#I like to really dig into him in fic form but it seems I got more to do to steer people to the correct realisation that he's faceted & cool

[bigfatbimbo]

Take a Bite

1.5k words,, Bill Cipher x Reader

summary — Bill and the reader have sex, which has proven to be very difficult seeing as he isn’t doing anything, and, of course, things are never easy with that insufferable brat.

warnings — SMUT, bill being annoying and toxic, dom!reader, sub!Bill, heavy pain kink, bill’s human form, the fat fuck not the twink

a/n — Admittedly, this fic only happened because I never see Bill sub in fanfics and i’m very interested in what the dynamic would be. You’d be like… domming with a risk of death.

“Well, slick,” Bill leaned back and gestured up and down his body, “Give it your all.”

Amusement was thick in his voice, along with bubbling giddiness. He fumbled with the seams on his pants, not out of nervousness, but as if he had forgotten how to take them off and was looking for some kind of zipper. One, admittedly, that he would not find on slacks. 

“Wow, human clothes are just as bad as the fleshbags. So needlessly complicated,” He sounded on the verge of a laughing fit, “Oh, and toots? Before you dig in, remember to leave marks. I wanna see how durable this thing is.” 

His amusement was not matched on your part. The situation invoked dull curiosity at best, in your opinion. The idea of harboring a wanted criminal, ex-overlord, god-like demon in your house challenged your idea of a good time. Having sex with that demon was even harder to swallow.

Then again, any situation with bill warranted an ungodly amount of stress. 

“Whatcha’ thinking about over there, sweet-cheeks?”

You smiled at that; of the few advantages you have, being in gravity falls for weirdmageddon proved to be one of them. You know of his powers, and with that, vague guesses on how to prevent them.

Tinfoil-lined bobbie pins were one of them. A guess, granted, but a good one at that. Really, not that complicated when you recall every alien movie you’ve ever watched. 

“Upset you can’t tell?” 

He laughed, “Upset for you, maybe. Trust me, it’d be so much easier for both of us if I could just read your thoughts. I’m already your roommate, how much closer could we ge- Ah.”

You brushed his pants crotch, and began to unbutton. For all his mightiness, the guy couldn’t work pants. “Careful, human body’s are touchy.” 

“Touchy,” He repeated, “Tell me about.” 

Getting his pants off was a task harder than it should have been, no thanks to Bill, who seemed to have taken to just lying there, occasionally flicking you, and then himself. 

When you finally peeled all of his clothes off, you warned him to brace himself, to which he ignored you. On top of that, the entire time Bill had been talking, droning on about ‘the last time he’d been in a human body.’

You wondered vaguely if he’d ever done this with someone else. In the time he’d been at your house he’d mentioned some ‘sixer’ ex-thing-ish of his. But you doubt he’d done anything with him.

As he’d mentioned, he hadn’t perfected his human form until very recently. Perfected is a strong word, he was pudgy and short, remanisent of a human peanut. And his teeth were terrible. 

Either way, you’d gotten him ready, and began your work. Laying a light finger on the tip of his dick, and running it down the base of his length, you got Bills first reaction: a short sniff.

Recovering fast, he adjusted his seat, “Yeah, tick tock, toots. This better be good.” 

It was his idea, you thought, but continued. Your fingers wrapped around the entirety of his cock and you began to stroke it. 

A sigh left Bills mouth, “Oh, this does have a kick to it. Maybe you’re not so bad, after all.”

Over the course of the next few minutes, you’d grow angrier and angrier. Although you were clearing making him feel good, he’d never shut his snide mouth for two seconds. 

“Jesus, slow down, pal— I just perfected this flesh-bag, at this rate your gonna break something—“ 

You didn’t realize how much your hand sped up. You thought for a moment, before completely stopping. Bill looked taken aback.

“Hey! what’s the—“

Without warning you grabbed his dick with full force and squeezed. He yelped, before giggling at the hurt.

This made you more mad, “God, do you ever shut up? I wish you’d lost your voice when you lost Gravity Falls.”

He stopped giggling. “I’d watch what you say, if I was you, kid.”

You threw your head back and laughed, running your hand slowly up his dick and then slamming back to the base of his cock. Finally, a reaction other than knowing bliss: anger. Weakness.

“Oh dear god, rearrange the features of my face then, Billy. See if I give a shit when you don’t have a place to live.”

His face turned red with rage, and he recoiled at the mention of your upperhand. And then, finally, at the slowing of your hand, a small, wavering whimper. 

You both caught it, and he was quick to put a hand of his mouth, “Sensitive human bodies - Hey, don’t look at me like that, that was not my fault.”

“God, you’re such a brat.”

“Oh please, what are you gonna do about it?” And he was completely serious.

Without much hesitation, you took the moment as an opportunity to abruptly sink yourself onto his dick. He sucked in a breath but you didn’t give him much time to do anything else.

“Ah- Now we’re talki—“ You slapped him hard across the face, and grabbed his cheeks with your hand, squishing them together, mockingly. Stifled laughter from Bill. 

“This is the form you spent all that time perfecting? I can barely feel anything. It’s worthless!” You sped up riding him, loosening your face to give the illusion you were bored, “You’re worthless.” 

His eyebrows arched down and his eyes widened, “I can kill you with a snap of my fingers! You think I need this sex— You think I need this hous— ah, ah—“

The unknown pleasure was getting to him, making his brain foggier than usual, and it was showing. Human senses were a key factor in your ability to keep the high-ground. Just as long as it felt good enough, he wouldn’t go back to his original form and… well. 

You wondered vaguely if you were actually going to be in mortal parole after this. But then again, the look on his face was almost euphoric, despite the anger. Thankfully, Bill was selfish, he’d probably chase the high again

You sighed, “Oh, you do need this house, Billy. Where else would you go? Everyone else in town has already forgotten about you, and your little maniac friends are no where to be seen.”

You sped up once more as your hands danced up his body, and continued, “With this whole out-of-sight-out-of-mind routine, i’m giving you something you won’t be getting anywhere else: attention.”

“You— Ah, curse this feeble human body! I’ll make your life a living hell-“ He whined, actually whined. 

Slamming yourself down on him, he cried out and then scowled. You raked your nails down his chest, deep enough to bleed, drawing out a  giggle from Bill as he felt the littlest bit of blood start to pool.

“You’re lucky this meatbag is— ah— funny enough—“ He was cut off with a gargle as a your hand sharply wrapped around his throat, and squeezed tight. 

“It’s not luck, i’m good at what I do, Billy. Not that you would know what that’s like, you pathetic shitbag,” although that insult wasn’t particularly true, you didn’t give him a chance to snap back, and instead put your other hand on his neck as well. 

You rode him with more speed than ever now. His eyes fluttered open and shut slowly, and he leaned into your hands. 

His face flushed, but a dreamy smile spread to the edges of his face as you made sure to leave bruise marks on his throat, still slamming against him. 

Although, you didn’t want to actually break him, so when his face began to turn purple, you let go. He gasped for air and let out a raspy, crazed giggle that went on for too long, and ending in a moan.

“I’m— “ Bills eyebrows furrowed, as if he was trying to decipher what the amusing thing the human body had planned next, “Somethings— somethings happening.”

His voice was broken, neck bruised, cheek red with a slap mark, eyes foggy, and chest bleeding from your nails. 

Before you dig in, remember to leave marks. I wanna see how durable this thing is.

Clearly you’d kept your end of the deal, and from what you’ve gathered it was time for the finale. You chased your own climax now as well, even though, admittedly, you hadn’t been thinking about it the whole session.

Annoying as it was that Bill still managed to make something all about him —and he definitely knew, mind reading or not— you still kept up your pace. 

“You’re close?” 

He smiled blissfully, and nodded.

What the hell. You smiled, “Good boy.”

His reaction was… startling. He leaned his head back, let out a small half-whine half-laugh, and arched off the bed. Finally, he released.

[junezsq]

high school reunion

steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: when returning to your old high school five years later might turn into a run in with your ex, you’re not sure if you should even go. what you did not expect was that seeing him again felt like no time had passed at all. he was just so easy to talk to

right person, wrong time -> right person, right time

warnings: a few swear words, make out scene, mentions of stranger things season 2, 3 & 4, mention of nightmares & migraines, flashback

word count: 3.5k

a/n: this took me about a week but i’m honestly really proud of it :’) the steve brainrot is real so i really didn’t mind spending everyday thinking of this fic lmao. i hope you enjoy reading this as much as i did writing <3

── ᵎᵎ ✦

the usually neatly made up bed that had now formed into a heap of discarded clothing items was the first sign of chaos. the desk and vanity full with hair and make up products was the second. a loud groan filled the room as you threw yourself onto your bed, feeling bumps of clothing poke into your back, but you didn’t seem to mind. “ugh, i’m not doing this.”

robin gasped and instantly turned her head to look at you, her hands still buried somewhere into your closet, “what do you mean?!”

“i’m not going.” you sighed, your eyes going over the ceiling. your hand found a piece of clothing to play with while you spoke, “i really don’t feel like seeing all of them again.” the material felt soft, like one of your sweaters, or maybe a t-shirt, “besides, i’ve got nothing to wear.”

robin raised her brows, retracting her arms from your closet so she could wave them around, “uhm, hello?? have you seen your room?” she exclaimed, placing her hands on her hips, “you’ve got clothes for an entire orphanage.”

you scoffed playfully, “nothing feels right to wear, though.” you mumbled, glancing down at the clothing item you’d been playing with; it wasn’t a sweater nor a t-shirt, but one of your favorite skirts, and even that didn’t live up to your expectations for tonight. a breath left your lips before letting go of the fabric and sitting up to look at robin, “i don’t want to get there and disappoint. you know, the girl who was supposed to be successful, but failed. miserably.”

“you didn’t fail miserably.” robin shrugged and you raised your brows at her. “okay, maybe, you didn’t go to college like you wanted, and moved back into your childhood bedroom,” she turned back towards your closet to continue digging through your clothes, “but who cares?? it’s only been five years, who knows what might’ve happened this time next year. right now, you’re single and living the life!”

you let your head fall into your hands with a sigh. your brain went over everyone that could possibly be there and when a certain name popped up you stilled. a gasp left your lips as your head snapped up to face robin’s back, “oh my god, what if steve’s going to be there?”

robin chuckled, “of course he’s going to be there, he was in your year.”

“ugh,” you groaned, letting yourself fall backwards onto your bed, “what if he wants to talk to me?? what am i gonna say?”

“just be yourself,” robin pulled one of your shirts out of your closet and assessed it before throwing it over her shoulder, “it’s not like you don’t know how to talk to him, i remember you two were, like, attached to the hip a couple years ago.”

“until we broke up.” you huffed, closing your eyes in remembrance. “i haven’t spoken to him since.”

robin didn’t seem to notice the somber undertone in your words, “yeah, but remember what happened 4 years back?.” she took out another shirt but also discarded it, “we all went through some heavy shit and you both weren’t really in the right headspace after, you know?” she pulled her attention away from your t-shirts and turned to your dresses, “maybe you just needed some time for yourself. both of you.”

you turned her words over in your head, opening your eyes again to let them go over the ceiling. when robin didn’t hear you speak up she continued, “i’m not saying you should jump on his dick the second you see him—“

“robin!” you exclaimed as you sat up again and watched how she threw another one of your dresses onto your bed. her arm basically disappeared into the back of your closet, “what i mean is, it might be awkward at first, but isn’t it worth it to talk to him and give it a shot? even if it’s just as, i don’t know, acquaintances.”

“maybe,” you mumbled, anxiously running your hands through your hair and over your face, “i just don’t want it be all awkward, with annoying small talk, which i hate, and—“

“holy shit!” robin’s voice stopped you from rattling. you watched as she pulled a long red dress from the back of your closet, “it’s perfect!”

your breath hitched when you saw the dress she’d picked. it was the dress you’d bought especially for a date you and steve were supposed to go on. you’d bought it months in advance, as a surprise, but never got to actually wear it since you’d broken up only a few weeks before you got to go.

after your and steve’s break up, you’d stuffed the dress in the back of your closet, not wanting to be reminded of how embarrassed you had felt about spending all that money on a stupid dress you never even got to wear. seeing it again, years later, made you remember why you’d bought it in the first place; it was gorgeous.

robin’s voice pulled you away from your thoughts, “what do you think??”

your eyes flickered between robin and the dress for a moment, eventually resting on robin, “i don’t know…” you sighed, “it’s been in my closet for years, i’m not sure it’ll still fit.”

robin narrowed her eyes at you, not believing your excuse for even a second, “your body type hasn’t changed at all.” she threw the dress in your lap, “and i mean that as a compliment, go on, try it!”

you sighed once more, “fine.” you mumbled, taking the dress in your hand and standing up from the comfort of your bed. you pointed your finger at robin, “but only because you’re annoying when you don’t get what you want.”

"thank you!" robin sing-songed, turning to the vanity on the other side of your room to busy herself with your make-up while you changed. your eyes stayed on robin for a moment before glancing down at the dress in your hands. while playing with the satin fabric you bit your bottom lip in uncertainty.

after standing in thought for a moment you mentally rolled your eyes at yourself. it was just a dress and it was definitely way too pretty to stuff it back into your closet for another five years.

with a light shake of your head you pealed off the clothes you were currently wearing and slipped inside the dress. while adjusting the straps on your shoulders you looked at your reflection in your mirror. a small smile grew on your lips as you let your hands glide down your hips to smooth out the fabric.

"holy mother of god." robin's voice pulled you away from your thoughts, "god is a woman, and that woman is you." you raised your brows at her words and a laugh escaped your lips, "you're insane, you know that, right?"

she smiled at you, closing the distance between you two to grab your hands and pull you towards your vanity. she moved her hands to your shoulders and pushed you down onto the chair. "okay, so, I've thought out this look that i think pairs so well with the dress." she spoke quickly as she grabbed your desk chair and sat down opposite of you, "close your eyes."

you giggled, following her orders. when you felt one of your make-up brushes touch the skin of your eyelids you smiled to yourself, appreciating this moment. after about a minute of silence, robin still focused on your make-up, you decided to voice a thought, "i know steve's your best friend, but thank you for helping me get ready for tonight."

"correction; you're both my best friends." robin slightly tilted your head up, "and do you really think steve was going to let me do his hair and make-up?" she snorted, causing you to giggle softly.

when robin moved onto your lips you opened your eyes again, seeing robin's brows knitted together in focus. "yes, perfect!" she exclaimed as she pulled back, closing the lipgloss she'd used. you turned your head to face your vanity mirror and a soft gasp left your just glossed lips when you saw yourself. "robin..."

you leaned in slightly closer to get a better look at yourself. robin had used a deep toned red to create a soft smokey eye and a gorgeous red tint lipgloss you didn't even remember owning.

"no need to thank me again," robin smirked lightly as she watched you admire the look she'd created, "i did it with love."

you turned to look at her with a wide smile, "thank you." robin threw her hands up, "i told you not to do that!" she stood up and pulled you along with her, "okay, now go kick some ass! not steve's."

you laughed at her words, again. robin had a way with words that would make sure she could get you to smile every damn time, and you adored her because of it. "I'll try my best."

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:

as soon as you stepped inside the familiar hawkins high gym you let out a strangled breath. a sarcastic laugh bubbled up in your throat when you noticed the school board had decorated the hall as if it was a regular high school dance. besides the cliché 'welcome back class of 1985' posters plastered all over the walls, they'd re-used snowball decorations, and the signature punch and drinks table was stood in the same spot you remembered it stood when you were in middle school.

to try and get over your nerves you decided to head to that exact table. you tuned out the sound of music and chatter as you grabbed a cup and filled it with punch. a soft breath left your lips before turning back to let your eyes glide over everyone mingling on the dance floor. when taking a sip of the punch you noticed how the recipe must not have changed at all, since it tasted exactly the same in your memory.

"it's weird, isn't it? to be back here." a voice you recognised all too well pulled your thoughts away from your old classmates. you snapped your head to the side to be faced with the one person you were hoping not to bump into tonight. your eyes glided over his side profile as he was focused on the dance floor.

"yeah..." you spoke after a moment of silence and turned back to look in front of you and took a big sip from your punch, "not even the people, it's just," you breathed out, "something about this place, you know?"

he hummed, crossing his arms, "yeah, i mean, what other school would use the same snowball decorations for every event they hold."

a chuckle left your lips before you took another swig from your drink. "you took the words right out of my mouth, harrington." you smiled lightly, turning to look at him only to find him already looking at you with a small smirk playing on his lips.

“how have you been?” he asked, sounding genuinely interested. you looked at him for a moment longer but eventually tore your eyes away from him, focusing back on everyone happily moving around the hall, “do you want me to tell you what i tell everyone else, or do you want me to be honest?” you asked before finishing your punch, placing your empty cup on the table behind you.

“whatever you feel comfortable telling me.” he noticed how your expression was tense and how there was a slight strain in your voice as you spoke. he spoke softly, not taking his eyes off your side profile, “but you know you can be honest with me.”

the fact you hadn’t seen him in years but he still spoke to you like he cared. you swallowed, knowing you’d tell him everything in a heartbeat, “can we go for a walk?” you glanced at him, his eyes still on you as he nodded, “yeah, sure.”

you internally thanked him for not joking around or completely dismissing the fact you wanted to get out of the over stimulating gym hall. you wrapped your arms around yourself as the two of you made your way out, through the hallways and eventually all the way outside. you felt almost instantly relaxed when taking a breath of fresh air, “it’s been difficult these past few years.” you eventually spoke up, your eyes fixed on the ground as the two of you walked side by side.

you had picked the honesty option. steve glanced at your side profile, but didn’t say anything; giving you the chance to speak your mind. you swallowed, "i'll think i'm doing alright, but then i wake up in the middle of the night, crying because i somehow got transported back in time and one of those stupid demodogs is trying to attack me." you tightened your arms around yourself, "or vecna's back to take max again, but we can't save her this time."

steve grabbed your arm, stopping both of you in your tracks, "hey, you still get nightmares?" he asked quietly, and when he looked over your features he noticed the tears forming in your eyes. "i thought those were over? you told me you didn't get them anymore."

your breath hitched slightly, remembering how you'd lied about your nightmares years ago, "I didn't want you to worry."

his brows raised, "you didn't—" he shuffled on his feet so he was standing directly in front of you, "you could've told me. i was your boyfriend, it was kind of my job to worry about you."

"i'm sorry." you smiled softly at his words, glancing down at his hand that was still secured on your arm, "I know that now, but i was—"

"don't apologise." he cut you off, following your eye movement with his and with the realisation he'd been clinging to you he retracted his arm. "do you still get them often?"

you looked back up to meet his eyes, "i used to get them almost every night, but it's gotten better over the years." steve nodded, still going over your features. you didn't want the silence to grow so you decided to redirect the conversation over to him, "how about you? are you doing alright?"

he shrugged, "besides the occasional migraine, i'm doing alright, yeah."

you slightly tilted your head, "you still get those?"

steve chuckle softly, "yeah, those russians must've known what they were doing." he ran a hand through his hair, "fucked me up pretty badly."

"i know, i'm sorry..." you smiled sadly, instinctively placing your hand on his upper arm, as if to comfort him. "stop apologising for shit that's not your fault." he reached up and took your hand in his, "can't really do anything about it anyway."

you gave him a singular nod and you felt him softly squeeze your hand. the conversation fell silent as you both basked in each other’s company. even though it had been five years since you’d seen him, for some peculiar reason, it felt like no time had passed at all. talking to him had always been easy and clearly nothing had changed.

after a couple minutes you lightly shook your head, finally realizing you’d been staring at him. you averted the gaze to your surroundings and found you’d ended up at the backside of hawkins high, close to the big willow tree that was now slowly going out of bloom.

a small smile formed on your lips at the thought of the two of you ending up here. the willow tree had always been your spot; you and steve having spent most of your high school days there. hiding from the rain or taking advantage of the shade during hot summer days, it never mattered.

you were sure your laughter could be heard over the entire schoolyard, but you didn’t care. “steve!” you exclaimed as he dragged you along with him, eventually stopping right underneath the willow. he leaned against the tree and pulled you closer to him. “steve, class starts in a couple minutes.” you giggled, placing your hands on his shoulders.

“which means we still have those couple minutes to do whatever we want.” he looked at you with his signature smirk as he placed one of his hands on your waist and the other on your cheek so he could pull you flush against him, dipping his head to connect his lips with yours.

you smiled against his lips, taking hold of his arm. “steve.” you mumbled. he hummed, moving his hand to the back of your neck, as if wanting to pull you even closer even though there was no space left between you.

“steve.” you tried again, moving slightly back with a small giggle, your eyes going over his features, “miss. thomson is going to kill us if we’re late.”

“who cares about miss. thomson.” he shrugged, moving his hand that was on the back of your neck to your waist as well so he could softly squeeze your hips. you playfully rolled your eyes, “i do. if i wanna keep my perfect attendance.”

he ignored your words and kissed you again, mumbling against your lips, “missing one class won’t hurt.”

you decided to just give in, already knowing there was no chance in hell steve was going to let you go. your hands found their way to his chest and up to his shoulders. he smirked against your lips when he realized he’d convinced you to stay.

you melted into the firm, but also soft, kiss. you and steve had kissed a multitude of times, but you knew you’d never grow tired of it; there was just something special about the way his lips felt on yours. your let your hands tangle up into his hair as you raised yourself to stand on your toes, wanting to be as close to him as possible.

the sudden blaring sound of the school bell interrupted you and you pulled back with a gasp. you glanced backwards to see everyone making their way inside the school building, “shit!” you cursed, looking back to steve who still had his eyes focused you, “come on, we gotta get to class!”

you untangled your hands from his hair and grabbed one of his hands. just when you started to take a step away from him, wanting to take him with you, steve pulled you back against him and placed his lips on yours once more. you immediately melted back into the kiss, but detached yourself from him not even a few seconds later.

