#scrapped one shot

[i-give-u-tmnt]

losing heat (2012)

a scraped one-shot that I never posted on ao3

Anyway no TWs for this one so enjoy :D

takes place during Se4 Ep2

As Mikey stands outside the ship, he shivers and stomps his feet impatiently. 

The cold ice planet does little to help his mood, but he tries to keep his spirits up. 

He looks over at Leo, who is pacing back and forth near the ship.

Mikey’s been shivering so hard that his chest feels tight, and his vision starts to get blurry. 

He feels lightheaded and has to steady himself against the side of the ship.

Leo notices Mikey struggling and quickly approaches him. 

"Hey,Mikey, you okay?" he asks, concern evident in his voice. 

Mikey nods, but his breath comes out in a shaky wheeze.

Mikey collapses against the ship, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he struggles to stay conscious. 

He feels so cold, and every muscle in his body aches. He can't take much more of this.

"Mikey!" Leo yells, racing over to his brother. 

When he sees the crack in Mikey's helmet, he starts to panic. 

"Oh no, buddy... this is bad."

"Leo?" Donatello calls, running over to him. "What's wrong?"

Leo looks at Donatello and shakes his head. 

"Mikey's helmet must have gotten cracked in the rockslide. His suit is using double the power to keep him warm, and he's barely holding on." He glances back at the ship, then at Mikey.

The orange turtle's suit makes a beeping sound, letting them know that the suit is critically low on power. 

Leo looks at Donatello, fear and desperation etching his features. 

He can't lose Mikey now.

Mikey's vision is starting to blur. 

He feels hot and cold at the same time, and his muscles are aching from the effort it takes to stay conscious. 

He tries to focus on Leo, but everything is starting to spin. 

"Leo..." he manages to whisper.

Leo shakes his head, tears welling up in his eyes. 

"No, buddy. You're not gonna leave me. I won't let you." He looks around desperately, searching for something, anything that could help. 

"Don, can you...?" He trails off, unable to formulate a plan.

Donatello looks around, panic setting in. 

"I-I don't know, Leo. There's nothing we can do. The suit is going to die..." He trails off, his voice cracking with fear.

"No, no, no," Leo whispers, shaking his head. "We can't lose you, Mikey. We just can't." 

He looks around again, searching for something, anything. 

Then, a desperate idea forms in his mind.

He hesitates, unsure, but he can't let Mikey die. 

He steps closer and slowly wraps his arms around his brother, hugging him tightly. 

"Come on, buddy. Don and I will keep you warm. We'll make a turtle pile, just like we used to when we were kids."

Donatello calls over Raph quickly explaining the situation before they all join in, forming a tight circle around Mikey. 

Leo wraps his arms around Mikey, pressing their bodies together to share warmth. "Come on, buddy. You're not going to die on us. We'll keep you warm, we'll get you through this."

Mikey feels the warmth of his brothers surrounding him, and it's almost enough to make him feel better. 

He tries to respond, to tell them that he'll be okay, but all that comes out is a raspy wheeze. 

They remain in their turtle pile, the cold air biting at them but not as badly now that they're sharing body heat. 

Raph glances up at the sky, hoping that Fugitoyd will hurry.

Leo feels a wave of panic wash over him as he realizes Mikey's suit has died. 

He looks into his brother's helmet, noticing the frost forming on the inside. 

"Oh no... Mikey, buddy... I'm so sorry..." He buries his helmet in Mikey's shoulder, tears streaming down his face.

Mikey tries to comfort Leo, but he's barely able to move. 

He can feel the frost forming inside his helmet, and he knows he doesn't have much time left. His vision is starting to fade in and out, and it's getting harder to focus.

Donatello turns back to his brothers, tears streaming down his face. "We can't lose him." He squeezes Mikey tighter, willing him to hold on.

As they huddle together, Raph can't help but feel a knot forming in his stomach, knowing that their little brother is slowly dying in his arms.

Time seems to slow to a crawl as the cold seeping into Mikey's suit begins to overwhelm him. His breathing becomes shallower and shallower, his body growing limp in their arms. 

The frost forming on the inside of his helmet spreads, slowly covering his faceplate, obscuring his features. 

The boys hold on tight, refusing to let go, even as they feel the warmth draining from their own bodies.

Mikey's vision fades to black, and he feels himself slip away. 

His last thought is of his brothers, and how much he loves them. He wishes he could have done more, been stronger for them. 

But as he drifts off, he knows that they will be alright without him.

[copia]

"So the people know you've given them everything—and you have nothing left to give."

PAPA EMERITUS IV performs Square Hammer in RITE HERE RITE NOW

[maximura]

[cutechan555]

Epic showdown

(Gone wrong)

CW // nudity or nudity implication I made sure to make it subtle and heavily censored I put it here just in case

< Previous Next >

[gamerwoman3d]

Welp. It's been fun but I gotta go to horny jail for about the next thousand years or so. Holy fuck.

