#the left finally marking a colour line

[hussyknee]

The one silver lining to having to endure these "don't throw away your vote 💙 over a single issue (genocide)" takes is that they've managed to seemingly do the impossible— get every infighting leftist faction to come together and finally throw liberals out of the left into the garbage.

[cora-illus]

Ninth House skull symbolism time ok

[Image Description: 10 headshots of Harrow Nonagesimus wearing the various black and white skull paints described in this post, with their names written above each head. End ID]

I wanted to expand on my headcanons for purposes + symbolism of the Ninth’s facepaint because the books don’t give much about them and its v intriguing to me. These are all taken from whatever is mentioned in the books + expanded on based on my interpretation of the character and context involved.

* : A mask with no canon name, the name listed is a headcanon/theory

[Image Description for all images following: A title card with the mask’s name as listed, and one side, three-quarter and front-facing headshot. All masks will be described following it’s title. End ID.] I wish there was an easier way to do this but text posts don’t allow alt text, and image posts don’t allow images between text.

Black Vestige's Mask*

A simply stylized skull, with the hollow of the cheeks, temples and eye recess blacked out, a blotch with two upright marks for the nose, and three vertical lines from nose to chin to represent teeth. The upper lip is completely coloured.

Gideon's effect on Canaan, seen on the GtN cover

This mask announces loyalty and service to the tomb, in a way that is practical and visually bold

The standard mask acceptable for any occasion, this mask is the most common among pilgrims and lower to mid echelon of the Ninth.

Also popular with cavaliers due to it's practical simplicity and stoic appearance.

Vestige's Devotion*

A more complex stylized skull, with thin lines around the forehard, chin and nose giving a clearer form to the skull. The eyes, temple and side of the cheekbones are blacked out, as is the cheek where (on a skull) there is a hollow between teeth and mandible/cheekbones. Teeth are more carefully painted on, and the upper lip is fully coloured.

Harrow's main effect, seen on the HtN cover

Also worn by Crux

A more detailed take on the Black Vestige's Mask, requiring more care and patience to paint.

Symbolises an enthused acceptance of duty, and a desire to display this publicly

Among regular Niners often used for ceremonies, holy days and important prayer.

For the more intense of the devout, this may be worn more frequently to show deeper devotion to their religion.

Jawless Skull 

A plain-looking skull, with no mandible - the temples, cheek hollows and entire jaw is blacked out. The eyes and nose are also blacked out, and individual teeth are painted on the upper lip.

Worn by Ortus upon learning of the summons in HtN

The oldest skull style.

A slightly more devoted/involved paint than the Black Vestige's Mask, with not much more variation in symbolism other than more strongly reflecting the Ninth House sigil.

May also be worn as an alternative to a Black Vestige's Mask.

Often worn by those who feel that they have something to prove, those who have thoughts/opinions they know would be better left unsaid, or who have taken a vow of silence.

The Anchorite Dying

Two styles: The first, using the Black Vestige’s Mask as a base, but with triangular gashes across where the temples becomes the forehead. The left side appears crushed and fractured, with two teeth appearing to sink into the black of the cheek hollow. The second, also using the Vestige’s Mask as a base, is more symmetrical - fractured cheekbones and a short line down the cheek from each eye. There is a blacked-out crack on the left of the forehead and a crack along the bridge of the nose.

Worn by Ortus arriving to Canaan in HtN

A melancholy acknowledgement of duty to the tomb - worn for one of two reasons:

when experiencing doubt or hesitation in one’s faith, this mask is worn to confess this and show a desire to overcome such internal conflict.

Or, to show the wearer deeply understands and accepts the solemnity and finality of the life of a Black Vestige.

Pilgrims who commit to life on the Ninth wear this mask for their full first year as a member of the House, and many of the most devout pilgrims-turned-House members maintain The Anchorite Dying after this period

Either style can be worn for either purpose and has no reflection on the wearer’s intent

The Priestess Crushed Beneath New Laid Rock

A painted skull of a face that has been crushed, revealing the sinus cavities above the brow bone, in the cheeks and up the nose. The temples, eyes, cheeks and area around the mouth and chin are fully coloured, with white squares along the bottom lip and top of the chin for sunken teeth. It is intended to be quite gruesome and unpleasant to look at.

Worn by Harrow to dinner on the Mithraeum

The ultimate honour to Anastasia, this mask is representative of a life given to the tomb either through sacrifice or duty.

Its gruesome appearance is meant to cleanse the wearer of any heresy or doubt in their duty.

Most frequently worn during rite of passage ceremonies - whether to anoint pilgrims to the Ninth's ranks or to ordain new priesthoods - or celebrate a nun's sacrificial death for the tomb. 

The Chain

A mask significantly more intricate than the Vestige’s Devotion - a more complex twist of lines around the forehead, cheeks and mouth, emulating an anatomical sketch of the form of a skull. These lines meet to make two small patches of black paint in the hollow between teeth and cheeks/mandible, and teeth painted intricately on the lips. Only the eyelids are blacked out, and the rest of the eye socket is outlined with thin black lines. The beginning of the spine is painted in white, against a black background, on the throat.

Worn by Harrow to the Ball AU in HtN

An incredibly intricate, involved mask. Mastering it shows the deepest devotion to the tomb and skull painting as an art form.

Symbolizes a life committed to the tomb, so much so that one is willing to sit for hundreds of hours to imitate even a fraction of a construct's complex beauty.

Not seen often in past generations, despite not being restricted to any event or class.

This mask is worn to show complete, utter devotion to the Tomb and respect to Anastasia. Although still taught in scriptures, few ever don this skull

The Inglorious Mask

Painted in blood on a bare face, this is a rough, rushed attempt to paint a Black Vestige’s Mask. The cheeks are painted by dragging hands coated in blood along the sides of the face, the lips and nose wiped with bloody fingers, and the eyes and temples rubbed with the bloody heel of a palm.

Worn by Harrow at the beginning of HtN

Represents a desperate, pathetic attempt to cling to faith in times of extreme hardship.

A vestige's paint is their most material connection to their faith. If they have nothing they have their masks, so they must do everything in their power to hold true to it.

Though better than a bare face, it is still immensely embarrassing and shameful to be seen like this. 

Reserved for an absolute last resort, if a devotee can do literally anything better than this it is considered heresy to not do so.

Veils are frequently included in this mask to prevent any from having to witness it.

Now a couple with less to bounce off of, just vague descriptions in the books I’ve taken + run with

Mandible That Prays For The Tomb*

A face painted white, with only the gap between upper and lower jaw painted in black, on the cheeks. There are five small lines on the upper lip that imitate teeth.

Worn by Matthias Nonius, scarified into Ortus' face in HtN

Aiglamene wears a more decorative variant of this mask

Symbolises a fealty that inspires protective instinct.

Highlighting the jaw, this mask is worn by those devoted to their prayer and verbal worship, and an honoured commitment to cavalier-hood in the name of serving the Tomb.

Another practical mask preferred by cavaliers, especially those who serve/d in the Cohort.

Having a majority of their face painted white protects the wearer from harmful sun rays that their skin is unaccustomed to, having grown up underground on the Ninth.

This mask allows them to show their fealty boldly while also serving a very practical purpose

Egregious Visage*

Very minimal, a face painted white with only the eye sockets, nose and upper lip fully painted black. There is a simple curving line on either cheek, a hint of a skull’s cheekbones.

A messier version is unintentionally worn by a young Gideon trying to wear as little paint as possible

This skull is considered the bare minimum of face paints on the Ninth - it represents a person's mortification or religious doubt.

While still being acceptable as a face covering, it is viewed with judgement due to these connotations

Worn by those undergoing punishment or social rejection, or those who are preparing the leave the faith.

[niabridges]

You Look So Good In My Colours

Warning: MDNI. 18+ 🔞 EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT Word count: ~3800 Pairing: Sebastian Sallow | FemReader

Additional warnings: Rough sex, slapping, possessiveness, submission

We all had a Quidditch Seb fantasy at some point. Here is just me letting out some steam in that direction. Read below or on AO3

Her eyes flew open, heart pounding. Had she imagined it? The warmth of his body pressed against hers, the phantom weight of Sebastian’s arm around her waist... Her fingertips brushed the empty space, still warm, and a shiver ran down her spine. She buried her face in his pillow, breathing deep, the faint scent of his cologne a bittersweet reminder.

She stretched, blinking through the canopy, vision blurring then snapping into focus. Ominis stood by the basin, his usual focus now bent on the careful ritual of shaving. “Morning,” she managed, a hint of a smile playing on her lips.

“Morning, dove.” He didn’t turn around, his attention on the razor’s glide.

“Thanks, as always, for…” she trailed off, cheeks warming. How to explain the strange intimacy they’d fallen into? “...for everything.”

Ominis chuckled, a low rumble. “Blind, not oblivious, love.” Still focused on his task. One hand held his chin, the other meticulously dragging the razor across his pale face. “Besides, who am I to begrudge a girl in love a bit of nighttime comfort? Just don’t tell Sebastian I said so. I am keeping a stern attitude with him, otherwise, he’d have you over each night.”

She laughed, tension easing. “My lips are sealed.” Stepping closer, she couldn’t resist the study of him – the focused line of his jaw, the faint dusting of stubble. “Here, you missed a bit. May I?”

“Thanks, love.” He handed her the razor, and a jolt went through her as their fingers brushed.  Carefully, gently, she finished the task, his warmth so close. “You’re better at this than Sebastian ever was,” Ominis murmured leaning down to splash his face in cold water.

“Speaking of which, do you happen to know where he’s sauntered off to?” she asked as Ominis finished patting his face dry.

“Slept in, shamefully,” he admitted. “Not a peep from Sebastian. Odd, that.”

“Slept like a rock myself. Had the nicest dream, though I can’t remember it.” She tugged at her tie. “Ugh, Saturdays are for freedom.” With a toss, the tie landed on the bed.

Ominis straightened his robes. “Any plans for the day?”

“First, a proper wake-up with a bath... then I suppose I’ll try to hunt down Seb,” she shrugged. “What about you?”

“Prefect duties. Someone’s got to keep the chaos in check. Though I might just hide out with you two if you promise more of those… late-night ‘study sessions’.”

She laughed and playfully swatted at him, a blush warming her cheeks. “Must you tease? See you later, Ominis.” A lingering touch on his shoulder, then she was gone.

The common room hummed with the usual Saturday morning chaos as she emerged from the corridor – a heated whisper about a losing chess game, a burst of laughter from the first-years' corner. The air hung sweet with tea and candy. From the top of the stairs, where the seventh-year dorms spilled out, she scanned the scene below, hoping for a glimpse of Sebastian curled by the fireplace, lost in a book. But there was no sign of him, and a sigh escaped her lips.

She turned to enter her dormitory, relieved to find it empty. Then, Imelda’s Quidditch gear sprawled across the floor caught her eye. Of course! Sebastian must have left for Saturday morning practice. She’d find him at the pitch, but first, a bath was desperately needed.

Slipping into the bathroom, she ran a warm, bubbly bath, discarding her clothes in a haphazard pile. Rubbing her eyes, she glanced in the mirror and noticed tiny purple marks on her neck.  Her fingers traced them thoughtfully, thinking back to last night's activities before she turned to lock the door.

Finally, she slid into the water, a sigh escaping her as the warm bubbles enveloped her. As she relaxed her hand instinctively ran over the bump over her wet foamy breast, the touch instigating a nipple to firm up, as her finger slid back over it she felt tingles running through her body. Flicking her finger over her hardened peak her thoughts were on Sebastian again. His musky smell, him towering over her, his greedy hands kneading her breasts. She gasped and bit into her lower lip. 

Her other hand slid underwater to rub in between her aching folds. His voice rang like a deep melody inside her head “That’s it, my siren. Take it all.” And that chuckle of his, damn him. She began to tremble. Eyes tightly shut. The image of Sebastian was clear in her mind’s eye. With a combined effort of rubbing her nipple and her clit she felt a strong tremble rumble through her body. The slightest whimper and a moan escaped her lips as he came undone. Her heart aching to jump out of her chest. She exhaled leaning against the wall of the tub and relaxed, satisfied.

♡♡♡

“Eyes on me, for Merlin’s sake! That Bludger nearly took my head off!” Imelda barked, swooping closer to Sebastian on her broom. “What’s gotten into you, Sallow? I need you focused out here,” she demanded.

Sebastian snapped to attention. “Understood. Sorry.” He repositioned himself, wincing as the broom’s hilt pressed uncomfortably against his groin. Tight Quidditch trousers didn’t help matters either. He gripped the broom tightly, knuckles whitening. Then, a whirring sound from behind – he ducked just as a rogue Bludger whizzed past.

“You’re supposed to hit them, not dodge them!” Imelda yelled. “Bloody hell, Sallow, take five!” She snarled, flying off to regroup with the team.

Sebastian landed, sliding off his broom with an exasperated sigh. He'd been struggling on and off this morning with a particularly stubborn erection and was trying his best to hide that fact from his teammates. However, the ache seemed to worsen when his feet touched the ground. He groaned, feeling the weight and pain in his groin. Panicked, he quickly jumped back on his broom and zoomed toward Madam Kogawa's quarters. Thankfully, he knew she was away at the Ministry this weekend, leaving the quarters empty. He tossed his broom aside and, with a quick Alohomora, he entered inside.

When Imelda turned to scold him, he was gone, panting and leaning against the closed door. Bloody hell, all his blood seemed to rush to a singular spot, churning uncomfortably within him, making him squirm. It was all her fault. This morning when he'd opened his eyes, he'd immediately realized two things: he was running late for practice, and he'd woken up with a... pressing need. His body ached with desire, fueled by the warmth of her pressed against him.

To his great misfortune, this wasn't one of those fleeting morning wood situations. No, this one had persisted throughout practice – for Merlin's sake! He groaned, too afraid to even touch the bulge in his trousers. Carefully he lowered his hand. This was pathetic. Was he really going wank himself off in Kogawa’s office? Yet, he couldn’t go anywhere with his cock outlined against his trousers like that. Damn. Sebastian closed his eyes wishing the floor would open up and swallow him.

♡♡♡

She breathed the crisp spring air of fresh grass as she stepped onto the Quidditch pitch. Her eyes fixated on the group of green and white robes, and she quickened her pace hoping Sebastian would be among them. However, he was not.

“Hey Imelda, have you seen Sebastian?” she inquired, positively confused that he wasn’t at the practice.

"I was hoping you'd tell me," Imelda retorted, annoyance lacing her voice. “He was slacking all morning and when I told him to get it together, the knobhead ran away! Oh, the audacity!” she scoffed angrily.

“Ran away?” She asked, her confusion growing.

“Yes. Now, if you find him, tell him to get his arse back to the pitch right this second. I’m not finished with him!” Imelda growled, straddling her broom.

As she watched Imelda take off. She scratched her head, the absurdity of the situation dawning on her, as she started to walk back to the courtyard. Her eyes scanned for any sign of him. Maybe Sebastian wasn’t far away. As she exited the Quidditch pitch, she noticed a discarded Slytherin (his) broom near the entrance to Kogawa’s office. She smirked. There you are.

She approached the door and knocked gently, testing her luck. Silence answered from the other side. She knocked again, this time more firmly.

“Who – who is it?” She heard Sebastian’s startled voice.

“It’s me,” she chuckled.

“Oh,” the tone in his voice shifted. He stepped back to the door and unlocked it. When he saw his girlfriend standing there, he thanked the heavens, and a smirk spread across his face. “You’re just in time,” he said in a sultry voice.

He pressed his hand against his aching bulge and breathed in sharply. "Okay, this might sound weird, but I need to be honest. My… uh… lower regions are protesting. Loudly . All because of you.” She couldn’t help but laugh. "Don't laugh at me. I'm serious! I need release, or I might actually end up in the hospital wing," he groaned, pressing his hand against the trousers where his arousal was tightly confined.

She bit her lower lip, taking in the sight of him. “You could give me a taste of what’s been keeping you in such a... flustered state.” Her grin was wicked, eyes flickering between his trousers and his face.

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. “Oh, a taste, you say?” He licked his bottom lip and stepped closer, grasping her hips and spinning her around. Pressing her back against the door, he murmured, “I'll give you a taste of my fantasies. But first…” His voice dropped to a husky whisper, “Please, let me have a taste of you.” He dropped to his knees, hands sliding her skirt tentatively up her thighs.

She shivered against the cool wood as he began placing feather-light kisses along her inner thigh, breathing in her scent. With each kiss, he worked his way slowly upwards. “Mmm, sweetheart, I’ve been a mess all morning,” he moaned into her skin, the heat of his breath raising goosebumps. “I’ve been bad,” he murmured. “Skipped my practice,” he mumbled as he teased her with tiny kisses against her sensitive area.

“Maybe I’ll have to punish you for that,” she purred, gazing down at him through her lashes, pressing his face closer between her thighs.

Sebastian chuckled, his fingers hooked into the waistband of her panties, and a shiver ran through her as he slid them down, gently, yet with undeniable determination. He inhaled sharply, the scent of her arousal intoxicating him. Cursing under his breath, his eyes rolled back in his head as pleasure overwhelmed him.

Slowly, he gripped her thighs, bringing her glistening folds closer to his face, “Mmm,” he moaned “That’s what I love about you. You’re always dripping for me.” He slid his tongue inside slowly gliding up and down, savoring the juices. “Gods, you taste so good,” he growled against her flesh.

She quivered. Well-practiced ministrations of his tongue sent her into oblivion and her fingers tightened in his soft brown locs, pulling, tugging for a sliver of self-control. As if she ever had any when it came to him. 

Sebastian moaned softly as she tugged at his hair. It spurred him to plunge his tongue deeper between her folds, adding a finger to slide over her nub in a thoughtful circular motion. His other hand fell to the front of his trousers, lazily undoing the laces. His aching erection finally sprang free. He palmed around his throbbing arousal while still keeping attention to the movements of his tongue. The growls against her skin created vibrations that deepened her moans and whimpers which in turn gave him valuable cues. With each flick of his tongue, he felt her tremble more. “Shh baby,” he ordered, “don’t come just yet.”

His thumb circled the tip of his cock, spreading the gathering precum around his length, but it somehow wasn’t enough. He moved his face away from her if only for a moment to glide his palm over her dripping pool, picking up as much lubrication as he could. He then coated himself with the juices of her arousal, gazing up at her with hooded, lust-filled eyes. That, right there , would make her come undone if she weren’t holding back, enjoying his little show. 

“Look at yourself,” she grinned through soft moans while lazily rubbing herself. The sight of him on his knees drove her mad. Her eyes fixed on his form as he stroked his cock in long, languid motions. 

Sebastian stood up, “I need to be inside you…will you let me?” he pleaded, voice dripping with desire. He wanted her permission.

“Yes,” she cooed, “ yes ,” she repeated and pressed herself back further into the door as he started to grind his hips against hers.

“Not here though…mmm, so many possibilities,” he breathed, his breath hot against her earlobe before he gently nipped it. “Perhaps I’ll have you on your hands and knees taking me like the insatiable little minx you are.” His fingers trailed teasingly down her spine making her shiver. “Or… I could lay you out on this desk and have my wicked way with you, watching your face contort in ecstasy,” he purred down her ear before his voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “The only question is which position shall I ruin you in first?”

She melted in his hands, arching her neck, and exposing it to him. The anticipation of his bruising touch made her skin thrum. “...desk... the desk,” she choked out, lust overriding any sense of control. His own words echoed back to her: “Ruin me, Sebastian.” A whimper escaped her, a mix of shame and the desperate desire he’d coaxed forth.

Sebastian pulled her flush against him his length pressing insistently against her sensitive flesh. “Precisely, darling,” he purred, “I plan to fill every inch of you, over and over, until you can think of nothing but my cock buried deep inside you.” He relished in the sensation of how those words made her shiver like a twig in his arms. He ground his hips against hers with more fervor. “You’re going to be utterly ruined for anyone else…” 

“Like anyone else ever deserved me…” she added, her insistent nods urging him on. With a swift motion, he scooped her into his strong arms, carrying her to Kogawa's desk. Parchments and clutter flew aside with a careless sweep of his hand, and he laid her down on the smooth wood.