“steve!!” you looked at him with wide eyes, “i hate you. come on!” you turned and started running off towards miss. thomson’s class, dragging him along with you.

your eyes were focused on the willow as you smiled at the memory. it was one of many, but all memories you had created with steve underneath the hawkins high willow tree were some of your favorites.

“what are you thinking of?” his voice pulled you away from your thoughts and when you turned to look at him you found him already looking at you, the exact same smirk as all those years ago playing on his lips.

you returned his smirk as you let your eyes wander over his features; they had matured but he was so obviously the same steve harrington as years ago, “i think you know.”

he chuckled, “i’m pretty sure all we did here was make out,” he glanced at the tree before focusing back on you, the smirk still playing on his lips “or maybe you remember something different.”

you laughed and lightly shook your head, “you haven’t changed at all, have you?”

he returned your laugh, running a hand through his hair. when a soft wind rustled the willow tree, he noticed how you shivered at the cold air, “wanna go back inside?” he asked softly.

“yeah, maybe we should start mingling with all the others,” you smiled softly. steve chuckled and offered you his arm. you smiled in appreciation, looping your arm through his and placing your hand in his bicep, “we have got to find out how many boyfriends christine martin has had by now.”

steve smiled but kept silent as you made your way back towards the school entrance. it was a comfortable silence and you cherished the moment you had just shared with him. when you were about to set foot inside, steve leaned closer, “you look beautiful, by the way.” he whispered in your ear, “i haven’t had the opportunity to tell you, but i’ve been thinking it since the moment i first saw you tonight.”

you turned your head to look at him and could tell he was slightly nervous telling you that, not knowing how you would react. however, you just smiled, reached up to place a soft kiss on his cheek and pulled him inside with you before he could say anything else.

[hayakawalove]

The Perfect Present

Summary: You and Satoru think of what to get Suguru for his birthday. What do you get a man who doesn't ask for much? (It's sex)

A/N: And if you look at your calendar, you'll see that the date is February 3rd (it's not) (pretend it is). Another poly satosugu fic for the books. I'm a bit worried my presentation of reader and Gojo's relationship is coming off bad... In all the fics I have for them, their relationship has a heavy emphasis on teasing each other and just being light. I hope it doesn't seem like I don't love him as much, or that he and reader don't like each other. Comments always appreciated!

CW: Smut, Polyamory, Vaginal Sex, Oral Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Rough Oral Sex, Finger Sucking, Spit Kink, Hair-pulling, Hand Jobs, Dirty Talk, Praise Kink, Humiliation, Dom/sub, Masturbation, Come Swallowing, Nipple Play, Creampie, Dom Suguru, Sub Reader and Gojo, Fem Reader, AFAB Reader

W/C: 4,028

Credit to Benkeibear for the banner

A low clicking sound is the only noise in your living room. You have your feet kicked up on Satoru’s lap, the heat of his laptop resting on top of your shins. 

“What about a necklace?” You break the silence, fiddling with your shirt. 

Satoru hums, backing out of yet another online store. The two of you were looking for a birthday present for Suguru, a notoriously hard task. 

It wasn’t that he wasn’t grateful. He was too grateful, that was the issue. He liked everything you got him, his face always breaking into a smile even if you bought him something he already had. This year you and Satoru wanted to get something he would love. 

“This is hard.” Satoru drops his head back. 

You look up towards him. His hair was messy as he kept tugging at it as he browsed the internet. Satoru looks back down and furrows his brows, rapidly clicking his mouse. 

“This is so annoying, I keep getting adverts that are basically soft porn.” 

You lift a brow at him, admiring his face. 

“They say ads are algorithmic. Maybe stop searching up soft porn and you won’t get them.” 

Satoru scowls at you, pinching your leg. You yelp and watch as he runs his fingers through his pale hair again. 

“I don’t look that stuff up, why would I need to? I have you and Suguru, my own personal porn stars.” 

Your lips twitch in response. You rarely got embarrassed by Satoru anymore, but occasionally he would say something that left you reeling. 

And he wasn’t really wrong. You did feel like a porn star for the two men at times, ready to perform for them at any given second. 

An idea pops in your head. 

“Satoru, what if we let Suguru do whatever he wants for a day?” 

Satoru grins and backs out of the page he’s on. 