[Spicy/Explicit AND gifs AND gore under the cut 🔞]

Original video:

[And not to brag but yes I did get a flawless victory over him in that ridiculous Seasonal Tower in Invasions mode. Watch the whole thing if you want to find out how.]

Okay. It is horny hours.

They objectified the fuck outta this man in this fatality and honestly? Kudos.

This hit me in all the kinks at once. No trigger warnings past this point read at your own risk

On screen, the whole thing about Shang Tsung pouring pain-inducing liquid on Sub-Zero's chest reads like hot wax. It reads like overstimulation and forced climax. Omg his hips... the way Shang Tsung watches/monitors him almost gives the viewer permission and encouragement to do the same. It's as if Shang Tsung is telling us "I'm enjoying watching this man writhe and spurt and lose his mind. I'm enjoying it immensely, actually. There's no reason not to do so."

We get so many of Sub-Zero's expressions. That's the more intimate part - the part most often censored in any kind of porn is the man's face, as if it's illegal for them to display any kind of expressions. As if they might accidentally leak proof of an actual emotion, it is too taboo even in the realm of porn to show the guy's face. That's what makes this particular piece of art-violence unique: it's usually a woman cringing in fear and pain and dread at the brink of being devoured by a monster that is simultaneously a vagina dentata and also phallic. [See: Ripley, Aliens.]

So we get to see his face in part pain, part fear, part on the brink of death, all the way through a symbolic climax, until literally he's getting his mind blown. And it's kinda amazing.

As for the other kinks this scene is reminiscent of, I'm personally not a big fan of being tied down but exceptions can be made - I'm into it if he is. There's the dom/sub[-zero hah] element of Shang Tsung having autonomy while Sub-Zero can only watch and pray [he kinda mouths 'oh my god' - right? if you read lips, lmk]. Not into the power imbalance part but Shang Tsung's enjoyment of the situation itself is also kinda arousing.

The final bit is the blood/birth stuff. Skipping the mpreg stuff [Barbara Creed has all this covered in The Monstrous Femme, check it out from a library], the blood stuff is... well its a kink for some. For me there's only one week a month where seeing blood on his nose is acceptable 😝

And yea I'd still sit there if the enthusiasm was mutual. Damn snake beat me to it this time tho.

[concretesweetner]

i offer; doodles

[kaidanalenkosprmanager]

THE BEST OF MASS EFFECT: VIRMIRE

Featuring: Cmdr. Sophie Shepard and Cmdr. Dominik Shepard With: Lt. Kaidan Alenko, Gun. Chief Ashley Williams, Urdnot Wrex, and Tali'Zorah nar Rayya Ft. Special Guest Appearances by: Spec. Saren Arterius and Sovereign There is a realm of existence so far beyond your own, you cannot even imagine it... Mass Effect: Legendary Edition (2021)

[aj-thegreatest]

Sending an SOS for any and all Falin Centered/Focused fics, I’m currently starving

[nivienne-grovant]

Junelezen Day 21 - Mount

The measure of a hero is the friends they have across the world

[musewrangler]

“Matt…” she murmured, “Matt…”

The right side of his face was coated in blood and his lips split. The wound in his thigh had soaked his uniform trousers and she could see from how he held his left arm that something was broken or dislocated.

He handed her a blaster before he swiftly tugged at her uniform jacket.

“S’okay,” he slurred, turning to gingerly wipe some of the blood and grime off his face and onto his sleeve. “You’re gonna be ok, you hear me, Lieutenant?”

He almost ripped her jacket open to reveal the spreading bloodstain on her henley right above her waistband.

She knew it was bad. She’d known that the moment she’d been shot and Matt had dragged her to the meagre shelter of this tree. Up to that point, she’d really believed they could make it. After four days being held by the Pyke Syndicate, they had figured out an escape plan.

And despite their injuries from the expected beatings, they had all made the sprint uphill into the tree line. Maddy had felt the burn then and it was like someone had punched her hard in the back, but she kept going. She had to. She was dead if she didn’t.

This installment is for @accidental-spice

she’ll know why😉

[cerise-on-top]

Happier

I finally got around to writing something for Self-Aware!Gaz, even if I've been wanting to do that for months now. Either way, the lovely self-aware AU was created by the lovely @puff0o0!

Reader is depressed and sad and calls one of the lads, with Gaz responding this time. Implied Poly!141 x reader, mentions of suicidal ideation, and some dick joke, but that's it. In this story, reader has known about the lads being self-aware and calls upon them from time to time when they want to or need something and they respond. Lads can crawl out of the TV and could also drag reader into the TV to spend time with each other.