“Oh you know me well, sweetheart, now…” his hands ran smoothly down her thighs, “let’s not prolong this any further.” His fingers glided across her slickness eliciting soft moans from her. He wanted to make sure she was thoroughly coated before rubbing some of her essence on his himself as well. “I am in pain, remember?” He groaned as he pushed himself between her thighs, his tip pressing insistently between her folds, he was about to…

“Wait,” she gasped, her hand pressing urgently against his chest.

“Sweetheart,” he growled, the guttural vibration of his voice a mix of frustration and desire. “Don’t tease me like that.”

“I want…” her eyes fluttered and she bit her lip. “...I want you to fuck me in your Quidditch jersey.”

Sebastian closed his eyes, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. “Ah, do you now?” His voice was a low rumble. “Take off your shirt.” She obeyed him. In one fluid motion, he stripped off his jersey, his toned, muscular physique rippling in the dim light. Possessively, he draped the jersey over her, the scent of his sweat and masculinity enveloping her. “Now, let me show you just how well I can handle my broom…” he smirked. No matter how ridiculous he sounded, he was lost in the moment.

Satisfied with the view below he surged forward, capturing her lips in a searing kiss, finally repositioning himself at her entrance. His tip glided over her slick wet folds. He groaned “‘Sallow’ looks so fucking good on you,” he gripped the hem of the jersey and with one swift motion thrust inside her, hitting the deepest spot.

She gasped her eyes wide open in surprise as she took hi,. “I always…wanted…ahh…this.” her words were coming out in between his measured thrusts.

His eyes gleamed with unbridled desire as he gazed down at her, his hands grasping the hem of his shirt on her possessively. “You have no idea how hot you sound,” he groaned while leaning in claiming her lips, bruising them, almost. His hips surged forward. He wanted to bury himself deeper into her welcoming heat. “Fuck, you look so good in my colours…” he growled, breath hot against her skin, his thrusts began to quicken drawing a cacophony of moans out of her. 

“The idea of somebody catching us…ah, Sebastian,” she moaned, her hips bucking to meet each of his thrusts, his scent driving her crazy. Her nails dug deep into his freckled shoulders dragging down his arms. Each time he leaned in for a bruising kiss, her tongue glided masterfully over his, teasing, and driving him more mad.

His hips snapped forward with renewed urgency, his thick length plunging deeper into her core over and over. His fingers released the jersey and glided upwards to cup her breasts underneath, kneading them until he deftly moved his fingers over her nipples, instantly hardening her peaks.

He flicked one finger over her nipple while the other hand found its way back down to her plush clit. “That’s it darling, let me see you come undone around me,” he groaned and flicked his fingers with more intention while maintaining a thrusting rhythm and he could feel her walls tremble. 

Her first orgasm washed over her whole body, erupting from her core and sending tingles down to her toes. Her walls clenched around his cock hard, and he strained leaning forward to devour her moans of pleasure. He moaned in desperation, as he felt his own impending release, he bit down into his lip making it bleed, tasting iron. He wouldn’t let himself come yet. This was just too good to end it here.

She laughed breathlessly beneath him. “Don’t stop,” she urged even though the sensitivity of the afterglow made her squirm beneath his insistent thrusts.

“Mhm, that’s it darling, squeeze me just like that,” he growled while regaining momentum and rolling his hips in a sensual grind. “I am going to wring every last drop from you. You feel so bloody incredible, dripping and clenching around me,” he cried out.

She arched forward eagerly meeting his every hard pulse. Hoisting up the jersey she pulled his face down to her breasts urging him to suck at her aching buds. Sebastian relished in the taste of flesh, his tongue capturing hungrily one of her pert nipples between his teeth and sucking on it, rekindling her arousal. His hips continued relentless pace, driving himself deeper, hitting her sweet spots over and over. “You’re mine, do you hear me? He growled, his other free hand kneading her other breast roughly. “Every inch of you belongs to me now. Say it.”

“I am yours,” she cried out through strained moans, his deep thrusts and rough handling making her head spin. “I am Sallow’s girl,” she moaned. Suddenly, she wanted to give in deeply to his possessive desires. She wanted his rough treatment to be even more intense. “Slap me!” she demanded.

“What did you say?” her demand surprised him, making him slow down momentarily.

“Slap me, Sebastian” she insisted. “I am yours. Have your way with me.”

Sebastian’s eyes flashed with unbridled lust at her wanton plea. With a feral growl, he brought his palm down in a sharp, stinging slap against her cheek. “You’re damn right, you’re mine,” he snarled possessively, his hips pounding into her with renewed fervor. He leaned in, dragging his lips over her abused flesh.

She pulled his hair tugging him closer. He buried himself to the hilt into her slick warmth. “Take every inch of me,” he nuzzled into her neck. She panted heavily chasing another wave of pleasure under his relentless rhythm. Beads of his sweat dripped down from his chestnut hair strands onto her shoulder. She hooked one of her arms around his neck letting it slowly trail lower until reaching his groin, gently squeezing, drawing out guttural sounds.

“Fuck,” he strained “Keep doing that love and you’ll have me spilling inside you…” his voice dropped to a ragged growl as he gazed down at her with pure lust burning in his eyes. “I won’t be able to hold back much longer…”

Her fingers teased and brushed his sensitive sac, making his breath hitch, his hips bucked forward involuntarily. “Bloody hell, you’re going to be the death of me,” he growled, his voice thick with raw need. “I want to hear you scream my name when I fill you.”

Her hand found its way back to her clit, rubbing it tentatively chasing her orgasm and matching his impending release. “I’ll be there with you,” she breathed.

“Yes, I need you to…” he groaned, coiled tension within him threatening to shatter. His form contorted over her, toes curling, feeling her tight walls squeeze around him once again. He gripped onto the fabric of his green jersey. His orgasm crashed over him in waves, filling her deeply with his, hot pulsing seed.

“I am right here with you,” he breathed heavily against her hair, still coming down from his intense release. She could feel him tremble above her.

“That was a lot,” she breathed, as he collapsed down. Her fingers threaded through his damp locs. Their lips met in a long, languid kiss, a sigh escaping her. His fingers traced the flush on her cheeks, then moved to roam her face, gently worshiping each feature.

He pulled out slowly, not breaking their connection entirely. He marveled at her sated form beneath him, the glow of her skin, the way she still trembled. A glistening trail ran down her thigh, and he traced it with a fingertip before sliding his hand gently upwards back into her well-used folds. “There, that’s better,” he murmured, his voice rough with tenderness. He scooped her into his arms, her warmth a delicious weight against him.

She chuckled against his chest. “What’s so funny?” He looked down at her, a gentle kiss landing on her hair.

“Imelda told me to bring your arse back to the pitch the second I found you,” she murmured, giggling.

“There were… more pressing matters to resolve first,” Sebastian smirked, his fingers tangling in her hair.

“I'll take care of Imelda,” she murmured, kissing him again, a shiver running through her. “But don’t think this is over.” With a final, lingering touch, she stepped away, leaving him wanting more.

[intheorangebedroom]

Tonight you belong to me, prologue

Summary: He comes to you every Friday, in a shady motel on the outskirts of town. 

This is the beginning of what you wished had no end.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x fem!Reader (OFC)

Rating: Explicit 🔞

A/N: Happy Frankie Friday, orange besties 🧡 See series masterlist for extensive a/n blurb and especially for trigger warnings. Tread carefully. Ily 🧡 Please be gentle, I'm terrified 🫣

Word count: 5.1k

[series masterlist] * [next]

Prologue: In The Beginning

He comes to you every Friday. 

He gets in after dark. He is gone before dawn. 

In this shady motel on the outskirts of town, where no one will recognise your car. The curtains are yellow, and the carpet is brown. There’s a dollar store painting of the Appalachian above the bed, and the tap runs either trickling and scalding or high pressure and cold. 

You hated that in particular, in the beginning. Now you don’t care. You don’t wash him off your skin anymore. Not until you’ve got no other choice. 

Because he can’t mark you, you’d been firm on that point, he likes to come on your skin. 

When he’d finally spoke, that very first time, he’d told you he was Frankie, but you assume it’s not his real name. Which is fine, you didn’t give him your real name either. 

“Frankie” had been far subtler than you, regretful, perhaps, you like to entertain the delusion, when he’d hinted that you couldn’t leave any trace on his body. 

And, in the beginning, you couldn’t imagine that it would ever matter. 

You were wrong. 

You were wrong about a lot of things, in the beginning. 

—

Friday night. Again. 

The swinging door creaks on its hinges to let in the regulars at random intervals. Mostly men, mostly middle-aged, mostly unshaven. Mostly clad in the working-class uniform of jeans, boots and t-shirt. Few of them sit around the round wooden tables. The bar isn’t large, there’s only four of those.  

When they come in small parties, the men favour the two pools on the right. They’re lined with blue felt. The casing is made of plywood. No one ever plays darts, no one ever feeds the jukebox. Its electric cord lays unplugged on the floor, coiled like a sad sagging tail. 

If they walk in alone, they tend to sit at the bar. Head turned toward the giant television screen hung on the wall to their left, where younger men in more colourful uniforms fight, run, kick or throw balls in all shapes and sizes. Its noise is at the forefront, the middle-aged men’s conversations a low humming sound that falls into the background. 

The long and angled bar itself takes up most of the rectangular room’s space. The counter is stripped-down to the bare minimum. Stainless steel, easy to clean, practical. Four beer taps and a gambling machine and beyond the counter, a large mirror with three rows of dusty liquor bottles. 

Food is served, occasionally, as evidenced by the paper napkins dispensers and the two yellow and red plastic condiment bottles on each table. 

The barman runs the place on his own. You drink here every Friday evening, and you’ve never seen more than six customers at once, you included. Admittedly, you might not be very observant. 

Being observant requires endurance, far more than you possess and are willing to deploy and direct towards others. You’re not selfish, not in the least. But you’re tired. You’ve been tired for years. There’s no rational explanation for your exhaustion. No honourable, awe-inspiring, valid ground. You don’t even know what wears you out. It might be sadness, disappointment, or boredom. Or all three in equal parts. All you know is that, come Friday night, your head needs the support of the gray wall behind you.

The creaking noise on your left signals the arrival of another customer, stomping in with a sure gait. Your eyes stay shut. You don’t come to the very aptly named Hole in The Wall seeking the company of other people, whoever they may be. 

You come here to hide for a few hours, between the styrofoam ceiling and the dusty carpeted floor. To drink your week away in peace, but not in nerve-racking silence. Alcohol, you found out at a young age, has interesting properties: it blurs out the sharp edges of your dark thoughts in just the right amount. 

Back in spring, when you stepped in here for the very first time, you looked comically out of place in your corporate attire, and you did raise quite a few eyebrows from the other patrons. Five months later, they must have learned to see past the charade of your overpriced clothes, because none of them pays you any mind anymore. It’s better than anonymity: it’s casual indifference.

You loosen your grip around your tall cocktail glass and let the condensation drip down onto the cardboard coaster. Reluctantly, you lift your weary eyelids to locate the square napkin lying somewhere on the table and dry your fingertips on it.

That’s when you see him taking a seat at the counter, directly across from your small table. 

Years from now, you will still remember the precise circumstances of your first, brief encounter, even though you’re not fully paying attention yet. Nothing indicates tonight will be any different. Nothing suggests you are about to live through a pivotal moment in your existence.

Details will stand out, however. Mostly visual, surprisingly, given the dim lighting of the place. The back of his trucker hat, midnight blue plastic mesh, flattening the dark curls on his nape. The washed out denim of his shirt, worked-in, greenish in the diffuse artificial light, pulled taut across his back, as he sits facing away from you. 

The square shape of his shoulders is backlit against the bar’s mirror. Your empty gaze finds the solid slope of his broad silhouette, and you let it rest there, lazily following his movements whenever he picks up his glass. It’s the same comfort you find when you rest your empty head against the hard wall. It’s aimless, inconsequential.

Later, on different kinds of Friday nights, the sight of his muscles bunching as he tugs off his shirt will bring you back to this very moment. The thought will reshape into a sharp, wistful ache deep inside your heart. What would have happened, to you, to him, if he had chosen to stop for a drink at another bar, somewhere further down the road? What if you had done the same, back in April? 

For now, your mind is blessedly blank.

Does he catch your reflection in the mirror? Does he feel your gaze on the back of his head? 

After a while, how long, you cannot tell, he pivots slowly on his stool, grounded and dense. Slowly, like a mountain would if a mountain came to life and decided to walk into the ocean. He doesn’t turn around completely, just enough to look at you, one of his arms still propped on top of the counter. 

The right side of his face is darkened by the shadow from the brim of his hat, but you can make out the pronounced crease in his brow. His eyes are black, and unfathomable, like the ocean at night, but alight with a bright glimmer. They find yours instantly. 

Something shifts inside your rib cage, something close to the heart, close to pain. 

You feel exposed, entirely bare. Your breathing subsides, you cannot move, trapped in a nightmare-like stretch of time as he glares down at you, immobile, impressive, gigantic. Dark eyes boring into yours. You’re drowning in them. 

You don’t want it to end. 

Inevitably, he breaks eye-contact, and swivels back toward the mirror. He sits still for a few seconds, before grabbing his glass to finish his beer in long gulps. 

You watch him lift his hat and brush his hair to the side with a large hand, and he’s out the door less than a minute later, without so much as a glance in your direction, a conscious choice, given the minute proportions of the place. 

He leaves you sitting there, with your brow pinched and your empty drink, struggling to understand the rippling effects of his massive presence on your body and your brain.

You bring your fingers to your chest and rub them over your sternum, where the shifting sensation continues to prickle. 

Neither a second drink nor a third helps dull the feeling, but a fourth one is not an option if you want to get home without a DUI. 

It follows you into the darkness of the deserted parking lot, on the drive home and into the glass prison of your clinically clean apartment. It’s there when you get into bed, when you lie wide awake at 3am next to your sleeping fiancé, and it’s still there when you wake up, hungover and sore, four hours later. 

Nestled between your lungs. The memory of his cold hard stare. Of his soft sad eyes. 

It bypasses your most foolproof diversions of painful pleasure and pleasurable pain. Your attempts at hard work and your compulsive distractions. It robs you of your appetite, of your lucidity, of your ability to rest. It corners you in the first floor toilet of your office building on a Thursday morning, on the verge of a panic attack, until you consider calling your sister for help. 

Ava would figure it out. She’d get you out of that loop in which you’ve locked yourself up, she’d know what to say. With her crude words and her unforgiving formulations, she’d admonish your silly overreaction and dismissively rebuke your daydreams over a mundane interaction, probably throwing in something about your heteronormative fantasies. 

Dude, you’re all worked up because of a staring contest with a rando in a dive bar? she’d say. She’d toss the rhetorical question at your face, you can hear her as if you’ve already sweated through the conversation. 

She’s often harsh but she’s always right. 

And normally, you’d be seeking that out. For your little sister to bully some good sense back into your nebulous brain. 

But something has shifted. 

Dark curls, thick fingers, flexing shoulders. Solid arms. Cold, hard stare. 

He abraded something on the surface of your skin, and you don’t think you’re capable of withstanding Ava’s sarcasm in your current state. 

By the following Friday, you feel so vulnerable you consider going to another place, or not going out at all. 

Only, the alternative is worse. 

You walk into The Hole in The Wall convinced that your unsteady gait is betraying your apprehension, squinting to adjust to the dim light of the place. The bar is nearly empty, as always, save for a couple of bearded graying men you vaguely recall having seen here before. They all look the same to you, anyway. Another thing you hate about yourself.

The barman tells you to sit while he prepares your drink. The gesture is kind but uncustomary, and it only serves to increase your uneasy feeling. 

Within an hour of waiting, because that's what you've been doing, you register with an icy trickle of shame dripping down your sides, you realise he won’t be coming. 

That man’s presence here last week is the very definition of sheer happenstance. Nothing more. Nothing else. If anything, you’ve been a nuisance to him, ogling him while he was simply trying to unwind with an afterwork drink. 

You’ll never see him again. 

And it’s fine. You’ll move on, drift back into drifting, avoiding at all costs to process what happened to you when you met his gaze. The tree hiding the forest. 

When you walk up to the counter to order your second drink, the question slips away from you. 

“Can I have the same thing the man in the trucker hat had last Friday, please?”

The barman looks up at you from the tray of clean dishes he's pulling out of the dishwasher and he huffs. He’s handsome, by most standards, you notice for the very first time. Very tall, and broad, green-eyed with a three-day stubble. He’s probably a couple of years above forty. His head is shaved bald. He’s manly in a burly, albeit fatherly way. 

“Oh sweetheart, d’you know how many guys with a trucker hat I see here every day?”

It’s not meant to make you feel small, his tone is gentle. It’s a straightforward, factual answer. 

“What do you wanna drink?” he asks when you don’t answer. “Tired of that G&T yet? Cos I got good beer. This is a beer place, you know? Wanna try a light blonde, to start? Something stronger? An IPA?”

What do you want. You’ve been drinking gin all your life because that’s what your mother always has. Starting at 5pm in the afternoon. Would you, indeed, like to try a light blonde? Something stronger? An IPA, to start? 

It’s a brand-new world unfurling in front of you, a yellow brick road paved with what-do-you-wants.

“Sure,” you nod, “I can try an IPA.”

—

The barman goes by the name of Mark. He’s also the owner of The Hole in The Wall, you learn. Bought the place two years ago, after a painful divorce. A cliché, he adds, with a charming, self-deprecating smile.

The interaction’s short and altogether not unpleasant, and the beer, to your surprise, is fresh and enjoyable. It’s much tastier, in fact, than the cheap, tepid gin you’ve been sipping so far. It gets you drunk just as fast, but this time when you leave the bar, your mind is quiet, if not at ease. 

The following week, a heatwave hits the Tampa Bay. The melting asphalt sticks to your leather soles, like your sweaty clothes to your clammy skin, like your brooding mood to your dampened dreams. In a couple of days eventually, August will draw to an end, but the summer won’t end with it. It never truly does. It taunts you all year round, a sweltering reminder of how much you hate living here.

And if it wasn’t for the humidity, you’d be jogging the short distance between your car and the cool haven of the air-conditioned bar. 

You push the swinging door forward, eyes shut in anticipation of the blinding darkness and you stand in the entrance for a few seconds. The familiar and comforting smell of moldy dust mixed with beer yeast greets your senses as you take in the chill air grazing your naked arms. 

And then you reopen your eyes. 

He’s here. 

Trucker hat, blue jeans, gray T-shirt. Different clothes, same silhouette. He’s sitting at your table, his position a magnified echo of yours two weeks ago, hand loosely wrapped around his pint, seemingly asleep with his head propped against the wall. 

Mark looks at you and tilts his head in his direction, wiggling an eyebrow with a silent question of “Is this the guy you were asking about?”

Your breathing’s so loud you think everyone must hear it over the droning television. Mark’s brow furrows with incomprehension at the alarm widening your eyes, and you anchor yourself to his face, walking toward him in slow motion, climbing on the first high stool you reach.

“Hey. You ok?”

You stretch your lips in a wince of a smile.

“So? What will it be today? Wanna try a Free Dive? It’s local.”

You nod in silence, but then he grabs a large glass, and you ask tentatively, “Can I have only half a pint?”

Fuck, your mouth is so dry.

Behind you, to your right, you feel more than you hear the man shift in his chair.

Mark sighs, his left hand paused on the tap handle. 

“I don’t have beer glasses this small, sweetheart. Get a pint, the first one’s on me, okay?”

You reiterate your silent nod. He places the beer in front of you, and you swallow the first swigs too quickly. The back of your throat throbs with the fast flowing intake of the cold liquid, or perhaps it’s because of the frantic beating of your heart.

He’s getting up now, you can tell by the friction sound of the chair dragging on the carpeted floor, and your frightened expression turns downright pleading as you hear him close the distance between you.  

He’s at your back, sliding his thick naked arm past yours to return his empty glass to the counter. His movements are slow, deliberate. You get a whiff of his scent, a masculine musk, with a faint smell of laundry detergent, it’s wholesome, safety, comfort. You turn your head. He’s looking at you. Looking at you with intent.