“I’m listening.” 

~~~

Your skin prickles in anticipation as your legs cramp below you. You were sitting on your knees, a dull pain beginning to take root in your muscles. The lingerie you were wearing was digging into your sides, the sensation mildly uncomfortable. You knew it was worth it though. You never wore lingerie for Suguru, so you were filled with excitement at how he would react. 

Satoru whines beside you, running his finger underneath the strap that bit into his chest. You told him he didn’t have to wear lingerie too, but he insisted. Wanted to match you, he said. 

“I’m home!” You hear Suguru’s voice call out. Butterflies fill your stomach as anxiety starts to take form in your stomach. 

You and Satoru were in your bedroom, waiting for Suguru to find you. Satoru was practically bouncing up and down in excitement. You can hear Suguru set down his backpack, before filling up a glass of water. 

What if he thought you looked stupid? 

You knew he wouldn’t, but the fear gnawed at you nonetheless. 

“Where are you guys?” Suguru asks, footsteps getting louder as he makes his way to the bedroom. 

You hold your breath as the door knob turns, revealing Suguru. His expression turns from confused to hazy as he notices what you’re wearing. 

“H-happy birthday Suguru.” You attempt to speak loudly, fingers digging into your thighs. 

“What do you think?” Satoru asks, his face lighting up in a smile. 

You notice Suguru’s fingers grip the cup tighter and you wonder for a second if the glass may shatter. 

“What do we have here?” Suguru questions, walking further into the room to set his glass down on the nightstand. 

He comes back around and stands in front of the two of you, head tilted to the side as he watches you. You feel like you’re being assessed, graded on your posture and by the stillness of your body. 

“It’s your birthday, we wanted to celebrate you.” You say meekly. 

Suguru lifts up a hand that you nuzzle into, your cheek smooshing against his palm. 

“Is that right?” He asks, lifting his other hand to caress Satoru’s face. 

Suguru leans forward to place a kiss on Satoru’s lips. The act is a bit aggressive, you’re able to see a wince form on Satoru’s face. You would think he hated the rough treatment if not for the low groan escaping his throat. 

When Suguru pulls back, Satoru’s face is tinged a dark pink. Anticipation begins to build up in your stomach, taking a physical form by leaking between your legs. Suguru turns his head to you, locking his lips against yours. He kisses you much softer, always bordering on the line of not enough. 

You wanted him to be rough with you. 

You wanted him to ruin you. 

He pulls away the second you feel your oxygen depleting. There are stars in his dark eyes, shining as his gaze flicks back and forth between you two. You can practically see his mind churning, thinking about what he wanted to do. 

Satoru’s panting beside you already and you almost feel sorry at the sad sight. It wasn’t about him tonight, but you wanted to help ease the ache between his legs. You knew he was feeling it, because you were feeling it too. 

“What am I going to do with you…” Suguru speaks under his breath. 

Satoru raises his hand, brushing it against the front of Suguru’s pants. He’s about to start unbuttoning them before Suguru grabs his wrist, fingers digging into Satoru’s pale skin. 

“I think you should ask first, don’t you?” 

The oxygen is sucked out from the air around you, and your throat immediately feels dry. Satoru is trembling beside you, probably from excitement. You couldn’t blame him. 

“Can we suck your cock?” Satoru asks. 

“I don’t think you asked politely enough. Try again.” Suguru looks unamused as he stares at Satoru.

Satoru whimpers before his hand falls limp in Suguru’s hold. 

“Can we please suck your cock, sir?” 

Suguru cracks a grin, releasing Satoru’s wrist. He’s immediately fumbling to unbuckle Suguru’s pants, the heat of the room rising. 

Satoru pulls Suguru’s pants down, eyes wide as he gazes upon the bulge. You were barely able to stay still at the sight. Satoru peels his underwear off, mouth dropping open once Suguru’s cock falls out. He places a lick at the bottom, dragging his tongue until he reaches the top. Suguru’s face remains neutral as he watches Satoru. You bite down on the inside of your cheek, scooting closer to the two. 

The heat radiating from Satoru was almost scorching your skin. When he pulls back, you’re able to see the saliva shining on Suguru’s cock in the low light. Irresistible. Satoru groans as he pushes his mouth all the way down, nose being met with a mess of curly black hair. Tonight wasn’t about you either, but you almost felt like it was. The sight of the two was almost too good to be true. 

You release a quiet whine, thighs shuffling beneath your body. You’re getting impatient now as you watch Satoru indulge himself. 

Suguru’s eye flick over to you and a coo slips from his lips. His large hand combs through the crown of your hair, the warmth of his palm seeping through your scalp. 

“I know baby, Satoru’s hogging all the fun, isn’t he?” 

Your brows furrow as your teeth dig in your lip, nodding up at Suguru. He coos once more before using his other hand, threading his fingers through Satoru’s hair and yanking him off his cock. A gasp of air is released from his mouth as he winces, following the motion of Suguru’s hand so as to not cause more pain. 

“Good pets know how to share.” Suguru scolds. 

You wait for permission as you look up at Suguru. You can practically see the hearts swimming in his eyes, but they may just be a reflection of your own. 

“Take it.” Suguru says. 

You scoot forward and wrap your lips around Suguru’s cock, Satoru’s saliva mixing with yours. It’s a filthy sight, the way you look kneeling before Suguru. Satoru’s panting beside you, hair still being pulled by Suguru. 

You allow your tongue to slide down, caressing the sensitive skin on Suguru. He shows no emotion that may tell you he’s enjoying himself, but that only makes you want to try harder. Tears leak from your eyes as you force yourself down even more, the weight of his heavy cock causing your jaw to ache. 

Suguru’s eyes are cold and calculating as he watches you. There’s a pit growing in your stomach, the urge to make him come undone stronger than anything you had ever felt before. If it was Satoru in front of you, you would be gifted with a slurry of groans and curse words. They balanced each other out, you guess. 

“You guys got all pretty for me?” Suguru asks, eyes drawn to the way your lips were wrapped around him. 

Satoru has to speak up a bit louder than normal in order to talk above the sounds of you choking on Suguru. 

“Yes sir.” Satoru plays nice, face still wincing at the pain shooting through his head. 

You can’t breathe. You aren’t sure you want to, either. The lack of oxygen is going straight to your pussy, a throbbing beginning to start. Suguru must notice the twitching of your fingers. He notices everything. 

“Satoru, you wanna be a good boy for me?” 

“Depends-“ Satoru gasps as Suguru yanks his hair tighter. 

“Why don’t you get yourselves ready?” It’s not a question even though Suguru poses it as such. 

He releases Satoru and allows him to move closer to you. You feel the ghost of a kiss against your shoulder, Satoru’s lips brushing against your exposed skin. You break out in goosebumps as you thrust your mouth over Suguru’s cock, a mix of salty precum beginning to drip down your throat. 

Satoru’s hand glides over the skin of your thighs, parting them for you. Once his fingers make contact with your clothed clit, you jump, a moan muffled around Suguru. Suguru runs his hand through your hair, soothing you as you suck his cock. 

Satoru buries his middle finger in your slit, molding the lingerie to your dripping pussy. He rubs over it several times before pulling his finger back, sliding it in his mouth before hooking the fabric, easing his finger into you. The stretch is delicious as he dives his finger inside, thrusting in twice before sliding in another finger. As he does this, he uses his other hand to wrap around his cock, rubbing it through his garments. 

The two of you are moaning, filling the room with pornographic sounds. Suguru looks entranced as he watches you two. You wanted tonight to be for him, but it was starting to feel like you and Satoru were having the most fun. Then again, you felt as though Suguru got even more pleasure watching you both, controlling when and how you were getting off. 

Satoru pulls his cock out, tugging it at the same pace he finger fucked you. Satoru’s fingers slide against your sensitive walls, fucking you even though your tight pussy was practically holding him in place. You try to stop yourself from grinding against his hand, desperate to not appear any more pathetic than you already felt. Satoru’s cock is wet and hard, the sounds of his hand sliding down nearly echoing. 

Suguru’s lips are parted as he stares down at you. Something akin to pride blooms in your chest as you look up at him. 

“Is she ready?” Suguru asks, reaching up to let his hair fall down. 

Satoru’s brows are furrowed as he groans, reaching his fingers deep inside you. You dig your nails into Suguru’s thighs, craving for more. 

Suguru pulls back, releasing your mouth from him. You’re finally able to get fresh air, your throat already sore from the rough treatment. You heave as you look up at him, completely disregarding the obscene strings of saliva connecting you to his cock. 

“You look so pretty, don’t you baby?” Suguru says, leaning over to swipe the spit from your face. 

“Y-yes sir.” The only thing on your mind is him. How can you make him feel good?

Suguru coos and helps you to your feet. It’s borderline tortuous to have Satoru’s fingers slide out of you. He also winces in disappointment, popping the fingers in his mouth. You get on your hands and knees on the bed, shoving your ass out to signal how badly you needed contact. 

You can feel the burn of Suguru’s stare on your body, and you’re trembling with excitement. His large hand comes up to graze across your sensitive flesh, eliciting a soft groan. Suguru grips your ass and spreads it, sliding his cock between you before easing himself inside your pussy. 

Satoru’s fingers did warm you up, but you weren’t so sure it was enough. Your mouth drops open and your body tenses up, pussy almost pushing him back out. 

“Hey, hey, relax baby. You gotta loosen up for me. It’s my birthday, remember?” Suguru speaks. 

You whine and try to force your muscles to comply. The action gives Suguru the ability to slip in completely. 

“Fuck.” Suguru moans, digging his fingers in your ass. 

You aren’t able to see, but Satoru is standing next to Suguru, a frown plastered on his face. 

“What’s wrong Satoru?” Suguru appeases him. 

“I, I need-“ Satoru can’t get the words out, he’s grabbing his cock as he tries to figure out how to ask for what he wants. 

Suguru pulls back slightly, before shoving myself back in. You let out a sharp gasp and drop your face into the bed. 

“Why don’t you tell me what you need?” It sounds like a trap with the way Suguru asks it, his voice sickly sweet but his eyes dark. 

Suguru grabs Satoru’s cock, rubbing it a couple times as he stares at him. He paused his movements in you, his cock completely still as it rested deep inside you. You’re close to fucking yourself on him, your anticipation gripping you like a vice. Satoru’s breathing heavily behind you, his hand holding Suguru’s arm. 

“Need more, please.” Usually Satoru would fight back, but he was a pile of mush today. He must really want it bad. 

“Such a good boy today.” 

Suguru speaks, grinning as Satoru almost doubles over. Satoru lets out a groan, thrusting his hips forward to meet Suguru’s palm. Suguru starts to fuck into you at a leisurely pace, his cock grazing your sensitive walls. You try to remind yourself that it’s his birthday, that this isn’t for you, but your patience is waning. His cock is still keeping you stuffed, nearly full to the brim, but just like Satoru you wanted more. You wanted him to bring his hips back only to slam into you so hard you couldn’t breathe. 

“Why don’t you use the front, you’ll let him do that won’t you sweetheart?” The question is aimed at you, but it’s hard to respond with your mind being clouded with need. 

“Mhm.” Your face is smashed in the bed, as you breathe deeply trying to collect yourself. 

Suguru lets go of Satoru, watching as he stumbles to the bed. When he gets on top, he sits on his knees in front of you. Suguru reaches up and laces his hand through your hair, yanking it back to expose your face to Satoru. The action is painful, a low groan falling past your lips as you try to focus on Satoru. His face is bright red above you, his leaky tip inches from your lips. Your stomach twists at the sight, he looked so fucking good. You stick out your tongue, hoping it will distract you from the desire seeping in your core. 

“I’ve neglected you, I’m sorry.” Suguru murmurs, smoothing your ass with one hand. 

He pulls back and thrusts into you hard, jolting you forward. It was exactly what you needed. Satoru takes the opportunity to slide his cock in your mouth, moaning at the warmth that coats him. It’s getting hard to breathe between Suguru slamming into you, his pace slow but forceful, and Satoru’s cock filling up every inch of your mouth. If you listen closely enough, you’re able to hear Suguru’s soft moans behind you. Satoru’s precum is salty as it slides down your tongue. Suguru’s the one who sets the pace for you, his hand still gripping your head. He controls how your mouth moves, smirking to himself when he sees Satoru’s fingers twitch. 

Each time Suguru presses into you, his cock pushes against the sensitive spot in your walls that leaves you breathless. He knew your body like the back of his hand, his touch never failing to leave you reeling. You can hardly focus on Satoru’s cock, moans spilling from your lips at the way Suguru stretches you. Your jaw aches from keeping it open, tears beginning to well up in your eyes from the pain of Satoru’s cock nudging the back of your throat. You aren’t sure how much longer he’s going to last, his whimpers filling the room as he tosses his head back, his face almost completely pink. Suguru pushes your head down at a faster pace, breathless chuckles following once he hears you struggling for air. You swirl your tongue underneath Satoru’s cock, as your head bobs along his cock. 

“Suguru…” Satoru moans not your name, but the name of the man behind you. 

The name of the man who controls the two of you like puppets, created only for his pleasure. 

“Feel good?” Suguru asks, his face briefly pinching up. 

Satoru’s stomach is flexing above you, you can see it through the expensive lingerie that donned his body. 

“So, s-so good-“ Satoru’s precum is dribbling down your throat, and you have to continuously swallow. 

“I know, she’s perfect.” Suguru voice is almost muffled in your ears, your mind swimming. “You gonna cum?” 

“Yes, need to cum, need to-“ Satoru’s voice breaks off into a loud moan. 

He’s holding back, you can tell. 

“Oh you need to? You have a lot of needs today, don't you think that’s weird if you’re celebrating my birthday?” 

Your walls clench around Suguru at the harshness of his words. You hope he won’t point it out, you aren’t sure you could handle the humiliation from him right now. You might cum on the spot. 

“Please,” Satoru sobs. 

Suguru hums, his hands full of the flesh in front of him. He kneads your ass as he talks. 

“Please, please, Suguru I’m gonna!”

Suguru’s breathing picks up behind you. He’s getting off on this. He likes knowing Satoru needs him. He likes hearing him groan his name, even though he isn’t touching him. 

“Alright, alright.” Suguru slams your head all the way down, the action nearly bruising the back of your throat. 

Satoru moans loudly, his breathing stuttering as cum begins to shoot out into your mouth. You choke at first before you regain your barings. 

“Don’t swallow.” Suguru tells you. 

Suguru pulls you off Satoru’s cock once he sees Satoru regain composure. Suguru pulls you up until his toned chest is pressing into your sweaty back. He tilts your face towards his, digging his fingers into your jaw and pressing his lips against you. The cum leaks from the corner of your lips as Suguru laps it from your mouth, desperate for a taste of Satoru. His hips stop as he kisses you, his tongue sliding into your mouth. His breath is heavy as it mixes with yours. 

Suguru pulls back, admiring your face before pressing down on your back, shoving you into the bed. You yelp as he starts to thrust into you again, your walls sensitive from all the constant teasing. 

“Taste so f-fucking good Satoru.” Suguru moans, holding your hips as he fucks into you. 

Suguru’s pace is steady now that he’s able to fully focus on you. He reaches his hand around and slides his fingers onto your pussy, circling your clit. You moan into the bed as he presses into you. Overwhelming, Suguru was overwhelming. 

“Satoru, get under her.” 

The two men move your body until Satoru is laying beneath you, bright blues looking up as his hand caresses your face. You whimper as you look down at him. He leans up to press his lips against yours, silencing all your sounds. You try to force your body to remain stable on your two wobbly arms, but your body was feeling useless. His tongue slides against your bottom lip, diving in the second your mouth opens. He tangles it with yours, his eyes rolling back once he tastes the remnants of his cum. Satoru slides his hand down your body, grazing against your chest. His fingers take advantage of your hardened nipples as he pinches them. Suguru breathes in a sharp breath when your pussy clenches around him. 

Each part of your body was being stimulated by the two men, your senses nearly burning out from the pleasure. Satoru pulls away, looking up at you as he continues to tease your chest. His eyes are closely monitoring each of your reactions, lips parted as he watches. 

Suguru strokes your clit, speeding up once he starts fucking you faster. Moans were falling from your lips now that you were unrestricted. You knew you were going to cum soon, and it scared you knowing that the men would be able to keep this up for endless amounts of hours. 

“Good, s-so good, don’t stop, please don’t stop.” You sob, forcing your eyes shut. 

Suguru slams into you, groaning at the intermittent squeezing of your walls. His cock is drenched in your lust, the lubrication making it all the more easier to thrust into you. 

Satoru continues to play with your nipples, switching between sliding his thumbs over them and pinching them. He’s mesmerized as he watches your face twist in pleasure, nearly jealous that Suguru’s the one who’s balls deep inside of you. 

Suguru’s circling your clit as he feels himself get closer and closer to the edge. He wants you to cum first. 

You let out a long moan as you tighten around Suguru, so much so that it’s hard for him to continue fucking you. You cum on his cock, Satoru refusing to stop touching you. You cum so hard you nearly black out, almost afraid that your arms would give out on you, causing you to fall onto Satoru. 

“Fuck, that’s it baby, come on.” Suguru murmurs, his breathing more labored. 

He pulls his fingers away once you settle down and reaches them forward to stick into Satoru’s mouth. You get a front row seat as Satoru licks Suguru’s fingers, groaning at the taste. Once he’s finished, Suguru leans back to hold onto you. His pace is irregular, letting you know that he was close. You stare into Satoru’s eyes, maintaining eye contact. Suguru pushes into you, his hips stuttering as he starts to cum. He isn’t as noisy as Satoru, but the sounds he makes still travel to your ears, the low moaning making your body melt. Suguru stays inside you for a couple of moments, wincing when he pulls out. He admires the cum filling your hole, looking around to find something to clean you up with. Satoru brushes your hair back and slides from underneath you, appreciating your trembling figure on the bed. 

Suguru cleans you up, carefully helping you lay down. 

“I love you.” Satoru grabs Suguru’s wrist, pressing his lips against his. 

“I love you too.” Suguru says. 

You look up at the two men, your bottom lip jutting out. Satoru chuckles and Suguru’s lips spread into a soft smile. 

“I love you too.” Satoru aims towards you. 

Suguru repeats the sentiment, your cheeks hurting from how hard you’re smiling. 

The two men make their way to the bed, and instead of sandwiching you in the middle, Satoru waits until Suguru lays down before he lays on his other side. 

“Can we sing to you now?” Satoru asks. 

“Please don’t.” 

Tag List: @tojislittleprincesss, @dinolvrrr, @kimi01985, @mikisspeak

If you would like to be added to my taglist for when I post please let me know

[starhvney]

𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: mcd laurance x reader

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: when your lover can’t calm himself from a nightmare, you try to calm him through a connection only you can give

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: angst with comfort, shadow knight laurance, once again i present laurance angst, yet another fic where i write laurance obsessing over reader’s safety, do i have a thing for it? yeah, do something about it, also can you catch the canon line i slid in here? i couldn’t help myself

𝐂𝐖: nsfw/smut. unprepped sex, large size difference, does this count as monster fucking? not really? but he’s a big boy

𝐀/𝐍: thank you to @thebunnednun for giving me this prompt!! shadow knight laurance *convulses* anyways i hope this is coherent guys i wrote most of it last night while half asleep ahshah

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝑻𝑯𝑰𝑺 𝑷𝑶𝑺𝑻 𝑪𝑶𝑵𝑻𝑨𝑰𝑵𝑺 𝑵𝑺𝑭𝑾 𝑪𝑶𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑻, 𝑰𝑭 𝒀𝑶𝑼 𝑨𝑹𝑬 𝑼𝑵𝑫𝑬𝑹𝑨𝑮𝑬 𝑶𝑹 𝑼𝑵𝑪𝑶𝑴𝑭𝑶𝑹𝑻𝑨𝑩𝑳𝑬 𝑾𝑰𝑻𝑯 𝑺𝑬𝑿𝑼𝑨𝑳 𝑪𝑶𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑻 𝑷𝑳𝑬𝑨𝑺𝑬 𝑫𝑵𝑰.

you had been just there.

right at his fingertips.

at the comfortable distance where he knew he could protect you if something went wrong.

but it’s never enough, is it?

one second you were next to him, the next you were separated by what could practically be considered a herd of shadow souls. he didn’t know where they came from. he hadn’t even sensed them. but now they were overwhelming him, and overwhelming you, too.

he had even transformed, using every ounce of power he could to tear through the shadows around him. his movements still somehow managed to be too slow—too sluggish. each one he cut down it seemed like two more were on him, and two more were on you.

your screams were haunting. over everything he could hear, your cries for his help echoed against his eardrums, shaking his head like a bell.

“laurance, please!”

he has to get to you. he has to. he thinks he can as he slices through several of them, before one of them leaps towards him, knocking him down onto the ground with a groaning screech.

“no! get off of me!” he groans, struggling to push it away enough to grab his sword.

immediately it digs its claws into his cheek, and despite trying to turn away the sensation doesn’t leave his skin.

“laurance!” the soul cries, the empty and dark void of its mouth mimicking your voice. your distress.

it was mocking your pain in his face.

his vision is tinted red.

“laurance!”

he’s going to kill it. he has to. he has to kill.

“laurance, get up!”

his vision goes dark, but he can move again, and he lunges forward, pinning down the soul closest to him and keeping it there. he’s going to kill it once his eyes focus again.

he got it. where’s his sword?

“laurance?!” the soul asks in a panic, its voice clearer and a lot more like yours than the warbled disjointed one from before.

it felt smaller, too.

his hands squeeze against the arms of the creature to keep it in place. he knows he has to kill it, but there’s a part of him screaming at him to stop, but it’s drowned by the echoes of your screams for his help. what’s happening? why is it so dark right now?

“it’s me!” you hiccup, eyes wide and breaths short.

this wasn’t him right now.

no, not when your body was telling you to run. that you were in danger. not when you look up to see unfocused and rageful dark red irises trying to focus on something, his chest heaving as a whirlwind of unstable emotions seemed to batter against his rib cage.

you knew something was wrong when you had woken up so suddenly and so late, your skin sticky with sweat and feeling strangely on edge as your mind wandered to the possibilities.

why do you feel like you’re in danger right now? was it a predator? something lurking in the shadows of your room?

when you’d turned to get a look at your lover, you had your answer. he hadn’t completely transformed in his sleep, his armor hadn’t formed against his body and he still wore the thin and loose linen sleepwear he’d gone to bed with last night.

but it wasn’t loose anymore—he was nearly bulging out of it his already tall legs now hanging over the edge of the frame. his skin wasn’t that beautiful olive shade, but rather a desaturated almost deathly pale color. and his eyes. they weren’t open, but the skin underneath them showed unnaturally red veins that webbed from his eyelids just under the skin.

what was he dreaming about that had him transforming into a shadow knight in his sleep?

after some hesitation, you had reached out to his cheek to wake him up, calling out his name as he seemed to almost growl in his sleep. you almost regret your decision when blood red eyes snap open in a frenzy, and a split second later you find yourself forcefully pinned against the sheets.

you can see it. the instability on his face. he wasn’t here with you in this moment, his judgment was clouded by whatever rage had overtaken him in his dream. but what could you do? he already had you, his hands holding down your arms rather painfully and heavy body pinning you in place. the only thing you could possibly be capable of was to soothe him with your words.

“laurance… it’s me. it’s me.” you whisper, cursing at how your voice was the least bit assuring as it shook. “you were dreaming. you’re here with me.”

his chest heaves with ragged breaths, expression twisted in a lost and distressed frenzy. the startling blood red of his eyes dart across your face, before locking onto your eyes.

there he is.

you see a piece of him return, as rage turns to horror and realization.

“you—it’s you.” he manages to get through disjointed breaths, whatever scene that was looping in his mind clearly still clouding his ability to calm down.

“it’s me.” you whisper.

he closes his eyes, pulling in a sharp breath as he lets go of your wrists and moves his hands to beside your head. he ducks his head, shoulders shaking and mouth curling in an expression that could only be described as pure self loathing.

“…it’s okay.” you breathe, your words quickly cut off by his own.

“it’s not.”

it’s harsher than he probably intended. his voice is hoarse and deep, an underlying growl there that he can’t seem to get rid of. you watch as a few sparks of ember float up into the air, fizzling out thankfully before it could hit your sheets or spark the wooden ceiling.

he was going to hurt you. you. you. you.

a second goes by and shakily you raise your hands, cupping his cheeks. “laurance. look at me.”

his jaw clenches and unclenches. once, twice, three, before he cracks open his eyes again, focusing on you.

“i’m okay. see?” you keep your voice hushed, thumbs running along the red veins beneath his eyes. “you need to calm down so you can transform back.”

“i ca—i can’t. you should’ve heard—no. no.” he shakes his head, lowering it again—but this time resting his face into the crook of your neck.

your heart sinks. he sounds so unstable. so panicked.

fingers drift up to the nape of his neck, massaging into the tense muscles there and drifting to the now impossibly broad expanse of his shoulders. they seemed to double your own, his form completely swallowing yours as he leaned over you. he breathes in, taking in your scent as his lips pressed against the juncture of your shoulder and neck. it makes your heart rate involuntarily spike, a shuddering breath leave your lips in a mix of fear and something else you don’t want to admit to.

a few more beats pass like this, you frozen under him like prey caught in the jaws of a predator, before his lips part and he bites down onto your skin.

his teeth were sharp, and a small whimper of discomfort involuntarily leaves your lips at the feeling.

it makes him flinch back and freeze in place, like once again he hadn’t even realized his own actions—the primal part of him taking over his rational thoughts.

“i can’t.” he mutters lowly, moving to get up, like he was going to leave. “

“no.” you quickly wrap your arms around his shoulders, trying to pull him down to you but instead pulling yourself up to him.

“i’m going to hurt you. i don’t have… control over myself right now—“

