#and this is UNEDITED lmao

[bloodcounts]

Spring sneaks up on Amy before she knows it- time moves so much more differently to her, she barely noticed the slow progression from fall to winter. Flowers are budding on the leaves, and new life grows from the dirt beneath her windowsill. The sunlight is warm and inviting, under any other circumstance, Amy would throw on one of her sundresses, grab a parasol and sit outside with a book. Or she’d go for a walk and talk with Jessica as she did.

Except, this isn’t ‘any other circumstance.’ She’s been stuck inside for days now, while her cohort, Jay, carries around a camera with him and films everything he does. Amy wonders if he takes it into the bathroom with him. Not that she’s been paying attention, as much as she should be in this situation. Her mind wanders back to the woods where she awoke. Jay had been the one to find her on the side of the road, looking confused and out of it. She didn’t understand what was happening to her then. She still doesn’t. With each new piece of information that she receives it only leaves her more lost than before. Jay says he empathizes with her completely.

She had been a scatterbrain since then, even though her memory was usually much stronger than that. She could recall her childhood memories with ease where others could not, now she can barely remember what she ate yesterday or what day of the month it is.

Hearing the hotel door open, Amy whips around from the window. Jay is holding his camera in one hand and carrying his keys and a small takeout bag with the other. He shuts the door behind him and looks up at her.

“It’s just me.”

“Did you see him out there?”

“Who, Alex?” Jay moves further into the room and places the bag on the small table. “If I did, we would be leaving immediately.”

Amy shoulders drop. Based on everything Jay had shown her on his YouTube channel, she shouldn’t feel disappointed. The camera never lies, only people, Alex had told her once. If all the videos were true, then Alex is not the person he used to be, or who she thought he was. She tried to tell this to Jay, who, in response, had only said that people can still lie through video through manipulation of footage. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to believe it. Alex had never been violent, sure, he had his flaws; but no one is perfect, and he isn’t that guy.

It's that… thing. That faceless monster that had been haunting him. It had to be that. Whatever it is, it caused Alex to lose his mind and hurt others. Amy is sure he didn’t mean it, because Alex wouldn’t do that. She’s sure of it, it has to be that monster. It’s controlling him, somehow. It can’t be anything else.

“-my. Amy? Hey!”

Amy blinks a few times, then narrows her eyes as she focuses. “What?” She mumbles.

“You zoned out again.” Another side effect of… whatever happened to her. It’s the reason why her days often go by so quickly most of the time.

Amy shakes her head. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine. I picked up some food.” His arm gestures over to the bag. Amy’s nose picks up the familiar scent of Chinese. Jay moves over to his laptop to plug his camera in and sift through the footage. Jay takes extra care not to show Amy when he films, to keep her safe. If Alex knew she is with him, then who knows how far he’d go just to find her again… and what he’d do to Jay when he did. At the very least, Jay can prolong the reveal. Keeping Amy out of sight for as long as he can is what matters the most.

Amy moves over to the bag and pulls out the food cartons, as well as a black plastic container. There’s a pair of chopsticks and plastic utensils, as well. She searches the bag a little more and finds a fortune cookie, but there is no second container.

“You didn’t get any for yourself?” Amy looks over to him. Jay shrugs.

“Not really big on Chinese food myself. Besides, you really haven’t been eating a whole lot these past days.”

“You sound like Alex. That just means you haven’t it had it done right. When someone makes Chinese food right, that’s when you can never go back.” Amy tells him as she moves over to grab her mini table, she places her eating utensils and tin on it, then moves back for the cartons.

“Hey, what’s todays date?” Amy has lost track of all the days. She didn’t have her phone on her person, either. Jay didn’t want to risk returning to her place in case Alex was staking it out.

“Uh,” Jay checks his laptop’s date, “April fourth, why?”

Amy freezes. That’s why today felt a little different. She felt as though she were forgetting something important, and it was this. His birthday. She takes a seat on her bed, hands flopping onto her lap. Back when things were okay, she and Alex would meet up for the day regardless of anything else. The two of them would go out to a little bakery in Rosswood and buy a dozen cupcakes for themselves, chocolate and red velvet (Alex would always tease her and say that red velvet is just dyed chocolate. She knows this, but she likes feeling fancy!); they were delicate and airy, fluffy cream spread thick between layers and dolloped artfully on top. and they would walk some distance up a trail, past Rosswood park, for a little picnic. That must be why the outdoors is calling her name, and why she’s craving the soft breezes and gentle grass blades under her fingertips.

Just before leaving, Alex would insist on taking photos with his polaroid, and she would become camera shy. She’s not used to being the center of attention. But whenever she’s with Alex, it becomes inevitable.

It's not that she hates the attention per say, she always managed to attract people to her just by being herself. Alex would say it’s because she’s a star and other people could see that. Amy would call him nuts for it, because she was pretty sure it was just him trying to compliment her. Regardless, she’s content with a quiet life, earning her degree in education and going on to become a teacher. She thought it was funny, how she wanted a more reserved life whereas Alex wanted one in the limelight. He dreamed of the day he could walk on the red carpet for one of his films, be nominated for awards, give speeches.

Her vision blurs, and her eyes sting, yet she refuses to cry. Now’s not the time for that, it does nothing in this situation. And yet-

“Maybe I will try some Chinese food.” Jay’s voice abruptly cuts her thoughts, she almost the awkward tinge in his voice. “There’s a lot of footage I need to rewatch, may as well try to eat something now before I forget.” As he’s had the habit of doing ever since he began this investigation. Amy has to nag him to take care of himself (and she's impressed he hasn't keeled over from lack of sleep or proper eating.)

Amy looks up at him, unsure if she heard correctly. She grabs one of the cartons and opens it, revealing golden yellow rice with fried vegetables within. She glances at him. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. This is a different branch than what I had years ago. Who knows,” Jay shrugs, “Maybe it’ll be cooked right.”

Grabbing a spoon, Amy places it in the carton and hands it to Jay. Jay looks at the rice and shuffles the spoon around it. Grabbing a fair amount on his spoon, he takes a bite and chews for a minute. Then he swallows. He looks back down at the rice, his eyebrows raise.

“It’s not bad.”

Amy smiles a bit. “Told you.”

---

Later, while Jay was in the bathroom, Amy remembers the fortune cookie in the bag. Lifting from her bed, she makes toward the bag and grabs the cookie. She unwraps it, breaks the cookie in half (while making sure to get a bite in, just to taste it), pulls out the paper and reads it to herself:

‘Trust your friends, but keep your eyes open.’

Amy’s stomach doesn’t sit well the rest of the day.

[peachesofteal]

sighs Price/Simon/mama (female reader) 18+ mdni - threesome M/M/F, spit, daddy, praise, size, lactation, breeding kink. The softest dub con. This is an AU to the original story, Through Me. Price has a wife in Through Me and Simon has mama, neither of them would ever share.

It starts with a dinner.

Red wine decanted. Red meat rare, bleeding all over a plate. Price sits across from Simon at the table, with you at the head. Fixed between them like a flower sprouted in rock.

They're here because Simon has seen the way he watches. He's noticed how his captain considers both himself and you, the way he cocks his head to left and trails his eyes up and down your body.

It's reminiscent of days old. Nights passed when he and John bent pretty things to their will, split open and overwhelmed, gasping and clawing as they systematically broke them apart.

A wild ride. A way to blow off some steam. A thing never meant to be more than what it was. Secret nights in the dark.

There was a wild gleam in John's eyes, weeks ago. Simon only caught the fractured glimpse of it, there one second, gone in the next, but when they locked eyes afterwards, he knew.

They both did.

