#and the back of the neck would risk severing his spine

[baambastic]

For all the talk UtRH gets about where on Jason’s body Bruce was trying to hit with the Batarang (throat, shoulder, side of the neck, etc.), especially about hitting his throat, I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone bring up that Bruce banked the shot off a pipe behind Jason, making it literally impossible to hit his throat from such an angle unless Jason turned around (which he didn’t).

As for why he banked the shot at all: the only spot he could have hit from a straight shot would have been Jason’s face.

[ki-yomii]

hit the gym | jjk

➥ pairing | jeon jungkook x f!reader

➥ word count | 1.5k

➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; hair pulling, mild dirty talk, established relationship, oral (m receiving), mild body worship?, teasing, hints of exhibitionism/voyeurism

➥ summary | stopping now would ruin all the fun.

➥ notes | yes it's true, i would give jungkook the sloppiest of toppies ✌️also greysweat pants iykyk. a random short one, hope you enjoy 🩶

🩶 masterlist | inbox | AO3 🩶

“Baby.”

Jungkook’s never looked so undone; his eyes hooded and hungry, his mouth raw and red-bitten. Wants so, so badly he’s practically vibrating with it.

And yet, he’s still holding back.

The sound of his knuckles popping as his hands clench into fists beside his hips echoes through the otherwise empty gym. It’s almost kind of precious how much he’s struggling against the urge to throw you back against the wall.

To take, take, take until you’re nothing but a trembling, soaked, thoroughly fucked mess.

You hum in response, digging your nails into the nape of his neck to feel the little shiver that zips down his spine. "What's got you so worried, huh?"

The fact he still has the restraint to resist railing you right then and there - even though he clearly wants to - is so intensely hot you almost choke on your own spit. When his eyes cut to yours, you almost moan at how intensely he stares.

“I just,” he trails off, hands flexing as he catalogs the darkened wall of windows, the entryway, the open space, "I don't think this is a good idea."

Right now, you're the only two in the gym.

While that could change, it's edging closer to midnight.

After several months of joining Jungkook for his exercises, you've found most people aren't as eager to hit the machines at all hours of the day like he is.

The likelihood of getting caught is significantly low which works perfectly for you because it's a high payoff with half the associated risk.

You pretend to think, "Mm, no. I think it's a great idea." Palms dancing over his tense shoulders, you tease your fingers along the loose neck of his t-shirt. "Don't you?"

Jungkook bites off a curse, his body rolling up into your touch. He works his jaw as his teeth tug on his lip piercings. You know he's just itching to drag you into a darkened corner.

"I-I... really, baby, can't we just - y'know? Why does it have to be here?"

No amount of half-hearted protests hides how hard Jungkook is. Deciding to wear grey sweatpants today works against him, the soft cotton slung low on his hips and clinging to the thick line of his fat cock.

You raise a brow, glancing down at where he's digging into your hip, "You were saying, Kook?"

A perverse spark of pleasure lights up your spine at the way his eyes slide away from yours, his throat bobbing when he swallows and shies away.

"Sh-shut up..."

Serves the tease right.

You've had to watch him work out, disheveled and sweat-slick for hours. Hear him grunt and whine from the strain of lifting heavy weights. It's only fair he gets a taste of his own medicine.

Anyway, the thought of being so exposed (without actually getting caught) is kind of exhilarating. Gets your blood pumping and arousal pulsing through your body. A pool of liquid heat blooming low in your belly.

After watching him struggle a little longer between what he wants, and what he thinks he should do, you make his decision for him.

Only as soon as your hand slips past the elastic waistband, your breath stutters in your chest. Where you expect to feel soft cotton, there are miles of smooth skin. With wide eyes, you trace along a hipbone before sliding the tips of your fingers down to brush through a trimmed thatch of pubic hair, stopping once you feel the silken base of his cock.

Jungkook's eyes flutter shut, a full body jolt rocking him into you as his mouth drops open in a guttural moan. Tendrils of arousal coil between your thighs, your pussy throbbing when your fingers close around his bare shaft and he throbs against your warm palm.

If you’d have known he decided to go commando, you’d have been on your knees within the first ten minutes.

Chewing on your lip, you give him a few slow pumps, tightening your grip on the upstroke. The heavy weight of his shaft glides through the circle of your fist with ease.

Your thighs clench.

“What were you saying again, Kook? Cause it looks to me like you worry too much.”

He hisses through his teeth, burrowing his face into his shoulder. The tips of his ears burn bright pink, a creeping blush sinking deep into the apples of his cheeks.

Without waiting for a response, you tug his sweats down as you sink to your knees. His flushed cock springs out, curving up towards his belly with a wet smack.

“Haah - don’t!”

You laugh - a breathless, eager sound - as your hands pet his tense thighs, watching as fat drops of pre-cum ooze down the swollen head, sticky strings clinging to dusky skin.

Fuck, you can't wait to get your tongue on him; to feel the weight of him in your mouth, the tang of his skin, and the taste of his cum as he fucks into the circle of your lips.

To hear the absolutely delicious groans of masculine pleasure that shoot straight to your clit.

“How can you say that when you’re so wet and ready for me?”

“That’s cheating,” Jungkook groans, scrubbing a hand over his face. He peeks down at you through the gaps in his fingers, gulping at how pretty you look on your knees with his cock in your hand. “Fuck, you’re gonna kill me.”

You hum, eyes sparking mischief as you dip down to brush a kiss along the strap of muscle above his hipbone. The smell of his bodywash surrounds you, tickling your nose. “Yeah, but you love it, don’t you?”

The sight of him looming over you, his hair a tussled mess and a starved glint to his coffee-dark eyes, is a visceral sucker punch that has your heart stuttering and your mouth watering. Wanting to sink your teeth in.

“You know I do,” he mumbles.

Brought to the very edge of control, left teetering; you wonder how much further you have to push until he breaks.

A blooming warmth hooks into your belly, spreads down to settle between your thighs. The crotch of your shorts is soaked through, every shift of fabric dragging along your sensitive folds. A whisper of friction that drives you insane.

“Mm, now are you ready, baby?”

Taking his silence for the acquiescence it is, you dip down and run your tongue along the thick vein on the underside of his shaft. His cock bobs, a fresh bead of pre-cum welling to the surface.

Watching him from beneath your lashes with a coy smirk tugging at the corners of your mouth, you clean him up with a kittenish lick. Following the trails of salty arousal with your tongue.

Jungkook grunts - choked-off, wounded sound that punches its way out his chest.

You hum, and slide your hands up over his thighs. Stopping when palms rest against his abs, your nails dig in, drag down. The muscles clench, red welts developing in the wake of your touch.

Satisfaction warms your blood, Jungkook’s next breath is a low hiss as he stutters, rocks forward before catching himself with a murmured curse, “S-Shit…”

His fist pounds against the wall - once, twice, three times. His jaw works fast as he scrambles to regain his slipping control. You know what buttons to push and with every careful caress, every calculated hint of rough, his body sparks to life.

He’s almost there, you can see it; all his savage edges creeping in, pressing against his skin. You can’t wait. It’s always so explosive between the two of you when he gives in, allows himself to truly whet his appetite.

He tangles his hand in your hair, digging a thumb into your bottom lip to watch as your mouth stretches around him. “You have no idea what you do to me, do you?”

The grit of his voice, dark and full of hunger cuts through you. You moan around a mouthful of him, eyes fluttering shut as your veins fill with liquid fire. Your thighs rub together for relief from the ache in your pussy.

It’s so difficult to tease him because more often than not, you want nothing more than to pull off and hop on. To let him ride you hard. Put you away wet and thoroughly used. 

But you can’t, not yet.

Stopping now will spoil all the fun.

Trying to distract yourself, you suckle on the head, roll your lips, and flick your tongue over the spongy flesh. When you dip into the slit, he whines, “Ohh..my god, oh ffuuh..ck yes.”

Those broad shoulders hunch forward over your head like he took a kick to the chest, a full-bodied shiver wracking his frame. He yanks on your hair and you clench in response, the little tremors in his thighs stroking your ego as you pop him out of your mouth.

“Mm, I think I do,” you purr, rubbing your tender, spit-slick lips along the shaft. “Now let me show you what you do to me.”

[xpeachy-keenx]

"late night" — h. star rail

PAIRING dan heng × female reader

DESCRIPTION you can't sleep. dan heng decided to keep you company.

TAGS cunnilingus. breeding kink. fingerfucking.

TOTAL WORD COUNT 1,486

NSFW BELOW THE CUT - MDNI

Dan Heng woke up on the floor of the Archives.

He braced himself for the nightmares of his past life to come rushing back, but there were none. The terminal of the data bank emitted a faint glow, reminding him it was updating and hadn’t finished. Dan Heng reached for his phone when the screen’s brightness blinded him.

After blinking away the pain, he checked the time and realized it was early in the morning. Before powering the phone off again, he noticed at the top of the screen was a notification: a text message from five minutes ago.

A text message from you.

Inputting his passcode, he read the message over and over.

are u up

Dan Heng sat up, his blanket rolling off into his lap. Watching the cursor blink in the text box, he felt overwhelmed with concern for you. Why would you be awake at such an hour?

Is something wrong?

Soon after the text was delivered, three dots popped up on your side as you typed out a response.

can’t sleep

Oh.

Oh.

Dan Heng chewed his bottom lip. He wouldn’t be going back to sleep soon, but the warmth he felt pooling down below was worth it. He didn’t hesitate as he responded.

Come here.

Three dots popped up several times before disappearing, with no text coming from you. He sat his phone down beside him as he stood and stretched. Dan Heng considered putting on a shirt, but didn’t see the point when it’d be coming off again. There was a tentative knock at the door as he crossed the room in three long strides and opened it.

There you stood, fidgeting with the end of your oversized sleep shirt, as you avoided making eye contact. He took in your appearance, eyes lowering to admire your thighs exposed by the pair of shorts you wore underneath.

“H-Hi,” you stuttered out as you bit the inside of your cheek. “Sorry for waking you up.”

“It’s okay. I told you it was fine to wake me up if you couldn’t sleep.”

You peered up at him through your lashes and asked, “Can I come in?”

Dan Heng nodded, not backing up as you brushed past him to enter the Archives. A chill went down his spine when your nipples pebbled against his arm. With the door locked, he watched you waltz up to his makeshift bed and bent over to wrap yourself in his blanket.

“Why are you so far away?”

Dan Heng stalked towards you—a look of hunger in his eyes—as he watched you tug your shirt off. There was a clash of teeth as he pressed his lips against yours, his hands reaching up to squeeze your soft breasts. You whimpered, the sound making his cock throb. Your fingers raked through his dark hair while the other dug into the skin of his back.

Dan Heng moved down your body, caressing you with his lips against your chest, stomach, until he reached your clothed pussy. His fingers hooked into the elastic of your shorts, pulling them down along with your panties. He didn’t give in to you right away, as he lavished kisses against your inner thighs. When your legs threatened to close, he moved your thighs onto his shoulders as he continued his teasing.

“Dan Heng,” you whined, growing impatient.

He hummed in response.

“Please …”

He pulled away, his eyes boring into yours.

“Before we continue, I wanted to try that …”

At first, you were unsure about what he was referring to until you recalled a conversation you had a while ago. The two of you were lounging in a passenger car—him engaged in a book while you scrolled through social media—when the topic of sexual fantasies came up. It was difficult prying any information out of Dan Heng as he denied having any, but the blush creeping up his neck begged to differ.

“Aw, come on. I already told you some of mine,” you said as your legs laid across his lap.

Dan Heng cleared his throat. The risk of anyone walking in at such an intimate moment was high. He mumbled to himself, not facing you as the tips of his ears flushed red.

“Hm, what was that?”

When he turned to you, the blush spread across his cheeks, betraying his attempts to be indifferent, when he asked, “Could I … finish inside you?”

The humor of the situation died as your stomach fluttered and a warmth pooled in between your legs. You thought you were being subtle when your thighs rubbed together, but his hand squeezed your hip in a silent promise. The memory made you spread your legs as you whined. Dan Heng pressed his lips to your wet pussy, his tongue parting your folds with ease as he tasted you.

Your head buried into his pillows as you tried to ground yourself. Dan Heng’s lips wrapped around your clit as he sucked, then circled the tip of his tongue around the hardened nub. There was a prodding at your clenching hole as he slipped a finger in, followed by another. He set a slow pace, curling his fingers when you tightened up around him.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop, please, don’t stop.”

He held you down with an arm lazily thrown across your stomach. He refused to relieve you of his torment as he continued lathing his hot tongue over you. The lewd sounds of your pussy sucking his fingers in had your eyes rolling into the back of your skull. With a cry of his name, you came all over him.

Dan Heng didn’t slow down as he lapped up your cum, even when you whined in overstimulation and shoved at his shoulders. When he begrudgingly pulled away, his lips were puffy and spit-soaked as he licked them. He crawled up your body, his hips flush with yours. The hard outline of his dick rubbed against your sensitive clit as he hid in the side of your neck.

“Please, please, can I be inside you?”

Your pussy clenched around nothing as you urged him to take his pants off. With his hard cock freed—sticky precum leaking from the flushed tip—you wrapped your fingers around him and squeezed. You bit your lip as a desire to take him into your mouth came over you.

“No, not tonight.”

You pouted. Dan Heng silenced any attempts to convince him otherwise by grinding against your dripping center. He slipped the head of his cock inside you before pulling out. As he repeated the action, he observed, mesmerized, at how your sticky arousal connected the two of you.

“Why are you being so mean?”

He cupped your chest, pinching your nipples as he kissed you. He slid into you, inch by inch, until you were pawing at his chest to slow down. Dan Heng placed open-mouthed kisses along your throat, being careful not to leave hickies, as he soothed you.

Your lips brushed his ear as you whispered, “Fuck me.”

He jerked, filling you in one thrust. You gasped, unable to catch your breath as he set a brutal pace. His fingers intertwined with yours as he fucked into you, mumbling curses into your ear. Dan Heng never imagined he would’ve been in this position, let alone accepting a lewd arrangement proposed by you one night during a shared bout of insomnia. But as he watched himself repeatedly disappear into your tight heat—a thick ring of your creamy arousal forming at the base of his cock—he wouldn't have it any other way.

“I-I'm so close.”

He rubbed your clit in tight circles, slowing his thrusts to a grind as he helped push you closer to the edge. Dan Heng was close too, but he held back as he wanted to cum inside your pulsing walls. You moaned his name until your throat was hoarse and words became a garbled scream, swallowed up by his lips against yours. His hips continued rocking into you, the wet smacking of skin against skin filling the room.

You should've been worried about the others hearing, but the pleasure you felt subdued the rational part of your brain as you begged him to fill you up. Dan Heng burrowed into your breasts riddled with teeth marks as he panted, his thoughts becoming hazy as he neared his end.

“Fuck. Take it.”

His hips stilled. A warmth flooded you as he painted your insides with his cum. You held onto each other as you caught your breaths. The weight of his body on yours grew uncomfortable as you tapped his shoulder. He shifted to lie next to you, whispering an apology. From the corner of your eye, you admired his flushed appearance as he gazed up at the ceiling.

“So beautiful.”

He turned to face you, a hint of a tired smile on his face as he tugged you into his side.

XPEACHY-KEENX. 2024. PLEASE DO NOT COPY.

[slashersidewhore]

Slashers! S/O hurt by a victim pt.2

Slashers x gn!reader

Includes Billy Loomis, Bubba Sawyer, Bo Sinclair, Lester Sinclair

Requested? Yes

Warnings: beefy murder boyfriends, hurt/comfort, minor angst, injuries, blood, fluffy shit

Billy Loomis

It was partially his fault, he was careful but didn’t always think everything through

That’s why you were currently in the clutches his supposed to be victim, knife held to your neck, you could feel warmth from your blood seep down the blade and beneath the collar of your shirt. Struggling only made the situation worse, although you couldn’t help the small gasp as more pressure was applied to your current wound

Feral. You’d never seen Billy’s eyes filled with such a look of utter insanity. He’d done despicable things, ruined lives, played with people like they were just there for his entertainment, but this, seeing you so close to the edge he sent so many others, was the final straw to snap whatever piece of him was remotely still human

He fingers clasped the knife tighter in his grasp, curling around the hilt and wishing he could drive it into your captors jugular

“They ain’t part of this!”

Brows pushed down, mouth pulled in a snarl, he went to take the risk and lunge before a choking sound cut the tension rising in the kitchen in half, your body stumbling towards Billy by instinct, comforted by the way he dropped the knife with a clatter and wrapped his arms around your body, hurried to get you as close as possible

Stu stood at the other end of the tiled floor, half smile glimmering as he stared down at the man he’d just disposed of from life

You curled further into your boyfriends chest, unable to shake the fear you’d felt moments before, still able to feel the cold metal pressing into your flesh. One of Billy’s hands worked it’s way up your trembling back, cupping your face as to direct your eyes to his. They were warm, vacant, yet warm when they landed on your wide eyed expression

“That’ll never happen again, you hear me? Never.”

Letting you push your face back into his neck, the killer began rubbing soft circles on your spine, cold gaze frozen on the still body mere feet away. If looks could kill, the man would have several more stab wounds, each more painful than the last

Billy’s eyes fell to the blade he’d planned on using, head tilting ever so slightly as he pondered how it wouldn’t be out of his way to inflict a few lacerations across the face that even would dare to breathe beside you

Bubba Sawyer

Bubba didn’t like you being around victims, during times where he was killing he got reckless, so dazed in his mind and it constantly worried him that in such a state he could mistake you for another and cause you harm

That being said, mistakes happen

Bubba was standing in a bloody puddle, leaking from the headless body beside him. Loose, brown curls fell in his face as he shook his head held by his rough palms, almost cradling himself. He’d been fooled by one of his potential victims, ending up with him alone with a dead body, and someone missing who knew too much.