In this world where warmth was good, where it represented life, giving reassurance that your friends, your family, were with you to see the sunset, bestowing upon the world another tomorrow, more hope, you were certain the universe looked at you in awe. The endless vacuum, older than anything else, much colder than anything else, seemed closer to the sun when it came to temperature than you. Even so, you didn’t shiver, you didn’t have the energy to do that. Because whereas warmth was akin to life, you felt cold and dead tonight. The blanket laid neatly beside you, grabbing it was easy enough, all you had to do was turn and reach out. It was soft, it reminded you of the kindness of an old friend as it was a gift. However, you did not deserve neither kindness nor warmth, such was a fact. Have you earned it yet? No. Therefore you were forbidden from touching it.

A fine, cold winter evening it was again. The sun has kissed the world good night yet again, leaving everyone and everything to fend for themself. The snow glistened outside under the moonlight, the sky was clear with not a cloud in sight. And in spite of all the beauty you could find on the outside, all you could see was the introspection of a disgusting, unloveable creature. If you really were a human you’d know. Again, it wasn’t something you had shown enough initiative to deserve. Getting up from your bed, you stood in front of the window, watching cars drive by. A group of young adults passed by your home, stomping through the snow. One guy slipped, with one girl offering her hand to help him up. Another one took some snow into her hands, forming it into a sturdy ball before throwing it at the unfortunate guy. As he chased behind her, holding some snow of his own in his hands, he slipped yet again, laughter ringing throughout the night. A lovely sight, if only you could be part of a group like this as well.

Having had enough of their shenanigans, you turned the other cheek, closing the curtains so you won’t be bothered by such joyful displays of idiocy. Your heart beat in your ears, what an uncomfortable feeling.

Roaming your flat, you had no goal in mind. Did you want to use the bathroom? Did you want to get a glass of water? Did you simply want to stretch your legs? It was all an illusion of being something greater than some brainless creature, damned to walk this Earth until your heart would finally stop pestering you with its beating. Being alive was one thing, wanting to be alive was another. In a diagram they could overlap, what a joy that must be, but they didn’t have to. Surely, there were plenty of ghosts wandering these streets, regretting the things they never got the chance to accomplish. It didn’t matter, those ghosts weren’t you. In fact, there was only really one of them you cared about, and he was very much still “alive”.

In your living room, you stood still for a moment, looking around as though you tried to find a pointer. You wanted to do something, you forgot, you looked at the last thing you saw as you remembered what it was. No avail. Your memory really wasn’t what it used to be. When did you start forgetting? It would be sort of ironic if you remembered. But even as you suffered the consequences of something you had no part in, you glanced at your gaming console. A proud thing, even if it didn’t look that way. A PS4, while not the cheapest thing you’ve ever bought, certainly entertained you from time to time. You hadn’t even considered booting it up, maybe finding some fun in playing a game or two. It wasn’t the game itself you were looking forward to the most, however. Something much more valuable lied within a certain game of yours.

Turning on the lights, squinting as the room suddenly turned bright, hurting your eyes, you scanned the room for a certain something. Naturally, it was on the table right in front of the couch. You’d never dare to put it elsewhere. It always had to be somewhere you’d easily find it, not a single exception could ever come to mind. You grabbed the game, getting out the disk and swapping it with the one inside the console. God of War for Modern Warfare II, both violent in their nature. Maybe you should rethink your gaming habits someday, find something gorgeous, entertaining and calming. Maybe a certain farming sim you had been wanting to try would do the trick. Either way, that was something to consider at a later time. Having turned on both the console and the TV, you gently grabbed the controller and sat down on the couch, leaning back.

However, as you started up the game, with it loading, you couldn’t help but ponder. Would they really wanna hear it? Hi, I’m sad again tonight. Could one of you please help with distracting me before something terrible happens? That was the gist of it. Could you, in your melancholy drunk state, really find more eloquent words?

And there it was, the title screen of the game. Nothing you hadn’t seen a thousand times since the game was released, nothing too exciting, but it felt familiar regardless. If they noticed then they could probably see you already.

“Evening, guys. The demons are back and they’re swimming tonight.” Lovely, would that also get the message across?

Nothing happened for a while. No whispers, no “voice lines”, no pop ups, just the blue light going across the screen, just the red light blinking. If god and the lads had abandoned you, then you might as well gift yourself a bullet for Christmas. Still, you waited for another moment, bracing yourself for another scare that would always come whenever you asked for their presence. Someone, anyone, should have time. It’s not like they don’t follow you around wherever you go when they’re bored out of their minds.

A telltale sign: The TV turned off, leaving you with nothing but the reflection of your own and your living room. A few seconds later, the company’s logo shows up and, lastly, static ran across the screen, with white noise loud enough to be heard in the surrounding apartments accompanying it. This process would take a while, so you opted for grabbing two drinks from the kitchen. Some soda with some lemon slices would suffice. It was a great drink, very refreshing and the lads liked it as well.

