall from his lips before he even knows he's speaking.

"Stealing from other people's closets? And here I thought you only stole my clothes. I guess I'm not that special, huh?"

Deku's gaze hardens just a little more, and Katsuki almost expects lightning to start coursing over his body. His voice is cold enough that it could put IcyHot's quirk to shame.

"He gave it to me. It was sample merch that never got mass produced because it was handmade and too complicated to bring to market. He kept it because he said it fit him in both his forms. He thought I'd get a kick out of having it in my collection, so when he was cleaning up his things before ... He gave it to me. And you just ruined it when I asked you to be careful. But it's not like you've ever cared about my stuff anyway, is it?"

It hurts.

It hurts because it's true--or was true. Watching Deku walk away, listening to his heavy feet and the banging of their bedroom door, Katsuki can't help but remember other instances when he broke or destroyed Deku's things just because he could. The fact that today it was an accident doesn't make it any less his fault.

Katsuki groans and runs a hand over his face. He really fucked up.

He'd like nothing more than to follow Deku and not let him walk away from him--how things have changed… But then what? 'Sorry' doesn't feel like it'd be nearly enough, and Katsuki doesn't know what else he's supposed to say.

Tired steps take him to the kitchen. He stands in front of the open fridge for a while before pulling out the ingredients for katsudon. He's really not in the mood to cook, but he doesn't know what else to do.

He's just about done frying the pork and already filling up two bowls when slow steps come up behind him. He glances back at Deku, who stands there in a t-shirt inscribed with the words 'boyfriend shirt', his hands in his pockets.

"I'm so--" he starts, but Katsuki doesn't let him finish.

"Swear to god, Deku, if you try to apologize I'm shoving my foot up your ass."

Deku frowns at him.

"That's what grow-ups do, Kacchan. When they say something ugly or something they don't mean, or when they do something they shouldn't, they apologize."

"And what good does that do?" Katsuki mutters as he tops the bowls of food with the pork cutlets and places both on their small kitchen table. "Words won't knit your sweater back together. Sit down."

Taking his own advice, he draws a chair and sits. He fiddles with his chopsticks until Deku sighs and sits across from him.

"Itadakimasu," he says quietly, his eyes on his food.

Katsuki grunts in reply and watches him take a couple of bites before he asks, his voice tight and low, "Can it be repaired?"

Deku shrugs a little, and briefly looks up.

"I doubt it. It's a big rip. It's my fault, I noticed a loose bit of wool before and I didn't do anything about it. I should have fixed it then."

And it's just so completely <i>Deku</i> to take the blame for something that wasn't his fault that Katsuki doesn't know whether he wants to kick him or kiss him. In the end, he lightly kicks his shin under the table, and when Deku glares up at him, he mumbles, not quite meeting Deku's eyes even as his cheeks heat up, "'M sorry. For ripping your sweater and for what I said."

Deku's foot finds his again for something that feels more like a caress than a kick.

"The food's delicious," he says softly. "Thank you."

And Katsuki knows he's forgiven--just as well as he knows he doesn't deserve to be. Not yet.

*

Seven months later

This year again, they set up a Christmas tree.

All right, so Izuku sets up a Christmas tree while Kacchan sits there and watches. At least this time he doesn't say it's a silly tradition, though he did insist that Izuku only set it up the night before Christmas. Seeing how busy they've both been lately, Izuku doesn't think he'd have found the time to set it up sooner regardless.

And besides, Kacchan never said when it's got to come down...

Izuku just likes the lights twinkling when the room is dark at night. And he likes finding hero-themed ornaments to hang from the branches. He has four All Might ones on there, each in a different costume. He doesn't despair of finding one for EraserHead someday. He has a Froppy one and a Uravity one--they're not licensed merch, just handmade figures created by a fan he found online. He's got an official Shouto ornament--well, really it's a collectible figure meant to sit on a shelf, Izuku just looped a bit of string around Shouto's outstretched hand... and he makes sure to hang it way in the back, so Kacchan won't roll his eyes and pout every time he looks at the tree.

There's also a licensed Dynamight ornament on there, and Izuku makes sure to put it front and center. Kacchan absolutely loathes it, because whoever sculpted it gave him a smile--a nice, soft smile, the kind of smile Izuku is the only one lucky enough to receive. Which is why Izuku loves it. And why he bought seven of them, the replacements stashed in a secure place just in case this one 'mysteriously' disappears.

After hanging up another handful of ornaments--they're minor heroes, but Izuku has had the chance to work with each of them--he stands back to admire his work. A little behind him, Kacchan grabs a fistful of his t-shirt and pulls until Izuku, laughing, stumbles back and into his lap. Kacchan's arms immediately wrap around him, holding him where he is--not that Izuku has any other place to be.

"What do you think?" he asks happily, watching the multicolor lights blink on and off randomly.

Kacchan grunts. "Don't think I didn't notice you hiding Candycane in the back. You should put a real candy cane on there, it'd look nicer."

Clucking his tongue, Izuku taps the thigh underneath his own.

"Be nice," he admonishes. "Or I'll put two of yours on there."

A huff against the base of his neck sends shivers down Izuku's spine.

"It doesn't need another one of me on there," Kacchan mutters. "But it could use one of you."

Izuku wouldn't mind, but his agency isn't like Kacchan's. They don't really do merch there--which Izuku is fine with, he agrees with his boss that the important part is to be a hero, not to sell stuff, and he's about to remind Kacchan of that when something small and green dangles in his peripheral vision. With some difficulty, he lifts his eyes from the tree and looks at...

Himself.

Or, well, a version of himself.

The figure dangling from Kacchan's fingers on a silver string is just three or four inches tall, but the details on it, from the costume to the pose to the expression on the face, are all exquisite. Whoever sculpted this--is it clay? It looks like glazed clay--did an awesome job.

And gave Izuku an absolutely feral expression.

Izuku doesn't know whether to laugh or squeal or just turn around and kiss Kacchan.

"It's a little Deku!" he exclaims, then laughs as he takes the figure in his hands. "A really angry little Deku!"

"Bet he's angry because Dynamight has been hanging in that tree with all these extras without him. You should put him up there."

Izuku is happy to do so, but not before turning In Kacchan's lap and stealing a kiss... or maybe even two.

Then he practically bounces to the tree and carefully hangs up his figure next to Kacchan's. They're the same size and fit perfectly together. It makes Izuku wish they'd get to fight side by side more often. Maybe some day, he thinks wistfully, they'll open an agency together. They've talked about it a few times, but they're still rookies, barely out of school, and while they technically <i>could</i>, they both agreed it was too soon.

"I love my present, Kacchan," Izuku says as he turns back to his boyfriend. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Kacchan says, "but it's not your present. This is."

His fingers drum on the top of the plain white box that definitely wasn't next to him on the couch just a second ago. Izuku tilts his head, wishing one of his quirk was X-ray vision or something. His fingers itch and he doesn't dare take a step forward.

"Do you want to put it under the tree with yours?" he says softly.

Kacchan shakes his head.

"Come here," he says. "Open it."

Izuku doesn't move.

"But Christmas is only tomorrow," he protests, his voice sounding weak even to his own ears.

Kacchan's lips stretch on a wicked grin. "Have it your way. I'll open it, then, and keep it for my--"

Before he can finish or slide his fingers under the edge of the box, Izuku plops himself back down on his lap and draws the box onto his knees. Laughing, Kacchan encircles his waist with his arms again and rests his chin on Izuku's shoulder, watching as he lifts the top of the box and reveals a familiar pattern and colors: All Might's costume.

It takes a good two or three seconds before Izuku recognizes the equally familiar ridges of knitted wool. His breath catches in his throat and he very slowly, very carefully lifts what he knows is a sweater out of the box.

It's his sweater. He knows it is, because there's a small, black spot of indelible ink near the collar; it was already there when Izuku got it.

It's the sweater he's kept in the bottom drawer of his dresser for the past few months, unable to wear it anymore without aggravating the rip but unwilling to put it away for good.