The others were gonna rip him a new one, he didn’t even want to think about the look on your face. You’d look at him with such pity, you had yet too thus far, but he just knew that expression was soon to fall on your face. How couldn’t it?

The negative wave of thoughts dragging Bubba down were sliced through by a piercing scream, a chill running down his spine before he realized who’s voice it was who made such a sound, he’d recognize it anywhere

No amount of debris, rickety stairs, tables or chairs could keep Bubba from getting to you, all knocked from his path as the lumbering, masked man ran the fastest his legs would go, chainsaw alive and buzzing in his ear

Bubba didn’t even take a second to pause as he took in the scene, still running full force like his life depended on it. Anguish filled his veins, the victim was straddling your cowering body, arms raised to protect against their assault of punches, they were screaming something he didn’t care to hone in on, focused on getting the offender off and away from you

All he saw was red, on his arms, the creases of his hands soaking into the soles of his boots, digging past the fabric at the knee of his pants as he knelt down, pushing the limp, torn and mangled body from atop of you. Fingers trembling, Bubba paused as you sat up in shock, clothing and skin flushed with blood. Scooting until your body was closer to the man, you crumpled into his embrace, letting you arms fall limp, nose digging into his shoulder. Calloused hands clutched the shirt on your back, tugging you closer, you could feel his soft, unintelligible mutters and whimpers pliant into your collar bone

The two of you just sat there, not wanting to be away from each other for even a second after such a close call

Bo Sinclair

Unlike Bubba, Bo likes you beside him nearly every minute. Yeah, sometimes he’s an asshole, but that’s just one of the traits you’ve come to accept as part of the man you love

It was between the moments where you weren’t stuck to his side, or sitting off within his view, that you realized you were at your most vulnerable, unfortunately we all have a lesson that teaches us such

“Where the fuck are my friends?”

A rough, gritty voice yelled from behind you, catching your moment of silence off guard, spinning around, your heart dropped to your stomach as your eyes landed on what you recognized as one of Bo’s victims standing with squared shoulders, but what made it worse was the fact they were holding a gun

The stranger only seemed to seethe with further rage at the look of your confused face, mouth opening and closing like a fish, eyes wide as the gun raised and their finger went to the trigger

Right as the blaring ring of a shot went off, you were thrown to the side by a heavy weight, body landing on the ground with a dull thud and two large hands blocking the bulk of the impact, hands that were gone from your body a second later, dark shadow leaving frame quick as light as loud footsteps echoed after it

“You son of a bitch!”

You knew that voice, rolling over to gaze at the scene right at Bo tackled the victim to the ground, straddling their body and delivering punch after punch, unable to see his face but hearing the loud curses and violent statements he let fly recklessly

Concern, wide eyes found your similarly large ones, knuckles torn and clothes splattered with red. The mechanic practically folded down into you, forehead coming to press against yours, Bo’s thumbs pressed into the skin under each of your ears, tilting your chin up

“Are ya’ alright baby?”

You could only nod, frightened to think you’d nearly been shot, yet comforted by the warm embrace of the killer, his usual stoic gaze softened, searching you over for any scrapes or cuts. Lips press to the crown of your head, you could lightly hear his inhaling your scent, sighing from the exhaustion of the ordeal

“You’re never leaving my sight again”

Lester Sinclair

Lester doesn’t get himself caught up with Bo and Vincent’s business most the time, in fact as much as a talker the man is, he does like to keep to himself

That’s why it’s a surprise when you’re chilling in the passenger seat of the mans car, mindlessly flipping through a magazine, when an unfamiliar voice enters the warm, afternoon air

“Listen buddy, my friends have been gone for hours and you’re the last person they saw, start talking”

You can see out the pickup trucks window the back of someone facing Lester, their fists clenched as he drops the current task at hand. His gaze darts to you, over their shoulder, and it widens when the stranger whips around, hand on the car door handle, throwing it open

“Get out, I’m taking the car”

Your arm is roughly grasped at the bicep, stumbling over your feet when you’re tossed to the leaf covered ground, wincing at your knee slices against a rock. Eyes squeezing shut at the pain, you didn’t even notice the quick steps of Lester behind you, his shadow looming over yours on the ground as a howl of pain became present. In seconds, the once standing stranger slumped to the ground beside you, cold eyes glazed over, a rather vicious yet precise cut to the base of their throat

“Aw darl’, yer knees all cut up”

Lester mumbled, squatting to your height as he looked over the damage, eyes big and clearly worried. Unsettled, that was the best way to describe the look plastered across the mans face, mouth pulled in a deep frown. Still in shock from being so manhandled out of your seat, you wrapped your arms around his neck, nuzzling the underside of his jaw. Never mind the dirt and sweat that caked his skin, it was comforting at this point

“Never lettin’ someone push ya around like that again, ya hear me?”

His rough palms rubbed the expanse of your back, glancing down at the body still inches away growing colder by the minute

“Let’s take care of that knee”

Requests open!

[haveyouseenthisskeleton]

what woud they do if their S/O had a cuteness agression overload? idk how to describe it but if they were just cuddling or smf and their S/O got so happy that they hugged them tightly, REALLY tightly and like started giggling and screaming from happiness? how woud they react plz tell me i have a lot of these stuff happening

Undertale Sans - He jumps a bit at the sudden movement, just blinking at you in confusion. Uh, ok, yeah, he can cuddle. Can you just not crush his ribs, please? He needs them to breathe and stuff, you know. Sans doesn't mind much other than that, he's not that cuddly, but he lived with Papyrus his entire life so he's used to it.

Undertale Papyrus - Your excitement excites him even more and now he's doing the same with you. Papyrus has a lot of cuteness aggression too, so he doesn't mind. He was already a bit like that when you met him, because of Undyne, but now both of you are encouraging him so who is he to resist? He loves hug!

Underswap Sans - He whines, annoyed, and starts to wiggle his legs in the emptiness as you're holding him like a big cat under the arms, hugging him tightly. Please, he's begging you, let him go. He's not mean enough to push you away, but he definitely looks like a grumpy old man right now. He doesn't like hugs, that's a waste of time.

Underswap Papyrus - He tenses in surprise and shock, startled, before relaxing when it turns out you actually just want a hug. A very tight hug, right, but still a hug. You know you can just ask, right? If you missed him that much, he could come to cuddle with you in bed, you don't have to tackle him like a rugbyman.

Underfell Sans - It depends on what state you are in your relationship. If it's the beginning, he will bite your arm to force you to let go, and probably be mad at you for the rest of the day. After a few months though? He's just resigning to his fate. You can hear him sigh loudly as you kiss his skull everywhere and squeeze him like a teddy bear, but he doesn't do anything to stop you either. He guesses that's his life now.

Underfell Papyrus - Like Red, he tends to growl often the first few times, unhappy, but then after several months of this, he just rolls his eyes at you and sighs, not doing anything to escape your crushing arms. He still growls from time to time to show he's definitely the one in control here to please his gigantic ego, but you know it's all a facade and it doesn't have any effect on you.

Horrortale Sans - He whimpers pitifully as you're crushing his neck. Oak would never be that tolerant with anyone else and you know that, and maybe you're taking a little too much advantage of the situation. He likes hugs, but he's not a big fan of you jumping randomly at his face, it often startles him. But when he realizes it's just a hug, he immediately calms down and goes back to normal. Still, be careful to not play with fire too much as there's one day where he might punch you out of surprise lol.

Horrortale Papyrus - He grimaces in pain every time, as it hurts his spine. He would prefer if you rather not jump on him. One or twice is fine, but after that, he might stop you midway by making you faceplants into his hand. He doesn't feel particularly sorry either about it.

Swapfell Sans - He hisses, then chomps your arm with his very pointy teeth. The more you insist, the harder he bites. Nox doesn't like being tackled out of nowhere and will let you know. Usually, he's pouting a few hours after that, and giving you long intense dark stares for a good week every time you're getting too close. No touchy.

Swapfell Papyrus - At your own risk. Rus loves that so much that you actually trained him to do it as well. Except Rus is twice your size and twice your strength too. So yeah, the first time he tackles you on the couch, emptying your lungs as he hits you, it's going to be a surprise. Rus loves to play violent games, but maybe a little too much so be careful.

Fellswap Gold Sans - He does a dramatic slow turn to you with the most "WTF" expression you have ever seen him do.

You decide it's best to slowly let him go if you want to survive another day. Wine is not cuddly. And he's wearing expensive clothes. Do that again and he yeets you by the window.

Fellswap Gold Papyrus - When you come running to him, screaming, he freaks out and starts to run for his life as well, screaming at the top of his lungs lol. You startle him. Good luck tackling him without him screaming like he's getting murdered now.

[slaymitchabernathy]

Sweet Justice

Coriolanus POV

Coriolanus hears the front doors close in a rather loud manner. It’s odd.

Odd because his wife, his angel, his Soarynn would never slam a door. Not in his house. Not when she’s so sweet and gentle in everything she does. No, she’s not one to be slamming doors.

She normally would already be tucked into bed with him, her cheek resting on his chest while he runs a loving hand through her soft blonde hair.

But tonight was a special occasion, a dinner with some of her closest friends so Coriolanus was the first to be ready for bed. Well, he should be ready for bed. He should be showered with teeth brushed and pillows fluffed but he decided to wait for her.

Everything is so much more fun when they do it together and that includes getting ready for bed.

Which is why he’s still dressed in the clothes he wore to work. His suit and tie, his shiny black leather shoes, and of course, the hidden gun.

It’s not that Coriolanus doesn’t trust the Peacekeepers of Panem to keep him safe, because he does. For the most part. But they can’t be everywhere, only in high traffic areas and Coriolanus isn’t one to take unnecessary risks. Not in his line of business.

Coriolanus Snow is a powerful business man who runs a large firm and an even larger underground network that provides services for those who prefer to remain anonymous. It’s risky work but it’s paid off.

It’s paid off their penthouse apartment, all the clothes Soarynn could want, and it’s paid for his peace of mind.

Soarynn knows very little of what he actually does. He keeps it hidden away from her, out of her pretty little head so that she doesn’t worry too much when he’s gone for “work trips.” It’s safer that way.

He checks his watch and it’s already past midnight. This must’ve been some dinner.

He waits for a few more minutes before he begins to wonder what on earth is taking Soarynn to long to come to bed. To come to him.

Finally, he pushes himself from the chair he’s sitting on and makes his way out of their bedroom and down the hallway towards the front entrance.

Just as he’s rounding the corner he nearly steps on Petunia, the most spoiled cat in the world. She normally spends her free time terrorizing him and eating his socks. He’s often contemplated bringing Petunia with him to work to frighten men who pose a threat to them.

Forget a guard dog, he has a guard cat.

And she’s very wound up at the moment, meowing the moment she sees him, even standing on her hind legs. Coriolanus scoffs at the behavior but then he notices something on her white fur. Something red.

Something that looks like…blood.

A shiver runs down his spine as he stares down at the cat who stares back up at him with urgency as if she’s trying to tell him something.

“Soarynn?” He calls out, caution in his tone, “Soarynn, where are you darling?”

All he hears in reply is a sniffle and he’s darting around the corner and nearly losing his breath when he sees the horrible sight that lies in front of him.

Soarynn crumpled in front of the front doors, her coat discarded on the floor and her entire body trembling.

A million thoughts race through his head but one thought persists more than most.

Who needs to die tonight?

He’s on the floor in seconds, carefully reaching out to assesses the damage. “My love,” he whispers, gently taking her face into his hands, “what happened? Who did this to you?”

Soarynn allows him to raise her head and he’s taken aback when he sees how bloody her beautiful face is. There’s a large patch of blood in her blonde hair, and several scratches on the right side of her face. Her right eye is slightly swollen and she has cuts on her lips. What angers him the most are the clear fingerprints on her neck, colored in dark bruises.

Her bottom lip trembles when she looks him in the eyes and tears begin forming in her blue-gray eyes. “Coryo,” she whimpers, causing his heart to shatter, “I…I didn’t see him…and then…he…he wanted me to…I tried to get away.”

It’s all too much for Soarynn who breaks down in his arms, her sobs echoing through the halls as he holds her, whispering sweet words of devotion whilst he plots the murder of the worlds stupidest man.

Soarynn clings onto him when he tries to pull away, her body racking with sobs, “Shhh, shhh, it’s alright Soarynn. You’re safe my darling, you’re safe.”

Soarynn chokes down another sob and slowly pulls away, wiping her tears with the back of her hand, “He took my purse,” she mumbles, “he said…he said he wanted something else…” Her hands begin to shake and Coriolanus is quick to pull her back into his safe embrace, “Shhh, don’t worry darling. We’ll get to the bottom of this. No need to relive the moment right now. What’s most important is that we get you all cleaned up alright?”

꧁ ꧂

“I honestly can’t believe this happened, to one of us out of all the people,” mother says with the shake of her head.

Coriolanus keeps his focus on his wife who’s being tended to by the family doctor, a man who’s all too familiar with Coriolanus coming home with various scrapes and scratches from work.

He’s a good man who gets paid well to keep his mouth shut. He’s also the only man Coriolanus feels comfortable with when it comes to keeping Soarynn healthy.

Soarynn sits on the edge of their bed, her hands clutching the bedsheets while the doctor carefully dabs some healing ointment onto the side of her head where the majority of the blood was coming from.

It’s three in the morning and the Snow family is on high alert.

Coriolanus immediately phoned his own parents who rushed over to help. Well, he called them over for different reasons. He called his mother because she adores Soarynn and has always been a beacon of support for his wife.

He called his father because he’s taught Coriolanus everything he knows. Including how to kill a man.

Crassus Snow is a stoic man who shows no emotion. But Coriolanus can see clear as day how angry he is about something harming his daughter-in-law.

“We will get to the bottom of this,” his father promises, his hands clasped tightly in his lap. Coriolanus watches Petunia hop onto their bed and swat at the doctor when Soarynn winces slightly from the pressure of his hand and Coriolanus feels small smile tugging on his lips.

He used to think that he was the most overprotective person when it came to Soarynn. Then they got Petunia and he quickly learned that he had been outdone by a cat.

Soarynn stares down at the floor, completely silent. This entire thing has shaken her up and Coriolanus wishes for nothing more than to put her to bed and deal with all of this as quickly as possible. But they need more information from Soarynn.

What did this man look like? What was he wearing? What street was she on when it happened?

He hates to reopen literal fresh wounds, but it has to be done.

The doctor finishes up applying some bandages to her face before he makes his way over to Coriolanus, “Well, she’s going to be just fine.” They all let out a sigh of relief when hearing that news.

Coriolanus leans forward, “What of her injuries? Is there any trauma?” The doctor sighs and rubs his hand over his face. The man must be exhausted but when a Snow calls you at three in the morning to help his wife, you answer the call.

“There’s minor trauma to the right temple, where most of the blood came from. I suspect she was shoved into a wall of some sorts, I’m quite surprised she made it back home without fainting. The scrapes will heal and I’ve left some ointment to speed up the process.”

Mother glances over at Soarynn and frowns, “What about her neck?”

That’s probably what angers Coriolanus the most. Someone choked her. Someone put their dirty fucking hands on his angel.

“Based off of the severity of the bruising, I would say the culprit attempted to choke her to death. Or at least to cut off her airflow for the time being. Nothing is swollen though.”

That’s good he supposed. Soarynn could’ve had serious damage to her neck or vocal cords. He can’t imagine a world where Soarynn can’t speak, can’t laugh or sing. Her voice grounds him.

Coriolanus stands up and offers his hand to the doctor, “Thank you for coming. I know it’s unprecedented but our family appreciates your loyalty.” The doctor gives him a tired smile as he takes his hand, giving it a firm shake, “It’s my pleasure Mr. Snow. If you’d like I can come back in about a week to check up on her healing.”

Coriolanus nods, “Excellent idea.”

He has one of the maids see the doctor out and Coriolanus slowly approaches his wife who looks so small sitting on the edge of their bed. So fragile. She’s still staring at the floor, not moving a muscle.

Coriolanus carefully gets down on one knee infront of her, infront of the only person he’d gladly bow down to. “Darling,” he says softly, taking her small hands in his large ones. The physical touch seems to jolt her from her thoughts and she blinks several times, “Hmm?”

He hates to do it, to ask her to speak of it but he needs to find out more so that this never happens again. “I need you to tell me more about what happened. About the man who did this to you. Can you do that for me Soarynn?”

She looks uncomfortable and he cannot blame her one bit. Not when she’s been through something horrible. She glances over at his parents who watch them from the small sitting area they have in their room and she slowly nods, “Yes.”

He gives her hands a gentle squeeze, “Thank you darling. Why don’t we go sit over there hmm? And we can get you some tea?”

Soarynn is hesitant to leave their bed but Coriolanus is able to coax her to stand and make her way across the bedroom. He orders one of the maids to bring her some tea and he covers her with a blanket after they’re seated. Mother offers Soarynn an encouraging smile, “You’ve been so brave throughout all of this darling. And the doctor said everything will heal just fine.”

Soarynn nods but the look in her eyes lets Coriolanus know that she’s so far away from here. He places his hand on her knee, “What happened when you left the restaurant Soarynn?”

꧁ ꧂

Soarynn POV

The air is cold and crisp which makes Soarynn glad that she went with her thicker coat tonight.

She really should’ve had their driver take her and pick her up from dinner with the girls but she doesn’t mind walking. It’s her husband who minds.

Coriolanus Snow captured her heart several years ago and he’s never given it back. He’s everything she could ever hope for. He’s kind, attentive, a good listener, he’s so very handsome and he protects her. Sometimes she thinks he’s a bit paranoid but she supposes that he has his reasons for everything.