When you got back into the living room, half a man had fallen out of the TV. It took its toll on him, holding onto the cabinet with all his might and dragging himself out of his virtual world and into your real one. Grunting and groaning could be heard, but the voice sounded distorted, not yet accustomed to an analog world. Placing the two glasses of lemon soda on the table, you casually walked over to the figure, grabbing his arms and helping him out a bit. Truthfully, it seemed like tonight you were going to be with Gaz.

By the time the spectacle was over, the TV had gone back to showing the title screen. Every time one of the lads visited you, you were reminded of the first time this happened, hiding wherever you thought you wouldn’t be found after attempting to kill the TV several times. You couldn’t even speak of fear back then, it was much more than that. Even now, slight terror runs through your veins whenever one of your lads stopped by to say hello, to help pull you out from whatever ditch the world decided to leave you in. If there was absolutely no one else you could count on, not even considering your world, then you could always count on the boys from another world. Holding Gaz by his arms still, helping him up in the process, temptation washed over you. Yes, he may have still been wearing his gear, but his hugs were to die for.

“Hey, Kyle. Thanks for coming, I appreciate it more than you’ll ever know.” Huffing and puffing, taking one deep breath after the other, his response found itself to be a bit delayed. But no matter how tired he was, how much energy it took to realize himself in this world, he would always do it for you, in less than a heartbeat. His gloved hands took yours, holding them gently while running his thumb over your fingers.

“You know one of us always comes when you call. I’ll take off the vest and boots real quick and then we’ll talk, yeah?” Even through his gloves, even in spite of him being but a “fictional character”, you couldn’t help but feel some warmth for the first time that day. But much like the moon would leave the world in complete darkness, Kyle’s hands left yours, leaving the comfortable feeling to wane into the night.

“Not been doing too well as of late, hm?” Kyle was a grown man, an adult, but you still wanted to help him undress a bit, if just to feel that bit of warmth again. However, he was much quicker than you could ever be, having done this a surprising amount of times considering he could just snap his fingers and wear any outfit.

“Is it that obvious? I mean, you’re definitely right, but I was hoping I wouldn’t worry you guys too much with my mental state. Sorry about that.” And thus, the vest was off, the gloves and the boots being next. There was some sort of grace, despite him rushing to take off the excess clothes.

Kyle turned to you as he untied his boots. “Don’t apologize for those things, love. We’re always worried about you, but not always sure when you want us to be with you and when you’d rather be left alone. You’re helping us figure things out too by explicitly asking for us, you know?” At last, he took off his silly little cap, leaving it hanging on the coatrack in your antechamber. “Come on, let’s sit down on the couch again. You can tell me everything from the beginning.” He wrapped his arm around your shoulder, leading you to the couch while holding you close.

Once the two of you sat on the comfortable fabric, you leaned into him, wrapping your arms around his waist to be just that tiny bit closer. “I don’t even know what’s wrong with me again tonight. Things used to be so good up until not too long ago, and now I’m back to being this pathetic, miserable piece of shit that I was before. Nothing’s going right for me anymore, I feel like I might as well just jump off the nearest roof to do everyone a favor. I don’t have anyone but you guys in my life, and I hate bothering you like this. Kyle, I’m sorry, again. If you have anything better to do, if you wanna play poker with the lads, then you can. I know you came all this way here, but you really don’t have to bother with me if you don’t want to.”

Pulling you closer to him, Kyle pressed his lips to your temple, leaving them there for a few seconds. Your mind was hazy, fuzzy with attempts of remembering when the last time you found yourself in a situation like this was. Despite not usually being the warmest person, Kyle was comfortable in this moment. Warm, alive, pleasant. He was willing to give you more hope, giving up whatever it was he was doing just to help you, bestowing upon you the warmth of a warm spring day, like the sun. And yet, whenever you looked at him, radiant him who, more so than anyone else, deserved a halo around his head, much like the moon, you couldn’t look away. His scent was reminiscent of metal due to various reasons. Even when he wasn’t trying he was much like the stars in the vast and endless universe. If you could have, you would have merged with him, dancing a dance of death and destruction that would kill both of you, but bring to life something much bigger than the two of you could have been otherwise. Circling each other like stars, drawing ever closer, until the final kiss that would leave your surroundings in awe. But for the time being, leaning into him, being in his arms until the sadness would grow sick and tired of you, leaving you for a few days before oh so nefariously finding new ways of tormenting you, was enough. It was all you could achieve.