He’s so tall you have to lift your chin to hold his gaze. Hard cold stare, soft sad eyes, it’s swirling violently inside your exhausted chest and he’s leaving again already, walking toward the door like nothing just happened.

He pulls it inward and you watch him exit the bar into the dusk light.

Did he come back for you? Are you going insane? 

Sixty-seven seconds. Sixty-seven seconds is the time it takes you to decide your next move. The one that’s going to forever change your life. The one that could be everything or turn out meaningless. 

“I’ll be right back,” you tell Mark, sliding your handbag on the counter and you stand up to follow him outside.

The sunset sky is a pink shade of orange. Shadows are stretching long onto the asphalt, drawing a distorted world upside-down. 

He’s not here anymore, you waited too fucking long. You quickly scan the parked vehicles on the other side of the road to your right, and the parking lot in front of you, but it’s empty, save for your anthracite sedan, a black truck and what you assume must be Mark’s old SUV, because you see it every week. 

“Fuck,” you breathe out, pressing your fingers to your sternum. 

You look to your left, where the parking ends. There’s a white utility vehicle advertising a plumbing service and a dark blue city car. Beyond them, the lot extends into a narrow stretch of gravel behind the small rectangular building. There’s a pile of junk, and the tailgate of a red truck.

Your hand drops to your side and you start walking toward it, going around the white van. 

He’s there. He’s waiting for you by the front of the red truck, behind the building. His hands propped on his waist, head down, hidden under his cap. 

You keep walking toward him, the sound of your shoes on the dirty ground grating your ears, but you stop short when he raises his head, fuck he looks even taller at this distance, with his elbows spread.

It’s like he senses your apprehension, or perhaps he shares it, because he folds his arms over his chest, hugging himself. 

For the very first time, you can fully make out his face. Strong features, a strong curvy nose, a patchy beard peppering a sharp jaw, and plush lips. Your gaze follows the solid column of his neck down to his suprasternal point peeking above the V-collar of his worn-out t-shirt, before it’s drawn back to his eyes.

He stands there perfectly still for you to detail.

Above you, the sky has turned a rusty blue. The humidity is stifling. It’s Friday the 30th, 2019, 8.17pm.

“What do you want?”

His voice is deep, and low, barely louder than a murmur yet intense, his words full and round. 

The question, however legitimate, hits you square in the solar plexus, right under your aching sternum. You fear that if you don’t speak fast enough, he’ll leave you again, alone with the memory of his soft sad eyes and his hard cold stare. 

“I don’t know,” you whisper, and god, if it’s true, what are you doing here? 

He huffs, and it’s the very sound of disillusion. His eyes grow dimmer, you think you’re not the one darkening them. Unfolding his arms, he removes his hat and takes a step closer, then another. You could touch him, if you reached out with your arm stretched. 

He looks at you like he’s already seen how your story ends. 

You could back away. You don’t. 

He moves slowly, thick body thrumming with undiluted strength and unreleased tension, eyes searching yours, giving you the time to leave, should leaving be what you choose, should you turn around and run before the hanging threat breaks like dark stormy clouds and drench you soaked. 

He slowly moves forward until he’s towering over you, until his chest touches your breasts, until the pilled cotton of his t-shirt catches at the satin material of your blouse. His scent floods your senses, he leans down into the curve of your neck and inhales you there, long, deep, unhurried. You hold your breath, still, in turn, for his exploration, nails digging into your palms, heart tripping.  

And then, he touches you. With his lips, a feather-like caress over the soft skin under your ear. Your eyes flutter shut, your thoughts are suspended.

“This what you want?” he murmurs.

His words sink under your skin, they harden your nipples, raise goosebumps on your nape in the muggy evening heat.  

“Yes.”

The cap falls onto the gravel. His hands go to your hips. Clutching you there with a rough grip and he’s tugging you closer, flush to his chest. He licks up a broad stripe along the line of your throat, pivots with you in his arms and backs you into the side of the truck, you have to grab his forearms to keep your balance. 

A guttural sound catches in his throat, like a grunt he tries to hold back, for your touch, for the taste of your skin, for your pliant docility.

Your head rolls back, you’ve gone weeks without a skin on skin contact, and now this man is hunched over you, his body swallowing yours, this stranger who’s infected your dreams with his cold hard stare and his soft sad eyes, his mouth roaming the expanse of your throat, short beard prickling your skin, and the shifting sensation inside your chest drops to your core where it catches fire.

His kisses are lips, teeth and tongue, rough and scraping at you raw in all the right ways, they trail up along your neck, under your jaw, and when they find your lips, he presses you harder into him. He tastes like beer, unfamiliar, you want to get used to it. 

The seams of your blouse strain when he pulls it out of your skirt with an impatient tug. His hands slither under the hem and find the naked skin of your back. His palms are strong, rugged and scalding and his fingertips calloused, they make your skin sizzle underneath their pressing, crackle like snapping wood, like fireworks at a summer county fair, like sweet candy wrapping. 

You're leaking hot and sticky between your hips, responding with your entire body, opening up for him, letting his tongue in past your lips with pathetic grateful little moans, winding your arms around his shoulders, over the cording muscles of his back, musky sweat dampening his t-shirt. The thick, solid shape of him, that got etched behind your eyelids.

You’re a want and a need and an empty flutter, entangled with him, whoever he may be, his tongue swirling inside your mouth, the scrape of his teeth on your lower lip, his splayed hands covering your back, his knee spreading your legs open. 

He’s voracious, harsh in his own need, snatching from you what you’re already willing to give, angling your head with a sharp pull on your hair to deepen his kiss, grunting his approval when you moan at the sting. 

Arousal keeps dripping down your fold where his thigh prods firm and brawny against the black material of your skirt that hinders the pressure. 

He growls, frustration rumbling low and menacing inside his throat. He grabs your ass and squeezes, thick middle finger pushing against the fabric of your clothes into the cleft between your cheeks and you jolt, leaping forward further into him. His belt buckle bites into the soft flesh of your belly, right where you're burning empty and wanting and shameless for him. You feel him hot and hard against your hip, and he tightens his hold, cages you within him. 

He’s big all over, larger than life proportions, you surrender to the fact with your lust-drunk mind, from the height of his frame to the girth of his sex, from his grip on your senses to the sorrow in his eyes. 

It blooms inside you like pain, blossoms of mahogany red spreading along your limbs in relentless waves, the power he already wields over you and you don’t even know his name.  

You buck between his arms, a first and very last attempt at freeing yourself, unconvincing with the scrap of your fingernails along the pebbled skin of his neck, and you press back into him again, squirming against his throbbing length, offering him some friction.  

He pulls out all of sudden, breaking the kiss, and you're left panting, ankles swaying, you’d drop to the gravel without the support of the truck, still sun-warm in the early evening, yet colder than his feverish body. 

He shakes his head with a silent no, his shoulders heaving, a wordless warning hissed through his clenched bared teeth. The simmering anger under the surface only makes you want him more, the unyielding restraint shining dark in his eyes.  

But it’s over. You know it. He gave you this, and took it back. With shaky hands, you smooth down the wrinkles of your blouse where he’s bunched it in his fists. You lick his taste off your trembling lip. You will not cry. 

He shakes his head again, you watch him through welling tears, confused, eyes flickering between his. 

Behind him, the city car’s engine revs up to a start, aggressive headlights backlighting him. His throat bobs up and down in chiaroscuro as he swallows hard. You know what you must look like in the crude white light. Supplicant, dependent, awaiting. Disheveled by his hand. Tires grate on the gravel as the car reverses away from you into the night, and with it the headlights, leaving you standing in the brown city night, urban semi darkness, and you see him shut his eyes. 

He smiles, a puzzling, sorrowful lift of his plush lips, and a new sort of ache washes over you. You raise forward on your tiptoes to peck a soft kiss at the corner of his mouth. His entire frame quivers for you. A muscle clenches in his jaw, the deepening crease in his brow redefines his traits in shadows. 

He leans into you, like he wants you but he doesn’t want to want you, like he’s giving in but not entirely, because giving in would be the end of him, of you.

The flat of his palm to the swell of your breast, and he kneads your soft flesh, slowly at first, growing urgent. The back of your head hits the truck’s window when he pinches your nipple, hard, with two fingers, and you bite down a moan. 

He’s engulfing you again, lips latched around your other nipple, tongue swirling and licking through your blouse and your thin bra and you hold on to him, you cling to his frame when he bunches up your skirt around your waist, leather boot nudging your foot to the side, cock throbbing on your hip, slick dripping down your walls. 

“Stop me,” his mouth brushes the shell of your ear. It’s not a dare, it’s not a plea, it’s your last chance to back down before the free fall. 

Your pulse stutters, you arch into him without hesitation, but he pins you back against the truck with his chest, cupping you through your underwear and he curses into your neck at the sticky leaking mess he finds there.

Your naked leg hitches up rigid and tense against his leg, curled fingers, curled toes, and he hooks his index into the cotton of your panties. 

A brief stroke of his knuckles into the soft, smooth dip between your sex and your inner thigh, unexpectedly tender, before he parts your soaked lips with his two middle fingers, coating them in your sticky slick desire, and he sinks them inside your empty cunt. 

You crumble around the intrusion, forehead hitting his collarbone, slack-mouthed, a short exhale of a silent “oh.” He brings his left hand to the crown of your head and cradles you there, while his fingers pump in and out of your heat fast and rough. His thumb glides through your folds and starts rubbing at your clit, deft and precise, and you shudder between his arms, you slump into his hold. 

He keeps stroking your hair, gentle soothing sounds murmured into your ear as he fucks you raw with his hand, attuned to your moans and your every reaction, gauging what you can take before his fingers curl deeper inside your cunt, merciless, thumb pressing tight circles on your bud at an increasing pace.  

Your breathing comes in ragged and short while his intensifies. It’s pouring into your ear hot and overwhelming and you’re dissolving. Sweat beading at your temples, heat raising from his exerted muscles. 

You focus on the sensation of his flexing muscles under your clawing hands to stave off your building orgasm, it’s growing bright and blinding, searing and violent but it’s inevitable, and soon, too soon, your release flows hot and sticky into his hand. Your whines resound inside his chest but he keeps going, low husks of shhh, come on now, that’s it, until your trapped body trashes with the overstimulation.  

It’s like he can’t let go, pressing his nose heavily to the side of your face, and you struggle to resurface, blood thrumming in your veins, his angry cock pulsating against your hip. 

You let out a dry sob when he slides out of you and the rubber band of your panties slaps your sensitive skin. You don’t miss the flat drag of his tongue licking your taste off his palm, you furrow your fingers deeper into his arm with a short clench of your eyes. 

“Fuck,” your hear him quietly groan, and his fingers disappear into his mouth. 

You want to stay tucked up against him, curled up into his hold. You could live the rest of your life there, you think, between his hands and his scent, between his chest and his truck. 

You lock your ankles and your knees, hoping they will not fail you and you stand, pushing away from him and into the side of the truck. You readjust your skirt, slide it down, palm it smooth. Brush the damp hair from your forehead with the back of your trembling hand.

In your peripheral, he’s leaning down, picking up his hat from the ground and combing his fingers through his hair before he sets the cap back on his head.

You look up dazed and heavy-lidded and you brace yourself before meeting his gaze, cold hard stare, soft sad eyes, and he says,

“I’m Frankie.”

****

Bonus (having déjà vu? that's normal 😝 Gonna use this gif at the end of every first chapter I manage to yank out of my crazy in love brain):

Taglist (thank you 🧡 if you don't wish to be tagged anymore, just drop me a DM 🧡): @elegantduckturtle @mashomasho @lola766 @nicolethered @littleone65 @the-rambling-nerd @saintbedelia @pedrostories @trickstersp8 @deadmantis @hbc8 @princessdjarin @harriedandharassed @girlofchaos @gracie7209 @mrsparknuts @mylostloversbookmarks @its-nebuleuse @flowersandpotplantsandsunshine @all-the-way-down-here

[xuhuihuis]

Inked Up | Mark Lee

warnings: sub!reader, dom!mark, tattooartist!reader, sex in the studio, sucking him off, coming on your face, pet names

“Appointment for Lee?”

You shouted into the waiting room waiting for your next client and then saw a man get up from the couch at the window and greet you with a smile. He was rather tall, dressed in a black tank top that clung to his muscles showing how they flex with his every move. You couldn’t help yourself but look at how he was covered in hours worth of art from other artists getting lost in the bright colours and line work. 

He greeted you with a bright smile which made your heart flirt but no moves could be made on one another as that was the unprofessional thing to do…

“Can I ask your name?”

“Oh yeah! Sorry, it’s Mark by the way!”

Fuck his smile was beautiful seeing the way his eyes glimmered under his glasses. He may look intimidating but he was a nice person under all the ink covering his body. Walking up to your station in the corner of the open plan room behind the screen that was moved earlier in order to give you both privacy for today's tattoo.

Mark couldn’t hide the fact he was very nervous for the session ahead of him and the fact he has to be rock hard for this tattoo. Taking Viagra before he left his apartment and now his cock is sensitive but nothing was helping him, especially his jeans. Mark felt so restricted, so exposed, so vulnerable to the outside world or anyone watching him. The man mentally slapped himself when he saw how beautiful you are in person now you were going to be face to face with his raging thick cock. Sighing before getting onto the bed while you finish setting up next to him looking at the wall art on the four walls as a distraction before it was time…

“Can you take your pants and underwear off for me?”

He got up from the bed and turned his back to you before taking off his pants finally being fully exposed to you, there was no more hiding. Mark’s hands were shaking from anticipation sliding out of his jeans and underwear feeling like all eyes were on him but it was just you and him and one artist behind the screen at the other side of the room. He got back up on the bed and did his best to hide his raging boner from you. The sight of you with your hair up out of the way and glasses on him caused him to whine in frustration wanting this to end when the tattoo hasn’t even started. 

The man hissed as the cold from the stencil creme shot through his body tensing all of his muscles in shock. Mark couldn’t make eye contact with you from this point forward, it was his own fault booking an artist as beautiful as you rather than his normal artist as it would ‘make things awkward between them’. Your gentle touch on his cock drove him crazy leaving him aching for more letting his mind wander what you would look like with your lips wrapped around his fat tip licking up his pre cum. Once the stencil was on and ready to go Mark let out a sigh of relief.

“Just tell me if you need anything, ok?”

The man agreed with you instantly as you turned on the machine and started the painful process of tattooing his beautiful cock. You couldn’t deny he did have the perfect cock from the way it curved to the veins, it made you flustered as you were inches from it dreaming of how it is to have his cock rested on your tongue. Itching for just one lick…

Just one…

So far the session was going well, small talk was exchanged between you both and Mark held onto the arms of the chair when the pain was getting too much for him. He may be covered in tattoos but nothing compares to the suffering getting the most sensitive area tattooed. The sweat started dripping down his body from how anxious he was and it raised concern in you letting him take a break and get sugar back into his body. The TV above you both was playing a random show which Mark tried to keep his focus on the whole time and not look at you. 

The image of you being so close to his cock was never going to leave his mind and he just met you, the first tattoo ever with you and now he has to run away because he can’t keep his hormones under control making him feel like a teenage boy once again. 

Mark sat back on the bed ready to get started again but his cock has gone soft leaving him more embarrassed than he has ever been in front of someone. The blush covered his cheeks leaving him nowhere to hide from anyone that could see him in this vulnerable state. Your thoughts were running a hundred miles an hour at this point thinking if you should take the opportunity or not. The studio was now empty which was helping you make your decision swaying you towards the more risque option you had in mind. 

“Let me help you Mark…”

You cringed as you said the words out loud as you waited on some sort of reaction from him. He was stuttering over his words trying to string a sentence together but by the time he could say anything you were on your knees in front of him looking up into his eyes. Mark leaned down rubbing his thumb over the apple of your cheek before giving you the go ahead. 

“You know what to do angel”

Those were the last words he muttered down to you as he leaned onto his elbows watching how you choke on him. You took one long deep breath before letting your lips around the head of his thick cock tasting the bitter pre cum. His moans were beautiful filling up the empty room as your gloved hands wrapped around his length. Everything about the sight above you, one of the most attractive guys that has walked through the door of the shop now has his cock in your mouth moaning for you and only you. 

“Baby you are too good for me…”

The name sounded perfect as it rolled off his tongue perfectly, having its effect on you making your thighs rub together as you search for a way to get off while pleasing Mark. His glasses now sitting on the floor after they fell off he couldn’t care less about his glasses he just wants to spill his seed over your face. 

It didn’t take long for Mark to come to the much needed high he has been needing since he left his apartment this morning. Drool was running from the corners of your mouth and down your chin making it much more sloppy which Mark was loving. His eyes were rolled back into his head due to the intense pleasure he was feeling losing all sensation in his lower body. 

“I’m going to cum!”

That’s all it took for you to let him fall out of your mouth before jerking him off waiting for him to paint your face white. Closing your eyes waiting on it and moments later feeling the warm sticky load fall onto your cheek letting him empty himself onto your face ruining your makeup but you couldn’t care less. Rope after rope of warm thick cum covered your perfect face now you were claimed by Mark…

“Pretty girl just for me huh?”

@markleelately hope you enjoyed 🤭

[writinginthetwilight]

Knock, knock.

Series Warnings: 18+ for smut in later parts if you are under 18 you do not belong here, be gone. AFAB!reader. Angst. Fluff. Strong language. Bittersweet ending. Eddie and reader are in their late 20's. Soul mates au sort of? Parallel universes. Horror-esk/creepy vibes.. Hopefully. Flowery prose. Relationship breakdowns. Shitty relationships. I'll add as I go on.

Authors note. This whole fic idea has me in a choke hold and came from prompt 6 of the stranger prompts by @bettyfrommars @allthingsjoeq and @somnambulic-thing. I hope I do the idea in my head justice and you all enjoy. Love you bye.

6. You move into a new apartment and soon discover that you share a wall with a very noisy neighbor. Loud laughter, talking, and music are a constant companion. When you decide to go over and knock on their door to confront them in person, you find that the apartment is unoccupied and has been for months.

please reblog, comment and tell me what you think.

Masterlist

Part 1 - Boundary lines carved from paint, plaster and sleep.

You can tell the moment you see it that the apartment wasn't meant to be there.

The front door sticks like it's a size too big for its frame, dark wood groaning as you lean your weight against it like it knows. Knows it's too far to the left and opens the wrong way. You stumble through when it finally relents, the doorknob slamming harshly into the drywall, fitting into a groove which has been left from years of protest.

The smell hits you first, stale but that was to be expected of somewhere advertised as ‘long term vacant’. Letting out your own low groan you stretch your arms above you, pausing as you take in your surroundings.

This wasn't advertised.

Your eyes trail to the far right of the door where a scar runs up the wall, it stretches the entire length of the ceiling and down alongside the adjacent window, effectively splitting the room by a third.

Its ridges and fissures catch the soft mid-morning light as you go to stand beneath it, flaking plaster and paint suggesting there was an attempt to cover it at some point. With some more care it could have been smoothed over, but that love and attention has obviously been thought best used somewhere else.

Relatable.

The flattering angles of the pictures online hadn't shown it, nor did they show the awkward corners and odd proportions that make up the right side of the apartment, the wall pinching in and curving out, in obvious accommodation for whatever lies on the other side.

Within that third boundary, the small kitchenette sits, hacked and patched to fit the uneven space.

Your fingers run over the filled in holes that need sanding and trace the edge of a socket that's been given up on.

You add the jobs to your mental checklist and choose to ignore the way the thick dust that blankets the worktop smudges against your clothes as you lean over it, peering through a window half obscured by an overhead cabinet.

The streets below are warped by sepia coloured smudges on the panes and it distorts your reflection, twisting it like there's movement from behind you.

It makes you turn, your attention brought to the other side of the room where there are no scars, walls smooth besides the mark from the door, and you deduce that the bulk of the apartment must have come from that side.

The dated green carpet has long lost its pile, leaving no give beneath your feet as you pad over to the only other doorway.