He wouldn't be doing this unless he trusted his captain implicitly. Trusted him to care for you, to give you what's needed, to see it all the way through. There's something digging around in Simon's brain about it, some imagery he can't escape.

The best way out is through.

They end up in the living room, after dinner. There's still half a bottle of wine left, and when he pulls you in for a kiss it's there on his tongue, purpled fruit and acid, alcohol loosening the tension in your neck, your spine.

Simon sits on the couch next to John. Not yet touching, but if both were shift their legs, they'd be there, knee to knee. "C'mere mama." Simon spreads wide, patting the inside of his thigh, indicating where you're to sit, and when you settle on his lap, half turned to face his captain, he rests a hand on his thigh. "Did you enjoy dinner, sweet girl?"

"It was very good." You peek at John through your lashes, demure, shy. "Thank you for cooking."

"Was my pleasure." He smiles, blue eyes crinkling at the corners, and you return it as Simon rubs circles on your waist. He can feel the fabric of your thong beneath the dress you chose tonight, thin, narrow fabric stretched over your cunt, nearly non-existent barrier separating you from the craven.

It's important you're not so worked up, too early. He needs to keep you torpid, wine drenched and saccharine, before working you up to a frenetic pace, so he moves his hand to your back, stroking up and down slowly, using an aimless conversation about work as a distraction. "Think Laswell's gonna be out for this next one?"

"Don't know. Suppose so. We'll need her. Can't get over half the hurdles without her support." His legs spread, marginally. enough that his knee is touching your feet, your toes, and you glance down. Simon observes your thought process in real time; intrigue, confusion clearing before it ever really takes root. You brush it off.

But he sees the opportunity, target hot to strike.

He moves his hand under the hem of your dress, up your thigh. You tense, blinking at him in confusion, and he brushes his lips against your ear. "Relax, honey." He finds heat between your legs, circling over your panties, and you squeak, locking onto his wrist.

"Si-"

"John was so nice to have us over for dinner, wasn't he?" You nod, shakily, as Simon peppers your cheek, your jaw with kisses. "Fed us so well. Don't y'think we should say thank you?" His cock is solid beneath your ass, and he flexes his hips, driving the point home, still stroking over your panties. John is locked in, watching the flutter of your dress, staring beneath your knees.

"Um, I," he presses directly on your clit, stealing your words, whatever you meant to say dying on a whine. Your lips part beneath him, already slick, already wanting.

"Put your heels on John's thighs, mama." You stare at him, eyes wide, and he gives you an encouraging nod. "Don't worry. We'll take care of you." The angle provided when you lift your feet tilts you, and John turns.

"Gonna touch you, love," he carefully palms your knees, "right here," turning so that you're now facing him head on, toes flexing on both of his thighs. Simon peels your dress back, shucking it up around your belly, and then parts your legs. His captain huffs a short groan.

"Jus' want John to be able see, is all." He hooks a finger into the cotton, and pulls to the side, exposing your weeping pussy to both of them, glistening in the evening light. "Look at you, sweet girl. All wet and ready for us?" You whimper, staring at John between your knees, no doubt shocked. Scandalized. "Isn't she pretty?" He nods.

"Very." He reaches, and you flinch when his fingers trace down your slit, but Simon holds your hips still. "Need some attention, eh? Little thing, already swollen." He flits back up to your bud, pressing next to where Simon has a thumb on you, and they work in circles, both swirling, your hips jerking with each cycle.

John pulls away, it's a slow game, this one. One they've played before, and he stays focused between your legs, letting Simon lead you, submerge you in the experience, plunge you into it. He applies more pressure, enjoying your gasps, the way you grip his shoulder.

He's almost there, almost got you, and then-

"Daddy-" John smiles. So does Simon. He pushes a finger in your hole, searching for that spot, the soft one that makes you scream, heel of his palm firm against your clit. "Ah, fuck, p-please-"

"You're so wet, mama. Soakin' my hand. Do you need to cum? Want to show the captain the way your pussy flutters?" You moan, head tipped back, pulse throbbing in your neck. You tighten around his finger, and he draws back to slide in two, carefully stretching, sawing you wide. Your knees try to close, probably on instinct, but John pushes them open again. When you hold them there, he murmurs low.

"Good girl. Keep em open for me. Want to watch your hole, see how it's going to take my cock." A shudder rocks you, muscles in your lower belly tensing, and your spine curls forward, fingers knotted in the collar of Simon's shirt.

"There it is, good, mama, that's so good. c'mon-" You squeeze, and squeeze him, and then explode, crying out, legs shaking, chasing the pressure, carnal lust glittering in your eyes.

Simon doesn't give you a reprieve. Your sopping cunt cries on his hand as he pulls free, and they both move, John's cock coming free from his pants, thick, tip red and leaking, and he slaps it against your clit. You're still dazed from the orgasm, gripping onto Simon, and he pulls you against his chest, hands behind your knees, folding you open. Your pussy flowers for Johnny, blooming for them both. Simon's so hard he aches, and he manages to shuck his pants down, cock hard against your back.

It occurs to him, John might want to have a taste of you. Drink from you, enjoy how sweet you are. "Let's get this off." He curls you forward, and tugs at your dress, deliciously pleased when you help the effort, arms twisting behind your back to try to free your heavy tits. He shifts you so you're more on his thigh, cock straining against your hip. He groans when he brushes your nipples, dots of liquid beading, slick honey spilling over the curve of your breasts. He squeezes them, making eye contact with John, who licks his lips.

John dips his head, you jerk back into Simon. "Easy," he coos, hand firm on your belly, "John's gonna have a taste. Don't want this all to go to waste, d'you? Don't wanna be selfish sweet girl." His captain's mustache brushes against the sensitive skin, mouth closing around your nipple and sucking, a sensation you seem to enjoy, because you tip your head back on Simon's shoulder and groan.

"Oh, oh. God." John's jaw connects with Simon's fingers, where he's still helping squeeze you into his mouth, and he reaches between your legs, feeling for the weight of his captain's cock, giving him a firm squeeze before lining him up with your entrance. He pulls off your breast with a satisfying pop, mustache wet, chin glistening.

He pushes, slowly, and your muscles go solid, legs instinctively shifting. John grips the back of your thigh, burrowing into the fat there, still forcing his way inside you. They're both so much bigger than you, wider than your pussy allows, longer than you should be able to stretch. "Relax, love." He coaches, pulling out to only batter his way back in, and Simon's hand roams between your legs, feeling the curve of your hole struggling to take his captain, stroking up his length to feel how much is left. You're panting, squirming, and John laughs, echo of a chuckle pulling a smile from Simon.

"J-John." You gasp, cunt stretched tight, and when his pelvis meets your ass, the tears spill over your cheeks. "It's t-too much, you're-"

"Fuckin' hell." He snarls, snapping in and out, bending at the waist to close his mouth over your nipple, big hands cradling your thighs. It's nasty, foul, the slick slap of his balls swinging into you, the wet sound filling the air over your wild moans. Simon plays with your clit, sloshing over and over it, holding you steady as you writhe. Your second orgasm approaches like a freight train, so fast, so violent, and Simon urges you on.

"Cum on my captain's cock, honey. Yeah, that's it- let him feel it." Your toes curl and you explode, squeezing so tight John has to seal his hips to you to keep himself inside.

"Christ." He curses, and Simon smoothes a hand over your forehead.

"Such a good girl, huh? Never felt anything better." He coos, kissing your temple, John grunting out an agreement of sorts, grinding in a circle before pulling long and spearing you open again, bucking into your cunt like a wild animal. Your tits bounce with him, eyes closed and pretty mouth parted, Simon licking inside, dribbling spit onto your tongue that you swallow, again and again, until John's pace becomes frantic, and he bites out a demand.