And she’s not one to complain or question him. Not when he’s given her a life of comfort and luxury. A penthouse apartment, new clothes and handbags every week, fresh flowers. He even got her a cat which backfired in a way because her beloved Petunia always seems to go neck and neck with Coriolanus when it comes to vying for Soarynn’s attention.

Soarynn wraps her coat tighter around her frame as she walks down the dark Capitol street. She’s not too far from the Corso now, only a block or two. She can’t wait to get home and tell Coriolanus about all the gossip she just heard at dinner. Who’s sleeping with who, who got fired, who’s pregnant.

He claims to be uninterested in these things and yet she always finds him on the edge of his seat, asking question after question about the latest gossip.

Soarynn rounds a corner of the building and stops in her tracks when she nearly runs into a tall man, almost as tall as Coriolanus.

“Oh! Pardon me, I should’ve watched where I was going,” she apologizes, offering the man a kind smile.

He looks down at her and Soarynn feels…uneasy. He’s got dark brown hair and bushy eyebrows. He is not a well kept man. His face is covered in stubble from his beard and he reeks of alcohol. There’s a bruise on his cheek and Soarynn wonders where he got it from. His coat seems to be in disrepair.

He is not from this side of the city.

He flashes her a smile and he’s missing a front tooth, “It’s alright. Good luck for me to run into a pretty lady like you.” Normally Soarynn would blush at that type of compliment but she just nods and goes to move around him.

He grabs her arm.

Soarynn whips her head around and looks back up at him, fear in her eyes. “Where’re you going in such a hurry sweetheart?”

Oh no.

Soarynn tries to pull her arm free but he has an iron grip and a clear motive behind his actions. “Please,” she says, trying to keep her voice from trembling, “please I was just on my way home. I won’t speak of this to anyone if you just let me go.”

The man snickers and pulls her against him, looming over her, “Now why would I do that? And I know for a fact that you’re some upper class bitch who’s always so ready to be fucked. Your type always wants a good fucking but I bet your husband can’t give that to you huh?”

Her husband. Coriolanus will be wondering where she is. Is this how he’ll find her? Dead on the street after being defiled?

Tears mist in Soarynn’s eyes and she shakes her head, “No I…please just let me go. You can have my purse, I have quite a bit of money inside and I can give you whate—“

Within a second her head is being slammed into the brick wall next to her. Soarynn lets out a pained scream and her vision goes black for a moment. The man’s hand comes up to grab her by the throat and he squeezes hard. So hard like he wants to kill her.

Soarynn used to like it when Coriolanus would choke her during sex but if she makes it out alive, she can’t imagine ever being touched by a man again.

“Listen here you little bitch, not all of us can always get what we want so you better shut the fuck up and take whatever I give you. Got it?” He shakes her head like she’s a rag doll and Soarynn is completely limp as she sobs, “Please,” she gasps when her vision grows spotty.

She can feel his other hand slipping underneath her coat, trying to grope her and Soarynn feels a rush of adrenaline coursing through her. Coriolanus would want her to fight, to try and escape. Soarynn brings her hand up and scratches the man, aiming for his eye.

He lets out a shout and releases his grip on her neck and Soarynn crumples to the ground, coughing and wheezing. “You bitch!” He spits out, holding his eye. Soarynn although terrified, glares up at him, “Didn’t peg you for a feisty one but you’re just full of surprises,” he says, grabbing a handful of her hair.

Soarynn cries out again when her face collides with the wall and she reaches up to grab his hand, digging her nails into his skin. He lets out a groan before dropping her hair and Soarynn manages to push herself up from the ground and stumble back.

She takes in the scene, her purse lying on the ground, her coat barely on her body anymore, and the man now bleeding but barely. His eye looks bad but she’s sure that she doesn’t look any better right now.

“You think this is over?” He sneers, wiping his bloodied face with his hand, “I’ll fucking find you, I’ll find you and get what I really wanted.”

Soarynn fights the urge to throw up and she turns on her heel, running down the street, her vision blurred by both tears and blood.

Her head pounds as she pushes through the glass doors of the apartment lobby.

Her body aches when she presses the elevator button to take her to the twelfth floor.

Her hands tremble when she opens the doors, welcomed by a quiet home, no one aware of what just occurred moments ago.

Soarynn crumples to the ground the second she shuts the doors, her body twitching on the floor. She needs help, needs to be cleaned up and taken care of but all she can think of is the way he grabbed her, how he touched her. How he threatened to find her again.

This isn’t over.

She doesn’t know how long she lies there on the floor, maybe minutes, maybe hours. But she feels something soft pressing against her face and she hears…purring?

Soarynn pushes herself up and comes face to face with Petunia whose eyes reflect so much worry when she takes in the current state of Soarynn. Petunia lets out a soft meow and licks a cut on Soarynn’s face and Soarynn nearly breaks into tears again.

“Oh Petunia,” she whispers, reaching out to stroke her soft white fur. Petunia presses her head against Soarynn’s cheek and she leans into the soft touch, gladly welcoming the touch of her loyal pet.

She slowly shrugs off her coat, she’ll burn it once she collects herself. She needs to burn everything he touched. He still has her purse which has her wallet, her identification, the keys to the penthouse.

Are they even safe anymore?

Petunia’s attention is drawn elsewhere and she’s quick to disappear back down the hallway, leaving Soarynn alone once again. That’s the breaking point for her. When not even her cat wants to be near her. Soarynn sniffles and does her best to keep it together but she’s failing miserably at it.

Then she hears it. Hears him. Coriolanus.

“Soarynn? Soarynn, where are you darling?”

She doesn’t know what he’ll say, how he’ll react. But as long as she has him, she knows she’ll be alright.

꧁ ꧂

Soarynn wakes with a gasp, clutching the bedsheets. For a moment, it all feels like a dream. His hands, her screams, the cold night. But the throbbing in her head quickly reminds her that what happened to her was real. Very, very real.

Soarynn looks around their bedroom to find it empty. Coriolanus must already be working. She didn’t say much last night and he didn’t either but she could see how angry he was when she finally retold what had happened to her. He was furious. And that scared her.

Not that she was scared of him, no, she could never be scared of her husband. He’d never lay a hand on her, she knew that for certain. But Coriolanus has always had a short temper and hurting her was the quickest way to light his fuse. Whoever did this to her would pay the price. He’d alert the Peacekeepers who would arrest the man and put him behind bars for the rest of his life.

At least, she hopes they’ll find the man responsible for this.

Soarynn slowly finds herself getting out of bed and making her way into the bathroom, Petunia right on her heels. Last night had been a blur but she remembers Coriolanus helping her into the tub, gently washing the horrible events off of her skin before he helped her into some pajamas and got her to bed.

Soarynn can’t withhold her gasp when she sees herself in the mirror for the first time. She looks like she got beat up. Which she did but that doesn’t make her feel any better. Coriolanus is strangely the one who sometimes comes home with cuts and bruises on his face. Always claiming he had a run-in with some drunk at the bar. She’d pay good money to see this bar and its customers.

Her neck is still bruised, terribly so. Her eye is less swollen, she can see clearly out of it which she supposes is a good thing. The bleeding on the side of her head has stopped but the throbbing still remains. Her lip looks fine and any smaller cuts have already healed. She doesn’t remember what the doctor gave her but it seems to be doing the trick.

Petunia hops onto the counter and meows, batting a paw in the air. Soarynn sighs and scratches her head right behind the ears where she likes it, “I know,” she murmurs, “I look horrible.” Soarynn isn’t one for vanity, but she knows how attractive she is. And she knows how much Coriolanus values being presentable at all times.

How many times has he praised her beauty? Her youthfulness? Her perfect skin and soft hair? Her soft and toned body? Will he still think she’s beautiful?

Soarynn carefully touches her neck, feeling the tender skin and being cautious not to worsen the bruising. It could’ve been worse. He could’ve killed her. Or raped her. Or both.

Soarynn shudders and looks away from the mirror, walking into the closet to find one of her husband’s pullovers to cover up. She normally loves her nightgowns but she needs the comforting smell that his clothes provide. Soarynn grabs one of his favorites, a navy blue pullover, and brings it to her nose, inhaling the comforting and familiar scent of Coriolanus. Roses. It’s always been roses with him.

Once she slips it on, she already feels better. She should go find him though, talk about what happened when he found her.

Soarynn goes straight to his study where he almost always is if he’s working from home but she stops in her tracks when she hears voices. Several male voices. Coriolanus isn’t one to shy from having company over but she can’t help but listen in to their conversation.

“…as quietly as possible, don’t get the Peacekeepers involved,” Coriolanus says. She can hear several grunts in the room and begins to wonder how many people are here right now.

“What if we can’t find the right guy? A lot of people could match the description Soarynn gave you.” Soarynn recognizes Festus Creed’s voice and she takes another step towards the study door that’s slightly cracked open.

“She said he was missing a tooth, so if you have to open the mouth of every fucking man in the Capitol then do it. This isn’t a fucking game and I will see him brought to his knees for what he did to my wife.”

Soarynn swallows and takes several steps back, she’s never heard her eloquent, high-society husband talk like this before. It leads her to wonder a few things about him and his father. But now isn't the time to go poking around, not when her health and safety are still compromised. So she takes a few steps back and loudly makes her presence known this time, "Coriolanus? Are you in here?"

She hears the men shushing each other and the sound of her husband's chair scraping against the hardwood floor before he opens the door and looks down at her with nothing but love and tenderness in his eyes. "I'm right here darling," he says, his hands gently cupping her face.

Soarynn leans into the touch and closes her eyes, reminding herself that she's safe now. "How did you sleep?" He asks and Soarynn opens her eyes, staring into his piercing blue gaze, "I slept fine. My head is throbbing though." Coriolanus frowns and carefully touches her temple where she really hit the wall, "It hurts here? Or somewhere else?" Soarynn shrugs, "It hurts everywhere. Have they found the man yet?"

Soarynn watches his face very carefully while he answers, searching for any signs of a lie, "They haven't found any leads yet," he tells her, "but we will find the man responsible for this darling. I can promise you that."

She can tell he’s not lying, but she can’t tell how he’s going to handle this, handle the man who’s responsible for her bruised face. Soarynn goes to peer into his study and finds at least ten men inside, all staring back at her with somewhat curious eyes. She’s only ever met Festus and Felix whose eyes both dart to Coriolanus.

“Who are those men?” She asks, trying to dodge Coriolanus and his attempts to steer her away from his study. “No one darling, just some colleagues.” Soarynn furrows her brows because that doesn’t add up. “Colleagues? Shouldn’t they be at work then? Working for you, not with you?”

She’s not really one to push her husband's buttons and certainly not one to question his line of work, not when it pays for everything luxury she has but there’s just something about seeing all those men huddled in his study that have her questioning things.

Coriolanus gently pushes her towards the kitchen, “Believe it or not sometimes bosses work with their employees darling. We’re just going over some shipments. Now why don’t you ask the cook to make you some breakfast and I'll join you as soon as I can, how does that sound?”

Like you’re trying to distract me, Soarynn thinks to herself but she just nods and makes her way into the kitchen. The cook it seems, has been informed about what happened last night because she insists that Soarynn take her breakfast in bed. And with her head still throbbing, Soarynn doesn’t put up much of a fight.

Once she's settled back into bed, she tries to replay the events of last night's attack. It’s no secret that the Snows are a prominent Capitol family, and people can do horrible things to take down those who sit on the top but Soarynn knows that last night's attack wasn’t premeditated. It was rotten luck.

“Here you are, Mrs. Snow.”

Soarynn gives the cook a small smile and takes the silver tray she’s carrying, filled to the brim with all of Soarynn’s favorite things to eat at breakfast. “Thank you, Dorthy. Did my husband say anything about the men in his study?” Soarynn really shouldn’t bring the help into this but she’s curious to see if Coriolanus has put more trust into their cook than into her.

Dorthy shakes her head, “No Mrs. Snow. I didn’t even hear them come in. But I know he’s quite worried about you. So please let me know if you need anything else to be more comfortable.”

Soarynn’s not going to get anything out of anyone but the direct source, her husband. So she simply nods and begins eating her food, she hasn’t eaten since last night and Dorthy makes a mean scrambled egg. Petunia hops onto the bed, purring up a storm while she makes herself comfortable next to Soarynn.

“How are you this morning little lady? Did you sleep well?” Soarynn asks Petunia who merely blinks in reply. Soarynn would never admit this to anyone, not even Coriolanus, but she often talks to Petunia like she’s a little human. And isn’t she?

Soarynn reaches up to gently touch her head where it hurts the most and feels somewhat relieved that there’s no more blood. She’s pretty sure that the doctor came to visit last night, but she couldn’t be sure. So much happened last night.

Anxiety begins to build in her mind as she thinks about all the steps they’ll have to take to find the culprit. They’ll have to alert the Peacekeepers, she’ll have to give a statement. She might even have to see the man again to identify him. Will word get out about what’s befallen her?

She can see it now in the newspaper headlines: ‘Soarynn Snow attacked in the streets!’

Will people blame her? Her husband? Pin it on her family name and claim that she was always an easy target, that it was only a matter of time?

The Snows have been at the top since Soarynn met Coriolanus all those years ago. That’s simply how things are. But once you’re at the top, down is the only direction to go.

꧁ ꧂

Coriolanus POV

"She's a curious thing, your wife."

Coriolanus shoots Festus Creed a lethal glare, he acts as if his own wife, Persephone isn't constantly pestering him with questions as well. It's strange to think that just last night their two wives had dinner with each other and now one of them is covered in scratches and bruises.

What if it had happened to Persephone instead? If Soarynn hadn't gone down that street and instead had the car come to pick her up?

No, he can't think like that, can't wish this pain upon someone else's wife. Soarynn would chide him for thinking of such a thing. She's too good for this world, his sweet darling girl.

And she's strong, she's strong even if he treats her like glass. He should go check on her but instead, he's holed up in his study plotting the murder of a stupid, arrogant, vile man. He sent every man he could to search for the culprit with specific instructions to not harm him, to simply bring him to their shop.

"She's simply confused," Coriolanus tells him, flipping through several files of men who have already been arrested for similar crimes to the one that Soarynn was subjected to. It would be way too easy if the man had already been behind bars before, then all Coriolanus would have to do is knock on the bastard's door and kill him.

But that would be too easy. And Coriolanus Snow loves a challenge.

That's one of the reasons he fell in love with Soarynn. She constantly challenges him, not in a disrespectful way but in a feisty way, and he likes that side of her. The side that isn't afraid to stand up for herself, to advocate for herself and others. She's always had a bit of spitfire in her but now he worries that her fire has been dampened by this attack. Will she be too scared to go outside now? He certainly will be.

Soarynn won't be going anywhere without protection anymore. Even if she hates him for it.

"What're you going to tell her when you find him?" Coriolanus has gotten far too good at lying to his wife but over small things that don't concern her. This definitely concerns her. It's all about her.

"I don't know," he admits, pinching the bridge of his nose, "but this can't go unpunished. He touched her Festus, he tried to...he tried to touch her," his voice goes dark just thinking about what that man truly wanted from Soarynn. He's thankful that she was able to fight back and didn't freeze under pressure. He can't imagine the type of person he'd become if he had found her lying on the street instead of in their home.

He'd burn this fucking city to the ground.

꧁ ꧂

"Try to hold still," he murmurs while slowly peeling back the bandage. It pains Coriolanus to see Soarynn slightly wince as he uncovers the nasty blow she took to her temple. But he's pleased to see that it's already begun to heal, and according to the doctor, it won't even scar.

Soarynn looks at him with uncertainty in her eyes, "Is it bad?" Coriolanus shakes his head and grabs the healing ointment, liberally applying it to the area, "It looks better than I thought it would," he admits. Petunia hisses at Coriolanus when Soarynn gasps sharply, "It's alright darling," she says to the cat, stroking her back to comfort her. Coriolanus only rolls his eyes in return at the feline's behavior.

"The doctor will be back at the end of the week to check on you again," Coriolanus says, carefully applying a new bandaid to the cut. Soarynn only hums in reply, she has that far-away look in her eyes again.

“Darling.”

"Hmm?"

"Are you alright? Do you want to go outside?"

It's only been a day since the attack but Soarynn has yet to venture outside of the penthouse walls, and that worries Coriolanus. Soarynn normally spends her days running around the Capitol with friends. She shops and dines as she pleases and Coriolanus is more than happy to fund her trips so long as it makes her happy.

Soarynn shrugs and reaches up to touch her bruised neck, "I don't think I want anyone to see me like this," she whispers. Coriolanus can't blame her for her hesitation, especially with her condition but she needs some fresh air, need some sun on her face. "Why don't we go to the garden?” Coriolanus suggests, knowing that it'll always be a safe space for the both of them.

Soarynn perks up at the suggestion and she nods, a faint smile on her lips, "Alright."

꧁ ꧂

"Do you remember the first time you brought me up here?"

Coriolanus smiles at her question and he nods, running his hand through her soft, blonde hair, "I do. You were a giggling mess if I recall." Soarynn blushes which only makes him smile wider, when he first met her she was always so bubbly around him, not at all scared of the big and bad Coriolanus Snow. Not that he was bad, oh no, not with his reputation on the line. He had to appear as a good man, an honest man, not some blood-sucking murderer.

And he's not necessarily a murderer, not by a long shot. But he can be a brute when needed and this specific situation calls for all sorts of violent solutions. He wants this man to pay for what he did to his wife. "Coriolanus?" Her sweet voice draws him from his murderous thoughts and he looks back down at Soarynn who's head is in his lap, "Yes my love?"

Soarynn bites her lip as if debating what she's going to ask him before finally speaking, "Are you...are you going to do something about it? Are you going to find that man?"

She knows. Or she's at least getting closer to finding out the truth and then Coriolanus truly doesn't know what he'll do. Soarynn has never known this lifestyle, she's never known what it's like to come home with cuts and burises until now and he's going to make sure that it never happens again.