you gulp, before slinking your legs around his waist and pulling your hips up to connect with his.

he inhales sharply. “what are you doing?”

“you’re here with me. let me show you.”

“no. no, i’ll hurt you.” he says, groaning as you pull yourself closer and roll yourself into him.

there’s a low warning of your name from his lips, forehead dropping to rest against your collarbone. “you don’t know what you’re doing—”

“i do.” you reassure, cutting him off. “i want you.”

he settles back down with a groan, lifting his head to look at you. “i’m dangerous to you right now. why can’t you understand?”

leaning up, you connect your lips with his and he groans against you. you can feel his self control beginning to crumble, and the much thicker bulge pressing between your legs through the material of his pants and your nightgown.

“i understand.” you say. “i understand that i love you more.”

“you’re going to be,” he groans, the deeper timbre of his voice sending a shock of electricity down your spine. “the undoing of me.”

he rolls his hips down into yours, and you gasp. regularly, what was under his belt was nothing to scoff at—his flirtatious remarks irritatingly wasn’t just all talk. but now? in this form where he towered not one but two heads taller than you? just from him pressing into you alone you could tell he was huge.

this is what he needed, though. you can already feel the tense trembling of his muscles beginning to calm, his ragged and uneven breathing turning to just a shuddering tempo.

his hands find themselves on your hips, his thumbs pressing into the soft skin. “is this… what you want? tell me right now, because i’m losing my grip.”

you were almost ashamed of the damp spot that had already begun to form on your panties, and how just his touch was enough to send shockwaves through your nervous system.

“yes.”

it’s like a switch is flipped, whatever wall of self control his conscious had put up crumbling to the ground. his hips push down into yours, harsher this time, while his lips press into your skin. he begins to pull your skin between his teeth, suckling bruises against it while his hands no less than tear your nightgown from your body.

cool air hits your skin, a small gasp leaving your lips at his sudden eager need to have his skin on yours. his hands briefly leave your side, only to pull his own clothes and briefs from his form. you don’t dare to look down, the length that was pressing against your thigh enough to intimidate you.

“i—“ he stutters, the internal war being fought in his head stopping his movements. “i’ll hurt you. i don’t know if i can control myself.”

tilting your head up, you kiss him once again, fingers threading into his hair and massaging his scalp. “you won’t.”

he shudders against you, breathing in your scent and deepening the kiss. eagerly he shifts your hips, moving you closer with one hand and dragging the fat tip of his cock against your clit. you were already well lubricated with the slick that covered your folds, but you still weren’t sure if it would fit. regardless his lips continue to devour yours, pulling each breath from your lips and leaving you dizzy as he shifts his hips up, dragging the length against your folds and pulling back. the mere girth of it was startling, but you don’t get to think about it for long until you’re subjected to it, the tip bullying it’s way through your entrance.

he slowly keeps pushing in, making you feel like you were going to split in half by his size. the stretch was entirely new, an uncomfortable one you hadn’t felt before. it was almost too much, but you didn’t want him to stop, either.

but you needed to breathe. managing to part from the messy lock of your lips with a gasp, you throw your head back with a shuddered moan. he keeps pulling out just so he can push back in deeper, each thrust somehow filling you out impossibly more. your body was protesting against the push, squeezing against his length like your insides were trying to shove him back out. each time you fluttered around his cock he’d groan lowly under his breath, the noise a gravelly sound that rattled against your ribs and send a lightheaded wave of pleasure up your spine.

your eyelashes flutter down, a shocked gasp leaving your lips when you see he’d barely pushed halfway through. he pulls his attention from the spot on your collarbone he’d been leaving bruising kisses on, eyes darting across your face as he keeps bullying his way inside. it was bordering on being painful, but the shocks of pleasure shooting through your nerves overpowered everything else.

the veins under his eyes had begun to recede, the red of his irises now dulling in color. his nose wrinkles for a moment as he looks at you, his hands cupping your face as a conflict of emotions crosses his face. you can tell what he was thinking, with the look of guilt that crosses over his eyes at the sight of your smaller body trembling underneath him.

he was meant to protect you. and everything in his nature now wanted him to do the opposite. even as he fought against it, it still wasn’t enough. your screams, real or not, still echo in his head.

he was always so gentle with you. always taking his time to make sure you—the most important thing to him—felt safe and comfortable. the thought that he was possibly hurting you right now was revolting to him, even though he needed you close right now. you have to reach up to his face to snap him out of his thoughts before he spirals once again.

“it’s okay. i’m okay.” you whisper.

he presses his face into your hair, before a shuddering sob leaves his lips.

“i couldn’t protect you.”

you reach for his face pulling him up to look at you. his eyebrows are pulled together, red glazed over in angry and distressed tears.

“laurance, my love. it wasn’t real. i’m safe with you.” you tilt your head. “you’ll always protect me.”

he shakes his head, gritting his teeth. “but what about when i can’t? when i fully lose control? when i finally lose you? it would be my end. i couldn’t handle it. i can’t. i can’t.”

“you’re not going to lose me.”

“you don’t… you don’t understand…”

“yes, i do.”

your voice is firmer, and it snaps his attention back to you.

“i know you. i know what you’re capable of.” you gently brush your hands across his face, and his eyes slowly shut, taking in your words. “i know your strength, and your values. i know you’d rather throw yourself into the worst pain imaginable before letting something happen to me. even now, when you claim you’re so dangerous, i know i’m safe.”

his breath shudders as he hunches over you, seeming to feel a pang through his chest that knocked the breath out of his lungs.

“i love you.” you whisper, before the breath is knocked out of you as he gives a harsh thrust of his hips, rocking you up against the pillow.

“i love you.” he groans back. “so much. you’re my everything.”

you can’t respond to that, can’t even think of the words as he fully pushes himself in, his pelvis meeting your ass. his hands grip onto your waist like you would disappear between his fingers if he let go, head dipping down to your chest as he begins to set a rhythm. pain has faded to pure pleasure at this point, the stretch of his girth and the veins that dragged along your walls with every thrust left your mouth gasping for air and back arching up into him.

his tempo was rough and sloppy, leaving you unable to catch your breath and stirring your head into a mindless haze, your fingers grasping onto the firm expanse of his shoulders for any sense of stability as you’re knocked into oblivion.

his mouth latches onto your neck once again, but unlike his brutal thrusts his lips are soft against your skin. that was your laurance. the one that laced his hand with yours as he took you in a slow and sensual pace. the one that whispered sweet nothings in your ear and treated you so gently—focusing on pleasuring you until you couldn’t think before even beginning to focus on himself.

despite how much you loved how he treated you regularly, you couldn’t even try to deny how good this felt.

he lifts his head up, fingers brushing along your breasts and up against your collarbones, taking you all in as he sped up the pace. you can tell he’s already close to his release from the way his chin tilts up in the air and his glazed-over eyes roll back, his lips parted as he pulls in ragged breaths. suddenly he’s pulling your thighs up, large hands squeezing into the plush skin and hitching them up against his shoulders.

“so beautiful. and mine.” he murmurs, voice a deep rasp. he turns his head down, leaning back over you and staring at you through hooded eyes—practically folding you in half. “don’t you dare ever run where i can’t protect you.”

you’re close, too, and the way he looked at you now was about to send you over the edge. the mix of the new angle his dick was brutally drilling into you and his possessive and borderline wild need to protect you has you squeezing against him, your cunt sucking him in deeper and not letting go.

he moans out lowly, his hips stuttering into yours and slamming to a sudden stop. it’s so much, in more ways than one, when his hips grind in a slow circle and the heat of his cum overflows into you. you swear you feel it in your guts, with how much of it keeps coming, and how he jerkily pushes it back into you. it snaps you over the edge, vision going white and limbs turning shaky and weak, the mix of both of your releases spilling from your stuffed cunt and creating a sticky mess where your skin connected.

when you regain your vision again you find yourself looking back into gray-blue eyes, his eyebrows turned up and under eyes wet with tears. his skin had returned to its normal tone, but he still looked so pale, still so filled with a fear he couldn’t swallow.

you bring a hand up to his cheek once again, wiping the stray beads of sweat away from his face and leaning up to press a soft kiss against his lips.

“there you are, my love.”

your voice is merely a hoarse whisper, but it’s enough to knock him down. he crumbles onto you, forehead landing on the pillow next to your head, breaths shaky and fanning across your skin as his arms circle around your waist and pull you tight. slowly, he pulls out, leaving the both of you softly groaning in discomfort at the absence of each other’s warmth. his cum continues to spill out from inside you, dripping onto the sheets in a messy mix.

“…did i hurt you?” he whispers, voice trembling in the fear of it being true. his hands feel so very gentle on your waist, like he was holding fragile porcelain in his hands.

“no.”

his breath hitches in something like relief, a choked sob leaving his lips. “i love you more than anything.”

“i know. and i love you.”

his shoulders relax, and he rolls to the clean side of the bed, pulling you right into his chest and hugging you close. strong arms wrap around your shoulders and waist, leaving you little wiggle room against him. with the fragile state he was in, though, you don’t dare to say a word about it.

“i’m sorry. i don’t know what happened—” he starts, his voice an exhausted and hoarse whimper as he buries his face in your hair.

“laurance. i’m safe.” is all you say, silencing the self-deprecating thoughts he wished to express.

in the quiet dead of night, you both lay there, limbs tangled and pressed together as the moonlight filtered through the window and illuminated your sweaty skin—shining from the afterglow. the fears that plagued your lover’s mind melted away for now, his breaths evening into a deep and steady cycle and mind lulling into a peaceful sleep.

©starhvney 2024. do not plagiarize, feed to any AI, or repost my works to any sites.

taglist: @wasting-away-on-the-internet @angelhyperfixates @valentique @dazedbydeath @theaquaticplant @starsbrightly @kalegrinch (if you are a minor or uncomfortable with being tagged in nsfw please let me know immediately and i will take you off of my taglist for nsfw works in the future)

[cupidscastle]

So Sensitive...ᐟ

pairings -gorou x dom!fem reader

summary: who knew the great and courageous general of the watatsumi army was into collars.. content warnings: pussy drunk gorou, piv sex, use of collar/leash, overstimulation, mocking, cowgirl position, sort of ooc gorou(?), this is kinda short(will post longer fics in the future) ⸺minors dni .ᐟ

꩜ A/N: hihi! this is my debut post of my account since I’ve decided to start posting my work on tumblr! I’ve always loved writing fics for my interests but they never left my notes app until now. I hope you all enjoy ❤︎⸺nsfw below the cut

Gorou stared up at you with tears in his glassy eyes, leaning back on his elbows. A pathetic whine bubbling up in the back of his throat as you rocked your hips lower, his cock sinking deeper inside of your soft pussy. His head tilted forward when he felt you tug on the leash connected to the studded gold collar on his neck, his eyebrows furrowing in confused bliss when you pulled on the rope hard enough to rocket him into a seated position. 

“Huh?” 

All he could manage to let out was a disorientated huff before you giggled and rolled your hips in a motion that made him sink even deeper inside of you. He shuddered and moaned, his head lulling back from the sensation of your sopping cunt bearing down on his oversensitive cock.

“Haah-!”

“Im really fucking you stupid, aren’t I? What, does the cat got your tongue?”

“Ngh!- N-no- I’m-“

His voice wavers and he whines as you suddenly raise your hips and drop them. The his tail smacks the sheets as he attempts to buck his hips up to meet yours. You click your tongue mockingly and move your weight to where his navel is pinned completely beneath you. Your hands splay out across his smooth stomach. His dilated eyes are boring holes into where your arousal is dripping down onto his erection. 

It’s cute, he seems utterly entranced by what he sees. You have complete control over the general of the watatsumi army. A thin line of drool rolls down from his swollen lips when you tug on the leash to his collar again.

“Mmn..~”

Gorou’s eyes are starting to droop shut from the liquid lust coursing through his veins and to his brain. He’d do anything for you, you’ve fucked him so dumb to the point where all he can think about is your sex squeezing his needy cock.

“What, you can’t even form a full word like you could earlier? You even look like you’re falling asleep while you’re in me, Gorou. I have to say I’m disappointed. I thought you’d be more in charge since you’re the general to an entire army. What would they think if they saw you like this, whining like a bitch in heat?”

You audibly laugh at how his long lashes frame his eyes as they shoot open in shock. A bead of sweat rolls down the skin of his cheek.

“You’re looking at me like I’m a criminal, Gorou, I’m hurt.”

You punctuated your sentence by pulling on the leash to his collar. His dog ears pressed flat against his messy hair.

“You- you wouldn’t, nnn~ you wouldn’t act.. actually tell an-anyone, r-right?~”

He couldn’t even form a full thought without stuttering. You giggled and felt his nails dig into your hips. You really didn’t know how desperate he was for you..

You decided to ease up on him and start giving him some relief. So, you began to bounce on his cock, gaining a rhythm. Each whimper and moan the general beneath you let out fueled you to fuck yourself on him faster and so much harder. Gorou became more and more loud. You looked down at his fucked out expression, you were really giving this poor boy a work out..and had no intention of stopping.

꩜ A/N: again i know this is pretty short but this is my first post </3 i will be posting longer fics in the future though, i have an idea for my next work though so i’ll be posting that when i finish it since i only have a rough draft, thank you for reading !

reblogs and likes are always appreciated !

cupidscastle──dec.30.2024──plagiarism, modification, reposting, and translating is NOT tolerated

[quietlyimplode]

ignite your bones

After the fall of General Dreykov, and the remnants of the Red Room still at large, Natasha first year at SHIELD is anything but healing. Labeled a traitor and a turncoat, Natasha tries to find her footing in a strange new world.

Whumptober 2024: Day 1 - Panic Attack

Warnings: panic attack, red room badness (punishments)

Word Count: 2k (gif not mine)

Summary: mandated therapy is never fun for anyone.

A/N: it feels like I’ve blinked and it’s October. This is the fourth year of participating in whumptober, and it always seems like such a mess until it’s done. To everyone who encourages, likes and reblogs, from the bottom of my heart, thank you, your words inspire these words and help to bring fic to life. @broken--bow I know we talk about it but thanks for the screaming void, and the cat pictures and everything really, and for making sure there’s no ridiculous errors. <3<3<3

Masterlist

Whumptober Masterlist

.

The Shield psychiatrist offices are nondescript.

The receptionist looks over her glasses to Natasha, then across to Clint and Maria, and hands her a form on a clipboard to fill out.

Annoyed, Natasha purses her lips and holds up handcuffed hands and feels the satisfaction of the shocked look on her face.

The woman passes it to Clint’s open hands and points to the row of chairs.

Maria sits first, Natasha grudgingly sitting next to her and Clint following, staring at the form.

“Tough questions,” he jokes.

“Name? Natasha.”

“Date of birth?”

He peers over the form to Natasha who looks back at him.

“Unknown?”

Maria looks up.

“December 3rd,” she answers.

Natasha can’t help the sharp look to her left, shocked at the accuracy of the information that she thought no one knew.

Maria smirks.

Natasha looks down, her heart beating faster.

Clint continues obliviously.

“What problems are you currently seeking help for?”

He taps the clipboard.

“I might just leave that blank.”

He goes on.

“Treatment goals?”

“Stability?” Maria jokes.

Clint gives her a look. She looks chastised and shrugs in indifference.

Natasha lets it wash over her.

She doesn’t want to be here.

The mandated therapy was a threat, not a choice.

She doesn’t know how Maria knows her birthday, how she got that information.

There’s no one alive that should know it.

There’s a heat that crawls up her neck. The handcuffs feel too tight on her wrists.

“Hmm they have a suicide risk assessment. Maybe you can go over that with the psychiatrist.”

Clint looks over the rest of the form and hands it to Maria.

“Did you have to do this when you came here?”

Natasha stares at her feet, but the silence from Maria at Clint’s jab gives her a source of pleasure at the discomfort and the present that he’s inadvertently given.

Maria stands and gives the form to the receptionist, and Clint winks at Natasha when her back is turned. She realizes then, the comment was intentional. A dig back to the ones Maria had given.

“I’m going to see Director Thompson, are you okay here?”

Clint sits. “I’m here because I want to be,” he declares.

Maria says goodbye and leaves without looking at Natasha.

The radio next to the receptionist hums quietly but feels like static to Natasha.

How does she know?

What else do they know?

It shouldn’t take something so inconsequential to unhinge her, but it has.

“She’s not usually that mean,” Clint tells her.

“She just doesn’t quite trust you yet.”

Natasha knows that, but she’s also unsure if she wants Maria’s trust.

She doesn’t trust her either. Her position is too vulnerable to have enemies and it’s clear she has many.

Locked in a box, only let out for debrief and now apparently psychiatry sessions, she doesn’t like this brand of freedom that Shield has offered.

Clint says it’s just the beginning.

In his ramblings, he says a lot without saying anything.

The door opens.

Her name is called.

Natasha stands diligently, alongside Clint, and hates herself at the fear and apprehension that pools in her gut.

What does the woman know, if Maria knows her birthday?

Do they know about Vladivostok? Her fear of medical?

Do they know about Antonia? Dreykov?

And then a more unsettling thought.

Do they know about Ohio and Yelena?

Clint nudges her forward.

“I’ll be here when you come out,” he promises.

“No debrief today, just this.”

It’s a kindness.

One she likely doesn't deserve.

She looks to the woman standing in the door.

“Hello,” she greets, “I’m Olivia.”

The woman steps to the side and allows Natasha entry.

She takes one last look at Clint, and steps through the door.

.

Olivia sits at a large green two seater couch, and gestures to the one across from her.

A matching set. Natasha is sure that they were picked deliberately for the colour and the spaces it provided.

Whilst they have space for others to sit, it’s clear that they’re meant for only one person.

Natasha imagines, if she was anyone else, that she could take her shoes off and curl her feet underneath her, tucking her body up and feeling safe in position.

Instead, she sits facing the woman, on the edge of the sofa, her cuffed hands neutral on her lap.

“Do you mind if we take them off?” Olivia asks, gesturing.

Natasha doesn’t answer.

The silence isn’t personal, she just doesn’t have words to talk.

Olivia approaches slowly.

“If you want to kill me, I’m sure these won’t stop you. But in case the thought does cross your mind, I’ve not always been a psychiatrist.”

Natasha looks at the woman; really looks at her.

She seems to be about in her 40s, hair pulled back, not unkind, but knowing eyes that bore into Natasha’s when she looks up.

She doesn’t like it.

Doesn’t like how the woman reminds her of the Red Room instructors, the older women who had gone through the program at least twice and ruled the younger girls with manipulation over fear.

Natasha blinks.

She’s not there and this is not the same, she tells herself.

“My name is Olivia,” the woman starts, and then, almost in a way that feels unnerving, she switches to Russian.

“I can speak in either language, depending on what you prefer.”

It’s a question that Natasha prefers not to answer.

She speaks many languages; she’s not adverse to English, but since she’s been here, she feels adverse to words.

A moment passes.

When it’s clear Natasha isn’t going to answer, Olivia continues on.

“We have mandated sessions. They’re ongoing so I feel we are going to see a lot of each other.”

She glances at the form that Clint had started, and failed to finish.

“You prefer Natasha?”

It should be an easy, uncomplicated question.

“If you prefer another name, you can let reception know, but perhaps until you indicate otherwise I’ll continue to call you by the name you request, okay?”

Again the question goes unanswered; and again, the woman continues on.

“You’re here because you agreed to be, defected from the country of your birth, and whilst double agent was offered to you, you decided against it, I think we’d like to know why.”

The statement raises Natasha’s heart rate.

A vision of a widow left hung with the words traitor on her chest hits hard in her memory.

It’s not worth it, she wants to say.

All in or all out, there is no in between when it comes to Russia.

There’s no telling what they would do if they found defectors amongst them.

She feels the electricity of a Red Room debrief on her skin.

Words and secrets wrenched from her lips.

She wants to give a witty comeback; instead, the words get lost in her throat, so unsettled by the last half an hour.

How did Maria know her birthday?

Such a simple thing should not unravel her.

But it does.

The one advantage she had was that she was an enigma. That they didn't know anything about her, except what she had told Clint.

What if that was wrong?

The woman says something.

It doesn’t even register beyond words being spoken.

But it must be important.

The words feel heavy, and the woman repeats them.

“What is it you want, Natasha?”

Want?

‘What is it you want?’

The words play in repeat in her head.

When has she ever wanted anything?

What is it she wants?

That what she wants is something that she’d never get.

Natasha feels her heart rate quicken.

Want?

Her body hot.

How do they know?

Her heart. There’s something wrong with her heart.

Hands clench and she struggles for breath.

This isn’t supposed to happen to her.

Had they drugged her?

The food? Maybe the water.

Would Clint?

Maria.

She would.

She tries to breathe.

The woman.

The woman moves toward her and Natasha looks into her eyes.

They’re kinder.

Her vision blurs. The tidal wave of panic overcomes her.

What if?

What if she’s dying?

Not here.

Let her die alone.

There’s a hand in hers, fleeting.

It’s cold.

It gives Natasha something to focus on.

It’s so cold. Both hands now.

If she could focus, she could eliminate the threat. The woman?

She blinks to clear her vision, shaking her head as her heart rabbits in her chest.

She’s dying.

She forces breath into her lungs, focusing on the coldness in her hands.

It feels like a lifeline.

Time loses meaning, and Natasha doesn’t know how long it takes her to get herself under control again.

Embarrassment burns on her cheeks as the world rights itself.

Terror from the moments before flood adrenaline into her body.

The woman is still in her chair, looking down at her notebook. She looks up and meets Natasha’s eyes.

There’s an ice pack in Natasha’s clenched fists, still doing its job in providing calm and grounding.

Natasha is not stupid.

In the moment she thought she was dying.

Now, she knows it was a panic attack.

She doesn’t think she’s had one since she was eight.

“You’re safe,” the woman tells her.

It’s the first words that register, and whilst she doesn’t believe it, it’s a nice sentiment.

Nothing has happened yet but it doesn’t mean that it won’t.

She can’t imagine what’s going to happen next.

In the Red Room, she was whipped. Madam’s switch across her back twenty times, as she was made to count them.

Here? She doesn’t think it would be the same, but to lose it in public?

In front of the psychiatrist, no less.

She feels like she needs to do damage control.

Lessen the punishment.

She feels like she’s losing it, she gets told her birth day and the woman asks her what she wants and she falls apart.

Taking another breath and handing the ice pack back to the woman, she looks around her and forces herself to calm down.

“Thank you,” she says, her voice soft and croaky, the only words that she’s spoken to another outside of debrief.

The psychiatrist nods.

Natasha bites her lip.

The woman doesn’t ask any questions. She motions to the water and the glass on the table, pours one for herself and then offers another to Natasha.

She sips it, and Natasha nods, thankful.

Her mouth is dry and she can’t remember when she drank something last.

Putting down the glass, Natasha wonders what’s going to happen next.

It takes a moment before the next question comes, but it’s not the words she thinks.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

The offer is kind.

She feels suspicious and angry and embarrassed and looks to the door to leave.

The glass prison she lives in is not safe by any means, but it’s familiar and not this place of questions and interrogation.

Her defenses are low; the lack of sleep and food are taking their toll. It’s clear now, that to be better, she needs to take more care.

She’s smart enough to know better.

She’s better than this.

She was trained better than this.

The anger builds again at the display of weakness and Natasha swallows hard.

“We still have ten minutes. I’m going to tell you a few things, but the rest of the time, we can just sit here. You don’t need to say anything unless you want to.”

The words start slowly.

It’s a plan.

A lifeline.

And Natasha breathes again.

.

<3

[johnwickb1tsch]

The Girl Next Door - V

A Constantine x FemVampire!Reader (feat John Wick!) fic based on this imagine. all chapters warnings: nsfw, blood, biting, violence, divider by animatedglittergraphics

5.  fight the good fight

When you wake again you are bouncing, bent in half slung over a man’s shoulder; the vampire hunter’s. You can tell from the intoxicating scent of his cologne, his sweat, his blood–him. It’s like catnip to you, and for a moment you just want to go back to sleep, and let him take you wherever he’s taking you. 

That’s a very bad idea, of course, and good on you for recognizing it through the haze of bloodloss and whatever other hold he has over you. You still do not understand what he is, or why he has such power over you. 

From what little you can see, it seems like you’re in a dark alley. There are sirens in the distance–the aftermath of the massacre in the club, you presume. He has got you far away. How long have you been out?

You struggle again, managing to worm free and get down, before the vampire hunter pins you against the wall of the building. “Stop that, you’ll hurt yourself,” he grouses, annoyed. He seems in much better shape than before, having stolen your blood. You, on the other hand, feel so weak you can barely stand. 

“Let go. Please let me go.” 

