#This Is Not A True Form Designed For Chairs

[catsconflictscopicsandchamomile]

this + my headcanon for Cas' trueform is just... delightful

this* is what all the other angels think is pretty

and they are RIGHT

*not exactly but I can dig up a drawing of the full eldritch version if u r interested

cas being canonically called a pretty boy angel like yes he is the prettiest most handsome angel do you get it !!!!!!

[the-californicationist]

They Help You Practice

Task Force 141 asks you to be the bait for a secret assignment. So, they make you audition for the role. You end up getting gangbanged by the whole team and loving it!

TW: gangbang, vaginal sex, anal sex, oral sex, gay sex, degradation, explicitly consensual, spit? please check AO3 link at bottom for full tag list

You let yourself into his office, shutting the door behind you, and stood before him at a sharp parade rest, waiting to be informed about your fate. 

“Sergeant, thank you for coming. There is no need for formalities. This is just a chat.”

You moved to a more relaxed rest and nodded. 

Price continued,

“This is going to be quite the ask. Would you be willing to perform duties which are…outside of your current scope?”

“Yes, sir,” you responded just as you should have, as you were trained to, but Price was hoping you would understand exactly what you would be getting yourself into. 

“I need you to go undercover to a Konni restaurant cover in Minsk…as bait. Am I making myself clear?”

A pause. But, to your credit, you didn’t flinch. You did raise an eyebrow and ask a clarifying query,

“What kind of bait, sir?”

“Our next target, Dimitri Sokolov, will be at the Black Pearl bar in Minsk tomorrow, and we won’t get a better chance to lure him away from his bodyguards. He almost never makes public appearances, so he must be making an exception. Sokolov has,” he paused for a moment, trying to find the words, making general, suggestive motions over his own chest, “particular tastes in his women. You just so happen to have the right profile for the job. Again, this is not an order, Sergeant. I need to know if you’re willing to accept.”

“Yes, sir,” you tried to appear fully in control. You knew your breasts were large, but you had never been asked to use them as a weapon. There was a first time for everything, you supposed. You would do anything to help the team.

The captain loved your composure. He knew you would be perfect for the job. 

“Good. Let's brief the team.”

Price walked with you down to the meeting room at the end of the hall and found Soap, Ghost, and Gaz sitting in the desk chairs every way except the way they were designed, lounging over the furniture like big cats, melting into the various surfaces they encountered. They fixed themselves when the captain walked in. 

“Gentlemen,” Price opened, “this is our bait. Her code name is Rabbit. Rabbit, this is Soap, Ghost, and Gaz.”

You nodded politely and resumed a semi-formal rest position. 

The men had noticed you around the base but hadn’t been formally introduced. You were a desk rider, but still, you were hard to miss. The baggy military clothing had almost managed to conceal a bounty of soft curves, but your lush body persisted beneath it, and the outlines of your feminine form made heinous suggestions in the fabric. Unfortunately for them, you didn’t hang around the gym or the common area enough for them to have generated a fully accurate image of your enticing body, but they were certain it was delicious. They watched you like peckish wolves. Waiting hungrily, shifting in their seats in anticipation. For what, you weren’t sure.

“Rabbit is going undercover for us to take down Sokolov, Vladimir Makarov’s new shipping controller. He has a particular penchant for,” Price paused just long enough for anyone to understand his true meaning, “certain types of women. Rabbit fits the mold, so all she needs is the gear and the training.”

Price cut open three large cardboard boxes to reveal slinky dresses and a number of questionable garments. 

“I’ll need to try them on,” you offered, “Do you want me to get changed, Captain?”

“Sounds good. Come back in when you’re all set,” he smiled, enjoying the view as you left the room. 

Ghost crossed his arms, clearly with quite a mouthful to share and but refusing to. Gaz stared down at the knife he was playing with, bashful. But Soap would not be cowed, and as soon as you left, he said,

“Feeding her to the sharks like bait, Captain? I dinnae ken any of us was so expendable.”

“Soap,” Price warned, “the sergeant is more than capable of handling -”

“I wasnae askin’ about the lassie’s capabilities. Send her in to slit his throat with a knife in her hand, for all I care. But to send her in unguarded, unarmed? No. It’s not right,” Soap crossed his arms. 

“He’s got a point, Captain. Why take the risk of losing an operative?” Ghost spoke coldly. 

Price furrowed his brow at their short-sightedness,

“And do what, exactly? Have the Russians scurry back underground at the first hint of an assassination attempt? We’ve failed that mission three times, boys. I’ll not have this go south again.”

“I’m sure she is capable, Captain. But, is Rabbit committed to this plan?” Gaz asked. 

“Sure,” Price tried to sound reassuring, “we spoke in my office. She agreed to come down here. Besides, she’ll have you three as backup. You won’t let anything happen to her.”

Gaz did not seem convinced. All three soldiers wore a scowl on their faces, and even though Ghost’s was obscured by his mask, his body language communicated his displeasure. Price carefully ashed his cigar to renew the glowing tip, taking a long drag while they waited for you to return. 

You were back without too much of a delay, but when you walked in, your colleagues were visibly stunned. They didn’t recognize you at first. A short black dress had replaced your camouflage fatigues, showing off miles and miles of smooth, shining skin. Your thick thighs stretched the silky fabric, and your ass threatened to escape from the edge of the dress with every step you took. Your new heels clacked sharply against the cold concrete, making your legs flex and tense, showing off your well-formed musculature. You did not miss squat day very often, apparently.

But, the assets you were trying to use for this particular mission were the real stars of the show. Your heavy breasts battled against the low dip of the dress, providing a deep display of cleavage, hinting at pink perky nipples hidden just below the line of the black silk. Your tits jiggled as you struck the floor with each careful step, making the room full of men breathe a little heavier at the sight. 

Soap’s big mouth betrayed them all,

“Christ in Heaven. There you are, bonnie.”

Ghost backhanded him hard on the shoulder. Price glowered.

You had put on a little more makeup than might be socially acceptable in an office setting, making the suggestive outfit complete. Finally, as you stood at the head of the meeting table, you took out your task force regulation braid and pulled your fingers through your hair, breaking up your long waves as they spilled down your neck and back. 

You smiled,

“Well, do I look the part?”

Price coughed, inhaling too much smoke on accident. Gaz hadn’t moved since you walked in the room. He just stood there, dumbfounded, arms held at an odd angle as if frozen in time. Ghost cleared his throat to save them,

“Yes, Rabbit. You clean up very nicely, don’t you?”

“Well,” you sighed, “this is sort of the raunchiest outfit I found in the box. I was going to go with something a bit more casual, but I thought I’d better be noticeable if we’re going to nail this asshole.”

Gaz finally came out of his locked state, aghast,

“Noticeable? Sweetheart, this is more than noticeable. Goddamn.”

“You think it’s too much? I don’t really know what would get his attention,” you shrugged, looking shy as you confessed, “I don’t get asked out very often.”

“You could go out with me, lassie,” Soap edged his way closer to her, slinking around the table, “We’d have a hell of a time, so we would.”

“Don’t listen to Johnny,” Ghost stood in front of him a bit, snaking an arm around your cinched waist, “He thinks takin’ his birds to the dog races is a good date idea.”

“Well, isn’t it?” Soap protested.

Gaz grabbed your hand tenderly, examining your fingers like they were a precious work of art,

“Maybe you could come with me to Berlin next weekend, babes. There’s a killer music festival going on, and we could have a really good time. How does that sound?”

“Boys,” Price interrupted, “I’m sure she has plenty of work to finish here; can’t just be galavanting off with you muppets. In fact, why don’t you stop by my office after this mission, bunny rabbit, and we can work on your projected shipment dates together? You know, I used to be a logistics man, myself.”

Ghost rolled his eyes at the Captain,

“Please, logistics? You drove a truck back and forth on base delivering food to the canteen twenty years ago. I’ve read your file.”

The men all started talking over each other, forgetting your presence in favor of coming out on top of the dog pile. You smiled to yourself, eager to push more of their buttons. 

Slipping one skinny strap down your shoulder, you spoke through the din,

“You know, this dress can be strapless. Do you think Sokolov wants it up…” you locked eyes with Captain Price, seeing his throat swallow hard as he watched you in the silence you had created, “or down?”

The other soldiers were stunned, unable to look away as you slipped both straps off of your shoulders and tucked them into your dress. One strap was still partially visible, and Ghost slowly moved one gloved finger up your arm, tracing your skin lightly, and finished tucking it in for you. He lingered, caressing the side of your breast as he removed it. 

“You gonna be able to seduce this Russian bastard, Sergeant? Or, do you need some practice?” Price asked with a low, threatening tone. 

The whole room held its breath waiting for your answer. The four men towered over your short frame, casting shadows over you like black spells, hoping you would relinquish your control over them. All of their eyes watched as you slowly, achingly lifted a hand and traced it up Gaz’s canvas pant leg, stopping when you discovered the heavy head of his cock, hardening down toward his knee. With the back of your hand, you pet it like a skittish animal, reveling in its smoothness and warmth. Your eyes found his as they fluttered, blood rushing through his body in a panic,

“I think I could use some practice, Captain.”

You felt Gaz’s rod leap at your answer. He bent down to kiss your mouth, slanting his lips fiercely against you. 

Soap came up behind you, gripping your ass through the silk of your dress roughly,

“We’ll help you, lass. We’ll help you practice, won’t we, boys? Jesus, you smell so good,” he buried his face in your neck and sucked against your skin. 

Ghost found your other hand and held it tightly, using it to steady you from Soap and Gaz’s assault. Price moved Gaz out of the way, earning himself a glare, and peeled the dress off of you in one fell swoop, revealing the expanse of uncovered skin underneath. 

“Holy shite,” the captain breathed, whispering his lament, “Sergeant, where are your knickers?”

“I guess I forgot them, Captain,” you blushed, batting your eyes up at him, doing actual damage to his psyche.  

He didn’t have much time to savor the moment though because Ghost was shoving him out of the way to pick you up by the thighs to lay you on the table. The giant knelt between your legs, pulling you by the knees until your ass was hanging off of the low wooden planks. He lifted his mask just enough for you to see him lick his lips over sharp, white teeth before feasting on your wet folds, letting the cloth of the balaclava hide most of his efforts. 

Ghost created a soothing, yet electrically wet warmth in your core which made you keen loudly, only to be muffled by Price’s smoky kiss. You could taste the burned tobacco on his tongue and your skin was scraped by his thick mustache. 

Gaz’s voice got your attention. He had freed his cock from his pants and started to stroke it, standing by your side and playing with your breasts with his free hand as Price savaged your mouth. He tugged on your nipple and told you,

“You know, Rabbit, you’re going to have to really put yourself out there tomorrow. Show him these gorgeous tits of yours. Make him think you’re hungry for his cock,” Gaz rubbed his head, hard and hungry for you, “Can you do that? Let us see how good you can be, princess. We need you to ace this mission”

You felt Ghost dip his hard cock between your pussy lips, distracting you from Price’s tongue in your mouth. You broke the kiss and looked up at Ghost, dazed, into his masked face,

“I promise, sir. I’ll be good,” you looked around at all four of the men, reaching out to grab Soap’s cock that he was stroking for you, “Will you show me how?”

You didn’t give Soap time to answer. The Scot gasped as you devoured him, sucking him down into your throat, making yourself gag as he fucked your throat in and out in long thrusts. He tangled his fingers in your hair. Ghost matched his rhythm below you, pounding his cock into your wet hole. You thought you could feel something on his dick. Was he pierced? You could see your slick gleam on his lips and chin where his mask was still askew. 

“Yeah,” Ghost smiled haughtily, “you like those piercings, don’tcha baby?”

You didn’t have a chance to respond. Price pulled your head away from Soap’s dick, kissing your mouth lewdly again before giving you an order,

“Open your mouth wide for me, love.”

You obeyed. Then, he spit onto your tongue, warm and bubbling, before shoving your face down onto his own fat rod. It made your lips burn with its cruel girth, even though it felt relatively soft, and you thought fleetingly that there was no way your poor little cunt was going to be able to take him, Ghost was big enough to be filling, but the captain was carrying around a true weapon. 

He pulled your head off of him roughly, watching as the strings of drool connected your tongue to his cockhead, growling in short, lustful breaths. 

“Alright, boys. Make sure she’s good and ready for me. You know the drill,” Price barked, and then he was gone. 

The drill? You looked for him, confused, and only found Gaz, who was now slapping his long dick on your cheek, knocking for entrance. He let you take his head into your mouth, having a much easier time than you did with your captain. You bobbed your head up and down dutifully, not realizing just how long his cock was until he tried to force it into your throat. He held you down for a moment, moaning shamelessly, before releasing you to let you breathe. 

“You alright, babes?” He laughed.

You nodded, moaning. Ghost took himself out of your wetness and pulled you off of the table. Soap hopped up to lay where you were, and you moved to ride him, making sure to get right to the edge with him to let Ghost back in. You’d never taken two men at once, much less four, but there was a first time for anything, and you were a quick learner. 

Spearing yourself onto Soap felt like someone had created a warm, custom, living dildo just for you. He was a perfect fit, and you both cried out in pleasure from the sensation. Ghost slapped your ass, hard, and you screamed, clenching around Soap’s cock. Soap moaned darkly. 

“Keep suckin’ that big cock, baby. Need to teach you how to multitask,” Ghost threatened as he bent to eat your asshole, wiggling his tongue into the tight rim to gain entrance.

He started to fuck you with it, his long wet muscle moving in and out as Soap thrust himself up into you, hitting your g-spot every single time like magic. You took Gaz back into your mouth and tried your best to take him deeper into your throat. Every time you did, you would gag, and your muscles would involuntarily clench, and the whole room would moan. You started to come, feeling yourself flood around Soap, whose mouth had latched onto one of your nipples, suckling like he was trying to feed from you. 

You could see Price out of the corner of your eye. He had lit another cigar and was smoking it, stroking himself, still not at his full capacity. You were scared of him. He looked like some sort of demon, breathing fire, as big around as your forearm. He wasn’t as long as Gaz, nor as delightfully curved as Soap, but he made your legs shake without even touching you. When he did touch you, rising from his chair when he wanted to fondle you, pinching a nipple, pulling your hair, forcing your head down on Gaz, it lit you up like you were kerosene and he was the match. 

Suddenly, Ghost’s tongue was gone, only to be replaced by his heavy head. He was going to fuck your ass, and there was nothing you could say to stop him. You’d only done anal once or twice before, and you knew it might hurt. He went so slowly that you could feel each and every piercing as he popped them into you, one by one. Then, as he pulled back out, you felt them pop as each one went through you again, raking himself in and out gently, as careful with you as he could be. When you were more pliant, he began to throw his weight into each thrust, and Soap started to groan below you from the sensation. 

“Don’t you fuckin’ dare, Johnny boy,” Price threatened, his voice full of stern warning. 

You weren’t sure what he was warning him about until Soap pulled his cock out of you and came all over your stomach, Ghost’s thrusts making the fluid smear between you two, rubbing your bodies together. Ghost pulled out next, and you felt his hot, thick ropes spray onto your ass cheeks, melting down your thighs. 

Gaz abandoned your mouth and took over for Soap, feeding himself inch by inch until he found your end, leaving some of his cock out in the cold. He fucked you faster than the others, not caring to move out of the way as Soap rolled off of the table, whining like a whore the whole time. 

Captain Price came around to your face, holding your chin in his hand, looking down at you without pity,

“Garrick’s got a long cock, don’t he, love? You’re being so good for my men, such a good girl. Sweet little slut, hm? You’re going to do so well on this mission. Those areholes won’t know what hit ‘em.”

He grabbed your hair fiercely, hurting your scalp, forcing you to turn and look back at Gaz. Price took a long puff from his cigar, blowing it past your face, 

“Baby, he could fuck you for a hundred years. He’s not gonna come until you scream his name.”

You heard Gaz moan louder at Price’s suggestion, so you did. You screamed for him over and over, not caring who might have heard you, begging for him to come in you. 

“He’s not allowed to come in you, love,” Price kissed your open panting mouth, “But, don’t worry. It’s about to be my turn, and you’ll be feeling my fuckin’ come drip out of your cunt all night long.”

Price’s voice made your blood run cold with fear. He wasn’t making threats. Those were clearly promises. Predictions of the future. His cock was tucked back into the band of his pants, but it lay in wait there like a serpent, eager to strike.

Your heart pounded in your chest as Gaz pulled his long shaft all the way out of you, his come shooting onto your lips and ass, feeling him use his hand to rub it into your skin, making you sticky. Your captain gave him a warning look, and you realized they had done this sort of thing before. Perhaps many times before. As you watched Soap and Ghost comfort each other, breathing close together, touching themselves, you wondered if they ever fucked each other as well. Picturing the four of them rutting into each other made you hungry, deep in your belly, starving to witness such an act. 

Finally, it was your captain’s turn. The look in his eyes made you tremble. You knew he wouldn’t be cruel, not on purpose anyway. He wasn’t a heartless man, but he wasn’t one to hold himself back from what he wanted either. You knew that he would fuck you the way he wanted to, as hard as he wanted to, no matter how much complaining you might do about how his cock would stretch you out - even to the point of pain. 

“On your back, love. Legs up. Spread that pussy open for me,” he commanded. 

You did as he told you, opening yourself up shamelessly, letting your folds spread wide. 

He walked around the table to gaze upon your form, staring at your pink flesh like it was a hot meal, and he was starving. He moaned, rubbing his hand across your sticky mons, 

“Mm, that’s my pretty little Rabbit. Now…” he paused for effect, sinking three fingers into your hole roughly but ever so slowly, twisting his arm as he did, corkscrewing his knuckles into you, “...I want you to understand that there’s a reason I’m last in line, love.”

You cried out from the pressure of his huge hand. It felt like you were going to tear. Then, after a few hard thrusts, he released you. The emptiness you felt was heartbreaking. You looked for him, pleading with your eyes for him to return to you. He pulled his cock free from his waistband, unable to connect his finger to his thumb as he wrapped around it. You whined involuntarily, something animal in you recognizing its fate. 

“Shh, baby, I know,” he drug out his voice, “I know…”

He positioned the heavy shaft on top of your body, measuring himself from base to tip, reaching your navel. As he slapped it against you, it made a loud thudding noise, slamming into your muscles like a fist. Price was so heavy. You’d never even imagined a man could feel like he was pure, warm, thick marble. Your pussy seemed to understand the panic you were feeling, flooding itself, preparing for the upcoming invasion. 

“I’m so fuckin’ eager for you, love,” he slapped you again, quick taps right to your swollen clit.

Then, he put his head inside of you, squeezing himself in. He left it inside of you and started to pump himself with his hand. Between the vibration from his fist and the fact that it felt like you were sitting on the end of a steel bat, you couldn’t hold back your keening, loud and high-pitched. 

Price began the steady, slow march forward, swelling harder and harder by the moment, making your walls feel like they might break. It seemed as if all the blood in your body was rushing down your belly and up your legs, hurrying to your core. 

Your eye were wild, full of your fear, tears forming at the corners of your eyes,

“I can’t, please! I can’t. It’s too big, fuck…”

Price didn’t stop. He just kept feeding himself in and pulling himself back out, wetting his cock’s skin with your soaking hole. 

“You can, and you will, love,” the captain growled, “Now, shut that pretty mouth and take it.”

Your cheeks were wet and your eyes burned, he was so deep within you that it felt like he was thrusting into your throat. You couldn’t breathe.

Suddenly, Soap grabbed your hand, kissing your palm, using his tongue to lick your skin,

“It’s alright, bonnie. I’m here, lass. Breathe with me, lass.”

He bent down to kiss you, but he didn’t quite connect, letting his lips graze yours featherlight. Soap breathed in and breathed out in steady, measured beats. You felt yourself begin to relax. It had such an immediate effect that you heard Price groan, able to slip himself a bit deeper than he had done. 

It was like a chain reaction, the more relaxed you became, breathing with Soap, feeling him suck and lick your nipples softly, the more Price was able to squeeze himself in. 

Finally, you felt his hair at the base of his cock, thick and curled, and as he sighed, he settled inside of you, impossibly pressing against your whole body, making a clear outline of himself in your lower belly. He rubbed it, almost fondly, and you felt every inch of him throb against your walls, his head bullying your womb.

You cried out again from the strain. Ghost and Gaz joined Soap. Gaz began to suckle from your breast on your left side, fondling himself as he did so, getting hard again. Ghost was at your head on the end of the table, and he bent to kiss you, upside down, his tongue running all the way down your throat, long and slippery against your own. 

He pulled away, petting your cheek as Price began to grind himself into you,

“You alright, Rabbit? You enjoying your captain’s cock, hm?”

“Mm hm,” you whispered, whimpering through your tears.

Ghost smiled, and his straight, white teeth looked menacing as he did, sharp, wolf-like,

“I know you are, babe. You’re doing so well. Look at him. You can see him inside of your cunt.”

He lifted your head by your hair, showing you the grotesque shadow of Price’s heavy rod as it shoved itself into you. You reached your hands down to it, feeling it through your skin. It was so unique. His size wasn’t like anything you’d ever experienced, and your body was sending confused signals of passion, your orgasms coming in shattered, broken waves. Feeling incomplete. Too powerful, and yet drawn out like the last note of a symphony. 

As you touched him from the outside, Price moaned aloud for the first time. It shocked you. You looked up at him, managing to meet his eyes.

“Fuck,” you moaned, “You feel so good inside of me, Captain.”

“Mm, yeah?” He replied, using his hands to press yours down onto his cock, making you gasp, “You like it, baby? I’m gonna make sure you never want anybody else.” 

Price reached down and grabbed you by the throat, scaring away Soap and Gaz. He lifted you up, making his dick fit inside of you that much tighter with the change of angle. Then, he began the true performance. He thrust himself in with fast, punishing strokes, slamming himself into you. You were sure you would bruise, and you felt dizzy, almost like you’d pass out. 

Soap was at your side again, holding your hair away from your face,

“Look at you, lassie. Such a good girl for your captain. Takin’ that cock so damn well. Can’t wait to be back inside you, girl.”

He kissed your cheek, palm massaging his dick which was back to full mast, eager again. 

“Alright, Johnny,” Price grinned, “Since you asked so nicely.”

Without any strain whatsoever, Price lifted you up by your hips and held you in the air as he fucked you, bringing you around the table so that Soap could position himself at your asshole. Ghost’s earlier efforts had made it ready for him, and you could very acutely feel how much he was throbbing to be inside of you, pulsing as he fit against Price. 

“Ungh, fuck, lass,” Soap groaned as he began to thrust into you, pistoning with the captain, “He’s got you so tight for me.”

“Yeah? It feels so good. Mmm…” you whimpered, feeling more full than you’d ever been. 

Johnny was holding your breasts as Price lifted you up, brutalizing your pussy. Every thrust felt like an electric pulse, making you cock-drunk and mindlessly pliant. 

They worked in tandem for what felt like eons, pistoning in and out with each other. Eventually, after he had felt you come, Soap addressed his captain directly,

“Sir, I’m…please, sir, can I?”

“Can you what, soldier?” Price grunted through gritted teeth, testing his sergeant.

“Can I come, sir? Please, Cap…”

“Yeah, Johnny. C’mon, mate. Let her feel it.”

“F-fuck! Fuck…” Soap groaned, pushing himself flush against your asshole, pumping his come into you. 

He caught his breath while he was still in you, kissing the nape of your neck, and then he pulled away slowly. He helped Gaz replace him, holding your ass wide apart so his comrade could position himself inside. And just when you thought your poor pussy would have room to breathe, Gaz’s incredibly long shaft was piercing your hole again. 

You felt him sigh, his breath against your neck. He took over holding you up, and Price praised him,

“That’s it, Garrick. She’s all yours. Take it.”

Gaz reacted to his words in a way that made you rethink their entire dynamic. Then, you remembered how he had come when you said his name. He seemed to get harder and harder the more Price praised him, and you wanted to give him that same validation. 

“Gaz,” you whispered, leaning your head back to rest on his shoulder, “It’s so big, baby. It’s like I can feel you in my throat. Oh, Gaz. Gaz!”

“Mm,” Price put his mouth to your neck, groaning, “That’s it, love. Tell him how much you like that long cock.”

“So much, Gaz. It’s so good,” you added. 

Then, Price took his left hand and wrapped it around the back of Gaz’s neck in a moment of surprising intimacy. As Price kissed the front of your throat, Gaz kissed your shoulder and nape. You felt like a peeled fruit being shared between them, a ripped rind, your juicy flesh being split in two; two halves of a ripe orange. 

Gaz lasted longer than Soap had when he fucked your ass, but Price’s attention seemed to spur him on. His movements were slippery, and you could feel the remnants of Soap’s come frothing around your entrance, easing his efforts.

“Captain,” Gaz whined, desperate for more of that approval. 

“C’mon, Kyle. She’s ready for you. Good lad.”

The use of his first name made Gaz thrust up into you with a feverish pace. He cried out as he came, hard, into you. Feeling him fall back out of you made you imagine the tendrils of a giant kraken, seeming to travel forever just to remove himself from your body, slithering out of you with a terrible squelching noise. 

Gaz let Price hold you again, and you turned, expecting Ghost. Price laughed at you, chuckling softly,

“Missing your masked man already?”

You looked at Price, feeling raw and used, waiting for an explanation,

“He’s a little…preoccupied.”

Price laid you back on the table, letting you turn your head to see Ghost, buried in Soap’s asshole up to the hilt, furiously jacking him off, slamming into him a little too roughly for your liking. It was violent, but Soap seemed to be enjoying himself beyond measure. 

Your pussy, though, disagreed with your assessment, clenching around Price’s cock while you watched Simon abuse his friend’s hole. 

“Mm,” the captain moaned, feeling your muscles react, “You like that, love? You wanna be fucked rough like that?”

He didn’t give you a chance to answer. Price wrapped your legs beneath his chest in a full mating press and wrecked you, pounding into your body like a giant fist. You felt your bones shudder beneath his behemoth form. Just when you thought you might puke from how overstimulated you were, you felt him pause. Then, your pussy felt like it was leaking, and it was. Price’s come just kept milking its way out of you, his cock pulsing inside, making your walls throb. 

When he finished, he kissed you on the mouth, almost lovingly, reverently. He started to slide out of you, being extremely careful, and you’d never felt so empty in your entire life. It was as if you’d never be full again. You found yourself whining, whimpering for Price to return. 

“That’s right, pretty girl,” Price smiled, “Never gonna want anybody else, are ya?”

You smiled, shocked and in considerable discomfort. Gaz scooped you up off of the table, cradling you, sitting down with you in his lap in a large chair. He reached down for some water and handed it to you, helping you recover. 

Price was standing with his hands on his hips, panting from his exertion. Ghost and Soap were connected like two hounds, locked together, the Scot cock warming his tall lover, groaning on every exhale. 

“Well, what do you think, lads? Do we have a winner?” Price asked.

“Yeah, we fucking do, Cap,” Gaz pet your head, moving your sweaty hair out of your eyes. 

“Fuck yeah, mate,” Ghost growled, pawing at Johnny again, rabid for him. 

“Hear that, bonnie?” Soap managed to ask, still moaning in little breaths as he was being speared by Ghost, “Got  yourself a new permanent assignment.”

Price walked over to you, grabbing you by the face and kissing you once more,

“You belong to us now, love. Perfect little slut.”

AO3 Link

[sebscore]

ARE WE STILL FRIENDS?

pairings: f1 grid x driver!reader (she/her pronouns)

warnings: angst. angst. angst. swearing. like a lot of swearing. i cannot write crashes/contact for the life of me. argument. lando and reader are assholes in this. 

author's note: dont even ask me why i wrote this, i got inspired and needed it out of my system. lol. 

masterlist

''Retire the car. Too much damage. Sorry, Y/N.'' Marco informed her over the radio, sounding frustrated and apologetic over her already finished race. 

The driver took a deep breath before answering. ''Too bad, it was going well. Thanks, guys.'' 

Her race had in fact been going well. She'd made a great start going from P4 to P2, and had managed to keep up with the Red Bull of Max. They weren't even halfway in the race or Lando tried overtaking her, causing contact, causing her to run off in the gravel with too much trouble on the car to continue. 

In her opinion, it had been reckless. The McLaren driver knew exactly she would end up being forced off the track by the overtake, and that her race would most likely be over because of it. 

As she trudged back to the garage, helmet in hand, she could barely contain her frustration. The team greeted her with sympathetic looks, but she didn't stop to talk to anyone. She headed straight for her driver's room, needing a moment to cool off before she could face the media. 

Her hands trembled with anger as she peeled off her gloves, tossing them onto a nearby chair. The season hadn't been going how she had hoped or even expected it to go. Last year she had been the vice World Champion, the undisputed second-best driver on the grid, the only one to essentially have been able to challenge Max's dominance. Now, she got lucky to even end up in the top five of a race. Her team's design of the car hadn't been meeting the expectations the engineers had set, and upgrades weren't helping in the way they had hoped. 