He gazes down at her so lovingly, she truly doesn't know the power she holds over him, how he'd gladly burn all of Panem down to ground should she ask it of him. "Of course I'm going to find that man darling, we wouldn't want him to hurt someone else, someone who isn't from a powerful family like ours without connections." It's a twisted way of putting it but there's some truth to his words.

It seems to reflect on Soarynn's conciense because she nods, pressing her lips into a thin line, "I suppose you're right. I wouldn't want some other girl to get hurt as well." A light breeze blows against them and Soarynn shivers, "Let's go back inside now."

Coriolanus doesn't argue with her, not after what she's been through. He wishes it weren't winter, at least then their rooftop garden would be in full bloom. Soarynn spends hours up here during the summer, pruning and gardening with Petunia chasing bugs around. It's a safe haven he's created, if only it could reach the Capitol streets.

| Part 1. |

| tumblr oneshot/drabble |

[icyowl]

Gojo Soulmate AU

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x reader

Synopsis: angst, soulmates, what more could you want?

A/N: none

——————————

A wave, a flower, clouds, animals, rain, a sun setting over water. Soul marks were natural, tattoo-like birth marks possessed by everyone. It was up to each owner to understand the different forms or phases of their marks and what they meant. A fox chasing a hare might run across the body to convey glee or sorrow, or the fox could slow or change color. Maybe the hare would extend its lead every time the owner became lonely or perhaps a change of direction would indicate the health of the bond. Learning the various were fun but very necessary; bonds needed to cultivated. The repercussions were unsavory, dangerous even.

A tree grew at the base of your back, with boughs spreading across your body, extending down your limbs, and weaving up your neck until the ends just barely poked out from the collar of your shirts. You'd like to call it captivating — after all, not many had a soul mark so large — much like the man who it belonged to.

The mark didn't start so big. At first it was a sapling covering little more than the column of your spine. The branches were short and the whole thing was faint until you met him. When you did, the tingle in your spine turned into a singeing burn. Gojo caught you while you writhed. . . certainly not the best introduction.

Gojo's white beta fish swam up and down his right arm in response to his mood or outside stimuli. When you touched it the first time, it nuzzled and tried to nibble your finger, much to Gojo's embarassment. It was a tender moment that got swiftly interrupted by Gojo's phone. Again.

He had to leave. Some save-the-world mission that only he could handle.

Again.

You'd been shy when you first met him. After all, Satoru was intimidating. Wealth, physical and political power, good looks; you were at first afraid to do anything the might out yourself as someone inferior. Now? Now you probably came across as any other fan, fawning over the scraps of his attention.

Desperate? Sure, yeah, you were desperate, but it had been weeks (maybe months) since you felt normal, let alone good. A perpetual weakness had overcome you as if your blood sugar had plummeted, exhaustion plagued you yet sleep was elusive, migraines turned overhead lights into suns and basic sounds into caterwauls, and a sickly wheeze could be heard when you breathed if one listened closely enough.

Your soul mark was suffering too. The stinging on your back had become unbearable. Such painful burning — plus all the other afflictions — dulled just a little any time you could get him to look at you.

The branches that had once wound heartily around your body now shrunk to half their reach, leaving black shadows in their wake, and the vibrant blue flowers adorning the limbs all but disappeared. Watching them shrivel up or break off the limbs and fall off your body put your stomach in knots that never unwound.

Satoru didn't visit often enough or stick around long enough to pick up on your plight; so much for the Six Eyes. It was easy enough to hide your state for the sparse few minutes you got to be with each other before he teleported off someplace else. He already held up the world. . . how could you make him choose between it and your silly little needs?

Shoko's treatments were beginning to lose their affect; Nanami would have tied you to Gojo himself if Gojo would ever pick up the phone; even Yaga yelled at you to figure it out or risk getting temporarily suspended.

A subtle pang of hunger came from your stomach.

You were impressed a body as sick as yours barely felt anything.

Several seconds passed from the time you stood until the time you made it to the door. If only you knew how close you were to danger.

“Where are you going?”

Satoru. His tone cheeky as always.

You turned to see your soulmate, seemingly non the worse for wear. Had the bond become so distant that he hadn't felt any of your pain? He teleported in and now stood before you without a hint of distress or concern from what you could see of his face. Satoru held the same casual posture he always did. Without worry. Without weakness. You wished you could say the same. Right now all you could comprehend were the the dark spots floating in your eyes and the desolate cold in your core. Finally the breaking point came. Satoru only had time to sense something was wrong — his mouth went slack, his brow line tightened — before he was rushing to catch your fall.

If it were anyone else, they may have failed. You didn't simply fall. You plummeted.

You didn't feel his hands under your body nor did you see his beta fish furiously trying to swim towards you from under Satoru's shirt sleeve. It was probably a good thing — your soul mark, or what was left of it, had begun to bleed, covering Satoru's hands. What would you see in his eyes if you removed the blindfold?

“Not you too.” He whispered.

Even in your delirium the words sunk in. There was someone else. All this time you foolishly, stupidly, blindly believed he was away for work. It all made sense now. Just as scorching hatred churned your blood to fire, the effects of bond abandonment finally consumed you. Your face contorted to one of rage before going slack altogether. Satoru, for all his faults, held your chilled body close to his. Could he salvage a bond on its deathbed?

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

You woke to elephants on your chest and cotton in your head. Some bus had hit you repeatedly. For fun.

“Hey.” Someone said next to you. It was soft, gentle, and would have put you at ease had you not looked up and realized you were sprawled over his naked chest. “You've got some serious bedhead.” Satoru added in jest, lithe knuckles kissing along your cheek.

With what little strength you regained you grabbed the railings of the hospital bed and struggled to pull your body off and away from him. Your feet had hardly touched the ground before you collapsed, and yet still you tried to distance yourself from him. Searing pain erupted from your spine to the point where you cried out at the agony. Your body was trying everything it could to keep you there but you ignored it, crawling towards the door to escape the man you should have felt blessed to be pressed against.

Satoru — rendered immobile by the shameful fact that his own soulmate was trying to escape him — rushed you as soon as your wail reached his ears. One hand around your wrist was all he needed to stop you. You turned to him, gazing at the fingers wrapped deftly around your arm, then onto the glacial eyes opened wide with shame and worry. With a lurch you took your arm back. Satoru seemed possessed; he hardly moved, only continued to stare and gawk. He didn't seem to be looking at you. Through you was more like it.

Cool blood disturbed the hairs on your hand as it dripped freely from a hole left by the I.V. you ripped out in your haste. Both of you watched it hit the ground blip blip blip blip but neither of you moved.

Satoru blinked, coming back to the present, and reached for the wound before you yanked it out of reach. “I know there's someone else. . .”

A full second passed before he reacted. “What?!”

“I don't remember much thanks to the side effects of abandonment, but 'not you too', that I remember. So? Get it over with. Break the bond already. I'm sure you want to move on.”

“You know that's not true.”

“Do I?”

“Yes, because if there was, my mark wouldn't look like this.”

For the first time since you woke you saw his soul mark — the white beta fish with piercing blue eyes. Again and again it attempted to swim to you until it came to the edge of his arm. That's when you began to notice the condition of it, too. Pure snowy white had turned grey and dingy, fins had become tattered, and the entire animal shrunk to barely an inch in size. It seemed the poor fish, in its plight, had begun to turn on its owner: bruises and bite marks from the fish positively covered Satoru's entire arm from shoulder to hand. The untouchable had been harmed.

“I once knew someone who. . . I missed the signs when he was hurting, too. I could have helped him, if I had seen it in time. The same thing almost happened to you. If there was someone else, this damn fish wouldn't have made me bleed every time I left you.”

You froze. All the worry and pain and loneliness had been ricocheting between both ends of the bond all this time. He really had felt everything. “But you didn't react. You acted like you were fine every time. You should have been in pain—”

“The Strongest can't be in pain.” Satoru said. His eyes were powerfully bright. “Or be lonely, or show fear. The Strongest can't show weakness. My emotions would have only added to yours.”

“At least I would have known you felt something!” You yelled hoarsely.

He startled while you continued.

“Did you really think that by closing yourself off, I would have somehow felt better than if you had shared your feelings? Who told you that?”

Again Satoru could do nothing but stare. Some family member said so at some point, right? Maybe? When? Now he wasn't sure. Only your feeble attempt to lift yourself off the ground brought him to the present. The moan of pain you tried to hide made him flinch as if he experiencing it, too. Satoru reached for you but immediately recoiled — what would he do if you pulled away again?

Instead, in a rare moment of maturity, he tried to get you to come to him. How ironic: he'd been doing the opposite while you yearned for his presence and now that he was willing to give it, you might already be gone. “It's really important right now that we touch. The bond could become damaged beyond repair at this point. You could get seriously hurt.”

“I'm already seriously hurt.” You replied. He looked at the concave shape of your cheeks, the pallor in your skin, the wobble in your muscles, and knew time was running out.

“Please.”

You looked deeply into his eyes, saw them wide and glistening, and felt a twinge through what remained of the connection. Maybe it was muscle weakness (after all, you felt like you might hurl or faint) but you relented, all but falling into his arms. He quickly pulled you sideways into his lap. One of his hands rubbed your back to ease the scorching heat in your spine while the other held the bleeding hand without hesitation. Immediately the blood began to ebb. After a few seconds the wound from the I.V. began to bring itself together. His heart, which pounded in your ear, steadied and quieted.

With a conscious effort you forced your body to relax, then sighed when it gave in (gave out, more like it) and sagged against him. Based on your inhale, Satoru knew you were about to speak, and shushed you before you had the chance. “Just breathe. You'll feel better soon.”

“You don't know that,” you quietly tutted, “the bond might already be broken.”

“I have faith. I'm The Strongest, and because of that, so are you.”

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

Satoru wouldn't move for over an hour. The hard floor was probably killing him, yet he remained with you in his lap, coaxing your head under his every time you grew restless. Only when the pain waned did you manage to sleep. Somewhere during that time, he moved the two of you back to your bed. It must have been a struggle to wedge all of himself into the single cot with you too, but when you woke, there you were, back in bed, laying atop your soulmate like he'd fashioned himself into your personal throne.

Shoko's prodding woke you up. “Hun? Just hear to get your blood pressure.”

“Mmm,” you replied noncommittally while she slid the cuff up your arm. Satoru pulled you closer and only when you looked up at him did you realize he did while still sleeping. He looked almost odd now that his visage was so relaxed — mouth barely open, lashes laying across his sharp cheeks . The gentle rises and falls of his chest were something you hadn't seen in a long time.

“You two sure cut it close.” She added.

“Not m' fault.”

“I know. I know he's tough to love, believe me, and I'm sure you couldn't feel much after the bond degraded to this point, but I took his vitals while you were asleep. You might not want to hear this, but he does have you as his emergency contact, so I'll share it since you're bonded.”

Your head lifted. The stiff squeeze of the inflating cuff was forgotten.

“His bloodwork was atrocious and his cursed energy was pitiful. Electrolytes, red blood cells, white blood cells, plasma; I could hardly even find a vein to pull from. If I didn't know better, I'd say he had cancer.” Shoko spoke quietly.

Your face must have given you away — she smoothed out the hair on the top of your head and tapped your nose once she was done examining you.

“He should be okay now. You're recovering slower than he is.”

“How long have we been sleeping?”

“About nine hours.”

You groaned. It felt like years. “How much longer till we're back to normal?”

“Give it time. Your bond took a major beating. If you rush things, you might end up here again.”

Your head slumped against Satoru's chest. “Okay.”

You watched her leave. Only when she was half way out the door did she fix you with a mischievous smirk and a devious wink. “The closer you are, the faster the bond will heal.”

Then Shoko left, with you likely gawking at the door.

“I like the sound of that.”

You whipped over to Satoru. He'd woken up at some point and was now staring at some spot on your neck before flicking his eyes to yours. The pulsing blue peaking out from under his bangs made your spine quake.

“But Shoko said you were sick. How can you—”

“Good. Maybe then I won't be so rough with you.”

[aceing-is-writing]

rating: T

cw: non detailed panic attack

tags: preslash, cuddling

prompt: Love is feeling safe (@novacorpsrecruit)

God no. No no no no no, Eddie needed it to stop. He wasn't there anymore and he knew that. He knew that, he knew that, so this was so stupid of him, but he couldn't stop himself.

He couldn't stop himself from skidding back and bashing his skull against the wall either when he saw something appear in front of him.

"Hey, hey, it's alright," he heard through the panic.

Eddie didn't know who the voice belonged to yet but one thing he did know is that it was safe.

Suddenly Steve had an armful of nervous shaking metalhead. He tried not to, but when Eddie collided with his still healing wounds on his chest he hissed. Eddie started to skid backward again and so Steve did the only thing he could think of.

He held on.

"Hey, hey, no Eddie, it's ok," he repeated, "I'm ok Eds."

Slowly Eddie untensed as the nonsensical sounds continued to wash over him. Before he knew it he had fallen forward with his head resting in the crook of Steve's neck.

Steve continued to murmur out his reassurances as he felt Eddie loosen up fully, until eventually he felt Eddie's breath tickling his neck at an even rate. Controlling the shiver trying to make it's way down his spine Steve slowly reached a hand upwards, hoping to keep the frightened metalhead calm. Taking a risk he put his hand on top of surprisingly soft curls.

Eddie sighed and burrowed farther into Steve's neck. Smiling in response Steve started slowly scratching Eddie's head through his curls while telling him about the latest shenanigans the kids they somehow had shared custody over had gotten into.

Eventually Eddie became aware of a hand playing with his hair the way he hadn't had since his mom had up and left. Unsure whether he wanted to give into the soothing motion it provided or pay attention to the soothing voice that was still speaking he hummed in contentment.

Steve paused waiting to see if he would continue but Eddie was content as he was and so he merely continued farther into his story of trying to shove three bikes in his car with three overgrown at this point teenagers.

An unknowable amount of time later Eddie started to pick up key words from the voice. Henderson was mentioned several times and Eddie smiled rubbing his nose into the neck he was ducked into. As he did so he picked up the leathery scent of the hair products Steve always used.

Feeling Eddie tense Steve stopped his tale and glanced down as far as he could to try and read his friend.

"Eds?" he tried, "You back with me?"

"….Steve?"

"The one and only big boy," Steve replied hoping to get a laugh out of throwing Eddie's commonly used phrase for Steve back at himself.

Not receiving one in reply Steve waited for Eddie to untense or pull away but when neither happened he chose to take a risk and started up with scratching at Eddie's hair again.

Eddie's eyes widened for a second before he huffed in amusement.

"You know you could've left me man," he mumbled into Steve's neck. Steve merely laughed in reply.

"I know."

For a minute Eddie thought that was all he was going to get before Steve opened his mouth once more.

"But I mean," he continued, "I don't mind. You know, sometimes…"

Steve peetered out and clenched his hand in Eddie's hair for a second.

Humming inquisitively Eddie tapped his hand twice against Steve's side where he'd had his hand clenched in the shirt.

"Come on big boy," he said, "don't hold out on me now."

Unclenching his hair Steve huffed in amusement but continued.

"Sometimes it makes me feel safer to be able to do something. You were," he paused before choosing to continue, "there was so much blood by the time we got to you Eddie. At least if I'm doing something you're not…"

He removed his hand from Eddie's hair to gesture nonsensically hoping Eddie would get the point.

"Ok Steve," Eddie said in reply.

Surrendering the rest of his weight he flopped fully down on Steve making him stumble backwards and ended with them both laying on the ground.

"But I hope you know if you get me used to this treatment I feel like we have to swap nicknames at this point. It's required, sorry, the reign of King Steve is over."

Laughing fully Steve moved his hand from Eddie's arms to wrap both his arms fully around his back.

"It was an overrated title anyways," he chuckled.

Eddie finally removed his face from where he had it hidden in Steve's neck and pushed up to stare down at Steve, causing Steve to move his arms from around his back lower down to his waist. This of course meant that Eddie blushed and started the process of trying to untangle his limbs from Steve's.

"Your safety is my highest concern," Steve continued smirking when he finally caught Eddie's eyes, "my liege."

Eddie's eyes widened and he blushed harder as he continued trying to remove his arms from where they held himself up. Fumbling he only ended up falling once again, this time smack on Steve's chest.

Steve laughed once again and rolled them over so he was leaning over top of Eddie instead.

"My king," he said poking Eddie's side. Covering his face fully now Eddie tried to slap Steve's hand away ineffectually.

"My most honorable."

"Steve-"

"My most kingly of kings."

"Steve man, you gotta-"

"My most courageous of-"

"Steve!" Eddie said as he slapped both hands on Steve's face. "You've gotta stop saying my man."

"But you are mine," Steve replied. Eddie opened his mouth several times before finally managing to make it work.

"Uh, what?"

"You're my friend. At least," he said looking concerned at what he was saying finally, "I mean, that whole talk in the woods, I thought we'd become, you know-"

Eddie scruffed up Steve's hair cutting him off.

"Yeah, yeah, you're mine too Harrington."

Steve smiled back down at Eddie and Eddie knew he was fucked. Groaning he let his hand flop back down onto his face.

"Can you let me up now that we've declared our everlasting bond of friendship like weirdos?"

"Whatever you'd like my king," Steve fired off one last time before getting off of Eddie to let him up.

God, so fucked.

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

I will probably continue and flesh this one out more as well eventually in a larger fic with several other scenes but for now I'm just posting this scene.

@steddielovemonth I'm sorry this is coming so late in the day

[i-eat-worlds]

Starcross Chapter 9

In which tense conversations ensue.