"Ask your daddy if I can give you my cum, love." You're delirious, overwhelmed and greedy now, pliant with two orgasms and promises of more.

"Daddy, daddy, p-please, can he... can he?" You manage the bumpy plea between bounces.

"Y'want him to pump you full of cum, mama? Want him to give it to you?"

"Y-yeah, yeah. Give it to me." John's jaw is gnashed so tight, Simon can see the muscle flexing, and he slams into you, shoving you further into his arms.

"Here it comes, fuck-." He snarls, and then he shoves forward once more, head tipped back, gladiator in his glory, battle won.

He pulls away, cock slipping free, covered in you, curly hair at the root soaked, chest heaving as he catches his breath. Simon tucks his fingers inside, feeling the mess of his captain's load, scooping some out and bringing it to your lips. "Suck, honey. Lick 'em clean f'me." You do, wrapping your tongue around them, swallowing hungrily with half lidded eyes.

"Sit rep?" John grunts.

"Y'okay mama?" He palms your belly.

"Mhmm." You're suspended in a dream, voracious appetite soothed.

"Need you to take more, sweet girl. Can you do that?" He will honor it, if you say no. Clean you up and get you home, tucked into bed-

but you nod, blinking, and John smacks your ass. "Up, then." He pulls you onto all fours, massive hands pulling your cheeks up and apart, exposing your tight little furl to both of them. Simon glances over, and John sucks into the pocket of his cheek. He follows suit, and-

they spit onto your asshole, shiny, iridescent globs coating it, soaking it, slipping down to where you're leaking strings of John's cum. He thumbs your ring, pushing, testing, slowly sinking inside as you twitch and try to push him out. "Gonna take this one day." It's a promise for another time, and you turn over your shoulder, eyes wide. "Gonna stretch your little asshole out with my cock, mama."

"Simon-" Your voice borders on cautionary.

"Not tonight." John stands, sinking to his knees on the opposite of the couch, half hard cock starting to fill as it looms in front of your face, and Simon lines himself up from behind, impaling you on his cock in one swift thrust, jerking your hips back to meet his.

You scream. Mouth open wide, and at the same time, John shoves forward, cock finding purchase in your mouth, hands cradling your jaw. "Easy, pretty girl." He strokes your cheek, natural rhythm of Simon fucking you deep forcing you on and off John's length, soft turning quickly to hard, stretching back towards your throat.

"Fuck, mama. Feel so fuckin' good. So wet, full of cum already." You're still so tight, so warm, soaking him to the bone. Your pussy squelches around him, and you jerk back to meet him, hips rolling as much as you can stand it, sharp moans vibrating from the back of your tongue. "Not gonna last." He warns.

"Me either," John's biceps are strained, corded muscle looping all the way to his wrists. "Mouth's so good on 'er. Gonna fill you up from both ends tonight, love." You're crying now, Simon can hear the change in your tone, the way your voice breaks, and it only makes him fuck you harder, desperate, primal urges roaring to life in the back of his mind.

"Gonna put it deep, mama. Give y'another baby." You clench. "You like that? Want daddy to fuck another baby into you?" You make some sort of sound, unintelligible, but it doesn't matter. "We won't know who's it is. Could end up with John's baby, yeah? Get nice and fat with him inside you. Belong to both of us." he groans it, thrusting and thrusting until he's slamming into you and so is John, both men sweating, grunting, gripping onto you like their lives depend on it.

It doesn't take much more than that before Simon is curling over your back, chest pressed against you, arm snaked between your legs. He pulls you into another orgasm with him, your thighs clamped around his arm, and John holds you up by the shoulders, spilling down your throat as Simon floods your womb.

The silence that follows is old hat, but new with you. John disappears to grab water, warm, wet wash cloths, and Simon rocks you on the couch, holding you tight, kissing every spare inch of your skin. "Did so good for me, mama." You sigh, cozying closer, and when John kneads your thigh, you spread them, allowing him to wipe between your legs, clean you as best he can, before settling on the other side.

They stay like that, for a while. In the quiet, the sound of your breathing, before Simon manages to get your dress over your head and to the door.

There's no goodbye.

There never is.

[mangostarjam]

declarations (alternate version) — kaiju no. 8, hoshina soshiro x f!reader, use of foods as nicknames, childhood best friends dynamic, reader wears a dress and heels, oral (f!receiving), 3k words — the first bit is the same as the original but it does deviate

"Why do I need to wear a dress?"

Hoshina Soshiro glances up from where he's lounging on your bed. You've already pulled on the dress, of course, and he watches with probably way too much interest as you tug and adjust the way it drapes along your body. It's pretty. It fits perfectly, though you have no idea when Soshiro learned your measurements enough to show up at your door with such a gorgeous dress hanging from his fingers. Maybe he got them from Okonogi-chan?

"You'll be walking 'round with me and the Captain, egg tart, so you've gotta look the part," he says idly, though you can feel the burn of his stare along the newly exposed skin of your back. "And don't forget the heels!"

You glance at the cute, strappy heels he left by your mirror and frown. "If I wear those, I'll be taller than you, Soshiro-kun."

"Aw, that doesn't matter," Soshiro says. He sits up and you look away from the flex of his incredibly defined abdominal muscles beneath his compression shirt, which he apparently wears all the time, even under his formal dress uniform with all its tassels and buttons.

God. Embarrassing. You really need to get your staring issue under control.

"I can fight whoever looks at ya."

"Wha— ?" Heat sears across your face as you splutter and spin around to face him. The skirt of your dress twirls with the movement and you catch his gaze snapping down to your thighs. "Why would you need to fight anyone?"

"Hm?" You take a step back as he gets up and stalks over to you, holding your breath subconsciously as he kneels at your feet and takes one of the heels in hand. Your room suddenly feels warmer, the air hushed, as if the two of you are the only ones who exist in the entire universe. Soshiro chuckles quietly and shoots you a grin that makes your knees feel wobbly.

"Soshiro-kun?"

"Well, 'course I'm gonna fight for ya, apricot," Soshiro says. You flinch as he reaches out to grip your calf, the rough callouses on his fingers scraping lightly as he lifts your leg and slides your foot into the shoe. "You're my best friend, yeah?"

And I'm just a simple man in love goes unspoken as he carefully ties the silk around your ankle to keep the shoe in place. You wobble a bit at the balance and he glances up from beneath his violet bangs. "Hold onto my shoulders," he says quietly, reaching for your other leg. "Don't worry, I've got you."

"S-Soshiro-kun, I can put these on myself," you mumble, heat flaring up your spine at the careful pressure of his fingers on your ankle. He lifts your leg and you grab abruptly at his shoulders, fingers digging into the thick muscle there as you regain your footing with his support.

Soshiro lets out a breath. "I know," he says simply. "But I wanna do it."

Is this what men do when they're in love? You wouldn't know — the only man in your life you've ever cared about is right in front of you, and he's refused to elaborate on his strange statement no matter how many times you've asked. You have a feeling he means it, though.

Like, really means it. You love Soshiro — of course you do. You've always loved him. But lately it's felt… different.

Still comfortable. He's still your biggest supporter and vice versa, and he still knows exactly how to cheer you up and make you laugh. You know all his ticks and tells, and you take great pride in taking care of him while he's looking out for everyone else.

But at the same time… it's uncomfortable.

These little touches — they're new. The way his gaze lingers on your body is also new. Or… maybe you've just never noticed before. It's not a bad thing. But it makes you feel strange and fluttery inside and you catch yourself daydreaming about what it'd be like to actually get a hickey from Soshiro. Your best friend.

You stare down at the top of his head and try to repress a shiver as he skims up your legs to where your skirt rests against your thighs. His touch leaves behind a trail of warmth that burrows deep. "Um— ?"