You must sound so pathetic that even this brutal killer softens for you. His grip changes slightly, holding you up against the wall by your waist. You have no delusions, however, that that can change in an instant. Yet…he’s looking at you with those sad dark eyes, like a man drowning. Even with the splatter of blood across his face and the crust of it dried in his long dark hair–he’s so handsome it hurts, and your fingers clench in his jacket, torn between pulling him closer and pushing him away. 

“I’m not going to hurt you, vampling. I saved you.” 

“You…ate me!” 

There is a tick at the corner of his well-formed mouth, betraying his amusement. 

“I took too much. Here, have some back.” He unbuttons his shirt further at the throat to display the strong column of his neck. Your vision zeroes on his jumping pulse like a laser sight, and you notice that intoxicating scent engulfing you again. It’s warm spices and your favorite flowers and pure man–it’s so good that you want to mold yourself to him and never let go. 

It’s a good trick, for a vampire hunter, and at least you are conscious enough to know now that it is a trick. 

“Stop that,” you scold, squeezing your eyes shut as you try to fight it.  

“I can’t help it,” he answers, his voice gone low in a way that shuts down your brain and skips straight your loins. He leans closer, his forehead nearly touching yours, engulfing you with the pure size of him and his hair swinging down to brush your face–he also smells like blood, which does not help you at all. “It’s…you. It’s us.”

“No,” you answer, mostly because you're afraid of someone having that kind of control over you, again. 

“It’s…rare,” he admits. “Who are you?”

“No one,” you insist. “I’m just a girl…who’s really good at being in the wrong place at the wrong time.” And really good at keeping a soft spot for the wrong man. You cannot stop yourself from thinking about John in that moment, and how just one night with him flung you into this strange and terrible supernatural world. Would you change it, if you could? Will there ever come a time, when the thought of him does not feel like talons digging your heart out of your chest? 

“Hmm. Maybe.” He lifts his hand to his throat, and you watch as his fingernails lengthen to sharp points, perfect for breaking his own skin in one neat, bloody line. “Here, milaya. My apology to you.” 

That ruby welling of his life’s essence smells marvelous, and you want to seal your mouth on it more than you’ve wanted anything in a good long while. Somehow, you manage to shake your head, even if minutely. “No, you’ll…enthrall me again or something. I don’t trust you.” 

He sighs. 

“I admit that I want you,” he acknowledges reluctantly. “But you need blood.”

“Yes. Let me go, and I’ll go get some. Again.” It annoys you in that moment that the efforts of your hunt all went to this man’s benefit. Dhampiro, don Juan had called him. Dhampir, you translate to English. Not human, by his own admission. 

Obviously.

He smirks a little down at you. “I saw you feed earlier. Why did you pick him?”

“He killed his wife.” 

“Ah. You like to play jury and executioner.”

“I didn’t kill him.” 

“You’ve killed others though. You’re sloppy about it too.” 

“Am not.” 

He laughs at you, a short, amused, huff, which is as good as an ‘are so’.

“What do you care?” 

“The High Table might start to care, if you make a big enough spectacle of yourself. Naughty little vampires get a visit from the Boogeyman, you know. You aren’t supposed to draw attention. There are rules.” 

“I don’t…know what any of that means,” you’re loathe to admit. 

There’s so much John Constantine could have chosen to fill you in on. Maybe he thought you’d figure it out on your own. Or maybe…he has as much trouble thinking straight around you, as you do him. If he felt a fraction of what you did, when this man before you took you–it’s no wonder you scared John off. Surrendering to that would not be easy for a man like John Constantine. 

“I’d say you need a coven to teach you, but considering what I’m going to do to the locals here…you’d better stick with me.”

“You’re…going to kill them all?” you ask, more intrigued than horrified by the thought. 

“Yes.” There is zero doubt in this man that he can do it, too. After what you saw…you guess you agree with him. Constantine is dangerous, but he could never wreak the sort of massacre this man unleashed in the club. 

And here you are, in his grasp. Well done. 

“Why?”

“Don Juan’s scheming to overthrow the High Table. They don’t like that.” 

“Wait, wait.” A hunger pang washes through you, and you grip his jacket a little harder, your knees weak. The blood dripping down his beautiful throat smells so good, but you realize this might be your chance to finally get some answers. “Who the fuck are the High Table?” 

“How do you not know that?”

“Why does everyone always ask me that instead of just fucking telling me the answer?” you snipe, practically vibrating with frustration. 

“You really have been so alone this whole time?” he asks, his dark eyes inexplicably softening for you. He looks down at you, cupping the side of your face with a paw of a hand, stroking your cheek with his thumb. Maybe it just feels good to be handled like you are something precious, rather than like a farm animal. Or maybe…you are losing your mind, but you have to close your eyes again, shielding yourself from the weight of that blackhole gaze.

“Yes.” You’re not proud of the way your voice cracks as you utter that one word. You hate it, that you think of John, and how he said he’d help you, but mostly he just disappeared on you. You know he has his own life, and his own problems…but he practically abandoned you, all while living right next door. 

It was a good trick, truth be told.  

“That’s a hard way to live. I would know.” His thumb is still stroking your cheek, and it feels so good, and you know this is madness. It has to be a trick. Everything is a fucking trick, with these guys. And yet…it’s as though you can feel this man’s loneliness, the weight of his solitude pressing down upon you, every time you look into his eyes. 

Maybe it’s because he kills everyone, you remind yourself, marveling at your unflagging ability to empathize with the most unavailable men you can find. 

“The High Table?” you prompt again through gritted teeth, trying not to give in to the urge to pull him close, to hide in the bend of his neck, to lose yourself in the heady taste of him and forget everything else. 

“They rule the Underworld. You. Me. Everything that goes bump in the night answers to Them.” He tells you this without condescension, and you could kiss him for that alone. 

“Demons too?”

“No, they’re Hell’s problem. Usually.”

“Then…the High Table are vampires?”

“Vampires. Weres. Sirens. Fey.” He tilts his head in thought. “I’m sure I’m missing something.”   

You nod, trying to digest this information while you are so starved you can hardly think. He’s named more things you didn’t even know existed, but you shouldn’t be surprised at this point. But then…if demons are Hell’s purview, what system of belief do the rest of them answer to? The magnitude of this question makes your head spin. Finding out that the Christian God was real was wild enough for you. What about the rest? 

“Wait…does this mean…all the Gods are real?”

Your leap of logic to the biggest existential question known to man seems to amuse him, the corner of his mouth curling for you. “Malyshka,” he scolds you softly. “You really want to discuss this here? Come on.”

He seems to think he’s taking you somewhere, but you resist again, bracing against the wall.   

“I’d rather…go home, if it’s the same to you.” you admit, winning yourself a tired sigh.

“I can’t…let you do that yet.” 

“Why not?”  

Again, he strokes your face with that big hand, and you feel as though he’s looking into your very soul. 

“You remind me of someone I once knew,” he admits. “A long time ago.”

Someone he lost, you infer from the longing that is woven into those words. Why does that make your heart ache for him?

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “But whoever she was…I’m not her.”

“No,” he agrees, but he tilts his head to examine you, like you are an amoeba under a microscope.  

“But the universe moves in circles, and something is happening here.” He inhales, and you see a flash of that eerie electric blue in his irises again. “I have to know what it is.”

Whatever you meant to say in answer is swallowed up by his mouth lowering to yours, a kiss that is somehow demanding and languorously slow. He claims your lips for his own, holding you to him as his tongue slides into your mouth, teasing you like you’ve done this a thousand times before. Maybe you don’t need to breathe, but he leaves you breathless all the same, overwhelmed by that pheromone scent and his hands on you, one paw at the back of your head guiding your mouth to his neck. He tastes like a miracle, strong and heady and so delicious as you drink him down mouthful by mouthful. His blood is so potent you feel your strength begin to return just from the first swallow, and the rest is pure high. 

You start to see some things, about this man whose blood is in your mouth. You see flashes of a forbidding dark forest, and fighting, so much fighting. A quaint little cottage in the woods, so humble, so warm. There is a woman whose touch feels like sunshine. ‘Yelena,’ he calls her. And with her hands in his hair and a smile on her lips she calls him…

“Jardani?”

 He jerks back to look at you with haunted eyes, pinning you to the wall with his big hand spanning your chest. Drunk on the want of him, you whine like a thwarted kitten, trying to return to the bloody font of his throat. He searches your face as though desperate for the answer to some crucial riddle written upon your features. “How…?” But does not give you the chance to answer, his mouth crashing over yours again with a new ardor, gripping you so hard that even you will have bruises. 

You cannot think. 

There is only the taste of him, intoxicating and wonderful and you cannot stop yourself from pulling at his clothes, holding him to you. You want to climb him, devour him, be inside him, as surely as his lightning-charged blood is raging through you. 

“Fuck,” you hiss when at last you manage to pull away, not for breath but just a break from this madness. What the fuck is he doing to you?

“Yeah?” he asks, seemingly with all seriousness, hoisting you against the wall with hands on your thighs like you weigh nothing at all. Your legs wrap around his waist out of instinct; he pins you with his hips, his manhood rock hard against your center. He grinds against you, his lips on your neck again, teasing open the wound he left earlier, and you can’t help but moan, soaking wet and aching to be filled. In that moment you don’t care that you’re in a dirty alley with a man you don’t even know. You know the heart of him, and right now you would swear unequivocally that he belonged to you. 

“Wow. You High Table assholes sure know how to treat a lady.”

The sound of that familiar voice makes you freeze, some small modicum of sanity returning to you. 

Your would-be lover is less civil, snarling at the newcomer in the alley. “Not a good time, Constantine.” 

“No time like the present, Wick. Put her down.”

With his attention fixed somewhere else, some modicum of clearer thought returns to you. Your first stop is pure mortification. 

There is John, standing tall with his legs spread in his usual black and white suit, and to his shoulder he is holding a large, golden…cross gun? Like he totally intends to use it if he has to. 

The sight of him makes your heart ache with longing. No tricks. No magic. You just…adore him, even while wrapped up in another man’s arms, and you realize you are as hopeless as you are smitten. That connection between you glows again. You feel it in your chest, and it helps clear the lustful ardor that a moment ago gripped you so completely.

Dhampir magic is some scary shit.

The vampire hunter–Jardani?–Wick?–looks at you as though you’ve said something out loud. His eyes narrow; he doesn’t seem to like it one bit. He does put you down, but holds you in front of him like a shield, his big hand at your throat. 

“Never thought the John Constantine would turn vampire’s familiar. Who knew?” taunts the dhampir behind you. 

“What?”

 Both men ignore your question, fixed on each other in this standoff. 

“Call it what you want,” Constantine answers stonily. “I’m the one holding the gun. Let her go.” 

“I don’t want to.”

“I see that. Nice, you always gotta use your Blood Lure to get laid?” 

“Hardly. Your little vampling here is a special girl.” 

“Yeah. But she doesn’t belong to you, Wick, so let her go.” 

“You love her?” 

Wide eyed, you can’t stop yourself from fixating on John at that question, gone grave-still in Wick’s unrelenting grasp. 

In answer, John mostly just grinds his teeth, his lower jaw jutting. “It’s complicated,” he finally admits, and though that’s never a good answer from a man, your treacherous undead heart still skips a beat.  

“I think she deserves better than it’s complicated.”

“Not from you, half breed. Let her go.” 

You feel Wick tense behind you, and you remember the absolute whirlwind of carnage he caused in the club a few blocks away, that supernatural berzerker rage that mowed down vampire after vampire. John is formidable, but you can’t help but think no one can stand up to that and live. “Please,” you say, appealing to the wall of a man behind you. “Please, just let us go.”

Wick growls deep in his chest–a chilling, primal sound that resonates through you, your every hair standing on end. 

His grip upon you flexes, as though his physical being abhors the very idea of it. You’re not really afraid for yourself now. You’re afraid for John, and unbidden you start to cry those bloody tears. “I love him,” you say in the most hushed whisper you can muster, and the moment it leaves your lips you know it’s true, and maybe it has been true since the night you made that grouchy man dinner, and he made you feel like you mattered to someone in this big mean city. “Please don’t hurt him.”

Somehow, this is the thing that seems to call this dangerous man down. For a moment his grip around your waist tightens; he inhales your scent deeply, his nose behind your ear sending a warm thrill down your spine. He speaks low, though you think John can probably hear him anyway. “He doesn’t look good, vampling. I won’t have to wait long for you.” 

Suddenly, he’s just gone. Disappeared into the shadows, as though he is made of night. 

Unsupported, you stumble, and fall right on your butt. 

John looks around warily with the strange gun at the ready, sweeping the alley like he can’t believe the dhampir had actually retreated. Slowly he crosses to you, impossibly tall from your vantage of the ground. He seemingly reluctantly offers you a hand. “You ok?” 

“No,” you answer truthfully, taking his hand, the warm strength of his grip a welcome boon. When he pulls you to your feet you want more than anything to just be in his arms. 

But all he offers you is a hard stare, and a brusque, “Come on,” as he pulls you towards the other end of the alley. 

It’s complicated, he’d said.  

Why does that have to feel right then like he hates your guts?

You’re getting tired of crying for this man. You remind yourself of this as the ball of despair rises in your throat and your eyes sting like mace. 

Did he hear you? If he heard your heartfelt confession to the dhampir, even if it saved his life…he did not like it at all. 

[cringemesstickles]

A Game Of Chase… But Why?

(TickleTober Day 2: Chase)

Summary: Sam and Dean are wrapped up in a game of chase. Castiel is confused.

Pairing: None (Maybe Destiel if you squint)

Word Count: 1293

A/N: ikik another SPN fic… I can’t help it :v

———————————————————

The bunker was quiet as there wasn’t much to do. There were no apocalypses, no universes shattering, no Lucifer… just a normal day.

And there, sitting on the couch, was the former angel of the Lord, Castiel, hands clasped in his lap as he stared at the wall with his usual pensive expression. His thoughts were quickly interrupted by the sound of boots pounding against the floors, as well as familiar voices shouting through the halls.

“Get back here, Sammy! You know what’s coming!” Dean yelled, his voice carrying a mixture of playfulness and warning.

Sam darted around a sharp corner, his longer legs giving him a slight advantage over his older brother. The angel could overhear the back and forth and the rapid footsteps, but he couldn’t, for the life of him, figure out what was going on.

“Come on, man! I didn’t finish it on purpose! If you wanted it so bad, you should’ve put your name on it!” cried the younger Winchester, his laughter echoing through the labyrinthine halls.

The noise was quite distracting. Castiel considered moving thinking spots before the brothers came bounding into the living area, giving the angel a start.

Sam ran in first, darting behind the couch before Dean followed, taking a wide stance on the opposite side, his hands raised and his fingers formed like claws. Throughout this, neither of them even acknowledged their angelic friend, who could only hope to figure out what on earth was unfolding in front of him.

“Excuses, excuses!” Dean growled, a playful grin on his face as he circled the couch, attempting to subtly close the distance between him and his brother. “You know what happens when you mess with my pie!”

Just as Dean was about to lunge, Castiel’s gravelly voice caught their attention.

“Has Dean been possessed? Why do you appear to be so… urgent?”

The brothers stopped in their tracks, sharing a baffled look before turning back to Castiel.

“Cas, Dean isn’t possessed…” Sam explained, a small, amused smile on his lips. Meanwhile, that cheeky expression found its way back to the older Winchester’s face as he eyed the youngest in the room.

“Oh, I’m possessed, alright… possessed by the tickle monster!” he growled before jumping toward Sam while the younger was distracted, his fingers latching onto the man’s sides and digging in with vigor.

As Sam yelped and burst into a fit of boisterous laughter, grappling onto the back of the couch to try and keep upright, Castiel cocked his head to the side, looking more confused than before as he watched the scene unfold.

“Tickle monster? I do not recall reading about this in lore books… I suppose the name is self-explanatory… How do you defeat it?”

The laughter only got louder at that question, and Sam shook his head, trying his best to answer their friend’s question while his brother was destroying him with tickles.

“N-No, no, no, it’s not a real—haha—monster! Dean’s just being a goof!”

Odd… so this was a playful thing? Castiel had made a lot of progress over the years, but sometimes he thought he’d just never truly understand humans.

“Ah… so you’re not really in danger?”

Dean chuckled, shaking his head as he moved to target the younger’s tummy, causing him to shriek and double over in hysterics. “Nope. The only thing Sammy’s in danger of is dying of laughter… Ain’t that right, Sammy?”

“Shut uhuhuhup!” came Sam’s frantic response.

Castiel’s brow creased with puzzlement, his eyes scanning the scene as if that would help him put the pieces together.

“Why were you chasing him then? He seemed quite alarmed.”

“Because it makes it more fun!”

It seemed that every answer only led to more and more questions. Why on earth would being chased be fun? Castiel had been chased before, and he recalled it as a very unpleasant experience.

“Fun? I fail to see how running for your life could be ‘fun,’” he said bluntly, tuning out the sound of Sam’s squeals as the elder’s fingers scribbled all over his belly.

Dean rolled his eyes and decided to show Sam some mercy so that they could help their angel friend out, giving his younger brother a pat on the shoulder and helping him stand. How on earth were they supposed to explain this to an angel? It was clear that Castiel didn’t have even a shred of understanding on this matter, so they were practically starting from nowhere.

“It just kind of is… the thrill of the chase, y’know?” Dean tried his hand at explaining, admittedly doing a horrible job. As the taller man sat up and plopped onto the couch, he decided to take a crack at it.

“It’s just a playful thing, Cas… When you’re not in any danger and you’re just messing around, chases can be pretty fun.” Sam smiled, trying his best to put it in simple terms. He’d also learned that it was better to explain things in a more blunt manner, since the angel could be quite… literal.

Castiel hummed, nodding slightly. “I see… Perhaps I should try to engage more. I often forget to, as Dean once put it, be less angelic.”

Dean gave a snort of laughter, raising his hands to threateningly wiggle his fingers at the angel. “Oh, buddy, you do NOT wanna get roped into this!”

At that, the angel gave a tilt of his head, his expression a mixture of amusement and bewilderment as he processed his friend’s words. “Dean, I do not believe you could take me… I am an angel of the Lord.”

Sam’s gaze bounced back and forth between the two, interested to see where this would go. Should he intervene? Maybe… but how? And frankly, why? This was pretty damn hilarious. And so, he kept his mouth shut, choosing to observe, but not before popping in with a friendly warning.

“Cas, I really wouldn’t challenge him… He’s ruthless,” he said, his voice the kind that speaks from experience. And if anyone could speak from experience on this matter, it was definitely Sam.

But the angel did not heed Sam’s warning. “Perhaps to you, Sam. But a human cannot merely take down an angel of the Lord.”

Dean’s eyes were twinkling with mischief, subtly shuffling closer to his angelic friend, hands raised menacingly. Dean was always up for a challenge. “Don’t tempt me, angel… I’ll make you eat those words.”

Castiel crossed his arms, giving a huff of disbelief. “Words cannot be eaten, Dean,” he stated matter-of-factly. It was at this moment that Sam realized he might have an out for the long, drawn-out tickle attack he would endure had this not become a thing. So, he sat up and casually started to shuffle away.

“Well, you guys have fun… Just try not to kill each other.”

He got all of three steps away before he heard a shrill shriek, and when he turned around, he saw his older brother straddling Castiel’s hips and digging his fingers into the angel’s ribs. While Sam wanted to stick around and watch the endearing scene, he knew it would only be a matter of time before Dean remembered their unfinished business… so he had to skedaddle.

“Oh, don’t think this means you’re off the hook, Sammy! Once I’m finished with this angel, you’re toast!”

And that was Sam’s cue to run… again.

While the angel didn’t fully understand games of chase, he did understand friendship and brotherhood… and that was precisely what he got from the Winchesters. Maybe he’d come around eventually, but for now, he was more than content to play around the Winchester way… with lots of teasing, banter, and of course, the occasional tickle attack.

[virtualvault]

Just One More

Pairing: Basil Stitt x F!reader

Summary: You're going away on a work trip and Basil tries to get his fill of you before you go. But it seems like he just can't get enough.

Warnings: SMUT, NSFW, 18+, stalker type behavior, obsessive/perverted behavior and thoughts, free-use, consensual somnophilia, mention of male masturbation & voyeurism, thigh-fucking, unprotected p in v, degradation, dirty talk, teasing, spitting, spit play(kind of), hair pulling, choking, overstimulation, cum feeding, filming(general consent to do so in their relationship but no explicit consent given beforehand), cockwarming

WC: 3.2k

A/N: Was originally going to be a Steven fic but I think this level of depravity and obsession is so much more fitting with Basil. He's such a pathetic mess and I love it.

Your dynamic with Basil is simple. You very quickly learned how he is. His wants. His needs. So you were more than happy to give him free reign to be as perverted and devious as he’d like. Before you waltzed into his life, he had already felt like he knew you intimately. He didn’t stalk you, per say, but he had become a bit obsessed with the brief glimpses he got of you as you lived in the building across the alley from his.

He'll never forget the first time he saw you. You appeared in your window one night, the glow of your bedroom light wrapping around your body, forming a beautiful silhouette. You looked ethereal, he thought. Like an angel. You didn’t have curtains, but if you did, he would've broken into your apartment and torn them down himself.

 He never had the courage to ask you if it was intentional, but he likes to think you knew exactly what you were doing. Putting on a show for him every time you were in your bedroom, walking around fully exposed. Often times you were fresh out of the shower, water dripping down your naked form.

It had become a ritual. You would come into view and his hand would immediately slip down his pants. And in less time than he'd like to admit, he was cumming over his hand, tears forming in his eyes as he was desperate for it to be spilling over you instead.

Not much had changed since you got together. Now you just happened to share a living space, so it was a lot more convenient. He touches himself at the thought of you constantly, which usually involves him either digging through your drawers or dirty laundry to use a pair of your panties or any article of clothing that holds your scent.  Or he uses some of the picture and videos he has of you.

You had shared your collection with him. You had countless videos of you and him messing around but what he found himself using most often were the photos you would send to tease him, turning him into a pleading, desperate mess, just begging to touch you. Like the ones you would send of yourself with your skirt pulled up and tits out in the mirror at work, when he would text you and beg you to give him something, anything, as he sat at home counting down the minutes until you got back.

He particularly loved the ones that he took himself, usually of you when you're in bed and he’s standing over you getting off to your sleeping form. You two had a full free use arrangement, which he takes advantage of whenever he can. Having full access to you was a little overwhelming at first, seeing as he was used to viewing you from afar and practicing all the self-restraint he had knowing he couldn’t have you. Now he can have you whenever he wants but he still feels the need to do what he used to do; sneak around and feel a sense of shame at the dirty thoughts he has of you. He still experiences that same shame, except now he, and you, get off on it. 

You had come up with a code, though, a little red hair tie that you can slip on your wrist to tell him that he shouldn’t disturb you, if need be. You usually only use it if you're not feeling particularly well that day or if you have a long day of work ahead of you and really need the sleep. Tonight would be one of those nights, but you decide to take pity on him. You’re leaving for a week-long work trip in the morning and it would be nice to get some sleep. You struggle to sleep when you’re away from home and your partner so you want to just enjoy a nice night of slumber in his warm arms. But you know he wants to get as much out of you as he can to try and tide himself over until you get back.

Basil lays behind you now, staring at your bare wrist in the sliver of moonlight cast over you as you sleep. That's not what he expected. He momentarily thinks maybe you just forgot to slip it on. But he knows you. You’re very generous, always giving him what he needs. Not to mention your sex drive pretty much matches his, so you can usually keep up with how needy and desperate he can be.

But sometimes he gets in a mood where he’s insatiable. And today was just one of those days. He’s going to miss you terribly and he’s trying not to think about the next seven days he’s going to spend moping around until you get back. He struggles to be alone, and like you, he can’t get a good night's sleep without you there, his thoughts filled with nothing but you until you return.

 You had really given him your all today, though, moving around the house to fuck him on every surface you could think of. You ended up on the floor in the middle of the hallway leading to your room and you rode him until he saw stars. You had eventually worn yourself out and after your last round you told him it was time to shower and turn in for the night, but he still had that hungry look in his eyes. So, you decided to forgo the little red band. You were so exhausted you weren't sure you'd even wake up.

Now sleeping soundly next to him, he looks down at your body. He had wished so badly that you two could fuck each other to sleep, nice and slow until you both slip into unconsciousness while he's still buried inside you. But you were out like a light the second your head hit the pillow.