Content: Angst, past systemic violence, space imperialism

Free Space, AFS Starcross, 5/5/4763

Veya jabbed the button on the dining table’s holodisplay, bringing up a rotating trade lane alert. The rest of her crew was gathered around, in varying stages of awakeness. Jesse was chomping on a VidaFruit energy bar, while Mari and Ziar were both nursing cups of tea. Elzar looked like they could’ve fallen asleep right then and there. Nothing like a surprise Yeran ship to screw up everyone’s sleep schedules.

“I’ll keep this short, since I know about half of you want to get to bed,” she started, bringing up the details of the alert. “As you’re all aware, Starcross picked up another stray last night. A few minutes ago, Yera put out an alert for who I’m assuming is them.” They gestured to the rotating hologram.

The holo made them look better, with more fat on their cheeks and less bruises on their face. A high Yeran collar rose around their neck, the metal tipped collar points a dead giveaway. Below it, a thickly bolded angular font declared that their name was “Arta Lacos,” a civil service worker who had apparently abandoned their post in several different languages.

Ziar bristled at the image, eyes narrowing. “Civil service worker my ass,” she mumbled under her breath.

“This crew is a family, and I’d never want to put any of you at risk,” Veya continued, tone serious. “Yera will come and try to get them back. Us helping them is not without signicant risk. If that’s a problem for you, speak up now.”

Mari’s eyes flickered up, nervously darting around. “Doesn’t “civil service worker” on a Yeran report normally mean “soldier who deserted?”

She opened her mouth to answer, but Ziar got there first. “There's no way that they’re a soldier. Not from what I saw, Mari.”

“I don’t want to even chance a fucking Yeran soldier on Starcross,” he said, voice forceful.

Oka placed a hand on their partner's forearm. “Azei, I’ve seen them. They’re not like that,” they spoke in Sanatesse.

“Mari, they begged me to hurt them.” Ziar put a foot forward. “You and I both know that Yera’s bastards don’t beg.” Mari dropped his head, but still didn’t say anything, not quite convinced. “They have god knows how many needles stuck into their spine. They aren’t even Yerani,” she swiped a hand through the hologram for emphasis, making it icker. “They’re human. Yera would rather implode than let a human serve.”

Yera would rather implode than let a human live. Before it had been Adaxia, before it had been Veya’s planet and home and family, it had been Earth, and all the other lonely planets on the far reaches of the galaxy that Yera had invaded.

Mari nodded at Ziar’s argument, posture relaxing a little. “Still, Yera will come for them. We’ve worked too hard to build this to let it fall apart now.”

“So we're just going to do what? Push them out of the airlock?” Ziar snapped, stepping closer.

Mari was just about to open his mouth to continue when Veya cut in. “Take a breath, you two.” They both scooted back. “We could try and find a safer place for them to go, maybe in the midri?” She suggested.

“I could see if I know anyone or anyone who knows anyone who’d be willing to help,” Oka said, looking unsure. “But I don’t know how well they’d fare with that.”

Ziar nodded. “I think they should stay with us.”

“Almost every single one of us has been, or is currently, wanted by Yera.” Oka was projectling like they were talking to everyone, but they were turned towards Mari. “Starcross, and Veya, have kept us safe. She’ll keep doing that.”

Finally, Mari sighed. “Okay. But we should still keep an eye on them until we know that we can trust them.”

“Of course.” Veya looked to Elzar and Jesse. “Do you two have any input?”

Elzar shrugged. “I haven’t really met them yet. But I trust Oka’s judgment. They can stay.”

“Same here,” Jesse crumpled up the VidaFruit bar’s wrapper. “I don’t have a problem with it.”

After a final look around the room to make sure everyone seemed comfortable, Veya cleared her throat. “It’s settled then. Kim stays.” A round of nods followed. “I want everyone to rest up. We’re going to land on Zarian in just about six hours. Ziar’s got a doctor coming to visit, so maybe clean it up a little. See you soon.”

Jesse grumbled a little at the cleaning as they all split off in their separate directions, heading towards either their stations or their berths. Before they walked away, Ziar sighed a respectful thank you in Nor’daxi.

Whatever feelings they had about Kim, Veya hoped they were right.

*** Jesse brought Starcross into Zarian’s atmosphere, feeling the hypergravity fluid pull back on her seat belt as the planet’s gravity grew stronger, pulling them closer. Starcross was an older ship, but Jesse had come to love the way her controls felt during reentry. The subtle tug as she evened out the fluid, seamlessly guiding them downward.

While Zarian was probably most famous for the warm volcanic islands that sprouted up in the tropical seas around its equator, that was not their final destination today. Starcross was headed for its icy northern polar tundra instead, far away from any vacation spots, to deliver several loads of fishing equipment related cargo. She wasn’t quite sure what it was, and she didn’t really care.

Despite the knowledge that the weather was sure to be less than ideal, Jesse was still excited to get planetside. They’d be able to stock up on real, non-mining ration food, something with a decent amount of protein and a flavor that wasn't just salt.

She switched to a local frequency, asking for permission to enter its airspace. Zarian’s controllers were used to high traffic volumes, were all multilingual, and were all relatively competent, unlike certain asteroids she could mention. They were quick to return her an authorization code and a landing area.

As she dropped lower, her view became covered by thick clouds. Nothing like descending from space into that fine polar weather. She watched the scanner, locators pinging in her ears as she moved them lower.

Finally, Zarian’s landscape opened up below her, snow capped mountains giving away barren, red grass covered landscape. The city of Iegal spread out along a coast, hugging an ice filled sea. Small boats bobbed up and down, traps sparkling in the water. It was, believe it or not, summer.

Jesse set down on a platform by one of the industrial districts, flipping the switch to power down the main engines.

Starcross had landed.

Taglist: @whumpscholar @seth-whumps @itsoundslikeafury @blackberry-bloody @snakebites-and-ink

@whumpacabra @cepheusgalaxy @softvampirewhump @my-little-versaille @pigeonwhumps

@whumped-by-glitter @snaillamp @rainydaywhump @platysaurus @whumpy-daydreams

@whiskygoldwings @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @rainbowsandwhumperflies @risk606 @starfields08000

@loonybun @paingoes @yassifiedinformation

[silverstarfics]

I was so determined to write something for this week’s @thunder-pride bingo square that I literally wrote this fic while having a minor allergic reaction on a plane - in other words there are definitely mistakes in this but please pretend not to notice them oops. Anyway, this is a longer fic than I'd usually post on here, so I recommend reading it on AO3 but I know some people prefer Tumblr, so here we are :))

AO3 link

Stray glitter itched under his left eye, his flag kept getting snagged on his baldric, and he could feel sweat prickling at the base of his spine despite the temperature regulator in his suit, yet Alan had never felt more comfortable in his own skin. His cheeks physically ached from so much smiling. He didn’t think he’d stopped grinning since he’d landed Tracy One on American soil two hours earlier – and no, that wasn’t just because he’d been reunited with his boyfriend. They hadn’t intended to spend practically three months apart – which had been a difficult adjustment after sharing an apartment for the past year – but the end of Alan’s semester meant he was officially back on the IR roster for the summer… just as a busy spell of rescues struck.

Technically, he was here on Official International Rescue Business: representing them at one of the world’s largest Pride parades. Usually, Gordon would have played the role, dressed up in yellow, pink and blue with an unholy amount of glittery body spray decorating not only his skin but his uniform. This year, Alan had taken up the reins. He secretly suspected his family had conspired to give him some downtime – because summer break was supposed to be restful, especially when you were an overachiever who’d decided to double major – and a chance to hang out with Brandon. He’d been instructed to have fun. Literally, Scott had texted him so.

Scotty: Have fun and enjoy your chance to be a dumb 20-year-old.

Scotty: Not too much fun though. You’re representing IR.

Alan had replied: so, on a scale from John to Gordon how much fun can I have?

Scotty: My level of fun only minus the daredevil risks.

Scotty: Just don’t get arrested, that’s all I ask.

“Coming to you from the Pride event of the year,” a loud voice declared dangerously close to Alan’s ear, jolting him out of his thoughts, “I’m here with a bi icon AKA my boyfriend-”

“Really?” he interrupted. “That’s how you’re introducing me?”

“Oh my god, fine.” Brandon hooked an arm around Alan’s neck and dragged him within view of the camera. “I’m here with International Rescue’s one and only Alan Tracy.”

“Better,” Alan accepted, trying to repress the urge to sneeze as Brandon’s flag drifted across his face. “Are you filming or livestreaming right now?”

“Filming,” Brandon assured him. “I’ll edit stuff out later, so you can relax.”

Alan flung his arms out to let his own flag billow in the light breeze. “Oh, I am so relaxed.”

Brandon, on the other hand, looked set to launch into orbit. He’d downed nearly a litre of soda since he’d met Alan at the airport and had chased it down with cotton candy and churros; he still had cinnamon dust on his face and it looked like extra freckles. The sugar rush had hit him around the same time as his adrenaline spike when music had begun to blare from speakers up-and-down the parade. He’d already had several fans come up to him for selfies and signatures which had only added to his energy levels. Even now, he was bouncing on the spot.

“Brand,” Alan tried to hiss, then raised his voice to be heard above the clamour of music and chatter and the swell of live instruments around them. “Brandon, dude, chill.”

“I am so frickin’ chill,” Brandon announced gleefully. He grabbed Alan’s hand and laced their fingers together, rising onto his toes – he hadn’t stopped complaining since Alan had hit the growth spurt that had placed him above Gordon and Virgil – to pull him into a kiss. “See? Chill.”

“Uh huh,” Alan deadpanned. “Super chill.” He frowned at the taste of sugar. “Did you find more candy? Where? And how? I swear you haven’t left my side.”

Brandon levelled the camera with a conspiratorial look. “All geniuses have their ways.”

“I’m cutting you off.” Alan reconsidered his words. ���Ew, gross. You’re making me sound responsible.”

Brandon flicked his red baldric. “I feel like responsibility and IR are a joint package.”

“You’ve seen my astroboard stunts.”

“Good point.”

The parade began with an explosion of colour that reminded Alan of the infamous occasion when Gordon had accidentally upended Virgil’s palette mid-painting session. International Rescue had been assigned to the group of NGO floats, so he wasn’t expecting many people to point him out from the crowd. Maybe he’d gotten too used to his life on campus; after the initial buzz, no one cared that The Alan Tracy of International Rescue was a part of their ranks. But to his surprise, there were easily hundreds of people cheering and waving banners directed at him – or at IR or at his family: at least two signs asked for Kayo’s phone number – as the procession marched through the streets. Brandon captured everything on camera, including Alan’s shellshocked expression which prompted several internet comparisons with various memes.

“Hey, hey, Alan, look up.” Brandon cupped Alan’s face, tilting his head to glimpse the livestream of the parade on the giant screens above them. “Better smile, dude!”

“Oh my god.” Alan’s voice pitched into a humiliating squeak. He cleared his throat and fixed a grin on his face as the cameras stayed on him. “Okay, so this- this is a thing that’s happening. Cool. Cool, cool, cool.”

“Breathe,” Brandon teased. He raised their linked hands into the air, prompting another chorus of cheers from the crowd. “People love us! And they really love you, so quit freaking out.”

“I am not freaking out,” Alan protested, then proceeded to do exactly that as a weight crashed into his legs from his right. He staggered and caught his balance against Brandon’s shoulder.

“Woah,” Brandon mumbled, switching off the vlog. “Hey, lil dude. Where’d you come from?”

If the fact that Brandon had turned off the camera weren’t warning enough, his sudden change in pitch from overexcited delight to soft concern would have informed Alan that the new limpet clinging to him was definitely child shaped. He glanced down to glimpse a mop of tawny hair and an adoring, toothy smile. The kid had to be around eleven, certainly no older than twelve, with rainbow face-paint and a shirt emblazoned with Thunderbird Three.

“Hey,” Alan greeted, struck by the baffled urge to laugh. He knelt down to place himself at the kid’s level – honestly, his new height just kept causing problems. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Leo.” The kid – Leo, Alan mentally corrected himself – rocked on his heels as his grin grew impossibly wider. “Sorry for… you know. Running at you and jumping onto the float and stuff. But I really wanted to say hi, ‘cos you’re, like, super cool and you’re kind of my hero, so, um, yeah.”

Brandon leaned down over Alan’s shoulder to whisper teasingly, “Aw.”

Alan elbowed him. “Shut up.” He turned back to Leo. “That’s awesome, buddy! It’s great to meet you. Are you here with someone? I don’t want them to think you’ve gone missing.”

Leo gave an emphatic nod. “My mom.” He pointed in the vague direction of the crowd. “She’s out there somewhere.”

“Oh, boy,” Brandon whistled. “I know where this is going.”

Alan tousled Leo’s hair, then stood back up. “So, I’m thinking…”

“…We should search for the kid’s mom?” Brandon concluded with a fond eyeroll. “Yeah, okay.”

After a brief discussion with the other representatives on the float, Alan made his excuses, then clambered down with Leo perched on his shoulders and Brandon close behind them. The kid kept chattering, hands anchored in Alan’s hair and his heels drumming against Alan’s chest; it brought back treasured childhood memories of the times Alan had sat on Scott’s shoulders as his brother picked paths through crowds. He was aware of Brandon sneaking photos of their silhouettes to send to the family, all dressed up in sparkles and flags and IR blues.

Leo’s mom looked suitably ruffled. Her face was flushed with a mixture of humiliation and horror beneath the shimmery sheen of glitter spray. She fretted her hands in the hem of her t-shirt – pale blue with a supportive motherly caption that made both Alan and Brandon look away – as she began to utter so many apologies that they tripped over one another.

“I am so, so sorry.” She caught Leo’s eye with a warning stare. “He didn’t mean to disturb you. I only took my eyes off him for a second- Leo, have you apologised? Say sorry right this instant. I can’t apologise enough. Thank you so much for bringing him back. It’s just that you’re his hero, you see. He’s been obsessed with the Thunderbirds since he was only so high-” She gestured at her hip. “-and when you came out… Well, you’ve been a healthy role model for him. His hero, really, and- And I should stop rambling and let you get back to the parade. Leo, get down here.”

Alan crouched down to let Leo clamber from his shoulders. He wasn’t sure how to act in the face of such praise – the word hero was tossed around frequently by civilians but it was usually addressed towards elder brothers and on rescues, not a public setting – so settled for some terrible pun outta Gordon’s handbook and laughed nervously while Brandon rolled his eyes.

“Don’t worry about it.” Alan offered Leo a fist bump which the kid readily returned. “He’s been no trouble.” He feigned a serious tone. “I have an important question though: which is the best Thunderbird?”

“One,” Brandon declared and instinctively jumped outta reach before Alan could kick his shins.

Leo wrinkled his nose. “Three, duh.”

“Correct answer.” Alan patted him on the head. “I just had to check.” He grinned at Leo’s wide-eyed, starstruck expression. The kid kept looking at him as if he were a dragon, although perhaps a unicorn would be a better comparison given the rainbows painted onto his baldric. “Maybe don’t run off without telling your mom next time though, okay?” He lowered his voice to a secretive whisper. “I think you scared her. You might want to say sorry.”

Leo’s face fell. “Sorry, Mom. I wasn’t thinking…”

“Clearly,” she replied dryly. “But I think we can let it slide just this once.” She straightened up, craning her neck slightly to meet Alan’s gaze – and nope, he still wasn’t used to that one, it was so weird, how did Scott and John live like this? “It’s his first Pride.”

“Oh, heck yeah,” Brandon cut in. He held up a hand. “High five, lil dude! That’s awesome!”

Leo met his high five with a resounding smack. Alan observed their interaction, fully aware that he probably had the heart-eyes that he’d been accused of on so many occasions by nosy siblings, but hey, whatever, sue him, it was a cute sight. He tugged absently at the edges of his flag as warm affection spread outwards from his chest. Cameras clicked around him as people filmed – hey, it’s the guy from International Rescue – but somehow it didn’t bother him anymore.

“Really,” he continued, forcing himself to turn back to Leo’s mom. “Leo’s a good kid. You should be proud of him. I got super overexcited at my first Pride too. It can be kind of overwhelming.”

She gave a light laugh. “It’s all he’s talked about for the last three months.” She lowered her gaze, voice softening as she hesitated, then confessed, “He was scared to come out to me. I don’t know how I ever gave him that impression – Lord knows I kick myself every day for making my baby think I wouldn’t accept him – but when you came out… He said that if you could be brave enough to tell the world, he could be brave enough to tell his mama. So, thank you, Alan. Truly.”

And-

Wow.

Okay. That was… a lot.

“You’re so emotional,” Brandon teased, prodding Alan’s bicep. “This is why Goose says you have golden retriever energy, dude.” He skimmed his thumb over Alan’s palm, a swift, inconspicuous show of support. “We should probably get back to the parade, but it was awesome to meet you.”

“Of course.” Leo’s mom snagged her son’s shirt. “Say goodbye, Leo.”

“Bye,” Leo chirped, then threw his arms around Alan’s middle. “Thanks for… everything.”

Alan let Brandon lead him through the crowd to a café. They found a quiet corner at the very back, tucked away in a shadowy alcove beside a potted plant and an old Pacman machine. Brandon briefly vanished, then returned with a glass of water and a chocolate chip cookie. He slid both across the table to Alan, then waited expectantly, all wide eyes and furrowed brow.

“Thanks,” Alan replied after a minute. He took a sip of the water, then drained it in one as he realised how dry his mouth had become. “I don’t know why that threw me so much. Like, it was a really nice thing, so why am I…?” He held up a shaky hand. “…you know?”

“’Cos it’s a big deal,” Brandon said quietly. He bumped his sneaker against Alan’s beneath the table. “You’re allowed to be rattled by it, Al. It’s a good thing, but it’s still a lot. Like, I can still remember the first time one of my viewers told me I’d inspired them. I’m pretty sure I threw up afterwards, so you’re doing better than me. Then again, I was like fifteen, so…”

Alan split the cookie. “Want some?”