"Ya look real pretty like this," he says. You're still holding onto his shoulders as he rises from his crouch, your entire body hot and hyperaware of how close he's standing once he straightens. "I could really just eat ya up." The smirk on his face makes your heart thump painfully in your chest, but he doesn't give you a chance to question it before he's grabbing your hands and spinning you around in a little twirl.

"S-Soshiro!"

You let out a little yelp as the room suddenly turns sideways, your center of gravity abruptly gone as Soshiro scoops you off your feet with one strong arm behind your back and the other beneath your knees. You throw your arms around his neck in a desperate move to keep from falling, though you know he'd never drop you.

Soshiro looks down at you with a glint in his eye. "Maybe I will."

"You'll… what?" you ask, breathless. He looks… hungry. Something about that look makes your stomach clench. "Soshiro-kun?"

"As your best friend, I think I've gotta do a lil inspection," Soshiro says brightly. He carries you over to your bed effortlessly, laying you down with a care that makes you burn up in a mixture of embarrassment and want.

You want… something. Soshiro gently detangles your hands from behind his neck and brings them up above your shoulders, gripping both wrists in one of his hands. His other hand is planted by your shoulder to keep from squishing you, though he keeps his balance with a knee between your thighs. "What…?"

"Just checking," he murmurs, leaning down to brush his nose against yours. You can feel his breaths on your lips and you strain a little against his hold, wondering if he can feel your pulse beating rabbit-fast in your wrists. His hand is trembling, though you can't imagine it's from the strain of holding himself up. "Can I?"

What… what is he asking?

Does it matter? It's Soshiro —

"Yeah," you breathe. "Go ahead."

His lips brush yours in a whisper, an exhaled sigh, a pressure as light as a butterfly. You make a funny sound and he grins as he skips down to your neck, pressing a firmer kiss there at your pulse.

"You do taste good, chestnut," he mumbles, just before you feel the sharp nip of his canines pinching your skin. You yelp in surprise and he chuckles, brushing his lips across the spot in apology.

"What did I say about food nicknames," you manage to gasp out, blinking blearily as he rises back up to face you. The tops of his ears and the arch of his cheekbones are painted a charming pink, but his eyes are serious as he meets your gaze.

"Are you good?" Soshiro asks.

Are you? You do feel good — better than good. The way your heart is racing would probably raise some eyebrows in a medical ward and your brain feels like mush, but. You've had your share of meaningless crushes — puppy love, infatuation — but none of it ever really mattered because you've always had Soshiro.

None of it ever felt like this.

Oh.

"I'm good," you whisper.

"And this is okay?" he asks. "I'm not — I told ya I don't mess around when it comes to you."

"I'm not messing around either," you grin up at him, feeling suddenly buoyant as the pieces click into place. "I'm yours, Soshiro."

Your best friend looks at you for a moment, but whatever he sees in your expression makes him laugh — a rough burst of sound punched out of his chest — before he leans down to kiss you again.

You can feel him smiling into the kiss.

It's a little awkward — he bumps your nose and you can't keep from grinning, either, so the kiss turns into several kisses, the smooth press of his lips against yours sending heat curling through your veins as his kisses get deeper, hungrier. He tilts his head and finally lets go of your wrists to grasp your chin, moving you to get the angle just right, though his careful intentions go up in smoke when you reach up to tangle your fingers into his hair and tug.

He pulls back with a gasp, eyes wide and pupils blown, panting as if he's just finished fighting off a kaiju. His voice cracks as he murmurs your name.

"Yeah?" you lean up to brush your lips against his jaw, admiring the strain of his neck as he huffs. "You're so pretty, Soshiro-kun."

It takes a second, but Soshiro's next breath is a sharp inhale as he presses his body against yours, pinning you to the mattress.

Then he whines.

Oh, god.

The sound seems to startle both of you, but he recovers first, dipping down to kiss you senseless as the ache in your core intensifies. He's solid and warm and heavy on top of you, his hands burning along your arms and sides and skimming over the neckline of your dress before he seems to settle on gripping your hips as he bullies his way between your thighs. The gasp you let out is loud in the thick air of your room, but the groan he lets out when you squirm against the solid, unyielding length of him is even louder.

Soshiro moves back to pressing hard kisses to your neck and exposed shoulders, panting hard as you whimper with every stinging nip of his teeth. "You're gorgeous," he murmurs, "you're so fucking perfect, I can't —"

"S-Soshiro," you whine, wiggling your hips in an effort to chase the electric sparks of pleasure rising with every sharp, aborted thrust of his hips. "What's — why're you —"

"I'm tryin' not to cum in my pants," he grunts, fingers digging hard into your waist to still you. You sob at the loss of friction and Soshiro huffs. "Fuckin' hell — you're so — but I can't be walking 'round the party all dirty."

Your eyes snap open at the reminder and you shove at the shoulders you were clinging to for dear life a moment ago. "The party!"

"Yeah, the party," Soshiro laughs, grabbing one of your hands. He presses a kiss to the leaping pulse in your wrist. "Didja forget, pumpkin?"

The tender affection somehow makes you warm, even as his hips grind slowly against your core to make you burn. Your legs, which you hadn't even registered moving, drop to the sides, sending your dress to pool further up your thighs and exposing the thin fabric of your panties. Soshiro glances down at the movement, but you can only see the way his lashes flutter at the sight before he's grinding his clothed cock against you again.

A muscle in his sharp jaw ticks as he glances back up at you. "Ya look real good," he says, "and I'm tryin' to do this right, but —"

One thing about being best friends for your whole lives means you can tell when he's holding something back.

One thing about becoming lovers with your best friend is that now you can see he's been holding back from this.

"You can't go into the party like this," you point out. Soshiro laughs, a strangled sound.

"We're not havin' a quickie as our first time," he says firmly. His expression lights up. "But I did promise an inspection, didn't I?"

"What're you — Soshiro!"

He moves too quickly for you to react, pressing another hard kiss to your lips — his tongue dipping in to draw out a startled moan — before he's suddenly kneeling at the edge of the bed, yanking you closer by your legs spread on either side of him. "The heels look nice," he says conversationally, dragging his hands up your calves.

You suddenly feel over-sensitive, your nerve endings straining into his touch as he leans forward to drag his nose along the inside of your thigh. "Ah— Soshiro, that tickles!"

"They make your legs look good," he continues, as if you hadn't spoken. You raise up on your elbows to glare down at him as he brushes his lips featherlight against your thigh. Soshiro smirks and turns his head to nip the skin there, kissing and sucking along your thigh as he slings your leg over his shoulder for easier access.

Oh, shit.

The whine you let out would be embarrassing except that Soshiro mutters a curse and shoots you a look that makes your core clench tight. You reach for his hands, desperate for some leverage or an anchor, and he lets you take one of his hands but uses the other to hike your other leg over his shoulder.

"This is cute," Soshiro remarks, looking intently at your panties and the damp spot clearly evident even in the dim light. "Were they expensive?"

What is he asking? Why would it matter when the only thing you can focus on is the incessant ache in your core, inches away from his touch, heartbreakingly empty and wet and hot —

Soshiro rips your panties with one hand and tosses the flimsy scraps of cloth aside, exposing your fluttering core to his hungry gaze. You shift desperately, torn between wanting and wanting to hide, but before you can voice a request Soshiro dips in and licks you.

"Oh, fuck —" you moan, collapsing back on the bed as your hips buck up into the friction. Soshiro licks at you sloppily, digging his tongue into every inch and fold of you as he groans.

"All this for me?" he murmurs, catching your eye as you clutch desperately at the blankets. "Only for me, right, melon drop?"