“We love you, I hope you know that. If something were to happen to you we’d find new ways of getting to you as quickly as possible. We want to see you thrive, happy and well. Just because I could have played poker against Soap and lost doesn’t mean I won’t kill death himself just so I could see you. Whatever it is you need, I’ll give it to you somehow. We all would. Don’t you ever worry about “bothering” us again, alright?” His voice was laced with honey, its treacly sound drawing you in further and further. Kyle was a deadly man, if he wanted to, he could kill you as you were, you wouldn’t be able to defend yourself against him no matter how much you thrashed and tried to get away from him. But even if he was as vile a man as you sometimes hoped he was, his sweet kisses, the ambrosia that gave you life in these barren wastelands, would always bring you back to him. He was kind, he was amazing. “You wanna watch a movie tonight? Or maybe just cuddle? I’m down for anything, you know.”

“I just feel like cuddling tonight. I don’t wanna see any more people, I’m so tired of them by now.”

And without any hesitation, Kyle got into a more comfortable position. With a kiss to your cheek, he pulled you down on top of him so you could rest your head on his chest. His heart was beating, how nice. Maybe one day you could think the same about yours. It was pleasant. One arm holding you close to him, the other one running up and down your body, making sure every inch of you felt loved and cared for, no matter what. A few moments like this were spent in silence. Neither you nor Kyle uttered a single word, simply content in each other’s presence for the time being. For a moment you wondered if your hearts would beat in synchronicity at some point. A few more moments passed, with Kyle slowly mellowing out the depression, replacing it with a neutral, content feeling over time. 

“Wanna play a game, love?”

Your eyes were closed, reveling in Kyle’s being instead of your miserable thoughts, but you agreed nevertheless, humming to him.

“Alright, I want you to guess who said the following things: What’s a Japanese cannibal’s favorite food? Rawmen.”

“Ghost.”

“Wrong.”

“What? Who else would tell awful jokes of that caliber if not Simon?”

“Soap at gunpoint.”

“On one hand, I want you to elaborate so bad, I need to know what in the world could have prompted this since Soap isn’t the biggest fan of Ghost’s jokes either. But on the other hand I don’t want to know what you rambunctious boys are up to these days either.”

“Your loss.” Kyle adjusted himself a bit, moving you a little bit closer to him so he has easier access to your head for maximum kissing efficiency. “Next one’s some dialogue between two people: “How long is your dick?”, “Seven.”, “Inches or centimeters?”, “Seven.” Who could have said that?”

A smile spread across your face upon hearing this conversation. “That’s such a guy thing to say, all of this. It doesn’t surprise me in the slightest that you heard something like that at work. Realistically speaking, Ghost wouldn’t say that, and he’d also chop someone’s dick off upon being asked that. So I’m guessing Johnny asked and you responded? Because, while John is tired enough to answer, I think he’d also give Johnny hell for asking something like that.”

“Johnny is correct, the guy answering was John, actually.”

“Oh my god, I hate how I can actually see their faces during that conversation right now. Johnny is such a smart guy, but he just sometimes says the dumbest things, doesn’t he?” You couldn’t help but laugh this time. Poor John. But then again, he’s likely been asked dumber questions by people who are not affiliated with him the way Johnny is. “Another one, please!”

He did it, he received the greatest good in either of the two worlds: The laughter of one of his loved ones. Kyle succeeded, but by no means was he going to let you down. After all, he heard stuff like this on the daily, more than happy to tell you of the shenanigans him and the lads were up to. “Of course, here we go: “What purpose do wasps even serve?” “What purpose do you even serve?”

“It’s always Johnny, isn’t it? Johnny and I feel like it could have been any of you. Maybe not John, except when he’s tired and grumpy again. Was it you or Ghost who told Johnny to shut up this time?”

“I asked and Ghost responded.”

“Kyle, I love you so much, Thank you for sharing this nonsense among you and your comrades. Please continue!”

“Anything for you. So, here goes…”

[wanderingpages]

idk if you do requests outside of jurdan but its been in my head like tattoo artist Rowan and receptionist Aelin? and dating? and like...smut? ahhh thank you bye

∞

Rowan frowns when he sees her, sitting on the step just to the side of his shop. It’s been raining on and off all weekend, only now subsiding to a foggy mist, turning the small town as gray as Rowan’s reluctant to admit he’s been feeling. Aelin is under an awning, so she isn’t quite wet, but the damp strands of her hair is enough to let him know she’s at least ran through a sudden downpour from her car to where she’s currently at. She perks when he approaches, squinting but the pretty gem like hues in her eyes are still breath taking to him. She’s grinning wide and it breaks something in him, something he hates to even acknowledge he’s built up over the past few days. Aelin stands, bouncing from her tip toes as he nears her. Even heightened by the step, he still towers over her. She doesn’t mind tilting her head up, though.

“Hi,” She says.