That is why this race weekend had been a great boost for the team's morale and confidence. Qualifying had gone really well, and for a moment they were able to fight for the win even. But the papaya car of No. 4 had shoved their hopes down the drain. 

Minutes later, there was a knock on the door. She turned to see Marco standing there, looking concerned. ''You okay?'' 

''Have I ever been okay,'' she remarked, a sarcastic chuckle leaving her lips. ''I'm just pissed, that's all. I had high hopes for today.'' 

''We all did,'' he smiled sadly. ''The stewards reviewed the incident, but he, uh, didn't get a penalty.'' He said softly, almost as if he was afraid of her reaction.

The young woman let out a bitter laugh. ''Of course he didn't, why would he?'' Her hands covered her face, briefly wiping off the sweat that had formed. 

Marco took a step closer, his expression a mix of empathy and disappointment. ''You drove brilliantly out there. Everyone saw it. The team saw it. It's just... racing politics sometimes.'' 

She dropped her hands, meeting his eyes with a mixture of anger and resignation. ''It's always like that, though. It's always the same drivers suffering the consequences of others, and they don't get shit for it. It is fucking annoying.'' 

Her engineer nodded, understanding everything she was saying. ''I know, we all know. But we keep fighting. We keep pushing. This season isn't over yet.'' 

''Yeah, true.'' She sighed. 

Marco gave her a reassuring smile. ''We'll be ready for the next race. We're all in this together, okay? We're all behind you.'' 

She nodded, feeling a small measure of comfort in his words. ''Thanks, I appreciate it.'' They shared a quick embrace, before he left to join the team again. Meanwhile she got herself ready to go to the media pen. As much as she wanted to hide away, she knew it was part of the job. 

Since she had an early exit, there wasn't much activity inside the area, though there were a bunch of reporters waiting for her. 

''Y/N, tough race today. Can you tell us what happened from your perspective?'' The reporter asked after briefly greeting her. 

''Yeah, it was, uh, challenging, I guess,'' she plastered a smile on her face. ''We had a great start, moving up to P2 and keeping pace with Max. Then, yeah, the contact with Lando. The car had a bunch of damage, and we decided to just retire the car.'' 

''Do you think it was a fair move by him?'' He followed up. 

She paused, weighing her response. ''Racing is always intense, especially at this level. I don't think it was the right move to make, but the stewards saw it as a racing incident.  I'll respect their decision, but it doesn't make it any less frustrating.'' 

''You and Lando are good friends, and have been racing against each other since your karting days. Will you talk to him afterwards or just forget about it?'' 

They had expected a question like this, so the media-trained answer came out very quickly. ''It was deemed a racing incident, so there is not much to say further about it.'' 

''How do you and your team plan to bounce back from this setback?'' The reporter for Sky Sports changed the topic. 

''We'll regroup and come back stronger,'' she answered, injecting as much determination into her voice as she could muster. ''This season has been tough, but my team and I are committed to pushing forward. We learn from every race, and today is no different.'' 

''That's great, thank you, Y/N.'' They wrapped up the interview, and she moved onto a new one. 

Once she had spoken to everyone she needed to speak to, she finally had a moment to herself. She knew the words she had just spoken were the right ones, but they did little to soothe the turmoil inside her. 

It didn't help that Lando managed to take the lead, and eventually get his first win. As she watched the remainder of the race from the sidelines, her emotions were all over the place. On the one hand, she was proud of her friend for finally making his dream come true. However, it had come at the expense of her race. She had pushed so hard this season, and to see her friend and rival celebrate his triumph while she stood there with nothing but frustration was almost unbearable. 

The cheers from the McLaren garage echoed in her ears. They celebrated wildly, the joy of his long-awaited victory palpable even from a distance. He was swarmed by his team as they shouted his name. 

The podium ceremony was even worse. As Lando stood on the top step, the British national anthem playing in the background, she couldn't help but replay the moment that had ended her race. She could see the excitement in his eyes, the genuine happiness that came with achieving a lifelong dream. But all she could think about was the contact, the gravel trap, and the wrecked potential of what could have been her race. 

Under any other circumstance, she would have been there for him. She would have run to the ceremony herself, just like he had done for her when she got her first win in F1 and made history as the first woman to do so. But it just stung too deep. 

''Lando, there was an incident with Y/N that resulted in her retiring from the race. Can you tell us what happened there?'' The Dutch reporter asked the race winner. 

Lando's expression shifted slightly, the euphoria dimming just a bit. ''Uh, yeah. I saw a gap and went for it. It was a tight move, and unfortunately, it led to some contact. But that's racing, you know.'' 

''Have you spoken to her yet?'' 

''Not yet,'' he admitted. ''But I don't think there is much to talk about.'' He chuckled, quickly glancing sideways, but his laugh seemed forced.

''She told Sky Sports that she didn't think you made the right move there.'' The journalist said, instigating a headline for them to be able to use. 

Lando frowned at his words, but recovered. ''Well, that's her opinion. It was just racing for me.'' 

''So you don't regret making the move?'' The reporter pressed on. 

The Brit took a deep breath before answering. ''I regret that it ended her race. But as a racer, you have to take chances. It's a fine line, you know.''

The older man in front of him nodded at his response, knowing they had gotten a glimpse of the tension that was present between the fan-favorite duo. ''Thank you, Lando. Congratulations again.'' 

''Thank you.'' 

With that, the interview wrapped up, and Lando moved onto the next reporter. As he walked away, he couldn't shake the feeling of unease. He didn't think he had done anything wrong, so why was everyone talking to him as if he had done something wrong? 

Y/N was struggling to unwind. The events of the day played over and over in her mind, each replay more frustrating than the last. She tried to distract herself by either watching some TikToks or TV, but nothing could drown out her thoughts. The texts from her friends, family and team certainly didn't help. It was a nice gesture, but she didn't want to think about the race anymore and the messages weren't helping. Finally, she decided to call it a night and climbed into bed, hoping sleep would offer some respite. 

Just as she was starting to drift off, another knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. It was unusual for someone to bother her this late, especially when she was winding down in her hotel room.

She frowned and got out of bed, opening the door to find Lando standing there, wearing his signature grin, acting nonchalant as ever. ''You wanna come celebrate with us? We rented a club.'' 

Y/N frowned at him, confused over his casual behavior. ''No.'' She scoffed, offended by the mere thought. 

It was now Lando's turn to frown at his friend. ''Why?'' 

She crossed her arms, incredulous at his obliviousness. ''Why? Are you taking the fucking piss out of me or something.'' 

His grin faltered slightly, but he tried to maintain his composure. ''If this is about the racing incident then you're being ridiculous.'' 

Her eyes widened in disbelief, her frustration boiling over. ''I am being ridiculous? You were ridiculous with that move you pulled!'' She retorted, raising her voice. ''You ran me off the track knowing how hard this season has fucking been for me. You know how much I needed a good result today and you ruined it for me!'' 

''Y/N, I get that you're upset, but it's racing. These things are bound to happen. I saw a gap and I went for it. The stewards didn't even penalize me, so clearly, it wasn't as bad as you're making it out to be.'' He was restraining from rolling his eyes, she could tell. 

She scoffed, shaking her head. ''Oh, so now you're agreeing with the stewards? Now that it is benefitting you? And there was no fucking gap, you were just being selfish. You knew what you were doing, and you didn't care how it would affect me.'' 

Lando's face hardened, his patience wearing thin. ''I didn't do it on purpose to screw you over, where the fuck are you getting that from? I saw an opportunity, and I took it. That's what we do out there. You know that better than anyone." 

''If that opportunity was ruining my fucking race, then yeah, you really took the opportunity, Norris.'' She rolled her eyes, voice tinged with sarcasm. 

He took a step closer, his frustration now matching hers. ''I'm sorry that you didn't get the result you wanted today, I really am. But I am not going to apologize for racing and doing my job, Y/N.'' 

She simply glared at him, disappointed in how he was acting towards her. They'd never really had an argument before, at least not one where they couldn't see each other's point. They'd been frustrated with each other before, but it was always in reason. 

''If anything, I should be angry with you- not the other way.'' Lando suddenly said. 

''Why's that?'' She sneered, almost in disbelief that he would have a valid reason. 

''Because you didn't even have the fucking guts to congratulate me,'' he snapped back, ''when you won Silverstone, I was literally one of the first people to hug you and congratulate you for your win. I stood next to your fucking parents, Y/N! And today you didn't even bother doing anything.'' 

Her mouth fell open, a mix of shock and anger flooding her veins. ''You are unbelievable… You ruined my fucking race, Lando! How am I supposed to stand there and cheer for you when you cost me everything today?'' 

He rolled his eyes while throwing up his hands. ''This isn't just about today. You're just jealous because my season has been going so much better than yours. You can't fucking stand that for one time I'm doing actually better than you.'' 

''Jealous… of you?'' The words came out like laughter, slightly hurting the McLaren driver's ego. ''You think I can't be happy for you because I'm not doing as well? That's so low, Lando.'' 

''Ever since the start of the season you've been so moody and distant, and now you can't even say or even fucking text me a congratulations for my first win. You're so pissed that I got a win before you this season, you can't even hide it.'' He shot back. 

''Oh, give me a break. Like you wouldn't act the same if you were getting all these shit results. Maybe I didn't congratulate you because I was too busy trying to scrape gravel out of my fucking tires.'' She remarked, throwing in the sarcastic comment. 

Lando looked unimpressed by her remark. ''You're just mad cause I'm outshining you. You can't fucking stand that I'm getting all the attention.'' 

''Outshining me? Are you hearing yourself?'' She mocked him, laughing bitterly. ''You get one win and you're acting like you're a fucking World Champion already. You've been riding Max's dick these last years hoping some of his success will rub off on you. Newsflash Norris, everyone is just fucking laughing at you.'' 

His face turned red, either embarrassment or anger. ''At least I'm not constantly whining about my car and blaming everyone else for my problems. Maybe if you spent more time focusing on your driving and less on complaining, you'd have more to celebrate.'' 

''You're a fucking spoiled brat who can't stand some competition. You think everything should be handed to you on a silver platter.'' She retorted. 

''And you're a fucking baby who throws a temper tantrum everytime you don't get what you want. It's time to fucking grow up, Y/N!'' He shouted, his voice rising with each word. 

She took a step closer to him. ''You should spend less time trying to prove yourself to people who don't give a shit about you, and more time trying to be a decent fucking human being. I'm ashamed to call you one of my best friends.'' 

That last sentence had clearly hit a nerve or several nerves. He shook his head, taking a few steps back. ''Fuck you, Y/N. Enjoy your pity party.'' Lando turned and walked away, joining his friends who were waiting in the lobby. 

She watched him go, her chest heaving with a mix of anger and heartbreak. She could feel the pulse of her racing heart, the adrenaline from their argument making her feel jittery and unsteady. 

A lump formed in her throat as she replayed the last few minutes in her mind. She cringed internally at the words she had fired at Lando, while also trying to ignore the sting from his own harsh words. She wondered how they would be able to come back from this. They had never been in a situation like this before, and she knew that she would never want to be in this situation again. 

The young woman knew that she had let her emotions get the best of her. She had always prided herself on being fair and understanding, but now she felt ashamed of herself. 

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of another door opening. George peeked out, concern etched on his face. ''Y/N, you okay?'' 

She shook her head, not wanting to deal with anyone else. ''Mind your business, Russell.'' She retreated back into her room, not before slamming the door behind her. 

As she leaned against the closed door, the weight of the evening pressed down on her. The room felt too small, her emotions too big. She slid down to the floor, pulling her knees to her chest, and let the tears she had been holding back finally fall.

Even when she finally got up, even when she tucked herself in again for the final time, and even when she tossed and turned the entire night, the same question lingered in her mind. 

Are they still friends? 

The question haunted her, gnawing at her thoughts every time she closed her eyes. She replayed the argument over and over, dissecting every word, every expression. The hurt in his eyes, the anger in his voice- it all felt so raw and irreversible. 

As the hours dragged on, sleep remained elusive. The darkness of the room mirrored the uncertainty in her heart. She knew they both needed time to cool off, to reflect, but the thought of facing Lando again filled her with dread.

The first light of dawn began to seep through the curtains, and she felt no more at ease than she had the night before. 

Are they still friends? 

story ideas are always welcome, but remember that it can take a while for me to get to it! :)

[crescenthistory]

did i hear you say you were writing another animagus!reader x regulus where they cuddle at hogwarts in each their cat forms? 🥺🥺

you know what they say, don't believe everything you hear... except for that, that's actually true

Words: 2.4k

Warnings: not proofread, fem!reader, copious amounts of fluff, established relationship, bsf!remus, background wolfstar, reader and reg are kinda goody-two-shoes, platonic physical affection

Note: read more about cat!animagus!reader's shenanigans with reg, wolfstar and james here & here

Sweet Like Honey; Karma is a Cat

What a conundrum.

Remus should take this as an opportunity to be a good friend. You have spent almost two decades showing him exactly how to do that, playing the perfect part of the sister-he-never-had, loving and supporting him through life. For never turning your back on him, Remus is sure he owes you far more than what he can ever repay you, so he should try every single day. He should be a good friend.

But it was just too funny not to.

"At what point is it our duty to wake them up?" Sirius' voice whispered in his ear, shaking with mirth.

"I'm wondering the exact same thing." Remus dragged his words out to avoid making a decision. "How long do you think we can get away with?"

"I mean, they are already 15 minutes late to their Charms lesson, so we're dead men walking for not having said anything so far."

Remus is just able to tear his eyes away from you to glance sideways at Sirius, a too-fond smile already playing over his lips as he sees the exact mischievous look on his boyfriend's face that he expected. The look he fell in love with, not that Remus would be sappy enough to think about that right now. "So what you're saying is..."

"Leave it for a while longer?" Sirius grinned.

"Leave it for a while longer." Remus confirmed, whispering through a laugh, shifting his body further into Sirius' side as he lets his eyes fall back on you.

Well. On what he and Sirius knew to be you and Regulus, but what all other students in the library thought was just two cats sleeping in an armchair.

There was an elongated square of sunlight cast onto the middle of the seat by one of the beautifully decorated windows of the ancient castle, every cat's dream spot. The green velvet covering the seat of the mahogany chair was already riddled with fur from how long the two of you had been curled up around each other in it, white, grey and black hairs mixing together. Your forms might as well be mixing together too, fluid in a way that defied physics yet looked impossibly comfortable. Remus supposed you had to milk as much pleasure out of being an animagus as possible to make that whole mandrake leaf ordeal worth it. Though you could not answer even if he asked you right now, he was sure you at this very moment thought it was.

Remus' smile widened as he saw your chest rise dramatically as you breathed a sleepy huff, turning your head over slightly and burrowing it further into Regulus' plush neck. Your little cat bodies laid facing each other, arms around each other in a way he thought looked a little too much like a human hug.

It would be the absolute picture of serenity, two young things with no care in the world but each other – had it not been for the large clock ironically hanging right behind you, reminding you that you were not supposed to be here right now.

The four of you – five before James ran off the second he spotted red hair a few shelves back – had spent your two hours of shared free periods to read up together, for once actually doing a considerable amount of studying during it. Sirius was rubbing it in your faces, yours by consequence and Regulus' by design, that you still had one lesson left for the day when you abruptly stood up and demanded that you need a study break. When you then promptly dragged Regulus off into a corner, Sirius got the karma of a lifetime as he grew very concerned about what kind of break you would be engaging in. That was until the two cats lazily strolled back in and made themselves comfortable in the chair they now claimed as theirs.

Knowing you, Remus knew you hadn't intended on falling asleep, but maybe the fact that you did meant you really needed it. Yes, surely, you must have been exhausted and your body demanded a rest, so frankly he is quite an amazing friend for ensuring you listen to your health and your needs.

"Cats shouldn't be allowed to be that cute," Sirius all but grumbled as he looked at the two of them. "I should hate them on principle, but look at them Moony!"

"Quite literally no one is demanding that you hate cats on behalf of Padfoot, Siri."

"Padfoot is!" Sirius gave him a you can't argue with that logic look, but Remus knew he could.

"Ah, yes, my boyfriend the dog," he mused, cocking an eyebrow at Sirius who promptly reached out with his finger and pulled it back down.

"I could so give you a comeback to that, but I respect you too much not to say it in public," Sirius muttered and Remus couldn't fight his laughter.

Something moving in his periphery brought his attention back on you, seeing you shift even more into Regulus which caused him to begin stirring as well. Go back to sleep, go back to sleep, Remus whispered to you in his mind.

As always, you didn't listen to him, and ever so slowly Remus saw you peel one yellow eye open, blinking blearily at the room before turning your head back towards Regulus. The greyest of your four paws came up to gently pet at the black cat's neck, almost as if you were smoothing over the fur you had ruffled in your sleep. It made Remus' heart ache with love for you both, even as his stomach was slowly dropping.

A soft prrt! escaped Regulus before he instantly began purring and tightening his hold on you with his little cat paws, nosing his head against yours. A kind of softness Regulus rarely let himself fall into in public, though this was arguably a grey area.

It almost looked like you were about to be driven back into sleep by the vibrations moving through you from Regulus' chest. Remus noticed Sirius paying attention raptly as well, which was unfortunate.

Because when you shot up out of your seat with a small squeak, jumping as if startled as you looked towards the clock – now a good 30 minutes into your 45 minutes lesson – Sirius let out a loud bark of laughter. It earned him more than a few hushes from those around, but most importantly, it earned him your head snapping around to look at him with eyes that could rival a basilisk’s.

Considering Remus was already on a streak of making disloyal choices towards his loved ones, he didn't fight his instinct to stand up from his seat and back up when you ran and jumped onto the table right in front of Sirius' face with a hiss. You slapped at him with a clawless paw to which Sirius whispered something along the lines of "hey, knock it off, be cool" while trying to hold you at arm's length. You scowled at him as aggressively as any cat could, raising your back slightly before you arguably tut-ed at him and jumped back down.

Remus fought for his life to not laugh.

You turned around and ran over to Regulus who was still lazily stretching and gaining his bearings, not an ounce of care shown towards the near-assault of his brother. Nudging him with your head towards the end of the chair, he got the point and jumped down, already falling into his usual graceful mannerisms.

Together you scurried off back into your corner.

When you came back a mere minute later Remus swore there was no difference in your facial expression. Remus carefully walked around the table – where Sirius was still sitting with a petulant pout – hands up in surrender.

You crossed your arms, leaning your weight onto your right hip as you glared at your oldest friend, clearly expecting him to speak first. Behind you Regulus was strolling over, looking like he was trying really hard to be miffed but falling just short.

“How dare you,” you said – and it was a statement, not a question.

“In my defence,” Remus started, hands still up but so were the corners of his lips. “You two looked adorable.”

“That will surely hold up real well with the professor,” you scoffed.

“We didn’t make you fall asleep, princess,” Sirius grumbled to which you turned to him with a bitch please look Remus is fairly certain you picked up from Sirius.

“Apologies for expecting my friends to have my back. How stupid of me.”

“Very stupid indeed,” Sirius murmured as he took a sip of his coffee, grimacing when he found it to be cold. He nearly spilled some when Regulus gave him a light slap up the back of the head.

Remus figured it was time to pull out the big guns.

He manoeuvred his held up hands to be stretched out towards you instead with a rueful smile as he inched closer and closer. You had a moody expression still, eyeing him with suspicion, but you didn’t move out of the way. He dared make a small cooing sound as he brought you into a hug, coddling you like one would a child after they hurt themselves to keep them from crying.

“‘M super super sorry, lovie,” Remus half-muttered half-laughed into your hair as he rocked you a little bit. Your arms were still crossed against his chest, but you were leaning into him. 

“Don’t believe you, Loopy.” 

Regulus snorted at that and Remus looked up at him over his shoulder and the boys shared a look of humour and shared love for you that warmed his stomach. Though when Sirius nipped at Regulus’ sleeve to get his attention, the faux-miffed expression was plastered right back on the younger boy’s face.

Siblings, Remus thought and chuckled a bit into your hair.

“You laughing at me?” you questioned incredulously. 

“No, I’m laughing at our boys.” His response was quick to rid himself of any further accusations.

You instantly nodded against his shoulder. “Understandable.”

“Hey! Don’t bring me into this, amour.” Regulus' chiding tone was met with you uncrossing your arms at last, reaching a hand out behind you blindly, which he immediately took and squeezed with his own.

You let your other arm curl around Remus’ back. Forgiveness at last.

He pulled back to look down at you with a goofy grin, and was pleased to see you could no longer contain yours either. “You were really cute. Didn’t want to disturb you.”

You gave him a look. “Right, no laughing at our expense whatsoever.”

“Never.”

You gave him a light shove while you snorted, pushing him away from you. “This is what I get for my sacrifice for you?” you said as you shook your head at him not much unlike McGonagall would during detention.

“I would argue you got a pretty sweet deal with that sacrifice, doll, seeing as you can curl up with your equally sacrificial boyfriend and sleep in the library whenever.” Sirius nodded solemnly, while jutting his chin towards Regulus. “This one would never let that happen in any other form.”

“Oh, I’m sure I could’ve convinced him,” you replied, looking at Regulus with an almost salacious smile. As if to prove your point – or just to prove Sirius wrong – he came up to stand closer behind you, arms going around your waist. You leaned your weight back against him with a happy sigh.

“Disgusting,” was all Sirius offered.

You raised an eyebrow at him before turning your head sideways to give Regulus a short, sweet kiss.

“Disgusting,” he groaned once more, pressing the backs of his palms into his eyes.

“Karma,” you and Remus sing-songed at him at the exact same time in the exact same tone. 

Your eyes met in surprise before you both burst out laughing, any pretend fight seeping out of you as you both beamed at each other.

Siblings, Remus found himself thinking once more.

“Well, now that we don’t have a lesson to get to anymore, I suggest we get out of here,” Regulus sighed, squeezing your hips as if to underline his point.

“Where we heading?” Sirius asked as he swung his legs out to get up.

“I don’t know where you’re going,” you started. “But Remus will go hunt down a certain Head Boy and get him to make up some excuse to Professor Flitwick for why Regulus and I did not attend class so that our absence is removed from the records.” You put on your sweetest smile as you turned towards Remus at the last part.

“Regulus, what have you done with her?!” Sirius stage-whispered his accusation at Regulus who only responded with a certain impolite gesture.

“And why would James do that?” Remus drawls, certain that his entertainment was written all over his face.

“Oh, I’m sure he owes you for something, you figure it out.” You spoke as you tried to put your bag over your shoulder to leave, but Remus and Regulus both reached for it at the same time. They gave each other a look, trying to decide who will take the literal burden, before they both turned to Sirius and dropped the bag in his lap. He rolled his eyes at the both of them, but pulled the strap over his free shoulder nonetheless. 

“You are quite the minx, aren’t you?” Remus asked, going for chiding and landing somewhere along the lines of compliance.

“Learned from the best, Rem!” you cheered brightly, pressing quick smacking kisses on both his and Sirius’ cheek.

Before they could muster up a response or a reaction, you had already hauled Regulus down the halls of the library towards the exit with half-heartedly hushed giggles. The raven-haired boy looked over his shoulder right before you turned the corner with a barely-contained smile, inhibitions straw thin in your presence.

Remus understood him well.

He turned to Sirius with a pleased smile to find him already admiring his reactions from where he stood beside him.

“I get why they’re cats,” Remus mused as he interlaced their fingers, following the general direction you ran off to, ready to hunt down James and possibly claw up some furniture. 

“Because they’re adorable but also massive menaces?”

Remus breathed out contently. “Yeah.”

[dcxdpdabbles]

DC x DP: Passion for Fashion

Danny Fenton's life is weird.

Ever since the accident that turned him into a helfa life has been throwing him around like a quarter in a dryer. He got good at rolling with the punches- fugitively and not- but every once in a while, he gets a surprise.

One of those surprises is his future self turning evil after killing his human side and eating Vlad's ghost side. Then he went on a world wide rampage that devastated the human race for almost two decades. Thankfully, he defeated him and locked up Dan between timelines, where he will spend all of entirely inside a thermos.

That was until Clockwork lost all sanity.

"What do you mean you let him out?" Danny slams his hands on the only table Clockwork owns. The time ghost doesn't seem moved by his outburst, not that the Accident ever does, as Clockwork often than not, was impassive with everything that has ever happened, could happen, or will happen.

Seeing all outcomes did that to a person.

"Two years have passed since his initial creation. That was enough time for the timeline that he came from to cease, as he never shaped humanity's history. This means, Daniel, that I could no longer hold Dan for a crime that does not exist."

"But he leveled nations, committed genocide and war crimes against the Infinite Realms! How can you say he is innocent!?"

Clockwork sighs. "I am not saying he is innocent but he did them in a time that ceased. All those nations stand tall, the people he killed never died, and all the war crimes were undone. I am saying he has never committed them in the first place."

Dan smirks from where he is rocking in a chair. Danny doesn't like the being's significant bulky form, so ready and dangerous, being so close to him. His counterpart could easily snap his neck with those beefy arms. "It seems I am free to go Brat."

Clockwork levels an unimpressed stare on his future self. "No, you are not. You still have the potential to commit crimes. Which is why Daniel is here."

Danny punches his fist, sneering at Dan, "You want me to kick his ass again?"

Dan snorts. He quirks a brow at Danny as if saying he found the threat to be nothing more than an amusing yelp from a small dog. Danny bristles.

"No," Said Clockwork "I want you to be his model for the Gotham fashion show."

What?

Dan leans back in his chair, crossing his arms behind his head. Danny is reminded of repeated offending students who get called into the principal's office but have lost all respect for the principal. They don't care. And neither does Dan.

"Apparently, I need to find a positive outlet for all my pent-up rage, and Clocky, here, thinks I could be a fashion designer." Dan snorts again.

Danny stares at Clockwork in betrayal. "You think he what?"

"I do not think. I know. I also know that neither of you will take this seriously, so I took the liberty of fusing a bomb into your cores. If you attempt to leave Gotham's city bounds, the bomb will go off, and you will cease."

Danny's and Dan's mouths drop open in a sickening mirror. They each reach into their chest only to slam their fingers against one of the clockwork's allurements pulsing against their cross. In a chill boning moment, they realize the Time Lord would kill them both without so much of a blink if it meant preserving the timeline.

Danny had often forgotten that Clockwork did not particularly care for him past his involvement with certain events.

"But- Modleing!? What does that have to do with anything?!"

For the first time in a long time, Clockwork smiled. "It is the catalyst of a turning point in Gotham."

"What the hell even is Gotham?" Dan demands slamming his own hands on the table. Danny is pushed out of the way to make the action possible which only irritates the younger more.

"Gotham is one of America's greatest crime infestive cities."

"Ugh, dude, that's not true.." Danny cuts in. "I've never heard of Gotham, and I've lived in America all my life."

"Not your timeline's America, Daniel."

"You're talking about an alternate universe. One that doesn't have a Daniel Fenton, doesn't it? " Dan questions crossing his arms. He rolls his eyes at Danny's confused gaze. "Honestly. And you call yourself the Ghost King. The Infinite Realms connect every living's things afterlife that, includes aliens and other universes. I never attacked any of them, but I did do some study on them."

"Dan is correct. This timeline has slowly been spiraling out of control due to Batman slowly losing whatever is left of his mind. His children are the only reason he's still considered Belovlent but he is going to lose them soon if he does not shape up. Your job is to make sure that does not happen."

"How do we do that?"

"By winning the Wayne Amature Fashion Show and ensuring Batman does not lose his humanity."

Dan snorts. "I can't help someone not lose their humanity. I don't have mine anymore."

"I believe you do. Otherwise, you wouldn't already have designs in mind for young Daniel."

Danny blinks as Dan carelessly shrugs his shoulder. He has designs already? Clockwork places two thick folders on the table. "Here are your backgrounds that will explain your apparence in that world. I expect you to memorize them and get used to them while in Gotham."

"Danny and Dan Fenton. Emancipated minor brothers from Santa Prisca who found their way to the USA with asylum when thier mother died getting them off the island. We're both meta-humans, with the ablitites to glow in the dark and make ice. " Danny read off squinting his eyes at the unfamilar words like "meta", "santa prisca" and most of all the ending part. "It says we're twins."

"Yes."

"Ummm he's like a thousand years old." Danny says pointing at Dan.

"I'm twenty-six"

"And still single. Ouch."

Clockwork raises his staff before Dan had a chance to answer. "I will of course be making adjustments."

Dan's body de-ages before Danny's eyes, dragging the man back into the body of a sixteen year old. Dan looks utterly bewildered for a only a few seconds before he opens his mouth a releases a string of spanish curse words.

Danny blinks. "I didn't know you spoke Spanish."

"I don't!" The teenage ghost sneers.

"You do now." Clockwork sighs putting down his staff. "As does Daniel. Santa Prisca is a Spanish's speaking country. It would not make sense if refugees from there did not speak the language. Now, good luck to you both, and remember, failing means I end your existence."