But when he turns it around, the rip is gone. And if Izuku didn't know exactly where to look, he probably wouldn't notice the repaired area. Everything matches, from the color of the wool to the pattern of the knitting. The only thing is that the wool seems a little newer in that area, less fuzzy than the rest, but that's only because Izuku knows what he's looking at.

"Kacchan," he breathes, but doesn't know what else to say.

"Is that all right?" Kacchan asks, his voice tight. "I mean, I know I should have asked first before touching your stuff, but then it'd have ruined the surprise."

"It's..." Izuku's throat feels too tight. He clutches the sweater to his chest. "It's perfect. Thank you."

After Kacchan kisses the back of his head, he manages to ask, "But... how? I looked for shops that repair knitted things but I didn't find anything."

Kacchan mumbles something; Izuku isn't quite sure he hears right. "You... what?"

"I learned to knit," Kacchan repeats a little louder, sounding embarrassed of all things. "My parents work with this old woman sometimes, she knits samples of their designs for them and then they have factories recreate the stuff. I asked her if it was fixable, and when she said yes I asked if she'd teach me how. I wanted to have it ready for your birthday but that shit took longer than I expected. I just finished last week."

Izuku understands all the words individually but he struggles to make sense of them all together. Shifting on Kacchan's lap, he turns to look at him, and is surprised to find him red-faced.

"You learned to knit?" he asks, unable to keep an edge of awe from his voice.

"I messed up your sweater," Kacchan mutters. "Wanted to fix the damn thing." Rather than looking at Izuku, he rests his forehead against Izuku's collarbone and talks against his t-shirt. "There's a lot of stuff I can't fix, but that, at least--"

Izuku has heard enough. Holding the sweater close with one hand, he cups Kacchan's face with the other and kisses him within an inch of his life. Soon, Izuku is wearing his sweater again. The lights of the tree keep twinkling, but Izuku only has eyes for Kacchan.

[honorable-wanderings]

Word of Honor - Episode 3 Part 2 - We’re getting INN to it now!

Meanwhile back with Scooby  and the Gang. B-characters realize that the Goldilocks is missing and it was only the 3 bears that were killed.

And we can hear them surprisingly well from this far away. Their voices must carry exceptionally well.

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

The spiderwebs of DEATH

Seriously though it’s been hours. How has no one either taken these wires down or run into them accidentally? You cannot tell me they have checked every bit of this place for ChengLing’s body if these are still up.

Someone has lied to you Mr. White ‘n’ Blue.

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

No you fucking did not. If you were cleaning them up roughly you’d at least get the ones on the main doorways! goddamn.

-----------

Old ppl vs the Ghosts!

COME ON DOWN FOR THE FIGHT OF YOUR LIFE THE ALL DEAD VS THE MOSTLY DEAD THIS SUNDAY SUNDAY SUNDAY BE THERE BE THERE BE THERE.

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

The Ghost Valley is a menace! It’s high time someone went in there and eradicated them all!

Huh... never thought of that before...

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

Eh. Old people chanting the children’s rhymes doesn’t have the same tension. It’s just not the right feel. It’s a no from me.

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

Yes. This is perfectly far enough away. No one could possibly overhear us from this distance! I am a genius!

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

We are all very worried about ChengLing’s well being. Yes. That is all. Only his well being. Nothing else. No ulterior motives here. Nope. Purely just good will and worry. :DDDD

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

Ah yes! Back to my boys! :D

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

You big softie.

Seriously though. He is so considerate of not only Best Boy’s physical well being but really his emotional state and autonomy as well. He doesn’t expect ChengLing to act like a full grown adult but he doesn’t treat him like a little kid either. It’s great and I’m here for it.

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

It’s not stalking if we got here first, right? Now you’re stalking me! :D :D :D :D :D

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

Some day soon I’ll get you to admit you like me ;)

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

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

Whaaaaaaaaaaaat you’re here to? At this random river?????? OMG what are the chancesssssss?!?!?

At this point I just wanna know fuckin how????

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

A-Xiang deserves a fucking medal for putting up with this BS. For real.

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

A-Xu you make-a him sad D:

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

Zhou ZiShu! Look out! They’re stealing your boat!!

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

-Hey if the ghost valley peeps come up to wreck shit it’s gonna be our shit that gets wrecked too you know? -I don’t give a farting fly’s left ass cheek! I’m one foot in the grave already.

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

Glazed armor this glazed armor that give me a glazed donut and let’s call it a day. I don’t careeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

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

Are you inn or out?

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

Sorry we’re out of space because for some reason we let ourselves rent out the entire establishment to a single person. Like I get he paid for the rooms but it’d still be bad for business?? Like no one wants to go to an inn if they won’t let you stay even though there are empty rooms. Like the fuck

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

Look elsewhere? Shit you know this is the only inn in town (apparently)!! Where we supposed to go???

Um... why don’t you try looking at I don’t give a FUCK

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

Well well well. Who could have seen this coming?

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

Zhou ZiShu is about read to add a few more nails

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

This old ragged beggar man is hot as fuck. Set him up in my room at once!

Just end my suffering. I beg you

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

ChengLing just gonna keep his mouth shut and stay out of it

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

-I gave you my own room! -My room now. Kindly GTFO -But I bought you clothes too! -Yeah no one asked you. GTFO!!

-How have my seduction techniques continued to fail??????????

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

Love me pls D:

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

If Oedipus invented a wire tap he’s gonna have to work harder to get past me!!

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

But he doesn’t look like he’s a bad person

Bad people rarely do.

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

Take the bed? I couldn’t possibly!! No! You’re taking care of me and protecting me and you’re old! You take the bed! I’ll sleep on the chair! I’m the best boy!!!

Bitch did I fucking stutter?

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

You owe me no explanations. I’m sure you have your reasons and that they’re good ones. But don’t suffer needlessly. Treat your wounds and I won’t ask any more about it.

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

MY BOY DOESN’T DESERVE THIS. ALL THIS OVER A PIECE OF FUCKIN SEA GLASS??????????

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

Ain’t nobody dope as me I’m just so fresh, so clean (So fresh and so clean clean)

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

Daaate niiiiiight

----------

So I get that you’re like persistently stalking me and all that but like Why??

Because I know you cute as fuck. Why you hiding? Show me what your true face and I’ll tell you what I want. What I really really want.

You first bitch

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

Local man tries to pry secrets out of only human in a 10 mile radius who has no ulterior motives and is confused when it doesn’t work.

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

Das gay

HDU

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

Clink Clink bitch

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

Master can you please keep it in your pants for 5 minutes? It’s all I ask. Just 5 minutes of peace! Please!

---------

Pop Quiz! Who is the second cutest person in the world?

I will settle for anyone who feeds me

Naw. Tsundere is where it’s at.

*Is unimpressed in tsundere*

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

Then who is the mostest cutest?

A tsundere with long legs, slim waist, fat ass.

Heavens strike me down now. Please end my misery. Why did I sit here? Didn’t I know better?

Anyone have any more torture nails? Anyone? Please?

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

*Insert Mii channel theme*

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

We are the unwashed masses. Let’s go fuck some shit up

---------

Hey guys. Does this look like anime style to you? Someone said it looks like anime but I don’t see it.

I think it looks great! I can’t even draw a stick figure! hahahaha

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

Sleepy boi <3

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

How the fuck did I become the third wheel?

-----------

*mii channel theme continues*

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

Your honored uncle here wouldn’t let us eat anything until you woke up even though he sat at my table. D:

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

-Stop acting like a little brat and start acting polite and demure like the other girls

-Uuuuuuuuuuuuuugh gross

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

We’re doing found family and we’re doing it now!

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

Why aren’t you eating?

Yeah! We had to wait all this time for you to get here and you’re not even eating anyway!!!!!!

Well my home and my entire family died, and so did that random boat man who protected me. And also there’s a hole in my stomach. So I don’t have much of an appetite atm.

Oh My God. can you not???

But that’s how I show affection!!!!!!!! D:<

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

Shoving food in your face to hide your tears. A time honored tradition.

Also D: Best boy is sad </3

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

Oh no. More people I’m supposed to remember.

JESUS FUCK REALLY???