“It’s like you don’t even know me,” Brandon sighed, grinning as he snatched up half. “Let’s chill here for a few minutes, then we’ll head back out, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Leo was right, you know?”

“What d’you mean?”

Brandon’s smile was the soft, secretive kind, usually reserved for places without the threat of cameras. Alan had gotten to see it almost daily since they’d moved in together when he’d started at MIT, but it still left him mildly breathless.

“You’re a good role model to a bunch of kids like him.”

Alan ducked his head. “You think so?”

“I know so,” Brandon corrected. “Now eat your cookie so we can get back out there.”

Much, much later, after they’d flown back to the island and washed off most of the glitter, Alan had chance to process everything. It made him happy but also nervous at the same time. Like, woah, he was someone’s role model? Kids considered him to be their hero? That was wild. He said as much, airing his thoughts aloud while Virgil clattered around the kitchen and Scott picked at the bowl of chopped pineapple that was intended for the evening’s pizzas.

“It’s just so weird,” Alan continued, drawing his legs up to sit cross-legged on the bar stool. He’d changed into sweatpants and a hoodie that he was pretty sure he’d stolen from John at some point after his sixteenth and had subsequently grown into. There was still glitter caked onto his cheek despite the fact that he’d attacked it with a makeup wipe. “Like, me? I still feel like a kid.”

“You’re Scott’s twenty-year-old child,” Gordon joked as he sidled through the patio doors and made a beeline for the pineapple. “He’s never gonna see you as an adult. Trust me, I’d know.”

“I’m not that bad,” Scott protested half-heartedly.

Gordon patted him on the back. “Smotherhen.”

“Irresponsible guppy.”

“And I wear that title with pride.” Gordon dropped onto the stool beside Alan. “Speaking of pride, how was it? Brandon didn’t give me any of the good gossip. I need details, Allie-gator.”

Alan frowned. “Did you torture my boyfriend? Is that why I haven’t seen him all evening?”

“Nah, that’s ‘cos Penny abducted him. They’re conspiring. We should both be scared.” Gordon tossed a cube of pineapple into his mouth and shot Virgil an innocent smile when his brother heaved a grand sigh and stared pointedly at the pizza bases. “Anyway. Pride. Details. Go.”

“A little kid said Alan was his role model, so Al’s spiralling,” Kayo summarised from her perch on the opposite counter, nursing something strongly alcoholic. “Now you’re all caught up.”

“Aw.” Gordon propped his chin in his hands. “That’s kind of adorable.”

“That’s what I said,” Virgil interjected. He prodded at the bowl of cake batter in his hands, then reached for a baking tray. “Do I leave this as vanilla or add cocoa powder?”

“Add chocolate.” Alan dropped his head onto the counter with a groan. “It’s weird though. I feel… like a fraud, I guess. I don’t have my life together. I survive on pizza pockets and Red Bull.”

Scott glanced up. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Only during finals. I’m mostly a functional adult the rest of the time.”

John’s hologram blinked into life above the projector. “Before you spiral any further, you should know that the internet loves you. Footage of the parade has ended up online. You’ve not just inspired one kid, but a lot of people.”

Alan tossed his hands up. “How is that supposed to make me feel any better? That’s so much more pressure.” He slumped onto the counter. “I just… You guys were my role models, right? And you did a pretty good job-”

“Thanks,” Gordon said, just as Kayo added, “Everyone apart from Gordon did a good job.”

“-so, I’m really happy to be inspiring people but also I don’t want to mess up.”

A contemplative silence settled over the kitchen.

“You’re not going to mess up,” Scott said after a moment. He slid the pineapple out of Gordon’s reach, then moved to stand beside Alan’s seat. “Hey, look at me for a second?” He placed his hands on Alan’s shoulders and offered him a reassuring smile. “All you need to do is keep being yourself. Try your best, stand up for your beliefs, and you’ll do just fine, Allie. Besides…” He tousled Alan’s hair. “You’ve been our hero for just as long as we’ve been yours.”

“Gordon’s not included in that,” Kayo called. Gordon made a crude gesture in her direction. She flung an arm at him. “See? He’s just not role model material.”

Scott ignored them. “You’re doing great, Al. I’m proud of you.”

Alan swallowed the lump of emotion in his throat, then asked, “Can I make a Pride joke?”

Scott sank onto a bar stool beside him and dropped his head onto the counter. “Wake me up when the pizza or the cake is ready, I can’t cope with the terrible puns that are about to happen.”

“Oh, but Scotty,” Alan began.

Gordon let out a wild laugh. “This is gonna be so much fun.”

[aitadjcrazytimes]

Hi, I saw your tags:

I was wondering. Um. Would you be comfortable sharing what other symptoms you have?

I've had memory problems for years but every time I look them up I just get stuff like alzheimers and car crashes and stuff, which doesnt apply. Idk

I was wondering if this might be me also. I'll talk to a doctor, of course, but. Just wondering what the general vibe is

Sure! Though, be aware, if you Can get evaluated for your symptoms you probably should, at least to make sure it isn't degenerative.

Via-a-vis the ABI (That's Acquired Brain Injury), part of the reason it took so long to diagnose is because

I already have a different diagnosis of cEDS (Classical Ehlers Danlos Syndrome) that explained several of my other symptoms

I have GAD and PTSD due to living in a very abusive and dangerous environment up until about 5 months ago, and

At least two of my family members are autistic, so it was just kind of vaguely assumed that any weirdness regarding my sensory processing and so on was because of that.

So! To summarize (and I put this below a cut because it gets Long).

Chiari Malformation is when you have a defect in the base of your skull that puts pressure on your cerebellum, causing part of it to go into your spinal column. Many people with this condition don't experience any symptoms, but that is not always the case, and even with no symptoms, it does place you at a much higher risk for a brain injury. With a Chiari Malformation, even a mild concussion can cause serious damage.

I have had several concussions, with one of them knocking me out for several minutes when I was very young. So. Here we are.

Regarding treatments for Chiari, most of what can be done is simply treating the symptoms. Unless there is concern about the condition getting worse (more memory loss, paralysis, etc.), patients will likely be referred elsewhere to discuss pain management, because from my understanding, the only effective treatment for Chiari is a decompression surgery, which will remove part of your skull to take pressure off the brain. It's not terribly risky as brain surgeries go, but the best brain surgery is, of course, no brain surgery.

Re my Physical symptoms:

I get headaches very frequently, and often very severely. They have been categorized as migraines in the past, because they come with severe light and sound sensitivity, and they tend to knock me out for hours. That said, they don't meet all the criteria for a migraine, including having no aura to speak of. They are often triggered by strain and jostling my head--by coughing, sneezing, vomiting, jumping, or anything that would cause motion sickness.

I have poor balance. I have found that walking with a cane helps, but physical therapy doesn't do all that much (because it's in my brain and not my muscles).

I also struggle with chronic fatigue. Getting out of bed is a real struggle most days, as is getting anything done outside of simply going to work and then coming home--although I recently went on an antidepressant, which has helped a bit.

Insomnia! I have trouble sleeping. It comes and goes, sometimes I get several days worth of restful sleep, but sometimes I get only a few hours worth of sleep over the course of a week.

Shooting and burning pain in back of skull, neck, spine, shoulders, and chest. Be careful with this one, because this can also be a result of a heart issue. That said, I've had my heart checked out, and that's all good, which is why they checked the brain in the first place.

As for my cognitive symptoms, it's a bit fuzzier, because like I said before, I have PTSD, I have the ABI, I have GAD, several of my family members are somewhere on the autism spectrum, and now my therapist is also having me evaluated for OSDD. So, your mileage may vary. But essentially:

Memory loss. Some of it is retrograde, and I have found that I'll forget significant events and people. Most of it is anterograde, or short term--so, forgetting what a conversation is about while I'm in the middle of a sentence, and either having to improvise and try to make a guess as to what I was talking about, or having to have my conversation partner walk back what we were talking about to explain what we were doing. I have to have a very detailed and elaborate task tracker at work in order to stay on top of things, or I would simply forget it all. I also have the experience of feeling like all of my memories are stories that were told to me. So, I rarely experience a memory as a thing that happened to me, complete with sights and sounds and feelings and sensations and so on, but more like a story that someone told to me once. So, a vague recollection of events and the order in which they happened. This makes it difficult to differentiate between my own memories and stories that other people have told me. It has happened a few times that I have told a story of something that happened to me, only to find out that it actually happened to the person I was talking to instead, and I just got confused.

I'm not sure what to call this one, but I get EXTREMELY easily distracted from processing audio, especially in an environment with more than one thing happening. If I am having a verbal conversation with someone in a restaurant, and someone comes and sits at the table next to us and starts talking, I become almost incapable of conversation. If I'm talking to someone and someone turns on the TV in the next room, I become almost incapable of conversation. If music is playing, I lose track of the conversation. I forget everything I was saying. I won't be able to understand what other people are saying. Spending time in loud, busy, or crowded environments is not that distressing by itself, but I will not be able to hold a conversation.

Aphasia and Verbal Processing. It is incredibly difficult for me to put words together in a way that is coherent. It is significantly easier through writing, because I can look things up and take my time with it. But in vocal conversation, I will frequently have verbal shutdowns where I cannot find a word, and all of my language processing shuts down while I try to comprehend what I was talking about. This often leads to...

Fuzziness/Blurriness. I typically call this "going fuzzy". Generally it involves a verbal shutdown to an extent, where my brain has reached capacity with processing information, and is deciding to simply wipe everything and start over. Think of it like restarting a really old computer. Sometimes it doesn't take too terribly long--a few moments. Sometimes it takes more than half an hour. It depends. This is often accompanied by...

The Buzzing™--It happens for me at the base of the skull, where the injury is. It feels like a tuning fork fused to the inside of my skull. It is completely maddening. My ears ring, and it sounds like a high pitched whining noise. I become very on edge, it's incredibly anxiety inducing, and very overwhelming. I don't know if this is a common symptom you will be able to find under brain injuries, but it's Extremely not fun! I have found that it can be lessened somewhat with massaging the area.

The Voices™: I have heard voices ever since I was a kid. (Schizophrenia has already been ruled out.) Sometimes, it Is an actual auditory hallucination. I recently had an experience where I was grocery shopping and kept flinching because it sounded like someone was shouting my name directly into my ear. Other times, I've heard people whispering or knocking on my walls. These typically occur during or following a stressful situation. HOWEVER, I also experience The Voices™ in my daily life outside of stressful situations. In these situations, it is never auditory, more just a thing that occurs in my own head. I have, in the past, had the experience of talking more or less constantly to one or several distinct people in my head. Nowadays, it feels more like experiencing multiple trains of thought or multiple sets of emotions which feel distinct from "mine". Or feeling like a background voice in my head while someone else does things for me.

Per my therapist, I have recently begun categorizing them as different people to see if that helps. And it does sometimes! And sometimes it does not. It is a process. But that's where I am with that.

There's more to it, but I don't really have the capacity to talk about it much more than I have at the moment.

If you want to see what my experience with this is like... I mean. I did write an entire fanfiction about a character with several of my symptoms recently. You likely won't have the context for what is going on re the character and the situation unless you are into Red vs. Blue, but just in case it helps to see a recounting of it, here:

The Fanfiction That Helped Me Realize I Had Brain Damage™. Have fun!

[zoeykallus]

This isn’t really an ask for you to write anything but rather more of a go listen and consider type thing. I’ve been listening to Take Me Out by Franz Ferdinand a lot on repeat lately thinking about an ‘across the bar room encounter’ with Crosshair and all the tension of playing chicken. So just a thought that you don’t have to do anything with but I wanted to share 🧡

You didn't really think I wouldn't do anything with this idea, did you? :)

Sounds so downhearted. Let me gives this a little upside twist.

Crosshair x Fem!Reader One-shot - I Can Feel Your Gaze

Warnings: Suggestive/Pining/Fluff

_________

The bar is U-shaped. You sit on the left side, opposite you a man you've seen here several times. He always sits there, and you always sit on the opposite side. Sometimes you exchange glances, but you can never hold his look for long. There is something challenging, questioning in his gaze. Often you sit in the bar for hours without doing much, you don't even drink much, always sipping only a few drinks throughout the evening, you are just here to admire him, in a way. You kind of like him, there's something about him that's attractive but at the same time sends a shiver down your spine. There is an intensity in his gaze that hints at a strong personality. He has a tattoo around his eye, it looks like a crosshair, that's why you call him Crosshair in your mind. But why doesn't he address you? Judging by his equipment, he is a soldier, but he doesn't look like one of the clones, you can't imagine that he is subject to the same regulations. Sometimes you feel his gaze without looking at him. You see him in full size for the first time when another man approaches him. Also a soldier it seems, long hair, bandana. Crosshair is slender, very tall. His back flows from his shoulders down to his hips in an attractive V-line. You see him glance over his shoulder briefly before he leaves, and hurriedly glance down at your glass.

When Crosshair comes back, he is a little out of breath, he was in a hurry to get back. He had run here from the Marauder, but now, he strolls extra smoothly to the bar. However, he feels disappointment bubbling up in him when he sees that you are no longer there. But what did he expect? That you would spend the night here?

He doesn't even know why he still comes here and watches you, you don't seem interested in him, but part of him hopes that you are just shy and therefore avoiding his attempts to make eye contact with you. It's a back and forth, your eyes meeting occasionally only to avoid each other. He has thought about asking you out, but he doesn't want to risk a rejection, so he continues to pine for you from a distance, more or less secretly. He's never had problems approaching a woman before. But this is different. You are different. Or maybe the way he feels about you, is different? With a heavy sigh, this time he sits down on the bar stool next to the one you usually sit on. He sees your glass still standing there. There's still a sip in it. He orders a good Scotch, for once something better and stronger than usual. When he hears footsteps approaching behind him. He tenses a little, automatically, the force of a soldier's habit.

When you come back from the washrooms, you stand rooted to the spot for a moment. Sitting on the barstool next to yours is him, the guy you call Crosshair. Was he sitting there on purpose? Is he waiting for you? If so, why? Are you pleased now? Should you perhaps be afraid? You are not sure, you only know that your heart is beating up to your neck. For weeks, you had been watching him from a safe distance, and he had been watching you, but now he is suddenly sitting in the seat next to yours. Your pulse races as you move further towards the bar, towards your bar stool and finally sit down. You can see in the corner of your eye that he pauses for a moment, almost startled. Wasn't he expecting you?

Nervously, you empty the last sip in your glass and order another drink. Uncertainly, you think afterwards that he might have put something in your drink, and your nervousness increases. Everything inside you is tingling, it's strangely exciting to be so close to him after having gazed at him from afar for so long. It feels like a rush as you decide to turn and approach him. Your heart beats very fast. As you turn around, he does the same, and you're startled to realize that you're looking at each other up close and personal. "Hi," you say softly, "I'm Y/N." He blinks, seeming to take a moment, his serious expression relaxing a bit. "Crosshair," he says in a deep, slightly smoky voice. You can't help but laugh in surprise, at which he raises his brows. " My name's funny, then?" You shake your head, startled. "No, no. Sorry, that's just the name I gave you in my mind because of your tattoo. I just found it amusing that it's actually your name. So basically I already knew your name." A cheeky smirk appears on his narrow lips. "In your mind? Good to know I'm haunting your thoughts." You avoid his gaze again, feeling heat rise in your ears and cheeks, feeling caught. He turns the glass in his hands, you can see that he is thinking, that something is bothering him. "I really only came here for you," he says suddenly. You stare at him, completely perplexed and caught off guard. "Oh" you say quietly, "I thought the feeling wasn't mutual". Crosshair turns in his chair even more in your direction. "So you came here for me?" he asks, puzzled. You say quietly, almost whispering, so he almost doesn't hear you over the music, "Not at first, but then..." Crosshair shows you a smirk again. "How about we meet in a different place sometime? Maybe tomorrow night?" he asks. Your heart nearly skips a beat with excitement as you nod and say, "That sounds like a good idea. Where do you want to go?" "Movie theater? Afterwards, a bite to eat, something to drink.... then we'll see?" You don't quite know why, but your face is all hot as you nod again. "I like that idea. Where do we meet?" "Here at the bar? At seven?" You try not to let on how excited you are, you're almost lightheaded. "I'll be there"

Ko-Fi (If you feel like giving me some coffee)

@rintheemolion

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[loserchildhotpants]

I’m very frightened every time I get on my husband’s motorcycle with him. 

He’s a very responsible driver, that is in no way the problem - he doesn’t take unnecessary risks, he isn’t a daredevil type, and having been in a terrible wreck as a young teen, he has a certain appreciation for the dangers of the road that I don’t have, because I haven’t lived through something like that.

I trust him with my life, implicitly.

I fear what a negligent driver may do, or if some other random event of terribleness might befall us while we ride, though.

I’ve lived with anxiety disorders for more of my life than not - one of the most painful parts of living with the trauma and the disorders I have is that I remember what I was like before them. Before they took root. I remember the child I was, fearless and adventurous. I try to feed that part of me, breathe life back into it by doing things like this because I’m angry I was robbed of that - so, I put my trust in the man that loves me, and I get on his motorcycle. 

In a strange way, I reach some level of zen while on the bike. I don’t know if I’m right about it, but I have a theory as to why that is; it’s sort of like Anxiety Input rates finally match the Anxiety Output rates, and so I wind up feeling very calm and centered.

Most of the time, my spine is producing enough cortisol to outrun a lion (my physician’s words, not mine), even while I’m just sat on the couch. But if you put me on a motorcycle, driving on winding roads anywhere between 45mph and 80mph, that cortisol is suddenly appropriate - my spine is no longer at odds with my environment.