You nod shakily as he gently kisses the throbbing bundle of nerves at your core. "I'm yours, Soshiro," you gasp. The waves of pleasure building in your body are frightening, your heart pounding hard, but you can't help tilting your hips closer to him. "Please, Soshiro — I… I can't —"

"Hah — fuck you," Soshiro groans. "Hold on to me."

You barely get a moment to register his command before he dives back in, targeting your clit and sucking on it as you sob with pleasure. White hot electricity races through your veins as you scrabble desperately for something to hold on to, grabbing at the purple strands of his hair and rocking your hips as he devours you.

You feel the burning touch of his finger as he drags it along your lower lips, making you suddenly hyper aware of how empty you feel. Your insides clench futilely, your fingers twisting into his hair painfully as you moan and beg. "Soshiro, Soshiro please —"

You can hear the squelch of your wetness as he finally slides his finger inside you, poking and prodding your walls until he presses against something that makes you see stars. Your back bows off the bed as you pant and squirm.

"There ya go," he grunts, pulling back to fix you with a burning red stare. "Let go for me, honey. I've got you."

You clench around his finger as he adds another, the intrusion unfamiliar but welcome, pleasure spiraling and spiking through you as he flicks his thumb over your clit and presses against that spot just right. It's — it's too much — too overwhelming —

Soshiro sucks your clit between his lips again and you shoot over the edge with a shout.

"Good fucking girl," Soshiro murmurs. You can barely hear him beyond the fuzzy aftershocks, but the words bleed warmth into your face as you melt into the mattress. He carefully licks you clean, chuckling when you whine at the overstimulation.

"Soshiro?"

"Yeah?" He climbs back over you, the lower half of his face shiny with wetness. It should be gross, but you're so boneless you can't even bring yourself to care as he leans down to kiss you, tongue tangling with yours as you moan at the taste of yourself.

"Where'd you… where'd you learn how to do that?" you mumble tiredly.

"In my dreams," Soshiro says, laughing when you pout at him. "I've been dreaming 'bout you for ages, y'know. But most of the technical stuff was from locker talk with the guys."

You nod and glance down, but the angle is awkward and you can't quite see —

"Ah, don't worry 'bout me," Soshiro ducks his head and you stare at the pink flush rising up his neck. "I'm gonna hafta meet you at the ballroom, hazelnut. I need a change of pants."

"Oh," you nod, wide eyed and blushing as he snorts. "Sorry?"

"Don't apologize for bein' a dream come true," he says. "But we should really go soon, or the captain'll have both our heads."

Soshiro helps you stand on wobbly legs as you regain your balance on heels, kneeling to smooth your dress back down your thighs. "Wait — what about my panties?"

He tilts his head thoughtfully. "Right, I'll help ya with that."

Soshiro's touch is warm this time, not burning hot, and the kisses he presses along your thighs are more ticklish than anything. He grins up at you as you giggle. "Will we tell Captain Ashiro after the party tonight?"

He rises and his gaze goes to your neck and shoulders, exposed by the straps of your dress. Something sharp and pleased settles in his smile. "I don't think we'll need to worry 'bout it. Any fool who gets close to ya when you're marked up all pretty for me is askin' for trouble."

… What?

You look past him to the mirror and gasp. All those little bites from earlier are blooming pink and purple beneath your skin. Soshiro laughs, swoops forward to kiss your scolding right out of your mouth, and pulls away only after you've melted back into his arms, pliant and breathless.

"You passed inspection, by the way," Soshiro adds, smiling a little lopsided and fond. "Congratulations on becoming the Third Division Vice Captain's fiancée."

Your eyes widen. "Fiancée?"

"Oh, too soon? We can start off with 'girlfriend' first."

"Soshiro…"

"What? A guy's got dreams, alright?"

You laugh. "You didn't even propose!"

"Alright, fine," he kisses you again and you beam, delight and happiness swooping through you at how easy it all feels. "Keep that third finger on your left hand empty for me, apricot."

"It's a promise."

[ayyy-pee]

Center Stage

suguru whimpers as he pounds into you, folds your legs until there’s a knee on each side of your head. you're so good he has to bite back a gasp when your walls squeeze down on him, gripping his cock so fucking hard he sees stars. his eyes roll back when he reaches a hand down to your clit, swollen and sensitive and he feels the sudden gush of your arousal drip down between your bodies. suguru loves how your tight little cunt always takes him so well, how it makes room for him and holds him like it never wants to let go.

every thrust, every roll of his hips, every slap of your skin meeting has suguru leaning down to groan into the crook of your neck. he doesn’t let up, pounding into you like a man possessed. and he is. your pussy makes him insane, makes him want to scream, makes him want to fucking cry.

it feels like heaven in your walls.

suguru loves to look between you, where your bodies connect and see the creamy mess you’ve made on him. fuck he loves how your pussy always makes a mess. it’s one of his favorite things about you.

that and the way your lips part when he pistons his hips a certain way, touches that sweet spot you love. how your head falls back and your back arches when he wraps his thick fingers around your neck, makes you hold his weight as he fucks into you with reckless abandon. the way your little moans fall from that pretty mouth he loves to bury his cock in. he loves all of that.

he loves the way your hands find his hair and you pull. not gentle at all, just the way he likes. you’re as a desperate and fucking needy as he is.

“come on baby. tell me how much you love my cock.” he pleads. he knows you love it. you've told him plenty of times. but suguru also loves to get his ego stroked.

“i love it, ah- fuck, fuck i love your cock!” you whimper beneath him like the good girl you always are. all he ever has to do is ask and you’ll deliver every time. so obedient. it’s why you’re his favorite.

suguru can feel your walls softly convulsing around him. you’re so close. but while your words were good, they’re weren’t good enough. so suguru slows his pace, staring down at you with half lidded eyes. he wants you to do it right.

“pretty girl forgot her manners,” he chides, clicking his tongue. “i love your cock, what?”

he bottoms out with a particularly harsh thrust that has you crying out, your fingers tightening in his tresses and he chuckles, his dick twitching within the confines of your cunt.

“oh fuck! i love your cock master geto”

there it is.

you peer up through your lashes at the man above you and the smug smile on suguru’s lips sends you spiraling over the edge, your orgasm rushing over you, your body shivering as wave after wave hits you. and your sweet lips muttering his formal title, it has him burying his face in your neck again, whining as his hips stutter with every sloppy thrust until his balls tighten.

he grips your thigh hard, high pitched whimpers falling freely from his mouth as his cock stiffens and his hot, white seed fills your twitching pussy. the release has suguru shaking, struggling to hold his weight as your pussy milks him of every fucking drop.

you’re both panting, both catching your breath as suguru kisses you desperately, pressing kisses to your face, to your lips. and he’s still cumming

“m-master geto,” you mutter between kisses. he hasn’t pulled out of you, just keeps rolling his hips into your slowly, softly as he continues to litter your lips and face with kisses.

suguru hums in acknowledgment.

“you’ll be late to session tonight,” you warn him. “you know there will be big donors there. you don’t want to be late.”

ah yes, the work never stops for suguru. he would love to stay here, on the floor of his stage but it wouldn’t be a good look to have his donors and worshippers walk in on you both in the middle of such a salacious act.

and you, his most favorite follower. there's no way in hell allow anyone to leave the room alive if they saw you this way. no, you're meant to be seen by him this way and him alone. even with your current situation, he knows you are loyal to him. so with a hiss, suguru pulls out of you, smirking when he sees the way you pout at the loss of fullness.

cute.

“come and see me after session” he tells you with one last press of his lips to yours. he crawls off of you carefully and fixes his robe. you nod, watching as he exits the room.

he knows where to find you.

suguru always finds you the moment he enters the room, packed with worshippers ready to give themselves to him. and you’re among them, loyal as ever to him, even as you bow politely and pledge yourself to the organization alongside your husband.