ARE YOU KIDDING ME? HOW MANY? You cannot tell me they are all important. Please tell me I’m not supposed to remember this many people. I can’t handle this.

aaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARG

THAT’S 11 PEOPLE AT ONCE! WHAT THE FUCK

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

Whenever this guy speaks it sounds like he’s trying really hard not to cough in front of the board meeting.

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

Okay so what I got from this is

There was a treaty between these peeps and the ghost peeps to say they’ll leave each other the fuck alone

The ghost peeps broke that promise by fucking with the mirror lake sect and so these peeps decided to retaliate

and they’re gonna retaliate by throwing a party? Like I guess they’re just gathering forces? But like it’s a weird way to do it.

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

Oh for the love of god.

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

Pffffffffffffffff welcome to the circus

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

*sigh*

Okay y’all I can remember like 6 people. 7 Max. Y’all gonna have to be picky about who’s important here.

How many of these people do I actually have to know?

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

Now what the fuck happened here and why are the twin jades here?

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

You two have a piece of the glazed ham. And even though no one is using it it’s really important that we keep it that way. No one must hold all pieces of the glazed ham. Or..... bad things?

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

Oh my. Pain o’clock already?

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

SOMEONE GET THEIR ASS IN THERE AND GIVE MY BOY A HUG!

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

Hey! What do you see? Is he in there? I can’t see a goddamn thing.

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

So I know that he’s like what, 15? And like grew up with a dad. But like you know they made him scream “A-Die” and then wake up to Zhou ZiShu’s comforting touch on purpose. You know that was planned.

Maybe not a father, but certainly a father figure.

(Also thanks, A-Xu for answering my request from earlier for someone to comfort the poor boy.)

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

What’s this? The sounds of a scuffle???

Whelp. Not anymore.

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

Couldn’t he have just ordered them to leave instead?

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

The Ghost Valley seems to be following me rather closely.

Oh you have no idea. ;)

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

Alcohol detected

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

Let me call you a cute pet name and I’ll let you drink from my bottle of nectar. ;)

Oh my god this shit again?

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

You know what?

Two can play at this game.

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

You wanna see what lies underneath? Rip it off yourself.

Don’t worry! I’m patient! Sleep well! Dream of me! I know I’ll be dreaming of you! ;)

[phlebaswrites]

The Souls of Those Who Are Left

Summary:

Itachi never got a wake.

He deserves one.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Fandom: Naruto Relationship: Hoshigaki Kisame/Uchiha Itachi Word Count: 1384 (Complete)

For @longliveustherecklessandthebrave​ who wanted Kisame and Tenzō to interact, and encouraged by the wonderful people on Kisame's Corner, the discord server for @kisameweek-2021​.

Inspired by the ‘Tenzō's Cabin In The Mist’ prompt from @tenzoscabin​ but doesn’t follow their dialogue prompts. Thank you so much for the inspiration.

The title comes from this quote by Carson McCullers:

"How can the dead be truly dead when they still live in the souls of those who are left behind?"

Kisame slams his cup down on the bar and signals the owner for another bottle.

He’ll go to bed drunk tonight, just like he has almost every night since Itachi died, but he’ll need more alcohol than this for that to happen. A lot more.

He almost went back to the Akatsuki after he buried Itachi, and that unfinished business still itches, but he couldn’t bring himself to care about the mission anymore. If he was as dutiful as the man he loved, he probably would have. As it was though, it was like the light had gone out of the world with Itachi’s death, and everything had turned to ashes.

Light. Ashes.

It’s funny how he talks like Itachi now, but it’s also the truth. It wasn’t the case when they met, they were merely wary allies then, but Itachi’s Mangekyō became the light that lit his whole world by the end of their time together.

To ask him to continue living without it is inconceivable.

So he won’t. He’s making a spirited attempt to drink himself to death instead.

Ha. Spirited.

Itachi would have smirked at that. Not with his mouth, but with his eyes. They would have had that tell tale gleam of amusement and he’d have glanced away for just an instant to hide them. Kisame used to live for those moments, the times when he could make his ever serious partner smile.

He wishes that there were more of them, but counts himself lucky to have as many as he does.

So here he is, drinking his way across the Elemental Countries, getting into brawls with civilians who flinch away from him, and facing down the bounty hunters being sent to hunt Kiri’s most famous missing nin.

Fuck them.

Fuck them all.

He’s still the tailed beast without a tail. He still has Samehada. No small time shinobi are gonna kill him. He won’t let them.

He’d never be able to face Itachi in the Pure Lands if he let that happen. Gods, he’d be embarrassed to show his face! No, he wants to meet Itachi again with a clean conscience, or as clean a one as any shinobi can boast of.

This is why he’s drinking a shitty bar dry in Mizu - not in Kiri, even drunk he's not that stupid - and he's totally unsurprised when a hand with the distinctive callouses of a shinobi comes to rest on the wooden counter next to him. Another bounty hunter. Great.

"Be with you in a minute," Kisame growls. "Just gotta finish my drink first, and then we can take this outside." The owner of this establishment, crap though the shōchū may be, hasn't done anything to deserve having their bar trashed after all.

"No need." The voice is calm and low, and the fingers move to request another cup from the owner. "I'm just here to talk about Itachi."

Kisame's head snaps up.

No one has dared to say that name to him in over a year.

Who the hell is this guy to - !

He stops short. He recognises this man - it’s the mokuton user from Konoha, the one that was almost killed in the war. He's famous. He's also one of the few people who could attack Kisame head on and come out of it unscathed - the mokuton is nothing to mess with.

But, more than that, Kisame knows him.

Because this man was Itachi's sworn brother. A teammate and more than that - a friend.

In a shinobi's life, there are few of those.

So Kisame merely grabs his own drink and tosses it back, ignoring the polite manners that say it should be sipped slowly.

"You want to know how he died?" Kisame's lips twist with bitterness at the memories.

Yamato, no, Tenzō was the name Itachi called him by, Kisame will use that, shakes his head slowly. "No, I know more than enough about his death."

Tenzō pours the shōchū into Kisame's cup first and then his own, a social ritual that he's clearly unpractised at. He must not drink much. "I want to know how he lived. I never knew him for all that long, we were separated far too soon, but... he was my brother as much as Kakashi is."

Kisame laughs.

It feels wrong to laugh when Itachi is dead and buried in the ground, gone from his life. But this man is part of Itachi’s family and deserves the good memories. "He lived... as well as he could have. Life isn't easy for men like us, but we made the most of it."

Tenzō turns to face him and they make eye contact for the first time.

Kisame isn't used to it anymore. No one meets his eyes these days, and Itachi was nearly blind for their last few months together, unable to look at him.

He misses those red eyes desperately.

"Itachi... was my friend. We could have been more but..."

Tenzō nods. "Duty. Yes, I know."

Kisame raises his cup in a mocking toast. "Yeah. Even as a missing nin, Itachi was always dedicated. But he took the time out for the small stuff too, when I could convince him."

"His sweet tooth?" Tenzō's eyebrows raise inquiringly.

Kisame snorts. "Fuck. He could eat so much dango I'd feel sick just watching."

Tenzō laughs softly. "I always thought that he might grow out of that with age, suspected that maybe it was his youth that made him crave the sugar."

"Nah," Kisame smiles, remembering. It feels unnatural on his face after so long. "He loved them until the day he died. They were his last meal."

Tenzō sobers. "I'm sorry that you had to be there for that. He shouldn't have laid that burden on your shoulders."

Kisame shrugs. "They're strong enough to bear it. And he had no one else."

Tenzō winces, even though the words weren't meant as an accusation. "If I could have, I would -"

"I know." Kisame interrupts him, not wanting to rub salt into the wound. "He knew. He spoke of you fondly. Cat."

Tenzō colours up to his hairline. "He didn't."

Kisame nods, grinning. "He did."

Tenzō lays his face down on the counter top, heedless of the stickiness of the alcohol coating it. "Itachi... no. Why..."

Kisame is surprised to find himself chuckling, to hear the little creaky noises coming out of his mouth. "Itachi always had a nice appreciation for irony, and the story was too good not to share. Also, he knew that I like cats."