One blink to the next, Danny founds himself in the middle of a large city, with Dan- now in human form and looking identical to Danny- at his side with various suitcases surrounding them.

"I hate when he freezes time and moves me." Danny groans and Dan kicks the ground.

"How do we even know what a Batman is?"

"I guess we start here?" On the wall, is a flyer announcing the Wayne Armature Fashion show, with a cash prize of a fifty thousand dollars. A picture of a smiling man is printed on it with the words "Bruce Wayne as special judge." next to him.

"We have a house" Dan says flipping though his folder. "Crap knows how, but apparently it was left to us by a well meaning old man in his will. We should go there before we try to takle this whole Fashion show thing."

"Oh and you know so much about that."

"In case you forgot how to count boy, I was twenty-four when you sealed me away. Two years passed since then and I did not spend them in a thermos."

"What?"

"Clockwork let me out, but only in his haunt. I picked up a sewing machine after I failed to beat him in combat." Dan shrugs at the teenager's expression. "I know but I mellowed out a lot when my ordinal timeline ended. My madness went with it."

"How so?"

"I was mad with grief but you saved your family and friends, so that grief never came to be."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"Time Paradoxes never make sense."

Danny sighs "This isn't the first mission Clockwork's ever sent me on either. I've never gone to a different timeline but I went back in time a lot to stop other ghosts from getting too powerful. I know all about time Paradoxes."

"Crap are we cops? Time Cops?"

"Ugh I think we are."

"That's terrible. We have to find this Batman and get him to therapy cause I will not be a cop."

Danny follows after Dan, who is muttering to himself while reading a outdated map of the city. He wonders if the other realized he spoke in Spanish or if it had been a unconscious thought. He hopes this mission won't take too long, he wants to get away from his greatest mistake as soon as he can.

And he needs to work on his walk if he's going to strut down the run way soon.

Ugh.

Across the city, Bruce narrows his eyes at the Batcomputer screen as two identical sixteen year old's stare back at him. He hasn't found that tied them with criminal activity but meta's from Santa Prisca of all places has set off more then one bell in his head.

"Keep a eye on them" He tells his children who are all reading the same thing. "I don't trust them."

"Do you trust anyone B?" Dick jokes but his smile is strained as he reads the contest rules., "Did you really make up a whole fashion show just to lure Dan Fenton?"

"He's shown signs of fashion inclinations."

"Yeah but why are we the judges." Tim complains "I don't a thing about fashion."

Steph, Duke, Damian and Cass all nod. Bruce, unwilling to admit he just wanted to spend time with his kids, only grunts "It's for the mission."

"Sure B."

[thescarletnargacuga]

Art by @iamespecter

CHAPTER TEN

Caine and Pomni grow closer while making the next day's race! Caine can't deny his feelings, but Pomni is unsure! The other racers make their own mischief without a track to keep them busy!

WARNING: none!

~~~

Gangle hummed to herself cheerfully as she redesigned the paint sceme and patterns on her kart. She was feeling rosey pink today, so that's what her kart would be for tomorrow. She drew her custom designs on the control panel tablet and they appeared on her kart in real time. "Hmmm....I wonder how many white flowers I could fit..." She was so focused, she didn't notice Gummigoo standing beside her.

"Gangle-"

"EEP!" Gangle's mask went askew but she held it before it moved out of place further. "Oh, hi!"

"Uh, hey...can I talk to you?" Gummigoo looked around to make sure no one else was in earshot.

"Sure!" Gangle put down the stylus and gave him her full attention.

Gummigoo rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the scarred indents of Bubble's teeth marks. "I...I think something happened to me last night."

"A lot happened to everyone last night." Gangle giggled.

Gummigoo forced a small smile. "Yeah, look, I think something bad happened. I went to my room, blacked out and woke up standing in Pomni's room. She seemed rather freaked out by me being there."

"Oh my! I'm sorry, I didn't see you go in there. I was... preoccupied." Gangle glanced at Zooble, a light blush dusting her mask. "Have you tried talking to her today?"

"Yeah, but she brushed me off... wouldn't even look at me." His shoulders drooped. "I consider Pomni a friend, I don't think I could ever forgive myself if I had hurt her in some way...what do I do?"

Gangle put her hand on his shoulder. "Give her space for now. She'll come around when she's ready."

"What if she never is?" He couldn't handle the thought of Pomni never talking to him again.

"How about I ask her on your behalf? Maybe she'll talk to me about it. Girl to girl."

"I'd really appreciate that. You're a true friend, Gangle." Gummigoo smiled for real this time.

"Awwww, shucks. I try." Gangle waved him away bashfully. "Anyway, try not to worry too much. Pomni wanted you here in the first place. I don't think she'd change her mind overnight."

Gummigoo took a deep breath. "I'll have to take your word on that for now, but thank-"

"LOOK OUT!" Ragatha cried out.

Gummigoo turned around in time for a pb&j sandwich to smack him in the face. It slid down his stunned form, falling to the ground with a wet splat.

Jax was laughing his ass off. "I wasn't aiming for you, but I'll take it."

"What's the big idea!?" Gummigoo wiped off the smear of jelly and peanut butter over his eyes.

"I'm bored." Jax picked up a cup of yogurt from the dining table. "That's why." He chucks it at Ragatha, who ducked. The yogurt smacked the back of Kinger's head, who silently turned his head curiously. "Man, my aim is off today." Jax picked up a a mixed berry pie and aimed for Zooble, who had their back to him.

Before Jax could launch the pie, Zooble spoke. "Throw anything at me, and it'll be the last thing your arm ever does."

Jax changed the trajectory last second and threw the pie at Loo, who was hiding behind the furniture with Ragatha.

Gummigoo rushed to the packed table. The bubble chef hovered overhead, amused by the racers playing with the food. Gummigoo got a whole bowl of mashed potatoes, and dunked it on Jax's head.

"AH-MMMPHTH-!!" Jax was blinded and stumbled over a bean chair.

"Fooooood fiiiiiight!" Gangle cheered.

Everyone except Zooble scrambled for the table. They grabbed random handfuls of food and pelted Jax mercilessly. "I'LL TAKE YOU ALL ON!!" Jax warcried.

Zooble sat cross legged in a recliner, thumbing through a magazine. Not a spec of flying food touched them.

~

Caine and Pomni laughed hard together, out of bounds. Pomni has to brace against a colorful mushroom tree and wipe tears away as Caine held his ribs and kicked his feet mid air.

"So- so- okay-" Caine tries to talk through bouts of laughter. "So I said; why would the kart need more speed sets? It's already got three! Here, there, and GONE!"

"Oh my god..." Pomni continued to laugh. "I can't believe Kinger of all people would ask for that."

"Oh, believe it! He's more mellowed out these days, but Kinger was a real speed demon early on. Held the champion title for a record number of seasons." Caine took a steading breath, the occasional giggle escaping him.

"Could you add more speed of you wanted to?"

"Oh, definitely. The only limit is the game engine, but if I made everyone go top speed at all times, that would make the boosts and items pretty boring. Got to keep a pinch of chance mixed in with the strategy required to win a race. Keeps things interesting."

"Fair point." Pomni could finally breath normally again. She went to remove her hat to run her hand through her hair, but it didn't budge. She forgot she couldn't remove it. "Hey, um... what all can you do in the game? Are you really all-powerful?"

Caine was a bit taken aback and looked away as he cleared his voice. "I wouldn't say-....yes, I am. As the administrative AI, everything in the game is mine to do with as I please. The only exceptions are the racers. While I could certainly move you around if I wanted to, I can't control the way you act or feel or anything like that."

"Can you affect our clothes?" She tugged at her hat.

Caine looked her over, an embarrassed blush lightly displayed on the sides of his face. "...technically, yes." He wasn't sure were this was going.

"Then can you PLEASE let me take off this hat? It's a bit obtrusive."

"OH! Oh, yes, of course. Avatar changes are tricky, especially since- Nevermind, but I can help you with this." He put his hands on the sides of her hat.

Pomni leaned against the mushroom tree behind her, watching Caine curiously.

Caine focused and lifted the hat slowly. Binary code that made up Pomni's form was exposed. He ran his hand over the top of her head and the code morphed and changed color. Dark brown hair flowed from her scalp and glided between his fingers as he made it grow. The hair length stopped just below the base of her head all the way around. He smiled as he felt her soft hair slip through his fingers, his hand lingering just a bit longer than necessary near her cheek.

Pomni's eyes dilated watching Caine's expressions subtly change as he focused. Her head tingled as the hair grew. Caine's fingers brushing her cheek made her breath catch in her throat. Her digital heartbeat felt like it was trying to escape her chest.

Their eyes met, so close to one another. Caine's gaze drifted down to Pomni's lips.

"Thank you..." Pomni said quietly.

"You're welcome." Caine tried hard not to stare, but Pomni wetted her lips nervously and he shuddered.

"Hey, boss!" Bubble popped in.

Caine launched himself away from Pomni, hovering stiffly. Pomni froze in place against the mushroom tree asset.

"What!?" Caine said a bit too loud. His blush was dark red. Pomni's hat clutched tightly in one of his hands.

"The racers are destroying the garage." Bubble said with a smile.

"Good for them." Caine said, staring determinately in a random direction away from Bubble or Pomni. "Without a race, I'm sure they need something to do."

"You don't want to watch?" Bubble asked, mildly confused.

"Nope. Too busy. Lots of work left to be done on this new track if it's going to be used tomorrow."

"Okay, boss. I'm going to watch the violence." Bubble giggled giddily and popped.

Caine and Pomni both immediately relaxed when Bubble left. Pomni stepped away from the mushroom tree and looked over what she and Caine built. "You're right, there is still a lot to do. We got distracted there for a bit."

"Yeah, we did." He couldn't stop thinking about how close he had been to her. Thoughts of what could've happened if Bubble hadn't come in made his code buzz excitedly. He shook them from his mind and rejoined Pomni on the ground. "While there are still quite a few decorative assets to complete, the track itself is about finished. I'm going to sprinkle in a few jumps and maybe a tunnel for extra flavor."

"Ooh, how about a tunnel made of water?" Pomni smiled.

"I like the way you think." Caine smiled back and tossed her hat onto the same asset his coat was hanging from.

~

An entire plate of food crashed against the wall behind Kinger. He had barely managed to avoid it, moving his body back in a limbo bend. He was out of ammo and grabbed two cushions to throw back instead.

Everyone and everything in the garage was covered in food. The bubble chef kept making more appear on the table as the racers ran around upturned furniture.

Loo shielded Ragatha from an incoming jello mound. Green apple flavored gelatin went everywhere. Loo licked the jello off her lips. "Mmm, at least the food is good."

Ragatha playfully glared at Gangle, who had thrown the jello. "Take that!" She grabbed a handful of random mashed food on the wall and threw it back.

Gangle was hit square in the face, falling backwards. Her mask slipped, shattering on the floor. The sound of the breaking porcelain made everyone stop. Zooble slapped her magazine shut.

Ragatha nearly slipped on mashed food trying to get to Gangle. "Oh no! I'm so sorry! Are you okay!?"

Gangle lightly sniffed, gingerly picking up the pieces of her comedy mask. "Been... awhile since...this happened. I knew I should have...secured it better today." Her voice lulled slowly with a heavy rasp.

Zooble scooped up the pieces easily, then helped Gangle to her feet. They stood between Gangle and the others, not letting them see her tragic face. "Come on, there's extra glue in my room." They leave together to go upstairs

"Way to go, Ragatha. Now the mood is ruined." Jax complained.

"I didn't mean to hit her in the face! I really am sorry!" Ragatha called up after Gangle as the door to Zooble's room shut.

Loo placed a comforting hand on Ragatha. "I'm sure she knows it was an accident."

Ragatha didn't say anything as she brushed food off her dress.

Gummigoo shook mush off his tail, looking around. "Crikey, I think we got carried away." A bit of food fell from the ceiling and splattered on his snoot. He groaned.

"Without a race to reset the garage, we'll need Caine if we want this cleaned up." Kinger commented as he wiped undistinguishable food off his robe. He looked mournfully at the messed up cushions, no pillow forts could be made with messy cushions.

"Hey, chef?" Ragatha addressed the bubble in the room. "Would you mind asking Caine to pop over real quick and help us out?"

"No can do." The bubble shook in reply. "He's busy working on tomorrow's track with Pomni."

"They left?" Regatha looked out the window with it's blinds open.

"You didn't see them leave? You should pay attention more." Kinger said poignantly.

Ragatha didn't comment. She turned back to the bubble chef. "Come on, he can do it in less than a second. It wouldn't take much of his time."

"Nuh-uh." Bubble said with an even wider grin. "He's so focused he even has Pomni against a tree for comparison."

Ragatha blinked and looked to the others, everyone shrugged.

"...and taking off her clothing assets." Bubble announced.

Ragatha clapped her hands over her mouth. Everyone else struggles to pretend they didn't just hear that.

Jax picked up a plate and threw it like a frisbee it at the chef. The unhelpful bubble pops and the plate smashes against the wall. "Useless assistants."

~

Caine finished rendering a new spiral launch and took a breather. "That's the last of the track. This is going to be spectacular, Pomni! Thanks especially to you."

Pomni waved off his praise. "Oh, come on, all I've done is talk. You're the one doing all the work."

"My dear, creative brainstorming is a big part of what I do! The fact that you came up with most of this on your own, I'm impressed. What inspired you?"

Pomni looked around at the dark light colors and soft lighting. "I think I just like pretty things that shine in the dark."

"How poetic." Caine smirked.

Pomni smiled bashfully. "Maybe this is what I liked on the outside..."

Caine watched her carefully. "...how much do you remember?"

"Not a lot. I remember snippets and I dream, but nothing solid. Like, I can't remember where I'm from...where I grew up....if I had a family..."

"I'm sorry." Caine said quietly. "If the exit wasn't the way it is, I'd let you go back in a snap, but for what it's worth...I'm glad you're here."

Pomni wiped away a tear that tried to sneak out. "It's not all bad. The others are fun to be around, and you've... made me feel pretty welcome."

"It's what I do." He took off his hat and bowed dramatically. "Caine, Race Host Extraordinaire, at your service."

Pomni giggled. Before she could speak further, a large asset started blinking some distance behind Caine. Pomni saw it shudder and glitch, her eyes widened.

Caine got up from his bow and saw Pomni staring into the distance. "Something wrong?" He goes to turn around but Pomni grabs his wrist.

"No! Nothing! Sorry! I just, uh- had an idea! Yeah! We haven't made insects for this track yet. Kinger would be disappointed if we forgot." She quickly glanced behind Caine, the asset was normal again.

"Gadzooks, you're right! What an oversight! I know just the thing for a track like this, but I'll need your help." He slid his wrist out of her grasp to hold her hand.

"What could I do? I can't create things out of thin air."

"Not alone you can't, but with a little bit of administrative access..." He snapped his fingers and his hand holding hers glowed a dim gold.

Pomni's palm felt warm and tingly. Her gloved hand buzzed and pixelated a little before going back to normal.

"...if you can conceive it, you can achieve it. Now, visualize in your mind what you want to appear."

Pomni closed her eyes to focus. She thought hard on picturing a moth. It's what was on the top of her head. Suddenly something fluttered in between her hand and Caine's. She gasped and pulled away from him. A black light green and blue moth flew free, coming to rest on the trunk of the mushroom tree. She looked at her hand. "Oh my god..."

"Neat, right? Now, imagine... having that power with absolutely everything! The world is yours to command at a single snap." Caine snapped his fingers and every asset they worked on that day levitated for a second before going back down. "Go on, give it a try."

Pomni looked for the smallest asset. A pebble. She thought to herself: jump! She snapped. The pebble jumped several inches off the ground. "WOAH!"

"You learn quickly." Caine beamed. "This access will allow you to help me more in the future. However, it will only work out of bounds. Can't have you snapping things around active tracks all willy-nilly."

"Aw, and here I wanted to snap Jax into the nearest dumpster."

Caine chuckled. "As tempting as that is some days, it's important to show restraint. Yet another lesson I've learned the hard way." His eyes became distant for a moment, then he cleared his voice. "Anyway, would you like to keep making more?"

"I would." She held out her hand to him.

Caine gladly accepted it. "My power is yours. Show me what that beautiful mind can create."

Pomni could not get used to Caine complimenting her, as nice as it felt, the fluster made it hard to focus. All she could think of were "colorful night bugs". She snapped. A flurry of multicolor moths and fireflies and beetles flew from her hand out on to the new track.

Caine watched her with soft eyes. The way she looked in the colorful low light was truly something to behold. He ran his thumb subtly over her knuckles, wanting nothing more than to pull her in and kiss her breathless. For now, at least, she seemed very happy with her gift. There was real joy in her smile. That was enough for him.

~

It was late before Pomni and Caine popped back into the garage, right outside her room door. All was quiet, the other racers already settled in their rooms for the night. Pomni had her hat tucked under an arm, still wanting to enjoy her head's new found freedom. "Thanks for spending time with me, today. I had fun." She gave him a genuine smile.

Caine's code skipped a beat. He placed a light kiss to the top of her hand. "Trust me when I say, it's been my absolute pleasure. I should have you around out of bounds more often. Who knows what kind of trouble we could get into." He winks.

Pomni internally screams from romantic panic. Her face felt as hot as the sun. "That- that- would be nice! We could make a date of it! ...again." This time, nothing felt like just a nice gesture. This time, it felt meaningful. That maybe pursuing a romantic relationship with a gaming AI wasn't that crazy after all.

Caine could explode into butterflies and confetti. She wanted to make it another date! "Just let me know when. Give your fingers a snap, and I'll be right there." He held both her hands in his. "I'm so happy, Pomni. I'm so very happy to have you around. You're not just another racer, you're special to me."

Pomni didn't know what to say. She was happy too, but at the same time, this was still a crazy situation to find herself in. Part of her wanted to launch herself into Caine's embrace and never let go, the other wanted to run. She awkwardly swung her arms with his. "I... you're becoming something special to me too. I still have... reservations. I'm sorry if that wasn't what you wanted to hear, I just...need to go slow." She looked down and away.

Caine gently squeezes her hands. "My dear, we can take this as slow as we need to. We can save the high speed pursuits for the track. Rest well, I look forward to tomorrow."

"Me too." Pomni gave him one last smile as she shut her room door.

Caine hovered near the ceiling, looking down at the travesty that was the garage. "Racers." He chuckles and snaps. The place instantly became spotless and tidy. He teleported away.

~

Pomni immediately checked her room for Abel. Relieved to find herself alone, she flopped on her bed and screamed confused emotions into her pillow. "What am I doing!? I can't actually be falling for him?? I want to leave but he's so- so- AAAAH!! Is he really interested or is it an act?? Abel said-... And why ME of all people!? I'm not- HE- uuuuuuuuugh..." She relaxed face down on the bed, eventually drifting off to sleep.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

A blue digital countdown flashed before Pomni's eyes. It scared her. She tried to run from it. The numbers got bigger, the blue glow getting brighter behind her. More lights ahead. Two high beam gold headlights. The roar of an engine. Tires screeching. She tries to run to the side, but feels sluggish, her running stride slowing no matter how fast she tries to go.

Both sets of lights get closer to her. A panicked heart beat booms in her ear. The red door with the C&A logo appears between the lights. She throws herself through it as the lights collide.

Beyond the door was an office, but not the same as she's seen before. It looked like a home office. More modern. Papers and files stacked everywhere. Photos of faceless people pinned to a corkboard. Red string connected them. The C&A logo centered on the board with multiple red circles drawn over it.

The flat screen monitors came to life with red letters. P W P I. Again and again. "Pomni..." A feminine disembodied voice called out. "Pomni..." It came from a wall that was entirely made of mirror.

Pomni stared into it, not seeing herself, but the woman in the brown jacket. The strange woman put her hand against the mirror. Pomni felt inclined to do the same. When their hands touched, the mirror cracked violently. The reflection became fragments of visions that meant nothing to Pomni.

The mirror wall fell apart, revealing a black abyss beyond. One large green and orange eye opens, staring directly at Pomni. She couldn't move. Her body defied any instinct to run. The eye rushes her.

Pomni jolts awake with a shout, falling off her bed. "Ow..." She holds her aching head. She didn't feel like going back to bed. None of her dreams have made it worth it. She opened her door to find sunlight peeking in through the blinds on the main floor. It was morning already.

Pomni tiredly requested coffee from the bubble chef. She was the first up, having the lounge to herself. It was the first bit of peace and quiet she actually had in a while. Her mind was exhausted. Swinging wildly from one emotion to another, and dreaming about...whatever the heck all that was, had her drained. Her peace was broken by Zooble and Gangle being the next ones down.

"Good morning!" Gangle cheerfully greeted as she sat next to Pomni. Zooble sat next to Gangle with an arm over the back of the couch.

Pomni internally cringed at Gangle's tone this early in the morning, but kept a neutral face. "Morning..." She sipped her coffee.

"Are you feeling better after spending time with Caine? You were a bit out of sorts yesterday."

Pomni slowly blinked, trying to remember what Gangle was referring to. "Oh...yeah, I am. We had fun."

"That's great! Because Gummigoo seemed pretty upset that you wouldn't talk to him."

"I didn't want to talk to anyone." Pomni said defensively.

"I know, but he was REALLY worried that he had done something wrong."

Pomni focused on her coffee. "He didn't. Just...wrong place, wrong time."

Gangle looked to Zooble in a silent plea. Zooble shrugged. Gangle nervously tapped her ribbon hands together. "Maybe you should talk to him? Tell him things are okay? He cares about how you feel about him."

Pomni stared at her reflection in the black bean water. "I'll talk to him." She'd have to at some point. Abel would be back any time.

~

Pomni caught Gummigoo the moment he left his room. "Hey, can we talk?"

"Sure thing." Gummigoo felt an icepick of fear in his code but went with her anyway. He needed to know what he'd done.

They sat together in the stands, away from prying ears in the garage. Another perfect digital day made the quiet environment easy to enjoy. Gummigoo nervously held his hands together, leaning forward to brace his elbows on his knees to keep them from shaking.

Pomni sat back with her arms crossed. "Nothing happened the other night. You walked in. We talked a bit. You came around. I helped you find your way out. That was it."

"...that doesn't explain how scared you looked. You acted like I was about to literally bite your head off. Then you wouldn't even look at me the next day. I'm sorry, but I don't believe you." Gummigoo said quietly but firmly.

Pomni took a moment to answer. "The conversation got heated. You're kind of scary when you're angry. I'm glad you came to when you did." The memory of Abel's cold fury directed to Caine made her head hurt.

"What did I say? I really don't remember...I'm sorry." Gummigoo sulked.

"Don't worry about it. People do weird things under the influence. I still consider you a friend."

"Really?"

"Mmhm."

Gummigoo sat up straight. "That's a relief. I would've been devo if I couldn't muck about on the track with you anymore." He smirked.

Pomni smiled back. "Things would've gotten boring so fast."

~

Caine appeared right on time in full race host uniform. Fairy lights sparkle, falling around him. "Hello, my fabulous fantastical friends! I have a very special treat for you all today! A brand new track designed from the very mind of our own Pomni!"

"Oh, this oughta be good." Jax huffed.

"It's more than that! It's excellent!" Caine excitedly flew over to Pomni and held out his cane to her.

She looked at it with confusion. "Uh...what-"

"This is your track, Pomni. You should be the one to introduce it to the other racers." Caine motioned for her to take his cane.

"Ooo! How exciting!" Ragatha clapped. "Go on, Pomni. You can tell us about what you made."

Pomni slowly took the cane, trying not to look at all the eyes on her. "Uh..." Microphone feedback from the cane's topper made an ear splitting ring echo through the garage. She held the cane out at arms length. "Sorry."

"Already off to a great start." Jax muttered sarcastically.

"Um, the track today is..." She just realized they never agreed on a name. She had to come up with one on the spot. She spied the sparkling lights Caine had made part of his entrance and rolled with it. "Uh...the Fairylight Forrest."

As if on cue, Caine snapped and the race track title appeared in shiny, colorful letters overhead. They had way too much pizzazz for Pomni's lackluster announcement.

Everyone but Jax politely clapped. Pomni wanted to fall through the floor. She tried giving Caine his cane back.

"Not yet! They need to see it! Come on everyone! Lead the way, Pomni!"

The embarrassment was going to kill her.

Caine opened the door for her and the racers. The outside was gorgeous. A dark Forrest bathed in pale moonlight surrounded the startling line. The track disappeared into the iridescent woodland, small lights lining the sides. Bioluminescent mushrooms as tall as the trees gave off blacklight glow. Moths and fireflies flitted about.

The racers all gave whispered gasps and comments of astonishment. This was one of the most serene tracks any of them had even seen. Ragatha nudged Pomni with her elbow. "Good job, this is way more mellow than anything Caine's every made."

Pomni smirked mischievously. "You haven't seen the track yet." She raised her voice confidently, seeing how genuinely impressed everyone was. "Welcome to the Fairlyight Forest! Don't be fooled by it's appearance! It's as dangerous as it is beautiful!"

Caine lounged back in the air with his arms crossed, a proud smile on his face.

Pomni raised the cane to her lips. "This track is packed with harrowing hairpin turns, sickening spirals and mind-blowing multi-tiered jumps!"

Caine was falling in love all over again.

"Be amazed! Be astounded! But don't be caught unaware! For a great beast roams these woods, and it's hunger for racers is never saited! Can you make it to the final lap in one piece? Let's find out. Racers! To your karts!" A roaring applause came from the themed stands behind her. She jerked her head around to the crowd, like she had forgotten it existed. NPCs where on their feet, going wild for the announcement. The others excitedly ran to their karts as Pomni held the cane close to her chest. She was rather surprised with herself.

"You're amazing." Caine said from behind her.

Pomni smiled bashfully and held out the cane to him. "I learn from the best."

He took it, going out of his way to make sure his fingers brush hers. "Have fun out there, my fairy queen."

"Always." Pomni smiled all the way out to her kart, jumping in.

Caine twirled his cane. "Racers! Start! Your! Engines!!"

Bubble appeared with translucent fairy wings on their back and stuck out their tongue to start the countdown.

First light...

Pomni couldn't take her eye off Caine. He was looking at her so longingly that her heart skipped a beat.

Second light...

She winked at him, reving her engine.

Third light...

She could swear Caine fainted.

GREEN!!

She takes off with the group into the forest.

~

Blue static crackled along the bounds of the game, moving with purpose. Every asset touched by it blinked and glitched subtly. The static came to the portion of the forest where the antagonistic beast lied dormant, awaiting the racers to trigger it's pursuit. The static leapt into the eyes of the beast. It's cold silver eyes turned bright blue.

~~~

CH 1 PREV NEXT

[piningforstan]

Stay With Me

Summary: Stan needs you to tend to his wounds and, no, you can’t ask him about it.

Pairings: Stanley Pines x GN!Reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: some fluff, drinking, smoking, a brief description of the wound

A/N: I just imagine mullet Stan not being able to tend to his wounds properly after his fight with Ford and only trusting you to help him😭 also I’m not a doctor so this is probably medically inaccurate

A knock at the door roused you from your sleep.

Well, more like jolted you awake and sent you into a spiral of fear and panic. You belted your robe and padded down the stairs to peer through the window. A blast of frigid air burst from the door as you wretched it open, snow swirling inside and melting. “Stan?”

“Hey,” he said simply. He weaved on his feet. Under the light of the porch, his face was grey.

“What are you doing here? It’s the middle of the night.”

“I’ll, uh, ‘splain later. Can I come in?”

You ushered him in, glancing worriedly out your lawn before shutting the door. Stan’s darkened form lumbered into the kitchen where you followed him, switching on a light. He removed his jacket.

“Stan, what is —?” You choked. From where he sat at the table, back to you, you could see a wound burned into his right shoulder, clearly neglected. “Holy shit.”

With trembling hands, Stan lit up a cigarette.

“Stan, what happened?” You hovered over him, unsure where to start.

“Doesn’t matter,” Stan said quickly. “Can you patch it up?”

“Patch it up? This looks like an infected second degree burn.”

“Is that a no?”

You let his harsh tone slide over you. Not only were you used to it, being a nurse, but you sensed that something was wrong and Stan was badly shaken. Instead of prompting him for answers, you hurried into your medicine cabinet for your first aid kit. You didn’t have half the supplies that you would’ve at the hospital, but you needed to at least disinfect the wound first to prevent infection. The contents of the kit spilled out onto the table as you rummaged through them, cursing under your breath.

A cloud of smoke billowed from Stan. You snatched the cigarette from him and tossed it in a half-empty glass by the sink. “At least let me fix this before you kill yourself with that.”

Stan grumbled a response, but it was half-hearted. You got to work disinfecting the wound and cleaning it up. Stan never once complained, shoulders tensed, wincing only once you applied the disinfectant. Vaguely, in some distant, secretive part of your mind, you admired the feel of muscles reacting beneath your hands, the intimate proximity to him. From your position crouched over Stan, you could make out his profile, his clenched jaw and thousand-yard stare.