His lip tilts upward, “Hi,” he responds. She takes a step to the side, and he reaches behind her to open the door. He gestures her first, letting her lead the way up the steps, to his apartment. Her shorts are high waisted, and he’d always tease her about her pairing it with oversized sweaters, much like she’s wearing today, because it made no sense to him - to be only partially warm. He does not point out the goosebumps on her legs, knowing he’d only get a narrowed eye response instead.

“Sorry I didn’t call,” She murmurs, ruffling her hair a bit. “Wasn’t sure if you’d answer, with your appointment today.” As his front receptionist, Aelin is well versed in all the clients booked for months in advance, so he’s not surprised that she knows he had an eight hour session, inking a regular customer of his. She probably also knows he should feel absolutely drained right now -  barely managing to remember to buy food before returning home - but he’s not. Rowan is absolutely zinging with unchecked energy.

It probably started the day she walked into his shop to answer an ad the previous receptionist had posted. Sparked when she’d ask him to pierce her not long after. Maybe it snowballed with her opting to stay behind after hours, using the break room for her class assignments, quietly keeping him company when sessions had flown well into odd hours. It definitely ignited when she’d kissed him goodnight on a whim, running off to her car before he’d even gotten the chance to comment.

It's been kindling when he’d gotten her chocolate during his lunch break one day and then every day after. When she'd left him a note the next day. When he had invited her up for dinner, when he had dropped her off to class the morning after, picked her up some time in the afternoon. When he thought it was cute when she eyed the women who get inked by him, flustered him when he felt jealous over a guy flirting with her.

They hadn’t been shouting it from rooftops. In fact, if Rowan’s honest with himself,  he’d been the one to keeping it under the radar – he’d felt bad enough because of the age gap, but to add the fact he’s her boss as well? Yet, roles applied still didn’t mean Aelin did not have complete control over him, mind body and soul. It took him a while to accept it, but he was all hers.

He just finds himself wondering if she was all his, too.

She reaches up to the ledge above the door, finding the spare key he’d shown her some time ago, and easily opens the door, jiggling the knob just right and giving it a quick kick after turning the key twice. She holds it wide open for him, toeing off her soaked kicks as he enters. He sets the food on the counter, before working on his boots and tugging off his hoodie.

“Were you waiting long?” She leans against the shut door, watching him undress like she hasn’t seen it more than a few times before, still it reddens her cheeks, despite the utter conservativeness of it all. She bites on her lip like she’s waiting for a show and he can’t help the small chuckle he lets out.

She shakes her head, coming back to the moment. “No." She shrugs as if its any consolation for her wait, "I missed you,” she smiles at him, almost shyly. It had been some time since they’d last been able to speak to each other properly. Despite her spending most nights with him, she had requested a few days off of work for finals, and he was at that point of the year where all him and his artists were booked until the end of summer. Still, he’d manage to find a few hours, and eager as he was to finally just be with her, Aelin had turned him down. He’d been too late, apparently, she’d already made plans. He frowns, trying not to think about it, hating the way it makes him feel, if he’s to be honest with himself.

“Missed you too,” he lets her know, heading to the cupboards to grab some plates. He divides the food, half for him and half for her, while she takes a seat at the table, tucking her cold toes beneath her. They talk idly, comfortably, touching when they can – hands, shoulders, knees. They seem to only gravitate closer to each other, stealing from the other’s plate, talking lower to have their heads meet in the middle, leaning closer to steal quick kisses – it’s all very domestic, so then why is Rowan feeling so goddamn feral?

They’ve managed to move to the couch, he’s leaned back watching a game he can’t quite say who’s winning or what sport it even is and Aelin is turned to face him, kneeling beside him, feet tucked like they had been before and she’s touching the ink on the side of his face tracing the patterns to the scruff of his hair. “When are you going to ink me,” she teases.

“When you know what you want.”

She rolls her eyes. “Your roots are growing,” she comments, tugging lightly at the overgrown locks where dark meets silver. He smiles but it's wary. His hand rests on her hips and he squeezes lightly, and without thinking, he leans his head on her, pleased to find that thump of her heart beating roughly against his ears. Aelin lets out a sigh, raking her fingers into his moonlight locks and finally asks, “Is something wrong?”

“Hmm?” he debates on bottling it up, because maybe this is a generational thing and dating means something different to him than it means to her.

“You seem… out of touch with me,” and her voice splinters at the end, going so soft, it almost gets drowned out by the insistent pumping of her heart in his ears.

He holds her tighter, and finally admits, “I… I walked by the bar after work that day.” Maybe she hadn’t meant to purposely leave out exactly whom she was planning to meet up with, but the guilt ridden look on her face tells him that she’d thought nothing good would come from Rowan knowing this information. “Did you think I wouldn’t know about your date?” he tries to smile but it feels all wrong – he had tried to be teasing, but he’s hurt – angry even. “Or did you think I wouldn’t have trusted you?”