"At least he humiliated me in front of a fellow cat person." Tenzō grouses, peeling his cheek off the surface. "I'd rather he’d never have spoken of it to anyone, but I guess I can't have everything."

Kisame's mouth twists. He knows that all too well.

Tenzō puts a hand on his forearm, stilling him before he can take another drink. "Itachi wouldn't want this for you. You know that. It's not the life he'd have wanted you to live."

Kisame knows.

Deep in his heart, he's always known.

That knowledge has been the fuel for the dreams that he's kept close and hidden, prized like sea glass, turning them over and over in his mind before he sleeps. But each morning always brings the bitter truth. "There's nothing for me without him."

Tenzō shakes his head. "There's family. Kakashi and I remember him. Not like you do, not with the same depth or the intensity, but he was our family too. Come to Konoha. Live in his shadow if you must, he cast a long one. But live."

Kisame turns his hand over, flexing his fingers, and then brushes his palm over Samehada.

The chakra pressing against him is unmistakably approving.

Well then.

If he hasn’t managed to kill himself with alcohol poisoning by now, it probably won't ever happen. Maybe it's time to try something new.

He pushes the shōchū bottle away and stands up, swaying but steady enough to walk and fight. "Let's go then. I'm sick of all of this water anyway."

Tenzō’s smile is warm and almost familiar.

Maybe, with time, Kisame will learn to live again.

Until then, he can walk in Itachi's shoes, with the men that he called family.

And wait for Itachi to call him home once more.

Also available on AO3.

[writingmorsels]

Prompt: Eagles and Angels

After Alex's disappearance, you couldn't continue to work at your current police department in Chicago, so you ask to be transferred to another city dept. You wound up in Los Angeles. You try to forget Mahone with all the strength you have left as you go through your days off and on the field. One day you're invited to a charity party for some colleagues who have departed early and while you're there, you see something you would've never expected.

You checked your uniform one last time before entering the building.

A sea of black caps and golden trims moved around tables and chairs, making small talk and offering their condolences. Men and women coming from any angle of California, at least two from each department peppering the state.

Most of the officers were standing in small groups, holding glasses of sparkling wine snatched from the buffet table. You, on the other hand, approached the front of the crowd slipping through your colleagues and stopped in front of the photos put on display, a black ribbon in the top-right corner.

Five good men and two women, now dead in the name of serving and protecting.

You watched intently, feeling your throat closing when a little, evil thought slithered into your mind.

"His photo would never end up there."

One hand raised quickly to brush at your eyes, the tears threatening to make themselves known once again.

Alex disappeared for months now and no one had any idea where he went… the one that knew didn’t want to tell you even a smidgen of information on his last mission.

You asked and pleaded with Sullins for at least a week. You even cornered Wheeler and threatened violence on him and his small virility, but with no avail. You even tried to enter his now locked office, but once you managed to sneak your way in, you discovered it had been cleaned up of everything.

You swore to god you would search for him, but without a starter point, it all seemed useless.

You changed departments, you changed home and friends, but that didn't change the bleeding heart still in your chest.

Slowly, you grabbed your phone and opened it, watching the little photo you took of Alex: it was during one of your dinners together, where he finally drank a little and loosened up. His face had been rosy all evening and he laughed at every little thing.

The photo you snapped in secret was of him smiling, his head turned to one side, almost bashful. His true self, hidden underneath the cold façade he wore while working.

Your thumb caressed the glass of the screen, using that virtual picture to send a prayer for him like all those people did for the mourned.

The concept hit you like concrete in your gut. Alex was dead and you would never see him again.

Forgotten by his colleagues, hidden away like a stain.

The hope you buried deep into your soul finally gave its last breath and you closed the phone with a soft clack, the sound a metaphor of nailing that coffin shut.

"This was the worst idea…" you thought to yourself, your feet quickly turning around towards the exit of the hall, but as you passed by some officer talking to a lady, you heard a voice you recognized.

That tone had been etched into your brain for how many times you and Alex poured on the video he made, searching for clues, mistakes or just studying the guy.

Your eyes, shining with held-back tears, shot up towards the origin of the sound and there he was.

Michael Scofield, donning a uniform like he owned the place.

Shock and anger filled you, as you saw his hand reach underneath a table and grab something small and black.

He looked around briefly, and when Scofield saw your eyes glued on him, he stopped for a second.

Your glossy eyes betrayed the hatred you felt for him and the escapee surely noticed, because his body tensed while fast-walking towards a little hallway, hidden away from the rest of the party members.

Anger turned into rage as you walked right behind him, slithering among your other colleagues to reach his disappearing shoulders. A whirlwind of thoughts twirled in your mind, feeling the same hunting dog that was Mahone.

Why was he there? What was that little thing he grabbed? How brazen did he have to be to show his face there, wearing a police uniform?? What has he done to Alex??

After all he did, the lives he ruined...after he took Alex away from you.

You moved into the empty corridor and saw Scofield turning a sharp right into a little side-garden, probably searching for an escape route.

That was your chance, away from anyone, to finally grab revenge and make it yours.

As soon as both of you were around the corner of the hallway, you ran up to him and grabbed his forearm, slamming his chest against a wall on your left. “Where is he?!” you hissed into his ear, your elbow digging into his spine. “Where is Mahone??”

Scofield turned his head and looked at you with his cold gaze, but you could almost see a hint of surprise, a panic wash on his face before he could get a hold of himself. "I know he was after you. I swear to God–!"

Scofield immediately reacted, fighting your hold; what he lacked in training he had with height difference and desperation.

A punch managed to hit your cheekbone and your cap flew off your head, but you didn’t stop.

There were far too many questions to pry the answers from his mouth.

Like a snake attacking its prey you launched on him again. Your foot rose to hit his knee straight on, a move Alex taught you to make anyone buckle, but Scofield dodged that, his clear eyes passing from you to a form behind your shoulder.

Suddenly a big forearm wrapped around your throat and you were lifted a few inches off the ground by the tall figure that was Burrows.

You should've thought about that, the brothers rarely acted alone… you were too fixated on that forbidden knowledge to remember. "Lincoln let's go, I have the device..!" Scofield heaved, massaging his jaw you hit in your fury.

Meanwhile, Burrows was crushing your windpipe, but you didn't stop fighting: months of sadness, frustrations and pure heartache were pouring into your limbs like a river.

Your legs kicked and your back arched, hands trying to find a place to grab onto the escapee. When your fingers clawed at the fold of Burrows' elbow, you used his own body like a stabilizer and curled your legs up before pushing them down again with all the strength you had, trying to unbalance the burly man.

Burrows folded forward just enough for your feet to land on the floor again and immediately you pushed him back and against the wall, trying to distract him just enough to free yourself.

Just a little more, just a little harder before you would pass out from the lack of oxygen.

With a strangled growl you tried again, this time you drove your heel into the top of his foot and finally you felt his hold soften enough for you to free yourself. You turned and grabbed his still hunched shoulders, shoving your knee directly into his guts, again and again.

For a moment it seemed to slow him down, hearing him grunt in pain as you tried to down him, but all stopped all of a sudden.

"What are you two doing there?? We need to go!" you heard a hushed tone from the hallway and your body froze for a second, your reddened eyes shifting towards the voice you heard.

Alex…?

Burrows, seeing you distracted, sucker-punched the lights out of you, making you lose your footing.

The shock of the hit made you see black and stars, the taste of blood filling your mouth.

The punch probably managed to break one tooth, too.

You wanted to reply in kind to Burrows' hits, but again he grabbed you, twisting your arms behind your back and pushing your chest against the wall like you did with his brother.

No kick or wriggle could free you now, tired and still out of this world for the previous direct.

"Lincoln there's no time for this, they're all going out–" Mahone appeared from the corridor with a light jog and your barely focusing eyes met him for the first time in months.

Alex was as beautiful as you remembered, if only a little thinner, a little rougher around the edges. His eyes held a haunting light in the very back, but the bewildered look on his face made your heart squeeze.

Under that matter-of-factly behaviour, he seemed sad. Oh so sad, especially now that his lips mouthed your name in pure confusion.