You prepared a bandage. A strange design was embedded in the reddened skin, almost like a brand. You’d have to keep an eye on the wound, but hopefully you could stave off the infection.

“When did this happen? You should’ve come straight to me,” you told him. If he didn’t look so obviously pained, you would’ve smacked him upside the head for not seeking treatment sooner.

“S’not a big deal,” Stan mumbled.

Some of the color had returned to his face.

“Stan, yes it is. You could’ve died from the infection.”

“It was just an accident in the lab.” His brave face faltered slightly, a slip of emotion like the silver belly of a fish flashing in dark waters. “I deserved it anyway.”

You frowned. “I doubt that’s true. Can I get you anything? Are you hungry?”

“I could use a drink.”

You dug out an old bottle of whiskey that an ex had left behind. He insisted on drinking out of the bottle, knuckles white — shaking, but not as violently as before. You had taken his jacket off the back of the chair and used spare material to stitch it up from the burn. It must’ve been horrible if it burned through the jacket and into his skin so deeply. You watched him sip the whiskey and wince occasionally, not able to completely recline in the chair.

“You should stay here,” you said after who knows how long, both of you content in the silence. Before he could protest you added, “I have a shift tomorrow so I’ll be gone most of the day. But I can keep an eye on you and I know you won’t be doing anything else stupid.”

The corners of his mouth twitched. “Thanks, kid, but no thanks. I’ll be fine.”

“At least just tonight.“

“Fine. But I’m sleeping on the couch.”

You nodded your approval. After he polished off the bottle and you peeked at his wound again, you got him set up on the couch with pillows and a blanket. He looked small, boy-like, tucked under the covers and looking so vulnerable. Your heart panted. “You’ll be alright?”

“Ain’t gotta worry about me,” Stan replied. The sounds of his snores reverberated through your house before you even hit the stairs.

You awoke to Stan yelling. For the second time that night, or, well, morning, you jolted up and ran down the stairs without even snatching your robe. Bleary eyed and stiff-limbed, you staggered downstairs to find Stan thrashing on the couch, blankets thrown to the floor. He was crying out in his sleep. You knelt down next to him.

“Stan. Stan. Stan!”

It took you shaking his shoulders for him to come to, eyes widened and looking surprised to see you. “What? What’s going on?”

“You were having a nightmare.”

“Oh. Sorry.” He propped up on one elbow, running a hand through his dark curls. You adamantly kept your gaze from drifting to his chest, partially revealed in the white tank top he had worn to sleep in. “I, uh, been having a lot recently. Did I wake ya?”

“No,” you lied. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.”

You brought him a water. Sweat sheened his forehead but you suspected it was from the nightmare and not a fever from the infection. Still, you double checked the wound again. Some more pus oozed out along the edges that you cleaned up. It was clear, though, so nothing to worry about. Yet.

You bid him goodnight and moved to leave but felt a large hand grasp your wrist. “Would you, uh, would you mind stayin’?”

Surprised, you turned to him. His expression was so desperate, pleading, that you wordlessly agreed. Stan looked satisfied at this. You sat near his socked feet and pretended to sleep, though there was no way you could now. Not with him so close, so scantily dressed, raw and vulnerable.

It didn’t take long for him to lapse into another nightmare, twitching and muttering. Concerned, you reached over to console him. It was in that moment that he trapped you against his chest, looking for comfort, his heart beating furiously. You stilled. The nightmare slipped away but you were stuck, having fallen between his legs and lying completely on top of him. You did your best to wiggle free but he refused to budge.

Slowly, nervously, you put your head down. Stan, still asleep and unaware of the situation, kept his arms around you. He was big and warm and soft, and you were awfully tired. You reasoned that he needed his sleep, and if staying here meant that he could rest without disturbance, then you would happily fulfill this service for him.

It didn’t matter that you had dreamed of this before, cuddled up next to him, his shallow breaths rustling your hair. That you were overly awake of his hand on your hip, the way that you fit perfectly against him.

No. Nope.

You were just helping him out, like you did with his shoulder. Just helping out a friend.

A friend.

Right?

[sophiamarieispinkbunny-chan]

More in depth analysis about the Spy x Family Manga Cover Chairs and Bonus Artworks (Or me just overthinking Endo’s decisions in everything and as always long post, please bear with me)

So I wanted to talk about something that I noticed about the various designer chairs that is featured on all manga covers.

Endo did say that he thought about how each chair matches the personality of the character, regarding it’s style, design or the color.

But I like to talk about something different about the chairs-it’s size or the seating capacity and how it reflects the characters relationship with others or their views about relationships. Also, I’m going to share something significant about the comedic bonus arts that also feature the chairs.

This focus mainly about Loid, Yor and Anya‘s Chair (including Fiona’s Chair) and the bonus illustrations that came with it.

Volume 1-Loid’s Chair: Le Corbusier LC2

There are two versions of this chair in the manga/anime, the love seat and the one seater. Loid is seated in the one seater chair in this cover, it means no one can sit there with him that reflects how reluctant he was in letting other people in his life. He wasn’t open for relationships (You can notice that those who are like him, intelligence assets; Franky, Fiona, Handler all sit in one seating capacity chair).

The bonus artwork was Anya sitting on the chair copying his pose. She’s the most fitting person to be in this seat because she can see through Loid’s mind, she basically knows who he really is and she likes him for that. Anya was fond of spies and she was excited about being part of his mission.

Volume 2-Anya’s Chair: Marshmallow Sofa

Anya’s chair has a large seating capacity and she was sitting at the middle, waiting for the empty spots on her both sides to be occupied. This depicts Anya’s anticipation for forming relationship with other people, about her wanting parents, a family, to be there for her.

The bonus artwork was drunk Yor lying face flat on Anya’s chair. This artwork, for me, reflects Yor’s unwavering affection for Anya and Anya’s appreciation of Yor. Even drunk, she’s determined to protect her, as if she was her real daughter as seen during the castle chapter. She is fond of Anya.

Volume 3-Yor’s Chair: La Chaise (Featuring Fiona’s Heart Cone Chair)

This is the chair I wanted to talk about and I have to use Fiona’s Chair for this analysis for Endo said that Fiona is designed to be Yor’s contrast and we can clearly see it in their chairs.

The seating capacity of Yor and Fiona’s chair greatly differ. Yor’s chair was big, Endo pointed how it didn’t even fit the cover, and even though Fiona’s chair is big too, she’s the only person who could sit in it. Other people can fit Yor’s chair but not with Fiona. I analyze this as Yor being open to genuine relationships and selfless while Fiona being closed off and selfish.

We know Yor’s motivation for being an assassin was for Yuri, for the sake of other people, and what is Fiona’s motivation? Clearly it was mainly for Twilight to marry her, love her and it was evidently show with all that stuff hiding behind her chair. I’m sure she experienced a lot of traumatic stuff that led to her being a spy but I don’t see other praise worthy and selfless motivations from her that was aside Twilight’s affection. Don’t get me wrong, she’s an interesting character and she isn't a bad person but I’m not really a fan of her personality just like I don’t like Yuri’s obsession with her sister.

In Yor however, she has nothing under or behind her chair. Just that blood that wasn’t even behind or below her chair. She wasn’t faking anything about her personality. It’s true that she accepted her marriage to preserve her assassin job but she genuinely wanted to marry Loid because he was the one who acknowledged her selflessness and that was enough for her to completely entrust her life to him. She welcomed Loid and Anya to her life because her longing for a companion to share her life with is as big as the size of her chair.

The bonus art in Volume 3 was Loid sitting on her chair. Despite the comedic set up of these illustrations, I think the people who tend to sit on the chair on the bonus arts were the ones who gets the person on the cover the most.

That is why Anya is in Loid’s (Because she can read his mind) Why Yor is in Anya's (Because Yor lost her parents at a young age too and she knows how to care for Anya because she did that to Yuri) and why Loid is in Yor’s chair (Because Loid understood her self sacrifice because he too, is the same as her) Also why Anya and Bond are in the bonus of Volume 4 because the two of them get each other, being both experimented on.

I also have some analysis about Volume 5-12 and the bonus artworks as well, but I might post them in another time since I haven't seen the translated bonus artworks in Becky and Emile and Ewen's Volumes.

But let me know if this analysis makes sense to you.

[totowlff]

a monegasque horror story

➝ in the sun-soaked streets of monaco, you cross paths with a mysterious man named toto. drawn to each other by a shared love of classic cars, you quickly form an intimate bond, but beneath toto's charismatic exterior lies a web of secrets. as your relationship deepens, you discovers a chilling truth: toto isn't who he claims to be.

➝ word count: 2,9k

➝ warnings: mentions of death

➝ author’s note: i wrote this one shot for a little competition in the wolff pack server in discord. maybe it's a different tone that you are used to read here, but i hope you enjoy it!

It was a warm summer night in Monaco when you saw him for the first time. He was standing next to your car, looking at it closely. It wasn't unusual for the vehicle to attract attention, especially considering the model, which was only produced for a short period in the 1950s. After a few moments of silent observation, you cleared your throat.

— Is there a problem?

He lifted his head toward you, a shy smile appearing on his lips. In the dim light from a nearby streetlamp, you could swear he was blushing.

— Oh, well, no — the man stammered — Is it yours?

— Yes, it is.

Running a hand through his hair, he seemed a bit flustered, which was funny considering how imposing his presence appeared.

— A 1955 300 SL, right?

— That's right — you said, still feeling a bit tense in your shoulders — Have you seen one before?

— I had one — the man replied — Silver, with an all-red leather interior, a true work of art.

You nodded, agreeing with him. That was definitely your favorite car out of all the ones you'd ever owned, not just for the design, but for its personal meaning.

— I like it too. It was a gift…

— Oh, so it has sentimental value as well — he smiled, causing you to smile back. In your chest, you felt something different, but not uncomfortable. A kind of strange calm.

— Yes, my dad gave it to me when I moved here.

— So, you live around here? Not long, right? I’d remember seeing you, especially with a car like that…

— Yeah, not long. Just last month, actually.

— Ah, that explains it. By the way, what’s your name?

— Y/N — you replied, walking toward the driver's door and opening it — Well, I have to go…

— You can call me Toto — the man said, slipping his hands into the pockets of his jeans — See you around, Y/N.

Your second encounter with the man — Toto, as he’d introduced himself — was at a café on Plage du Larvotto, just over a week later. You had parked out front and were watching the movement on the boardwalk in front of the beach when a familiar voice called your name. Turning, you found him standing there, wearing the same white shirt and the same smile on his lips.

— Good morning, Y/N — Toto said, approaching you — What a coincidence seeing you here…

You shifted slightly in your chair, a small smile on your face.

— Well, it’s one of the most popular cafés in Monaco, isn’t it?

— True, but I thought you preferred quieter places. At least, that was the impression I got from the restaurant you were at that day — he replied, in a good-humored tone — But maybe I got it wrong…

— No, actually, you're right. But the coffee here is good enough to deal with all this movement.

Toto laughed, resting his hands on the back of the chair in front of you.

— It is, I really like this place. I used to come here a lot with my friend Flavio.

You raised an eyebrow.

— You don’t come here anymore?

He hesitated for a fraction of a second before smiling again.

— Not as often. But maybe I'll start coming again — Toto replied — I have a good reason now.

His words made your cheeks warm. You weren’t the shy type, but something about having a man like him focus on you made you feel different.

Special, that was the word.

The casual encounters around town soon turned into an invitation to dinner at a small restaurant in Port de Fontvieille. Of course, the night had its hiccups, like the maître d’ claiming there was no reservation in Toto Wolff’s name, which meant you had to wait almost an hour for a table.

However, nothing made you feel less excited about getting to know the man in front of you. Between sips of wine — which Toto politely declined — and bites of Parma ham bruschettas, he told you more about his life, his passion for cars, and how he almost became a race car driver.

— Clearly, I didn’t have the talent for it, so…

— So, you just stayed a spectator? — you suggested.

— Exactly — he answered, giving you a smile that made your heart skip a beat.

After dinner, you drove him back to Monte Carlo in your car — something that might seem unconventional, but perfectly appropriate considering you had met because of it — feeling a certain anxiety. You had never gone out with anyone since arriving in Monaco, making the whole situation feel brand new to you.

And the exact opposite for Toto.

— Well, here we are — you said, parking in front of Plage du Larvotto, where you’d met him earlier that evening.

— Yeah, we are — he replied, resting a hand dangerously close to your leg, exposed by the edge of your dress. That simple proximity sent a shiver through your skin, anticipation crackling at the back of your neck.

— You sure you don’t want me to drop you at your house?

— No, no need, I don’t want to take you out of your way…

— I don’t mind — you quickly replied — Besides, it means I can spend more time with you, right?

The corner of Toto’s mouth curled into an almost mischievous smile, his fingertips brushing against your thigh.

— How about spending the rest of the night with me, then?

That was the first time you had taken someone to your place after a date. It was also the first time you had slept with someone after a first date. And, even though every code of conduct and feminine etiquette said you shouldn’t, you couldn’t resist the desire to feel his touch against your skin.

The next morning, you woke up in Toto’s arms, feeling the warmth and softness of his skin. His calm breathing and the relaxed expression on his face made you certain there was no better place in the world to be than right there, in that bed, beside him.

— Good morning — he murmured, his voice husky with sleep — Did you sleep well?

— Good morning, yes, I did. And you?

— It was the best night’s sleep I’ve had in years — Toto chuckled, pulling you closer — I think I’ll start sleeping here with you every night.

— I wouldn’t mind — you replied, giving him a soft kiss on the lips.

And so it happened. That same week, Toto began sleeping at your place almost every night. Though, of course, his presence wasn’t exactly well received by your neighbors, who seemed to find it strange that a man suddenly appeared by your side. Maybe it was the fact that he was older or made little jokes in your ear that made you laugh loudly, which provoked suspicious whispers and disapproving glances.

— Let them look — Toto would say, kissing your forehead after you spent long minutes venting about how one of the neighbors suggested you see a psychiatrist to “deal with the man you were seeing” — Let them think what they want. What matters is what you think, right?

— Yes — you replied, nodding.

— And what do you think?

— That you’re the man of my life.

A smile of approval appeared on Toto’s lips. However, in the back of your mind, the voice of your neighbor still echoed in your ears. The concern in her eyes was burned into your memory, as if she knew something you didn’t about the man lying next to you.

Staring at the way Toto’s chest gently rose and fell, you felt like you were standing in front of an incomplete puzzle, with pieces that had gone missing. He was a good man, polite, sincere, no doubt about it. But the gaps in the story he had told you were too glaring to ignore.

Where did he live? What did he do for work? Where was his family from? Why didn’t he like having meals with you? How many white monogrammed shirts did he have? Why didn’t he have a phone?

Theories raced through your mind at an absurd speed. Maybe he was hiding from someone or from some organization. Maybe he had done something terrible and needed to keep a low profile. Had he killed someone? No, Toto wasn’t that type of person; he had always been so kind to you…

It was those questions that led you to type his full name into your work computer, your fingers trembling against the keyboard. The page took a few seconds to load images of Toto at luxurious events, accompanied by the last words you expected to read.

“Search for missing businessman called off.”

You clicked on the headline, hesitant. "This is impossible," you thought to yourself, your stomach churning.

In the article, the journalist wrote that, after a month of searching the Mediterranean Sea, the Monaco police had called off the operation, citing the strong coastal currents and the low likelihood of recovering the body.

The following paragraph was dedicated to Toto, referred to only as Christian Wolff, and his life. According to the article, he was a successful Austrian businessman whose investments in technology companies had made him a billionaire. Charismatic, he was a prominent figure in Monegasque society, along with his wife, Susie, and their son, Jack.

The discovery that the man you had been sleeping with for months was married with a young child made you want to vomit. Closing the page, you stood up from your desk and, with your bag over your shoulder, furiously drove back to your apartment, tears streaming down your face.

You wouldn’t be “the other woman.” You refused to be her.

When you opened the door, you found him sitting on the couch, reading a book. Upon seeing you, a wide smile appeared on his face.

— Ah, meine kleine! — Toto said, putting the book down on the cushion — You got back early…

— I left earlier — you managed to say, your voice trembling. You wanted to confront him, but the words wouldn’t come. All you could feel was the sensation of having been deceived all that time, of being just a toy. That realization made more tears run down your face, causing his smile to fade.

— Are you crying? Y/N, what happened?

— You lied to me.

His posture stiffened.

— Lied?

— Of course! — you shouted — You’re married!

— Y/N…

— Worse, you faked your own disappearance so no one would find you — you continued yelling, your sobs becoming deeper — You did it to restart your life with a new identity! You abandoned your family, you piece of shit!

Toto pressed his lips into a thin line.

— You don’t know what you’re talking about, Y/N.

— Don’t I? — you asked, in an ironic tone — How do I not know? I read it, Toto, I saw your pictures with her, with your son! You have a son, a wife, and you’re fucking another woman…

— I had! — he shouted, making you stop, your cheeks completely wet. Your breathing was shaky, as were your hands — I had, Y/N.

— What do you mean? — you stammered, sniffing — What are you talking about?

Toto stared at you for long seconds, as if trying to find the best way to explain it all. In your mind, you believed it was just a lousy excuse, a way for him to buy time to get away with it. "Typical scoundrel behavior", you thought to yourself, clenching your fists.

— Y/N, I had a family — he began, slowly approaching you — I had a wife, Susie, and a son with her, Jack. They were the people I loved most in the world, Y/N. I don’t think I ever loved anyone more than those two.

Your bottom lip trembled, your eyes filling with tears again. How could he say he loved them and betray them like that? How could he be so cynical?

— But they — Toto hesitated, placing his hands on his face. The words wouldn’t leave his mouth, as if they were too difficult to say. After a few seconds, he exhaled deeply — I can’t, Y/N.

— Can’t? What are you talking about?

— I need to show you, Y/N — he replied, his eyes full of sadness — You need to come with me.

An incredulous laugh escaped your lips.

— I’m not going anywhere with you, Toto. You lied to me, deceived me — you replied, anger seeping into your words, along with the tears.

— Please, you’ll understand, let me show you — Toto begged, desperation evident in his tone and the way his hands held your face — You need to hear me, Y/N. Please, meine kleine.

You couldn’t process anything after he called you by the affectionate nickname he had given you. Maybe it was his tone, or simply the desire to end all of this, that made you give a small nod, agreeing to let Toto take you to the place where everything would finally be revealed.

The drive was a blur. The curves of the French Riviera were blurred by your tears, but you held back the urge to sob. Until the car pulled over, the engine silencing, leaving only your breathing in the air. Wiping your eyes, you realized where you were; it was a spot where tourists usually stopped to take poetic pictures of the Mediterranean and the setting sun.

But at that moment, there was no poetry to be found.

Standing before the horizon, you heard Toto’s footsteps on the gravel. When he placed a hand on your arm, your skin tingled.

— Y/N — he murmured, his tone tense.

— Did you bring me here to try and convince me to keep being your mistress? To continue ignoring your family? — you retorted, staring into the void ahead. You knew that if you looked at Toto, you would start crying again. However, he didn’t back down, nor did he reproach you for the harsh tone.

— No, Y/N. I brought you here to tell you everything you need to know about me.

— There’s more I need to know besides what I already know?

— Yes — Toto said seriously — And the first is that Susie and Jack are dead.

You blinked, showing no reaction.

— They died five years ago in a car accident. Susie was driving back from the airport with Jack; they had gone to Scotland to visit her family. She lost control of the car and it flipped — he continued — They died instantly, there was no time to save them.

You stared at him for a long moment, searching for any sign that he might be lying, but all you found was sincerity.

— So, they’re not here?

— No. They’ve been gone for a long time, Y/N.

— Did they die here?

— No — Toto answered seriously — I died here.

Your heart skipped a beat, your eyes widening. Taking a step back, you were sure you had misheard. He couldn’t have said he died; it couldn’t be true. How could he be dead if he was standing right in front of you, breathing and full of pain in his eyes?

— What...

— I couldn’t bear living without them. I couldn’t handle the emptiness they left behind, Y/N. I wanted to see them again, so I took that car — he said, pointing to your car — And I came here.

— You jumped?

Toto nodded, stepping closer to you. The coastal wind tousled his hair, while the sun made his brown eyes gleam. How could he be dead when he was standing there, so alive and real in front of you?

— But you survived — you stammered.

— No. My body is trapped in a tangle of seaweed inside a cave down there. No one ever found me, despite the searches.

Your mind couldn’t process it; it felt completely surreal.

— But you’re here, standing right in front of me…

— Because I’m trapped, Y/N. Since no one found me, I’m stuck in this world, unable to move on, unable to reunite with my family.

— Toto — you murmured, tears streaming down your cheeks.

— You were the first person to see me since that day, Y/N — he said, caressing your face — I didn’t realize how much I needed to be seen until that day. You made me feel joy, hope…

— But you’re not here, Toto. You’re not, you’re not — you kept repeating, through sobs — I’m crazy, those people were right, I’m crazy.

— You’re not crazy, Y/N.

You stepped back, sniffling.

— How am I not, Toto? You don’t exist, you’re not here, I shouldn’t be able to see you!

— But you do, you hear me, you make me feel alive again — he said — You’re my salvation.

— I can’t…

Once again, he approached you, placing his hands on your face. They were strangely warm and comforting, despite belonging to a dead man. That word sent a shiver down your spine. Dead, he was a dead man. He had never been there, despite you seeing him.

— You can, meine kleine, I know you can. Trust me.

Feeling your heart pounding heavily in your chest, you simply nodded. You could, you were the one who could save him. You were the one who would save him.

Only you.

SEARCH FOR YOUNG WOMAN SOLVES ANOTHER COLD CASE

Monaco police announced today that the body found during the search for Y/N Y/L/N is that of Christian Wolff, an Austrian businessman and billionaire who lived in the principality. Wolff, who had been missing for about four years, was located in a rocky formation near Cap-d'Ail. Authorities stated that the discovery was an unexpected development in the search for Y/L/N, who remains missing.

The billionaire, known for his ventures in the financial sector, had mysteriously disappeared, sparking speculation about his whereabouts. The police have reopened the case and are now investigating the circumstances of his death; at the time, criminal involvement was ruled out as his car, a 1955 300 SL, was found near the location where he was last seen.

Authorities also confirmed that the search for Y/N Y/L/N continues, with the hope of finding her alive.

[ahqkas]

♯ GOD KNOWS I TRIED ; kit walker

PAIRING! kit walker x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS! kit is a true gentleman at heart, and he does what kind men do : he protects the ones he cares about ( based on this req.!! )

WORD COUNT! 4.1k

WARNINGS / TAGS! angst, fluff if you squint hard enough, mature / suggestive themes, briarcliff asylum warnings, sister jude and her punishments + lmk of more if found

NOTES! my man my man my man . all the credits to the devider bellow belong to @/v6que !!

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

THE RAIN FELL IN RELENTLESS CASCADE, DRUMMING AGAINST THE GLASS WINDOWS OF BRIARCLIFF ASYLUM. The night was clothed in darkness and the only source of provided light was the occasional flash of lightning that illuminated the gothic architecture of the asylum. The heavy rain had changed the surrounding landscape into a dark blur. The expansive green lawn, overgrown and wild, seemed like it came out of a horror story with its ghostly flashes, revealing the twisted forms of ancient trees and the labyrinthine tangle of bushes. The wrought iron gates, their ornate designs now almost swallowed by the storm, groaned softly as they were tossed around by the wind. 

Inside, the atmosphere was equally grim. The asylum's corridors, long and narrow, were bathed in a dim, flickering light from the aging fluorescent fixtures that barely pierced the gloom. Each flash of lightning revealed glimpses of the asylum's interior: the scattered, old furniture, the barred windows, and the heavy, locked doors. The harsh light highlighted the grim details of the inside — rusting fixtures, peeling paint, and the long shadows cast by the iron bars on the windows. 

The nuns had decided to host one of the famous movie nights. It was a tradition they upheld during every stormy night in an attempt to calm down the residents who would become agitated by the loudness that came with the storm. 

The main common room had been transformed for the occasion. The dim, oppressive lighting was softened by the warm, flickering glow of a makeshift projector setup, casting a gentle, almost nostalgic light across the room. The walls, lined with faded, institutional artwork and peeling paint, were obscured by heavy, tattered curtains that had been drawn over the windows to shield the patients' wandering eyes from the storm's fury outside. The dusty curtains hung in uneven folds. The nuns had also arranged a selection of worn, overstuffed chairs and mismatched couches in a semi-circle around the small projector that sat on a makeshift table. The screen was a large, slightly yellowed sheet stretched taut across a wooden frame and its surface bore the scars of countless previous showings. 

You sat on one of the overstuffed couches positioned in the back row of the common room, your figure partially hidden by the shadows cast by the dim light of the projector. The couch you occupied was a faded, floral-patterned relic, its cushions soft and sagging from years of use. The upholstery, once vibrant, had long since dulled to a muted palette, its once-bright colors now blended into the overall gloom of the room. Everything was dull here in Briarcliff. Your posture was relaxed because of the warmth the man beside you provided. 

Kit Walker, a kind man once you got to know him, was the sanest person in the whole building besides yourself and you were glad to form an alliance with him. Although, there were feelings nestled deep inside you, ones you didn't have to say out loud for him to see and feel. That man had a strong jawline and high cheekbones that gave him a chiseled, almost heroic appearance and that alone gave your knees the right amount of shake to fall for him. You found out he had a natural ability to really listen and offer comfort and he carried himself with a quiet dignity, not seeking validation or praise but simply remaining true to himself despite the circumstances. 

Kit Walker was the man of your dreams.

The screen was currently displaying an old, black-and-white film, its grainy images flickering in sync with the erratic flashes of lightning outside but you couldn't force yourself to pay any amount of attention to the supposed entertainment. The film's dramatic scenes, with their exaggerated gestures and artificial emotions, seemed almost absurd compared to the thoughts that were dedicated to the man sitting next to you. 

And the same could be said about Kit. The way the occasional light from the projector cast soft highlights across your features, emphasizing the curve of your cheek and the depth of your eyes, made you seem almost ethereal and Kit was losing it. None of the workers could force him to sit on the moldy couch and torture himself with boredom when you sat quietly beside him, distracting him with just simply being there. 

He noticed your subtle, distracted glances toward the screen, but your eyes lingered more on him than on the film.  Kit could feel the way your eyes followed the play of light and shadow across his face, how you seemed to be drawn to the warmth he provided rather than the outdated drama on the screen. He found himself smiling softly to himself at your distraction with a knowing look in his eyes. You wanted him as badly as he wanted you. 

Leaning slightly closer to your body, Kit's voice was low and warm as it hit the side of your face, barely above a whisper to avoid breaking the fragile atmosphere that had settled around the two of you. "You know," he began and a hint of playful amusement appeared in his tone, "we don't really have to stay here if we're not into the movie." 

"What do you mean?" you asked in the same tone as him, your voice a gentle murmur that barely competed with the distant hum of the projector. When you exhaled, the warm air hit Kit's face. 

Kit's honey-brown irises shimmered in the darkness, and he subtly nodded toward the exit of the dimly lit room, where the storm outside was barely audible against the noise of the film. "I was thinking . . . maybe we could sneak away, find a quieter spot where we can actually do whatever we want. What do you think?"

The suggestion was simple, yet it carried the promise of a more intimate and personal escape from the boredom of the asylum's common room. The thought of stepping away from the dreary atmosphere was an enticing one. Yet, the fear of feeling Sister Jude's sick pleasure held you back. Sister Jude, with her sharp eyes and ever sharper tongue, seemed to delight in catching the patients of the asylum in any moment of weakness or rebellion. Her authority was absolute, an iron hand that loomed over every corner of Briarcliff, and the idea of stepping out of line — even for a brief moment — carried a weighty sense of risk. You could already imagine the way Sister Jude's eyes would narrow in satisfaction, her lips curling into that smug, almost sadistic smile she reserved for moments when she exerted her control. 

You still remember what she did to Grace. What she did to Lana. 

And yet, the allure of escaping with Kit, even just for a little while, was difficult to resist. 

"I don't know, Kit," you whispered in a trembling voice as you voiced your worries to him. "What if we get caught? You know how Sister Jude is. She'd make an example out of us, and I — I don't think I could handle that. I don't want to give her the satisfaction."

He could see the fear in your eyes, the way it held you back, and it only made him more determined to protect you. "[Name]," he said gently, his voice low and reassuring, "nothing's going to happen. I promise you that. We'll be careful, okay? And even if something does happen, even if Sister Jude catches us, I'll take the blame. She won't lay a finger on you."

"Kit..." you began but he cut you off with a slight squeeze of your hand. You didn't question when he took hold of your palm. 

"Trust me, [Name]," he murmured, his thumb gently brushing over your knuckles repeatedly. "I won't let her touch you. I'll take the heat if it comes to that. But right now, let's just get out of here, even if it's just for a little while. We deserve that much, don't we?" 