[toffeebrews]

DELTAAA DELTA SANS CHEERS!!!!

Delta sans by AnimatedZorox!!

As always, here some ramblings:

His pants are heavily inspired by hot-headed anime characters such as Bakugo and Natsu, who tend to wear baggy pants. Aside from just personality, his baggy pants allow for more mobility and protection than the shorts? maybe.

He seems like a guy who would wear activewear. He has the jacket cause hes still sorta connected to sans.

The wraps on his legs are supposed to go all the way down to his skeleton feet, which I believe are used to support and prevent injury and improve balance :)

He has his friendship bracelet on him at all times, although sometimes he'll put it in his pocket if he's gonna like fight or smth

The tie around his waist is for style and so they're more form fitting. It looking a karate belt was accidental but maybe a happy accident?

The stripes were supposed to reflect Colors stripes on his outfit! I like to think Color was one of Delta's first friends in the Omega timeline. Also just, because he has stripes on his eyes why not his clothes?

[hoshinasblade]

(it's my birthday today but i'm posting this little brain fart instead of getting some sleep).

hoshina did not bother finding out what love is before you, but now he knows - to love is to be changed.

he's never the best with remembering dates, and he almost flunked history back in senior high school because he couldn't retain exact days and months and years in his head. it was only expected that he had forgotten your birthday. there had been no blaming game of some sort, but he could not deny that seeing your disappointed face hurt him twice as much as he would like to admit. he bought a small notebook the day after - a little thing that would fit inside the pockets of his uniform jacket. almost everything about you - tiny details that maybe even you would deem insignificant about yourself - was written there. hoshina soshiro already messed up once; he's going to make sure he will never forget anything about you, much less your birthday.

and for someone who's been hurt too many times in the past by people you cared about, you never cared about getting close to someone else again. it took meeting vice-captain hoshina soshiro to make you realise that to love is to change.

you tried to stop the feeling - it has always been easy for you to repress your emotions, and you hoped that whatever you felt for your hoshina would be a bug you can just easily step on until it's gone. but hoshina proves to be more stubborn than your own affection for him. "if you really love me, then you'll let me love you too", he said, not giving up. you thought the bravest thing you have ever done is fall in love again but you were wrong - apparently it is more courageous to dive in and let yourself be loved.

[hasarjunadoneanythingwrong]

arjuna whenever karna opens his mouth

[gossippool]

it's after their first mission together that wade and logan share their first kiss.

the fight leading up to the time ripper took place right outside their apartment with barely any witnesses around, so the journey back home was short and quiet with no prying eyes. after that, it took a while for logan to get out of the house on the regular, but when he eventually did, it was just to walk or carry out errands, and in civilian clothes, he blended in with everyone else. it's different when they get called on a mission for the first time.

it's not a hard mission by any means, but it's brutal. he and wade subdue a dozen men on the streets, chase a final one down to the underground, and turn him over to the police. by the end of it all, the sun is going down, and people are travelling home from work. logan's suit is torn, and his bare arms are caked with dirt and dried blood.

a cab would be the typical mode of transport for them after a mission, but they're already at the station, anyway, so they decide to take the train. a busker sings at the platform with a guitar, a lulling, bittersweet thing, like the soundtrack to a life not deserving of such a melody. in the exhaustion and setting sun, it makes logan long for something he can't name. but they'll be home soon.

they board the train. he leans against one of the poles, feels the cool of the metal seep through his suit and into his spine. the music fades out, and what fades in in its place is the conversation and laughter of the others in the train car. a group of teenagers out having fun, businessmen in suits off work, older people with their grandkids or their shopping bags. wade's warmth opposite him, mask moving as he chatters.

he tries to listen, he really does, but as the train speeds through the tunnel, he feels stares turn slowly towards him from all sides. he smells their slight fear, their judgement, over the odour of him and wade. he realises all at once what he must look like, dirty and covered in blood that can't be his for his lack of open wounds. his exposed knuckles a darker red than the rest of his hands. he covers one hand with the other, unclenches his fists.

he's not one to care about what others think. not before, at least. he's used to glares of resentment and pity for what he did, eyes following him everywhere he went like the phantoms of those he killed. but these people don't know what he's done, and they stare at him all the same. it's almost worse.

for a brief moment, just a moment, he feels a stab of hopelessness. coming to this world felt like a second chance, a chance to start over without the world having to bear the knowledge of his inadequacies. but what if that isn't possible? what if this is all this world ever sees of him? the aftermath, the bloodstained hands, the aged lines of his face that tell them what they want to know. he's no one here, except when people remember him like this.

"peanut?"

wade's voice snaps him out of it, and when he looks up, wade has pulled his mask off. he's about to apologise for not listening when wade smiles slightly at him. it's enough to take the words out of his mouth. wade doesn't ask if logan's okay, but his eyes flicker almost imperceptibly over the other occupants of the train car. then he places a delicate hand on logan's waist and steps closer to him, until he can feel his breath ghosting his lips.

logan just looks up at him, breath caught in his throat. what? he thinks of asking. he doesn't.

wade's other hand trails up to cup his cheek. "let them stare," he says. "they don't know anything."

then he leans down and presses his lips to logan's. the train emerges out of the tunnel and bathes the car in golden light, and all the rest of it fades away.

wade steps back eventually, and logan wants to chase his lips, but instead watches as the shadows of his scars dance across his face with the path of the dying sun. he's so beautiful, logan thinks. he's home.

wade is right; let them stare. all he wants is to find his way home, just like everyone else. that's all anyone wants. and they're all on the same train home.

[valeriianz]

8 for the smutty thingy? 👀

(vroom vroom wheel wheeel gasoline vroom vroom speed speed 🏍️🏍️🏍️wuuuuuuu)

*arrives 9 months late, crawling out of the floorboards covered in blood* hi 🌼i hope you like this lol

from a prompt list: A and B are on a motorcycle trip. The constant movement, vibration and touching is getting them excited.

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

Dream curses under his breath, nearly tripping over his long legs as he slows from a run to a miserable walk, exhaling a loud groan of misery as he watches the bus take off from the stop he had meant to be at just two minutes ago.

Checking his watch, Dream wonders about ordering an Uber, or telling his date he’d be 20 minutes late. He wonders if that’s kosher; arriving late to a second date. Being late to a first date was more unforgivable– first impressions and all that, and Dream had been punctual then. 

Before he can truly overthink it, Dream decides maybe 20 minutes wouldn’t be the end of the world; he can wait for the next bus.

He’s walking back to his apartment, a block away, drafting the apology text in his mind, when he spots his downstairs neighbor coming out of his building. 

Dream unconsciously combs a hand through his hair just as the man looks up, spots Dream, and smiles.

“Hey, neighbor.”

“Hello,” Dream greets back. He’s still a little out of breath and he can almost feel the flush high on his cheekbones from the sprint he’d just attempted.

His neighbor– Hob, his name is Hob– gives Dream a brief once-over as he closes the distance between them.

“Miss your bus?” He rolls a large motorcycle helmet around and around in his hands.

Dream watches him, finally coming to a stop before Hob, just outside their apartment building.

“Yeah. How did you know?”

Hob shrugs, looking down at his helmet. “I saw you leaving.”

Dream blinks. You were watching me?

He hadn’t seen Hob as he raced down the stairs, his light jacket fluttering behind him as he tore around the corner and feebly tried to chase down the moving bus. So it makes Dream curious… if Hob watched him as much as Dream did.