While he stopped at archway, you started to fight more Burrows’ hold, feeling his hand search something on you. “I need to cuff her or she’ll blow our coverー” "Let her go," Mahone commanded hastily when he found his voice again, starting to approach you and Burrows “What…?” "Lincoln! Let her go!" He added more forcefully, almost panicked.

The moment Burrows' hands disappeared from your body, you shoved him away, only one thing mattering for you in that instant.

You closed the couple of feet between you and Alex with a leap and wrapped your arms around his neck and shoulders, exhaling a desperate sob into his neck.

At the same time, Alex moved his hands to hug you back into a warm, solid hold.

The dam almost broke when you felt his warm palm against the nape. "Alex…! Oh...m-my God, Alex…!" You heaved with desperate relief, clawing at the dark uniform he was wearing. At that sound, his whole frame crumbled and his embrace tightened, quivering. “Y/n...I’m so sorry love, Iー” "Where did you go??” you spoke again with a dense tone full of worry. Your hands detached from his shoulders only to cup his face, so you could see directly in those glass-like eyes you always loved the most. “ I thought you were dead…! No one told me where you were…! Sullins, Wheeler, even Felicia didn’t give me a fucking clue!" Your voice, at first sad, started to mount in emotions, remembering the time you literally begged Lang to tell you Mahone’s last known location.

Alex watched you with his face distorting into a mix of happiness and guilt, his own hands cradling your nape with sad sweetness. “It’s...Y/n, it’s complicated...” he whispered, feeling Michael and Lincoln’s eyes on his back, now that the brothers reunited. “Just...come with me? Please? We…” he turned his head slightly, as if asking permission to take you with him to Michael, who was now watching him intently. Lincoln seemed weary of you, while he massaged his offended abs. “It’s dangerous to be heー”

Your lips crashed on his in a desperate kiss when Alex shifted his gaze back to you, losing your breath in the effusion almost completely.

Both brothers raised their brows as they watched a vaguely shy Mahone blink into the sweet attack, before slowly replying, softening your frantic gesture into something warmer, tender.

Alex’s breath became cold on your skin and his fingers gently brushed away a few tears from your cheeks.

The kiss would’ve lasted longer, but Michael’s voice came up between them like a crowbar. “We have to go.”

Your attention rounded suddenly towards Scofield, watching him in anger. “Go where??” you growled, turning to Alex for a brief moment as if searching for an answer, only to return your eyes on Michael’s cold ones. “He’s not going anywhere, Scofield, do you hear me?? What do you have to make him obey like a good lil’ doggie?? Did you blackmail him?? Threatened his son??” At each barked question you took a step forward, towards the brothers. “I swear if you lay a finger on that boy you’ll beg to be killed!”

At the same time Mahone grabbed your arm to stop you and Lincoln put himself between his brother and your irate gaze. “Aw as if you would scare me, big guy!” you yanked at Alex’s hand, flexing the shoulders backwards while your chest puffed out. Your hands itched for some confrontation, the dark imagery in your mind giving fuel to your rage. “C’mon I’ll finish the job with you and then make your spindly lil’ brother spit out that brilliant brain of his!-” “Y/N! Stop it, immediately!” Alex’s voice came serious and sharp behind you, the tone you heard so many times from your Chief in Command.

You stopped fighting Mahone’s hold and your lips fell silent, but you still watched the brothers as if you could kill them with your eyes. “Y/n I’ll explain everything.” Alex then pulled you back and held you around the shoulders in fear you would jump the brothers again. “But Michael is right, we have to go-” “yeah, but leave the pipsqueak behind, would you?” Lincoln harrumphed, you and him exchanging lethal gazes.

“Is she trustworthy?” the younger brother asked instead and you squinted at him, clawing at Mahone’s dark shirt in a protective (and rather possessive) stance.

Alex sighed and nodded. “Yes. I can vouch for her...It’s been...a terrible month for everyone,” he quickly said to Scofield and the man seemed to understand.

He then turned to his brother and jerked his head towards the hallway, a silent sign that Burrows barely noticed.

Exiting the building became almost too easy and when the four of you reached a black, big car, you looked up to Alex. His face was serious and his eyes were wandering around on high alert.

His whole body was in full tension near yours, as you walked elbow to elbow, and for a moment replayed his words in your mind. “It’s too dangerous.”

Why was it dangerous? He was with the Bureau, a valued agent, one of the best! All those policemen would be honored to be in his presence…!

“Get on…” he whispered to you as he opened the car door, watching around with his jaw tensing.

The journey through the city was one of the heaviest you ever witnessed: the brothers were on the front seats, MeatHead driving and WonderBoy looking out of the windows, scanning the sidewalks.

You and Mahone took the back seats and you felt the silence push on you two, while Alex had one hand fisted on his leg and the other rested between your shoulder blades.

The stylish part of the city slowly morphed into factories and rusted iron, eaten away by the salt of the sea.

You saw some warehouses on your way to the group’s destination and finally Burrows parked haphazardly in front of a seemingly abandoned building. “We’ll stay out here for a second,” Alex called out to the brothers and while Lincoln didn’t even turn, Michael gave the federal a nod, watching you with calculating eyes, before disappearing inside that particular warehouse.

Only you and Alex remained on the quay, the man taking a deep breath before stretching his fingers towards you, softly touching your forearm. “Come…” he breathed, his previous hard voice now barely a wisp.

Mahone walked up to the cement barriers that functioned as guardrails along the edge of the port, the only thing protecting people from falling into the sea water. He turned and sat down on top of one of the Jersey bumps, completely deflated. “Alex...what happened…?” you prompted him, inching closer to him.

You didn’t have your fire inside anymore, anger now fizzled into worried sadness. You never saw him like that, completely defeated. A shadow barely holding onto its physical form. “It’s a long story,” he spoke without looking into your eyes. Instead, he moved one hand and slowly reached for one of yours, gently weaving them together. “I will understand if you will want to...keep your distance, after, but please listen… I really need someone to listen…”

And you did.

You didn’t speak while his voice started to pour out into a long, convoluted string. You absorbed everything, from the starting hunt, to Panama, through Sona and then out.

Your chest tightened as he recounted how Sona was, the killings and brutality, the blood shed and the constant fear of end up shanked. Instinctively you brought his hand to your chest as you heard his defeat against his personal demons, in the shape of white dust and a needle.

You listened about the Company, who and why were they against the brothers, the conspiracy behind Burrows’ death sentence and the courage his brother had to free him. All those words lit up a bunch of lightbulbs in your head, especially when Mahone explained that he worked for the Company twice already, doing double-crossing the second time he did. How they threatened whoever he loved. His son, Pam. You. “That’s why…” you whispered. “That's why you refused to even sleep...If I knew back then I could-” “you didn’t have to know. It was best that way...I couldn’t risk losing you too…” Alex sighed while you lowered your intertwined hands down, completely shocked and still processing all the infodump he just did.

But there was something he didn’t speak about and you could feel it, a thorn prickling in the background. Bleeding one droplet at the time. “There’s something you’re not telling me…” you muttered, inching closer to him. “Alex…Who…? Felicia? Pam?” you asked, seeing his empty eyes fixating on a far, non-existing point on the cement.

The lack of replies didn’t give you enough to work with, but you noticed something, a sorrow dug deep in him that no normal death would create.

If there was something Alex truly cared about was...

Oh no…

“...Cam?” you whispered, as the realization hit you.

You saw his kid from time to time and when your relationship deepened, you even brought the boy to school using your police car, earning you the ‘Police Mom’ title.

He knew about you and his dad, of course, and even Pam seemed satisfied that Alex found someone else to be happy with.

“Three...four days ago…” came the reply. He tried to remain collected, but you could hear the lump in his throat tighten.

You left his hand only to raise your arms and approach him, enveloping his head and his shoulders into a firm embrace. Your palm caressed his nape and you could feel his entire body collapse against you, as if the last trace of self-control disappeared the moment you hugged him.

His hands clawed at your back when he searched for your body like a castaway in the middle of a maelstrom, squeezing you tightly against himself while his face drowned in your presence.

He trembled without a sound, but you knew he was crying.