There was a warmth in his voice, a quiet strength meant to reassure you in ways nothing else at Briarcliff ever could. Kit was right — both of you did deserve this. And you could use the sweet release from the asylum's cruel grasp. 

You took a deep breath, nodding slightly as you made up your mind. "Okay," you whispered into the darkness. Kit could feel the touch of your words against his lips. "Okay, let's go." 

His hand was firm and reassuring as he helped you to your feet. Every movement of his was carefully done, as if even the slightest noise could shatter the fragile veil of secrecy he had cast over the both of you. The dim light of the common room flickered weakly, casting long shadows across the floor, but you moved with purpose, slipping quietly through the rows of seats, avoiding the eyes of the staff and the other patients who were too engrossed in the film to notice your departure. Sister Jude should hire more responsible staff. 

Once you reached the doorway, Kit paused, glancing back to ensure no one was watching before gently guiding you with a strong hand against your lower back into the darkened corridor beyond. The heavy wooden door closed behind you with a soft creak, and the two of you were finally alone, the distant sound of the movie a only faint hum behind. You moved quickly through the long, lonely corridors of Briarcliff Asylum, footsteps barely audible on the cold, tiled floors. The rain continued its assault on the windows with no sight of stopping. Kit led the way, his grip on your hand never faltering. 

As the both of you rounded a corner, the sound of distant voices reached your ears — staff members making their rounds. Kit's fingers tightened his hold on yours, pulling you closer as you pressed yourself against the wall, breaths held in unison. The voices grew louder for a moment, then faded as the staff continued down another corridor, oblivious to the two figures hidden in the shadows. Relief washed over you along with the vivid pictures of Sister Jude's punishment. You needed to find a place to hide, somewhere quiet where you could steal a few moments of peace away from the watchful eyes.

Finally, you reached the heavy metal doors of the kitchen, pushed open just enough to allow a sliver of light to escape into the dark corridor. Kit glanced around to ensure you were alone before gently pulling the door open wider, gesturing for you to slip inside first. He followed right after you. 

The kitchen was quiet, dimly lit by a single overhead light that cast a soft glow across the industrial steel countertops and rows of neatly organized utensils. The scent of cleaning supplies mingled with the faint aroma of fresh bread that had long since been cleared away. 

And before either of you could think or second-guess, you were drawn together like magnets. Kit leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was both tender and filled with urgency. The kiss deepened quickly though, passion flaring between the two of you like a wildfire as everything else faded away — the asylum, the storm, the fear. All that mattered was this moment, this connection. His hands found their way to the small of your back for the second time this evening, pulling you closer as his lips moved against yours with a hunger that matched your own. You responded in kind, slender fingers threading through his hair, tugging him closer as if afraid that letting go would mean losing this fleeting moment of intimacy. 

The heat of the kiss spread through you both when Kit's strong hands slid down to the bottom of your thighs, lifting you effortlessly as your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. The feel of your body against his was intoxicating, and he moved with purpose, carrying you to the nearest counter. With a fast and urgent motion, he set you down on the cool steel surface, hands brushing aside utensils and making space for you, painting his hands with flour in the process.

Your heart raced as Kit's hands roamed your body, exploring with both desire and respect. His touch was precise as if he was memorizing every curve, every inch of your skin to remember for the rest of his days. He kissed you again, this time slower, savoring the taste of your lips as his hands moved from your waist to your hips, then slowly up to your back, pulling you closer to his body and hiking your knees up even more, leaving white fingertips in their path.

You responded in kind, hands tracing the sculpted lines of his shoulders, down his chest, feeling the muscles beneath the fabric of his shirt. There was something so raw, so real about the way he touched you — as if this was the first time in a long time he had felt truly alive. Your fingers danced across his skin, exploring the planes of his body with the same amount of desire. Kit's hands slid up your sides and under the hem of your gown, his thumbs brushing against the soft skin just above your underwear, creating a shiver that traveled down your spine. You arched into his touch, breath hitching as you felt the tension coil tighter within you. 

"Kit . . . I—" you couldn't finish your sentence, the words lost in a breathless moan as his hands wandered lower, his touch sending waves of pleasure through you. 

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his breath hot and ragged against your lips. The intensity in his gaze was undeniable, a mixture of raw desire and something deeper, something that made your heart pound even harder. That look — told you how much he wanted you, how much he needed this, how much he needed you — made you tighten your legs around his waist. "I've got you," he whispered, his voice rough. It was a look that made your heart race and your body ache for more. 

The door swung open with a suddenness that shattered the intimate bubble you had created, the sound echoing off the cold, sterile walls of the kitchen. Kit froze, his grip on your hips tightening instinctively as you both turned toward the intrusion. The harsh overhead light of the corridor spilled into the room, illuminating the figures standing in the doorway.

A tall, stern-looking man in the uniform of the asylum staff stood there, his eyes narrowing as they fell upon Kit and you. His presence was imposing, his broad shoulders blocking out most of the light from the hallway, but it was the figure behind him that sent a jolt of fear through your chest.

Sister Jude.

She stood in the doorway like a dark omen, her presence dominating the small, dimly lit kitchen. The air around her seemed to chill, as if the very atmosphere cooled from her disapproving gaze. She didn't need to raise her voice to command attention; her mere presence demanded it. The rosary beads hanging from her waist clicked softly as she took a measured step forward, the sound eerie in the tense silence of the room.

The staff member followed the head of this asylum, his eyes flicking between Kit and you, the disdain in his expression unmistakable. "Found them, Sister Jude," he said with a cruel satisfaction. "Just like you suspected."

Kit quickly released you and his hands dropped from your hips to tug at your gown. The least he could do was to save your modesty as much as he could. The man stepped back, positioning himself slightly in front of you as if to shield you from the inevitable wrath of Sister Jude. Your heart pounded in your chest, the warmth of the moment disappearing into the cold reality of the situation just like Kit's hands. 

Sister Jude's icy gaze shifted from the staff member to Kit, and then to you, her brown irises narrowing further. "Well, well," she began loudly, her voice echoing in the silent room, cutting through the tension easily. "I always knew you had a penchant for trouble, Mr. Walker, but this . . . This is a new low, even for you." She took a step closer to you,��her heels clicking ominously against the tiled floor. "And you, Miss [Last name] . . . I expected better." 

The weight of her words pressed down like a leaden shroud, suffocating any remaining trace of the warmth and connection that had filled the room just moments before. It was as if the very walls of Briarcliff had closed in around you both, trapping you in.

Kit stood his ground, though every instinct screamed at him to protect you from the storm that was about to break. His jaw clenched tightly, the muscles in his neck tensing as he fought to maintain his composure. His hands, which had just moments ago been tenderly caressing your skin, now curled into fists at his sides. But beneath that facade, there was also a flicker of fear — not for himself, but for what you might endure at the hands of Sister Jude if his plans failed. He squared his shoulders, drawing himself up to his full height, and locked eyes with the cold woman before him. "It was my idea," Kit declared, his voice firm and unwavering despite the tension that crackled in the air like a live wire. "Leave her out of this." His words were a shield, a desperate attempt to keep his promise, to protect you from the consequences that he feared would be far worse for you than for him.

Sister Jude's eyes flickered with something that you couldn't quite place — an emotion that lingered somewhere between suspicion and a twisted, almost predatory satisfaction. Her thin lips curled into a faint, humorless smile, and the cold glint in her eyes seemed to sharpen, as if she were savoring the moment. She took another slow step forward and her gaze shifted from Kit to you, who stood just behind him, face paler than usual.

"Oh, I have no doubt it was, Mr. Walker," each word was enunciated with deliberate precision, as though she were savoring the power she held over the two of you. "But both of you will be held accountable for this . . . indiscretion."

"I'm the one who's responsible," Kit's voice cut through the oppressive silence with a determined edge. "It was my idea, and I should be the one held accountable. Leave [Name] out of this."

Sister Jude's expression flickered with a moment of surprise, but it quickly settled back into its usual look. Her eyes narrowed as she took in Kit's words, her mind no doubt calculating how best to respond to his unexpected act of bravery. "Very well," she said, her tone clipped and devoid of sympathy. "If you insist on taking the blame, then you will be the one to bear the consequences." The woman turned her attention to the staff member who had followed her into the kitchen. "Go to my office. Fetch the cane. The one I reserve for my favorite patients."

The staff member's brow furrowed slightly, but he didn't hesitate. He gave a curt nod and turned on his heel, disappearing through the door with a purposeful stride. The sound of his footsteps echoed faintly down the corridor as he made his way to retrieve the instrument of punishment.

Sister Jude's gaze returned to Kit and Dahlia, her expression unrelenting. "You've chosen to make this difficult for yourself, Mr. Walker," she said, her voice dripping with a cold satisfaction. "And while I commend your misguided sense of honor, it changes nothing about the punishment that awaits you. And you, miss [Last name], shall watch what happens once stupidity takes over the mind."

Your heart ached at the sight of Kit standing his ground, his body tense with the weight of his decision. You wanted to protest, to beg Sister Jude to reconsider, but the words caught in your throat, choked by the sheer weight of the situation. Instead, you reached out, your hand trembling as you grasped Kit's arm, trying to offer some measure of comfort and support.

Kit looked down at you, his eyes softening just for a moment before he turned his attention back to Sister Jude. "Whatever you're planning, I can take it."

"Your bravery is noted. But bravery will not protect you from the consequences of your actions."

The staff member returned, carrying the cane with a deliberate and solemn expression. The cane was an old-fashioned implement, its polished wood gleaming menacingly under the kitchen's harsh lights. It was a feared symbol of discipline, one that had seen many hands and many uses over the years, and its presence in the room only heightened the sense of dread.

Sister Jude took the cane from the staff member, her fingers tracing its surface with a possessive, almost reverent touch. "This is the cane I reserve for my most . . . memorable patients," she said, her voice low and chilling. "It is reserved for those who require a lesson in obedience. You will stay and watch. This is part of your lesson as well — understanding the consequences of defiance."

Kit's pants were pulled down by the staff member, exposing his bare bottom to the cold air of the kitchen. The sight of his exposed skin, vulnerable and waiting, was a sharp contrast to the determined set of his jaw. He braced himself against the edge of the kitchen counter, his knuckles white as he gripped the surface for support.

The cane was held firmly in her hand, and Sister Jude raised it with a practiced ease, preparing to deliver the first stroke. The sharp whoosh of the cane slicing through the air was followed by a resounding crack as it made contact with Kit's bare skin. The sound was a brutal reminder of the severity of the punishment, and Kit's body tensed, a muffled grunt escaping his lips as the sting of the cane seared into his flesh. The printed redness flared bright against the pale tone of his skin. 

Your eyes filled with tears as you watched, heart breaking at the sight of Kit's suffering. The sight of his reddened skin, the way his body flinched with each stroke, was almost too much to bear. Every crack of the cane seemed to echo through your own chest and you felt like throwing up. 

The punishment was relentless, each crack of the cane drawing a sharp gasp or low moan from Kit, his breath coming in ragged, uneven bursts. His eyes remained fixed straight ahead, and he tried to maintain his composure, though the strain of the punishment was evident in the tension of his muscles and the way his body shook with each hit. His only concession to the agony was the occasional clenching of his jaw and the muffled sounds that escaped him.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Sister Jude stepped back, her breath even and controlled. The cane was lowered, and she regarded Kit with a look of detached satisfaction, as if the punishment had been a necessary chore rather than an act of cruelty.

Kit's body slumped slightly, his breathing ragged and labored as he tried to regain his composure. His bottom was marked with the angry red welts of the punishment, the skin raw and tender from the relentless strokes of the cane. Your eyes were filled with anguish as you looked at him, the man who had taken the blame upon himself to protect you.

Sister Jude's gaze then turned to you, her expression one of stern disapproval, before she and the staff member exited the kitchen. "You've seen what happens when rules are broken. Let this be a lesson to you." 

Your heart raced, pulse pounding in your ears as you rushed to Kit's side. Your movements were frantic, driven by a desperate need to offer him some measure of comfort and relief from the suffering he had endured. Tears streamed down your cheeks, blurring your vision as you approached him, hands trembling more than ever as you reached out to touch him. "Kit, I'm so sorry."

Kit turned his head slightly to look at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of pain and something softer, a flicker of gratitude for your concern. He took a deep, shuddering breath and attempted to straighten up, though his body protested with each movement. "Don't," he said softly, his hand reaching out to drape over your shoulders for support. "It's not your fault. I chose this. And I would do it again."

[hd-junglebook]

Little Dove

Quinn Hughes x Reader

masterlist link

a:n This is part 1 and officially my first ever Quinn Hughes fic, this series will be pretty long since I want to get into the details and emotions. There will be no skimping on details. Not round here partner.

also he looks so good in this gif good god!

summary: Sometimes Y/N's effort just isn't enough; every attempt seems to be futile and disregarded. The people she calls mom and dad do nothing but disappoint her, brushing her off as an ungrateful child. It seems the only person who can truly see her is Quinn.

Word Count - 4140

...

The sun had barely begun to peek through the towering skyscrapers of the bustling city as Y/N stepped out of her sleek, black car. Her red bottom heels clicked against the pavement with each confident stride, the sound echoing through the quiet morning air. She adjusted her perfectly tailored skirt, smoothing out any wrinkles that may have formed during her commute.

As she approached the imposing glass doors of her parents' company headquarters, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of unease.

Despite the success and prestige that came with working for her family's business, Y/N knew deep down that this wasn't her true calling. Nevertheless, she put on a brave face and pushed through the doors, ready to tackle another day.

The security guard, a friendly older gentleman named Frank, greeted her with a warm smile. "Good morning, Miss Y/N," he said, tipping his hat in her direction.

Y/N returned the smile, her red lipstick a striking contrast against her porcelain skin. "Good morning, Frank. I hope you had a lovely weekend," she replied, her voice smooth and polished, befitting her corporate persona.

As she made her way through the spacious lobby, her heels clicked against the polished marble floor, announcing her presence to the few early risers already at their desks. She entered the elevator and pressed the button for the top floor, where her office was located.

Stepping out into the hallway, Y/N was greeted by the sight of her office, its glass walls doing little to provide privacy. The modern, minimalist design was a reflection of her parents' tastes rather than her own. She sighed.

With a deep breath, Y/N pushed open the glass door and entered her office, ready to start another day in a job that left her feeling unfulfilled, yearning for something more.

Y/N settled into her plush, ergonomic chair, the leather cool against her skin. She reached forward and pressed the power button on her sleek, silver computer, watching as the screen flickered to life. The familiar logo of her parents' company appeared, a constant reminder of her obligations and the path she felt pressured to follow.

The computer hummed quietly, Y/N began to sort through the stack of paperwork on her desk. She picked up a folder, her perfectly manicured nails a stark contrast against the crisp, white paper. Just as she was about to open the file, a buzzing sound emanated from her designer purse.

Curiosity piqued, Y/N reached into her bag and retrieved her phone. The screen displayed a new text message, and her heart skipped a beat as she read the name: Quinn. she opened the message.

"Hey princess," the text read, the words both endearing and frustrating.

Y/N sighed, leaning back in her chair as she contemplated her response. Quinn had a way of blurring the lines between playful banter and genuine affection, leaving her constantly questioning the nature of their relationship. His messages were often short and casual, but the term of endearment he used never failed to send a flutter through her chest.

Despite his repeated claims that he wasn't looking for anything serious, Quinn seemed to take pleasure in pushing the boundaries, leaving Y/N in a state of confusion and longing.

She knew she shouldn't let herself get too attached, but there was something about him that drew her in, making it difficult to maintain the emotional distance she knew was necessary.

With another sigh, Y/N set her phone back down on the desk, trying to focus on the task at hand. She knew she needed to establish clearer boundaries with Quinn, but the thought of pushing him away completely left an ache in her heart.

Y/n shook her head, attempting to clear her mind and concentrate on the paperwork before her, even as thoughts of Quinn lingered in the back of her mind.

…

Y/N's attention was drawn away from her mother's presentation as her phone buzzed once more. She discreetly glanced at the screen under the table, her heart racing as she saw Quinn's name appear again. Her cheeks flushed with a mixture of excitement and guilt as she read his messages.

"I miss you," the first text read, causing a warmth to spread through her chest. Before she could fully process the implications of his words, another message followed: "Are we still good for tmrw?"

Y/N's mind raced as she contemplated her response. She had agreed to go out with Quinn for dinner tomorrow, a decision she had made in a moment of weakness, longing for the thrill of his company.

Now, sitting in the business room with her parents, the reality of her situation came crashing down upon her.

She glanced up, her eyes meeting her father's stern gaze from across the table. He sat in his imposing grey chair, his posture straight and attentive as he listened to Dedra's presentation.

Y/N knew that her parents had high expectations for her, and the thought of disappointing them weighed heavily on her conscience.

As Dedra continued to explain the new company policy, Y/N found it increasingly difficult to focus. Her mind wandered to thoughts of Quinn, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, and the effortless charm he exuded. She yearned to respond to his messages, to confirm their plans and lose herself in the excitement of their secret rendezvous.

Y/N's heart raced as she quickly typed out her response to Quinn, her fingers flying across the screen. She glanced up every few seconds, ensuring that her parents were still engaged in the presentation. With a final look of determination, she pressed send, a small thrill running through her body.

Almost instantly, her phone buzzed with Quinn's reply. "Wear that red dress I bought you."

Y/N's eyebrows raised in surprise, a smirk playing on her lips as she typed back, "The v neck dress?"

"Yeah, that one."

"I will ;), I have to go back to work, I'll text you later." Y/N sent the message, a giddy feeling bubbling up inside her chest. However, her momentary happiness was short-lived as she felt a sharp kick under the table. Her eyes snapped up to meet her father's disapproving gaze, his brow furrowed in irritation.

the meeting concluded around her, Y/N's coworkers filed out of the room, muttering their polite goodbyes. Soon, only Y/N and her parents remained, the tension in the air palpable. Her mother fixed her with a stern look, her voice laced with disappointment.

"Y/N, you're not taking this as seriously as you need to be. This will be you one day." She paused, her eyes narrowing. "Who were you talking to?"

Y/N's heart sank, knowing that lying to her parents would only make matters worse. She opened her mouth to respond, but her father cut her off.

"Was it that hockey guy?" He scoffed, his tone dripping with disdain. "He sucks, he'll never be good enough. I should've paid him off four months ago if I knew he'd be such a distraction."

Y/N's cheeks burned with a mixture of shame and anger. She hated the way her parents spoke about Quinn, as if he were nothing more than a nuisance to be dealt with. She knew they would never approve of their relationship but hearing them talk about him so callously only strengthened her resolve.

Taking a deep breath, Y/N met her parents' gazes, her voice steady despite the turmoil within her. "Quinn, and he's not a distraction.” Her mother's lips pressed into a thin line, disapproval etched into every line of her face.

Y/N's parents exchanged a knowing glance, their eyes filled with a mixture of disappointment and condescension. Her mother, Dedra, was a striking woman in her mid-50s, with perfectly coiffed blonde hair and a designer suit that hugged her slender frame.

Her father, Derek, was a tall, imposing man with salt-and-pepper hair and a perpetual scowl that seemed etched into his chiseled features.

Dedra leaned forward, her elbows resting on the polished mahogany table. "Y/N, darling," she began, her voice dripping with false sweetness, "you know we only want what's best for you. This... Quinn," she said his name as if it left a bitter taste in her mouth, "he's not good for you. He's a distraction, a phase. You'll see that soon enough."

Y/N felt her stomach twist, the all-too-familiar sensation of her parents' manipulation taking hold. She opened her mouth to protest, but Derek cut her off with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Enough, Y/N," he growled, his deep voice reverberating through the empty conference room. "You're not a child anymore. It's time you started acting like the adult you claim to be. This company, this life we've built for you - it's all we've ever wanted for you. And you're throwing it away for some lowlife hockey player who barely even made it to the big leagues."

Y/N's cheeks burned with anger and humiliation. She hated the way her parents made her feel, as if her thoughts and feelings were invalid, as if she were nothing more than a pawn in their grand scheme.

Dedra reached across the table, her perfectly manicured hand grasping Y/N's wrist. "Sweetheart," she said, her tone softening, "we love you. We just don't want to see you get hurt. Men like Quinn... they're not in it for the long haul. They'll use you, break your heart, and move on to the next pretty face. You deserve so much more than that."

Y/N felt tears prickling at the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them back, refusing to let her parents see her weakness. She knew they were wrong about Quinn, but their words still cut deep, playing on her insecurities and fears.

Derek stood up, his tall frame looming over her. "This discussion is over, Y/N. You'll end things with this Quinn character, and you'll focus on your work. Your future. Do I make myself clear?"

Y/N swallowed hard, her throat tight with emotion. She wanted to scream, to tell her parents that they had no right to control her life, but she knew it would be futile. With a curt nod, she pushed back from the table and stood up, her legs shaking beneath her.

"I have work to do," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "If you'll excuse me."

Without waiting for a response, Y/N turned on her heel and strode out of the conference room, her heart hammering in her chest.

…

The clock on the wall seemed to move at an agonizingly slow pace, each tick echoing through the cramped office space. Y/N leaned back in her chair, the leather creaking beneath her weight as she stared blankly at the computer screen.

The fluorescent lights above cast a harsh glow on her features, highlighting the dark circles under her eyes and the tension in her jaw.

Around her, the office hummed with activity, the sound of ringing phones and the gentle whir of computers filling the air. Y/N felt suffocated by the monotony of it all, the endless hours spent hunched over her desk, pouring over spreadsheets and reports.

As the clock finally struck three, Y/N let out a sigh of relief, the thought of going home filling her with a sense of euphoria. She could almost feel the soft embrace of her couch, the warmth of a glass of wine in her hand as she left the stresses of the day behind.

Just as she was about to log off her computer, a sharp knock at the door startled her from her thoughts. Alexandra, the secretary, peeked her head in, her perfectly styled hair and immaculate makeup a stark contrast to Y/N's tired appearance.

"I sent some of the paperwork to your email," Alexandra said, her voice saccharine sweet. "If you could just finish those up before you leave, that'd help a lot."

Y/N felt a surge of anger course through her veins, her patience wearing thin. She fixed Alexandra with a cold stare, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "It's three. I get to go home now, you know, like a normal person."

Alexandra's eyes narrowed, her lips pursing in disapproval. Y/N knew that the secretary had always treated her like nothing more than a privileged nepo baby, completely disregarding the fact that Y/N had never used her family's influence to step on any toes or make people do her bidding.

Y/N stood up from her chair, grabbing her purse and jacket from the back of her seat. She could feel Alexandra's eyes boring into her back as she made her way towards the door, but she refused to give the woman the satisfaction of seeing her frustration.

"I'll take care of it in the morning," Y/N said, her hand on the doorknob. "Have a good night, Alexandra."

Without waiting for a response, Y/N stepped out of her office, the sound of her heels clicking against the tiled floor as she made her way towards the elevators.

She could feel the weight of the day lifting from her shoulders with each step, the promise of freedom and the warmth of her bath calling to her like a siren song.

As the elevator doors closed behind her, Y/N let out a deep breath, her eyes fluttering closed as she leaned back against the cool metal wall. She knew that the road ahead would be filled with obstacles, but for now, all she wanted was to lose herself in the comfort of Quinn's arms and forget about the expectations and pressures that threatened to suffocate her.

…

The faucet let out a high-pitched squeak as Y/N twisted the gleaming chrome knob, the sound echoing off the tiled walls of the dimly lit bathroom. The flow of water slowed to a trickle before stopping completely, leaving behind a tub filled with steaming, inviting water.

Tendrils of steam rose from the water, carrying with them the intoxicating aroma.

With a fluid motion, Y/N untied the sash of her plush, white bathrobe, the soft fabric slipping off her shoulders and pooling at her feet. The cool air kissed her bare skin, sending a slight shiver down her spine as she stepped closer to the tub.

Tentatively, she dipped a toe into the water, testing the temperature. The heat was intense, but not unbearable, and Y/N slowly lowered herself into the bath, letting out a contented sigh as the warm water enveloped her body.

The water lapped at her shoulders, the heat penetrating her tired muscles and easing away the knots and tension that had accumulated throughout the day.

Y/N sank deeper into the rose petal-filled bathwater, the sweet, floral aroma wafting through the steamy air. The soft, delicate petals brushed against her skin, their velvety touch a gentle caress. She inhaled deeply, the scent of roses mingling with the subtle vanilla notes of her favorite candle, creating a soothing, intimate atmosphere.

As she leaned back, her hair cascaded over the edge of the tub, the ends dipping into the water and creating gentle ripples on the surface. Her eyes fluttered closed, lashes casting shadows on her flushed cheeks, a result of the bath's intense heat.

The tranquil moment was interrupted by the buzzing of her phone, its vibration echoing through the bathroom. Y/N's eyes snapped open, a curious expression on her face as she reached for the device.

Quinn's name flashed across the screen, his photo – a candid shot of him grinning widely, his dark hair tousled by the wind – accompanying the incoming call.

A smile tugged at the corners of Y/N's lips as she lifted herself from the bath, water droplets cascading down her smooth, sun-kissed skin. She grabbed the phone, tapping the screen to answer the call and putting it on speaker.

"Hi, hottie," Y/N greeted, her voice playful and warm.

Quinn's nerdy, endearing voice filled the bathroom, a chuckle evident in his tone. "Hey there, beautiful. How's my favorite girl doing tonight?"

Y/N reached for her glass of wine, the deep, rich red liquid swirling in the crystal glass. She took a sip, savoring the bold, fruity flavors on her tongue before responding. "Oh, you know, just unwinding after a long day at the office. How about you, handsome?"

"Counting down the minutes until I get to see you tomorrow," Quinn replied, a hint of mischief in his voice. "I can't stop thinking about how stunning you'll look in that red dress."

Y/N laughed softly, her cheeks flushing a deeper shade of pink. She set the wine glass down, running her fingers through her damp hair, pushing it away from her face. "Mmm, you sure know how to make a girl feel special," she purred, her tone flirtatious.

"That's because you are special, Y/N," Quinn said, his voice softening. "I can't wait to have you all to myself tomorrow. No work, no distractions, just you and me."

Y/N's heart fluttered at his words, a giddy feeling spreading through her chest. She bit her lower lip, a coy smile playing on her features. "I like the sound of that," she murmured, her voice low and sultry. "You better be prepared to sweep me off my feet, mister."

Quinn's laughter filled the bathroom, warm and infectious. "Oh, I have a few tricks up my sleeve, don't you worry."

As they continued their playful banter, Y/N sank back into the bath, the warm water enveloping her once more. She closed her eyes, a contented sigh escaping her lips as she listened to Quinn's voice, the sound soothing her soul and filling her with anticipation for the day to come.

…

As the morning sun filtered through the sheer curtains, casting a soft, golden glow across the bedroom, Y/N's phone buzzed incessantly on the nightstand. The vibrations seemed to echo through the tranquil space, a jarring contrast to the peaceful atmosphere.

Beyond the window, the vibrant green of the trees and grass was visible, a testament to the beauty of the early morning.

The bedroom was a serene oasis, with its pristine white decor creating a sense of calm and comfort. The plush, white comforter enveloped Y/N, its softness lulling her into a state of drowsy contentment.

Y/N stirred, mumbling incoherently as she slowly turned over, her eyelids fluttering open. She squinted, her eyes adjusting to the bright sunlight that flooded the room. As she reached for her phone, the alarm blared to life, the glowing digits on the nightstand displaying a crisp 7:00 AM.

With a groan, Y/N sat up, her hand instinctively reaching for her phone. As she unlocked the device, she was greeted by a string of texts from her mother, Dedra. The messages, even in their digital form, seemed to drip with condescension.

"Y/N, don't forget about the family brunch today. Your father and I expect you to be there, and please, try to look presentable. We have important guests attending, and we can't have you embarrassing us like last time. And do try to be on time, darling. Punctuality is a virtue, after all."

Rolling her eyes, Y/N tossed her phone aside and begrudgingly dragged herself out of bed. She went about her morning routine, selecting a chic and appropriate outfit for the brunch and work before making her way to the kitchen.

As she entered the heart of her home, Y/N couldn't help but smile. The space was everything she had ever dreamed of – a perfect blend of modern elegance and cozy charm. She moved towards the kitchen island, her bare feet padding softly against the cool, hardwood floors.

While her coffee brewed, filling the air with its rich, invigorating aroma, Y/N leaned back against the island, her eyes drifting to the television mounted on the wall. The familiar characters of The 100, flashed across the screen.

She sipped her coffee, savoring the warmth and comfort it provided, as she lost herself in the post-apocalyptic world unfolding before her.

Y/N glanced at her watch, the sleek hands pointing to 8:30, a frustrated huff escaped her lips. She quickly shut off the television and grabbed her essentials, making her way out of the apartment and towards her car.

The drive to the office was usually a time for Y/N to unwind and mentally prepare for the day ahead, with her favorite podcast playing through the speakers.