Dust swirls in slivers of light as you open it, dancing in the perfectly square room, it's small but not claustrophobic and you can picture what it will look like decorated and filled with your belongings. You're about to write it off as un-noteworthy but then there's the ensuite.

The door’s too close to the wall again and instead of straight ahead, the room stretches to the right.

The full length of the bedroom.

It's so long you could lay down arms stretched overhead without touching either end, but so narrow that your thighs will brush the side of the tub when you sit on the toilet.

It's dark, no windows or frills, just the necessary amenities to mean it's functional. It seems to look back at you as you stand at its threshold and you frown closing the door immediately on the weird space.

Making your way back out, chewing the inside of your cheek you take everything in again.

It's not what you expected but, besides the bathroom feeling like a tomb, it's not too small or too unclean, no damp or mould just dust and discoloured walls that come with anywhere unoccupied after a certain amount of time.

The more you stand and look around the more you find a charm in the way it's misshapen, like it refuses to belong, and now it's yours.

Just yours.

You can hear footsteps and murmurs from above and around you, as parallel lives go on oblivious to your own.

A giddy flutter runs through you and so you begin.

Maybe it could have been more, but in the moment nothing seemed like it was worth the argument.

It takes the rest of the morning for you to haul everything up to the third floor from the back of your rental car. You try not to concentrate too hard on the fact that all your worldly possessions, once everything was said and done, didn't amount to a lot.

After all it was you who was leaving.

It took 12 trips up in the rickety elevator with curious faces sending you tight lipped smiles as you squeezed yourself in next to them. Most then averted their gaze as you bitched at your door, unmarked boxes rattling in burning sweat-slick hands as you finally fell through.

The self pitying thoughts of the fact you were doing this alone are kept at bay for the most part, mind kept busy by cleaning away the neglect of time and filling in paperwork.

But as the daylight fades, making way for unfamiliar shadows to crawl around you it gets harder.

Sat in the window, cast in orange light from the solitary lamp you own, eating Chinese takeout from a place down the block that you'd spotted on your way in, you try not to notice how the noises from the neighbours seem to echo louder than they should in the empty room.

You'd unpack tomorrow, the bigger items set to arrive which would stop the noise ricocheting so clearly. The new job would also give you enough money to make it feel like home, in time. The rent was a steal relatively speaking and it's close enough to your office that there's no real commute, this was good.

You wake with a start, a noise from the waking world pulling you from a dream that you already can't remember. The dark that surrounds you distorts and pixelates as your eyes adjust and there's a moment where adrenaline rushes you again when you can't quite work out where you are.

This was the right choice.

Then you remember.

The bare mattress is scratchy beneath your skin and the space around you feels vast even though you've downsized from the one you used to share, a lump in your throat forms at how cold the sheets feel while you reach out blindly looking for your phone but you swallow it with a frown.

Like he ever comforted you when you woke from a nightmare anyways.

Wincing at the brightness you see it's 3:00am, a multitude of WhatsApp messages lined up from various people you don't want to speak to, just checking in, sending well wishes. Cursing you out.

The default wallpaper, sits in place of where your smiling faces used to be, indescript waves of colour that shift on a set loop.

A clatter comes from the other side of the wall behind you followed by a loud curse and it breaks your vacant stare at the screen.

The room feels even darker than before as you throw your phone back onto the bed. With body and mind exhausted, oblivion takes you again quickly, unconscious mind closed off to the sound of something falling again which now echoes outside your bedroom door.

Next.

[yaekiss]

on this sinful sunday, i’m having very holy thoughts of either branding or carving my name onto childe’s skin— maybe that tummy he’s so insistent on not covering up, maybe a nice little tramp stamp. i know he’s making sure it scars, picking at the scabs and whining for you to redo them if they dare to fade away— he belongs to you!

꩜ Room Content: Dom! GN! Top! Reader x Sub! Bottom! Yan! Tartaglia, reader's dick can also be read as strap, gore + eroguro, knifeplay + blood, masochist Tartaglia, spanking (just once, on Tartaglia), terrible wound care by Tartaglia please don't follow his actions, lmk if I missed out anything ! ꩜ A/N: Happy Whore Wednesday pulpie! Or uhhh, it was Wednesday when I started writing this. Got a lil carried away hehe :3 Happy Thotaglia Thursday! Slut on! (With you, Childe feels like every day is Thotaglia Thursday)

Anyways. Childe thinks of you as pure divinity, the holiest of beings, and he’s eager to worship all of you and bear everything that you’re willing to bless him with. Who is he to say no to the pain you inflict on him too?

This time, he’s cockwarming you, the heat and desire he feels is dizzying. You’re inside him and just the sensation of you filling him up perfectly has left him giddy with lust. His face is smushed into the mattress with his azure eyes already rolled into their sockets. Prior to this, he pressed a lavishly decorated dagger into your palm with a fervent sort of urgency, begging for you to mark him up however you like. You try to think back on what could’ve spurred this on. Was it that merchant trying to chat you up at the market the other day? Or perhaps it’s just a sick kind of longing that hangs around the ginger no matter how much time you spend together? One thing remains clear, at its core, Childe wants to be utterly and irrefutably yours.

Taking up the dagger, you admire the inlaid gemstones glinting in the lighting of the room, their colours matching the exact shade of your eyes and you’re sure that this must have cost an arm and a leg. Tracing the cold metal down the ridge of his spine, you feel him shudder, your ears picking up a soft keening whine. You start off slow, the tip of the blade breaking past skin and revealing glorious liquid crimson. Childe sucks in a breath at the delirious buzz of pain and pleasure that he’s subjected to at your hands. 

“Nghh… please I wanttt-! to be yours!” Greedy as always.

You take your time carving out your name into his flesh, revelling in just how many moans and whines you can wring out from the harbinger. Despite how muddled his senses are, he’s acutely aware of each and every searing twist and pull of the knife. Some of the warm blood trickles and drips down to where the two of you are connected and the sensation has him losing the ability to speak, brain reeling at how disgustingly intimate this whole act is. However, over time, Childe gets squirmy and twitchy with how pent-up he’s getting, the arousal in him pooling and heightening. That simply won’t do. Good boys need to stay in line while their lover is being so so so nice to them after all. With a pointed “tsk”, you land a hard smack on his ass as a warning. He yelps loudly at the impact but he gets the message, obediently staying still as you finish carving the tramp stamp. 

When you’re finally done, you pull out of him, the lack of your cock filling him up has Childe whining again but it snaps him out of his reverie. You reach over to grab a mirror and angle it so that he can see (read: marvel at) your handiwork. His eyes glint as he catches sight of the fresh cuts, the wound spelling out your name and the fact that you’ve claimed him as your devoted believer. However, he doesn’t let you go further than cleaning and disinfecting the wound site. (Secretly, he hopes that it leaves a permanent scar, an eternal pure white etched into his skin to show that he belongs to you without question.)

Throughout the whole healing process, he picks away at the scabs that try to cover the wound, opening it back up again so that your name is written in a carnal raw red. Whenever he stares at it in the bathroom mirror for too long and thinks that a certain part of it is fading away too fast without leaving a mark, he rushes to you, whining and begging for you to redo it with a frenzied tone in his voice. 

He wishes you’ll dig even deeper, maybe even push your fingers into his flesh until he’s screaming and clenching down on your cock, use his blood as lube as you fuck up into him relentlessly. The thoughts keep coming and you can’t go a full week without Childe pleading for you to lay your claim on him.

Maybe next time he’ll convince you to leave your mark on his abdomen so that everyone can see who he belongs to.

Thanks for reading! Consider supporting me on kofi if you enjoyed this or check out my other works hehe ♡

[shibaraki]

QUEST FOR YOUR HEART ┊ SHIGARAKI TOMURA

tags: GN reader, established relationship, fluffy fluff, gaming together, animal crossing!!!, cute aggression

wc: 1K+

A gentle whirring fills the room. The fan turns on its neck, blowing a soft breeze across the room, lit up mostly by the LED lights hung across the walls. You shy away from the chill by burrowing into Tomura’s hoodie, intentionally oversized and lined with fleece.

Your boyfriend is a warm, grounding weight at your back. You’re laid together on his bed, atop blankets and covers left unmade, consoles in hand. A quiet melodic tune carries through the speakers. Tomura turns to shape himself around your frame. You smile as he nuzzles the nape of your neck, lips brushing the skin there.

His words are muffled. Repeated, still unheard when he refuses to move even an inch. “Come to my island,” he mutters.

You make a soft, curious sound, too fixated on the mindless action of your little character digging hole after hole, planting new seedlings for your villagers. Frustrated, Tomura exhales out of his nose, and the short breath makes you shiver.

He tilts his head, “I said come to my island”.

“Oh,” you mumble, blinking into focus, “Okay baby”. The buttons click as your thumbs move, guiding your character towards the airport. “Are your gates already open?”

Tomura grunts an affirmative. You let your eyes flutter closed to the idle brush of his nose along the curve of your throat while the loading screen runs. When he moves away, presumably returning to his own device, you open them again. Your character ambles out into the airport, greeted by the dodo working the gates.

Tomura’s character waits outside. Their look is somewhat inspired by himself. Messy silvery blue hair, dark tattered clothes. A black mask covers the lower part of their face. You smile at the white bunny ears that sit on his head at your request. Cute.

You flick the right stick and begin to run circles around him excitedly, to which he hits you with his butterfly net. “Stop bein’ dumb and follow me,” Tomura mutters without malice, working his ankle between your legs beneath the covers. You hum and trail after him.

The island is… pristine. Not at all the way you remember it. Skilfully terraformed to resemble a Super Mario level, custom patterns and themed items laid across the land. Everything had been intentionally placed. His villagers were navigating the space happily—though he still stops to smack them all, and they spin in place, stunned.

You’re amazed. He’d only started playing alongside you a week ago after finally giving in to your pleas. Watching him play was nice and all, but you wanted something to share together. He protested that animal crossing was pointless, boring and a waste of precious time that could be otherwise spent farming. But while he might not admit it, Tomura is weak for you. A little besotted by you. A few days of whining could go a long way.

Though you can’t help feeling a twinge of petty regret. A pout pulls at your lips when you see the lily of the valley flower standing proud by the fenced entrance to the beach. You’d known he was good at video games but you hadn’t expected him to reach five stars this fast.

Just ahead, Tomura’s character skids to a stop and turns back. A musical note rings through the speakers as a blue question mark appears above their head. Tomura shifts behind you and curls in between your shoulder blades, insistently nudging his cheek to your spine.

“Hey,” his voice comes after a pregnant pause, gravely and hesitant. “You fall asleep or something?”

“No,” you mumble, tucking your face into his pillow. The mattress dips as he braces on his elbow to lean over you, crowding into your space, wrapping an arm around your waist to keep you from squirming away. “Tomu—!” crimson eyes squint against his crooked grin, colour rising to his skin. He dips, snaggy teeth sinking around the swell of your cheek.

The light indentations left behind are soothed by the shameless swipe of his tongue. “Gross,” you grimace, only to be licked again. He sneers.

“I’ll lick you when I want,” he says. And then continues with some pride, “You’re sulking about my island”.

“Am not”.

“Are too,” Tomura’s forefinger pokes at your soft waist. In the dim light you can still see his pinky half raised. “Idiot. Why’d you ask me to play if you were gonna get mad at me for being better?”

“You’re not better you just time jumped,” you argue reflexively, overcome by the urge to hide in his hoodie. The upbeat tune pouring from the island softens as day turns to night and you sigh. “I’m not actually mad, baby. I don’t know. It’s just…”

Tomura hums. You suppose he would understand your incomprehensible pettiness more than anyone. Warmth encompasses your body once again as he slips his arm beneath your head, tucking his knees behind your legs, bringing his console around to hold it out above yours.

Tomura’s character slaps the floor with their net. “Come on,” he coaxes. You swallow, moving the sticks clumsily to amble after him. You’re taken along a stretch of beach. The horizon curves to reveal lines upon lines of items. Money bags and white gift boxes tied neatly with red ribbon.

“Who do you think I got so good for?” your fingers flex, startled by lips brushing the shell of your ear. He kisses you there, featherlight, enough that he could deny it. “Take all of it. Do multiple trips if you need to, I don’t care”.

“All this is for me?”

Louder, and directly into your ear, he groused, “Not gonna say it again”.

You dissolve into a fit of laughter, recoiling from his voice, game briefly forgotten. Tomura bites back a smile. He wraps his limbs around your body as though he were trying to consume you. Brings you into his chest and holds you there, locked in place, heartbeat reaching for you through his ribs.

After catching your breath, with a mouthful of his shirt you murmur, “Thanks baby”.

Above, Tomura kisses your crown and replies, “Whatever”.

[thatsatricky1]

𝐀𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐝 || ‘𝐃𝐨𝐯𝐞’ Chapter III

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Abandoned. After going through hell and back together, she was left there to fend for herself. Y/n felt as though they’d left her in the dust at the facility. A facility that had taken young gifted children raising them in secret. The eight of them had been taken as children and grown up together at the facility and just when it they had the chance of escaping they made one crucial mistake, leaving her behind in the dust. One big mistake they hadn’t forgiven themselves for, and she would make sure they’d never forget it.

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Nct Dream ot7 x Reader.

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: Angst, Fluff, Mystery, Psychological, Supernatural, Thriller, Trauma, Weird Humor.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Angst, Abandonment, Tension, Trauma, Verbal fighting

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5,2k+

𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫: This does not depict an accurate picture of Nct Dream and this is strictly fantasy/fiction for entertainment purposes.

It was like looking at a ghost from their past. Yet it wasn’t a ghost. Y/n was inside their apartment standing in front of them in the flesh. Her facial features the same besides a slight mature look to it.

Her once long natural coloured hair was now cut and dyded a mossy green. The opposite of what the facility allowed.

She also was no longer stuck wearing the facility uniform they’d all been forced to wear day in and day out. One that had no wrinkles or crinkles, always perfectly fitted to the person wearing it. The outfit she wore was foreign look to them on her since it was the first time they were seeing her in anything besides the uniform.

She wore a green tank top lined in white, an x white strap linking the bottom of it, paired with washed out grey blue ripped baggy jeans with white sneakers. Her midriff exposed something that wouldn't have been tolerated in the facility, but she was no longer there.

“Y/n. You…” Donghyuck being the first to speak yet he was at a loss for words. He’d been thinking of this moment since the day he’d left. The day he’d be able to speak to her again, yet all the words he’d thought over, couldn't, no wouldn’t escape his mouth.

“Nice to know you still remember my name.” Y/n hummed out disinterested, walking further into the living room but keeping her distance from the others who watched her closely, so close, thinking if they looked away she’d disappear.

“Oh by the way, you should really make sure to close your apartment door properly next time. You never know who could walk in.” She taunted lightly watching their reactions.

“You escaped.” Donghyuck finally forced words out of his mouth, a sharp inhale through the nose once her gaze landed slowly onto him. He’d hoped to see those warm inviting eyes once more but was met with a calculated stare instead. As if he was being perceived like a stranger, a danger.

“You mean the facility? Oh yeah, after the whole 31st of October thing I was on heavy lock down, around a year. First in isolation then in ward C. Even with the whole lock down thing I managed to get out after a year.” Y/n revealed her time back in the facility nonchalantly with a shrug, keeping her emotions in check.

“You were put in ward C?” Renjun asked, his face scrunching in worry at even the thought of her being located on that wing of the facility.

Wing C in the facility was the area with the strictest rules, punishments being thrown around for the slightest mistake and did not allow even an inch of freedom.

“That was the least of my worries.” Y/n managed to get out before looking off to the side to keep the memories at bay and away from her mind, trying to keep her body relaxed, composing herself.

“I escaped a year ago, been on the go since.” The boys shifted at her words knowing what that had felt like. It had taken them months of constantly moving to keep the facility off their back before they settled in Seoul.

“How did you-. How did you manage to escape?” Mark asked from where he sat, afraid to move and cause Y/n to retreat. As if dealing with a wounded animal.

“That’s a long winded answer that is none of your concern Mark. What’s with the matching outfits? Is it your guys thing? I mean back in the day we were practically forced to match.” Y/n sharply responded but diverted the conversation in favour of pointing out their accidental matching outfits.

Jisung shifted once again in his seat, swallowing even if his throat felt dry at the thought of the uniforms they’d worn back then. His mind reeling at remembering the feeling of the uniforms material that had hugged his body back then.

“Unintentional, we were in a rush after finding out our place had been broken into.” Mark replied truthfully, not entertaining her obvious jab at them. Knowing fully well the jab could have been a lot more pointed and harsh.

“Ah, I see. Sorry about the whole power box and lock thing. Well I guess the lobby too.” Her apology obviously held no true endearment.

“You did that?” Jaemin asked out, he knew it had been her but it also meant her abilities, the ones that were barely there when they’d left had most likely developed in their time away from her.

“Oh that’s nothing Jaemin, that’s just a sliver of what I’m capable of. Like I said beforehand I was in lock down, meaning I was being put to use every single moment that was deemed necessary.” Y/n answered yet her tone held no true emotion as if not needing them.

It was clear to everyone in the room the girl they’d left in the facility had changed. Developed. Most likely for the need to survive.

“You found us.” Chenle was the one to talk this time. Her gaze moved slowly away from Jaemin to land on him now, a tilt to her lips at his words.

“Of course, I’m surprised you’d choose to hide in plain sight. Somehow genius of you all but also quite stupid. Then again the facility doesn't know how you tick, how you all think.” She replied with her manicured fingers moving to tap at her temple in a motion to show how she’d found them. She’d remembered what they wanted, lusted to have once free.

“All that matters is that you got out, it’s all we wanted.” Donghyuck tried explaining how they all felt only to be met with a laugh from Y/n, who moved a hand to cover her mouth, the other holding her stomach as if she’d just heard the funniest joke come from his lips.

“I’m sorry I don’t think I heard you correctly. It’s all you wanted? If that were the case I would have been out of the facility more than a year.” Y/n glowered at Donghyuck who’s eyes widened at her behaviour.

“What? You expected me to go running into your arms Donghyuck, cry against your shoulder confessing how hard it was without you all? How much I missed you all?” Y/n berated them as she slowly moved forward until she was inches from him staring up at his face, close enough to count his familiar birthmarks. Making sure not to lose her temper like she had back at the lobby.

“I’m not here to rejoice with you about my freedom, I’m not here to rekindle our lost friendship, and I am certainly not here to join you in whatever fruitless effort you’re all making to live normal lives. There is nothing normal about us.” With each sentence she moved her hand closer until she dug her pointer finger against his chest, pressing into it.

Though her words were harsh, the feeling of her touch grounded him, having missed it. Swallowing down her words like it was sand, scratching its way down his throat.

“It was a hard decision to leave you there Y/n, but we couldn’t stay there.” Mark’s voice brought the two out of their stare down as her sharp gaze left Donghyuck in favor of burning through Mark’s.

“You think I wanted to stay there either? You know the fun part, I learned when you all left. The ironic part was that you’d left a minute before I got down to the entrance.” Y/n managed to hold back on snapping at Mark, in favor of revealing just how short their exit had been from her arrival.

Renjun held back a noise, guilt swirling through him at the realisation just how close they’d been to leaving with her. He’d been so focused on his pocket watch that day he hadn’t even thought for a moment to wait just one minute more. His flight had kicked in too fast.

The boys let the information sink in. The sick truth of just how close they’d been to seeing her that day, to leave with her. Mark letting his head drop slightly, hands squeezing shut at the fact he’d decided for the group to leave.

“It’s the past now Y/n, you have a whole new future ahead of you now. Here in Seoul… with us, like before but free.” Donghyuck snatched her attention again, his hand moving to wrap around her wrist gently where her perfectly manicured nail was still pressed against his chest. Warmth seeping through him at finally getting to touch her.

Though it didn’t last long as she tugged her hand away, his grasp slipped because of his gentle hold. Donghyuck holding back a wince at how she’d moved away as if his touch burned.

“Did you not understand my prior words? I’m not interested in rekindling whatever sort of friendship we once had, nor will I be here to play pretend on having some sort of normal life.” Y/n emphasizing her words to get it through Donghyuck’s head, who in turn shook his not wanting that.