“We were just talking,” she tells him, “It wasn’t anything serious.” Rowan holds his tongue, figuring maybe if he’d been more public with their relationship instead of sneaking in kisses during the day when no one’s watching, treating dates as secrets, and avoiding answering questions by their peers, maybe he wouldn’t feel as shitty as he does now. “I should have told you – but I didn’t think it meant anything – it still doesn’t mean anything.”

He tilts his head to look up at her, holds her steady and reaches with his free hand to touch the ends of her hair, twisting sunlight around his finger almost absently. “This is new – everything with you is new,” he confesses. He doesn’t want to be that guy – the one who’s insecure about his girl hanging with other guys, doesn’t want to second guess when she says she’s made plans. He traces down her arm, grabbing the tips of her fingers and leading them to his lips, kissing them lightly. “I trust you,” he lets her know, “So please,” he begs, watching the flush in cheeks, the tug of her bottom lip between her teeth, “Don’t make a fool out of me, Aelin.”

“I promise,” she says, not even a beat later and just the same, he’s tugging her on top of his lap. The television casts an array of colors like an aura behind her – godly, he thinks. She bends forward, her hair curtaining them, encasing them with a familiar scent. “Maybe I should have let you known,” Aelin says quietly, “That when I'm with you, I'm with you. No one else.” Rowan’s hand glides just under her sweater, fingers splaying where he knows birthmarks hide. His other hand weaves gently into her hair, pushing strands back, behind her ear, palm pressing to her cheek, holding her face steady when he shortens the distance and kisses her so softly. Her toes curl, knees on either side of him squeezing his thighs. He brings her closer to him, so close the fabric of their clothes begin to imprint and indent against their skin. “I’m sorry,” Aelin murmurs against his lips.

She’s rough when she’s kissing him again, desperate, like she needs to show him she means it and this is the only way she can think of. And when Rowan bites at her lips, he knows she doesn’t mind because her hands are at the nape of his neck, pulling him deeper against her, then she guides his lips down her neck when she can’t seem to get air in her lungs. His teeth scrapes against her flesh, her nails against his. He breaks only to get her sweater off, digits immediately at her navel, fingerprints covering the golden charm he had so carefully pierced into her skin. He mouths at her breasts, pulling her bra down enough to latch on to a nipple. She calls out his name in surprise, hips grinding hard against his. His tongue flicks roughly against the nipple before it flattens over her, soothing the ache while Aelin rubs her hips against his, frantic for more friction.

He should slow down, he thinks, biting at the swell of her breasts, blooming pink and reddening marks wherever he can. He’s never been this rough with her before, never thought of his markings as punishment - but she’s guiding his hand to her the buttons of her shorts, fumbling to get them undone, “Rowan… - I, ahh,” she doesn’t mind. More, she wants to say, but she doesn’t have to, his fingers are right where she wants them, working fast and expertise, having her panting and quivering and he’s not even in her yet, just rubbing her between her folds, soft then faster, and when he presses down on her clit, she’s screaming into his shoulder, trying to muffle her cries when she comes.

She’s still breathing rough when he has her on her back, her bra behind the couch, her shorts and underwear right at his feet. His shirt came off, but his jeans are just barely undone, settling below his hips, because he’s feeling so fucking frantic. “Wait – ah,” she throws an arm over her eyes, trying to settle the stars swimming in her vision, “need to breathe,” she tells him, though she lets him spread her legs wide and position himself right between her. Her stomach tenses on the contact alone. Her chest heaves up and down, she’s coming down but not quite there yet. Her body jolts and she twitches involuntarily, knees shaking when the tip of his cock slides right between her folds.

He likes her like this – he likes her in a lot of different ways, but especially this. Her hand flies to his bicep and he has a full view of how her face contorts, how her eyes screw shut so tight that her nose scrunches up. “Look at me, princess,” he murmurs, “let me see those pretty eyes,” she opens her eyes, a wave of colors akin to the sun meeting the ocean, and her lips part as he slides his cock up and down, pressing the tip to her clit. His breath is hot in her ears, “You can catch your breath later,” is all the warning he gives her when he pushes into her.