However, today's episode left her feeling unsettled. The young creator, barely 18 years old, was excitedly announcing her pregnancy. The way she spoke about it, as if it were some sort of miraculous blessing, made Y/N's stomach churn. With a quick tap, she muted the podcast, silence filling the car as she navigated the familiar streets.

As she pulled into the parking lot of the imposing office building, Y/N's eyes immediately landed on Alexandra, who was just a few spots down from her. A wave of dread washed over her, and she quickly locked her car, determined to beat her colleague to the elevator.

Y/N's heels clicked against the pavement as she hurried towards the entrance, her breath coming in short, anxious bursts. She could hear Alexandra's footsteps echoing behind her.

Just as Y/N stepped into the elevator, her manicured finger jabbing the button for the 4th floor, she caught a glimpse of Alexandra rushing towards her. With a sly grin, Y/N pressed the close button, feigning interest in her perfectly polished nails as the doors began to slide shut.

Alexandra stumbled, her hand reaching out in a desperate attempt to stop the elevator, but it was too late. As the doors closed, Y/N looked up, meeting her colleague's gaze with a sad, insincere smile. The look of frustration and annoyance on Alexandra's face was a small victory for Y/N, a momentary triumph in the never-ending battle of office politics.

The elevator began its ascent, Y/N leaned back against the cool metal wall, her eyes closing for a brief moment. She inhaled deeply, trying to calm her racing heart and push away the lingering unease from the podcast. The day had barely begun, and already she felt drained.

It dinged, signaling her arrival on the 4th floor, Y/N straightened her shoulders and put on a brave face. She stepped out into the hallway.

…

The constant cacophony of rings and beeps filled Y/N's ears for the next three hours, the incessant noise drilling into her skull. The cramped office space felt more like a chicken coop than a professional workspace, and Y/N could feel her sanity slowly slipping away with each passing minute.

Just as she thought she couldn't take it anymore, Dedra peeked her head into the office, her critical gaze sweeping over the room before she entered. With a sense of entitlement, she perched herself on the edge of Y/N's desk, her perfectly manicured fingers toying with a strand of Y/N's hair.

"You know, you look stressed, Y/N," Dedra remarked, her tone laced with false concern. Her eyes then traveled down to Y/N's attire, and her face contorted into a look of disgust. "Is that what you're wearing to brunch?" she asked, her voice dripping with disapproval. "I guess it will do."

Before Y/N could respond, Dedra abruptly stood up and headed towards the door, gesturing for her daughter to follow. Y/N huffed in frustration, the weight of her mother's judgment pressing down on her. She quickly logged off her computer and gathered her belongings, trailing behind Dedra as they made their way through the office.

As they walked, Y/N could feel the eyes of her coworkers following them, their gazes a mix of curiosity and envy. She held her head high, refusing to let their attention faze her. Dedra, on the other hand, seemed to revel in the attention, her stride confident and purposeful as she led the way.

When they reached the front of the building, a sleek black limo slowly approached, its polished exterior gleaming in the sunlight. Y/N couldn't help but roll her eyes at the ostentatious display.

"Why do we need a limo for brunch?" she asked, exasperation evident in her voice. "Could you guys be any more extra?"

Dedra shot her a sharp look, her lips pursed in disapproval. "Appearances matter, Y/N," she said, her tone clipped. "We have a reputation to uphold, and arriving in style is part of that."

Y/N bit back a retort, knowing that arguing with her mother was a futile endeavor. As the limo pulled up to the curb, the driver promptly exited the vehicle, opening the door for them with a practiced bow.

Dedra climbed in first, her movements graceful and refined. Y/N followed suit, sinking into the plush leather seats with a sigh.

The vehicle pulled away from the curb, and Y/N watched as the office building grew smaller in the distance. She knew that the brunch would be just another performance, a carefully orchestrated display of wealth and status that she was expected to participate in.

…

message me to be added to the tag list. hope you enjoyed it. please lmk how you liked it.

(also I just made this idea today and I can't believe I already wrote chapter 1)

[driftingdryad]

Omg Bestie! I know I wanted to wait a bit with new request but hear me out!

Shikamaru or Shikaku teasing his girlfriend / partner with the Shadow technique 🥵🫣 Please! 🤭

Ask and you shall receive babes! xox

Listen I'm no jutsu expert and the Naras probs can't use the Shadow Sewing Technique to do all this filth, buuuuut for the sake of the spice let's pretend they can m'kay? lol

Also this is like the third time I've ever written anything smutty so pls be gentle! Thank yooou 🫶

((P.S. just so it's stated in multiple places, Shikamaru is in his mid 20s here!))

𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐃𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐆𝐞𝐭 𝐒𝐡����𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬

Word count: 2.2k

18+, Mid 20s Shikamaru, Clan Head Shikamaru, established relationship, consensual objectification, D/s dynamics, bondage, a little bit of pain play, mild overstim, inappropriate use of shadows lol

You waited in anticipation as you knelt upon the ornately embroidered cushions in the corner of Shikamaru's private office. ‘Be still,’ you reminded yourself, only moving your eyes as you cast a glance around the room in hopes of finding something to take your mind off of the heat rising between your thighs.

Shikamaru's private office was spacious, but minimalist in its aesthetic. The walls were lined with shelves housing a plethora of books, scrolls, and clan documents. When the titles of books on strategy and history didn't hold your interest, you wished Shika would let you fill the small gaps on his shelves with knick knacks. Then you'd at least have something to focus on and keep you still ‘like a good doll.’

You subtly clenched your thighs as your mind drifted back to your current situation. No, knick knacks probably wouldn't help you, and they weren't his style anyway. His office was the embodiment of function over form. Sure there were a few personal touches here and there, the large antique desk Shika had inherited from his father; a single picture of Team 10 in their genin years sitting on the windowsill overlooking the private garden; the well loved shogi set that sat mid-play on a low table on the opposite side of the room from you. There was no decor, though. Shikamaru didn't find such trivial things necessary to the overall function of his space. Plus, what man needed decorations when they had a gorgeous little thing like you — naked with your pretty little pussy weeping onto the luxurious pillows you knelt on — to liven up his space instead?

You were never usually one for sitting still long; something that Shikamaru endlessly grumbled about, though with adoration in his eyes; but something about being the only piece of true decoration in his office made you feel all floaty, and you wanted nothing more than to please him. Who knew being objectified by the man you love could feel so good?

You knew how much of a drag all his tedious paperwork was, and it made your heart soar to know that you made it more bearable for him. The wonderful feelings that came from Shikamaru directing you to kneel in your designated display space in his office was enough to keep you still, blissed out on the idea of being nothing more than an object, a porcelain doll, for him to devour with his eyes between reports.

Well… it kept you still for the first couple of hours. After that, the anticipation of what would come next — after all the paperwork was neatly filed away and Shikamaru finally relaxed into his high back chair and graced you with his full attention — had you starting to lose composure. He'd never made you wait for longer than two hours before. Today, it was nearing the four hour mark, and you weren't sure how much longer you could take it. You wanted to please him, gods you wanted to please him so badly, but your calves had long ago gone numb and you were certain that if you weren't touched soon you might start humping the pillow beneath you like a feral dog.

You shifted slightly hoping to ease some of the pressure on your calves, but only really succeeded in accidently squeezing your sensitive pussy between your plush thighs. The subtle pressure almost made you moan, but you didn't want to draw Shikamaru's attention to your rule breaking. Dolls weren't allowed to move, nevermind pleasure themselves, even if it was an accident.

A deep sigh had your eyes locked on Shikamaru in an instant. He met your gaze with half-lidded chocolate brown eyes that sent a shiver down your spine. Apparently, you hadn't been as subtle as you thought.

“Getting needy, are you?” Shika drawled, his voice low and calm as he inspected you. “Troublesome woman.”

His heavy gaze trailed your form slowly, taking in every detail from your quivering thighs, to your pink nipples that pebbled under his stare, then up to your large pleading eyes.

Troublesome woman indeed. You so badly wanted to tell him that yes, you were so incredibly needy for him, and that if he'd just please give you the release command you would crawl across his office on numb legs to the space beneath his desk that you loved so much and keep his cock warm in your throat until he was done work please, please, please!

But he didn't give you the command, and so you remained in place, unable to move or speak. A soft, pathetic whimper bubbled up your throat instead, a noise you were able to make on technicality alone.

A lazy grin lifted the corner of Shikamaru's lips. “I've kept you waiting a long time, haven't I, baby? You've done so good for me, though.”

His praise lit you up inside, warmth spreading through your system and lifting you higher into that fuzzy, floaty place. Shikamaru must have seen it on your face because his grin widened and something calculating flashed in his eyes.

“I still have two more reports and some scrolls to sign off on...”

Your heart dropped, and you're sure that your desperation was showing in your eyes. You wanted to whine in displeasure this time but held it back. You wanted to keep being a good doll for him, to make Shika proud of you. Whiney girls did neither of those things. You could tell he was waiting for it, though, giving you a moment to process. When you didn't make a fuss, he nodded, pleased.

“How about a little warm-up while I finish up? You'd like that, wouldn't you, pretty girl?” His gaze smoldered and trapped you within their depths.

Your eyes widened. Had Shikamaru read your mind? Your tongue flicked out and wet your lips unconsciously. Oh, how you loved having him buried in your throat. Your body tensed, waiting for the release command so you could throw yourself across the room at his feet. You could feel a rush of slick dribble down your inner thigh at the dirty images flashing through your mind.

The command never came. A single fluid hand gesture later, and Shikamaru's face fell back into his regular bored working expression as he opened the next file folder on the stack. You kneeled there, still as a statue, in utter confusion. Didn't he say…?

And then you saw it. Flowing out from beneath Shikamaru's desk were long tendrils of his shadow. You watched awe as the shadows glided across the floor towards your quivering frame. The Nara clan's secret techniques never failed to amaze you.

A jolt of excitement ran through you as the tendrils reached you, gently prodding your skin where it met the floor. You sighed softly at the familiar coolness of Shika’s shadow as the tendrils glided up along your heated skin.

Tearing your eyes away from the shadows that were exploring your body with gentle brushes, you turned your attention back to Shikamaru. You knew that while it seemed that the shadows had a mind of their own, in actuality, every move they made was at his behest. You'd never be able to tell though with the way he was diligently focused on the papers in front of him, pen scratching across the page here and there.

A small but sharp pain on your thigh drew your attention back to the tendrils. It seemed Shika wanted you to focus on yourself, not him. The sharpened tendril on your thigh dulled again before trailing over to your hand that rested palm up on your thigh. It wrapped around your wrist, tight but gentle, before forcing it behind your back. More tendrils mirrored the action with your other hand, binding them in shadows behind your back. You tugged experimentally on the binding hold — more out of curiosity than an actual want to escape — and were met with another needle like prick of warning against your skin.

You let your body relax into the hold of Shikamaru's shadow, enjoying the feeling of the many tendrils exploring your body. Some caressed gently while others pricked against your skin, only to be soothed by a softer touch. You reveled in the feeling of finally being touched after such a long wait, gasping and twitching as Shikamaru's shadows teased you. They were almost everywhere. You couldn't tell where one tendril began, and another ended. You had no clue how many there were either. All you knew was that they felt amazing teasing against your skin, and the need between your thighs was reaching a fever pitch.

Desperation bubbled up inside you as the tendrils explored; curling around your legs, whispering across your ticklish tummy, smoothing down your arms, and even softly caressing your cheeks, but not a single one strayed to the places you wanted them most. Your ass, breast and cunt were left untouched and alight with need. Sure, the feather light touches and sparks of pain already had you gasping, but you wanted more.

When finally a single shadow ghosted along the underside of one of your perky tits a whimper escaped your throat. Your hips stuttered forward against your will, raising your bottom off your calves, searching for something to grind against. A tendril that had wound its way around your hips tightened and jerked your body back to the proper position.

Shikamaru made a ‘tsk’ sound but didn't raise his head to acknowledge you. “Doll's can't move on their own. You know this,” he chastised.

He wasn't looking at you, but you lowered your gaze in apology either way. You did know that, but you couldn't help it! It didn't matter, though. Shika's shadows would help you.

The shadow tendrils tightened their grip on your wrists and spread further up your arms, binding them together from wrist to elbow. At the same time, the one around your hips extended out more tendrils to the floor, effectively anchoring you in place. The worst part, though, was the thicker tendrils that encased your folded thighs and yanked them apart with a strength that always surprised you.

Your glistening, sopping wet pussy was suddenly exposed to the cool air of the room, your clit peeking out from between your spread folds. Your most intimate parts displayed for Shikamaru. You could feel the heat of a mortified blush spreading from your chest to the tips of your ears. The embarrassment had your poor little pussy clenching down on thin air, even more aroused than you'd been seconds ago.

A shadow brushed along your inner thigh, trailing up, up, up to your spread core. Finally your pathetic pussy was going to get the attention it needed. Or not. Just before reaching the apex of your thighs the shadow shot up your body and wrapped tightly around your left breast. A keening cry left your throat at the unexpected move, so different from the slow sensual touches you'd been receiving thus far.

The shadow gripped your flesh, the tip of the tendril reaching out to flick your taut nipple. It hurt, but felt so good all at once. You arched against Shikamaru's restraining shadows and felt more of your slick dribble down your inner thighs. Another tendril climbed your body to tease your other nipple.

The tendrils enveloping your body continued to play across your skin, the mix of pleasure and pain so great that you soon began losing yourself to it, floating further away from reality with every second. You quickly lost track of time, but very briefly a clear thought crossed your mind: Your gasps and moans were probably distracting. You didn’t want to cause trouble for Shikamaru. You probably shouldn't let yourself float too far into the fuzzy space in your head. You needed to reel yourself back in, but you felt so good.

When you managed to pry your eyes open though Shikamaru was still diligently working away as if you weren't a twitching, near overstimulated mess on his office floor. His indifference fanned the flames within you and it felt like all he would need to do is send a single bored glance at your drenched cunt for you to fall over the edge. You could already imagine his teasing, ‘poor baby, so worked up and pathetic that you came without me even touching that pretty little pussy’. You mewled out a sob at your imaginary Shikamaru's words, closing your eyes again and throwing your head back, letting yourself fully fall into the overwhelming sensations swarming your body.

You didn't know how long you were bound there, spread wide and on display as Shikamaru teased you into oblivion with his shadow, but it all came crashing down around you in an instant. A single, electrifying brush of a cool shadow against your throbbing clit was all it took.

Your eyes flew open, unfocused, as a broken cry ripped from your throat. Your pussy clenched hard around nothing as your body went taut against your bonds, Shikamaru's name a worshiping chant in your head. The tendrils of shadows lost their chaotic vigor, instead caressing soft and gentle easing you through the intense orgasm.

When all that was left were the aftershocks and you managed to raise your head, you were once again met with Shikamaru's half-lidded gaze. His eyes were full of such heat and adoration that a soft, dopey smile took over your lips. He'd enjoyed the show. He'd enjoyed you.

“Such a good little doll,” Shikamaru said lowly, pushing himself away from his desk and rising. Your smile widened as he crossed the room to you.

For him? Always ♡

[the-californicationist]

they help you practice

Team 141/Reader - Gangbang TW: explicit consent given, polyamory, vaginal sex, anal sex, face-fucking, double penetration, spitting, come as lube, bulging, Ghoap sex, bukkake, degradation, orgasm control. Let me know if I missed one, I'm sorry. Proceed with caution, please.

You let yourself into his office, shutting the door behind you, and stood before him at a sharp parade rest, waiting to be informed about your fate. 

“Sergeant, thank you for coming. There is no need for formalities. This is just a chat.”

You moved to a more relaxed rest and nodded. 

Price continued,

“This is going to be quite the ask. Would you be willing to perform duties which are…outside of your current scope?”

“Yes, sir,” you responded just as you should have, as you were trained to, but Price was hoping you would understand exactly what you would be getting yourself into. 

“I need you to go undercover to a Konni restaurant cover in Minsk…as bait. Am I making myself clear?”

A pause. But, to your credit, you didn’t flinch. You did raise an eyebrow and ask a clarifying query,

“What kind of bait, sir?”

“Our next target, Dimitri Sokolov, will be at the Black Pearl bar in Minsk tomorrow, and we won’t get a better chance to lure him away from his bodyguards. He almost never makes public appearances, so he must be making an exception. Sokolov has,” he paused for a moment, trying to find the words, making general, suggestive motions over his own chest, “particular tastes in his women. You just so happen to have the right profile for the job. Again, this is not an order, Sergeant. I need to know if you’re willing to accept.”

“Yes, sir,” you tried to appear fully in control. You knew your breasts were large, but you had never been asked to use them as a weapon. There was a first time for everything, you supposed. You would do anything to help the team.

The captain loved your composure. He knew you would be perfect for the job. 

“Good. Let's brief the team.”

Price walked with you down to the meeting room at the end of the hall and found Soap, Ghost, and Gaz sitting in the desk chairs every way except the way they were designed, lounging over the furniture like big cats, melting into the various surfaces they encountered. They fixed themselves when the captain walked in. 

“Gentlemen,” Price opened, “this is our bait. Her code name is Rabbit. Rabbit, this is Soap, Ghost, and Gaz.”

You nodded politely and resumed a semi-formal rest position. 

The men had noticed you around the base but hadn’t been formally introduced. You were a desk rider, but still, you were hard to miss. The baggy military clothing had almost managed to conceal a bounty of soft curves, but your lush body persisted beneath it, and the outlines of your feminine form made heinous suggestions in the fabric. Unfortunately for them, you didn’t hang around the gym or the common area enough for them to have generated a fully accurate image of your enticing body, but they were certain it was delicious. They watched you like peckish wolves. Waiting hungrily, shifting in their seats in anticipation. For what, you weren’t sure.

“Rabbit is going undercover for us to take down Sokolov, Vladimir Makarov’s new shipping controller. He has a particular penchant for,” Price paused just long enough for anyone to understand his true meaning, “certain types of women. Rabbit fits the mold, so all she needs is the gear and the training.”

Price cut open three large cardboard boxes to reveal slinky dresses and a number of questionable garments. 

“I’ll need to try them on,” you offered, “Do you want me to get changed, Captain?”

“Sounds good. Come back in when you’re all set,” he smiled, enjoying the view as you left the room. 

Ghost crossed his arms, clearly with quite a mouthful to share and but refusing to. Gaz stared down at the knife he was playing with, bashful. But Soap would not be cowed, and as soon as you left, he said,

“Feeding her to the sharks like bait, Captain? I dinnae ken any of us was so expendable.”

“Soap,” Price warned, “the sergeant is more than capable of handling -”

“I wasnae askin’ about the lassie’s capabilities. Send her in to slit his throat with a knife in her hand, for all I care. But to send her in unguarded, unarmed? No. It’s not right,” Soap crossed his arms. 

“He’s got a point, Captain. Why take the risk of losing an operative?” Ghost spoke coldly. 

Price furrowed his brow at their short-sightedness,

“And do what, exactly? Have the Russians scurry back underground at the first hint of an assassination attempt? We’ve failed that mission three times, boys. I’ll not have this go south again.”

“I’m sure she is capable, Captain. But, is Rabbit committed to this plan?” Gaz asked. 

“Sure,” Price tried to sound reassuring, “we spoke in my office. She agreed to come down here. Besides, she’ll have you three as backup. You won’t let anything happen to her.”

Gaz did not seem convinced. All three soldiers wore a scowl on their faces, and even though Ghost’s was obscured by his mask, his body language communicated his displeasure. Price carefully ashed his cigar to renew the glowing tip, taking a long drag while they waited for you to return. 

You were back without too much of a delay, but when you walked in, your colleagues were visibly stunned. They didn’t recognize you at first. A short black dress had replaced your camouflage fatigues, showing off miles and miles of smooth, shining skin. Your thick thighs stretched the silky fabric, and your ass threatened to escape from the edge of the dress with every step you took. Your new heels clacked sharply against the cold concrete, making your legs flex and tense, showing off your well-formed musculature. You did not miss squat day very often, apparently.

But, the assets you were trying to use for this particular mission were the real stars of the show. Your heavy breasts battled against the low dip of the dress, providing a deep display of cleavage, hinting at pink perky nipples hidden just below the line of the black silk. Your tits jiggled as you struck the floor with each careful step, making the room full of men breathe a little heavier at the sight. 

Soap’s big mouth betrayed them all,

“Christ in Heaven. There you are, bonnie.”

Ghost backhanded him hard on the shoulder. Price glowered.

You had put on a little more makeup than might be socially acceptable in an office setting, making the suggestive outfit complete. Finally, as you stood at the head of the meeting table, you took out your task force regulation braid and pulled your fingers through your hair, breaking up your long waves as they spilled down your neck and back. 

You smiled,

“Well, do I look the part?”

Price coughed, inhaling too much smoke on accident. Gaz hadn’t moved since you walked in the room. He just stood there, dumbfounded, arms held at an odd angle as if frozen in time. Ghost cleared his throat to save them,

“Yes, Rabbit. You clean up very nicely, don’t you?”

“Well,” you sighed, “this is sort of the raunchiest outfit I found in the box. I was going to go with something a bit more casual, but I thought I’d better be noticeable if we’re going to nail this asshole.”

Gaz finally came out of his locked state, aghast,

“Noticeable? Sweetheart, this is more than noticeable. Goddamn.”

“You think it’s too much? I don’t really know what would get his attention,” you shrugged, looking shy as you confessed, “I don’t get asked out very often.”

“You could go out with me, lassie,” Soap edged his way closer to her, slinking around the table, “We’d have a hell of a time, so we would.”

“Don’t listen to Johnny,” Ghost stood in front of him a bit, snaking an arm around your cinched waist, “He thinks takin’ his birds to the dog races is a good date idea.”

“Well, isn’t it?” Soap protested.

Gaz grabbed your hand tenderly, examining your fingers like they were a precious work of art,

“Maybe you could come with me to Berlin next weekend, babes. There’s a killer music festival going on, and we could have a really good time. How does that sound?”

“Boys,” Price interrupted, “I’m sure she has plenty of work to finish here; can’t just be galavanting off with you muppets. In fact, why don’t you stop by my office after this mission, bunny rabbit, and we can work on your projected shipment dates together? You know, I used to be a logistics man, myself.”

Ghost rolled his eyes at the Captain,

“Please, logistics? You drove a truck back and forth on base delivering food to the canteen twenty years ago. I’ve read your file.”

The men all started talking over each other, forgetting your presence in favor of coming out on top of the dog pile. You smiled to yourself, eager to push more of their buttons. 

Slipping one skinny strap down your shoulder, you spoke through the din,

“You know, this dress can be strapless. Do you think Sokolov wants it up…” you locked eyes with Captain Price, seeing his throat swallow hard as he watched you in the silence you had created, “...or down?”

The other soldiers were stunned, unable to look away as you slipped both straps off of your shoulders and tucked them into your dress. One strap was still partially visible, and Ghost slowly moved one gloved finger up your arm, tracing your skin lightly, and finished tucking it in for you. He lingered, caressing the side of your breast as he removed it. 

“You gonna be able to seduce this Russian bastard, Sergeant? Or, do you need some practice?” Price asked with a low, threatening tone. 

The whole room held its breath waiting for your answer. The four men towered over your short frame, casting shadows over you like black spells, hoping you would relinquish your control over them. All of their eyes watched as you slowly, achingly lifted a hand and traced it up Gaz’s canvas pant leg, stopping when you discovered the heavy head of his cock, hardening down toward his knee. With the back of your hand, you pet it like a skittish animal, reveling in its smoothness and warmth. Your eyes found his as they fluttered, blood rushing through his body in a panic,

“I think I could use some practice, Captain.”

You felt Gaz’s rod leap at your answer. He bent down to kiss your mouth, slanting his lips fiercely against you. 

Soap came up behind you, gripping your ass through the silk of your dress roughly,

“We’ll help you, lass. We’ll help you practice, won’t we, boys? Jesus, you smell so good,” he buried his face in your neck and sucked against your skin. 

Ghost found your other hand and held it tightly, using it to steady you from Soap and Gaz’s assault. Price moved Gaz out of the way, earning himself a glare, and peeled the dress off of you in one fell swoop, revealing the expanse of uncovered skin underneath. 

“Holy shite,” the captain breathed, whispering his lament, “Sergeant, where are your knickers?”

“I guess I forgot them, Captain,” you blushed, batting your eyes up at him, doing actual damage to his psyche.  

He didn’t have much time to savor the moment though because Ghost was shoving him out of the way to pick you up by the thighs to lay you on the table. The giant knelt between your legs, pulling you by the knees until your ass was hanging off of the low wooden planks. He lifted his mask just enough for you to see him lick his lips over sharp, white teeth before feasting on your wet folds, letting the cloth of the balaclava hide most of his efforts. 

Ghost created a soothing, yet electrically wet warmth in your core which made you keen loudly, only to be muffled by Price’s smoky kiss. You could taste the burned tobacco on his tongue and your skin was scraped by his thick mustache. 

Gaz’s voice got your attention. He had freed his cock from his pants and started to stroke it, standing by your side and playing with your breasts with his free hand as Price savaged your mouth. He tugged on your nipple and told you,

“You know, Rabbit, you’re going to have to really put yourself out there tomorrow. Show him these gorgeous tits of yours. Make him think you’re hungry for his cock,” Gaz rubbed his head, hard and hungry for you, “Can you do that? Let us see how good you can be, princess. We need you to ace this mission”

You felt Ghost dip his hard cock between your pussy lips, distracting you from Price’s tongue in your mouth. You broke the kiss and looked up at Ghost, dazed, into his masked face,

“I promise, sir. I’ll be good,” you looked around at all four of the men, reaching out to grab Soap’s cock that he was stroking for you, “Will you show me how?”

You didn’t give Soap time to answer. The Scot gasped as you devoured him, sucking him down into your throat, making yourself gag as he fucked your throat in and out in long thrusts. He tangled his fingers in your hair. Ghost matched his rhythm below you, pounding his cock into your wet hole. You thought you could feel something on his dick. Was he pierced? You could see your slick gleam on his lips and chin where his mask was still askew. 

“Yeah,” Ghost smiled haughtily, “you like those piercings, don’tcha baby?”

You didn’t have a chance to respond. Price pulled your head away from Soap’s dick, kissing your mouth lewdly again before giving you an order,

“Open your mouth wide for me, love.”

You obeyed. Then, he spit onto your tongue, warm and bubbling, before shoving your face down onto his own fat rod. It made your lips burn with its cruel girth, even though it felt relatively soft, and you thought fleetingly that there was no way your poor little cunt was going to be able to take him, Ghost was big enough to be filling, but the captain was carrying around a true weapon. 

He pulled your head off of him roughly, watching as the strings of drool connected your tongue to his cockhead, growling in short, lustful breaths. 

“Alright, boys. Make sure she’s good and ready for me. You know the drill,” Price barked, and then he was gone. 

The drill? You looked for him, confused, and only found Gaz, who was now slapping his long dick on your cheek, knocking for entrance. He let you take his head into your mouth, having a much easier time than you did with your captain. You bobbed your head up and down dutifully, not realizing just how long his cock was until he tried to force it into your throat. He held you down for a moment, moaning shamelessly, before releasing you to let you breathe. 

“You alright, babes?” He laughed.

You nodded, moaning. Ghost took himself out of your wetness and pulled you off of the table. Soap hopped up to lay where you were, and you moved to ride him, making sure to get right to the edge with him to let Ghost back in. You’d never taken two men at once, much less four, but there was a first time for anything, and you were a quick learner. 

Spearing yourself onto Soap felt like someone had created a warm, custom, living dildo just for you. He was a perfect fit, and you both cried out in pleasure from the sensation. Ghost slapped your ass, hard, and you screamed, clenching around Soap’s cock. Soap moaned darkly. 

“Keep suckin’ that big cock, baby. Need to teach you how to multitask,” Ghost threatened as he bent to eat your asshole, wiggling his tongue into the tight rim to gain entrance.

He started to fuck you with it, his long wet muscle moving in and out as Soap thrust himself up into you, hitting your g-spot every single time like magic. You took Gaz back into your mouth and tried your best to take him deeper into your throat. Every time you did, you would gag, and your muscles would involuntarily clench, and the whole room would moan. You started to come, feeling yourself flood around Soap, whose mouth had latched onto one of your nipples, suckling like he was trying to feed from you. 

You could see Price out of the corner of your eye. He had lit another cigar and was smoking it, stroking himself, still not at his full capacity. You were scared of him. He looked like some sort of demon, breathing fire, and his cock was as big around as your forearm. He wasn’t as long as Gaz, nor as delightfully curved as Soap, but he made your legs shake without even touching you. When he did touch you, rising from his chair when he wanted to fondle you, pinching a nipple, pulling your hair, forcing your head down on Gaz, it lit you up like you were kerosene and he was the match. 

Suddenly, Ghost’s tongue was gone, only to be replaced by his heavy head. He was going to fuck your ass, and there was nothing you could say to stop him. You’d only done anal once or twice before, and you knew it might hurt. He went so slowly that you could feel each and every piercing as he popped them into you, one by one. Then, as he pulled back out, you felt them pop as each one went through you again, raking himself in and out gently, as careful with you as he could be. When you were more pliant, he began to throw his weight into each thrust, and Soap started to groan below you from the sensation. 