He’s behind you, hard cock resting against your bare ass. He shed his clothes, needing to feel himself directly against your skin. He decides to use your thighs to get off, knowing you'd be the least likely to wake up this way. He really wants you to get some sleep but something he never takes into consideration is his severe lack of control.

He rubs some spit on himself, and pushes his dick between your plush thighs. He immediately coils his body around yours, and you shift against him. He stills, worried he woke you. You nestle deeper into his hold, but your breathing is still slow and even, indicating you're still asleep. He gradually slides closer and closer to your center, until his length is wrapped in your folds. The slick he can feel starting to form makes him shudder and he starts thrusting faster.

He catches on your entrance and you sigh quietly, but he notices your eyes are still closed. The brief contact with your hole reminds him of just how good it feels to slip inside and he realizes he’s not as strong willed as he had thought. He needs to be inside you. He hikes your leg up and rubs himself against your clit and your breath hitches. He continues this motion and eventually your eyes start to flutter open. Before you can look back to see what’s happening, he pushes into you. You both groan and he attempts to steady his breathing, trying not to cum yet.

“Just couldn’t control yourself, could you? Fucking me all day wasn't enough? So fucking needy.” you mumble. He whines pathetically into your shoulder, the shame painting his cheeks red. The look on his spurs you on. He's already a mess, clearly desperate to cum.

“You can’t help it though, can you? Go on baby, take what you need.” you coo. He sighs in relief and starts rocking into you, slow at first but when you grab him by the curls and crash his lips into yours, he speeds up, thrusts already sloppy. His breathing gets faster and faster and you realize how close he is.

You pull away. “You’re going to cum already? This is the last time you’re going to be inside me for a while, not even going to try and make it last? Pathetic.” you tease. He groans, silently cursing himself for being so weak, but he can’t help it. Your warm walls hug him so tight; you always bring him to the edge so quickly. He huffs in determination and shakes his head.

“ N-no.” he stutters, trying to think about anything else other than how you feel wrapped around him, how the closeness of your body flusters him. He begins his movements again, slow, trying to stave off his impending release. “Faster for me baby, c’mon” you grab his ass, pulling him into you deeper, trying to build to your own release. You quickly realize that he won't make it long enough for you to get off.

That's okay, you're plenty satisfied from earlier and the thought of him using you for his own pleasure has fresh slick forming between your legs, making him glide into you even faster. He pulls out, denying himself his release yet again and rolls you over. He lays on top of you and rests his head onto your chest, trying to catch his breath. “What’s wrong, I thought you wanted to cum? You were desperate enough to start using me while I was sleeping.” another whimper escapes his lips

“Not yet” he mutters, then moves his head to latch onto your left nipple and begins sucking hard. You arch your back, moaning at the sensation. You know what he’s doing. As much as your breasts turn him on, they have a way of soothing him even more. It comforts him to mash his face into your chest, enjoying your warmth and your scent. When he’s calmed down enough, he slides back into you, making you gasp. He wraps his arms around you and begins rutting into you.

He realizes he can't hold an any longer and he decides he's ready to let go. He starts giving deep, sporadic thrusts and shutters at the drag of your silky, wet walls. You pull his face from your chest and wrap your hand around his throat. His thrusts are short and uneven, but that in combination with the pressure on his throat has his eyes rolling back and he's practically drooling.

You're desperate to see him cum and you start to tease him, knowing that drives him crazy and deeper into fucked out bliss. "Do you touch me in my sleep often? I know you sneak off into the bathroom to use my panties if it's taking me too long to doze off, but what do you do to me when I'm sound asleep?"

All he can do is mewl. He can't form a single thought apart from how good you feel. "Do you use my hands? My thighs? Tits? I know you use my mouth. I can always taste you on my tongue the morning after." He pushes his neck deeper into your grasp and lets out a choked-out moan. He has now completely stopped moving and is now getting off on your words alone.

"Touching me in my sleep, stealing my panties, spying on me in the shower." His half-lidded eyes fly wide open. He thought he was being discreet about that. Usually, he'll just slip in and ask to join you but sometimes he gets the urge to just stand in the hallway and watch you through the crack in the door.

"Oh, thought I didn't notice that? I can hear you whining while you fist your cock. Such a perv." Tears well in his eyes at the humiliation, but you know he gets off on it. You're not sure if he realizes it but you know part of him does these things hoping to be caught. Get you to call him a dirty boy, tell him how perverted he is. Luckily, you're just as depraved. You're basically living under the same roof as your stalker and you wouldn't have it any other way.

"I can't h-help it." He mumbles. "I want you all the time." His confession makes you smile and you pull his lips to yours. He purrs, enjoying the sweet taste of you, and licks into your mouth sloppily. He's making it messy intentionally and you know exactly what he wants. You chuckle softly at the desperation and pull away, strings of spit still connecting your lips. You tighten your hand around his throat and use your other hand to give a sharp tug to his hair, and he gasps. With his mouth agape, you spit right onto his tongue.

He lets out a satisfied groan and you do it again, this time getting it on his face as well. He immediately wipes it off and shoves his fingers in his mouth, not wanting to waste one drop. He then pushes his fingers in your mouth, swiping the spit right off your tongue. You gag a little as his fingers slip farther down your throat, trying to get as much as he can. He loves that sound so he does it a few more times, then pulls his digits back into his mouth and begins sucking on them frantically. He hums at the taste.

"You're disgusting." you sigh, watching his movements. Despite your remark, you love the way he's licking and slurping up every last drop. Your comment has him twitching inside you. As much as you would like to make him cum just by cockwarming him while your filthy words drive him over the edge, something you have done many times before, you want to give him something you know will put him out of commission for the rest of the night.

 ou push him off, and out, of you which pulls a dramatic whine from the man who was enjoying your warmth. You push him onto his back and straddle his hips. He whimpers, readying himself to feel you slide down onto his cock.  This is usually how you end things. He comes the fastest in this position so it's become your go to 'finishing move'. You want to give him one last ride that will hopefully satiate him.

Sliding yourself over his length a few times, coating him in your slick, you guide him to your entrance and sheath his cock inside you in one swift motion. You grab his throat immediately and he lets out the most pathetic sound. You can tell he's already fucked out and you have to stop yourself from laughing. It's honestly adorable how quickly he falls apart like this.

“Yeah? You like that, princess" you tease, in that sultry tone that goes straight to his dick. This pushes him right over the edge and before you can even start grinding on him, his back is arching off the mattress and he grabs your hips with a bruising grip as he spills deep into you. He thrashes his head back and forth on the pillow and he's sucking in short, shallow breaths. Once he's you've pulled every last drop from him, he attempts to open his eyes, not yet fully aware of his surroundings.

There is one thing he can see and feel as the aftershocks rip through him, and that's you. So, he pulls you down to his chest, and you bury your face in his neck. You start planting kisses up his neck and across his jaw whispering sweet praises to him. You then cradle his face, and rub your thumbs back and forth across his cheeks, in attempt to help bring him down from his high. You rest your forehead against his, trying to get him to match his breathing to yours and that seems to work.

You eventually move down his body to clean him off with your tongue. He yanks at your hair but he goes back and forth between pulling you closer and trying to push you off. Next you have to take care of yourself, not wanting to drip his cum all over the skin you just licked clean. Usually, he’d enthusiastically clean his spend out of you with his tongue, but he’s still recovering so you scoop it out with your fingers and feed it to him. He happily accepts and he lazily licks at your fingers while you stroke his hair.

You eventually cuddle up next to him and he moves behind you again, placing you back into his arms. "I hope that was enough. If you start to miss me just imagine me on top of you like that again. I want you like that when I get back. I'll ride you just like I did tonight, but I'm not stopping until I'm satisfied." you smirk and you turn your head over your shoulder to look up at him.

He gives you a bashful, almost guilty look as he points to the nightstand and says, "I won't need to imagine." You follow his finger and your eyes land on the phone propped up, pointed directly at the both of you. Your eyes widen a little. You've given him permission to film you whenever, wherever, but you're almost always privy to it, acting oblivious but knowing exactly what he's up to. A smile tugs at your lips and a warmth spread across your skin as you wonder how many more videos he has of you when you had been none the wiser.

You turn back to him, and say, "Creep" , but follow quickly with, "Send that to me." and he chuckles softly and nods. As you turn away, he pulls you closer, nuzzling into your neck. It doesn't take long for you to start to fall asleep, warmed by his body and lulled by the rise and fall of his chest as you feel it move against you. Before you can drift off completely, you feel him shift, followed by his semi-hard cock stretching you once more. You can't believe it. You're a little impressed that he's even able to get aroused at all after the long day AND night that you had spent together. But, as much as you love him there's no way you can go again.

After a small gasp at the intrusion, you slide your hand into his hair and yank, commanding, "No. No more."

He hisses at the harsh tug, but assures you, "I just want to fall asleep inside you. Nothing more. I promise." You sigh. "Please?" he begs, and you can't help but give in. He's lucky you love the full feeling of having him inside you. In a weird way, it's actually comforting.

"Fine." You let go of his hair and he pulls you closer, now fully seated inside you. He sighs dreamily at the feeling.

You add, "But I'm serious, no more. Don't make me tie you down to the bed just so I can get some sleep.", only half joking. If this is how he's acting just at the thought of you leaving you can't imagine the desperate mess he'll be when you return. You can't wait.

[tvchi]

The Rhythm of You

Disclaimers: DO NOT COPY OR REPOST MY WORK. DO NOT TRAIN AI WITH MY WORK.

Warnings: Mature Audiences ONLY: Minors DNI- Profanity, Use of the N word. Pairing: black male x black female Words: 5,419k

A/N: Hey yall hey. Happy Holidays and a Very Happy New Year to you all. I've been gone for a minute, and now I'm back with the jump off/goons in the club case--- my fault; let me get serious. During the holiday season, I took some intentional time off to be present with family and get some much needed rest. I've been enjoying so many other fanfics, liking and reblogging them for your viewing pleasure, so please check them out. When I got back, work just steamrolled me, and then I found myself reminiscing about the past with friends and fantasizing about this new fic. It just wouldn't leave me alone and I found myself disengaging from Terry's drama to look into an unexpected chapter in Aldis' life (lol). I will be writing part 4 of Veiled Intentions soon don't worry!

Summary: Aldis has been working really hard and had finally finished Season 1 of Cross. I had been a grueling 10 months filming this role and getting into character. Now, he can finally decompress and return to the one thing that means the world to him, his baby girl. Everything was all figured out until he met someone unexpected, someone alluring, someone who will add a much needed song to the soundtrack of his life.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------- Delicate golden embers arose from the stringed lights hung all over the ceiling. Their glow illuminated the bodies that swayed underneath. The sounds of the speakers blaring the Top 40 hits now transitioned to R&B. The calm electricity throughout the room brought a warm buzz to my chest. It was a sight to behold. Everyone I had grown close to over the past couple of years gathered under this two-story NY loft to celebrate the significant milestone. It made me smile. 

I usually enjoy the wrap of all of my work. It gives me time to pause, decompress, reflect on the journey, make a little time to note what I could have done better, and dig deep inside myself to practice the celebration of all of the things I had done right. Taking on this role was a huge undertaking, but I got it right. Really right. I was already getting calls offering me other roles in other limited series. I even got offered a chance to make my directorial debut on a project that I’ve had my eye on for a while.

Knocking back another swig of my drink. I couldn’t help smiling at the thought of going home and hugging my daughter tight.  It was a wrap ritual for me. Ever since she was born, I’ve been obsessed with the little extension of myself. The way she looked up at me, face pressed tightly against my chest, asking me all kinds of questions and clinging to every answer. I thought I knew love until I held her.  

I downed the last of my drink and started saying my goodbyes. It wasn’t until I had hugged the last person that I heard the commotion coming from the dancefloor. They were playing some song featuring Kehlani, the only voice I recognized at the moment, and it was smooth. Curious, I let my feet guide me to the edge of the formed crowd. I stepped in closer, and that is when I saw …her. 

Her skin was a toffee brown, and under the streams of warm light, she glowed. The second thing I noticed was how she seemed to glide around the enclosed circle she maneuvered around. It was almost as if her feet weren’t even hitting the floor. Where her feet went, her hips trailed behind, snaking around, causing her ass to tick and shake precisely as the percussion dropped. She was in perfect sync with the beat. There came a point where she switched her movements to emulate the rhythm of the words the artists’ crooned. She turned around to where I was standing, body still enthralled by the trance of the song, and started mouthing the words. 

The way she moved her hands to trace the outline of her hills and valleys enticed something in my carnal nature. My eyes wouldn’t move from her. Her eyes fluttered open and closed, influenced by the song's sentiment. If she were the premise of the music video, this song would win so many awards. I continued watching her intently, and then she suddenly peered up at me, still mouthing the words of the song and moving those perfectly sculpted hips and thighs. She snaked to the right and folded over, allowing the right side of the room a full view of a plump, round ass and the rest of us a delectable side view. Her eyes never left me. It was almost like she was daring me to make my way over to her and dance with her. My feet remained planted where they were, and I just stared, wondering how she would look doing this routine in my bedroom— on my dick. 

My thoughts were interrupted by my castmate and newfound brother, Isaiah, coming up to my right. “Incredible,” he said, practically moaning.

“Who is she?”

“I don’t even know. The little intel I was able to pick up from some of the cast mates who were familiar with her was that she’s a choreographer or dancer or something. She came as a plus on.”

The DJ continued to egg her on while transitioning to ‘Can I’ by Kehlani. She started another routine that didn’t seem routine at all. Isaiah and I kept our eyes glued to her every movement. Again, she seemed entranced by the rhythm of the song. She looked like she was… home. 

After the song went off and the DJ transitioned to another song, she straightened up and peered around at the small crowd cheering for her. She blushed, waved a vote of thanks, and whispered something to Golden Madison, another of our castmates. I'm not sure how or why, but my feet started moving toward the pair. I could sense that Isaiah wasn’t far behind. 

“No, girl, you can’t leave now. You are literally the life of the party, and the night is young!” I overheard Golden saying.

“I agreed to be your plus one on one of my sacred days off to congratulate you and love on you. It’s almost 2 am; I think I’ve done my fair share of ‘plus-oneing’. I need to get to my bed,” the mystery girl said playfully.

“Please, we’ll leave in like another hour or so. I promise,” Golden begged.

“Girl! I have errands to run and other things to do tomorrow. I have to go, but I love you deep! I’m so proud of you!” the girl kissed. Golden pouted and noticed Izzy and I standing there. 

“Hey yall,” Golden squeaked. Her friend turned around to see who Golden was speaking to, and our eyes locked for the second time tonight. 

“Hey, Goldie,” I said.

“I thought you left already. I know you don’t stay out late much,” she stated.

“Yea, I was on my way out, and then I heard all the commotion coming from the dancefloor and thought I’d see what was going on,” I replied.

“And there was a lot going on,” Izzy chimed, staring suggestively at the girl we both couldn’t take our eyes off of.

“My girl is and has ALWAYS been the truth!”

“Does your girl have a name?”

“Yea, you not gonna introduce us? Rude!”

“Shut up, Izzy. Aldis, Izzy, this is my best friend Amara. Amara, these clowns are the co-stars of the Alex Cross, Alex and Izzy,”

“It’s nice to meet you both,” she shook our hands. Hers were so soft, and her handshake was firm. I held her hand a little longer than customary before letting her go. The absence of the warmth of her hand when I let go of her instantly felt unnatural. Wrong even. 

“Goldie, I gotta go. Love you,” Amara said, turning toward Goldie

“Ugh, you’re being so lame!” Goldie let out in frustration.

The DJ started playing ‘Hot’ by Efosa. I watched her close her eyes in loathing. She turned to Goldie and said, “This is my damn song, and I feel like you told him to play this!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Goldie said, feigning innocence. “If you going then, go!”

Amara lets out a long sigh. The next thing I knew, my right hand was in hers, and she was leading me back onto the dancefloor. She laid it on me. Her hips moved left and right. She planted her ass directly where my dick laid dormant until — now. Looking at the view of her sculpted, exposed lower back up close while she practically whined on my member was mesmerizing. Her hips rotated clockwise then, suddenly with the change of the synths, counterclockwise like she pressed rewind on her previous movement. 

She was a force, and I desperately tried to keep up with her while taking her all in. I was pretty sure pre-cum was leaking all in my boxers as I watched her ass ripple up and down as I collided with her. I needed to make her mine, to have the pleasure of being inside her, to learn every twist and turn of that body. By the end of the song, I didn’t care that she was feeling how hard I was at this point. This was all her doing. At the final climax of the song, she threw her head back and tilted to the left to look back at me as she wiggled her ass at warped speed to match the beat. I was gone. 

She owned me, and she knew it. When the DJ transitioned, she gave a final bump to my third leg with her ass and rose to her full height. She walked to Goldie and hugged her, followed by a kiss on her cheek. My feet were still planted where they were, missing her warmth and showcasing a hefty hard-on. While walking towards the exit, she glanced at me and flashed a knowing smile. Then she was gone.

“Daaaaaaaaamn, bruh. She left and put the $200 on the dresser, cuz the way she was handling you back there, you definitely got fuck,” he said laughing. He was right, and there was nothing I could do about it. I should’ve ran after her and asked for her information but I couldn’t move. I couldn’t think. I just felt. 

————————————————————————-

“Hey baby, what you doing?” Looking at my greatest accomplishment with pride and joy. According to her teachers, she’s ahead of the class in all her subjects. They’ve been testing her to see whether she can skip classes. It was fascinating watching her in her element. 

“I’m building a house,” she answered curtly, zipping around to find another piece to glue on. One thing I loved about babygirl was the fact that she did her own thing. It didn’t bother her that the other girls her age were more preoccupied with tea parties and painting their nails. She liked those things, too, but she also loved working with her hands and playing basketball with the other boys in the neighborhood. 

She didn’t let the other kids push her around either. You never knew what you were going to get with her. One day, she demanded to go to school in her “princess gown,” the next day, she would wear a snapback, jeans, and the pair of Jays we got together. Her mom thought she sometimes dressed like me when she missed me the most. That was another subject… her mom. 

“Ok, well, I want my room facing the backyard. I don’t wanna hear all that noise from the street. Oh, and make sure you hook me up, too. I want a big-screen TV in there.”

“Imma do your room last cause you ain't say ‘please’! That's rude, Daddy.”

I chuckled. “That’s fair, babygirl. That’s fair. My bad. Please and thank you.”

“Mhmm. Now that your movie is done, how long you staying this time?”

“I’m going be here until I get another role that I wanna do, then it’s the usual. I take the meetings and talk to some people, and if they like me, they’ll tell me when I start.”

“They always like you, Daddy. You’re the best!”

I beamed. “Thank you, baby girl. That means a lot coming from you. They can give me all the awards they want to, but–”

“But if you don’t get one from me, then nothing matters. I know, Daddy. You say that every time.” She smiled, and half rolled her eyes.

“That’s because I mean it!” I exclaimed, tapping her nose with my index finger.

“I know.”

“So now that you got me all to yourself for a while, what you wanna do?”

“Well, Imma finish the house, then maybe later you can make me a burger cause imma be hungry. After that, we can go to the movies. After that, maybe we can go to a basketball game. Eric said ain't no way I’m going to the Knicks game. I told him that my daddy takes me when he’s home, and he called me a liar. So we gotta go to the Knicks game so I can see Karl-Anthony, then we gotta take pictures so he can shut up. After that, I wanna go to the skating rink because Tina and Tasha said we gotta get good by the summer so we can skate outside. Then after that—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. I see you got a lot of plans. Tell you what, for today, I’ll leave you to your house and get the burgers ready. We’ll go to the movies later on tonight. Tomorrow, we can go to Home Depot and get some lights and other stuff to hook your house up. How’s that sound?”

“YAAAAAAAY!!! Daddy, how you know I wanted to put some lights in here?!?!”

“Cause you been on the computer watching YouTube videos of mini houses and how to put lights up,” I replied with a smirk.

“You can see that?”

“I can see everything, babygirl. Remember that.” I finished, giving her a peck on the forehead, and headed downstairs to the kitchen.

I worked quickly, seasoning the ground turkey and forming the patties. They were ready in no time. While working on the last batch of seasoned fries, my phone rang.

“Nigga, whatchu doing?” Isaiah blurted.

“Me and babygirl finna eat these burgers. What’s good?” I declared, gazing proudly at the meal I drummed up.

“Oh, so you back? Good,” he asked, referring to my choice to stay another week in LA to decompress before flying back to New York.

“Yea I got back in yesterday.”

“Yea, well, remember lil mama from the wrap party?”

“Who?”

“Nigga, the one you was drooling over. Don’t play like you don’t know who I’m talking about.”

I laughed sheepishly. I couldn’t forget her if I tried. “Whatever. Wussup?”

“Uh huh, anyway, I saw her at one of the studios on Kingston Ave in the Heights.” I marveled at how your friend, who was anxious about riding the subway just last month when he first got here, is rattling off streets in Brooklyn like a pro even though he lives in Harlem. I loved how he was getting comfortable in a place that would always be home.

“And what were you doing in Brooklyn?” I asked curiously.

“Never you mind what I was doing in Brooklyn. Did you hear what I said? Your girl is dancing her fine ass up and down Brooklyn with some brown-skinned Dominican muthafucka! You talmbout ‘what you doing in Brooklyn’? Anyway, I just texted you the address to the dance studio. Make your way over there.”

“Uh huh, leave that Zina girl alone, nigga. You’re married. I ain't gon’ tell you bout that shit no more. Tighten up!” I snapped. 

As much as I loved having Isaiah in my city, bending blocks, booking gigs, and getting closer, he’s been losing his way. I’ve always looked up to him in more ways than one. He held so much knowledge and experience. Lately, I’ve noticed him putting off his responsibilities to his house and home. Especially when it came to Zina, a 39-year-old creative director of Epic Records who worked closely with us on the soundtrack of Cross. 

She lived in Brooklyn and returned home 2 weeks before we wrapped. Isaiah was supposed to go home and spend time with his wife and two kids. Instead, he bought a brownstone in Harlem and moved some of his things out here.  I pressed him about his sudden decision, and he said that he needed some time to think and that Lisa agreed. I knew there was more to the story, but I didn’t press him. 

I introduced him to some of my friends and showed him around so that he would get more acclimated. Sometime later, I heard he was running up to Brooklyn to see some girl. I started putting two and two together. When I finally confronted him, he fell silent and told me to let him straighten his shit out, and he would let me do the same with mine. I left him knowing that I disapproved and that if I was asked, I wouldn’t lie to him. Now, I see none of my words struck a chord with him. 

“Yea whatever, nigga. Get to that studio.” he said and hung up. I pondered what would be the reason for me to barge into a dance studio with my size and build. I did not want to make it obvious that I was there for her but I needed to see her. I wasn’t sure why. 

After getting babygirl fed, we headed to the movies. Wicked was a dope movie. Babygirl and I discussed the different themes and lessons she picked up in the film. This girl was so bright and full of life. I couldn’t believe how perfect she was. Blessed and proud, I couldn’t even begin to cover it. Next morning, we did our morning routine of hygiene, outfit choices, breakfast, and affirmations, and I dropped babygirl off at school. 

“Aye, man, you the guy from Underground, right?” I heard a voice say as I entered one of my favorite coffee shops. I turned around to face him.

“Yea, man. How you doing?”

“Oh man, my girl gon flip. She loves you. You dope or whatever. Can I get a pic witchu?”

“Yea man, C’mon”

We took a couple of pictures, and I dapped him up. I told him about Cross, and he said he would spread the word. I reached the counter to order my favorite drink, and my favorite barista was there.

“Oh, shit, everybody. My favorite actor after Denzel is here!” Assata shouted.

“Here you go! You gotta do that every time I come up here? You know I’m tryna be incognegro” I responded, feigning annoyance.

“Shut up. You love my announcements, and I love doing ‘em”

“Whatever, ya pops and Man man here. I wanted to say wussup to them real quick before I start a little bit of work.”

“Al, you just finished working. When you gonna take a minute to breathe? Enjoy that little girl before you jet off.”