If you’ve never been on a motorcycle as a passenger or even a rider, this may be something you don’t know; when the bike leans, you need to lean with it. That might feel dangerous, counterintuitive, but if you pull in the opposite direction, you’ll send it careening. Lean with the driver and the bike, even if you’re going 70mph around a long, curved, on-ramp.

That is a very difficult concept when you live with chronic, horrendous anxiety. As in most ventures of wellness, my husband is my rock, though. He leans, and I lean with him, because I trust him. He loves me, he is the only person I have never doubted loves me. He would do anything for me, he would never put me in harm’s way, and so if he is leaning, it must be safe to lean, and I will lean with him. 

It can be particularly frightening when we’re taking a turn so severe that I can sense the asphalt getting nearer.  We’ll be almost parallel with the ground, and that’s scary, but I can do it if it’s with him. I feel safe with him.

There’s a bridge we used to ride over all the time back when we lived in SC - the bridge connected a lot of highway traffic in and out of Savannah, GA, so it was busy, and fast (think maybe 60-80mph). It was also 135ft above the Savannah River. We would get so high up, so fast, my ears would pop at the altitude change. Objectively, a terrifying adrenaline rush. 

I would feel such peace there, though.

One time, I let go of my husband while we crossed the bridge. As we neared its apex, I spread my arms out, and shut my eyes. The music in my helmet was blasting, the wind was severe so high up, I had to clench my thighs hard around the bike and my husband to keep balance, to keep on the bike, but for a moment I was flying.

I remember I only took that risk once, because letting go of the rider is a bad idea in general, but I just needed to know what it would feel like. Just once.

When I put my arms back around him, I remember I was laughing to myself a little, I felt like I might cry, but I wasn’t sure why.

I stared at the back of his neck, and that’s actually what got me writing this. I was sitting down and trying to write something else entirely, but I got to thinking about the back of my husband’s neck, which I am well-acquainted with because of the motorcycle riding.

He has a strong neck, strong trapezes, his hair comes to a point at the base of his skull. He’s got these thick, luscious tresses of red hair, but when he has his helmet on and I can only see the base of his skull, the back of his neck, I see those fine hairs there, tangerine and lemon, coming to a perfect point at the center of the first knob of his spine. 

His neck, like the rest of him, is freckled, little cafe au lait spots smattered across his skin, and he has something kind of like a mole, but it’s pale. Not a skin tag, but something else. I don’t know what it is, I just know it’s on the right side of the back of his neck, it’s only very slightly risen like a mole might be, and I like it like I like all of his body and skin. 

Sometimes I’ll look at the back of his neck while he rides, and I’ll think, ‘I may die on this contraption. It could be any second now. Some semi won’t check their blindspot, some drunk asshole that got behind the wheel will veer, someone looking at their stupid fuckin’ phone will round a corner too fast and not see us, someone will run a light, a stop sign, we’ll hit gravel or sand and it will send the wheels into a tizzy, we’ll hit a puddle that’s covering a deep pothole, we’ll run over glass from a prior crash that wasn’t cleaned up, and we’ll spin out, and I’ll go tens of feet into the air, and I’ll break every bone in my body when I land, or I’ll die on impact, or we both will, but if it’s now, if it’s like this, okay.’ 

Every time I get on that bike, I think, ‘I am agreeing to the terms; this may be the last thing I ever do, this activity is particularly dangerous, the drivers near here are maniacs on good days, anything could go wrong. I understand the terms, and I agree to them.’ 

Maybe it’s that I’m with my husband, and I tell him how grateful for him I am all the time, how much I love him, I wax poetic about him every chance he gives me, I tell him every day how handsome he is, to drive safely, that I love him so much, that I miss him when he’s gone from me, and so I can be okay with the last thing I ever see being the back of his neck, because everything that I absolutely need to say has already been said.

Sometimes, when we ride, I’ll pretend I’m back in time. As if I’m very old, dying in a bed somewhere else, and I’m time-traveling back to wherever, whenever it is I’m with him, and I think, ‘oh, right, we used to do this - we would go on his motorcycle, and it felt just like this.’

It’s sort of how I romanticize the present. I treat it like it may already be gone, like it’s a fond memory I’m revisiting, and I’m getting to experience my youth again, the crazy things I did, how absolutely insane I was about my husband, how much fun I had with my friends - I do this when I’m off the bike too, but I do it consistently on the bike.

Maybe because I’m scared I’ll die on it.

I’ve devoted my husband’s likeness to memory as much as I can because the nature of dissociation is that it steals my memories and emotions from me, even when I want them back very badly, and so I can see in my mind’s eye very clearly what the back of my husband’s neck looks like.

The elegant lines that make up the strong column shape of it, how it slopes into his broad shoulders, the delicate, sensitive, freckled skin of it, the pale mole on the right side, the fine point his hair comes to at the base of his skull, all sunset colors on white sand.

Maybe when I do die, someday, I’ll shut my eyes and see that. I’ll see the back of his neck, I’ll hear music thrumming around my head, I’ll feel the wind whipping all around me, and I’ll take flight, and I’ll think to myself, ‘oh, this isn’t so scary after all. I know this feeling. I remember how this felt,’ and I’ll be calm and feel loved and safe, even when, by all rights, I shouldn’t.

[iamvegorott]

Ink Month 2023 Day 14

Precious

Night was sitting on the couch in the dimly lit room. The TV had automatically turned off at this point, and the only light source was a dying lightbulb from a lamp across the room. He didn’t care; he couldn’t move. Host had fallen asleep during the movie they were watching, his head rested in his lap, and Night couldn’t bear the thought of moving and waking him just yet. 

“So soft.” Night whispered to himself, running a hand through Host’s hair. “So peaceful.” He paused when Host hummed and nuzzled his head against Night’s legs a little before going still again. Host was known as a threat, cunning, and able to take down middle-ranks and possibly even high-ranks on his own with just a bat, but when he was asleep, it reminded Night of what he actually was.

Human. 

His Human. 

Host was fragile compared to him, but he was still the most wonderful and precious thing in his life. He’d fight and kill anyone or anything that would risk taking Host away from him. Night never thought he’d be with another again, let alone another Human, after what happened with Day, but…here he was. 

“You are truly one of the most unique Humans out there.” Night knew Host couldn’t hear him, lost in his dreams, and that made saying the words much easier. “I know there are several other Humans with Demon mates, well, ‘boyfriends’ for some of them.” He softly chuckled, knowing that those who weren’t claimed yet were likely to go down that route soon. Their adoration of each other was thick enough that Night could literally smell it. He honestly probably was radiating the same scent as he gently caressed Host’s face, rubbing his thumb against his cheek before tucking it under his cloth blindfold and then removing it. 

Night knew he had permission to remove said cloth when it was only himself and Host around. He and Edward were the only ones allowed to see him without it, never wanting to worry the others about the damage done to his face and eyes. Night didn’t know the story behind the scars, though. He wondered if he would be told one day or if that would just always remain a secret. 

“They may be with Demons, but I don’t think any other Human could be with the creator of them.” He continued as his hand slid down Host’s neck and then paused just past the crook of it, right where a claim mark would be. “And, maybe one day, you’ll be claimed by him as well…maybe even allow yourself to be turned into a Demon so he’ll never fear losing you to age.” Night could feel that temptation crawling up his spine. 

Host was asleep. He’d have no idea it was happening until it was too late, and they could live their full potential together. 

No.

He can’t do that.

Not unless Hosts tells me that he wants it. 

But until that day comes, or if it never does-

“I’ll keep you safe.” Night kissed Host’s forehead. That was the final thing to finally wake him.

“Huh? Night? Did I fall asleep again?” Host mumbled, opening his eyes and showing Night the wide, endless clouds that they were. 

“You did.” Night chuckled.

“We’re never going to get to watch a new movie at this rate.” Host grunted as he sat up. 

“I’d watch the same movie for the rest of eternity if it meant that you got some rest.” Night leaned back against the couch with another chuckle. “Since someone works himself too much.” 

“I do not work myself that much.” Host huffed, turning around and partially crawling across the couch until he found Night’s lap and sat on it. 

“Really? Because the last time I checked, I have to quite literally drag you from your office nearly every, well, I’d say night, but it’s basically morning by the time I get to you.” Night teased, resting his hands on Host’s hips. 

“Then you should get to me sooner if it’s that big of the problem.” Host teased back with a playful poke to Night’s chest. 

“Or I could make it so you won’t be able to work the next day~” Night purred and tightened his grip on Host. 

“I’d like to see you try.” Host would have been purring as well if he could. 

“Is that a challenge?” 

“It’s a dare.” 

“Get ready, then.” Night stood up, lifting Host with him like he weighed nothing, and was out of the living room and to the bedroom in a blink. 

[raisindave]

[Chapter 61] Seeing the World Through Ballistic-Tinted Glasses

What would your father think if he saw you right now? Putting a wickedly sharp knife in the hands of a man you've just knowingly turned your back to. He's specifically trained in pinpointing the most efficient way to sever your life from your body. A man you've known for a year, tops. Whose background strongly suggests that he should be an emotional wreck and has already established himself as a fanatic for the macabre. Hell, he just technically admitted to bludgeoning a man within an inch of his life with his bare hands just minutes ago. Worst of all, nobody's even seen his face, so filing a police report about your murderer is off the table if some civilian happened to walk by. So why does the heat from his chest along your spine taste so sweet? 

"Aren't you worried I'll cut you?" The warm air from his whispering breath on your earlobe made goosebumps run down your arms. 

"I don't know, are you getting sloppy ?" You chime sweetly. "I thought you SAS folks were better than that."

He slammed the blade down flat between your pinky and ring finger; the flash of cool air from the movement made you shiver. The knife buried an inch deep in the picnic table, splintering thickly painted wood as his free hand on your lower stomach dragged you closer to his torso. He must have been intrigued by your challenge. It startled you and softened you in equal measure, suddenly accurately aware of a swell of body heat radiating through you. The act saps the breath from you, how close it was to the webbing between your knuckles, a show of force. A familiar pace in his breathing captured your fascination, especially as he reaffirmed control of the knife by slipping the blade free from where he'd buried it in the wood.

Each tap of the dagger made your heart thunder, but digging fingertips and a flat palm on your lower abdomen was the scourge of your creeping apprehension. Parylization ceased, and your free hand slid down his arm, across his knuckles, even when the present setting commanded your attention with every slice. The thought of this being a somewhat innocent game of chicken with your comrade quickly spiralled into something darker. He dared to go faster, even with your skyrocketing anxiety. Yet, it made you crazy. Your head fell back against his shoulder, feeling the humid night air breathe across your damp neck. Sentences in their infancy crept across your lips, falling short of formation, betrayed by the hypnotic spectacle. He was finding feverish excitement in this game he was playing with your body as the field, and you were no more than a spectator. Not that it made it any less entertaining. 

Tch.

The blade was all you could focus on, except for the split second between when it snapped back to the surface. 

Tch.

A bead of sweat slid down the column of your throat. 

Tch.

Your free hand shot to grip his fair hair from over your shoulder with white knuckles. 

Tch. 

He started a rhythmic rocking of his hips against you that made saliva pool over your tongue. 

Tch.

What if someone walks by?

Tch.

Is it wise to grind against his searing body heat and redirect more blood flow to the hardness pressing against your tailbone?

Tch. 

The thrill, the fear, the risk, makes you crazy. Makes you both crazy. Drunk on a frenzy of anticipation of pain, a blood-curdling scream for both of your attention that you were both equally forced to obey. Hazy streetlights above grew hazier from the view of half-lidded eyes. Especially when the scratchy fabric of his mask slipped across the bridge between your shoulder and neck. This really is a testament to the extent of his superb control over every muscle in his body, especially when it comes to those knife skills. This would've made for excellent recruitment propaganda for the SAS if it weren't for his free hand sliding over your breast, crushing soft flesh. Laboured breaths on your shoulder and a drawing at the hem of your dress pushed you beyond your breaking point, only held back by the prospect of that pocketknife slicing your flesh from the bone in a split second.

For only a moment, the game ceased. Just long enough to let him manhandle your hips, lifting you properly onto his lap. The hardness of his member under your bare core ripped a sigh from your throat, forcing you to try to recall where you'd lost your underwear. Just as you were able to get a grip on your position, he gripped both of your wrists, commanding you to spread your fingers on the dewy wood with a pointed finger. You did so, bade by his harshness. And you'd be wise to keep them in that position he demanded from you, because he'd slipped the silvery weapon back between his fingers, posturing to resume this sick game once again. Now toying with all ten of your fingers, methodically working around you with masterful precision. The intensity was enough to wring a whine from your chest, paralyzed by anxiety, save for your rocking into his lap. 

That pesky unused hand made its way along your wetted entrance, audibly snickering in your ear at the revelation. Being subtle was no longer in his repertoire, toiling in this sick display of authority with clearly evident excitement. Not a word from either of you. Just breathy silence and the occasional whimper when he continued to drive his fingers into you while your eyes followed that glinting dagger. Unholy heat crept through you, drained when his digits briefly slid from within you, only to be swiftly and cruelly readministered. It's enough to make you crazed, and he clearly found some sick pleasure in your paralyzed state, taking advantage of your lapse of control. Even the sound of his work on your body made you shiver and sob, electrified by his dexterity.

Something inside of him must've made it known that you were close to coming undone around his fingers, and he cut his slippery intrusion short in an instant. A flash of movement made little sense in your hazy mind, but he'd picked you up, stepping free of the bench and walked you over to the end of the table. The smell of damp wood filled your senses, and your cheek pressed into the cool surface. Effectively crushed down into the soaked tabletop with a palm at the base of your neck, the pads of your feet fought for traction against the misted grass below. After a brief fumbling of fabric and a struck zipper, he slid himself into your dripping depths with never-before-seen ease. Strangled cries tumbled over your tongue, and his groans harmonized with your meweling. The sideways view of a seaside city park, hiding in plain sight– without the hiding. This is so dangerous, so indiscreet, so inappropriate, so fucked. But the sinful sound of his thrusts striking slick flesh made all concern dissipate. Once again, his hand wrangled your wrists together, planting your palms back into the table, hazily but greedily obeying every radiating atom in his body. 

"Relax your hips a bit," the words sounded like a song in your ears. 

A slice through the air broke your concentration on his command, if you had any to begin with, dragging your chin along the tabletop to see the knife buried in a space between your pinned fingers. Pumping pressure rocked you dangerously close to connecting the bridge between your fingers with the razor-sharp blade, fighting terror and pleasure in an unholy cocktail. You obeyed his bidding to the best of your ability, even if it was nearly impossible with charged muscles. Who cares if someone sees you, they should be lucky to bear witness to this sinful coupling. The world has never felt so small, so simple as it does right now. Just the present, just this table, just his cock churning your insides and his knife between your fingers. It's enough to walk you to the edge of your climax, chased by an oncoming wave of creeping heat that breathes through your body. 

"That's it," his smooth, gravelly accent made those two words force a chill run down your spine, helplessly obeying him with bated breath. 

You came undone around his cock, nearly screaming at the unparalleled pleasure that tore through your system. He took his time to wring every tremor from you with an unforgiving pace, grunting ill-mannered expletives into your ear as he pressed what must be his entire body weight against you. That punishing pace of his faltered, pouring his seed into you with reckless abandon, groaning heartily into the open night air. You didn't even notice his fingertips crushing against the soft flesh around your hips until their grip was softening, slowing to a tedious rocking in and out of your core. Your hands were free nearly the whole time, but the gripping tension in your body compelled you to obey him beyond the need for orders. 

He slipped himself from within you, and a flash of white sleeves in the corner of your vision signified his release of the grip on your body, collecting his knife from above you. A sobering click of his blade folding shut lifted your attention to the present, snapping you into reality with the sudden absence of his body heat. Warm essence streamed down your thigh, and you fought for the strength to lift your chest from the picnic table, but you did. Unexpectedly, he flicked the bunched skirt of your dress back down over your rump, eliciting a snicker from him. With some strain, the pads of your feet fully reconnected with solid ground, taking some time to gather your senses again. Not far away were your stilettos, rendered slippery and unsteady by idle mist whenever, or however, you'd discarded them.

"By now, most people would've asked about my mask," he struck up an unusually casual conversation, calm and collected as ever, hearing a clinking belt from over your shoulder. 

"That's a predictable question. Predictable is boring," you chided absentmindedly, your thoughts still foggy and raw. 

"You seem interested enough."

"What, are you scared I'll lose interest if I see your ugly mug?" 

"That's not a concern," he mused when your eyes met once you rose to face him.

"Quite an arrogant one, aren't you," you griped, hopping into a faster pace to catch up to his sudden leave. 

"It's not arrogance if it's justified."

"Says the man who's hiding behind a piece of cloth."

It's a good thing the truck wasn't parked too far away because your weakened knees had yet to fully regain strength. Even prying open the heavy passenger door proved challenging, with lazy muscles hesitantly following your direction. But stepping into actual shelter will be gleefully welcome after spending so long out in the biting early morning air. Be it a subtropical region or not, the nights were chilly, especially with bare shoulders and a thin sheet of tulle separating you from the elements.

"Well, have the others seen your face?" The words squeaked from your throat from the strain of lifting yourself into the seat. 

"Pretty predictable question, wouldn't you say?" he chirped in that low, casual articulation with contrastingly impish eyes. 

"Fuck off then."

Laughter cut over the sound of a rumbling start of the ignition, flooding the terrain in illumination. No longer in near pitch darkness, the trail leading up to that quaint park is nothing short of picturesque, looking more like a default wallpaper on some expensive laptop. Even as you drove away, your head swivelled to catch a departing view of that seaside terrace. 

"Price, Soap, and Gaz have, Laswell hasn't," he affirmed calmly, reigniting the conversation. 

"Why did they get to see?"

"It was strategically important at the time."

"And Laswell not seeing it was strategic?"