“Don’t you fuckin’ dare, Johnny boy,” Price threatened, his voice full of stern warning. 

You weren’t sure what he was warning him about until Soap pulled his cock out of you and came all over your stomach, Ghost’s thrusts making the fluid smear between you two, rubbing your bodies together. Ghost pulled out next, and you felt his hot, thick ropes spray onto your ass cheeks, melting down your thighs. 

Gaz abandoned your mouth and took over for Soap, feeding himself inch by inch until he found your end, leaving some of his cock out in the cold. He fucked you faster than the others, not caring to move out of the way as Soap rolled off of the table, whining like a whore the whole time. 

Captain Price came around to your face, holding your chin in his hand, looking down at you without pity,

“Garrick’s got a long cock, don’t he, love? You’re being so good for my men, such a good girl. Sweet little slag, hm? You’re going to do so well on this mission. Those areholes won’t know what hit ‘em.”

He grabbed your hair fiercely, hurting your scalp, forcing you to turn and look back at Gaz. Price took a long puff from his cigar, blowing it past your face, 

“Baby, he could fuck you for a hundred years. He’s not gonna come until you scream his name.”

You heard Gaz moan louder at Price’s suggestion, so you did. You screamed for him over and over, not caring who might have heard you, begging for him to come in you. 

“He’s not allowed to come inside of you yet, love,” Price kissed your open panting mouth, “But, don’t worry. It’s about to be my turn, and you’ll be feeling my fuckin’ come drip out of your cunt all night long.”

Price’s voice made your blood run cold with fear. He wasn’t making threats. Those were clearly promises. Predictions of the future. His cock was tucked back into the band of his pants, but it lay in wait there like a serpent, eager to strike.

Your heart pounded in your chest as Gaz pulled his long shaft all the way out of you, his come shooting onto your lips and ass, feeling him use his hand to rub it into your skin, making you sticky. Your captain gave him a warning look, and you realized they had done this sort of thing before. Perhaps many times before. As you watched Soap and Ghost comfort each other, breathing close together, touching themselves, you wondered if they ever fucked each other as well. Picturing the four of them rutting into each other made you hungry, deep in your belly, starving to witness such an act. 

Finally, it was your captain’s turn. The look in his eyes made you tremble. You knew he wouldn’t be cruel, not on purpose anyway. He wasn’t a heartless man, but he wasn’t one to hold himself back from what he wanted either. You knew that he would fuck you the way he wanted to, as hard as he wanted to, no matter how much complaining you might do about how his cock would stretch you out - even to the point of pain. 

“On your back, love. Legs up. Spread that pussy open for me,” he commanded. 

You did as he told you, opening yourself up shamelessly, letting your folds spread wide. 

He walked around the table to gaze upon your form, staring at your pink flesh like it was a hot meal, and he was starving. He moaned, rubbing his hand across your sticky mons, 

“Mm, that’s my pretty little Rabbit. Now…” he paused for effect, sinking three fingers into your hole roughly but ever so slowly, twisting his arm as he did, corkscrewing his knuckles into you, “...I want you to understand that there’s a reason I’m last in line, love.”

You cried out from the pressure of his huge hand. It felt like you were going to tear. Then, after a few hard thrusts, he released you. The emptiness you felt was heartbreaking. You looked for him, pleading with your eyes for him to return to you. He pulled his cock free from his waistband, unable to connect his finger to his thumb as he wrapped around it. You whined involuntarily, something animal in you recognizing its fate. 

“Shh, baby, I know,” he drug out his voice, “I know…”

He positioned the heavy shaft on top of your body, measuring himself from base to tip, reaching your navel. As he slapped it against you, it made a loud thudding noise, slamming into your muscles like a fist. Price was so heavy. You’d never even imagined a man could feel like he was pure, warm, thick marble. Your pussy seemed to understand the panic you were feeling, flooding itself, preparing for the upcoming invasion. 

“I’m so fuckin’ eager for you, love,” he slapped you again, quick taps right to your swollen clit.

Then, he put his head inside of you, squeezing himself in. He left it inside of you and started to pump himself with his hand. Between the vibration from his fist and the fact that it felt like you were sitting on the end of a steel bat, you couldn’t hold back your keening, loud and high-pitched. 

Price began the steady, slow march forward, swelling harder and harder by the moment, making your walls feel like they might break. It seemed as if all the blood in your body was rushing down your belly and up your legs, hurrying to your core. 

Your eye were wild, full of your fear, tears forming at the corners of your eyes,

“I can’t, please! I can’t. It’s too big, fuck…”

Price didn’t stop. He just kept feeding himself in and pulling himself back out, wetting his cock’s skin with your soaking hole. 

“You can, and you will, love,” the captain growled, “Now, shut that pretty mouth and take it.”

Your cheeks were wet and your eyes burned, he was so deep within you that it felt like he was thrusting into your throat. You couldn’t breathe.

Suddenly, Soap grabbed your hand, kissing your palm, using his tongue to lick your skin,

“It’s alright, bonnie. I’m here. Breathe with me, lass.”

He bent down to kiss you, but he didn’t quite connect, letting his lips graze yours featherlight. Soap breathed in and breathed out in steady, measured beats. You felt yourself begin to relax. It had such an immediate effect that you heard Price groan, able to slip himself a bit deeper than he had done. 

It was like a chain reaction, the more relaxed you became, breathing with Soap, feeling him suck and lick your nipples softly, the more Price was able to squeeze himself in. 

Finally, you felt his hair at the base of his cock, thick and curled, and as he sighed, he settled inside of you, impossibly pressing against your whole body, making a clear outline of himself in your lower belly. He rubbed it, almost fondly, and you felt every inch of him throb against your walls, his head bullying your womb.

You cried out again from the strain. Ghost and Gaz joined Soap. Gaz began to suckle from your breast on your left side, fondling himself as he did so, getting hard again. Ghost was at your head on the end of the table, and he bent to kiss you, upside down, his tongue running all the way down your throat, long and slippery against your own. 

He pulled away, petting your cheek as Price began to grind himself into you,

“You alright, Rabbit? You enjoying your captain’s cock, hm?”

“Mm hm,” you whispered, whimpering through your tears.

Ghost smiled, and his straight, white teeth looked menacing as he did, sharp, wolf-like,

“I know you are, babe. You’re doing so well. Look at him. You can see him inside of your cunt.”

He lifted your head by your hair, showing you the grotesque shadow of Price’s heavy rod as it shoved itself into you. You reached your hands down to it, feeling it through your skin. It was so unique. His size wasn’t like anything you’d ever experienced, and your body was sending confused signals of passion, your orgasms coming in shattered, broken waves. Feeling incomplete. Too powerful, and yet drawn out like the last note of a symphony. 

As you touched him from the outside, Price moaned aloud for the first time. It shocked you. You looked up at him, managing to meet his eyes.

“Fuck,” you moaned, “You feel so good inside of me, Captain.”

“Mm, yeah?” He replied, using his hands to press yours down onto his cock, making you gasp, “You like it, baby? I’m gonna make sure you never want anybody else.” 

Price reached down and grabbed you by the throat, scaring away Soap and Gaz. He lifted you up, making his dick fit inside of you that much tighter with the change of angle. Then, he began the true performance. He thrust himself in with fast, punishing strokes, slamming himself into you. You were sure you would bruise, and you felt dizzy, almost like you’d pass out. 

Soap was at your side again, holding your hair away from your face,

“Look at you, lassie. Such a good girl for your captain. Takin’ that cock so damn well. Can’t wait to be back inside you, girl.”

He kissed your cheek, palm massaging his dick which was back to full mast, eager again. 

“Alright, Johnny,” Price grinned, “Since you asked so nicely.”

Without any strain whatsoever, Price lifted you up by your hips and held you in the air as he fucked you, bringing you around the table so that Soap could position himself at your asshole. Ghost’s earlier efforts had made it ready for him, and you could very acutely feel how much he was throbbing to be inside of you, pulsing as he fit against Price. 

“Ungh, fuck, lass,” Soap groaned as he began to thrust into you, pistoning with the captain, “He’s got you so tight for me.”

“Yeah? It feels so good. Mmm…” you whimpered, feeling more full than you’d ever been. 

Johnny was holding your breasts as Price lifted you up, brutalizing your pussy. Every thrust felt like an electric pulse, making you cock-drunk and mindlessly pliant. 

They worked in tandem for what felt like eons, pistoning in and out with each other. Eventually, after he had felt you come, Soap addressed his captain directly,

“Sir, I’m…please, sir, can I?”

“Can you what, soldier?” Price grunted through gritted teeth, testing his sergeant.

“Can I come, sir? Please, Cap…”

“Yeah, Johnny. C’mon, mate. Let her feel it.”

“F-fuck! Fuck…” Soap groaned, pushing himself flush against your asshole, pumping his come into you. 

He caught his breath while he was still in you, kissing the nape of your neck, and then he pulled away slowly. He helped Gaz replace him, holding your ass wide apart so his comrade could position himself inside. And just when you thought your poor pussy would have room to breathe, Gaz’s incredibly long shaft was piercing your hole again. 

You felt him sigh, his breath against your neck. He took over holding you up, and Price praised him,

“That’s it, Garrick. She’s all yours. Take it.”

Gaz reacted to his words in a way that made you rethink their entire dynamic. Then, you remembered how he had come when you said his name. He seemed to get harder and harder the more Price praised him, and you wanted to give him that same validation. 

“Gaz,” you whispered, leaning your head back to rest on his shoulder, “It’s so big, baby. It’s like I can feel you in my throat. Oh, Gaz. Gaz!”

“Mm,” Price put his mouth to your neck, groaning, “That’s it, love. Tell him how much you like that long cock.”

“So much, Gaz. It’s so good,” you added. 

Then, Price took his left hand and wrapped it around the back of Gaz’s neck in a moment of surprising intimacy. As Price kissed the front of your throat, Gaz kissed your shoulder and nape. You felt like a peeled fruit being shared between them, a ripped rind, your juicy flesh being split in two; two halves of a ripe orange. 

Gaz lasted longer than Soap had when he fucked your ass, but Price’s attention seemed to spur him on. His movements were slippery, and you could feel the remnants of Soap’s come frothing around your entrance, easing his efforts.

“Captain,” Gaz whined, desperate for more of that approval. 

“C’mon, Kyle. She’s ready for you. Good lad.”

The use of his first name made Gaz thrust up into you with a feverish pace. He cried out as he came, hard, into you. Feeling him fall back out of you made you imagine the tendrils of a giant kraken, seeming to travel forever just to remove himself from your body, slithering out of you with a terrible squelching noise. 

Gaz let Price hold you again, and you turned, expecting Ghost. Price laughed at you, chuckling softly,

“Missing your masked man already?”

You looked at Price, feeling raw and used, waiting for an explanation,

“He’s a little…preoccupied.”

Price laid you back on the table, letting you turn your head to see Ghost, buried in Soap’s asshole up to the hilt, furiously jacking him off, slamming into him a little too roughly for your liking. It was violent, but Soap seemed to be enjoying himself beyond measure. 

Your pussy, though, disagreed with your assessment, clenching around Price’s cock while you watched Simon abuse his friend’s hole. 

“Mm,” the captain moaned, feeling your muscles react, “You like that, love? You wanna be fucked rough like that?”

He didn’t give you a chance to answer. Price wrapped your legs beneath his chest in a full mating press and wrecked you, pounding into your body like a giant fist. You felt your bones shudder beneath his behemoth form. Just when you thought you might puke from how overstimulated you were, you felt him pause. Then, your pussy felt like it was leaking, and it was. Price’s come just kept milking its way out of you, his cock pulsing inside, making your walls throb. 

When he finished, he kissed you on the mouth, almost lovingly, reverently. He started to slide out of you, being extremely careful, and you’d never felt so empty in your entire life. It was as if you’d never be full again. You found yourself whining, whimpering for Price to return. 

“That’s right, pretty girl,” Price smiled, “Never gonna want anybody else, are ya?”

You smiled, shocked and in considerable discomfort. Gaz scooped you up off of the table, cradling you, sitting down with you in his lap in a large chair. He reached down for some water and handed it to you, helping you recover. 

Price was standing with his hands on his hips, panting from his exertion. Ghost and Soap were connected like two hounds, locked together, the Scot cock warming his tall lover, groaning on every exhale. 

“Well, what do you think, lads? Do we have a winner?” Price asked.

“Yeah, we fucking do, Cap,” Gaz pet your head, moving your sweaty hair out of your eyes. 

“Fuck yeah, mate,” Ghost growled, pawing at Johnny again, rabid for him. 

“Hear that, bonnie?” Soap managed to ask, still moaning in little breaths as he was being speared by Ghost, “Got  yourself a new permanent assignment.”

Price walked over to you, grabbing you by the face and kissing you once more,

“You belong to us now, love. Perfect little slut.”

Reblogs and comments deeply appreciated!

AO3 Link

[bbyseok]

this time, i’m thinking about lifeguard!bakugou. i’m pretty sure i’ve also seen a post or two about him, but lemme get my brainrot out cuz he’s driving me insane..

lifeguard bakugou doesn’t give onlookers a show they don’t deserve, but people will take what they can get with his classic black tank tops and those bright red swim trunks that hang loosely on his hips.

and really, he’s only wearing the red trunks to follow the uniform rules and look the part of being an actual lifeguard. he’s taken up the job over the summer for whatever reason.. and everyone eats it up in the end.

whether it’s at the beach or a pool, he’s on one of those tall, white lifeguard chairs designated for people like him on duty obviously. he’s got his legs spread out, his right knee swinging inward every down and then with his form reclined back as he surveys the water and the area.

there are some days he’s got a towel draped over his neck and shoulders for him to wipe his sweat away, or a pair of tinted sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose to hide his carmine eyes from the world.

it’s sight to see most definitely. and you can confirm—as you’re one of the many people who come to the water solely to look at him. okay, well- that’s partially true. you come with your friends often to actually enjoy a bit of swimming—so what if you know exactly when bakugou’s shift starts and ends?

anyways, it’s not like you’d actually initiate anything from your attraction. you’ve seen the way he’s already turned down multiple flirting attempts from the more bolder people willing to shoot their shot—it wasn’t pretty.

“i’m the fuckin’ lifeguard who’s supposed to watch your asses and you’re givin’ me a reason to drown you,” he had snapped at some particular person who thought that they had a chance. “scram.”

the lifeguard team only tolerates his blunt behavior because he’s actually pretty damn good at the job when he needs to be, and let’s be honest—he attracts a lot of people.

it’s another day of lounging by the water with your friends, relaxing on one of those typical white beach chaise chairs. you spend your time alternating between chatting and reading a spare book you had brought—paired with sneaking glimpses at bakugou, of course.

but something’s different about today. ‘cause you swear he keeps looking at you too.

you don’t wanna get your hopes up too high; perhaps your daydreaming’s getting a little too out of hand or something, but it’s a little too difficult to ignore his burning stare.

perhaps there’s something on your face? is something wrong with your swimsuit? it’s nothing too raunchy or revealing—it’s something you normally wear for these kinds of outings. or maybe he had heard you say something?

before you know it, his shift is ending soon. it’s actually so bad how you’ve got it memorized. he gets replaced with this redhead that’s definitely way more friendlier than him—kirishima, you think is his name, and you and your friends usually linger around the beginning of his shift before leaving.

“psst,” one of your friends nudges your shoulder, sitting up from the chair. “bakugou’s totally looking at you. like—he’s staring in your direction.”

you blink and sit up as well. okay so, you’re not imagining things. “what-? really?” you don’t dare cast your gaze to the lifeguard, refusing to make eye contact. “but- but why would he?”

“i dunno. maybe he-”

you finally glance over and catch sight of the the blonde heading down from his towering seat, and he tucks his rescue tube under his arm. your eyes follow him and his movements as he walks and—oh shit. he’s walking towards you.

your eyes can’t help but widen as he finally reaches your chair and tilts his head down at you, blazing eyes scrutinizing and narrowed. you’re pretty sure you almost drop your jaw on the floor. he’s even more stunning up close.

“oi,” he says gruffly, glaring down at you in some sort of expectance. “quit your gawking at me. you do that way too fuckin’ much.”

oh god, did he really come over to you just to say that? “oh- oh,” you stammer out, “i’m so sorry- i’m sorry if i made you uncomfortable, i just-” you want to drown out of embarrassment, so it’s a good thing that the water’s right there so you’ll just-

“oh, shut your yappin’,” bakugou dismisses you quickly with a roll of his eyes, and you blink up at him, still a bit embarrassed that he had called you out. there’s a pause that lasts for two seconds before he says, “i’m not gonna be workin’ this shift anymore.”

and now you’re blinking up at him in utter confusion because what? why’s he telling you this? did you make him so uncomfortable to the point that he’s letting you know that he’s altering his work hours? “i don’t understand, i-”

“if you still wanna gawk at me, i’m switching shifts with the dude with the red shitty hair who usually works around this time.” the blonde clears his throat and turns his head away, letting you process his words.

wait. wait. he’s letting you know he’s changing his lifeguard shift with kirishima beforehand because he wants you to. he wants you to be there. he wants to see you there. “o-oh.”

bakugou meets your gaze again. a raspy chuckle falls from his lips then, and you let the image of his small smirk settle into your head as he offers it. “you better be there, pretty.”

(you learn later on that the days he was wearing those tinted sunglasses, he was gawking at you too.)

[stra-tek]

More Roddenberry Archive musings...

This is supposedly the launch configuration of the Prime universe U.S.S. Enterprise NCC-1701's main bridge. It's based on the first piece of concept art for the TOS set, and is one of several weird not-quite-canon things the Roddenberry Archive has decided to consider canonical. 2 command chairs and the whole centre console and chairs spins to face the very minimalist 60's scifi perimeter consoles or viewscreen. Try to imagine Captain April and first officer Chris Pike on this bridge, it's weird.

Behold! The top of the Jeffries Tube.

FERENGI ATM MACHINE ON THE PROMENADE!!!!

The view from OG Captain Pike's bed, featuring his awesome TV, his laser gun and his Starfleet hat. We wouldn't get hats back in Trek for 50 years.

This is inside the Ringship Enterprise XCV-330, circa 2100. The Ringship in canon was seen only in picture form or a desktop model, we never saw inside. The ship was actually designed for a non-Trek Roddenberry scifi show called Starship which never came to be, and there was actually concept art made for the interior which the RA people decided to import to Trek too. Predating the transporter, here is the Metafier.

Discovery Season 2's U.S.S. Enterprise has a cool corridor running around it. Walk around it and... it goes nowhere😂 the Archive tries to balance the reality of everything being a television show with the fantasy of a 100% accurate in-universe museum, it'll give sets ceilings to make them into a believable spaceship but doesn't want to go nuts inventing too much of it's own stuff and that sometimes leads to weird stuff like this dead end

Speaking of ceilings, here's the ceiling and lights of the classic TOS Enterprise's corridors. I think they did a decent job keeping to the TOS aesthetic. The sets TOS was filmed on didn't have ceilings at all.

The Enterprise-B actually had a red carpet for special guests Kirk, Scotty and Chekov

Strange New Worlds has the coolest transporter room of all. Just look at it😍

The TNG Enterprise battle bridge has it's own ready room! And it's super tiny, ultra cramped and Picard probably never used it because there's no replicator in there and thus no access to tea.

The 1st version of TNG engineering's big Master Systems Display as seen in "Encounter at Farpoint". Ten Forward wouldn't be a thing until season 2, and you can see here an earlier deck layout and the original concept for the saucer rim, a corridor walkway with windows above and below. You'll also note Ten Forward would actually be on deck 11 had they not changed the diagram by then.

Kirk's quarters on the TOS Enterprise has dresser drawers full of uniforms for when his gets torn

Walking around the Roddenberry Archive ships is eerie as hell. You're the only one on board, exploring corridors and poking your head into rooms. These starships are liminal spaces. This for me adds to the atmosphere greatly.

Here's the link (enjoy before it vanishes again!):

Roddenberry.x.io

Here's my original post about the Roddenberry Archive:

Also a clarification, I was wrong when I said it won't be in VR. There is one VR setup it was designed for - the $3,000 Apple Vision Pro. More details here, although it appears to only show a 2D window rather than be fully immersive 3D, possibly confirming what I was told previously that no current 3D setup is capable of doing a true VR experience:

[mxnsterbabe]

Male Changeling/Female Reader

SFW

Wordcount: 7,928

Commissions | Ko-fi | Masterlist

One of your favourite clients is a changeling who uses their shapeshifting ability to hide their true form. Each tattoo session becomes a step closer to revealing the changeling's real appearance, and you realise he's more beautiful than expected.

The chime above the door of Ink Envy rang out, signalling the arrival of a potential new client. Izzy looked up from her sketchpad, pushing a wild tangle of dark curls out of her face. As the door swung open, she was greeted by the sight of a tall, striking man stepping into the parlour. 

There was something about him that immediately caught her attention. He was handsome in an unconventional way, with a lean, well-proportioned frame that moved with effortless grace. His black hair fell in a straight, sleek curtain to his shoulders, contrasting sharply with her own untamed curls. But what really drew Izzy in were his eyes—an intense shade of violet that seemed to glow in the soft lighting of the studio. 

She couldn’t shake the sense that she’d seen him before, though she couldn’t quite place where.

Izzy’s curiosity was piqued, and she found herself thinking, cute.

“Welcome to Ink Envy,” she called out, her voice carrying across the studio. She set down her pencil and stood up, her tall frame giving her a commanding presence behind the counter. “Can I help you with something?”

The man smiled, a small, enigmatic curve of his lips that revealed little but hinted at much. “Hi, I’m Aleks,” he replied, his voice smooth and warm. “I’d like to book a consultation for a tattoo.”

Izzy gave him a once-over, intrigued by both his appearance and his demeanour. She’d met all sorts in her line of work—humans, goblins, plenty of orcs—but Aleks was different. Something about him made her want to know more.

“Alright, Aleks,” she said, pulling out her appointment book. “What are you thinking of getting done?”

“A sleeve,” he replied, his eyes never leaving hers. “Something intricate, with natural elements—vines, flowers, that kind of thing. I’m uh, pretty choosy.”

Izzy nodded, appreciating his thoroughness. A sleeve was a major commitment, and she respected clients who took the time to think through what they wanted. “Sounds like you’ve got a pretty clear idea,” she said, jotting down the details. “How did you hear about us?”

“A friend recommended you,” Aleks said, his tone casual. “Kamaria. She said you did an amazing job with her thigh piece.”

Izzy’s face lit up with recognition. Kamaria was a gnoll woman she’d worked with several months ago, who’d wanted a waterfall thigh piece. The memory of those long hours spent inking intricate patterns onto Kamaria’s furred arm brought a smile to Izzy’s face.

“Ah, Kamaria! She was a great client. I’m glad she sent you my way,” Izzy said, feeling a sense of pride. “Alright, let’s get you booked in for a consultation. When works for you?”

Aleks glanced around the studio, his violet eyes taking in the space with quiet interest. “Is there any chance you’re free now?”

Izzy looked at her schedule. The day had been relatively quiet, and her next appointment wasn’t for another hour. “Actually, you’re in luck. I can fit you in now if you’ve got the time.”

He smiled again, that same subtle curve of his lips that made Izzy’s heart skip a beat. “I’ve got time.”

“Great, let’s head over to the consultation area,” Izzy said, leading him to a cosy corner of the studio where a couple of plush chairs sat next to a table scattered with design books and sketches. 

Aleks moved with that same effortless grace as he followed her, and Izzy found herself more intrigued by the second. There was a calm, almost ethereal quality about him, as if he belonged to a different world entirely.

They sat down, and Izzy pulled out a fresh sheet of paper, ready to sketch as Aleks described his vision. “Alright, tell me more about what you’re thinking.”

Aleks leaned forward slightly, his intense eyes meeting hers. “I want a sleeve that feels like it’s a part of me,” he began, his voice low and steady. “I’ve always felt at home in nature, you know?”

She smiled. “I get you. So, what exactly are you thinking?”

Izzy listened intently, her pencil moving across the paper as she began to sketch out the elements he described. She could tell that this tattoo meant a great deal to him, though she wasn’t entirely sure why.

“I like the idea,” Izzy said after a moment, glancing up from her sketch. “It’s going to be intricate, but I think we can create something really special. This will be a multi-session piece, though—it’ll take time to get all the details just right, and a sleeve is hard work.”

Aleks nodded, his gaze never wavering. “I’m not in a rush. I want it done right.”

There was a sincerity in his tone that resonated with Izzy. She felt a strong urge to bring his vision to life, to create something that would truly reflect the person sitting before her. “Alright,” she said, finishing the rough sketch and turning it towards him. “Here’s a very basic outline. We can refine the details as we go, but does this look like what you had in mind?”

Aleks studied the sketch for a moment, his expression thoughtful. Then, he looked up at her, and for the first time since he’d walked in, his smile reached his eyes, softening their intensity. “It’s exactly what I had in mind. Thank you, Izzy.”

The warmth in his voice took her by surprise, and she felt a blush creeping up her neck. “No problem,” she said, busying herself with gathering the sketches. “I’m looking forward to working on this with you.”

They set a date for the first session, and as Aleks stood to leave, Izzy found herself reluctant to let the moment end. There was something about him that intrigued her in a way no client had before.

“Book an appointment with Ceth at the front,” Izzy said softly. “He’ll keep you right.”

“Thanks. See you later, then.”

“See you.”

She watched him leave, the door closing softly behind him, and couldn’t shake the feeling that this was the beginning of something much more than just a tattoo. As she turned back to her sketchpad, she felt a thrill of anticipation, wondering what the next session would bring.

***

Two weeks passed quickly, though Izzy found herself thinking about Aleks more often than she liked to admit. Something about him lingered in her mind—those intense violet eyes, the way he moved, that strange, shifting quality in his skin. She pushed the thoughts aside, telling herself it was just the usual curiosity that came with meeting an interesting new client.

When Aleks walked into Ink Envy for his first tattoo session, Izzy almost didn’t recognise him. His sleek, black hair, which had fallen past his shoulders during their consultation, was now cropped short, barely grazing his ears. The new style accentuated the sharp angles of his face, and he was stunning.

Izzy raised an eyebrow as she set down her sketchpad. “New look?” she asked, trying to keep her tone casual.

Aleks smiled, that same enigmatic smile that had caught her off guard the first time they met. “Yeah, thought I’d try something different.”

Izzy waved off his concern, though the change did throw her a little. “It suits you.”

She led him over to the chair, her mind racing. He looked different, more so than just a hair change. She couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something she was missing, but she pushed the thought aside as she focused on her work. Tattoos required precision, and she needed to be fully present.

“Alright, let’s get you prepped,” she said, slipping into her professional mode. She handed Aleks a form to sign and gave him the usual run-down—how the session would go, aftercare instructions, and a few tips to make the process as smooth as possible. 

He listened quietly, his eyes never leaving hers, and she felt a flicker of nerves under his intense gaze. Izzy was used to being the one in control, guiding her clients through the process, but something about Aleks made her feel like he was the one holding the reins.

Once the formalities were out of the way, she snapped on a pair of gloves and began prepping his arm. She carefully shaved the area where the tattoo would go, her hands moving with practiced ease. His skin was just as smooth as she remembered, but this time she could see the muscles beneath, lean and defined. She disinfected the area, the scent of antiseptic mixing with the faint smell of his cologne—a warm, woody fragrance that was surprisingly pleasant.

“Let me just get the stencil on,” she murmured, focusing on the task at hand. She positioned the stencil with care, making sure the vines and geometric patterns lined up perfectly with the natural contours of his arm. It was a complex design, one that required precision, but she felt a thrill of excitement as she imagined how it would look when finished.

Aleks watched her work, his expression calm and composed. There was no sign of nerves, no fidgeting or anxious glances at the needle, just a quiet confidence that made Izzy feel like she was the one being scrutinised. She pressed the stencil down, smoothing it over his skin before peeling it back to reveal the ink outline.

“Take a look,” she said, stepping back to give him space to inspect it.

Aleks glanced down at his arm, his expression unreadable as he studied the design. After a moment, he looked up and gave her a nod. “Looks perfect.”

Izzy felt a flutter of satisfaction at his approval. “Alright then,” she said, her voice steady as she positioned herself beside him. “Ready to get started?”

He nodded again, settling back in the chair with that same easy grace she’d noticed before. Izzy took a deep breath and picked up the tattoo machine, the familiar buzz filling the air as it came to life. She leaned in close, her world narrowing to the point where the needle met his skin.

“So, is this your first tattoo?” she asked, her voice light as she began the first stroke.

“Yes,” Aleks replied, his tone as calm as ever.

Izzy glanced up in surprise. “Really? You don’t seem nervous at all.”

He shrugged slightly, a small smile playing on his lips. “I have a high pain tolerance.”