“First of all, you in my business. Second, babygirl says ‘hey’ and that the last time she came in here and got a hot chocolate Man Man made it too hot, and she burned her tongue. So I’m here to beat his ass. Next, I did take time to decompress but I got a baby now and like everybody else, I’m tryna make sure everybody eats. Lastly, go get ya Pops!”

“Mhmm. You ain’t gotta jump down my throat. I’m just saying that you can take more than a week and some change to relax and enjoy your accomplishments,” she said, making her way to the back room. 

A second later, Pops, aka Mr. Johnson, came from behind. As far as I was concerned, he was part of the family. My family had been coming to his coffee shop and bakery since I was a kid. He looked out for me when my own father was busy working three jobs, and when we didn’t have what we needed for school, he looked out in every way possible. Every time I’m home, I make sure I see him and see if he needs anything. He always declines my help, but I always end up getting my way. 

We spoke for a while about what was going on in the neighborhood and how he kept getting incessant calls trying to get him to sell his property. I knew from how he spoke about the neighborhood and this shop that he would never sell. He wasn't going anywhere if I had anything to do with it. He was one of the few black businesses left in the neighborhood and probably the only one that wasn’t drowning in massive debt. I saw to that. 

After an hour or so, I excused myself and headed to one of the tables across from the window to start looking at a list of upcoming films and shows that have been greenlit and looking to cast. Then, I took a couple of meetings and started finishing up some work I had been putting off for my side projects. Everybody knows I keep a job. I was always working. At first, it started out as a way to get out of debt and make sure that I was never homeless or destitute again. Then, I kept going because I feared that everything I had could be taken from me at any moment, and I needed something. Then I started making excuses about why I couldn’t sit still. That reminded me I had to check in with my guy Mark for our therapy session I had to reschedule. 

When that was completed, I googled the address Isaiah sent me. Google maps street view allowed me to see the inside and outside of the building. It was definitely of a modern design. It also looked like it doubled as a community center for the youth. Going down a rabbit hole, I learned about the studio's founder and watched a couple of interviews about the community center and why it was founded. Then she appeared. 

Amara Omena talked about how the center was a refuge for her to explore her talent as a dancer when her parents admonished and banished her from their home when she stood firm in her decision to pursue dancing full-time instead of becoming an engineer. I was transfixed as she spoke and couldn’t peel my eyes from hers. I also wondered what kind of people would force their kids out in the cold because they wanted to go for their dreams. 

I thought to babygirl, and how I would be over the moon if she told me that she wanted to dance or be a plumber… shit, she could tell me that she wanted to sell her collection of rocks, and I would find a way for her to make that happen. My heart felt for Amara in more ways than one. Before I knew what was happening, I was on the phone with the center's founder and told them I would be there on Monday. I discussed a couple of other things with them and hung up. 

The weekend came and went and babygirl and I went everywhere she could possibly think to go. I even went back to the coffee shop and play-fought Man Man for making babygirl’s hot chocolate too hot. I threatened to whoop his ass again if he burned my baby. Babygirl got a kick outta that. I dropped her off at her mom’s house, hopped on the A express, got off at Hoyt-Schermerhorn, then got on the C and rode that down to Crown and Utica station. As I walked to Kingston Ave, I took in the sights. 

There were some new establishments, but I was glad to see that some of the old ones I grew up with were still there. I made a mental note to take babygirl to the Brooklyn Museum. Finally, I arrived at the Kingston Community Center and went inside. I signed in at the front desk and asked the receptionist where I could sit while I waited for Dr. Simmons to meet me.

“I know you, baby. You don’t need to sign in. I already told Dr. Simmons that you were here when I saw you walking up, witcho fine ass. She’s coming down,” the receptionist said, winking at me. I chuckled.

“Thank you ma’am”

“Anything for you, baby. My name is Linda Brentwell, but everybody calls me Ms. Lee. You single?” she asked. I choked, caught off guard. This woman was firmly in her 60s and flirting with me unabashedly. 

“That’s enough, Ms. Lee. Thank you,” a voice said from behind her. “Hell,o Mr. Hodge, I’m Dr. Simmons. We spoke over the phone.”

I shook her hand. “Nice to meet yo,u Dr. Simmons”

“Follow me. The kids are down the hall,” she announced. 

She told me how grateful she was to receive a call from me and how much it would mean to the kids. She gave me a working itinerary of how the day would go. I spoke with the kids first, signing autographs. They’d watch an episode of Underground, and then I would get a tour of the facility. I chopped it up with the kids and had a blast. I knew babygirl was a riot, but these kids were talented and full of life. They came from all kinds of bullshit out there, and despite everything, they found some semblance of hope and peace at the center. 

Its establishments like these mean everything to the community. I made a mental note of everything the kids said about the place and assured them this wouldn’t be the last they saw of me. I took a picture with each of them and then gave them autographs. I’ll tell my assistant to check in with the center and give the kids goodie bags.  

A teen named Keith waited for me by the door to give me a tour of the center. I chopped it up with him as we walked around the building. I asked him to deviate from the routine and to show me the dance studio last. He mentioned how a generous donor, a contact from one of the instructors of the dance studio, helped remodel the building, which gave them a lot of space.  It was about 6:30pm when we finally made it to the dance studio.

It was on the 4th floor and bathed in a soft, amber sunset that filtered through the tall windows, casting elongated shadows on the polished wooden floor. The air was thick with the scent of fresh wood and a hint of sweat, the lingering evidence of hours of movement—the walls lined with floor-to-ceiling mirrors. A single barre ran the length of one side, worn smooth by countless hands. At the far end, a stereo system hummed, its speakers poised like silent sentinels.  

A bin was riddled with worn ballet shoes, jazz heels, and some tap shoes. Gym bags and jacks piled next to the cubbies found next to the door.  The loud thud of landing jumps and shifting feet quickly hit your ears when you opened the door. I looked around until I spotted her. Her hips swayed and shifted to the beat, the familiar sight melting my resolve. The choreographer’s next formation led her to the front, where she twirled, leaped in the air, and landed in a split.

“Damn,” is all that escaped me as I watched her pop her ass in the split and look directly into the mirror. She knew exactly what she was doing, making me wonder what else she knew. “I know. Amara is cold. You see all the dudes we passed getting to the door?” “Yea” “They here to watch her. Every time. They stay on her body,” he said. “Is that right?” “On God.”

That bit of information only strengthened my resolve to make sure that I was the only one “on her body,” as he put it. 

“Class. We have a special guest with us today. Everyone say ‘Hello’ to Mr. Aldis Hodge, actor, philanthropist, artist, and watchmaker,” she finished as everyone clapped. I gestured my vote of thanks for their warm welcome.

“Thank you so much for your warm welcome. Wait, hold up. How did you know I made watches and painted them? Let me find out if you've been stalkin a brother,” I joked. The room erupted in laughter. I looked at her, and a small smile crept onto her face. “I was given a great tour. Keith did an excellent job, and we stopped by the studio last to see if I could get some time to learn a few moves real quick.”

“We’d be honored to have you. Here, you can partner with one of our finest, Amara.” “Only if it isn’t a bother,” I posited, looking at her. “No. Not at all,” she said softly. “Alright, y'all all since Mr. Hodge is joining us, we will take it down and practice or choreo to Toni’s ‘You’re Makin’ Me High,’” the instructor, who answered to the name Jamaica, said. She went over the first part of the choreography step by step. It was simple enough, even though I got a couple of chuckles and redirects from Amara. After a couple of individual practices, we all came together and rehearsed them. For someone who only two steps, ya boi was getting it in. I didn’t look out of place. When I got to pull Amara in and dance with her, I felt the same rush I felt two months ago when she took my breath away with the whining of her waist. 

Can’t get my mind off you/ Think I might be obsessed/ The very thought of you makes me wanna get undressed/ I wanna be with you in spite of what my heart says/ I guess I want you too bad…

Toni was speaking my exact sentiments through the speakers, which must have shown because once we were done with steps, a round of applause erupted. 

“Okay, chemistry!!! Mr. Hodge, how long you gonna be in town because we may need you to perform this with us?” Jamaica asked. Reluctantly I broke eye contact with Amara in order to answer Jamaica. “I can move some things around. Let me know what yall need.” “Oh, don’t tell me that 'cause I’mma hit your line about it too!” “I got you,” I replied, looking back at Amara. 

I learned a couple of other things, and by the time the class was over, I had come out of my quarter zip and drenched my beater. I walked over to get a towel.

“Of all the dance studios in Brooklyn, you walk into this one?” I heard a voice beside me say. I removed the towel from my face to look at her. “Aint that something?” She looked at me intently. “You aren’t following me, are you?” “You cute and all, but I don’t need to stalk women to speak to them,” I replied. I lied. She wasn’t cute, she was gorgeous. The way a single bead of sweat curved around her brown slid down her temple and cheek, and curved down her jaw made me want to lick it. While it was a happy coincidence that Isaiah’s cheating ass happened to run into her going into the studio, the rest was all me. I definitely was looking into her and learning all I could about her. She looked at me momentarily, said, “Ok then,” and turned on her heels. I fucked up. I didn’t want to make it seem as though I wasn’t interested at all, but that was the energy it was giving. I had to save the moment. 

“But since we are both here and it’s late, is there a place you like to go to grab something to eat?” I asked, hoping this would bring the conversation back to a good place. “The bodega around the corner has bomb sandwiches.” “You wanna walk together?” “You cute and all, but I usually don't go with men places unless I know them.” “So you think I’m cute?” “I think you’re capable of finding a bodega and getting a sandwich.” 

I smirked. “You got it. If you change ya mind, that’s where I’ll be headed.” I cleaned myself off, threw on my quarter zip and jacket, and headed down with Keith. After saying goodbye to Keith and the other kids waiting to be picked up, I headed to the bodega she had mentioned. There was a high possibility that I fucked things up back there, but something in me hoped— prayed she would just see it as nerves and come anyway. 

When I got to the bodega, I placed my order and got two more orders. I walked around the store and stopped in the back. I pulled out my phone and checked a couple of texts. I got two drinks out of the fridge and returned to the side of the store where they were making the sandwiches. Like clockwork, the store manager came out to inspect the ground. He was orange with long whiskers and a striped tail. If you’re in NY and you don’t see a bodega cat, be suspicious.  “Papi, ya order is next," said the Bodega owner. “Thank you.” I went back to check my phone to pass the time. I responded to one email about a potential role and thought about some others. “Three orders? You just knew I was coming, huh!”  I heard from behind me. I turned around, and there she stood.

--------------------------------------------------------- Thanks for reading this very elaborate meet-cute and hopefully the start of yet another series that I will finish (lol). I've tagged everyone that I could remember too, but if you're coming across me for the first time and want to be tagged in this fic or any others, please comment and let me know you wanna be tagged!

Tags: @thecapodomme @writers-of-tmblr @melaninpov @spaceslutsworld @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @mymusicbias @the-black-label @master-builder42 @miraculously-dumb-bitch @megamindsecretlair @hopefulromantic1 @tranquilfandomer @thadelightfulone @vivalaorgasm @hotgrlcece @planetblaque @blackgurlnhermoods @andriaharris @theblacklewinsky @kumkaniudaku @lovelyflames @girlbeblogging @toiadeenovels @longpause-awkwardsmile @sweettea-and-honeybutter @sirenmouths @almostelectroniccheesecake @liquorlaughslove @meleekabenjamin @19jammmy @thoseprettywords @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @stellarxfresh @noirelyfe @moooonluvr @kinginwithbreezy-blog @bunniibooooo @sk1121-blog1 @luckydaye777 @hgabdakhtui @ovohanna24 @bratattack209 @greantii @rue0224 @jazziejax @whatdreamsaremadeofbitch @absentmindeddreamer @soft-persephone @dragonfly1207 @strawberrymoon45 @kxngkaykay @nayaesworld @uzumaki-rebellion @wolfiediaries @off-pink @zoey101-2 As always, let me know what you think about this fic. Comment, Reblog, Like, Tell A Friend!

[dreamingstraykids]

CAN YOU PLEASE WRITE LEE CHANGBIN 🗣️🔥🗣️🔥

or or or romantic hyunbinchan

OR BOTH AT THE SAME TIME

only request is that its long

if not you can ignore this 😭😭

LAUGHTER AND LOVE: CHEERING UP OUR CHANGBIN

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

This is a tickle fic. If u're uncomfortable, keep scrolling.

Words: 1268

t/w: rough tickle. Lovely and soft aftermath.

Lee: Changbin 🐷🐰

Lers: Bang Chan 🐺 and Hyunjin 🥟

Thanks @hearted-anon for the request. 🫶🏻 I really hope u like it.

Note: Changbin u deserve all the love in this world 🩷

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The dorm was quiet, too quiet for comfort. Changbin sat on the couch, arms crossed, staring blankly at the television. His usual energy seemed muted, his shoulders slouched as if the weight of the world was pressing down on him.

Hyunjin and Chan, who had been in the kitchen chatting, exchanged a concerned glance.

“He’s been like that all day,” Hyunjin whispered, leaning closer to Chan.

Chan frowned, his heart aching for his usually upbeat and lively friend. “We can’t let him stay like this. He needs a pick-me-up.”

Hyunjin’s lips curled into a mischievous grin. “I think I know exactly how to fix this.”

Chan caught on immediately, smirking. “Tickles?”

“Tickles,” Hyunjin confirmed with a nod.

The two walked over to where Changbin sat, pretending to be casual. Chan took a seat beside him, while Hyunjin perched himself on the armrest of the couch, hovering close.

“Hey, Binnie,” Chan said softly, nudging him. “What’s got you so down today?”

Changbin shrugged, not even looking their way. “Dunno. Just… feel off.”

Hyunjin leaned down, his face inches from Changbin’s. “Off, huh? That’s not like you, Binnie. You know what might help?”

Changbin finally glanced up, raising an eyebrow suspiciously. “What?”

Before he could react, Hyunjin lunged forward, wiggling his fingers into Changbin’s sides. “This!”

“HYUN—NAHAHAHA! WHAHAHAHAT?!” Changbin erupted into laughter, his body jerking wildly as he tried to escape Hyunjin’s tickling fingers.

Chan quickly joined in, his hands targeting Changbin’s ribs. “Tickles always cheer you up, Binnie!”

“NOHOHO! NOT THIHIHIHIS!” Changbin howled, collapsing back against the couch as the two attackers worked in perfect sync.

Hyunjin’s nimble fingers danced along Changbin’s sides, squeezing and teasing the sensitive spots just above his hips. Changbin’s laughter turned desperate as he twisted and turned, trying to block Hyunjin’s relentless tickles.

“Stop moving so much!” Hyunjin teased, giggling himself. “I can’t focus if you keep squirming!”

Meanwhile, Chan was mercilessly digging his fingers into Changbin’s ribs, poking each one with precision. “Wow, you’ve got so many ribs, Binnie. Are they all this ticklish?”

“STAHAHAHAP! I CAHAHAHAN’T!” Changbin cried, tears forming in the corners of his eyes as he thrashed on the couch.

“Oh, but you’re laughing,” Hyunjin pointed out with a grin. “You must be feeling better already!”

Deciding to switch it up, Chan’s hands traveled to Changbin’s belly, kneading the soft skin like dough. Changbin screeched, arching his back as a new wave of laughter spilled out of him.

“NOHOHOT THEHEHERE!” he begged, his voice breaking.

Hyunjin, never one to miss an opportunity, honed in on Changbin’s hips. “Oh, are your hips bad too?” he asked innocently, squeezing the sensitive spots.

Changbin’s response was incoherent, a mix of laughter and pleading as he kicked his legs weakly. “STAHAHAHA! PLEHEHEASE!”

“Let’s see how ticklish your legs are,” Chan suggested, moving down to Changbin’s thighs. He squeezed and pinched, earning a fresh batch of high-pitched giggles.

“CHAHAN! NOHOHO!” Changbin shouted, his voice cracking as he tried to curl his legs up.

Hyunjin took the opportunity to target Changbin’s knees, poking and prodding the soft spots just below the kneecap. “Oh, you’re super ticklish here!”

“STOP! STAHAHAHAHAP!” Changbin wailed, tears streaming down his cheeks as he flailed helplessly

Finally, the two lers made their way to Changbin’s feet. Chan held down one ankle while Hyunjin tackled the other, their fingers scratching at the soles and tickling under his toes.

“NAHAHAHA! NOHOHOT MY FEHEHEET!” Changbin screamed, his laughter turning almost silent as he thrashed wildly.

Hyunjin smirked, pulling back for a moment to examine Changbin’s reaction. “You’re really sensitive here, huh? Let’s see if this is your worst spot.”

He wiggled his fingers under Changbin’s toes, and the rapper let out an ear-piercing shriek, shaking his head frantically.

“STAHAHAHA! I’M SOHOHOHORRY!” Changbin cried, though he wasn’t even sure what he was apologizing for.

Finally, Chan and Hyunjin relented, letting Changbin collapse onto the couch in a heap. His chest heaved as he gasped for air, tears of laughter streaming down his face.

“You okay, Binnie?” Chan asked, sitting beside him and rubbing his back.

Changbin nodded weakly, still giggling. “You guys… are the worst,” he mumbled, though there was no malice in his tone.

Hyunjin grinned, leaning down to press a kiss to Changbin’s temple. “But you’re smiling now, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Changbin muttered, rolling his eyes.

Chan wrapped an arm around Changbin, pulling him into a tight hug. “We just want you to know how much we care about you, Binnie. You’re never alone.”

Hyunjin snuggle into Changbin’s other side. “We love you, Binnie. You’re the best.”

Changbin sighed, letting himself relax into their embrace. “Thanks, guys. I needed that.”

Changbin sighed, his heart softening as he melted into their embrace. “Thanks, guys. I needed that.”

Hyunjin leaned back, gazing at Changbin with a soft smile. “But we’re not done cheering you up yet.”

Before Changbin could respond, Hyunjin leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. Changbin’s eyes widened, his face flushing.

“W-What was that for?” he stammered, his heart racing.

“Because you’re adorable,” Hyunjin teased, his voice laced with affection.

Chan smirked, tilting Changbin’s face toward him. “Don’t act so surprised, Binnie. You deserve all the love in the world.” He pressed a soft kiss to Changbin’s other cheek, leaving him even more flustered.

“Y-You guys…” Changbin mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper.

Hyunjin chuckled, snuggling closer. “Just accept it. You’re stuck with us now.”

Chan rested his forehead against Changbin’s, his voice low and tender. “We love you, Binnie. Don’t ever forget that.”

Changbin’s eyes filled with tears—not from laughter this time, but from the overwhelming warmth in his heart. “I… I love you guys too.”

They shifted positions, pulling Changbin down onto the couch so he was sandwiched between them. Hyunjin wrapped his arms around Changbin’s waist, while Chan rested his head on Changbin’s shoulder, tracing soothing patterns on his arm.

“I feel like the luckiest person alive,” Changbin admitted softly, his voice muffled as he nuzzled into Hyunjin’s chest.

“You should,” Hyunjin teased, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

Chan chuckled, his voice warm. “But we’re the lucky ones, Binnie. You make our lives brighter.”

They stayed like that for hours, tangled together in a cocoon of love and warmth. Changbin’s earlier sadness was a distant memory, replaced by the unshakable knowledge that he was deeply cherished.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

[yuri-is-online]

This might just me being tired and dumb, but I kind of get how Ace having a more supportive family would lead to isolation? Like. People who have no family to rely on form their own, and that kind of bond can be beat by very little else. There's not only possibly shared trauma, but there's probably also a shared understanding that "we all we got". It gives a weird sense of hope to see someone else in your situation, someone who relates to you even a little bit, and you want more anything in the world for them to make it out and thrive, and you can trust that they want the same for you.

So with Ace, who's trauma (that we know about) mainly comes from association and the iverblot fights, it's a bit harder to make that bond. He (assumably) got all the love and support that he was supposed to get from his family. And yeah! Sure! He can still seek it out elsewhere! But it's a thing he already has, he already has somewhere to go at the end if the day for comfort.

This is actually a theme that I'm gonna play with in my 80s fic, Deuce is lower middle class, while Yuu is just a slightly glorified version if homeless. Ace is squarely middle class, if not upper middle, he never has to really want for anything. Not like Deuce and certainly not like Yuu.

Learning how to pinch for pennies and find deals are things that makes Aces life more convenient, but it's something that Deuce and Yuu need. And that's where the divide is.

He wants to take care of his friends (he's still in denial) more than anything, but he also feels like there's this weird line he can't cross, with him on one side and Yuu and Deuce on the other. It honestly doesn't help that Yuu has a separate, small friend group outside of him and Deuce that are all in the same "Shit is completely fucked right now but by God are we gonna make it out" boat. A boat that Ace will probably never be in. Ace loves his family and is grateful, and knows exactly how much he lucked out. But he still wants to have that bond. That "the world feels like it's ending but atleast we'll be going down together" type of bond. Comforting Yuu while they cry about not having heating in the winter will never be the same as having to suffer alongside them and know they were in this together. Trying to find the cheapest possible version of a food products with Deuce and discovering knock off brands that Ace would never imagine existing (who the hell made knock off cheerios?) Will never be the same as actually having to rely on those knock off and part time sales, and feeling a sense pride that they were able to save enough money this month that they could actually buy something nice. Ace probably won't ever be on that side of the invisible line.

He'll bring them to his side though. Ace wants to take care of them more than anything. He wants them in his life more than anything. And he'll have them. No matter what he has to do to make that happen.

Sorry if I missread your post and just dropped a huge angst bomb in your inbox! I just have thoughts and there are a lot of AceYuu and ADeuce moments in chapter three and one or two of them digs into this a little.

You didn't misread my post at all I swear we are sharing custody of a braincell because this is just *chef's kiss* exactly what I was thinking.

Having that solid middle class stability and parent's who genuinely love you and each other is nothing to be ashamed of, not that I think Ace has enough humility for that, but it does mean that he has a gap in his understanding for Deuce and especially Yuu's situation. I keep thinking about how he ended up eating those tarts because he skipped a meal over worrying about Yuu and their circumstances, he cares. He is crass and rude with it but he cares! I love how you say he'll bring them to his side of the line, that's exactly how I see him thinking about it.

Ace's isolation (in my view) seems to come from how much more he values his friendship with Yuu and Deuce over literally anyone else in the school. He'd benefit from talking to Jack and Epel more, they also have solid home lives and Jack at least I think has financially stable parents, but those guys aren't his people. For better or worse, for sickness or health, Yuu and Deuce are who he is sticking it out with. He'll never say it in game, but he really does love you both, in what way is of course up to the interpretation of the player.

but you know which one we both prefer frfr

[laurancezvahlslefteyebrow]

Fever

A fic based on @cinnamontoastcroonch ‘s take on Cadenza’s perspective during Laurance’s de-Shadow Knighttaion induced fever, but from Aphmau’s perspective

Aka: Laurance has a really bad fever, hallucinations a bit and everyone is panicking

CW: Sickfic, fever whump, thoughts of death, mention of hallucinations

At first she didn’t notice. She’d nodded off sitting in the rickety wooden armchair next to Laurance’s bed. Her arm was beginning to fall asleep as she rested her head on it, when suddenly she heard the soft rustling of sheets. Her head shot up to see his face, scrunched in agony, beads of sweat running down his pale skin. His eyes fluttered open hardly half way, hot tears falling to his ears. His breaths quickened and all she could hear was a pathetic whine escaping from his soul. Aphmau was willing herself not to panic. Not yet. She could tell he was hurting, she needed to comfort him, make him feel ok.

“No, no no. Shh shh. It’s alright. You’re ok Laurance. I’m here. I’m right here. I got you.” Despite her best efforts, her voice broke a bit and she became chocked up. She hoped he didn’t notice. Aphmau raised a hand to his cheek to verify a fever. Oh gods he’s burning up. This is bad. She wiped some tears from his cheek as she stood, rushing off to the basin on the window sill. She dunked a rag in the cool water and rung it out before returning to Laurance and placing it on his forehead and eyes. A sudden gasp fell from his mouth as he tipped his head away from the sudden attack of cold. “I know, I’m sorry, but you’re burning up! We need to cool you down.” Aphmau could not keep her voice from wavering, she was beginning to panic.

Aphmau grasped Laurance’s clammy hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. He seemed to calm a bit after that, Aphmau thought maybe he’d be able to sleep now. But after a while, Laurance spoke softly. “Why’s.. he here..? He- Aph I-“ Before she could do any more, he attempted to sit up. A long groan escaped him before he collapsed back into bed. “Laurance!” he was shaking, shivering maybe. Aphmau needed help, she didn’t know what else she could do for him. Her magicks hadn’t been working, no matter how hard she tried.

Aphmau let down Laurance’s hand and ran to the door, though before she could open it, Garroth stepped in. “Garroth! Garroth, he woke up! Laurance woke up! But,” she was talking a mile a minute, “but he’s out again. Shaking! I need to find Cadenza! I don’t know what else to do!” Before Garroth could even get a word in, Aphmau was gone, the door bouncing closed behind her.

“Cadenza! Cadenza I need you!” Cadenza set down the flowers she planned on buying and turned around, a look of fear on her face. “…Is it Laurance or Eseryt?” Aphmau could tell by the look on her face that she was dreading the answer. Aphmau took a moment to catch her breath, “He woke up. Bad fever, asking weird questions. Cadenza he needs you.”

Cadenza wasted no time, practically running to his bedside. When they arrived he was awake; shaking, looking around the room wildly, on the verge of tears. Garroth practically had to hold him down to keep him in bed. Cadenza went to Laurance, taking his hand and speaking quiet words to him that Aphmau couldn’t fully make out.