You rode with him the waves of agony, keeping steady against the hot tears you felt dampening your dark uniform. “Oh God I’m so sorry darling..” you whispered in his hair, kissing the top of his head. “I’m here now...I’m here and I’m not leaving...ok? I’ll never leave…” your hands caressed the back of his neck, his shoulder and what could you reach of his back, trying to smooth away the sadness he was so firmly enveloped into.

The embrace lasted minutes, where Mahone slowly relaxed more and more into it, until he finally took a deep breath and started to lean away, looking up to you.

His eyes were red and still wet, the icy blue of his eyes still amazingly beautiful even in sorrow. “We’ll get to the end of it, together...ok?” you whispered, holding a smile on your face, hoping to rub some of that optimism onto him. He only nodded, his throat bobbing with a swallow before he would stretch his neck and search for a kiss. You couldn’t deprive a desperate man some love, so you gladfully leaned down and met his lips with your own, a slow and soft press that asked for peace, even for an instant.

Was like that, a statue devoted to love and hardship, that you two were caught by an oblivious Sucre, just arrived from his part of the retrieval mission.

He slinked away with a shameful ‘sorry!’ after he realized who was there on the quay and while you furrowed your eyebrows, Mahone only sighed a little laugh, hiding himself again in your chest. “Thank you...for being here...for...being,” he muttered with a sweet, shy tone.

You hugged him some more, your time now to feel a lump in your throat.

[whet-ones-write]

Fixing Kai -  a Overhaul x Fem!Reader

First posted on my AO3 and forgot to post here- lmao Whoops! Anyway Enjoy! Warnings: 18+ NSFW / Surgery mention / Binding - Being Tied down.

Word Count: 3446

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“You know that’s not very nice.” You said as you looked up at the masked villain above you. “I fix your arms time and time again, and this is how you treat me?” You sigh, shaking your head. “Glad to know i’m appreciated around here.” Rolling your eyes up at the figure above you as he got up with a grunt. 

 “Now Kai, you need to sit and get your rest. I know that’s something you don’t want to do but you tore yourself up pretty badly.” And as much as you knew it, he probably would not listen to you again, which is why you used your quirk to make sure he stayed in the bed he had already stained crimson with blood. “If you keep moving you could re-open the wounds I've stitched up and don’t even get me started on your bones.” You growled quietly as you shifted your stance. “Still, there’s no need for these bindings eh Angel?”

 “You could be a good boy and stay put.”  Even with the scolding it did not change the fact that you did not budge or remove the bindings. “I know you better than that.” He smirked as you took a seat at your desk, hunching over and looking over his charts. “The moment I let go, you’ll go for your knives and try and hurt me for tying you up like this, even if I am your precious Angel.” You mused, clearly unimpressed with his attempts of flattery. 

 “And such a special Angel you are.” He sighed happily as he lay back watching you. “You don’t break like anyone else and you’re oh so useful to me. You take care of me like no one else does.” He offered charmingly.

 “Yeah and no one fixes your messes like I do eh?” Rolling your eyes you leaned back in your chair. “If it weren’t for me you could be bleeding out right now. Not only that, getting you out was hard enough; having you imprisoned like you were. Still, you need to take at least a week's rest rather than getting into fights.” You started to explain much to his dismay. 

 “Your arms are rather fucked up, but I'm getting close to making a break though.” You informed him. Glacing to you, it was clear you had his interest. This meant you could let the bindings go and like the good boy was going to be, he could remain as you explained. 

“I’m close to getting your new arms compatible with your quirk. We know that you had to touch someone for you to use it, so naturally even though mentally you wanted to use them you couldn’t, something was missing.. With your blood samples I have been able to determine that not only mentally do you need to be willing to activate it but it also lies within your nervous system. Although you have robotic arms which you can use, we know from practice that you can’t use your quirk just yet and because of the lack of connections.” Scratching your head you flipped the page as he continued to listen to you clearly excited for the possibility to be back to normal. 

 “So I’m going to need you to be in top physical condition so I can perform the surgery needed to make sure you can use your arms and quirk to its fullest again. I can’t give you any anesthetic at the time of the surgery because if I did, I can’t be sure if your arms will be connected to your nervous system as well as your brain realising you have your limbs back. They’re just a few days away so when your bones are healed we can give it a go, you should be able to help cure the world again should it all go according to my plan.” 

 “I knew I could count on you, my Angel. I thought I had lost all hope when I was trapped in that God forsaken prison.” He stated as he glanced over at you. “It was so bright and so lonely there by myself. I couldn’t even feed myself at the time. They forced me to have a pump to my stomach for it to be filled with food, I had almost missed chewing and tasting food.” He admitted thinking back on the several months he spent there. “Then again I suppose it was also my own fault over the fact that I trusted the bastard Shigraki but still, he will get what’s coming to him for double crossing me.” He smiled at the thought shutting his eyes as he relaxed back. “He will be one of the first ones I cure. He’s such a sick little boy isn’t it? Always scratching, so dry and flaky. Yes, he shall be the first to be cured once I am able to. Give him some moisturizer at that.” He mused as he opened his eyes to you.

 He wasn’t one for feelings too much, he didn’t have time for them unless he was trying to get others to help him, he could pull at other’s feelings but rather not show that particular weakness himself but there was something about you that just made him sick.  Love sick that is, and he knew there was no cure of this illness but he did not mind. Sometimes you have to be sick in order to get stronger, and that’s how he viewed this situation. It was not often you were in trouble but when you were he would always be there to help. His sickness made it so your protection and safety was more important than his own. On top of that you believed in him which is why you gathered other’s to help him break free. 

 Even though all that though you never gave up on him, and what was his dream soon became the both of yours. You were the one that built his very first arms, and something that he would always treasure before he was able to get into contact with some people that could really make a difference for him. After all in this day and age, a loss of a limb should not keep a sick human down, so why should someone like him that doesn’t suffer, be handicapped.

 “Well it still won’t be for some time yet.” You explained as you rubbed your temple. “You still have to heal as much as you can while we wait for your arms to come in. I will have to make some adjustments to your shoulders, neck and head and it will be risky but the pay off? It’ll be life changing that’s for sure.” You mused before leaning back and looking at him. “You’ll have cybernetic arms, that has your blood flowing through them and on top of that you’ll be able to use your power to cure again.” Smiling at that statement, you got up to turn off the lights. “So rest well sir, the sooner you heal up, the sooner we can get you all better.” Smiling as you left him alone in the room so he could think it over.

 Yes you were so beautiful in your working uniform. A plague mask much like his own but pure in white, to symbolise your cleanliness, the light in the darkness of his goal, as well as matching your white lab coat, announcing to others you were his own private doctor and he’ll be damned if the black trousers you wore got him all hot and bothered. Still a temporary cure will come to him soon enough for his love sickness. He can and will show you just how much you mean to him and how damn sexy you look in your uniform. 

 ~ ~

 When the time came for the surgery you were more nervous than anything. What if something went wrong?. What if you were not quick enough and ended up having him bleed out? You did not have anyone to assist you if something went wrong, because anyone else would just get in the way of what you were trying to do. It seemed simple on paper what you had to do but working on an actual body was different. On top of that you had done some test runs on some animals to try and help them get back to what society saw as normal and after a few attempts, things looked up for the better but the failures still weighed heavy on you and even Chisaki could see that.

 You were stuck scrubbing your arms as you mutter to yourself about the process, what you had to do to an obsessive extent before your trance was snapped, bringing you back down to earth and looking at him. 

 Having placed a kiss on your cheek gently, he looked over you with a small sigh. “Do not fret. I do not die so easily.” He smiled at that, leaning in and kissing your forehead. “I am all healed and ready for this. I know the risks. I know what might happen but Angel, I trust you like no one else.” He explained as he took a seat on the operating table “You’ve been there with me right from the start. Through thick and thin and you have been there healing those in need. The children I've brought to you as well as my fellow colleagues that needed treatment. You are the best that I trust and you have the best equipment we can afford. You’ve looked over your plans obsessively to the point I'm sure you’re speaking them in your sleep. You’ve got plans for every eventuality, there’s no one I love and trust more to do this then you. You have this, just stay calm, relaxed and I’ll be happy to talk the entire time. After, if I stop talking I might just be brain dead, and I’m sure you don’t want that now hmm?” Teasing, you sighed in response, shaking your head. He was always like this in tense situations between you both, just trying to find the light side of life with smiles and laughs. 