Izzy chuckled, but there was a part of her that was genuinely amazed. Most first-timers flinched or tensed up at the initial sting of the needle, but Aleks didn’t so much as twitch. His expression remained composed, almost serene, as she worked. 

She continued inking the delicate vines onto his skin, her hands moving with careful precision. But as the session wore on, Izzy couldn’t help but notice how unusually still he remained. Even experienced clients would shift or fidget after a while, but Aleks sat as though he were carved from stone, his face betraying no discomfort at all.

The hours passed quickly, the design beginning to take shape as Izzy lost herself in the rhythm of her work. The vines twisted and curled around his arm, flowers blooming in the empty space. She paused occasionally to check his comfort, but Aleks always reassured her with a quiet nod or a calm smile.

“Still doing alright?” she asked, finally stepping back to wipe down his arm and get a better look at the progress.

“Never better,” he replied, his voice warm and untroubled.

Izzy shook her head in disbelief. “You’re a natural. Most people would be at least grimacing by now.”

Aleks’s smile widened slightly. “I guess I’m just built differently.”

She laughed, though his words stayed with her. There was something about the way he said it that made her wonder if he meant more than what was on the surface. As she looked at the intricate design now covering his forearm, she pushed the thought aside, focusing instead on the satisfaction of seeing the tattoo come to life.

By the time the session wrapped up, the initial outline was complete. Izzy stepped back, wiping her brow and admiring her handiwork. The tattoo was still in its early stages, but already she could see how it would come together in the next few sessions. It was a beautiful design, one that she felt proud of—and one that seemed to suit Aleks perfectly.

“All done for today,” she said, her voice tinged with a hint of reluctance as she began cleaning up. “We’ll need a few more sessions to finish, but it’s looking good so far.”

Aleks examined the tattoo in the mirror, his expression thoughtful. “It’s perfect so far.”

She felt that same warmth creeping up her neck, but she masked it with a smile. “Glad you’re happy with it. You’re handling this like a pro.”

He met her gaze, those violet eyes holding hers for a moment longer than necessary. “I trust you,” he said simply, and the sincerity in his voice left her momentarily speechless.

Izzy watched as Aleks made his way to the door, the soft click of the latch as it closed behind him echoing in the quiet studio. His words lingered in her mind, reverberating with a strange sense of weight. 

I trust you.

He had said it so simply, yet there was something profound in the way he’d looked at her, those violet eyes filled with an intensity that had momentarily left her breathless.

She stood there for a moment, staring at the closed door, a mixture of curiosity and something else—something she couldn’t quite name—churning in her chest. The studio, which had felt charged with energy during the session, now seemed unnaturally quiet. The buzz of the tattoo machine was long gone, replaced by the faint hum of the overhead lights and the distant sounds of the city outside.

Izzy shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts as she turned back to her station, methodically cleaning up. Her hands moved on autopilot, wiping down the surfaces, capping the inks, and sterilising the equipment. Her mind was elsewhere, replaying the session in her head—Aleks’s steady composure, his barely-there reactions to the needle, and that odd sensation she’d felt when his gaze had lingered on hers.

The back door creaked open, and Izzy glanced up to see Ceth, Ink Envy’s orc receptionist, emerging from the storeroom. He was a big guy—towering, with greenish-grey skin and tusks that jutted out from his lower jaw. Despite his intimidating appearance, Ceth had a soft heart and a knack for keeping things running smoothly. He carried a couple of boxes under one arm, his other hand gripping a clipboard as he made notes in his looping, precise script.

He looked up from the clipboard, his brows furrowing as he noticed Izzy standing by her station, seemingly lost in thought. “Was that your new client?” he asked, his deep voice rumbling through the quiet room.

Izzy nodded, flashing a smile as she wiped down the last of her tools. “Yeah, that was him. Just finished the first session.”

Ceth grunted, setting the boxes down on the counter with a thud. “He’s… odd,” he said, his tone cautious, as if he were testing out the word. He leaned against the counter. “Very quiet.”

Izzy couldn’t help but chuckle at the way Ceth’s nose wrinkled, his tusks twitching slightly in a gesture she’d come to recognise as his version of suspicion. “Odd? Ceth, have you looked at yourself lately?” she teased, grinning up at him. “Odd is kind of our thing around here.”

Ceth’s eyes narrowed, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah, well, there’s odd, and then there’s… whatever that is. Something about him doesn’t sit right with me. Too perfect, you know?”

Izzy paused, her grin fading slightly as she considered Ceth’s words. Perfect was definitely a word she’d thought of herself, but it had been accompanied by a strange sense of unease. Aleks had an aura about him—something polished and refined, yet almost too much so. Like he was a character out of a story, crafted with care but missing the rough edges that made people real.

She shrugged, trying to shake off the lingering doubts. “He’s harmless, Ceth. Just a bit… different.” She leaned against the counter, her wild curls brushing her shoulders as she looked up at him. “I mean, aren’t we all?”

Ceth’s eyes softened, and he let out a rumbling chuckle. “Suppose you’re right, Izzy. Still… just keep an eye on him, yeah?”

“Always do,” she replied, giving him a playful nudge with her elbow. “Besides, I think it’s kinda nice to have a client who isn’t flinching every five seconds.”

Ceth chuckled again, though it was tinged with that same caution. He picked up his clipboard, his massive hands making it look like a toy as he flipped through the pages. “Guess we’ll see how it goes. Just don’t get too caught up in those pretty eyes of his, alright?”

Izzy laughed, a light sound that helped dispel the tension that had settled in her chest. “Don’t worry, Ceth. I know how to keep my head.”

As she finished cleaning up, Ceth’s words echoed in her mind. There was something about Aleks that wasn’t quite right, something she couldn’t put her finger on. For now, she brushed it off. After all, she had a job to do, and Aleks was just another client.

Right?

***

Izzy sat at her station, adjusting her gloves as Aleks settled into the chair for their latest session. The tattoo was now halfway complete, and the colour was starting to look good. 

The design had come together beautifully, far beyond what Izzy had initially imagined. Each session revealed more of its complexity, and it seemed to resonate with Aleks in a way that felt almost… personal.

As she prepped her tools, she noticed once again how Aleks had changed since their first meeting. His hair had grown back, longer now, though not quite as long as it had been originally. There were subtle differences in his appearance that she couldn’t quite pinpoint—his skin seemed smoother, his features a bit sharper, more refined. Like he’d lost weight, except only in his face. Every time she saw him, it was like looking at a slightly different version of the man she’d met weeks ago.

“Alright, we’re about halfway there,” she said, tearing herself from her thoughts; and breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between them. “How’s it feeling so far?”

Aleks smiled, the kind of smile that had grown familiar to Izzy but still made her heart skip a beat. “It’s been good. I hardly notice the pain anymore.”

Izzy chuckled softly as she positioned herself beside him. “You say that like you noticed it in the first place. You’re still the calmest client I’ve ever had.”

He shrugged, the movement so fluid it was almost unnatural. “I guess I’m just good at handling it.”

As she began working, the buzz of the tattoo machine filling the room, Izzy decided to push a little further into the quiet mystery that was Aleks. Over the past few sessions, their conversations had gradually become more personal, though Aleks always kept certain details close to the chest.

“So,” Izzy said casually, her focus on the delicate lines she was inking, “you mentioned before that you’re a traveller. What kind of places have you been to?”

Aleks hesitated, just for a moment, before he spoke. “Here and there. A lot of places you probably wouldn’t have heard of.” There was a wistfulness to his voice, as if he was talking about something far away, both in distance and in time.

Izzy glanced up briefly, catching his eyes with hers. “Try me. I’m always curious about new places.”

His violet eyes flickered with something she couldn’t quite place—a mix of emotions that passed too quickly for her to decipher. “There’s a place… a city of floating gardens.”

Izzy paused, her hand stilling for a moment as she processed what he’d just said. “That sounds… incredible. Definitely not anywhere I’ve heard of.”

Aleks’s smile was faint, almost sad. “It’s… far from here.”

The way he said it made Izzy’s chest tighten, as though he were talking about a place he could never return to. She wanted to ask more, to dig deeper into this strange and beautiful world he was describing, but something held her back. Instead, she simply nodded, her fingers resuming their work with the needle.

As the hours passed, the tattoo continued to evolve, the vines seeming to pulse with life, the geometric patterns aligning perfectly with the natural curves of Aleks’s arm. The room was quiet save for the hum of the tattoo machine and their occasional conversations, but there was a sense of intimacy that had developed between them.

At one point, Izzy glanced up from her work and found herself momentarily stunned. Aleks’s face had shifted—just for a split second, but enough to leave her breathless. His features seemed to shimmer, the sharp angles softening, his eyes glowing with an otherworldly light. His skin took on a luminous quality, as if he were made of something more than flesh and bone.

Izzy blinked, her breath catching in her throat. As quickly as it had happened, the vision was gone. Aleks’s face returned to the familiar, handsome features she had grown accustomed to, his expression calm and serene as if nothing had changed.

“Is everything alright?” Aleks asked, his voice gentle, though there was a note of concern in it.

Izzy realised she had stopped tattooing, her hand frozen in place. She quickly resumed her work, shaking off the moment of shock. “Yeah, sorry. I just… thought I saw something.”

Aleks tilted his head slightly, studying her with those intense violet eyes. “Saw something?”

Izzy hesitated, unsure how to explain what she had just witnessed. “It’s nothing. Probably just my eyes playing tricks on me. I need to close the blinds.”

He didn’t press further, but there was a knowing look in his gaze that made her wonder if he knew exactly what she had seen. The rest of the session passed in relative silence, though the atmosphere between them had shifted slightly—still comfortable, but with an undercurrent of something unspoken.

When the session finally ended, Izzy wiped down his arm and stepped back to admire the progress. The tattoo was coming together beautifully, the design now wrapping around his bicep and creeping towards his shoulder. As she looked at it, she couldn’t shake the feeling that it was more than just ink on skin. It felt alive, like it was part of Aleks, growing and changing with him.

“All done for today,” she said, her voice steady despite thoughts swirling in her mind.

Aleks examined the tattoo in the mirror, his expression unreadable. “It’s coming along great.”

She smiled, though her heart wasn’t in it. “Glad you think so.”

As Aleks stood and prepared to leave, Izzy found herself watching him more closely, searching for any sign of the change she’d seen earlier. He looked the same as always—handsome, calm, and impossibly perfect.

“I’ll see you for the next session,” he said, his voice soft but steady. There was an intensity in his gaze that made Izzy’s heart skip a beat, a sense that he was saying more than just goodbye.

“Yeah,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “See you then.”

As Aleks walked out the door, Izzy let out a breath she didn’t realise she’d been holding. The studio was quiet once more, but the echoes of their conversation and the strange vision she’d witnessed lingered in the air.

***

The atmosphere in Ink Envy was different today. The familiar hum of the tattoo machine was the same, as was the steady rhythm of Izzy’s hands, but there was an underlying tension in the air that made her stomach churn with unease. Aleks sat in the chair, as he had done for each session before, but this time, something was off.

He had always been quiet, reserved even, but today he seemed almost distant, as if his mind was somewhere far away. His usual calm composure had a brittle edge to it, a certain impatience that hadn’t been there before. It was as though he couldn’t wait for the session to be over and to leave. The thought made Izzy’s chest tighten with a pang of something she didn’t want to name—disappointment, maybe, or something more painful.

She tried to ignore it, focusing instead on the tattoo, which was nearly complete. The vines had climbed all the way up his arm, now reaching across his shoulder. It was a beautiful piece, one she was proud of, but today, even the joy of creation was tinged with melancholy.

Aleks had barely spoken since he walked in, and every attempt Izzy made at conversation seemed to fall flat. His replies were monosyllabic, his eyes distant, as if he were counting down the minutes until he could walk out the door. It shouldn’t have mattered—it was just business, after all—but it did. It mattered more than Izzy wanted to admit.

“Almost there,” she murmured, her voice carefully neutral as she worked on the final details. The session was dragging on longer than usual, and with each passing minute, the distance between them seemed to grow. “How’re you holding up?”

Aleks didn’t respond immediately, and when he did, his voice was flat, devoid of the warmth she had come to enjoy. “Fine. Just… ready for this to be done.”

The words were like a slap in the face, and Izzy felt her heart sink. She forced a smile, though it felt brittle. “Yeah, I can tell you’re eager to finish up. You’ve been a real trooper through all of this.”

She waited for the usual smile, the small flicker of amusement that would light up his violet eyes, but it didn’t come. Instead, Aleks remained stoic, his gaze fixed on some distant point beyond the walls of the studio. It was as if he was no longer really there with her, and the thought made Izzy’s hands tremble, just slightly, as she continued to work.

It wasn’t until she was nearly done that she noticed something else—something that made her pause. Aleks was flinching, just the tiniest bit, each time the needle touched his skin. It was subtle, barely noticeable, but to Izzy, it was as if the earth had shifted beneath her feet.

She frowned, glancing up at him. “You okay? Seems like your pain tolerance is finally catching up with you.”

Aleks didn’t respond, and when he did flinch again, something strange happened. His skin shimmered, just for a second, like the surface of water disturbed by a breeze. Izzy’s heart skipped a beat, her hands freezing in place.

“Aleks?” she asked, her voice laced with concern. “Are you—”

Before she could finish the question, Aleks suddenly pulled away, his movements jerky, almost panicked. His hand flew to his shoulder, covering the fresh ink as though he could stop whatever was happening beneath his skin. His eyes, wide and filled with something she hadn’t seen before—fear, maybe—flickered towards her.

“I—I need a minute,” he stammered, his voice breaking the calm façade he had maintained for so long. Without another word, he stood up, nearly stumbling in his haste as he rushed towards the back of the studio.

Izzy watched, stunned, as Aleks disappeared into the bathroom, the door closing with a heavy thud. The studio fell into an uneasy silence, the only sound the faint buzzing of the tattoo machine that she hadn’t turned off.

For a moment, she stood frozen, her gaze fixed on the closed bathroom door. What had she seen? His skin had shimmered, and then Aleks had looked at her with such fear, such raw vulnerability, that it had sent a shiver down her spine. Something was wrong—deeply wrong—and it gnawed at her to leave him in there alone. What if he needed space? 

She switched off the machine, the sudden absence of its hum making the silence even more oppressive. Izzy took a deep breath, trying to calm the rush of adrenaline coursing through her veins. She gave him a few minutes, hoping he’d come out on his own, but the seconds ticked by with no sign of Aleks. The uneasy quiet stretched on, and the anxiety that had settled in her chest only grew heavier.

Finally, she couldn’t take it any longer. Izzy crossed the room to the bathroom door, her steps slow and measured, as if any sudden movement might shatter the fragile calm. She knocked softly at first, her knuckles brushing the wood.

“Aleks?” she called, her voice gentle but laced with concern. There was no answer, only the hollow echo of her knock bouncing back at her. She hesitated, then knocked again, a little louder this time. “Aleks, are you okay? You can’t hide in there forever.”

Still, there was no response. The silence on the other side of the door was deafening, and a cold dread crept up Izzy’s spine. What was he doing in there? Was he hurt? Was something worse happening?

“Aleks,” she tried again, her tone more insistent. “Do you need some water? Are you feeling faint?” She pressed her ear against the door, straining to hear any sound, but there was nothing. “Come on, talk to me. Please.”

The quiet stretched on, and just when she was about to knock again, she heard it—his voice, low and strained, barely more than a whisper. “Go away, Izzy.”

Her heart clenched at the sound of his voice, so unlike the calm, controlled tone she was used to. “I’m not leaving,” she said firmly, pressing her palm against the door as if she could reach through it to him. “Whatever’s going on, you don’t have to go through it alone. Let me help you.”

For a long moment, there was no response, and Izzy wondered if he would simply ignore her until she had no choice but to walk away. Then, she heard a soft, almost defeated sigh from the other side of the door.

“Please, Izzy,” he said, his voice thick with something she couldn’t quite identify—fear, maybe, or despair. “You don’t understand. You don’t know what you’re asking.”

She swallowed hard, her throat tight. “Then help me understand, Aleks. I’m not going anywhere. Open the door. Nobody else is here.”

The silence that followed was agonising, but Izzy stood firm, her hand still pressed against the door as if she could somehow reassure him through the wood. She could feel the seconds ticking by, each one heavier than the last, until finally, she heard the soft click of the lock turning.

The door creaked open, just a crack at first, and then slowly, reluctantly, it swung wide enough for Izzy to see Aleks standing in the doorway. Except… it wasn’t Aleks. Not the Aleks she knew, anyway.

What stood before her was something otherworldly, something both beautiful and terrifying in equal measure. His skin, once smooth and human, now shimmered with an ethereal light, a soft glow that pulsed like a heartbeat beneath the surface. It had taken on a silvery hue, translucent in places. His violet eyes, the one feature that remained the same, had deepened in colour, glowing with an intensity that seemed to pierce through her. His features were sharper, more angular, with high cheekbones and a jawline that could have been carved from glass.

There was an alien quality to him now, something that was… inhuman.

Izzy’s breath caught in her throat as she stared at him, her mind struggling to comprehend what she was seeing. He wasn’t an orc, or a tiefling, or any other creature she had ever encountered. He was something else entirely—something far more ancient, far more dangerous. Yet, even in his inhuman form, there was a strange, haunting beauty to him that left her speechless.

“Aleks…” she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath. She didn’t know what to say, what to ask. How could she? She didn’t even know what she was looking at.

He flinched at the sound of his name, as if it pained him, and turned his gaze away from her, his shoulders sagging with a weight she couldn’t see. “This is why I didn’t want you to see me,” he said quietly, his voice filled with a sorrow that pierced her heart. “This is what I really am.”

Izzy took a tentative step forward, her hand reaching out instinctively before she stopped herself. She didn’t know if she should touch him—if she even could. “Aleks,” she said again, more firmly this time, though her voice still trembled. “You don’t have to hide from me.”

His eyes, those brilliant, glowing eyes, flicked back to hers, and for a moment, there was something vulnerable in them, something that made her heart ache. Then he shook his head, stepping back into the shadows of the bathroom, the light dimming around him.

The door began to close, shutting her out, shutting himself away.

Izzy wasn’t about to let that happen.

Before Aleks could close the door completely, she stepped forward, slipping into the small, dim space with him and turning the lock behind her. The click of the lock was quiet but final, leaving them both standing there in the darkness, the tension thick between them.

Aleks turned to her in surprise, his eyes wide and glowing faintly in the low light. His skin, now fully illuminated by its own strange, ethereal light, cast a soft glow across the cramped bathroom. The air seemed to hum with the energy that radiated off him, a soft, pulsing light that shifted and moved across his skin, like moonlight dancing on water.

Izzy took a slow, steadying breath, trying to calm the rush of emotions swirling inside her. The small bathroom was bathed in a soft, silvery glow that came entirely from him, and it took her a moment to realise something that made her smile despite the situation.

“You know,” she said, her voice softer than usual but carrying a note of humour, “you’ve been standing here in the dark this whole time. The lights are off.”

Aleks blinked, clearly startled by the observation, and then, slowly, a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. It was hesitant, almost shy, but it was there, and it was enough to make Izzy’s heart skip a beat.

“I guess I have,” he murmured, a hint of warmth returning to his voice. The glow from his skin flickered slightly, as if in response to his emotions.

Izzy felt a rush of relief at seeing that smile, however fleeting it was. It gave her the courage to take a step closer, her gaze steady as she looked at him—really looked at him. “Aleks,” she said softly, her voice filled with a gentle determination, “please let me see you. The real you. No hiding.”

He hesitated, his luminous eyes searching hers, as if looking for something he couldn’t quite find. “Izzy, I don’t… I don’t want to scare you. This isn’t… this isn’t what you think it is.”

Izzy shook her head, her curls brushing against her shoulders. “You’re not scaring me. Yeah, I was shocked at first, but that’s normal, right? I just need a moment to process.” She reached out slowly, giving him time to pull away, but he didn’t. Her hand found his, and she squeezed gently. “Let me see you. Really see you.”

For a long moment, Aleks didn’t move. He just stood there, staring at her with those otherworldly eyes, his expression a mix of fear and uncertainty. Then, with a shaky breath, he nodded. “Okay.”

Izzy released his hand, her breath catching as she took a step back, giving him space. Aleks closed his eyes for a moment, his brow furrowing in concentration. When he opened them again, the glow from his skin intensified, filling the room with a soft, pulsing light that seemed to reflect the steady beat of his heart.

He stepped fully into the light, and for the first time, Izzy saw him completely—his true form, unmasked and unhidden. He was breathtaking, in a way that was both beautiful and unsettling. 

His hair, now a cascade of silver threads, framed his face like a halo, and his eyes… those eyes were the most stunning thing she had ever seen.

Aleks shifted under her gaze, his expression guarded. “This is what I am, Izzy,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with sorrow. “Not the man you thought you knew. Just… this.”

Izzy shook her head, stepping closer to him again, her eyes softening as she took in the full picture. “You’re still you, Aleks. This doesn’t change that.”

He looked at her, incredulous, as if he couldn’t believe what she was saying. “I’m not… I’m not human, Izzy. I’ve been lying to you this whole time.”

“Ceth’s not human either, and I’m not an orc. You don’t see us holding it against each other. Why would I hold this against you?”

He shrugged, small and nervous.

She reached out, her hand hovering over his arm before she gently rested it against his shimmering skin. It was warm, softer than she had expected, and the patterns beneath the surface shifted under her touch, like ripples in water. “You might not be human, but you’ve never lied to me. I don’t know what you are, but I know who you are.”

His breath hitched, and he looked down at her hand on his arm, the vulnerability in his eyes more palpable than ever. “You really mean that?”

Izzy nodded, her heart swelling with a strange mixture of tenderness and protectiveness. “I do, Aleks. You’re beautiful. You’re… incredible. I just wish you could see that.”

For a moment, Aleks said nothing, his gaze locked on hers, as if he were searching for the truth in her words. Then, slowly, hesitantly, he reached up to cup her cheek, his touch so light it was almost a caress.

“Beautiful?” he echoed, his voice barely more than a whisper, as if he couldn’t quite believe it. “No one’s ever… No one’s ever said that before.”

Izzy leaned into his touch, her eyes never leaving his. “Well, they should have,” she whispered back, her voice filled with an emotion she couldn’t quite name. “Because you are.”

Something shifted in Aleks then, the tension in his shoulders easing, the light in his eyes softening. He took a step closer, closing the distance between them until she could feel the warmth of his body.

“Izzy,” he murmured, his voice a mix of awe and uncertainty. He leaned in, his forehead resting against hers, and for a moment, they just stood there, breathing in each other’s presence, the connection between them stronger than it had ever been.

Izzy closed her eyes, letting herself get lost in the moment, in the warmth of his touch, in the way his breath mingled with hers. She didn’t know what this meant, didn’t know what the future held for them, but right now, none of that mattered.

Then, as if drawn by some unseen force, Aleks tilted his head slightly, his lips brushing against hers in the lightest of touches. Izzy’s heart skipped a beat, her breath catching in her throat as she realised what was happening. Instead of pulling away, she leaned into the kiss, her hand tightening on his arm as she pressed closer to him.

The kiss was soft, tentative, as if neither of them could quite believe it was real. There was a tenderness to it, a sense of something unspoken passing between them. Aleks’s lips were warm, soft.

When they finally pulled back, breathless and a little dazed, Aleks stared at her with wide eyes, his expression filled with wonder and something that looked very much like hope.

“Izzy,” he whispered, his voice trembling, as if he couldn’t quite believe what had just happened. “I… I don’t know what to say.”

She smiled up at him, her heart full, her fears and doubts melting away in the glow of his light. “Then don’t say anything,” she murmured, leaning in to rest her forehead against his again.

For a few precious moments, Izzy and Aleks stood there in the dim light of the bathroom, their foreheads resting together, breathing in unison. The glow from his skin, once so intense and otherworldly, began to fade, the silvery light slowly dimming until it was almost gone. Izzy could feel the warmth of his body against hers, the soft pulse of his breath, but when she opened her eyes, she was greeted not by the ethereal, glowing being she had just kissed, but by the familiar face of the man she had grown to care for.

Aleks’s features had softened back to their human form—his skin no longer shimmered with that eerie, beautiful light, and his hair was once again black and straight, falling just shy of his shoulders. His eyes, though still a striking violet, had lost that otherworldly glow, returning to the deep, intense gaze that had captivated her from the beginning.

Izzy couldn’t help the slight pang of disappointment that tugged at her heart. There was something so mesmerizing, so raw and real, about his true form, and now it felt as if it had slipped away, leaving only the familiar shell of the man she thought she knew. As she looked up at him, at the Aleks she had kissed, she knew that the essence of who he was—whatever he was—hadn’t disappeared. It was still there, in the warmth of his gaze, in the softness of his touch.

She smiled gently, her hand still resting on his arm. “Looks like you’re back,” she whispered, her voice laced with both relief and a touch of regret.

Aleks blinked, as if coming back to himself, and let out a slow breath. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t mean for you to see me like that… I just couldn’t hold it back anymore.”

Izzy shook her head, her thumb brushing over his skin in a reassuring gesture. “Don’t apologise. I’m glad I saw the real you, Aleks; but we should probably get out of here.” She let out a small, breathy laugh. “Can’t hide in the bathroom forever.”

He managed a faint smile, a ghost of the warmth she had felt earlier. “Yeah… you’re right.”

With a soft sigh, Izzy unlocked the door and stepped out of the bathroom, coaxing Aleks to follow her back into the studio. The normalcy of the familiar space felt almost jarring after what had just happened, but she knew they couldn’t stay hidden away any longer. The tattoo needed to be finished, and life had to go on.

She changed her gloves, the simple ritual grounding her as she prepared to finish the work they’d started. Aleks sat back in the chair, his eyes still a little distant, but there was a new softness to his expression, a vulnerability that hadn’t been there before. Izzy could see the way his shoulders had relaxed slightly, the tension that had coiled tight around him for so long finally beginning to ease.

As she picked up the tattoo machine and began working again, the steady buzz filled the room, offering a comforting familiarity. Aleks remained silent, but this time, the quiet between them wasn’t heavy or strained. It was peaceful, almost tender, as if they had reached an unspoken understanding.

With each stroke of the needle, the tattoo grew more complete, the vines and patterns intertwining seamlessly with Aleks’s skin. Izzy was meticulous, her focus entirely on the work, but her mind kept circling back to what she had seen, what she had felt. The way his body had shifted, the way he had looked at her with those glowing eyes, filled with so much uncertainty and fear.

And then it struck her, a sudden clarity that made her pause, the needle hovering just above his skin. His body was inconstant, always shifting, always changing—an existence that must have felt like he could never hold onto anything permanent, anything real. This tattoo… it would never change. No matter what form he took, no matter how his body shifted, the tattoo would remain the same, a fixed point in the midst of all that uncertainty.

Izzy glanced up at him, her heart swelling with a mix of emotions. “This is why you wanted the tattoo, isn’t it?” she asked softly, the realisation dawning on her. “Because it’s something that won’t change. Something you can hold onto.”

Aleks’s eyes met hers, and for a moment, he looked like he might deny it, but then he sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly as he nodded. “Yeah,” he admitted, his voice low, almost defeated. “I just… I needed something that was mine. Something that wouldn’t shift or fade away.”

Izzy’s chest tightened with a surge of affection for him, and she felt the urge to reach out and touch him, to reassure him that she understood, that she was here. Instead, she smiled, her voice soft and full of warmth. “Well, you’ve got it now. It’s yours forever.”

He looked at her, something softening in his gaze, and for the first time, he seemed to truly believe her. “Thank you.”

She finished the last few strokes of the tattoo with her usual care, but there was something different in the air now—something tender, something unspoken but deeply understood between them. When she finally set the machine down and wiped away the last traces of ink, she took a step back, admiring the work.

“There,” she said, her voice filled with quiet pride. “All done.”

Aleks looked down at his arm, his eyes tracing the intricate design that now covered his skin. The vines and patterns seemed to pulse with life, as if they were truly a part of him, and he nodded slowly, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips. “It’s perfect.”

Izzy’s heart swelled at the sight of his smile, the first real smile she’d seen from him all day, and she knew that whatever had happened, whatever would come next, they had both found something they needed. Something permanent, something real.

As Aleks stood, pulling on his shirt with care, he glanced at her, his expression a mix of gratitude and something deeper. “I don’t know what happens next,” he said quietly, his voice filled with an honesty that made Izzy’s heart ache. “I’m glad… I’m glad I found you.”

Izzy reached out, her hand finding his, and she squeezed gently, her eyes shining with a warmth she didn’t try to hide. “Me too.”

For a moment, they just stood there, hand in hand, the silence between them no longer awkward or tense but full of possibility. Then, as if by some unspoken agreement, they both leaned in at the same time, their lips meeting in a soft kiss.

When they finally pulled back, Aleks looked at her with a tenderness that made her heart flutter, and Izzy knew that whatever uncertainties lay ahead, they had found something special here—something worth holding onto.