“D’you see him?” Laurance sounded so weak. He looked so weak. Aphmau had never seen him like this. Not even after he returned from the Nether. At least then he was more aware, less delirious. “Who, Laurance?” “…Joh.”

Aphmau’s heart dropped into her stomach. She could tell that everyone’s did. Garroth stepped back, finger nails digging into his crossed arms. Cadenza’s eyes widened, a hand going to her mouth to stifle a sob. Aphmau was in shock. All she could do was stand and watch this unfold. Is this really happening? Is Laurance…Oh gods..

“Laur. Joh’s… He’s.. He’s not here.” Aphmau could hear the lump forming in Cadenza’s throat, as the pain of one forming in her own made itself known.

“Caddy… I.. Are they here for me.?” he paused a bit longer than anyone would hope for, “Am I… Dying?” His voice was so small, too small. Weak and hoarse and filled with fear and pain. He starred into the void, eyes glazing over and unfocused.

Garroth turned to face the wall, unable to bare the sight of Laurance like this any longer. Aphmau could no longer keep the sob from escaping her throat, though she managed to stifle the tears.

Cadenza squeezed her eyes as a tear rolled down her red cheek before resting her other hand atop of Laurance’s. “Of course not. You still have so much ahead of you Laurance. So much. You have yet to even meet your daughter. Remember? Lina?” Laurance didn’t answer, only closing his eyes as he slowly gave a single nod, a barely visible smile resting on his cracked lips.

At that Aphmau came back to his side, opposite of Cadenza. She leaned over and gave him a long kiss on the forehead. She didn’t know what else she could do. She just got him back and now she might lose him again? This time permanently? Gods no, please. He doesn’t deserve this, he never did.

————————————————————————————

Hope you enjoyed that and that your heart is shattered :D

It’s ok he pulls through. They just don’t know that.

[evelhak]

I’m curious about a few: Propinquity, Anem and Bitchberg (a great name, lol)

Well, you've already read about Bitchberg by now from the previous ask. :D

Lol, I actually winced a little when I saw you asked about "Propinquity" since it's the current working title of my Akashi centric fic, and I know you don't find him that interesting. It's still just a bunch of "notes" (=bits of monologue and dialogue that come to me and I have to write down so I won't forget). I haven't actively started this fic yet, since I can't really write multiple projects at the same time. I will probably have to finish another shorter fic after The Luminous Things, before I get to this one.

I know the opening lines, though:

Winning is like breathing. Sometimes I wake up, gasping for air, but my lungs seem to have fallen into a partial state of paralysis.

Or something fairly close to that. The idea has been in my head for a long time, because I really enjoy digging up ignored dimensions that kind of naturally follow from whatever is going on in canon.

There is of course one thing in this fic that could interest you: The main love interest is an OC. :) You know some things about Azumi already. Here's a snippet that will probably serve as her introduction in the fic:

I absolutely pretended to be the empress of this micro-utopia, growing up. Not because it was mine to conquer, or control. Because it was mine to know. To pick apart. Explore, taste, and merge with. A little pocket of wonder in this huge city, a bubble with its own rules. That's what I came to realise pretty soon, anyway. About the world. How different, how illogical and ultimately unsatisfying it was, compared to my shrine, my home, my own ecosystem, my island of undisturbed ground. It frustrates me that the rest of the world doesn't know how to do it. Live and let live. Give and take. Circle of life. A system that works. Because I was born into it. An heir to it. Happiness.

Micro-utopias are a huge element in my whole fic series as it progresses, and there are several kinds of them, Azumi's home life being its own example. Utopia is generally something I'm really interested to write about, especially because a lot of people claim you can't write interesting utopia without making it dystopia in the end, and I very much disagree with that, as people are always imperfect, so you don't need to add any intentionally awful circumstances for a story to have conflict, if you're writing believable people. For me, the key to what makes the most out of utopia is to centre it around whose utopia it is and why. This got slightly off topic, these are just themes I really like exploring and since my fics are my playground, I definitely use them for exploration of things I might want to write later in a more polished form in my original fiction.

The working title "Propinquity" came while I was writing a chapter in The Luminous Things where Kagami ends up lost in Kyoto (it's complicated) and spends the night in Azumi's place, where he has many enlightening conversations with Akashi. (Azumi and Akashi are already together in my main fic timeline, their own fic will cover how they got together, among other things.)

Here's a snippet from the chapter also titled "Propinquity", which I haven't yet posted anywhere, so things might still change a little, but for now, Akashi muses something like this in it:

"[Propinquity] is the central theme of this shrine. Things develop, and change, and prosper in propinquity. It rings true, doesn’t it? Right things, wrong things… so it really matters what you surround yourself with. It’s not enough to know and think. You have to see, and taste, and touch… A plant wouldn’t grow from the understanding that it needs water, if it never got it. It would still die from poison, no matter how informed it was. Azumi knew all of this, so bone deep. That’s why she was disappointed with the world. That’s why she retreated back to her paradise. I think that’s what caught my attention at first. How she had a physical place to go to when she needed to get away."

I probably would not have developed any need to write a story about Akashi's love life on my own. (Well, it's not all there is to it, but it is a how-they-get-together type of story). It was the influence of my ex, who's a big Akashi fan, and as I have probably said before, Azumi was originally her OC that we worked on together a lot. Eventually I grew attached to Akashi and Azumi together, and now I have my own version of the story.

I don't think I actually read any Akashi x OC fics myself, but my ex read them and complained about them, usually, and I picked up on two pretty common patterns, which I didn't want to do: I didn't want the OC to be 1) poor, or 2) have a similar family dynamic and childhood trauma as Akashi. This is because I wasn't interested in dealing with the power imbalance that tends to come with very different socioeconomic standing, and I also didn't want to write a relationship where people get stuck in validating each other's trauma, and it takes them a long time to grow beyond that phase because their relationship is centred around how similar their experiences are. I wanted to hit that sweet spot which I like the most, a relationship that centres around growth, having enough common ground, and being inspired by things about the other that you've never experienced before, or even believed really exists in the world. The kind of relationship that makes you feel that you want to fill your own gaps, and a key factor in that is the proximity, or, propinquity to a person you can rely on, because they don't have the same weaknesses as you. I just really love writing about people who are good influences to each other.

A lot of this fic will also be about dissociation and trauma. Yay.

Anem, then, is another original novel I've started multiple times without being completely satisfied. The premise is pretty classic religious cult + good girl/bad girl dynamic, or at least would seem like that in the beginning.

Here's how I seem to have described it on my website at some point:

Dina is a good girl. She picks up flowers every morning, to put on the altar of her family’s home. She’s chaste, she’s beautiful. She fears God. Semira is a “Wild One”, she rarely goes to church, she speaks out of turn. She could be beautiful, if her hair wasn’t so short. Dina doesn’t think it’s her job to save Semira. After all, if the Fathers don’t know how to help the girl, how could she? But Dina keeps ending up spending time with Semira anyway, and the more she does, the stronger the big black swirling something grows in her stomach. There’s clearly something very wrong about Semira. And there’s something wrong about the woods surrounding their isolated village. Dina knows she’s supposed to stay away, but Semira keeps going into the woods.

It has a lot bigger world and anything but clear-cut themes and dynamics, even though it may seem like that in the beginning... and it's one of those early projects that are sort of everything, because you're not good at narrowing it down yet. It's like a dystopian supernatural medieval fantasy horror philosophical cult story I wrote just to barf out everything I was thinking in my early years of studying theology. It's certainly a cult story, but is the cult the big bad or the world around it? It's certainly a queer story, but is it a love story or a hate story? It's certainly trying to say something, but what? No one knows, not even me. It's a big mess.

I'm also starting to feel like I'm dealing with every element and theme I have in this story, in some other story too, and coincidentally someone from my writing group actually just got a book published this year that has a strikingly similar setting and themes, (we both wrote them without knowing about each other) and even though it shouldn't, it does kind of add to my confusion to what to do with this story. I do still want to write it at some point, but it's a big question mark that sort of just pops up from below the surface every time I'm not actively thinking or writing about another project.

Some angsty pictures of Dina, also drawn in my early university years (Oh Lord how obvious my Arina Tanemura influences still were in the way I draw):

Yeah... at least they are accurately dramatic to the story.

Thanks for the ask. I hope there was something entertaining. <3

For anyone curious, here's the WIP list.

[featherandferns]

Smut with prompt 1 if that’s alright <3

In retrospect, this is not what I had in mind when I said surprise me.

Um, I got REALLY carried away so basically have a short-fic???

feel free to request: prompt list

Happy Anniversary - prompt 1

JJ’s never had an anniversary before. The longest ‘relationship’ he’s been in, before you, lasted a whole two weeks in ninth grade. The farthest they went was holding hands, and that was only because their friends wouldn’t stop heckling for them to. So, when JJ casually asked you what you wanted to do for your one-year anniversary whilst the two of you were walking back from the beach, you shrugged and said possibly the worst answer you could’ve given him. “Surprise me.”

JJ isn’t heartless. He knows what girls like, inside the bedroom and outside. He knows how to woo someone. What to say to have them all mushy and blushing and stuff. Hell, it’d clearly worked with you. But was he romantic? Now that’s a different thing entirely.

It didn’t help that you were rather low maintenance. That you were more than content with date nights that involved surfing and smoking and sometimes a late-night walk. Staying and watching a movie, usually ending up with the film completely neglected and your clothes on the floor. Dinners and presents and all of that weren’t as much your style. You weren’t against them, per say, but as a broke cut-resident yourself, you didn’t care about all the finer things in life.

“Why don’t you buy her a necklace?” John B offers from the deckchair.

“She doesn’t really wear necklaces,” JJ replies from the hammock. “She just has this one chain with her mom’s wedding ring on it. Always wears it.”

“A book?” Pope says.

“Not much of a reader,” JJ returns.

“Why don’t you do something for her instead of buying her something, then?” Kiara tries.

JJ sits up at that, frowning at her. “What’d ya mean?”

“Well, she seems like the kinda girl who likes doing things.”

“Oh, definitely,” JJ replies with a growing smirk.

Kie rolls her eyes at the innuendo. “JJ, gross. I mean, she’s always surfing or crocheting or whatever.”

“I don’t know shit about crocheting,” JJ tells Kie. “She does like to cook though. Makes the best lemon sea bass ever.”

“Why don’t you cook for her then?” Sarah says.

John B and Pope burst into laughter. JJ glares at them, unamused.

“What?” she innocently asks.

“JJ’s level of cooking is a piece of toast,” John B says.

“And even that’s got a fifty-fifty chance of success,” Pope adds.

“Fuck you guys! I can cook! How hard can it be? You just follow a recipe and throw some shit in a pan and then boom,” JJ challenges. They stare up at him, amused and unconvinced. “I can cook!”

“What’s her favourite meal?” Kie asks.

“She likes Italian,” JJ thinks aloud. “Maybe spaghetti and meatballs or something?”

“You’re going to make spaghetti and meatballs? Something that requires three different things being done simultaneously?” Pope asks him, eyebrows raised so high they nearly teeter on greeting his hairline.

“Watch me, golden boy,” JJ grins self-assuredly.

The only form of reply the blonde boy gets is John B digging into his pockets and pulling out a five-dollar bill, which he then holds out to Pope in bet.

~*~*~*~*

The first thought you have as you walk up the porch steps of the chateau is ‘what the hell is that smell?’ It’s something akin to burning, though tinged with an overwhelming stench of garlic and tomato. The second thought you have as you open the door is ‘oh dear God.’

You’re greeted by a cloud of smoke and steam. It stings yours eyes a little. There’s chaos in the kitchen ahead. The clattering of pots and pans and JJ’s mumbled curses. The fact that the fire alarm hasn’t gone off can only mean that it’s broken. Smiling smally to yourself, amused, you dump your bag and cardigan on the pull-out sofa and walk through to the kitchen.

“In retrospect, this is not what I had in mind when I said surprise me,” you say, loud enough for him to hear you over the madness of his cooking.

JJ spins around at the sound of your voice. His hair is sticking in every which way (cap clearly abandoned) which only tells you he’s been stressfully raking his fingers through it. His eyes are wide and frantic like a man who just committed murder. Muscle tee damp with sweat from the overwhelming warmth that is standing in an unventilated kitchen of mayhem.

“I told you to come at eight,” he says.

You quirk a brow. “It is eight.”

“Wha—” His eyes flit to the clock on the wall, to the right of you. He cusses under his breath.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m…Well, I’m…”

You watch as he looks around at the chaos, as if coming to from sleepwalking. Your brow quirks higher still. “Starting a small house fire?”

“Cooking you dinner,” he corrects, shooting you a glare. “For our anniversary.”

Your smile can’t help but grow at that. Heart does a little summersault. He’s never cooked you dinner before (and now you can see why).

“Spaghetti and meatballs,” JJ adds, driven by your expression it seems. But then his confidence dwindles as he gestures lamely to the hob. The smoke and steam coming from it is the source of the garlic-tinged smell monstrosity. “But it’s, uh, not exactly going to plan.”

“In what way?”

“Well, to start, the pasta isn’t going all soft and stuff. It’s just sorta sticking to the pan,” he sighs, annoyed.

“Well, how much water did you add to it?”

He looks to you, blank. “I’m supposed to add water?”

You stare at him, gaping a little. Seriously?

Walking to the hob, looking down into the pan…Yep. That is just pasta, glued and burnt and probably never coming free. Then, you glance into the second pan. Pasta sauce that is weirdly brown-ish in colour, saturated with garlic (you can tell from smell alone) and mixed herbs that haven’t been diced properly, leading them to float at the top like driftwood. The meatballs are burnt past the point of no return. Chargrilled. The cooking top is covered in splatters of sauce and seasonings, making it filthy. The countertops are cluttered with every cooking utensil and appliance under the sun: spoons, knives, spatulas and even whisks (?). A bowl of grated cheese sits sadly to the side; the only thing that survived JJ’s culinary hand.

But, despite the catastrophe that it is, you can’t help but feel your heart thrum happily. Ironically, it’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever had done for you and is weirdly the perfect anniversary celebration. All of this took thought and time and effort. So, turning around, facing a very meek, embarrassed JJ who stands with his back against the fridge, hands shoved in his pockets and head hung in defeat, you find yourself smiling lovingly.

Your hands cradle his jaw, drawing his gaze to you, and you lean forward to kiss him. “I love it.”

“You do?”

“I do,” you assure. “And I love you.” Then you’re kissing him again.

JJ’s hands find home on your waist as he kisses you back, smiling. Pulling away after a moment, a little breathless, you glance over your shoulder. “I love it,” you repeat, “but I don’t think we should eat it.”

“Oh, definitely not,” JJ agrees quickly. The two of you laugh.

Another fleeting kiss and then you’re stepping out of his hold, the two of you moving to turn everything off. You toss the pan of pasta into the sink and run the tap, dunking half a bottle of washing up liquid in. Maybe that might give it a fighting chance. JJ half-arsedly piles up all the cooking utensils he’d used so there’s some more space. He then moves to the fridge to put away the grated cheese (no point letting it go to waste) whilst you tip the sauce and meatballs down the drain or into the bin.

“So, the main course might have been a bust,” JJ says with his head still in the fridge.

You chuckle as you lean to crack open every window in the kitchen, hoping to aerate the room. “To put it lightly.”

“But, hey: dessert and wine are still good,” JJ announces.

You shut off the tap and turn around, wiping your hands dry on a towel. He’s holding a tub of chocolate mousse and a bottle of cheap white wine up.

“Dessert’s the best course anyway,” you tell him with a grin that mirrors his own.

With that, the two of you head to the pull out. You swipe two spoons from the drawer on the way whilst JJ grabs a couple of mismatched wine glasses. Sighing as you sit, shuffling back to the pillows, you get to opening the wine. JJ’s wandering around the sitting room, messing with the old CD player, and as you’re filling up two glasses, some soft R&B music kicks on from the early 2000s.

“Oh?” you jokingly say, raising a brow at him.

He rolls his eyes and joins you, taking the outstretched glass you offer him. Smiling, you lean up to kiss him.

“Happy anniversary,” you whisper.

He clinks his glass to yours. “Happy anniversary, baby.”

The two of you drink and then JJ’s placing his glass on the window ledge, moving to open the mousse. You clap your hands happily, rubbing them together with a giggle.

“This might taste like shit,” JJ warns as he grabs one of the spoons. You place your glass on the side too.

“Can’t be much worse than your cooking,” you reply.

He decides not to respond to that, but you watch him roll his eyes mirthfully. Then he’s dipping the spoon in and holding it out for you. Leaning forward, you taste off the spoon.

“Mhm!” you nod, swallowing.

“Good?”

“Good!” you grin.

You take the other spoon and do the same for him, watching as he eats practically from the palm of your hands. His eyes hold your gaze as he does. Shamelessly, you squeeze your legs together. You swear only he could make something this cheesy sexy to you.

“You like it?” you wonder. He licks his lips.

“It’s alright,” JJ says, feigning being in thought (his growing smile giving him away). “Think I know something that tastes better.”

“Oh?”

“Mhm,” he nods, leaning closer until you’re subconsciously sinking onto your back.

Playing along, you innocently ask through your excited smile, “what would that be?”

He takes your spoon from your hold, tossing it to the side after doing the same with his. Hovering over you, JJ leans down so his lips are a breadth’s width from yours.

“I think you know, baby,” he mumbles.

With that, he’s kissing you. Tastes like chocolate and vino. Your hands grab at his face, pulling him nearer, hooking your feet over his legs. JJ sighs against you, chuckles a little as you do too. Breaks away to kiss down your neck, moving slowly down the bed, coming to rest on his knees and dragging you by your feet to pull you nearer, making you laugh all flustered-like. JJ chews on his lower lip, grinning that punch-drunk grin you love, as he pulls off your skirt and panties. Then he’s going down on you. Relentless and unforgiving, as if to make-up for the cooking catastrophe. He’s tongue-fucking your centre and lapping at your wetness.

“Fuck, JJ,” you whimper, eyes slipping shut.

It’s like he’s spurred on by the sounds you make, likes when you whine out his name. You grip at the blankets on the pull-out sofa, staring at the ceiling, moaning through a blissed-out smile. His thumb rubs at your clit as he works at you with newfound fever. Moaning from the taste of you, the sound making you clench your legs tighter against his head. JJ uses a hand to hold one of your legs open for him. It’s all so fucking good. You’re building, closer and closer, until you’re coming with a gasp, quietly chanting his name.

When JJ pulls away, panting, you whine at the loss of his mouth on you. Moving atop of you again, you kiss at his mouth, sighing at the taste of yourself that lingers on his tongue. Your hands hurriedly move to undo his shorts as he kisses you, making him chuckle.

“Need you to fuck me,” you tell him breathlessly.

“Yes, ma’am,” he grins, moving to suck a hickey on your jawline.

Shucking the shorts off – JJ pulling back a moment to help – you slip a hand into his boxers and work at him. He groans against your jaw, falling pliant to your touch, making you smile. But you’re impatient the way he is, and you shove off his boxers.

“I wanna be on top,” you say as he kisses your neck.

“Fuck yes,” he replies. Climbs off you and grabs for your hips, guiding you atop of him as he collapses onto his back. You’re guiding him to your entrance, moaning as he slides against your wetness. As you go to sink down, he’s stopping you, making you meet his gaze. “Wait! We need a condom.”

You shake your head. Move to sink down again.

“Baby, stop, I’m serious,” JJ chuckles, breathless.

Smiling to yourself, you lean down to kiss him. Then, against his lips, you tell him your anniversary gift to him. “I’m on the pill.”

JJ pulls you away from him by the jaw so he can meet your eyes. Through nothing but looks, the two of you have a quick, silent conversation. Really? Yes. Chuckling boyishly, kissing you again, deeper and rushed, you giggle against him.

“Happy anniversary, baby.”

[impyssadobsessions]

Random DPxDC Writing Excerpts

Here are some accidental scenes for fics that are not in the works and just concepts. : I That i wish not to work on right now but they came all the same. I GOT STORIES TO FINISH WHY BRAIN?! Anyways here they are. First one Is Danny being Jason's half-brother:

Jason dragged a chair over to the bed. He plopped down into the seat with a loud sigh, yanking off his helmet. He lay it on the bedside table as he ran his fingers through his hair. Steeling himself, he finally looked at Danny who was sleeping soundly in bed. His heart felt heavy. He clenched his fist trying to keep his anger down, but it stung. It stung a lot. Not only did they share a mother, they shared a similar fate. One Jason didn't wish on anyone, especially his little half-brother. He sniffed, cursing internally. He could have stopped this, if he knew- “Ya know, he looks pretty happy in the pictures before .. well.. recent ones.” Tim hummed as he awkwardly rubbed his arm. Jason glared at him, making Tim jump. “I mean- I know pictures are deceiving but.. I ..” Tim rubbed the back of his neck. “What Timmy saying is that, even if you knew he was out there.. I don't think you could have saved him. From all the reports, and some digging... They were a pretty happy family and honestly, not far off in the danger zone as we are.” Dick chimed in after patting Tim on the shoulder, making the teen jump again. Jason snorted, turning away from them. His insides burned. “Either way, it doesn't matter. Just like you, he's here now.” Dick whispered as he bent down next to Jason. “And he doesn't have to do this alone.” Jason sighed. He leaned forward on his knees. His eyes going back to the sleeping boy's form. His vitals were low, but his organs weren't failing. This was just his natural state. “He has you now, Little Wing. That's what's important.” Dick nudged Jason's shoulder. “What help I've been. I almost got him killed... Again!” “Actually, Babs was able to look into the video files. It wasn't Tailia. Nor the League of Assassins.” Tim spoke up again, pointing to the tablet in his hand. “Or the Joker, Or the-” “Get to the point copyright!” “Sheesh, alright alright. Here, look at this.” Tim tapped the tablet before handing it over to Jason to let him see. Jason furrowed his brows, “Men in white suits?” “Apparently, they're from the ghost investigation ward. A government funded agency. But look even closer.” His eyes widened as he stared where Tim was pointing. “Court of Owls.” “Yep. It looks like they're teaming up with the court to hunt down Phantom, in exchange for something called ectoplasm. It seems Tailia was only using Danny to lure them out.” “Or perhaps she wanted some for herself.” Dick added.

Second one is Danny crash landing on Kent's farm.

Danny felt like he was hit by a brick wall ten times over. He fought against his heavy eyelids as he felt warm light of the sun cast over him. He groaned and grunted as he forced himself awake. He took in a sharp breath, hissing from the light. He pushed himself up, rubbing the crust from his eyes. Man, he must have really conked out. He didn't remember even going to bed last night- Danny's eyes widened once they adjusted to the light. This wasn't his bed. There was a brown plaid blanket tossed over him and the bed was made of iron. He clenched the sheets that felt of old linen. His breaths quickened. “Well, now. I figured you be out for a bit longer. Glad to see ya awake, son.” Danny's eyes snapped to the figure in the door way. It was of an older man, wearing a button up shirt, jeans, and boots. “Take some deep breaths. You're safe here.” Then man held his hands up in front of him, as a sign he meant no harm. Danny tried to control his breathing, his hands still clenching tightly at the blankets. All his instincts were screaming to run... but where to? Where did he even? How did he even? He jerked his attention away from his thoughts when he felt rough hands gently lay on his. Danny jumped backwards out of the bed, falling into the floor. He scrambled up, hissing in pain. “Whoa whoa, take it easy son. I didn't mean to scare ya. You just looked like you were spiraling, is all. Look, I'll back up. Just focus on me, yeah?” The man backed up towards the wall, hands back up in front of him. Danny blinked as he caught his breath. He held an arm over his torso, his eyes staying on the man. He took a swallow of air, before finally nodding to the man. The panic having simmered down, as he realized if he wanted to hurt him, he could have. Danny flinched as a shot of pain went up his shoulder. “Come on back to bed, son. You need to rest those injuries.” “But, my family- my home..” Danny furrowed his brows as flashes of vague memories. Green lights, sounds of a struggle, and a huge machine winding up power. “They're... in danger... was in... I have to.” “You're not going to do anyone any good injured like that.” “But-” “Do you even know where you are? How to get back?” the man asked. Danny fell silent. He didn't. He wasn't even sure what happened. “Look, I don't blame ya for wanting to rush back into things,” The man sighed, “However, I know as a parent, I would hate if my son came back to die trying to save me.” Danny that line made him think of an orange hair girl who nagged about his safety. His sister.. Jazz. Sounded like something she would yell at him for. “I hear crashing from downstairs, is the boy alright-Oh Good Mornin' dear.” An older woman popped up into the doorway, wearing an apron. Danny furrowed his brows, before slightly raising his hand in a light wave. He glanced between the two. “Yer not scaring him, are you Jon?” The woman teased. “Not on purpose.” The man scratched the back of his head.