Hob’s main mode of transportation was his motorcycle. The sound of it roaring to life, Hob revving the throttle, became a sort of pavlovian response in Dream. He’d rush to the window as soon as he’d hear it start, nearly pressing his nose to the glass (or opening the window altogether) just to catch a glimpse of Hob tearing out into the street. Sometimes Dream would be lucky, and catch Hob just as he exited the building, watching how the man would swing one strong leg over the large bike, settling himself in, getting comfortable.

It was Dream’s biggest guilty pleasure, watching Hob on his bike. There was something inherently erotic about the whole thing; Hob mounting his bike in his torn jeans and leather jacket. Dream could almost feel his grip on the handlebars, his fingers through Hob’s hair as he slicked it back to slip his helmet on. It felt so silly, getting excited over something as mundane as sitting on a bike. And it probably would have been… if Hob wasn’t anything but mundane.

Hob had carved out a home in Dream’s subconscious from the moment they met.

It had been when Dream was moving in. It was a hot summer day and unfortunately the building didn’t have an elevator, which meant multiple trips up and down the stairs, lugging boxes and directing his sister, Dee, how to turn the couch around a corner. Dream felt his legs starting to protest in earnest not 15 minutes into going up and down three flights of stairs. Coupled with the August heat, he had felt himself getting delusional as well. It was the only excuse why, on his ninth, tenth, or twentieth trip back up the stairs, with a heavy box of books in his hands, Dream kicked open the door to his apartment– wondering why Dee had shut it– and halted in the doorway.

The first thing Dream had seen was a large flatscreen TV, potted plants everywhere, a huge black leather couch, and a shirtless man on the floor.

Judging by the rock music that was playing, and the man’s position on the floor– on a mat– he had been working out.

And Dream had stared, the fact that this wasn’t his apartment hadn’t yet entered his muddled brain. So what he blurted out was,

“Do you come with the apartment?”

The man on the floor– sweaty, tan skin, hair everywhere, oh my god– rearranged himself to sit on his butt with his hands flat on the floor, an easy smile on his handsome face.

Then Dream’s words came back to him, making him flush from his hairline all the way to his shaking fingers still clutching the box against his chest.

“Wrong apartment,” the gorgeous, half-naked man said, his eyes were chocolate brown and so warm. “2F. You’re right above me.” He helpfully pointed a finger up to his ceiling.

“Right…” Dream eloquently said. His arms were beginning to shake from the strain. “Sorry. Uh…”

Suddenly the stranger, his new neighbor, was standing and making his way to Dream. A broad chest and corded biceps commanding all his attention and wiping Dream’s brain clean.

“Would you like a hand with that?” He gestured to the box and, before Dream could say no, thank you. I am perfectly capable of carrying my own items into my home, the man gently moved his hands under the box.

Dream allowed him to take it, his shoulders sagging in relief. The man nudged his head.

“Lead the way?”

As easy as that. The man introduced himself as Robert “But you can call me Hob, all my friends do,” said with a wink and a grin. Dee had given Dream sideways looks the rest of the afternoon, pleased with the additional help and all too aware of the besotted glimmer in her brother’s eyes.

It’s only been a few months since then, the humid summer heat transitioning blessedly into crisp, cool autumn and giving Dream plenty of time to get over his silly little crush on his downstairs neighbor.

Except that… he’s pretty sure Hob likes him, too.

“You were watching me?” Dream says aloud, deciding, fuck it. He was feeling bold today.

Hob laughs guiltily, ducking his head.

“Maybe,” his smile morphs into a grin. “Where are you headed? I can give you a ride.”

Dream’s heart trips in his chest, hope curling around his stomach and kicking up a swarm of butterflies.

This is not the first time Hob’s offered Dream a ride on his bike. Dream always declines, nerves getting the better of him but also, he truly had a fear of motorbikes. And he would always let Hob know, too, how “that thing is a death trap,” before turning the corner to wait at his usual bus stop.

Dream had never been on a motorcycle in his life and truly had no interest in starting now. Except… he does have an interest.

In Hob, specifically.

So, taking a breath to steel himself, Dream at last nods, his own lips cracking into a wide smile at the baffled look that passes across Hob’s face.

“What?”

Hob laughs softly, shy. Dream could lose himself in that laugh, it never sounded condescending or cruel… just always full of joy and ease. 

“Just happy that you finally said yes.”

Something swoops in Dream’s stomach. Elated but also a flicker of anxiety creeping up his spine over what he’d just signed up for. Not only facing one of his biggest fears, but also realizing that he’ll be wrapped around Hob, on his bike, finally able to feel how warm he would be against his chest and between his legs…

“Wait right here,” Hob’s smile is dazzling now. “Let me grab another helmet.”

Dream waits. He takes out his phone, staring at the contact for the man he’s meeting up with, and considers canceling. It would be rude, especially with such short notice. But Dream can’t deny how utterly atrocious company he’ll be, thinking about Hob the entire time.

Before Dream can make a decision, the heavy front door to the building slams shut and Dream looks up to see Hob jogging down the stairs, making his way back to Dream and tossing him a helmet.

Dream barely manages to catch it, the reality of the situation settling into his bones and suddenly freezing him to the spot.

“You look nice by the way,” Hob shoots the compliment easily, smiling as he walks past Dream to where his bike is parked at the curb just a few steps down the sidewalk. “Where are you headed?”

Dream’s legs move on autopilot, following Hob and swallowing his unease.

“Uh, Verona’s. On Main street.”

There’s a brief hesitation in the way Hob turns towards Dream once they reach his bike, his eyes flickering with something Dream isn’t able to parse.

“Oh. The Italian restaurant?”

Dream nods and he doesn’t miss how a thoughtful expression crosses Hob’s handsome face, his brows creasing slightly before he turns again, touching the handlebars before he resigns himself to something and swings a leg over the bike’s seat.

He scoots up slightly. 

“C’mon.” Hob slips the helmet over his head, obscuring his visage and turning halfway to pat the seat behind him. It’s a large bike, and there’s plenty of room for Dream to swallow his nerves and shove his own helmet on and slip onto the seat.

The helmet is tight, but not uncomfortably so. Dream can hear himself breathe, which brings attention to how terrified he is, his heart rate drumming wildly.

“Closer,” Hob pats Dream’s knee and then his side. “Don’t get self conscious on me now.” His tone is light, cheery. Probably to ease the worry of Dream being a passenger on a motorized death sentence. 

Dream holds his breath as he slips down the seat, nestling his crotch against Hob’s ass and pressing his chest into his back. Fuck, fuck, fuck–

“Arms around me,” Hob instructs, seemingly unaffected by Dream’s shaking hands ensnaring around his middle.

Dream does as instructed, wondering if Hob can hear how his nerves are screaming in a frightening mix of arousal and trepidation.

He doesn’t watch how Hob starts the bike, suddenly it’s just on. Igniting with a roar and an idle sputtering that makes the entire vehicle vibrate and makes alarm bells shriek in Dream’s ears. He tightens his grip around Hob, arms and legs.

Dream thinks he feels Hob chuckle. 

“Hold on tight.”

Dream does not need to be told twice.

Hob’s leg kicks back, his wrist flicks gently and he’s pulling out of his parking spot, his head on a swivel as he checks behind him and front, before the engine truly snarls to life and lunges into the street.

Dream squeezes Hob’s middle as their speed increases, his head pointed down against Hob’s shoulder as he fights down the urge to scream. Hob is so warm and firm in his embrace, and Dream can feel the wind whipping past him, the motorbike vibrating under him, and the muffled sounds of the motor in his thick helmet.

It’s exhilarating, and terrifying. Dream gasps loudly as they make a turn, his grip on Hob becoming impossibly tighter as they zip through traffic.

“You alright back there?” Hob yells, his helmet turning slightly.