 “Even so, if you’re ready I am, and we can begin.” You stated, waiting for his go ahead. Letting him remain sat up, it meant you could work around his back and shoulder completely so you can get to exactly where you need to be. 

 “Of course Angel, lets begin.” He smiled, keeping his eyes open as he watched the door behind you as you began your long and painful work.

“Okay Kai, I’m going to go collect the shopping that we need but I want you to remain in bed.” You tell him as you step around the room; laid on the soft and clean bed, Kai was still resting post-op some time ago.

 “I ain’t going anywhere any time soon.” He replied, letting out a low sigh as he shifted in the bed. Even though no anaesthetic could be used during the operation, you had given him some after; he needed time to recover and relax after all.

 However you knew what he was like, you knew what would happen if you left him alone for more than a handful of minutes. With a slight tap of your chin with your gloved finger, you made your way over and gently placed his new wrists into the restrains.

 You had all of them fastened before Kai realised what was going on, quickly fastening the last restraint over his chest and tightening it enough that he could not move more than he needed to.

 “Hey! What’s the problem! Unfasten me! I said I won’t move okay!”

 “I know that Kai and I trust you but, you know what you’re like. Plus if you move more than you need to it could cause damage to your new limbs; irreparable damage. I would be negligent if I let that happen. I’ll only be gone for about half an hour at most. Just… Sit tight okay?”

 With a soft sigh, Kai looked away; pouting like a child as he grumbled a “Fine” under his breath.

 “Don’t worry. I won’t be long. I tell you what, I’ll bring you something nice.” Winking your grinned as you shut the door behind you letting him get the rest he would need still. 

 ~ ~

 You ran back as fast as you could, how could today have been so… so… He was going to kill you! You knew it!

 You just could not get away, every time you were due to get away from someone you were once again dragged away; you couldn’t exactly tell them that you had one of the biggest criminals tied down in one of your off the books surgeries could you?

 Busting in through the door and dropping the bags you were carrying, your eyes landed on the empty bed and the removed restrains. “Oh no…”

 “Oh no indeed.” A voice spoke from behind you and quickly spinning on your heel you were face to face with Kai.

 “Oh thank goodness Kai, I am so sorry, I don’t know what happened and-” Your words were quickly cut off when you were pushed back onto the bed.

 “Oh yes, you will be sorry. Five hours, FIVE FUCKING HOURS I was left on the bed!” He turned his head slightly and gritted his teeth under his mask.

 “Please Kai, I’m sorry. I tried to get away and they kept…” You began but could not finish as you were pushed back again. As you fell back on the bed, Kai gripped your wrist and began to strap the restraint over it.

 “Oh you’ll be sorry. We’ll see what you can do to make it up to me for this.” He grinned under his mask and walked around the other side of the bed, quickly grabbing your other wrist. In a panic you kicked and yelled but he was much stronger than you, even with his new arms and post op recovery.

 “Kai… Kai… What are you doing? Untie me. Please.” You begged but he just towered over you at the foot of the bed.

 “Don’t worry. I’m not going to hurt you Doc, I’m just going to make you regret keeping me tied up for five hours.” He leaned forward and tapped your foot. “Just sit tight okay?”

 The breath in your chest hung as you thought what he could do, the punishments a villain like him could put upon someone; you had seen him seriously hurt many people. He wouldn’t do that to you would he?

 Closing your eyes tight as he leaned over, you were surprised by what he did first.

 Laughter burst out of your lungs as he began to tickle your feet, under arms and under your kneecaps. Why did he know exactly where to tickle you! Stretching up and pulling at the restraints you laughed hard, coughing and choking as you tried to breath. Finally begging to stop worked as he stepped back. Circling the bed like a vulture in the desert with its prey in sight, Kai stopped behind your head, leaning over he looked at you and pulled his mask away slightly before removing your own for you.

 “Don’t worry Angel, I’m not going to kill you, or hurt you. Why would I? I’m just going to make you wish you’d never locked me up.” He grinned and gave your forehead a soft peck.

 Staring up at Kai, you were speechless, a hot flush running along your cheeks at the kiss off your forehead.

 “Look at you, all red and flustered, you’d think that you had a crush on me.” Kai grinned as he towered over you. Your eyes quickly turned away as he mentioned it.

 “Yeah… that would be silly.” You mumble and Kai let out a loud laugh.

 “I’m not stupid you know Angel, I know you like me; I mean…” He reached out and flicked his finger; a loud gasp left your lips and you looked down at your body to see you flushes stained cheeks. “You really like being tied up don’t you Angel? Have you ever tried it?”

 Nervously you nod. “A few times… but…”

 “But what? You’ve never been with anyone for long?”

 You nod slowly and bite your lip.

 “Me too.” Kai replied and sighed. “Look Angel… I… I might be a bit of an arsehole but… I appreciate everything you do… and… I… I kinda… like you too.”

 The two of you were silent as you stared up at him and he stared down at you. “Well… you… You have me here…” You mumble and then could not believe you said it. With a surprised smile Kai looked down at you.

 “Oh really now? For such an innocent doctor you really are needy aren't you?.” He laughed and grinned, slowly one hand went out of view and your vision went dark as something slapped you on the face. Warm, musky and… and… Wide eyed you stared up at Kai as you realised what was on your face.

 “So… if I was to put my dick here, what would you do?” Kai asked and you breathed slowly, nervously, you turned your head and opened your mind. The grin on Kai’s face as he stepped back slightly and thumbed his tip to your lips.

 “Good doc…” He purred and slowly began to slide inside your own lips. You’d never done this before in this position but already you wanted more. You were pretty skilled at this without your gag reflex and as Kai grunted, he reached out and put his hand on your bulging throat. With several slaps of your face with his balls, you could feel him tensing and getting faster.

 The warmth and suddenness of the act left you coughing and for once; gagging as your airways were filled. Stepping back and accidental slapping and dribbling over your face, Kai panted as he held himself up by the nearby wall.

 “Damn Angel… you… you’re…” He panted and after managing to cough and swallow as much as you can, you whimpered the words quietly. “Please… fuck me…”

 Kai stared over at you as the grin on his face began to grow. “As you prescribe doctor~.”

 Now laying on your front, the slap against your rear stung but… felt so good. You had dreamt of this in the dark nights and late work hours when you were alone, now it was going to happen and here you were; tied to a medical bed. This was not exactly the romantic night you expected; no dinner and no dancing, no long cuddling and foreplay; unless you classed the teasing as foreplay.

 ‘Oh god, that had been foreplay.’ You thought as you tried to look back at Kai, the way you were restrained meant you couldn’t turn your head very far. You saw his shoulder and his arms moving, grabbing something from the cupboard before turning back to you. A soft splurge noise and then a cold feeling down the crack of your rear. A soft gasp left your lips as you shuddered at the feeling.

 “Oh don’t be such a wuss Doctor, it’s only a bit of lubrication; unless you want me to go without?” Kai asked with a teasing tone to his voice.

 In a soft squeak you found your voice whimpering out. “N… no…”

 “Alright then.” Kai whispered and let his hand drop his cock down onto your waiting hole. You felt the heavy weight on your cheeks, the warmth passing through the cold lube and to your now chilled rear. The air in your lungs hung deep and you had to think hard to remember to breathe.

 “Ready Angel?” He asked in a soft tone and you nodded, letting out a soft whimper as you did so.

 The first bit of pressure began and you closed your eyes, soft breaths and relaxing thoughts as you tried to loosen your body. The only issue was it did not stop, you tried to relax but the pressure built and built; when would that damn head pass!

 When it did, the feeling of the pop through your body and the sudden half-thrust brought a loud gasp from your lips.

 “You sound so cute there Angel, you enjoying it?”

 “Hmm hmm.” You manage to reply.

 “Well let's let you relax and get used to this, because I’m going to give you this and then I’m going to wreck you. You want that?”

 “Hmm hmm.” You manage to reply again. Kai let out a soft chuckle and began to buck his hips.