“You can’t just drop our friendship Y/n not after all the years we spent together. You have a chance of a normal life now, please just try to understand that.” Donhyuck’s voice on the verge of sounding like a plea.

“Our friendship.” Y/n started to speak as she stepped back into his personal space “Was destroyed the day you left and didn’t look back, didn’t even try to come back for me.”

“I came here not to lead a life beside you all, I came back to get a look at the people I once trusted my life with, the ones who let my life crumble with one action.” Her words burned more than then if she’d used her ability to burn him where he stood, he would have preferred to get a third degree burn than hear her words.

“Please Y/n you have no idea about the regret and guilt we all feel. We know what we did was wrong. We always said it was us eight against the world until the very end, we meant that. Please stay.” Donghyuck begged, his lips quivering, eyes filled with unshed tears.

“If you truly felt guilty you would have come back for me. You didn’t. None of you did. And I naively waited day in and day out for that day to come. But if you really feel guilty I hope it festers in your souls ‘till you take your last breaths.”

“Y/n! Enough.” Mark protested at her choice of cruel words. This was not their Y/n.

Y/n stepped back from Donghyuck not bothering to pay Mark attention, there was a time she would have, she would have listened to him even if it meant diving off a cliff, but those times were long gone.

Donghyuck in a second of panic takes a step forward afraid she’d disappear once again. Y/n’s hand moved to push lightly against his chest, his hand trapping her wrist tighter than last time at her touch, yet she didn’t rip her hand away this time.

“I don’t ever want to see your faces again, my curiosity has been satisfied.” Y/n decided, Jeno standing up from the ground now in silent protest.

“You can’t leave.” Jaemin spoke from beside Jeno, still sat on the ground, eyes determined, entwined with his words.

“Quite hypocritical of you to say, is it not Jaemin? If I remember correctly you had no problem doing such a thing.” She bit back, yet her tone was neutral as if she’d come to terms with it a long time ago.

“Did you go to the beach?” The sudden question came out of nowhere causing Y/n’s composure to falter as she looked over at Jisung who stood up from the couch.

“Yes.” Her voice came out cautiously.

It was her second day of freedom from escaping the facility when she’d arrived at a random beach, something she’d longed for since the day she’d seen a video of one from the facility's old television. She remembered how the cold water felt brushing along her ankles, the smell of salt that later stung against her nose and the way the sand felt between her toes.

“Was it all you’d imagined it to be?” Jisung asked another question slowly walking over.

Y/n’s hard touch against Donghyuck’s chest softened as she thought about the beach, a look of longing crossing her face at the memory. Wishing she could experience the first time she’d gone to the beach again.

“And more.” She responded, her voice dropping to a whisper, a look of melancholy in her eyes.

“What was the best part?” Jisung continued his questioning as he gained pace nearly in front of her.

“Everything.” She breathed out, continuing “The wind pushing through my hair, the smell of salt, the sand that had been under my feet, the way the water flowed around me and the realisation I was no longer stuck.”

“How many times did you go?” Jisung pushed for further information gently, hand slowly rising to lightly brush against her elbow.

“Once.” Wrong question, unlucky for Jisung as it caused her to focus again as she stiffly continued “When you’re on the run you can’t afford to take the time for your wants just your needs.”

“You don’t have to run anymore, stay here, stay with us, with me.” He responded gently, his hand moved to hover over her waist but dared not to touch and intrude her personal space.

“You have no idea. The facility was up in chaos at losing all seven of you, yet with time you’ve become just a side mission to regain. But me? They’ll never stop looking. Escaping was freedom, but I’m never truly going to be free from them.” Her response hurt, it proved that she was still being searched for feverishly.

“We can still try.” Jisung rebutted, determined. Y/n letting a soft amused smile appear that didn’t quite reach her eyes as her free hand lifted to hover over his cheek. Jisung pushed his face against her palm, eyes fluttering shut finally feeling her familiar touch.

“I will try, but not with you all.” She answered bluntly, smiling, falling just like how her hand fell from Jisung’s face, his head tilting at the sudden disappearance of her soft hand.

“I want you all to feel it, what it feels like to have hope coursing through your veins only for it to be ripped out of your grasp and burned.” Her intentions were nothing but brutal yet justified.

Y/n moved her hand away from Donghyuck’s chest, his hand tugging at her wrist but she managed to break his grasp once again. Taking a step back.

“Don’t, Y/n. Don’t leave us.” Chenle who’d kept quiet this whole time spoke up, tears falling freely for anyone to see.

“It’s a little too late for me to leave you all, when your the ones who left me.”

With that she turned away from the seven men, intent on leaving with that but stilled open hearing the next words to come from behind her.

“I won’t let you leave like this.” His words sent an amused smile onto her lips, casting a glance over her shoulder.

“And how would you stop me? Your ability is useless in terms of trying to stop me from leaving, what are you going to do? Heal me?” Her words mocking Renjun who’d been the one to speak.

“Go back to watching your movie Renjun, go back to forgetting my existence that you all so easily were able to do the past two years.” Satisfied with her words she finally moved away from the living room. Renjun wondered how she had known the movie had been his choice, then again she seemed to always know those sorts of things even now.

The seven watched her fingers disappear down the hall, each wanting to follow after her yet it was as if they were glued to their spots, not able to chase after the one person they’d been so desperate to have back in their lives.

It was silent, Donghyuck and Jisung standing side by side while the others were still across the room. Everyone had to process what had just happened.

Jeno stood there, body stiff, muscles tensed as he watched her figure disappear, not being able to get a word out just like the crosswalk, it was happening all over again. Just as the last part of her turned the hallway corner his body snapped into motions running. His shoulder bumped into Jisung on his way, Donghyuck having to catch their younger off-balanced friend.

“Y/n!” Jeno yelled out in distress at losing her again, not knowing if he’d ever have the chance to see her again, to know she was okay, alive.

Rounding the corner still in a sprint only for the front door to click shut right in front of his face. Body slamming into the door messily having not slowed down.

Letting his head lean against the door for a split second, but this time he didn’t give in. He didn’t give up. Grabbing the door handle swinging it open almost violently, his eyes immediately found her figure walking down the apartment hallway.

Y/n leisurely clicked the button for the elevator, humming in satisfaction at the doors opening straight away for her, stepping in and clicking the ground floor without a second thought.

Her body leaned against the mirrored wall of the elevator as she watched the metal doors slowly close, just a gap left when two hands grabbed at the gap pushing against its weight. Body tensing as she figured out whose hands it was.

The elevator doors sensor automatically opens the metal doors revealing the person attempting to get in. Jeno.

“You can say you don’t want us, you can give up on us. But we aren’t giving up on you. I will forever regret leaving you that day, but that doesn’t mean I can’t try to make it up to you.” Jeno’s voice is full of determination, set in his ways.

“Either get into the elevator or leave, I have somewhere to be.” Y/n ignored his words, face hiding any emotion from his prying eyes.

Jeno’s jaw clenching at her unforgiving nature she’d developed. He knew he deserved it but he’d be stupid to let her walk away. To loss her a second and final time. Taking a second to breath he let his hands drop from the elevator doors to step inside.

Y/n tilting her head at his actions, watching him. Calculating his motives. He couldn’t help but let his mind wonder back to the days she looked at him with pure trust. Desperate for the day she’d look at him like that again, to see her eyes shine and twinkle.

“Where do you need to go? I’ll drive you there.” Jeno asked moving to stand next to her side by side.

Y/n holding back a laugh at this, moving her head slightly to be able to glance at Jeno who was already staring at her. She raised an eyebrow to show her amusement.

“You got your driver's license, how’s you manage that?” Y/n asked rhetorically not actually wanting to know.

“We went through a lot to get where we are, one of those things was driver's licenses. Though it took a while.” Jeno answered anyway before adding in “Where do you want me to drive you?”

“I don’t want you to drive me anywhere. You already know that.”

“And you know that I want to drive you to wherever you need to go, it’s safer than walking by yourself.” Jeno replied stubbornly.

“Don’t overstep Jeno, I will only warn you once.” Her response hurt but Jeno tried his best to ignore the pain in favour of watching her.

Their conversation had lasted the amount of time needed to get down to the ground floor, the elevator doors opening up at its slow leisure pace but Y/n had enough of a view to see what awaited them outside the elevator, a small tick of a smile on the corner of her lips.

Moving forward without a second though, Jeno having to process her actions seeing as the door hadn’t even fully opened. Y/n once the gap was open enough when through it and manicured gracefully through the small crowd that had formed to get into the elevator.

Jeno’s hand had flown upwards to grab at her, his fingertip brushing gently past her back, too far when she’d squeezed through the doors. Letting out a groan once the elevator doors opened fully, noticing the small crowd wondering what so many people were doing leaving work early on a Friday.

His body pushing forward moving through the crowd as his eyes scanned the apartment complex lobby managing to find Y/n by her green hair. Her head turned to send a smirk his way as she slipped out of the building.

Jeno pushed open the door five seconds later, the door not having closed properly as he’d caught up, hands flying to hold the back of his head as he realised she was nowhere in sight. Looking in all directions, sighing knowing fully well she was most likely watching him hidden away.

“I’ll find you, I’m going to prove to you that we need you, that you need us. Like it was supposed to be two years ago.” Jeno whispered to himself not wanting to draw attention to himself, anyone could be listening in.

Y/n knew it wasn’t a good idea to be in public, her emotions could snap at any moment. Abilities and high emotions never mixed well. It was the quickest way of losing control of her abilities yet her body moved as if on autopilot until she stood in front of a familiar store.

The Atiny Cafe.

Taking a deep breath in through her nose before releasing out her mouth slowly she regained her composure before grabbing the door handle and pushing her way inside, the bell ringing above her head just like the day before. Her gaze going upwards watching the vintage bell sway, distracted.

Yunho who’d been taking his apron off as his shift for the day ended looked up, a large puppy-like smile on his face noticing who’d shown up. Scrambling to tie his apron back around his waist.

“What are you doing? Weren’t you just telling me how glad you are that your shift is over?” San asked from where he leaned against the barista counter, the cherry red head wondering what had gotten into his friends head.

“What no I didn’t, go back in the break room and tie your apron properly, I’ll take one more customer.” Yuhno dismissed his friend and collegues words with a wave of his hand. Moving to check his hair in the window’s reflection before standing in front of the order counter.

San raised an eyebrow at his actions before looking over at the new customer who’d walked in before letting out a noise of realisation. He’d found out about the girl that had captured their second giant of their group's interest from Wooyoung.

“Oh the green haired chick is here that’s why.” He voiced out his thoughts causing him to earn a warning glare from his giant friends, causing San to hold his arms up in mock surrender before moving to go to the staff room.

“Hey Yuhno.” Her sudden sentence caused Yunho to nearly jump out of his skin, whipping his head around to face her having been distracted by San.

“You’re back! Uh, welcome back. What can I get you?” Yuhno’s smile turned soft, a warm and cozy atmosphere enveloping the two young adults.

“The same as yesterday but instead of the muffin, surprise me with something else.” Y/n replied relieved to finally get to think of something else today that didn’t include a certain seven guys.

“Sure, You can pay the same as yesterday.” Yunho replied as he started pressing her order into the system, taking her cash but before he could ask if she wanted the change back this time her manicured nail was already tapping on the tip jar.

“Right, I’ll bring it over when it’s ready.” Yunho explained like last time, having to hold back a fond look at her actions.

“Mm, does it include a chat again or is that an extra charge?” Y/n playfully asked, nails tapping against the counter absentmindedly.

“That’s free of charge, I’m feeling generous today.” Yuhno jokingly responded, finding it easy to be comfortable in her presence.

Y/n not replying this time instead she nodded, smile glued to her lips having not needed to force it this time as she turned to go to the booth she’d deemed to be her spot when visiting for the time being.

It hadn’t taken long for Yunho to go over to her table, placing her order down in front of her and slipping into the opposite side of the booth. Watching her take a sip of her drink first, finding it to be just as satisfying as the last time he’d watch her try his drinks.

“Can I know your name this time?” Yunho asked not even realising how bold his question had been until it had already slipped past his lips, ears reddening slightly.

Y/n sending him an amused smile past the rim of her cup. Setting it down she pondered over it allowing time to pass just to make him scrum a tiny bit.

“What’s your favourite type of bird?” Her out of place question caused Yunho to blink back at her.

“Pardon?”

“Your favourite bird. What is it?” She questioned again, her eyes shining, having fun.

“Doves, doves are my favourite type of bird.”

“What a surprising answer. You know doves stand for peace, love, new beginnings, fidelity, luck, prosperity and… freedom. It also is the bird that represents Aphrodite in Greek mythology or well in Roman mythology it’s Venus. There’s a lot more to them but I won’t ramble.” Y/n explained the meaning humans had put behind doves.

Yuhno listened, almost enamored by her words, her knowledge of the bird. Glad he’d chosen that one.

“How about this? You can call me dove, for now.” Y/n offered as she grabbed a cookie off her plate breaking it in half.

“Okay.” Yuhno nodded not minding the fact she had yet to give her name, the nickname was just as welcoming compared to not having anything to address her. But also because he couldn’t help but think the nickname suited her.

“Great, so Yuhno tell me how your shift went, maybe also why you are still working?” She asked while holding her hand out to give him one half of the cookie in her hand.

“Of course you noticed that.”

“I notice quite a lot of things, it’s just in my nature.”

Yunho moved to accept her offer, taking the piece of cookie while going into a terribly explained excuse of why he’d decided to work longer not wanting her to know it was because of her to begin with.

Y/n took her time walking back to her currently temporary residence. She’d decided to go to a hotel for once as she wasn’t going to be around for long. Hotels were more expensive and more likely to be looked into in their search for her. Usually she’d rent out a room somewhere for a while instead, but this time since it was a shorter time period than usual she’d decided against renting out a room.

Taking light steps towards the hotel she wasn’t as paranoid as she’d been attentive on her way there, not seeing anything suspicious in that time frame. Y/n made her way past the automatic doors into the lobby ignoring the plain and dull music they played over and over again.

Deciding to head straight to her room, taking the stairs instead of the elevator not wanting to be reminded of her latest conversation with a certain pink haired man. Getting to the fifth floor in no time and grabbing her key card from her jean pocket.

Getting inside, only letting her body relax properly when the door clicked shut, leaning against the door. She stared off into space in a daze replying the events that happened today.

It hadn’t gone like she wanted it to, she wasn’t exactly sure what she had wanted and would continue not to know. There had been so many things she’d wanted to say to each of them and all of them together but she couldn’t stand to be in the same room as them longer.

Y/n had to make peace with what she’d gotten in that little meeting they had instead, not wanting to do it ever again. Sliding down the door to give her legs a rest she wrapped her hands around herself as if to protect herself from the world, a habit she’d developed to make herself think she was safe.

With a groan, her head flew back gently knocking against the wooden door now very aware of the fact in her haste to leave the boys she’d forgotten her hoodie. Y/n had taken it off when she’d waited for them at their apartment having felt stuffy with it on. That hoodie was a good one too, oversized for fashion but mainly she’d bought it for comfort.

“I’ll get a new one some other time.” She muttered to herself, there was no point in crying about the hoodie she wouldn’t get back any time soon or ever.

Her eyes traveled over her hotel room, even though she had room service and cleaners the do not disturb sign was always placed on her door handle outside preferring to grab the food from outside the door and clean up after herself, untrusting of people being where she’d sleep. Making her bed was something burned into her mind since she was a child, it would feel wrong letting someone else do it anyway.

Her eyes stopped at the desk where a plastic bag sat, her lips twitched knowing what was inside it. She’d bought it after all. It was hair dye. A habit she’d developed as a way to continue moving by unnoticed, unfamiliar to those around her.

She’d already had the plastic bag sitting on the desk for two days now, having wanted to change her hair colour two weeks ago, not having gotten around to it. But this would be a welcoming distraction.

Later when the sky was dimming she stood in front of the desk hands untying the knot of the bag to pull out the dye. Scowling down at the colour choice now. A lot of bleach as she prior wanted to go for white, now her thoughts flew to a particular person who currently had said hair colour.

Shutting her eyes knowing fully well it would be a waste of time popping down to the convenient store at this time of night. She’d just go through with dying her hair white and lather on a different colour on top later on when there was time.

Not noticing the frost travel over her window as she walked past towards the bathroom to get started on doing her hair, knowing now was the time to do so as she would not be graced with sleep. All the while thinking of the seven people she didn’t want in her mind.

Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @rotinyzen @wonyoungmywife @snflwrhaerecs4u @thegreenlynx @serinebsblog @delululi @bubusebu @hanniehq @bunnychui @molensworld @morkiee

(If you want to be tagged in my Nct Dream writing comment, inbox or message me)

Thank you for reading I hope you enjoyed. Don’t forget likes, reblogs and comments are always encouraged and help keep writers like myself motivated to continue our stories.

𝐀𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭:

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[wannaeatramyeon]

Young!Samuel Seo with Young!Reader: Leave him be

G/N. Dinner Guest. Sorta expansion on Food.

Your mom and dad have forbidden you from wandering on your own.

It's too dangerous, you might get run over, you might get snatched. You're too young. When you're older. Blah blah blah.

Everything needs to wait until you're older. Ugh.

So how come he (and you stare accusingly at the oblivious kid) gets to wander around on his own? Entering your family's store without an adult. He even looks younger than you!

You scrunch up your face at the unfairness of it all.

.

.

Shaking, nervous fingers swipe a candy bar from a shelf before being hastily shoved into a pocket.

He glances around, peering left and right. Shifty and obvious as hell.

You open your mouth, about to yell, when you feel your father's firm grip on your arm. His lips, usually smiling and joyful, are pulled into a thin line. He shakes his head no.

"Leave him be," he murmurs.

The boy scurries out and you think life is more unfair than ever.

.

.

"Leave him be," is repeated at you each time as the adults hold you back.

What is it about the strange boy, with the unkempt hair and dirty shoes that lets him get away with so much?

The unkempt hair and dirty shoes-

And grubby oversized clothes. Same shorts and t-shirt everyday.

And coat worn thin at the elbows. Too thin for this weather, and you think about your own that your mom fusses over and wraps you in everyday.

And hands fisted by his stomach. Trying to mute his own hunger pang and rumbles.

And, today, a bruise and swelling on his right cheek. Finger prints marked into his wrist when he reaches out for the candy bar and his coat sleeve rides up.

Even as a child yourself, you finally get it - what the adults mean when they tell you to 'leave him be'.

.

.

He lingers.

Used to scurry away like an unwanted pest, not meeting your eyes on the way in or out.

Now the minutes stretch on. Elongates into double digits. Is it because the weather has turned bitter and harsh? Has your family convenience store, with tight aisles full of colourful snacks, food packaged in plastic and cartoon characters, now become a safe space?

You're playing by the back shelves, full of household odd items that never seem to shift and feel a pair of eyes watching you.

You turn and he's there. Staring.

"What are you doing?" The boy asks. It's the first time you've heard him speak.

"Playing," You shrug, and his eyebrows knit at the concept. "Wanna play? I can be the customer and you can be the owner."

He shuffles, shifts his weight from one foot to the other and back again, and you think he might bolt and that's the end of that. You'll never see him again.

But-

He looks at you with his big brown eyes, more calculating and shrewd than bears thinking about for a child his age, the bruise on his cheek now mottled green and purple and says-

"Ok."

.

.

It's a small and quiet 'ok' but he doesn't bolt. Your dad brings back drinks and snacks. All your favourites and more, and you think it's something to do with the presence of this boy-

"Samuel," he tells you, then eyes widening as if he let a secret slip.

"Y/N," you respond, not registering his reaction and only focusing on the game at hand.

"Y/N," he says quietly to himself. Trying out the sounds and syllables in his mouth.

You both play until the street lights flicker, turning on and covering the world in a warm orange hue.

"What time is it?" his head whips around nervously, reality crashing down on both your make-believe world.

"Six," your dad calls out, taking a break from stocking the ramen, "Did you want to stay for dinner?"