She cries out, fingernails digging into his arms, eyes rolling to the back of her head. “Ah!” she’s not yet fully back from her first orgasm, but it already feels like an onslaught of much more hitting her in succession, too quickly, too soon. One of Rowan's hand is holding a thigh in place, at angle just right, hitting her fucking womb with every thrust. His other hand is placed against her stomach, and she feels like she’s going to explode – at a loss for words, at a loss for all her senses, Aelin really only knows his name. “Ro – ah… ah! Ro...wan…” She manages to move her hands to his face, pulling him closer, heads touching when she gets lost in his eyes. Tears prick, and her breath catches. Her chest feels so tight but she just wants him to consume her. “Ah…” she manages just hoarse little noises, overwhelmed he’s fully inside of her, and he begins to just rotate his hips enough that his pelvis rubs against her swollen clit.  “Want… it…” she gets out, gibberish in her slurs, “Want you…”

Rowan moves out of her slowly, “You’re so good,” he murmurs, thumb moving to press her clit. She weeps, drawing blood when her nails scrape down the back of his neck. He feels himself sliding in and out of her, the palm of his hand practically caving into her abdomen. He’s fucking her so deep and so hard, he feels like he’s absolutely losing himself in her. “You look… so beautiful,” Rowan whispers, maybe for the first time with the way her eyes flash in surprise. “Look how well you take me,” he murmurs, in place of the awful possessive shit he really wants to say. "So good..." He’ll hold his tongue from saying, “this is mine – you’re all mine.” He makes sure to embed it into her skin instead, makes sure Aelin still feels him when this all over, makes sure he leaves his marks on her like lewd little tattoos.

[larcenywrites]

hi!!! ok i might've just followed you so you likely know who this is coming from but i'm anonned just to blubber about how much i LOVE your writing without shame.

oh my WORD! i've been reading through your masterlist and dude. i am going beast mode as we speak. the way you characterize mister tony and mister kurt just feels so nice to read? i'm in love? your works have me entranced. if i were to look in the mirror right now i'm sure my pupils would be fucking huge.

i'm, like, mutating into a virus with each work of yours i read, i love them all so much! you never miss and i'm kinda floored by how addictive your content is.

so i think you can say i'm a fan! hehe i hope you're doing well, and your day (or night) is going even better ❤️ thank you for the things you write, they bring a smile to my face :)

Wow wow wow thank you 🥺💛 I have really been slacking on writing this last full year, but partly bc I think I started doubting myself, life is busy, and I was really anxious about trying to get into other characters for a while which kinda demotivated me and what not 🤧 But! I’m glad to see people enjoying what I have up so much 🥺🥺

[rubia-peregrinart]

MegaMay #12 got me picking up some 2021 Cross Fusion ideas... turns out they’re fun to design, at least !

[kakushigotofanclub]

Scene from my KnY AU which is entitled, “A Couple of Bad Ideas and a Shot in the Dark.”

“Zenitsu?” Tanjiro blinks. “What are you doing outside in the middle of the night?” Zenitsu doesn’t respond; Tanjiro realizes he must be having a sleepwalking episode. “Come on, let’s get you back to bed,” he says gently, putting a hand on Zenitsu’s arm to guide him back inside. Quicker than Tanjiro can process, Zenitsu grabs his wrist, holding it in an iron grip. He still doesn’t turn to look at him. Tanjiro tries to tug his arm back. Zenitsu’s grip tightens. “Hey,” Tanjiro says, brows furrowed in concern and confusion. “Stop that. Let me go, you’re hurting me.” No response. “Zenitsu. Come on, cut it out. You’re freaking me out.” Finally, Zenitsu speaks. At least, it must be him, because there’s no one else around…but it doesn’t sound like him at all. His voice robotic and almost distorted, nothing like Tanjiro’s ever heard from Zenitsu—or...or even a human—before. But what he says is even stranger. “Sleepwalker Agent 038 has been activated.”

Tanjiro feels his heart rate begin to pick up. He tries to unfurl Zenitsu’s fingers tightened around his wrist. Something is not right. Zenitsu faces Tanjiro. His head is tilted to the side and his eyes are all white. His expression is blank, totally emotionless. Tanjiro finally frees his arm, and he stumbles backwards. “What…what’s going on?” That same strange voice, the one that can’t possibly belong to him: “Target identified. Termination to ensue.” “What?” Tanjiro sputters. Zenitsu begins to walk towards him, face completely void of emotion. “Zenitsu! What are you doing? Snap out of it! What the heck are you talking about?” “Any attempts to reach host will be unsuccessful. The Sleepwalker will remain in control until target has been terminated.” Zenitsu stops walking for a moment. Then the porch lights go out, leaving them lit only by the moon, peeking out through the clouds. Electricity crackles around Zenitsu for a moment, indicating he’s charged up. And then he lunges forward with the intent to kill.

[relaxxattack]

MAX QUESTION does ran have a set birthday the same way jackie does this is for science

he does not!

but, considering it’s been long enough since knifetrick ended, i’ll let you in on a secret…

a long time ago, i was planning a bonus one shot in which ran chose his own birthday. he was either going to choose christmas or new year’s day, because he was completely enamored with the beautiful earthly celebrations and traditions done at that time. i think new years is probably a perfect choice for him because he would have an easier time remembering the date and also his age.

hope that helps 💚