 The night could not last long enough.

[daily-dose-of-imagines]

Hi! Could you please write hcs on yakuza Johnny, Gyro, Diego, and Giorno’s ‘weak spots’? Like things their S/O can do that would make them melt? Hopefully I’m not bugging you, haha

Hello anon~! Of course I can~! hehe I hope you enjoy these hcs~! And sweet pea, you’re not bugging me at all~! I’m just ecstatic that so many people enjoy this AU~! ;; <3 

Now, since this one doesn’t have a specified reader type, I’ll go ahead and work with a Underling!Reader ~!

» » Admin Ko

ᴍᴇʟᴛɪɴɢ ᴀ ꜰᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ʟᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴏʜɴɴʏ ; ɢʏʀᴏ ; ᴅɪᴇɢᴏ ; ɢɪᴏʀɴᴏ | [𝕁𝕁𝔹𝔸] Yakuza!AU | Head Canons

ᴊᴏʜɴɴʏ ᴊᴏᴇꜱᴛᴀʀ

First and foremost, some background with this relationship. Johnny never anticipated to feel the way he does for another person, more or less an underling of all people. Though he has his distrust for all their underlings, he keeps a majority of those opinions to himself-- rather he tries to.

However, his world is thrown for a loop when he meets her. Despite being an underling, her absolute drive and motivation to accomplish her duties was something he couldn’t really keep his eyes off of. Eventually, they end up together. Johnny becoming a smidgen more interested in the work all the underlings do to help keep the business afloat. 

He won’t lie when he’s playing favorites, he’ll be distinctively clear on that. Those who work hard and have strong loyalties to the Joestar family are the ones he has a... in a sense, kinder eye to. 

With time, he ends up going on more missions with her; to observe or to mock no one would ever really know, but least to say the pair grew quite close in that aspect; and no matter how much coaxing he tried, he couldn’t get her to budge from the position she choose for herself. 

Now then, our reader has had an ample amount of time to observe and understand the little ticks of Johnny, and even more so once they’re officially together. It’s easy to say that within Johnny’s faction, if he happens to have a large amount of pent up rage, she’s the first to be called to settle him down.

First it’s her soft voice luring him back into the world, and then it’s her soft touch against his palm, her fingers tracing simple yet meaningful words into his palm while she counts down. That’s one of the few things that she does to calm him down.

The other is during their more private moments, when it’s just the two of them. Being on his lap helps soothes his more humane thoughts of losing her, and the sweet and simple kisses are what truly melt him. 

He absolutely will without a doubt become putty in her hands after 2-3 solid sweet kisses. Though the key to this is eye contact and reassuring smiles. 

Though it is harder to bring him down to the ground once his emotions flip to his more...sporadic emotions, it’s the same nonetheless, except a much more blunt way of handling things. A strong yank down and a firm kiss is all it really takes to melt him back into her hands, and she’s learned to keep him in place until he melts. 

ɢʏʀᴏ ᴢᴇᴘᴘᴇʟɪ

For Gyro, he isn’t opposed to the relationship. Rather he welcomes it with open arms! Their meeting is purely coincidental. During one of Gyro’s mock experiments with a live subject, she had waltzed in with a couple of heavy injuries. 

Thankfully they weren’t fatal, but she was pretty certain the blood loss aided in getting her through the ordeal of having to stare at a screaming person whilst the mad doctor treated her wounds; and because of that he ticks her off in his mental box as someone of interest. 

As time passes and her visits frequent, with each visit getting much more bizarre every time, the closer the pair become. He questions her, probes her, and dissects every word she utters for a better understanding as to why she acts and responds the way she does around him, and to say the least he becomes absolutely starstruck when he realizes that she doesn’t mind his grotesque work, and is actually interested in his research aspect. 

Thus, they spend more time in his office reviewing over his old files as he understands the operating room isn’t for everyone, and that’s when he realizes that even the mad doctor himself has some weak and soft spots.

It starts off as a simple brush against his ear. The way her fingers delicately brush his hair out of his face and the affectionate eyes she held towards him.

The next is when he allows her to play and brush his hair. It’s almost comical how it comes about, but in the end he naturally becomes putty in her hands when he’s seated before her and her fingers begin to work their magic on his hair. 

But if there is one thing that will always be considered as his most prized and valuable possession, it would be a small spherical orb. It’s unique shape and functions amusing him as she gifted him the little trinket; and let it be known that whoever touches it besides him or her, they would never see the light of day or another human being ever again. 

ᴅɪᴇɢᴏ ʙʀᴀɴᴅᴏ

Cunning to a fault, Diego has no qualms intermingling with his underlings within his faction. Rather he relishes in the fact that he can blend in with their crowds with ease. 

That’s exactly how he met her. A sort of routine clean-up and check-up that he planned in his mind as he evaluated each of his underlings. Who would fail and who would pass? It was a game he enjoyed in his past time, and the looks of horror he sees when they realize it’s him is what brings him the most joy. The moment when their minds are in a frazzled and weak state.

Yet with her he didn’t exactly see that. Yes, he had managed to surprise her with his sudden appearance, but unlike most it took a second longer for him to pry into her mind; unlike the rest of the underlings he had managed to check off. Thus, she ended up being promoted to a higher ranking underling. 

Eventually, he finds himself frequently checking up on her. His reports stacking up as his observations become almost obsessive with her, and he’s absolutely shocked when she confronts him about it. It brings a coy smirk to his face knowing that he has such a valuable asset in his arsenal. 

With time, he comes to terms with his emotions and realizes that he has fallen in love with his subordinate, and her with his strange yet endearing self. 

The way Diego falls and melts is...in a sense peculiar. It’s rather comical in one sense, and very sad in another as his upbringing is shone more in the light. He adores affection, despite the front he puts up against it, he absolutely loves it. 

The moments that melt him the most is when he’s curled up next to her watching a documentary on dinosaurs. His arms wrapped loosely around her waist and his head laying on her shoulder will always bring him at ease, and her gentle hands against his back always help in bringing him down from a stressful day.

As for any sudden weaknesses or melting points, it would be the nape of his neck. A quick kiss or teasing blow of air will have him struggling and stumbling over himself. Make no mistake, if she does this in a public area, he won’t hesitate to ravage her right then and there. 

ɢɪᴏʀɴᴏ ɢɪᴏᴠᴀɴɴᴀ

Due to his upbringing, Giorno is a man of secrets and respect. Unlike the eldest Dio, he’s much more compassionate to his underlings like Jonathon and in a sense, Diego. He’s patient and loves to hear of what goes on in his subordinate’s minds. 

Be it for the greater good or the worst he finds the information valuable and handy in any sort of situation that may arise in the future. He meets her on a whim, it’s during her rookie training and hazing when he faces her, and is quite impressed to say the least when she holds her own rather well against the veteran underlings. 

He ends up frequently checking up on her, having her stop by to provide her reports in person as well as telling him of any troubles within the lower ranks of his faction. Though to his absolute surprise-- one of the few times he can be caught off guard-- she’s not someone who came for the Joestar family, but the new Passione gang. 

To say the least he’s smitten right then and there. After all, Passione was his own work, his own undoing and rebuilding. None of his siblings had really stepped foot into helping him and it proved to be one of his greater accomplishments. 

Eventually, he finds himself aching for her daily talks, and finds himself smiling every so often after she leaves. He’s told by Bruno, and he too can agree it’s an odd soft spot he’s grown. 

Though once together, the little ticks and habits Giorno has is exploited fully by her. She doesn’t hesitate to put him in his place and will help in any way she can to calm him down if he’s enraged, but god help her if he ever is enraged. 

The one thing that will absolutely melt Giorno’s facade is in the little moments in their shared room. If he’s laying on his stomach topless, she’ll paint beautiful pictures or words with watercolor. The intimate moment is something Giorno always looks forward to no matter the skill level of his significant other as the ministrations and her humming will always bring him into a new plane of existence. 

A surprising way to bring him down or to exploit his weakness, is by tugging his hair down/up to eye level roughly it brings him pain, but also an awakening to what he’s been doing and how he should actually be handling a situation.