“Six!” Samuel exclaims, and you wonder if that is his curfew or something. Your eyes are drawn to his bruise again. "I have to go," 

He rushes towards the exit, nearly tripping over clumsy feet in his haste to leave. Trying to tug on his coat and button it, a small resistance against the unforgiving and cutting wind chill.

"Come play next time!" you shout at his retreating back.

Samuel's hand stills on the door. He turns, smiling, yearning and wistful before the cold, dark street claims him.

"Next time." 

[randomyuu]

A JJK GoYuu fancomic... of a fanfic (read right to left)

You know… despite me getting into JJK fandom this year, I’ve never drawn any JJK characters. (cue me drawing 9 whole-ass comic pages-)

This wonderful fic is titled (you'll whisper, serpent tongue) what you fear you have become by @voxofthevoid​. This comic covers chapter 1 scenes.

Beware of the tags, as the fanfic is NSFW. Oh, and also, manga spoilers! Major character and arc spoilers! I’ve read until chapter 4 and no NSFW so far, but still, beware!

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43446157/chapters/109219954

I hope you enjoy reading this comic and the fanfic if you decide to!

Update: Chapter 6 scene fanart

More of my random thoughts and an early drawing of GoYuu below:

Have I told you I’m not used to drawing manga as well? Manga panels are pain. PAIN, I tell you. I shouldn’t have done this, but I did. I did, because every time I read the synopsis of this fic I keep picturing manga-like scenes. You should blame me for reading those AllYuu doujinshis.

It was… interesting experience. I was struggling a bit with the balloon consistency, like, do I use white boxes or just italic words for thoughts? Or maybe a balloon with a cloud-like border?

And there’s GoYuu (YuuGo? Idk honestly, don’t care lol) themselves. As I said, I literally have never drawn JJK-related content before. So when I started thinking about the panelling, I realised that I don’t really know how to draw Gojo, even more a thousand-year-old Yuuji. A whole day is spent researching Gojo, Yuuji and Sukuna’s appearances lol. Sukuna’s markings are a problem since I can’t find a full view of his markings. I know I can just finally watch the anime (yes I haven’t watched the anime, only some short clips; yes I know the animation is good, and I really want to watch it but my brain doesn’t want to) or re-read the manga, but I don’t want to ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿

After going through Google images, Twitter and Reddit, I whipped up a front drawing of GoYuu as my reference:

Gojo’s is easier because he hasn’t changed from the official (I blatantly eyeballing the character sheet I found haha), but Yuuji is different. Yuuji’s hair is longer; if I recall, there’s no exact description of his clothes. I assume he’s topless due to this description: Messy pink hair, long enough to cover the creature’s nape but not to hide the segmented dark markings running down his back, shifts in the wind.

And halfway through storyboarding, I realised that I have no experience using screen tones. Whatsoever. So off I go searching for a screentone bundle I can freely download and slowly figure my way out after fully lining the page.

And we haven’t even touched perspective, background, achromatic colouring, non-human characters—man, I really bite more than I can chew lmaooo

Ah, the things you would do to satiate that drawing mood ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

Also, I hope I’ll have time to draw more fanarts of JJK GoYuu fanfics because they live rent-free in my brain and I need them to get out. Maybe other pairings as well? I like quite a lot of pairings that involve Yuuji. He’s precious, and I love having it shown to me over and over through fanfics.

[light-yaers]

tangerine. | part one [carmen berzatto x reader]

Fic Masterpost | AO3

Carmen shows up at your diner after five years, and everything comes flooding back like it was only yesterday.

Warnings: swearing, angst, mature themes [discussions about drugs, workplace abuse, family problems]

Word count: 5.2k

PART ONE

“What is the point of this entire trip if you’re not going to tell me the restaurants in advance?” Sydney whittled off, trying to keep up with the storming legs of her partner. “Carmen, are you even listening to me, right now?”

“Of course, I’m listening,” he said, peering back at her as his legs kept up their pace. 

He slalomed through people on the sidewalk of 8th Street and St. Marks Place, with Syd close on his tail. She didn’t know these streets like he did. His prior positions in the city were prestigious, ranging from sous chef roles all over the damn city, before he finally made chef de cuisine at Union Square Cafe. As the time had passed, understanding came with it, but she still wouldn’t ever wrap her head around him leaving NY for The Beef. 

She knew Michael meant a lot to him, to the family, but dropping it all for a sandwich shop in Chicago would always be something she’d secretly question. Syd tried not to think about it too much; the fear of him leaving, or bailing, and the like; because at the end of the day she’d bled herself dry for this.

A restaurant. A place. Somewhere her dad used to love, and would love after the renovation. The Beef was gone, it was true, but in its place would be The Bear. The product of all of Carmen’s and her hard work. 

Syd sped up to a jog, until she finally wrapped her fingers around Carmen’s forearm. She tugged him back, and used it as an opportunity to catch her breath. “You’re not listening. I don’t even know where we’re fucking going, Carm.”

He gently tugged his arm from her grasp. “This is a last minute addition,” he said, before he placed his hands on his hips. “I just wanted to get it over with. Sorry for rushing.”

Sydney nodded at him, listening. “Okay. So, let me in, dude. Tell me about this place so I’m less confused, and you’re less… whatever the fuck this is,” she said, gesturing to his erratic behaviour. 

Carmen shuffled on the sidewalk, peering around at shop fronts, and the abundance of restaurants that lined up outside Tompkins Square Park. This was an area he knew like the back of his hand, but one he hadn’t visited since long before he’d left New York. 

“The first place I ever worked in the city. It’s not fine dining, or Michelin starred, or any of that shit,” he started, and despite the abrupt way Syd’s eyes widened from annoyance, she still let him continue. “The vibe of it, though,” he said, and chuckled the words out of his mouth in surprise. “Just, come on.” He gently placed a hand on Syd’s shoulder, leading her forward so they were on the same page. 

From the outside, Lucky Strike Diner didn’t look like anything special. It was a small unit, placed betwixt two taller apartment buildings, to the North of Tompkins Square Park. Syd looked up at it, grimacing slightly, but she tried to keep an open mind. She’d been around her fair share back alley barbeques and hidden gems to know you should never judge a book by its cover. 

When she glanced over to Carmen, he looked practically childlike. There was a glint in his eyes that she hadn’t seen since they’d first decided to bin off The Beef and bring in The Bear That wonder, that craving for something new, and excitement of something unknown. Nostalgia danced over every feature of his face, and she watched as he sucked in a sharp breath, before entering the diner. 

Inside, the decor was minimalist, but homely. Black and white photos lined the walls, pictures of families, of friends, of celebrations. Cream and red colours graced the walls, and the booths looked comforting and inviting. Despite the drab appearance outside, inside was bustling. Practically every table was full, and the old style bar was inviting. Through the kitchen window, sparks and fire shot up whenever something burned, or flambed, on the grill. 

This vibe, the one Carmen had mentioned; Sydney felt it all immediately. That warmth, like you were stepping into a family function instead of something elitist. Businessmen sat with their laptops, next to mothers with their babies, and grandfathers on their own. This was a place for everyone, and that was clear to see. 

As servers scattered over the busy restaurant floor, one of them stuck out to Sydney. You scuttled, slaloming through tables with ease, as you made your way to the host stand by the door. 

Saturday rushes were always hardcore, but you’d grown accustomed to them. You grabbed two menus before you even looked the two new customers in the eye, and let out a simple “Welcome to Lucky Strike Diner, table for two–?”

You stopped when your brain finally computed his face; a face you hadn’t seen in a long time. Carmen Berzatto was standing in your fucking restaurant. “Carmy.” His name slipped out easily, and along with it came a sickly feeling in your gut. 

He cleared his throat. “Table for two, yes. Please.”

You glanced at the second member of his party, quickly, and shot her a smile. You didn’t particularly have anything to smile about, but it wasn’t her fault that she’d just been planted into the middle of this inevitable shitstorm. That smile disappeared instantly, as soon as you looked back at Carmen.

“Great,” you said plainly. Even disappearing assholes like Carmen wouldn’t stop you from being professional and civil at work. You loved this place too much, had been here too long, to do that. “This way, please.” 

You steamed forward as you picked out a table in the corner, furthest away from the host stand. You didn’t want him in the middle of the room, where he could easily find you in the crowd of servers. Why he was here and what he was doing didn’t cross your mind until you seated them, dropping the menus down on their respective settings. 

Carmen scooted his chair in, and peered up at you. “It’s been a long time–”

“So, have you guys ever been here before?” you cut over him, and mostly looked at his partner. She shot you a clearly awkward smile, but nevertheless shook her head politely. Carmen stayed silent, and bit upon his tongue. “Okay, so I’ll lay down the lingo for you,” you said, as you quickly went through the menu with her. “You need anything, just wave one of us down and we’ll be happy to help, all good?” 

“Yeah, thank you,” Sydney said with a smile, before she looked over at Carmen. That smile quickly turned to a small frown. 

“Fantastic,” you said. “Can I get you guys some drinks to start?”

“Um, I’ll take the lemonade, thanks,” Sydney ordered, as she attempted to hold this entire interaction together by the skin of her teeth. 

“Great choice, it was made fresh this morning like always.” You turned to Carmen. “And for you, sir?” 

A vein had popped out on Carmen’s forehead very noticeably. It was one that Sydney knew well, when he was either under insane amounts of stress in the kitchen, or fighting against the urge to yell. Maybe both meant the same thing, but still– she could see from a mile off that this was not the way he’d wanted this reunion to go. 

“Surprise me,” he said, as he looked up and caught your eye. 

You clenched your jaw. “I’m no good at surprises, so I’ll just bring you some tap water until you decide,” you said, trying and failing to keep things light. “I’ll be back with those drinks in just a few minutes.” You went to leave quickly. 

“Hey, just–” Carmen reached out for you as fast as he could, but as his fingers grazed your wrist, you managed to snap your arm away from him just in time. He gave up when disappeared through the doors to the back, and dropped himself back into his chair. 

Sydney leant forward immediately. “Okay, dude. What the fuck was that?”

“It’s nothing,” Carmen said bluntly. 

Sydney started laughing breathily. “Yeah, sure, that was nothing. Don’t test me, Carm.”

“I– fuck,” he spluttered. “Just pick your fucking food, please.”

Sydney was a pro at telling Carmen to calm the fuck down, but this interaction had her stumped for a solution. “What do you recommend?” she said, switching her tune.

Carmen met her eye in some kind of silent apology. “Uhh, the eggs. The eggs are fantastic. And the french toast, that’s the restaurant’s best.” As the subject changed, Carmen delved into the menu alongside Syd. They talked about their menu ideas, and paralleled them with the dishes they saw here. 

Maybe bringing a diner styled meal to a (soon to be) Michelin menu wasn’t so much of a bad idea. It fit the theme. The homeliness, paired with the decadence of the chaos menu they’d been discussing priorly. 

In the back, you quickly punched in their drink order, before you slalomed through the kitchen. “Behind!” you yelled, as you made your way through each station. The chefs all shot you concerned looks, as it became apparent where you were heading. 

“Is today really a walk-in day?” One of them, Paulie, said as you raced by. He’d known you for years now, and knew when something was fucking wrong. 

“Yep!” you exclaimed back at him, tugging open the handle of the walk-in swiftly.

“What the fuck happened?” he boomed, but you slammed the door shut before you could muster up a reply. 

Inside, you breathed alongside the ingredients. The vegetables, the homemade sauces, the fresh smoked salmon. It was cold, but not too cold that you couldn’t stand it. The cool air made everything feel calm, like you had somehow been transported to some Icelandic lake in the summertime. The air was crisp, and noise was muffled through the door, like the solace you felt by locking yourself in the upstairs bathroom at a house party. 

Carmen Berzatto showing up out of the blue had been something you’d long stopped indulging in. He’d made himself clear, the last time you’d seen him, that he had no intention of continuing the working relationship or friendship you’d once had. It was only then that you realised how fast the time had gone. 

You were twenty when you met him, the same age as each other. Both of you tried to navigate life together as you stumbled and fell, and got yourselves up again. You were on par with each other, both in intelligence and maturity. Paulie had liked Carm as soon as he’d walked through the door for his interview, and pretty soon after being hired, he’d turned Lucky Strike around like it was no skin off his back.

He was a refreshing change for the life you’d found yourself in. He’d made this place great, and you’d taught each other some life lessons. You’d always known he was destined for more, and you’d always been the first person to sing his praises. 

Before his abrupt switch in personality, you’d thought fondly of your time here together. The same old grind of opening up the diner together in the morning. While he prepped for service in the kitchen, you did so on the restaurant floor. It was a collaborative effort, and without both of you together at that point in time, the diner would have gone under. That’s what made it sting even more, when you thought of your life now– you wouldn’t be in this position if he hadn’t come along. It was like rubbing extra salt in your already open wound. 

You sucked in a deep, cold breath, and let it out slowly. The cold invigorated your lungs, and gave you the strength to continue with your day. Lunch service was on the brink of its lull, anyway, but having him there, sat outside, with his fucking face that he used to look at you so fondly with, you could hardly stand it. 

A gentle knock sounded from the walk-in door, and you quickly wiped a few spots of sweat from your forehead. “Yeah!” you yelled. 

“Come on out, sweetheart,” Paulie urged you, and you hadn’t been able to refuse him for the time you’d been working at the diner– so that wasn’t going to start now. 

You pushed open the door and sealed it shut behind you, before you allowed yourself to peer up at him. He was a burly guy, but soft around the edges. You had no idea if he was in his forties or sixties, since he had one of those faces that were sort of stuck in time. He spoke like a character straight out of Taxi Driver. 

“What the hell happened, huh?” he asked gently, patting you on your shoulders sturdily. 

You sighed. “Carmen. He’s in the restaurant,” you said. 

“Carmy’s here?” Paulie exclaimed, as he frantically looked around the kitchen. “Guys, Carmy’s here!” he yelled. A few of the chefs, who’d been employed here for time, started muttering loudly. 

Paulie’s joy only made you feel worse, but you didn’t hold it against him. Carm had been a staple here all those years before, and had taught a lot of the guys all that they knew about their role. Literally. “Table twenty,” you said. “Knock yourselves out.”

Service stopped momentarily as Paulie and two other chefs made their way out to the restaurant. You stayed back, and peered through the kitchen window. Beyond the bar, you saw Paulie exclaim as Carmen stood up and shook his hand. They hugged like bears, and he introduced Sydney to them all. 

Paulie’s voice was one that carried, so it was impossible not to hear every note of their conversation from where you were. “We’ll whip you up your old favourites. You still like salmon?” Paulie went on, and Carmen nodded and smiled in appreciation the entire time. 

You composed yourself as best as you could, before you left the kitchen. You grabbed their drinks, already prepared, on the bar, and gently shoved yourself through to their table. 

“Aye, aye, aye– we have hungry people waiting, Paulie!” you said, allowing yourself to don a small smile as you gently set down their drinks. “Come on now, back to work, chefs!” 

Paulie squeezed Carmen’s shoulder, before he gestured to you. “She’s practically the boss around here now, Carmy. The big boss,” he said. Carmen gently met your eye, but you looked away as fast as you could. 

“Alright, alright. Big boss says three orders of french toast on the fly, chef,” you said, grinning as Paulie held up his hands defensively. 

“I’m going, I’m going,” he said, as he started treading back towards the kitchen. “Good to see you, Carmy!” he boomed. 

“You too, Paulie,” Carmen said, before he awkwardly sat back down and tucked himself in. 

You caught your breath again, as you cleared your throat. “So, it seems our chef has already picked your order for you. Can I get you guys anything else that he didn’t mention?”

“Uh, yeah,” Sydney said, pointing to the menu. “What is this exactly?”

You read the words just above her fingertip, and your gut dropped. Tangerine salade. You were torn between wanting to laugh maniacally, or leave and never return to the diner. Carmen’s eyes widened in realisation at Sydney’s request. 

“Oh, it’s–”

“It’s–”

You and Carmen stopped talking when you heard the other start. You’d both gone to explain the dish– if it could even be called a dish. You held your breath abruptly and took a small step back. Part of you wondered if he remembered the entire meaning, but you weren’t about to explain it all in great detail. Not when it didn’t feel as special anymore. 

“I’m sorry, you tell us. Please.” Carmen shut his mouth and sat back, as if he was on best behaviour. 

“It’s exactly what it says,” you said. “Tangerine salad. Two fresh tangerines, cut into slices like big oranges, instead of peeled and segmented.”

Sydney smiled, amused. “Where did that come from?” 

It came from Carmen. You had a habit of stealing fruit from the walk-in, when you realised you hadn’t eaten on a shift. Tangerines were always ordered, but hardly ever used, so there was always an abundance of them, destined to rot. 

Carmen caught you everytime, eating them like orange slices, just so they were quicker and easier to scoff down during a rush. The juice didn’t get on your hands as much, and you enjoyed the vibrant colour they produced over the white pith that covered their segments when peeled. Carmen had taken it upon himself to add a new item during a menu refresh in the early days. Tangerine salade was born, and neither you, nor Paulie, had ever thought to get rid of it. Even after all this time.

“Why did you call it that?” you asked Carmen, gobsmacked to see it on the menu for the first time, all those years before.

“Salad didn’t sound as good as salade,” he explained. 

“You chefs and your obsession with French words, huh?” you joked, as you rounded his station and dropped the menu down upon the pristine surface. “This is sweet, Carmy. Sweet, but unnecessary.”

“Not true,” he countered, bashing his shoulder into yours playfully. “Now that it’s on the menu, it’s got a button on the system. Whenever you need a tangerine just punch it through, and we’ll have two of ‘em, waiting for you when you get a moment to fucking breathe.” 

You felt Carmen’s stare on you at Sydney’s question, and forced yourself to suck in a breath and come back to reality. “Tangerine salad is our version of McDonalds apple slice bags. For the kids,” you lied, but nevertheless kept a smile stamped on your face. Carmen looked positively pale at your response. “They’re good fucking tangerines, though,” you added, and Sydney chuckled in surprise. 

“Okay, I need to try these tangerines,” she said. 

“One order of tangerine salade, on top of all the rest, sure.” You made a quick note on your order slip, even though you didn’t need to. It was just a way to avoid Carmen’s stare even further. 

For the rest of the lunch rush, you pretended like he wasn’t there. You did the rounds, topping up cups of coffee, and rushing fresh dishes and dirty plates to and from the kitchen. You stayed on top of admin when you got a spare moment at the host stand, and scrolled through invoices from suppliers. 

Without meaning to, you’d stayed at Lucky Strike Diner for seven years. It was life for you now. You lived a few blocks away, through the park, but having an apartment felt like a waste when you practically lived in the restaurant. 

You and Carmen had talked about so much, when you’d both been confined to these walls. What lay beyond for both of you. His dream to cook in top restaurants, and eventually build his own restaurant from the ground up. You didn’t really have any dreams, just the security and stability of a good life, and good people around you, but you indulged whenever he mentioned his own place. 

“Well, if you ever need a front of house manager, you know where to find me,” you joked, as you wiped down the bar at the end of the day. Carmen poked his head through the kitchen window. 

“Why don’t we do it, then?” he asked abruptly. You stopped wiping the surfaces, and turned around to face him. “Open our own restaurant.”

“Oh, man, I don’t know. Money, taxes, insurance, money,” you listed off, and he tossed a wet cloth at your face. You dodged it, and watched it crash onto one of the restaurant tables. “Hey!” You turned back, shooting him an amused grin. 

“You’re too much of a fucking realist,” he said, as he made his way out of the kitchen and into the restaurant. 

“And you’re too much of a fucking dreamer. These things take time, Carmy.”

“I know that,” he said, as he grabbed the cloth he’d thrown. He approached the bar, and leaned over it, bridging the gap between your faces. “We could still do it, though. Have our own place. Cook our own menu.”

You smiled at his words, and rearranged the napkin holders next to him. “Can’t do that when you’re about to join the big leagues,” you said, and Carmen slid off the bar. 

“You’re gonna fucking jinx it!” he wailed.

“It’s called manifesting!” you exclaimed. “You’re gonna get the fucking job, Carm.” He pulled out a chair from one of the tables and dropped into it melodramatically. 