"She wasn't there."

"Will you ever show the rest of us your face then?"

"If it's strategically important."

"What if I told you I've already seen under your mask?" 

"Oh yeah?" He challenged hoarsely, intrigue igniting in his gaze on the illuminated road. 

"Yeah, I peeked in your window when you were sleeping. S' nothing special," you shrugged with brazen certainty.

He huffed a laugh with knowing arrogance at your bluff. Reading right through you before the sentence is even fully formed. Even without taking his eyes from the road, it was like he was looking right through you, probably weighing your soul with a smirk under that dumb mask. Cheekily lying to people used to come so easily to you, are you losing your touch? 

"I sleep with my mask on."

It's hard to say if he's joking. He probably is, but an odd part of you sowed doubt in your conviction. He seems the type. A familiar silhouette of that boxy barracks and landing strip came into view after being temporarily obscured by dark foliage. Returning there no longer filled you with dread, only the thought of returning to bed and getting at least some sleep before wake-up-call. At least he was kind enough to take you to the back entrance of the compound rather than the front, avoiding a lengthy walk of shame. Tires slowed to a halt on crunchy gravel just under the light of a flickering wall lamp, a metal fire escape door that'd been left ajar by some lazy recruit. 

"Where are my panties?" You pressed, writhing in your seat to find where they'd wound up.

"Confiscated."

"I didn't permit you to loot them, you dog."

"'Call it a brag rag," he grumbled playfully, sliding his hands down the side of the wheel to rest on his lap.

"You already have enough of those," you snark coldly, fighting a bubbling giggle to retain a glimmer of composure.

He scoffed, and you swung your legs from the car seat, planting wobbly stilettos on uneven gravel. The thought of a sheepish but satisfied skip back after curfew made a cheeky grin pull at your cheeks. Everyone else is asleep, and you'll soundlessly tiptoe down echoing hallways, slipping past your dormitory door and taking great care to prevent it from creaking. Whatever excuse Ghost will have to conjure for your abandonment of your post better be good, because poor Price's heart might just give out if he knew what you were really up to.

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This entire Knife Game sequence was inspired by this one 1-second clip of Ghost in the background of a random MW3 trailer. (Also lol I just noticed Gaz over his shoulder)

Master List

[cellythefloshie]

;; Kinktober 2022 Day 9 Brayden Point - A/B/O

Summary: When your brother gets traded, so does the pack. In new territory, your brother struggles to assess the threat of a second pack and you are forced to lay low - that is until you go into heat and draw the attention of the other pack’s alpha, Brayden Point. NOTE: This is my first attempt at the a/b/o concept/trope., and I’ve never really read any media with this trope/kink. This could be complete trash so don’t roast me too hard. Kinks & TW: uncontrollable arousal, reader is in heat, multiple rival “packs”, two alphas make an accord and you are the bargaining chip, marking/hickeies,bruising, dubcon (in the sense that reader would eventually succumb to their uncontrollable need to be fucked and be fucked by anyone), begging, breeding, if I missed at something someone yell at me Word Count: 3546

Dedicated to @claireelle18 who requested this one special for today! I hope you have a wonderful birthday and that the boys pull a win for you tonight! TAGLIST : @wingedwheelprxncess , @emsully2002​ , @charles11700​

“What did I say about leaving the house?” Your brother’s voice was firm as he paced back and forth in the corridor. 

He was still half dressed in his game-day suit, having been getting changed when he had smelt you all the way from the locker room while you were browsing concessions. He was angry, yet composed as it was too great of a risk to have you there. Not while you were mateless and in heat. As the pack alpha, he knew just how little self-control you could have and he wasn’t about to let just anyone mate with his little sister. 

“But it’s your first game!” You whined out, your arms crossing over your chest as you stepped into him. You knew your place in the hierarchy of your pack, but it didn’t mean you didn’t challenge your brother from time to time, “and everyone else gets to be here-”

“Everyone else doesn’t smell like-” his voice was raised but was forced down to a low growl as some of his teammates passed behind him, “doesn’t smell like that.”

Like that. You scoffed, your eyes rolling. He always said it like you had some sort of choice. That you chose to fall into a spiral of uncontrollable need each month, and that your pheromones were strong enough to trigger even the most uninterested of Alphas, and it was only going to get worse. Come morning you wouldn’t even be allowed to leave your room, and you would be forced to ride out your highs alone. 

“If someone even thinks that something is about to happen, they are to take you straight home,” your brother told you firmly, his hand coming up to hold the back of your neck, forcing you to look at him as if it would help you understand the severity of the situation, “you understand?”

“Yeah, I got it,” you bit back tugging yourself free from his hold and holding his stare as he took a step back. 

He was still tense as he heard one of his teammates calling his name, “-Coach is looking for ya,” peering around your brother’s form your eyes fell on his teammate, Brayden Point. He seemed to freeze in place just outside the doorway to the locker room. 

Like your brother, he was only half dressed - his entire torso bare save for the thick hair on his chest. You watched as Brayden took in a heavy breath, his eyes falling shut for but a moment as his jaw slacked. Your own heartbeat quickened when his eyes opened once more and you were met by his icy stare. It sent a shiver down your spine, rendering you as still as prey in the corridor as he watched you. He no longer held that cheerful demeanour he had when he left the locker room. No, now he was full of restraint. 

You swallowed hard, your eyes falling back to your brother slowly you shared the same look of concern. When you had moved to Tampa and caught the territorial marks of another pack, you all had acted with caution. You had laid low not wanting to start a conflict - but now, not only had you now identified a member of the other pack, but you had also found its alpha. 

“Go upstairs, enjoy the game. Do it, now.” your brother told you firmly, and you didn’t question him - nor did you look back as you walked away, even if you could feel a pair of eyes trained on your back until you were out of sight. 

You moved through the arena as if you were walking through a dream. Everything seemed to be in slow motion, crowds parting in front of you and the noise of their voices, and the announcements as they prepared for pregame warmups were mere echoes. Even as you reached the rest of your pack seated in a section just off to the side of the penalty box, you remained in your trance. All attempts to draw you from it were successful, for all your focus was locked on the memory of the look the other alpha had given you and his presence as he skated out onto the ice.

Point had your undivided attention. It was a sudden fixation that left your hands unsteady and your breath held at even the slightest of glances from him - and that he did, many times throughout warm-up and he was not shy about it. He had gone without his helmet, his long hair flowing with each stride, and with each pass by you as he skated his pre-game drills he stared and he smiled. It left you squirming in your seat, your thighs pressed firm together as it began to consume you. Your heart pounded as your hands reached down to grip the arms of your seat so tight that your knuckles paled. You could feel the single hand of your pack mate on your shoulder, their words a mere echo in your mind as they called out to you, but you were already lost. It would only be a downward spiral from there. 

By the final period, you were near feral. You could feel the shimmer of sweat on your skin as your body temperature rose. Your panties were already soaked through with your need, so much that you feared that it could be seen through your dark denim jeans - and the scent of your pheromones had grown so strong that it permeated the air of the arena. Your pack mates wore a look of concern as they looked from you and to your brother who played out on the ice. He was distracted, skating sloppily and overturning the puck when he had managed to get it on his stick. 

In contrast, Point was playing as if his life depended on it. He was skating faster than anyone had ever seen, his hits were hard, and his puck handling was outstanding. He was well on his way to a natural hat trick - that was until an opposing player threw an elbow and the pair exchanged words that you couldn’t hear and Point went wild. 

Gloves were dropped and sweat-drenched hair fell into his eyes as he threw the first crucial blow. Not the refs or the swarming of the hockey lines coming together in a brawl could stop him until Brayden had the opposition falling down on the ice. Officials peeled his body away, his face barely marked from the fight and his hand bloodied from each merciless blow. His successful fight had been an assertion of his dominance, one that left you near mewling in your seat. 

“I have to get out of here,” your words were rushed as you pushed yourself out of the seat with little disregard for the time remaining in the period. 

You near ran through the arena and out into the back lot where the pack had parked for the game. You paced back and force slowly, a hand tangled in your hair as if it were to ease the turmoil. You needed to get home, to lock yourself away before it was too late. 

You called your brother’s name as you spotted him leaving after the game. It was desperate on your lips, but they fell silent as you noticed just who he was walking long side. It wasn’t one of your packmates, but his teammate, Brayden. “What’s going on?” you yelped out, taking a step back to go towards the car. 

They were on much better terms than you had left them hours ago. It didn’t appear that they were at each other’s throats as you had expected them to be. Which could mean only one thing.

“We have met an accord,” your brother half growled as he threw his bag into the passenger seat of his car. The seat you had fully intended to occupy. 

“An accord?” you swallowed hard, your hand reaching for the door of the backseat only or your brother’s hand to stop you. 

The way he said your name near stilled your racing heart. He was no longer the big brother who was protecting his little sister, but his pack’s Alpha doing what was best for them even if that meant using you to achieve a certain end. 

“We will be welcome here for the duration of my contract, and any extensions I may be offered,” you told you, his hand coming up to cup your cheek carefully, “but only if-” he almost looked like he wanted to choke on his words as he spoke, “I’ve agreed to let him breed you, sissy.”

You should have been dismayed, furious even, but you were calm. The calmest feeling that you had been all night. You looked up at your brother through thick lashes, a heavy breath consuming your body as you looked back at Brayden who watched you both from a distance. “And if I refuse him?” You asked your brother slowly. 

“We both know, that before the night is through, you won’t be able to,” your brother told you, and he was far from wrong. 

Even now as you stood in the parking lot, with the fresh air around you and as many distractions as you could ask for your body was aching for release. Once you were alone with him, there would be no resisting such a strong alpha. You nodded slowly, your breath hitching in your throat as you stepped back from the car and fell back to stand alongside Brayden. 

He took in a sharp breath as the late night wind blew, spreading the sweet scent of your pheromones to intoxicate him. Brayden let out a low groan, his rough hand coming down to rest on your lower back to guide you off to his own car. 

The two of you sat in silence during the car ride back to his home. His hands gripped at the wheel, his knuckles white with restraint. Brayden had even needed to roll the windows down, keeping a constant rush of fresh air on his face in a desperate attempt to ignore the sweet scent of your pheromones. All the while you were near ready to fuck yourself in the passenger seat of his car. Your brother had never given anyone permission to breed you before. No one had ever met his expectations, nor were they daft enough to challenge him for you. It both excited and scared you all at once - but you were not in sound enough mind to linger on either. Your mind was all too consumed by sex. 

“How much longer,” you cried out, squirming in your seat as your head lulled to the side to look at Brayden. 

There was a flicker of lust in his eyes at your tone. He could hear your desperation and for a moment you thought he might just pull over and fuck you on the roadside but instead his foot pressed down further on the pedal and he choked out his words: “almost there.”

“I don’t know how much more I can take,” you mewled, shifting just enough to grind against his leather seat. You let out a low groan, your head leaning back in frustration. It brought you just enough pleasure to satisfy you for but a moment, but it left you aching for more. Your cunt was throbbing, desperately to be filled by him. 

You could hear him curse under his breath. He couldn’t even look at you as he drove, knowing that watching you reeling in the passenger seat would be too much for him to contain. Even as he parked the car in his driveway, he didn’t dare look at you. He could only speak as his hand remained grasping firmly at the steering wheel; “take the keys from the ignition and let yourself inside. I won’t be able to stop myself from fucking you on the lawn if I don’t stop myself now-”

You unbuckled your seat belt and leaned over the center console to each for his keys. You could hear Brayden taking in a sharp break as you leaned in close, the quick inhale helped him hold his breath before you could get too close. You took the keys carefully, your eyes lingering and meeting his for a moment. His restraint was dwindling, just as you had been all evening, and soon you would both have your resolve. 

Taking his keys, you got out of the car and moved straight for his front door. You didn’t think about running, not even for a second, as your need to be fucked was so strong that if he wasn’t eager to take you, you’d be begging for it. You didn’t waste time admiring his home either, not that Brayden have you much time as he was coming in the door straight behind you and barking orders. “I’m going to fuck you right here if you don’t keep moving.”

Casting a glance back, you let out a low groan, “you’ve got to stop with all these empty promises.”

You felt his hand on your back, pushing you forward and to a flight of stairs. His touch remained to guide you upwards, “fuck, you’re so wet you’ve soaked through your clothes,” you could hear him mutter as he walked up the stairs behind you. When you met the landing on the second floor you looked back at home clueless of where to go, and he guided you with a quick nod of his head. His nod directed you to his master bedroom, and with the bed in sight you stopped fighting the little will you had left. 

Your hands went straight for the button of your jeans, pulling them free before pushing them down the length of your legs. You could feel the dampness of your arousal as the fabric dragged down the inside of your thighs and it earned a curse from your lips. You couldn’t remember a time you had been so desperate - though you had always been forced to ride your waves alone before, it all felt much different now knowing you had captured the attention of a dominant alpha. It was as if your body knew and it was preparing to be bred by him instead of the collection of toys you had collected since the first time you had fallen into heat. 

With each of your movements, you could feel Brayden’s eyes on you, travelling down every curve and angle of your body - and as you bent over to tug your jeans from your ankles you were sure his eyes focused on the heat between your legs. You were a mess, there was no denying or hiding that fact, and he wasn’t going to let you forget it; “you really have no self control, do you?”

The force of his hands met your hips, earning a low his from your lips as you stumbled forward. You didn’t stop until you were face down against the mattress of his bed, with your hips angled over the edge and legs hanging down to the floor. Brayden kept you pilled with one arm, while his hand dipped down between your legs to stroke at the wet fabric that clothed your core. A single digit glided over you with ease, coaxing a low growl from his throat and a whimper from your own. 

He fingers stroked over your cunt slowly as Brayden lowered his body over your own. You could feel his warm and his weight as he lowered his lips to your ear and muttered; “So wet, so eager, even for a slut in heat, have you never been fucked before?” 

You cast him a glance, your teeth coming down to chew on your lower lip as you shuddered. It wouldn’t have been a complete lie if you had told him no. Between your heat-cycles, you had indulged yourself in the company of others for a little bit of fun - but no one had ever taken you when you were so desperate, your brother had never let them, until now. 

“I’m not a virgin, if that’s what you’re trying to say-” you squirmed beneath his weight as his finger hooked your wet panties and drew them down the length of your legs. 

“Good,” he smiled, “means I don’t have to worry about being careful with you.”

Brayden gripped your waist firmly with both hands, lifting you up effortlessly before tossing your forward, onto the bed and leaving you scrambling on all fours. You had lost all composure more, your breathing heavy as you gripped at the bedding and positioned yourself for him. The bed shifted as he climbed up onto it behind you, sending your eyes fluttering shut as you whined out, “Please, Brayden please, I’ve wanted to know what it’s like for so long.”

“Such a cruelty,” Brayden breathed out, as you heard his belt begin to clamour, “it has been to keep you from all of this.” 

You didn’t dare look back, knowing you would be able to control yourself. It was taking all your willpower not to dip your hips down to grind yourself against the soft surface of the bed - instead you waited wet and eager. Your heart pounded against your chest as you felt his hands take you hips again, and he held you still as he slipped his cock inside you with a single forceful thrust. He needed to waste no time with you - you had been ready for anyone to take you for hours - and it left you howling. You could feel every bit of him as he pushed into you, right from the head to the base of his cock, every vein in between and how his balls smacked against you with the force of his thrust. The pleasure the overwhelming, leaving your body feelings as if it were set ablaze by fire from the inside out. Lips parted in a desperate mewl as you pressed back against him, your ass meeting his hips as you took him effortlessly, only of him to shove you down, face first into the bed. 

You get out a low groan, ready to push back up onto your hands and knees but you froze when you felt his firsts grip at the fabric of your t-shirt. Brayden tore it from your body with ease, tossing the pieces of fabric to the floor before unclasping your bra and freeing your breasts. The warmth of his lips met your shoulder blades as his cock remained still but deep inside you. His lips trailed over your skin, leaving heated trails behind as he indulged himself in the taste of your flesh. His teeth began to drag over sensitive flesh as his mouth met your neck, kissing it with sloppy open mouthed kisses that would mark up for skin - both of your packs would know who you belonged to by morning. 

“Brayden,” you yelped out impatiently, your cunt was throbbing as your hips wiggled in a desperate attempt at any sort of friction, “Brayden please.”

“Tell me what you want from me,” he growled in your ear and you scoffed at him. He knew exactly what you wanted, but now as he had you where he wanted you, he was going to toy with you. 

“Fuck me, Brayden,” you begged him, “please, I need to know what it’s like to be bred-”

Your words were cut short by your own moans as Brayden began to ease his cock from the containment of your core before thrusting back deeper and harder with each thrust. You gripped at the blankets beneath you, your lips parting as you mewled in pleasure. Eyes watered as his hands found your hips found once more, guiding you back against him so he could burry his cock inside you almost painfully deep. You reeled and gasped, your throat quickly going raw from the mere force of your own moans. And the dark bedroom, it seeped to spin around you like a carnival ride. Brayden was the only thing to keep you grounded as he fucked you. You could feel his every thrust, the brush of his legs against your inner thighs as he positioned himself just right. His fingers dug into the flesh of your hips so tightly you were sure you would be bruised come morning. That firm grasp remained as he unloaded his thick seed deep into your fertile cunt. You could feel each web as it shot, painting your cunt as your walls gripped around him like a vice - and even as your bodies began to calm from the peak of their pleasure he remained inside you for he was not going to let a single drop go to waste. 

Brayden had claimed you, marking your neck and leaving his seed deep in your cunt for any to find if they were daring enough to try to take you for themselves - and he intended to fuck you again in the morning. If in the coming weeks if that had proven to be ineffective he would fuck you again when your cycle would drive you mad with lust for he wasn’t going to stop until your belly was rounding with his baby and you were a member of his pack.