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll see,” he muttered. “You think Paulie will still talk to me if I leave?”

You were the one to throw your cloth at him now, and it hit him square in his face with a slap sound. You smacked your hands over your mouth in surprise, before you tried and failed to stop chuckles from cascading out of your mouth. 

“I’m sorry–” you started, rounding the bar. 

Carmen slid the cloth off his face. “You’re fucking funny,” he said sarcastically. 

“I’m sorry, Carmy, really,” you said through chuckles, as you dropped yourself into the chair opposite him. You took the cloth from his hands, and gently squeezed his hand in apology. 

A comfortable silence, one that you’d grown accustomed to over the past eight months, descended upon the two of you. All you could hear was the playful pounding of your hearts and the soft way he breathed. It was a relaxing sound. 

“You’re gonna get it,” you said again, and Carmen only had eyes for you then. “And when you do, I can’t wait to go and eat the best meal of my fucking life.”

Carmen smiled. He’d always been shy, always quiet, unless he was in the kitchen. “My brother has a restaurant, back in Chicago. When I finished culinary school, I really thought he’d let me join him, you know? It could be a family restaurant. We could run it together, or something,” he said. You hooked onto his every word. “But, he told me no. Said he didn’t want me anywhere near it, and– I don’t know. I think that’s why I came here.”

You bit your lip, inhaling his words. “Family will always be our harshest critics,” you said.

Carmen scoffed, rubbing his tired eyes with his hands. “You can fucking say that again.”

“You know, my sister lives in Chicago,” you said. 

Carmen leant forward. “Really?”

You hummed. “Has for a few years now. My mom didn’t like it when she told us she was moving, but.” You shrugged. “That’s just because my mom has never lived anywhere else than here.”

“Yeah, my own wasn’t thrilled about me coming to New York, either,” Carmen said, before he huffed in dark amusement. “It’s funny. She hates us, my brother and sister and I, when we’re around, when we complain, when we do anything– but she also hates it when we all wanna get the fuck out because of it.”

You smiled at him softly, in understanding. “They fuck you up, don’t they?”

Carmen flicked his gaze over your features. “You don’t seem fucked up to me,” he said gently. 

“Give it time,” you said. Smiles slowly appeared on both of your faces, until laughter trickled from your mouths like drops from a tap. “One day you’ll realise just how messed up I am,” you joked. 

“Is that a challenge?” Carmen questioned. 

You scoffed, and raised your hands up defensively. “Fuck no. I don’t want to tempt fate when it comes to how fucked up chefs can be.”

Carmen pointed at you abruptly, sternly, but there was amusement all over his face. “That is an untrue stereotype,” he said. “Not all of us snort coke.”

“All?” you asked.

“Well.” He leaned closer to you, stretching his arms across the table. “Not me.” 

You regarded him softly. You hardly got the chance to do this during service; just look at him. Hold his gaze, feel him close. You would never admit it, but having Carmen around was a constant over the past months that comforted you. You liked having him near, liked seeing him practically everyday, and it was clear that you got on enough to talk bullshit with each other. 

When you got home that evening, way past midnight, you opened up your laptop and went to the Union Square Cafe website. You hovered your mouse over the reservations tab, thinking something crazy. 

Carmen hadn’t heard back from the restaurant yet, but he’d only applied as the CDC there a number of days before. You knew he was going to get it, and felt it deep within your soul. That feeling is what lead you to book yourself a solo dinner, for the first available date you could possibly find– a years’ time.

You knew that, by the time that year was up and you were sitting at your table, Carmen would be in the kitchen, cooking your meal. You didn’t tell him about it either, but kept it to yourself for the remainder of his time at the diner. 

You’d been right, when within a month, he’d gone through a rigorous interview process and landed the position and USC. Paulie had faked being mad, but it was clear to see the immense admiration he had for the young Carmen Berzatto. When his last shift approached, you had secretly arranged a goodbye celebration. At the end of a long Saturday, as you and Carmen shut up the diner and headed out, you were ambushed by the servers and chefs as you tread through the park. 

Drinks and laughs were shared at your apartment across the way. It was the most you’d seen Carmen socialise in the time you’d known him, but he didn’t look uncomfortable once. He knew he had a support system behind him from the diner– and from you, predominantly. When the moon shone down onto your building, you found yourself out on your fire escape with a beer bottle in your hand. You looked up at the stars, and only looked away when someone shuffled out of the window and sat next to you. 

Carmen crossed his legs next to you, and gulped down his own beer contentedly. You turned to him and smiled fully, overly excited for him to start his new endeavour. 

He huffed at you softly. “You didn’t have to do this, you know,” he said. 

“I know,” you replied. “Doesn’t mean I didn’t want to.”

Carmen shuffled awkwardly next to you. “I know, I know, it’s just–”

“For once, you need to be okay with being the centre of attention, okay? Deal with it.” You hit back, and laughed when you saw the way his eyes widened at your tenacity. “We’re so excited for you, Carm.”

Carmen nodded, and allowed himself to accept all of your praise, just this once. “I’m excited, too,” he whispered. “I can’t believe I got it.”

“I can,” you said. “If you don’t get some type of chef award in the next year then I’ll be surprised.” 

Carmen laughed. “Chef award?”

“You know, like ‘Best New Chef On The Block’, or ‘Shyest Chef In The Business’, or–”

“Enough, enough,” he let out, chuckling. You weren’t done yet, however. 

“Or the James Beard award.” 

He scoffed. “Bullshit.”

“It’s called mani–”

“Manifesting!” Carmen finished your sentence for you, imitating your past words. You leaned against the wall in awe at his playfulness. 

“So, you do listen to me sometimes, huh?”

“I guess I do,” he said, and shot you a knowing smile. You held his gaze when he gave it to you, because it was somewhat of a rare thing. 

Maybe you’d always been too out there for Carmen, but he’d learned to live alongside you despite it. You were glad about that. You enjoyed his company more than you’d ever say to his face, and despite being so happy for him to leave the diner, part of you was aching at the thought of his absence. 

You flicked your gaze over his face, taking in his features. He had a strong nose, and the kind of cheekbones that they talked about in women’s magazines. His eyes, though– God, his eyes– they were so blue that they looked artificial in some lights. Like the kind of blue food colouring you put in cake icing. Alarming, but also impossible to shy away from when he was properly looking at you. 

He swallowed, and his Adam’s apple shifted in his throat. “I’m gonna miss you,” he said, almost croaking out the words. Your heart melted. Your brows furrowed softly. Your chest compressed. You let out a shaking breath through your nose. 

“I’m gonna miss you, too, Carmy,” you let out. It felt like the best and worst kind of goodbye. 

You hadn’t thought about that day in years. The last time you had, it was after your reservation at USC the year after. Coincidentally, that was the last time you’d seen Carmen Berzatto too, until he showed up at the diner and plummeted you back to those thoughts from those previous years. 

As the lunch rush died down, you wiped the bar down from lack of what else to do. In the corner, Carmen and Sydney were finishing up their meal. Sydney had made an abundance of notes in a small notebook, while Carmen talked in hushed tones and spilled all the old diner secrets. With his hands clasped on the table before him, used napkin to his left, plates practically licked clean, he turned himself around to glance around the restaurant. 

You sucked in a sharp breath when his eyes hit yours. You almost froze, but remembered yourself as much as you could. You tensed, and looked away first quickly. You smacked your hands down on the counter when you looked to the kitchen, and caught Paulie’s eyes. “I’m going for a smoke!” you announced, before you slipped off your apron quickly. 

“Those things will kill you!” Paulie exclaimed back, his voice booming across the restaurant floor. 

“Maybe that’s the point,” you muttered to yourself, as you headed towards the back door of the diner. You slipped a cigarette between your lips on the way.

Carmen’s gaze followed you as you disappeared through the door. Sydney saw it all as she sat opposite him, and had the strangest urge to give him guidance. 

“So, shall we get outta here?” she asked. Carmen’s attention was still on the door. 

“Uh, yeah,” he said, but his mind was still elsewhere. “Just– give me one second,” he said, as he stood up from the table. He started towards the door, and Sydney grabbed his wrist abruptly. Carmen froze, and looked down at her. 

“Don’t push her,” Sydney said suddenly. “I don’t know what shit you guys have going on, but I’m good at reading faces. Just don’t push her too hard, Carm.” 

Carmen regarded her thoughtfully. He nodded. Then, he was gone.

PART TWO

[chishiyaisasnack]

Watch me

Here’s the small thingy I wrote for you anon! Sub! chishiya was really hard for me to imagine so it didn’t come out the way I wanted to, but I still want to post it. I hope you like it! (I’m working on a more detailed one for the Dare series but it’s taking forever).

Disclaimer! This is very nsfw and pure smut. Sub! Chishiya x dom! fem reader. It’s not very realistic either haha. As usual, be safe and use a condom irl.

It’s written and posted on mobile so I apologize for any errors or formatting issues.

God, he was pretty like this. Laying on his back, arms tied together over his head, his hair a mess over the pillows below him. His skin was glistening with beads of sweat and every time you tasted it you just wanted more. His whole body was trembling as he tried so hard to be good for you, to get you to finally touch him.

His futile attemps to get out of the satin restraints tying his hands to the bed was getting fewer as the minutes went on. They looked good on him, red on pale skin, leaving marks for everyone to see tomorrow. His cheeks matched the red colour, exhaustion covering them as he panted.

”Ugh.. y/n, please..”

Your name sounded so good when it left his lips. His moans had turned into whimpers, his demands into begging. Begging for you to touch him, begging for you to let him come, begging for you to sink down on his cock and draw out every drop of cum in him. But you didn’t.

His cock was so hard, oozing with precum that pooled on his stomach as you neglected it. Your fingers were on yourself, circling your clit, pleasuring yourself while he watched. If he was good, if he whined for you in that lovely way that only he could, he got to feel how wet you were, grinding on his thigh, showing him what he was missing out on.

You never missed a chance to praise him, to tell him how good he was and how pretty he looked for you. You used your hands to stroke over his body, caressing every part of him except for where he wanted to be touched, thanking him for being so lovely. You couldn’t help but to move down and kiss and lick stripes up his torso, leaving him begging for you to do the same to his cock.

He was shivering below you as you moved up to hover over his mouth, and then attacked your pussy with his tounge, like he was dying of thirst and only you could save him. You rocked your hips, using his mouth for what it was the best at. His tounge went deep inside you, fucking you, curling to press on every good spot he could reach. Fuck, you couldn’t help but to push his face closer, to tangle your hands in his hair and grip it like it was the only thing holding you to the bed.

He was gasping for air when you got off him, face wet from you, lips tired and eyes hopeful that finally, finally you’d touch his cock as a reward. He should’ve known better.

When you slid your way back down you made sure to hover over his cock for just a second, to make him think that you would give in. The desperation in his eyes when you continued to move down his body made you chuckle. You watched as he once again tried to pull his hands free, and once again failing to do so.

”Hmm, do you really want me to fuck you that bad, Chishiya? Do you want to see your cum dripping out of me?” You watched as he shivered under you, his whole body begging for you.

”Or do you rather want me to suck you off? To let you cum in my mouth?” He let out a groan that sounded like he was on the verge of tears. You ignored his pleas and drew a line over his v-line with your finger.

”Maybe I’ll just leave you like this. You look so fucking good right now. So good for me.” Your words mixed with your touch made his cock twitch and you were so tempted to lean forward and place a kiss on it. Not yet.

”I even brought you a gift today” you told him and reached behind you and picked up your favourite bullet vibrator, one that had never failed to make you come. This time it wasn’t going to fail to drive Chishiya to the edge, you would make sure of that. His eyes turned wide open when you turned the vibrator on on the lowest setting, holding it in the air like you were inspecting it closely. His back arched when you dragged it along the middle of his chest, from the center of his collar bone and down just above his navel. A moan left his mouth when you moved it in circles over a nipple, suprised to see how sensitive he was there. You used the tip of your tounge to flick over the second one, pulling out another groan from him. Finishing with a bite that was going to leave a nice mark on him, you rose back up and let the vibrator continue its journey over his body. You layed it flat as you moved it to his hip, then using only its tip when moving down the v-line towards his cock. He rocked up into the sensation, instantly trying to get more, but you didn’t let him. You continued down his inner thigh, just to move back up and placing it right below his balls without touching anything but his thigh. You watched his eyes roll back in his head as the vibrations spread over him.

”Do you want it? Do you want to come with my favourite toy?” Teasingly you drew tiny circles on his skin with it. He was so on edge, not knowing if you were finally going to give him what he wished for or if you were going to take it away. You, however, knew exactly what was going to happen.

You removed the vibrator completely off him and was rewarded by a needy whimper and a barely audiable ’please’. He probably didn’t know what he wanted anymore, he just wanted to be touched and didn’t care how. Just as you liked it.

”I lied, this isn’t my favourite toy.” You said while looking at him fondly. ”You are. I love fucking myself on you. I love seeing how bad you want to drive into me, how bad you want to bend me over and fuck me into pieces. I love to see the look on your face when I use your cock as my own dildo. And I know that you love it too.”

Then you put the vibrator on the base of his cock and Chishiya sounded like he was going to explode.

”Y/n… fuck. It’s too much.” He whimpered while trying to both move away from the toy and to let you use it on him.

”I know you can take it. You’re doing so well.” You answered, letting your eyes move between his hips and his face - to make sure that he could in fact take it. You had a safeword and you trusted him to say it if he wanted to stop. No matter what the reason behind it was. You always told him how it would never disappoint you or make you angry if he said it. And you believed him when he promised that he would be honest with you. That trust made it so intimate, you felt closer to him that you ever thought that you could.

With a smile on your face you moved up and placed yourself on top of the vibrator, sandwiching it between your clit and Chishiyas cock. His breathing became heavier, probably from seeing you on top of him, desperately hoping that you’d sit down on him instead.

”Ahh, I could come like this. All over you, getting you all nice and wet.” You gave him an amused look. The despair on his face was always so nice to watch. You felt so desired, so wanted, and it felt incredible. It filled your body with warmth and affection, affection only for him.

”But it would feel much better coming on your cock.”

”Please, let me make you come.” Chishiya pleaded in a hurry, trying to move his upper body towards you.

”I can make you come so hard, so good. Please.” His voice was trembling with need, the need to be good. The need for you.

”You want to see me come?” You answered him, still grinding against the vibrator that felt so good against you both. Chishiya huffed out a ’yes’ and his whole face was painted with anticiption. You smiled and the hope in his eyes immediately left as he understood that he wasn’t going to be the one to do it.

”Okay, I’ll come for you. Since you are being so good to me.”

You raised your hips, making sure that the vibrator left Chishiyas body and only touched you from now on. He wasn’t happy to lose the only stimulation he had and you watched as he grieved the loss of the vibrations by rolling his hips up, chasing the touch he desperately wanted. You were prepared every time he tried to push up into you, knowing his body and moves so well that you could do it in your sleep. Instead of punishing him for it you let him get away with it this time, he had been so good so far so you decided to let it go. Only this time though.

You bent forward and placed a hand on his neck, putting your thumb on his throat. No pressure at all, just laying there as a reminder of who was in charge here.

”Then watch me.” You sat back up and closed your eyes, letting the wonderful feeling between your legs fill your body, while the pants from Chishiya filled

your ears. It didn’t take long for you to come, and you did so while moaning his name, hearing his breath hitch as a response.

You must have grown soft because when your breathing finally stabilized you leaned down and pressed your lips against his. You felt his arms yank the ropes in another attempt to touch you while your mouths opened to let your tounges intertwine. You kissed him deep, letting him carry you away with his soft movements that were coated with desire. He was inhaling every movement, pouring his all into your lips, relishing in the love you gave him. Then sighed when you moved your head back to hover right above his. You stayed there, breathing into his mouth and gazed into his brown eyes.

”You’re doing so well, Chishiya. Thank you.”

With a final kiss you rose up and moved back down his body. Without hesitating you lined up his cock under you and sank down onto it.

The groan Chishiya let out almost sounded painful, and if it wasn’t for the twitching of his cock, the way his back arched and the feeling of warmth filling your insides you might have thought he was hurt. He came hard, his cum filling you up as you clenched around him. You let him buck into you, pushing himself in as far as he could as he emptied himself.

”Did it feel that good?” You hummed, caressing his cheek with your hand when he was coming down from his high. He looked exhausted, his chest heaving while trying to find enough air to fill his lungs. Then you rolled your hips.

”I’m sorry.. Ugh.. I couldn’t.. you feel so good” Chishiya pleaded.

”Do you like being inside me that much?” You kept teasing him. ”Think you can come for me again?” You ground down on him with the next roll of your hips, his eyes rolling back into his head from the overstimulation. He was still really sensitive, but you didn’t care.

”Y/n.. please… too much..” he whined, but still not asking you to stop.

”Hmm, but I just started. I thought you wanted me to fuck you. That’s what you’ve been begging for all night.” You kept riding him, slow rolls of your hips, dragging his cock back and forth inside you. His legs were shaking and his fists clenched tight as he fought through the overstimulation.

He was panting, chest raising and falling in hurries movements, and tried his hardest to keep his hips from moving away from you.

”I know that you can handle it. Let me take care of you Chishiya.” You placed your hands on his chest, using it to steady yourself as you started to move up and down instead.

He groaned as he shut his eyes and rolled his head back into the pillows. Your hand was in his hair only a second later, pulling his head back up so that he was looking at you again.

”Watch me.” You told him while letting go of his hair, caressing his cheek, then placing the hand back on his chest as you picked up your pace. ”Watch me as I fuck myself on you.”

His moaning sounded like music to your ears, every bounce on his cock drew out a different sound.

”Shit, I’m coming again” Chishiya hissed. ”Please, come with me. Let me touch you y/n.” His stuttered under your as he tried his best to stop himself from thrusting up into you. He knew what would happen if he did.

”But I’m not ready yet.” You cooed, not slowing down. ”You can come, but I won’t stop until I come too.” Instead of giving him a chance to stop himself, you clenched hard around his cock, making him moan as he released himself inside you once more. You stopped your movements to give him a chance to breathe, while looking down and watched as your mixed liquids pooled at the base of his cock, making it so wet and slippery.

”Look what a mess you’ve made.” You ran a finger through it, collected the liquids, and then used it to easily run your finger over your clit as your hips went back to slowly rock back and forth on him.

”Y/n…. Please … fuck, please let me make you come.” Chishiya was visibly exhausted, but he didn’t tell you to stop so you kept going. You kept rolling your hips, kept making his cock slide deliciously inside you while you touched yourself, and kept loving the sounds coming

out of Chishiyas mouth. You were close too, feeling that warm feeling in your core heating up even more, tightening and waiting to break loose. Chishiya always felt amazing inside you, he fit so perfectly, reaching all the right spots, just as he did right now.

”Mmm.. Chishiya… Can you give me one more?” You closed your eyes and just listened to his groan, the perfect response. You clenched tighter around him and moved your hips a bit faster.

”I.. y/n… please.” He begged, barely able to form words anymore.

You could barely believe that he went through this much for you. He wanted you just as much as you wanted him. He was so gentle, so fragile and he only let you see that side of him. Only you, no one else. Feeling a surge of warm emotions you reached up over his head and swiftly untied his hands.

”Touch me Chishiya.” You whispered, taking one of his hands in yours, braiding your fingers together. His other hand went straight to your clit and you let him take over.

Two more rolls of your hips and one long groan from Chishiya was all it took for both of you to finally share an orgasm so strong that you couldn’t hold yourself upright. You leaned down over him, placing your forehead against his as you both weakly moved your hips in unison to try and bring out every ounce of pleasure as you could. Your breaths and moans mixed from how close your lips were, far too out of breath to kiss, but too captivated by eachother to not stay that close. His eyes were staring back into yours, tired and barely open, but still so dark and sparkling beneath his lashes that you never wanted to look away. He was so beautiful.

You stayed there for a while, just catching your breaths. Chishiyas hands were stroking your back while you used one to hold yourself up so he could breathe, and one to brush over his cheek and jaw.

”How are you feeling?” you finally asked him and lift your face up a bit to see his reaction.

”Great.” He smirked, showing you that he, thankfully, wasn’t passing out anytime soon.

You rolled off him and laid down on your side, facing him as he did the same and put his arms around your waist. You grabbed one of his hands and held it up in front of you.

”Do your wrists hurt?” You ran a finger over where the rope had been, a red line covering a small part of it. You couldn’t wait to stare at it all day tomorrow.

”They’re fine.” he answered as you placed a kiss on the redness before letting him put the arm back around you. You shuffled your way closer to him, burying your head under his, letting his breath tickle your hair. ”Next time I’m going to make you regret this.”

[darkeunology]

♡ Love is the Warmest Colour ♡

Word Count: 3228 (I'm amazed it's this long)

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of gunshot injuries, normal Criminal Minds violence, kidnapping, torture mentions (No explicit details)

Summary: In a world where soulmates feel each other's pain, you and Derek seem to be oblivious to each other's pains.

Not proof read. Not sure how I feel about this one tbh.

Soulmate: Noun: A person ideally suited to another as a close friend or romantic partner. 

Everyone in the world had someone who was destined to be their soulmate. It was a tale told to every child as a bedtime story, the exact way soulmates were known to each other. Shared pain - all soulmates in the world feel each other’s pain, Every scratch, punch or bump, soulmates feel it all but are never left with the physical marks from the injuries. 

Maybe not so surprisingly, a lot of people never actually found their soulmates, getting injured close enough to your soulmate so that both of you would realise anything was quite rare a feat, most people gave up trying to find their soulmate by their 20s, not wanting to waste their life trying to find the person suited best for them. Including you, once you’d hit 25, you’d given up - you thought it would be great if you did ever find them, but you weren’t holding out hope for it anymore, you’d now just ignore any of the pains you’d ever felt from your soulmate, which annoyingly for you, was a very common occurrence. 

—---------

As a child, a common question that was asked during class was ‘what do you want to be when you grow up?’ Everyone else in the class would always have an answer to this, Vet, Astronaut, Writer, Fireman, to name a few, but you never once had an answer, never a clear one anyway, you had no idea what you actually wanted to do in life, and even once you’d finished high school, you chose to not go to college, instead choosing to unfortunately bounce between jobs, starting out at retail, before moving to waitressing until eventually moving to the job you were in now, a barista at your local coffee shop. 

It wasn’t quite the life you or your parents had ever imagined for you, but you were happy enough; sure, you were living paycheck to paycheck, and you weren’t really able to treat yourself as much as you’d wished to, but it worked for you, and now, being in your 20s, you weren’t really sure how you could do anything else with your life. 

It wasn’t until the day you very nearly died when you decided you wanted to do something different. 

You’d just finished a lunchtime shift at the coffee shop, planning to go to the store quickly before you went back to your apartment, a good friend of yours coming round to have a girls night together after a long week at work. You never managed to make it home that night. Whilst walking to the store, a van stopped next to you, a young man poking his head out the window, asking you how to get to the highway from where he was. After quickly telling him where to drive, you turned your back to the van, about to start walking again when you felt yourself be grabbed from behind, a large hand covering your mouth to stop a scream from escaping - no matter how hard you tried to fight off the hands on you, nothing would loosen his grip as he pulled you into the back of the van, landing a quick, hard punch to your head, knocking you out immediately. 

When you finally woke up, you were tied up on what felt like a dentist’s chair. All your clothes except for your underwear missing from your body. A shiver ran through your body from the chill in the room you were in, the chill getting worse when the men who kidnapped you walked into the room you were in, menacing smirks lining their faces. 

Once your friend hadn’t been able to get in contact with you after you’d failed to get back to your apartment after work, they called the police, knowing that you would never be late coming home without letting her know beforehand, she knew deep down something had happened to you, especially with the news recently of young women being kidnapped and murdered in the are you lived in. She’d seen on the news that the FBI had already been called in after the last murder after seeing the press conference on the news the other night, she told them everything they needed to know and hoped that they’d be able to find you in time. 

Unsure of just how much time it had been since you’d been kidnapped, all you could focus on was the pain running through your body from the hours of torture you’d had to endure. It felt like you’d been here for days when in reality it had only been a few hours. The only thing that had kept you going the whole time was the hope that your friend called someone when you never showed up to meet her at your apartment. That hope finally coming true when a tall, dark skinned man jogged into the room, FBI vest on his body and a gun held firmly in his hands, “I’ve got the victim.” he spoke into his comms before placing his gun back into his holster, walking up to you, a gentle smile on his face, “Hey, sweetheart. I’m agent Derek Morgan with the FBI. You’re safe now alright. Medics are on their way down.” he spoke gently, his hands moving to carefully untie you from the chair. 

Derek stuck by your side every moment until they put you in the back of the ambulance, keeping you comfortable as everything buzzed around you, only leaving you when the ambulance left for the hospital.

He was the one good thing you tried to focus on whenever you had nightmares about the kidnapping. It took months of therapy, months of being scared to leave your house alone again before you were finally ready and able to do something about your life. You guess it’s because of what you went through, but you decided that you wanted to do what was done for you, you wanted to help people in the worst moments of their lives; so you went back to school, studying criminal profiling and psychology, graduating 3 years later before luckily managing to get a position in the BAU, the same unit who saved you nearly 4 years previously.  

—--------

Derek remembered when he was told about soulmates by his parents, his sisters told him afterwards that they all had the same talk when they were the same age. He was told one night as he was being put to bed, his parents telling him that there was one special person in the world who was a perfect fit for him, a person who he might never find but someone that would never be better for him. He was told that was how his parents met each other, his dad being hurt during a police job with his mother luckily being close enough to him that they knew almost in that moment they were meant for each other. He was told that any physical pains he would ever have would be felt by his soulmate and any pains his soulmate had would have, he would feel himself. 

As Derek grew older, he never really put much thought into soulmates, he knew how unlikely it actually was that he’d ever meet his true soulmate, with just how big America was, and the fact they might not even be American. He just figured that if he was going to find his soulmate, it would happen naturally - so, like most people, he dated anyone he wanted to, not caring, nor worrying if they weren’t his soulmate. 

At night sometimes, as much as he would never tell people, he would often imagine what life might be like with his soulmate, or just exactly how he would meet them. He mildly envied the people who had actually managed to find their soulmate, wondering how they got so lucky with how large the world is. 

Sometimes Derek would think he didn’t even have a soulmate, he often wouldn’t feel any random pains, only sometimes getting a pain in his foot, almost like his soulmate had just stubbed their toe somewhere - or sometimes a harsh pain in his arm, maybe a needle injection or someone hitting their shoulder too hard as they walked past them. 

So, even as Derek was for some reason in a lot more pain than he normally was, he didn’t really think too much of it. He was used to pain from his job so it didn’t really feel like much to him, he thought you were just going through a bad day. 

He never connected the pieces, even after his pain stopped once you’d been rescued. 

—-------

Nervous was an understatement as you stood in the elevator going up to the BAU office, you hid it behind a gentle smile as the doors opened, asking the first person you saw how to find Aaron Hotchner’s office. 

After getting your directions, you headed through the glass doors into the main office, walking up to Hotchner’s office to the curious looks of the other members of the team. You knocked on the door, walking in once you’d heard a ‘come in’ from the other side of the door. 

“Hi. Aaron Hotchner?” you asked, a smile on your face as you held your box full of your things in your hands, 

The man nodded behind his desk, standing and walking round the other side to be able to shake your hand, something you were just able to do with the box you were balancing. “Hi, yes. You must be Y/N,” he spoke, waiting for your nod of acknowledgement before he continued, “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Everyone else has just gone into the meeting room. I’ll show you your desk then we’ll go up to meet everyone.” he explained, a small smile on his face the whole time, before he led you out of his office, quickly showing you your desk so you could place the box down before leading you up to the meeting room, walking in before you, “Everyone, meet our new agent, this is Y/N L/N.” he spoke to the team, 

It took a moment for everyone to introduce themselves, Derek was the last to speak, “You seem familiar,” he spoke after he’d said his name. Everyone else took that to mean something different, since they all knew what Derek was like most of the time, so they were surprised when they heard Spencer speak, “Yeah, he’s right.” Causing the rest of the team to try and remember why two of their team knew your face. 

Sighing lightly, you glanced at Aaron, who already knew of your past, he nodded gently, signalling that you can tell them if you wanted to, “I must just have a familiar face.” you spoke, shrugging your shoulders. 

Thankfully for you, the team dropped it. Derek still giving you looks every so often, trying to figure out where he knew you from. 

—----

It had been a few weeks of working in the BAU, you’d managed to fit into the team really well. Already going on many girls nights with JJ, Emily and Garcia. You got on with the males in your team as well, but nowhere near as well as the girls. Garcia being the one you told everything to, including the day you were kidnapped and rescued by the BAU, and opening up to her about the small feelings you had for a certain Derek Morgan.

You’d also had a lot more pains from your soulmate in the past few weeks, nothing too bad, just some hard hits every so often, one being a nasty hit on your ribs one day at the end of a case, you standing with Emily and practically doubling over in the sudden pain that shot through your abdomen, “You good?” Emily asked, concern laced through her voice, 

“Yeah.” you gasped out, “I don’t know what happened, that just really hurt for a moment.”

“Must be your soulmate.” Emily spoke, you nodded in response, 

“Yeah, it must be.”

When you and Emily found out that Derek had been shot in his abdomen, luckily only causing a harsh bruise due to his vest, Emily was the only one who connected the dots about the pain you felt that day, deciding not to tell anyone else about her thoughts. 

—-----

“You alright sugar?” Garcia spoke when she saw Derek, noticing the obvious look of discomfort on his face, 

“Yeah, baby girl. Just got an awful headache, I took painkillers ages ago and it just hasn’t done anything.” he spoke, rubbing his temples, he knew from the fact that painkillers hadn’t worked that it would be a soulmate pain, 

“Soulmate maybe?” Garcia spoke, 

“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking.” He spoke, smiling at Garcia before getting back to work. 

It wasn’t until he sat down at his desk and saw you taking some painkillers when something clicked, “You good Y/N?” Derek asked, grabbing your attention and the attention of Emily who was sitting nearby at her desk. 

“Really bad headache. Painkillers are only helping a small amount.” you sighed. 

Emily was only looking towards Derek, a knowing look on her face, watching as Derek looked towards her, realisation slowly showing on his face, “Let me know if I can do anything to help.” he spoke, before turning back around, his only thought being that his soulmate was potentially his colleague. 

—----------

Oftentimes when you’d come into work, you’d go into Garcia’s bat cave, getting her some coffee and having a little chat before the work began.

A knock on the door interrupted you and Garcia this morning, “We’re meeting now. We have a new case.” JJ spoke as she poked her head in, her face looking grim. Both of you stood, grabbing your coffee mugs and heading over to the meeting room, being the last two to come in,

“We’re going to Florida.” JJ spoke, turning on the TV on the wall, “There’s been a series of murders, all women in their late 20s, all being found dumped in remote areas.” 

“Any sexual assault?” Derek asked.

“All of them had signs of sexual assault, yes.” JJ answered. “Newest victim is Stephanie Leigh, she was kidnapped yesterday evening after a night out at a local club.”

“All of these women were killed two days after they were kidnapped, meaning we have under 48 hours to find her alive.” Hotch spoke, his face serious like always, “Wheels up in 20.” he finished, getting up from his seat first as everyone else followed. 

—--------

You and Derek were in the car driving to the club where the recent victim was taken from, 

“I think I figured out where I remember you from.” Derek spoke, filling the silence that had surrounded you both for a while, 

“Oh yeah.” you spoke, knowing that Derek probably had, and dreading having to tell him he was right. 

“I think around 4 years ago, maybe more, we were called out to a local kidnapping case, the local cops were investigating someone kidnapping local young females and murdering them after torturing them for a few days, normally 2, but he’d accelerated his timeline on the last victim. We’d found the last body then a few hours later we were told of someone else being kidnapped - it was you.” He turned to look at you for a moment before putting his eyes back on the road,

“You were the one that found me first.” you spoke. Silence filled the car again for a moment, “I never told any of you purely because I just wanted to try and forget about it. I figured some of you might recognise me, but I hoped that you’d rescued so many people that you wouldn't necessarily remember one person you’d helped. Clearly though, you knew, and I think so does Spencer.” you looked towards Derek, “I’ll tell everyone else eventually” 

“I’m sorry for bringing it up,” he spoke quietly, 

“Don’t be.” You shook your head, “I needed to thank you anyway. All of you really. But you stayed by my side from the moment you found me until the ambulance left,” you paused, looking back at Derek, “I don’t think you realise how much I appreciated that.” you finished quietly, a sad tone in your voice. 

Derek turned and nodded gently at you, not saying anything else until you guys arrived at the club, continuing on with the case you were working. 

—--------

“I think we found our guy.” Hotch spoke after Garcia had finished her round of research she was given, the team headed out, finding the warehouse where the unsub should be holding the missing girl, rushing to get there before he murdered her just like the others. 

Spencer and you went round the back together along with some swat agents and other cops, checking each room until you saw the unsub running from you both, alerting the agents who were left outside, Derek being one of them. 

“We found the victim, she’s alive.” Emily spoke into the comms, just before Hotch spoke, 

“Offender running on foot northwest, me and Derek are in pursuit.” Spencer, you, Emily and Rossi all ran out of the warehouse, knowing the victim was safe with the rest of the police and the medics, hopping in one of the SUVs and going out to find Hotch and Derek. 

All in one moment, the most intense pain you’d felt before rang through your shoulder and your leg, causing you to yelp out in pain, making everyone else in the car jump, “Y/N!” Spence exclaimed, being the one sitting next to you in the back, “You okay?” he asked, at the same time Hotch spoke on the radio, 

“Shots fired, Agent down. I need medics to my location.” he practically shouted, the message finishing just as the SUV turned the corner to the alley they were in, Derek on the floor with Hotch knelt next to him. 

Confusion rung through you, the realisation never actually hitting you due to the pain in your body distracting you too much to think straight, “I can’t believe you’re a profiler and you haven’t figured it out yet.” Emily chuckled lightly, looking towards you with disbelief. 

“What?” you asked dumbly, 

“Get out the car and go to your damn soulmate.” she spoke again. You didn’t even think twice once the realisation hit you in the face, you jumped out the car, kneeling on the other side of Derek, one hand cupping his face, 

“Hey sweetheart.” he spoke, a small smile on his face even through the pain of the wounds. 

“Hey soulmate.” you smiled, “That hurt quite a lot you know?” finishing with a chuckle, Derek also chuckling before groaning in pain. “Sorry.” you whispered, noticing the pain he was in. 

“I’m taking you on a date once I’m better.” Derek told you, one of his hands coming to hold yours which was still on his face. 

“You better.” chuckling, you leant down and laid a small kiss on Derek’s forehead as the rest of the team watched on, smiles on their faces, relieved that the two of you finally figured it all out, even if you needed Emily to spell it out for you to realise.

[meowsequence]

The paradox of white chest plate is solved!

Warning: 1) Heavy spoilers 2) Lots of text 3) My point of view may change later

Let's recap some "Fake Ending" and "Continue Game" events:

Elster enters the Gates and goes through red desert. Red is the colour of bio-resonance and Ariane's wrath and suffering, or, in other words - Hell. Loops are also part of Hell.

She sees many corpses which are not (!) results of "Leave" ending - these don't look like they died with inner peace, they are far from Penrose-512 and, most importantly, they are still in Hell. These Elsters just never found the Ship or didn't dare to come closer. Remember Ariane's "come closer" call?

This time Elster finally made it to the ship! But then she got injured by invisible strike. Invisible means bio-resonance and there is only one bio-resonant in Hell - it's very creator Ariane. She didn't forgive Elster. Red part of Ariane feels betrayed and who can blame her?

Despite feeling Ariane's wrath, which hurts in many ways, Elster keep going. She puts her hand on the ship and awful noise stops. She climes up Penrose-512 and tries to open the hatch. "Ghost in the Shell" reference shows that Elster does not care of her body, she didn't forgive herself neither. And she fails. Again. And she falls down dying. Again.

She's actually dead, just look at her eye at main menu! The tragic story of Penrose-512 repeated.

We chose to continue and we see memories of Elster and Ariane being happy (interesting detail - back window is blue here)

We coming back to Elster's dead body and see how Ariane's figure appears next to it. Then we see how Ariane's face blends into bandaged version. I guess we can read it as Aline taking over Ariane or it is Ariane's other side kicks in as she looks at poor Elster? The side that is tired of suffering and wants it all to end - the White (sorry, white won't be visible) colour side, aka what's left of original Ariane. (Is it a proof that there are 2 long-haired Arianes in the line-up, so either one of them Aline or Ariane has 2 sides?) And then…

Elster's last memories are taken out of Red Hell (and therefore - out of loop) into White (snowing) Limbo. Just same way it was transferred from dead Elster on Penrose-512 to Hell in the beginning of the game.

Elster opens her eyes and climbing back. She does not use the hatch. Instead she appears in Ariane's room on the same place where original Elster-512 died. She has another dreadful injury now - her heart was brutally ripped out. That is the scary price for another try. It is hard to admit, but love was the reason of Elster's failures. And now she's desperate enough: she gave a promise and she'll do anything. We see exposed blue bones, blue is Elster's colour. And Ariane accepts Elster's hart as a sacrifice and… forgives her?

Finally, we are approaching the chest plate paradox that is announced in the title! But first, couple words about our sponsor… Do you like brain rot? Have you ever been going to bed and saying "man, I wish I had something to think about again and again instead of healthy sleep"? Try Signalis! Providing broken harts and sleepless nights from 2022! And if you are an artist, you are cursed for additional 50%! Okay-okay, now serious XD

Remember that we are still in White Limbo, outside loops of Red Hell. Another Elster's body we find by the cryo-pod is not a result of other in-Hell endings! It shows us WHERE and HOW we should have died! Arm/armour - is a sign of Ariane's forgiveness. We cover red chest plate and arm markings (the colour of Ariane's wrath) in white and blue - colours of Ariane and Elster. And that will protect us. Now she's ready to jump back to Hell. Now Red side of Ariane can't stop her anymore! What she's gonna do about it, huh? Except… hm… driving Adler mad and wake up Falke? >_>

[srcepiksla]

finally posting this zine i made at a trans oriented art workshop thing, its abt identity and like transitional periods.

english translation in alt

(id w english translation under the cut)

[ID:

first image: a zine cover with the title made up of different sized magazine cutout letters, some black and some red, saying "inter-states"; and a subtitle saying "a museum of transition"

second image: first two pages of the zine. the page on the left has vertically aligned text that says "white dot; grey dot; black dot" with appropriately coloured circles next to each line of text. the page on the right has a magazine cutout of a white shirt scribbled over with red pen, the text in the top left says "bloody shirts" and has blood dripping drawn under it.

third image: the middle two pages of the zine. the page on the left has a collage with a photo a person in a yellow raincoat lying face-down surrounded by cartoon-style hands holding microphones, the text under the person says "how do you see the future?". the page on the right has a collage of two women in black and white, one has short hair, a coat and is looking behind her; while the other one has long hair, a tight dress and is holding a gun pointed in the first woman's direction. the title on that page says: "communism" in all caps, and under it are various magazine cutouts saying "is there communism here in the 21st century?", "yugoslavia 2.0", "communism", "renaissance", "old and new: life and the universe", "communism" (again), and "a secret life".

fourth image: the last two pages of the zine. the page on the left features a blue quarter circle of a painting in the left corner; under it two ancient greek female figures lounging, with a question mark next to the one on the left and the female and male symbols added next to the one on the right; in the right corner there is a guy in a suit with his arms crossed and a scribbled on mushroom cloud replacing his head, on the left hand side is a blue cartoonishly drawn woman with something dripping from her mouth and a vacant stare. the text on the page says "artists and muses", "creative solutions", and "kill the original". the page on the right has the text "accepting yourself" and "emotional landscape / here's an emotional landscape", under the text are three cutout figures falling down and in distress, the background is scribbled on with black fineliner and red crayon.

/end of ID.]