“K-keep your eyes on the road!” Dream shrieks. 

Hob laughs, his head facing forward again. The sound of Hob’s laughter, even muted by their helmets and the wind, compels Dream to relax. He takes a chance to lift his head, watching the scenery speed by, and bit by bit Dream unwinds, breathing in through his nose and out his mouth. He focuses again on Hob, how comfortably Dream fits against his backside, how calm and loose he is operating the bike, as if having a human-sized constrictor crushing his sternum and thighs is nothing.

Dream takes a deep breath, his pulse jumping as they hit a bump and his crotch unintentionally pushes against Hob’s ass (which, now that Dream is calming down, he’s able to notice how softly and teasingly it cushions his narrow hips). He turns his head, resting the side of his helmet against Hob’s shoulder as he unclenches his fingers from Hob’s jacket and instead carefully slips his hands inside of it. His hands still shake slightly, but the warmth from Hob’s body– prominent even through his shirt and the cool wind– eradicate that tingling feeling in his knuckles from gripping for too long.

Dream exhales, his eyes fluttering shut as he gives his trust completely to Hob. There is still that flicker of fear, but as the minutes drag on, Dream becomes used to the bike. 

And, unfortunately– Dream feels himself flush– he is aroused. 

It is easier to focus on how embarrassingly flustered he swiftly becomes, his breathing coming out shaky and labored, his cock taking interest now in Hob’s plump ass, even between two layers of jeans. The bumps in the road and the vibrating seat certainly don’t help.

Before he knows it, Hob is slowing, and when Dream opens his eyes, they are at the restaurant.

Dream blinks. He had forgotten that he was going on a date. And not with Hob.

“Here you are,” Hob announces, bending a leg out to prop up the bike.

“Ah, thank you…” Dream coughs slightly and swallows. He does not untangle himself from Hob. He feels his neck heat up as, all at once, he realizes he’s hard.

He wonders if Hob can feel it, he certainly brings no attention to it. Doesn’t shove him off or give any further indication of their current location.

“You, ah… are you meeting someone?”

The bike is idling, their helmets still on, so Hob has to raise his voice, and it makes Dream flinch. But he doesn’t take off his helmet. Or move. He merely nods. Hob somehow catches it in his peripheral.

“Shit, I’m sorry.” He shakes his head and Dream’s stomach clenches.

“What’s wrong?”

Hob laughs, but it’s not the usual carefree laugh that Dream so often thinks about, fantasizes about hearing late at night, alone in his bed, taking himself apart to visions of Hob smiling and laughing and moaning in delight as he touches Dream all over–

“I had no idea you were– you know– taken.” His voice is quiet, guarded. “Wouldn’t have been so obvious.” His fingers clench around the handlebars. “Sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

Uncomfortable? Ah… something lights up within Dream, a surge of confidence rushing through his veins. 

“I am not uncomfortable,” Dream says simply. He takes a steadying breath and tightens his hold around Hob, his fingers digging into his ribs and– throwing caution to the wind– cants his hips up just enough to bring attention to his erection pressed against Hob’s ass.

Dream can hear the sharp catch in Hob’s breath even through the helmet.

“And you weren’t being ‘obvious.’ If you were, I would have taken the opportunity to make my interests known much sooner.”

A hand covers one of Dream’s, making his breath hitch. Hob’s head turns to look over his shoulder.

“Then who is waiting for you?” He inclines his head towards the restaurant.

“No one.” It might be cruel, but Dream realizes there is no one else he’d rather be with at the very moment. He doesn’t want to wait a moment longer now that he knows the longing in his chest is reciprocated. Dream wants to keep the man in his arms and never let him go.

Dream squeezes his thighs around Hob and hooks his chin over Hob’s shoulder, their helmets tapping together. 

“Take me home, Hob.”

Dream can feel how Hob’s breathing has picked up, his back flexing against Dream’s chest as he wastes no time in retracting his foot from the ground and speeding back towards home.

[khattikeri]

drives me nuts when people treat jin guangyao or wei wuxian like they're socialist revolutionaries like no! they're not!! in fact their respective roles in society and complacency regarding its hierarchies is why ANY of the story even happens to begin with!!!

jin guangyao doesn't hold bitterness just because he was born lower class. he is bitter because others deride him and his prostitute mother in spite of both their intelligence, skills, and efforts to climb the ladder.

why do you think we were shown scenes of other prostitutes in the brothel deriding meng shi for being literate, for "trying" so hard? why do you think we were shown scenes of anxin taunting meng yao and throwing shit at him because he was trying to learn cultivation at his mother's behest?

why do you think jin guangyao arranged for the arson of that brothel, burned to the ground with everyone except sisi inside? that's not the behavior of someone who believes in true equality and the inherent worth of sex workers as human beings!

that's the behavior of someone who thinks he's better than them. the behavior of a man who already came up on top through political games and war crimes, backstabbing and spying for the sake of the "greater good".

i won't rehash his argument to nie mingjue that he didn't have a choice-- he had some choice, but no matter what he does his class will come up and people will always assume the worst and try to hurt him for it, which forces his hand to do whatever will protect him best (hence 'no choice').

jin guangyao did everything he could to secure his own safety and a place among those already higher up. and by that point, he'd won it.

the fact that the temple rebuilt on the brothel site is to guanyin, the goddess of mercy, is even more ironic! the fact that jin guangyao has the goddess's statue carved to look like his own mother is proof that he viewed both her and himself as higher than them. more worthy than them.

of course he cared about the general welfare of others (read: the watchtowers). but consider also that there is no watchtower near yi city, which ended up being one of xue yang's playgrounds. jin guangyao can and will turn a blind eye to certain sufferings if it is convenient to him.

sure, jin guangyao made undeniable contributions to cultivation society and accessibility, but he is not at any point trying to topple existing class structures. his adherence to them is in fact integral to his own downfall in the end.

it brings with it the inevitability of society conveniently ignoring his triumphs and genuine moments of humanity to deride him once more as an evil, disgusting son of a whore once his crimes come to light.

now for wei wuxian. he's the righteous protagonist of the story and he doesn't give a fuck what society thinks, yes, but he wasn't out there trying to cause an uprising so that all the poor servant classes and lower could become cultivators. he wasn't trying to redistribute wealth or insinuate that those who are lower deserve to be viewed as equal to the gentry.

the most critical and non-explicitly stated fact of mo dao zu shi is that wei wuxian has always been resigned to his position in the social hierarchy.

his unreliable narration, especially regarding his own past and thoughts, is so damn important. he doesn't EVER tell the reader directly that people treated him any which way at their leisure because of his parents' differing social classes.

no. instead we are shown how much prestige he is afforded as cangse-sanren's son-- reputation as a talented and charming young cultivator, made head disciple of Yunmeng Jiang-- and how little respect he is given in the same breath, as the son of servant wei changze.

the way he is treated by others is as fickle as the wind. if he obeys and does as told, there is no reward. of course he did that, that was the expectation to start with! if he does anything even slightly inconvenient, there is a punishment. of course he has no manners, what else would you expect from an ungrateful son of a servant?

wei wuxian's righteousness is not a matter of adhering to principles he was explicitly taught, the way nie mingjue values honor or the way jiang cheng always tries to prove himself. wei wuxian does the right thing regardless of what the consequences are to him because his good deeds are always downplayed and his bad deeds are always singled out, no matter who or how many people were doing it with him.

he has faced this double standard since childhood. there are points in the novel where it's clear that this sticks out to wei wuxian, but does he ever fight back against that view of himself? does he EVER, at any point in the story, explain his actions and choices to jianghu society and try to debate or appeal to their sense of reason?

no. because he knows, at his very core, that any explicit deviation from their interests whatsoever will be punished.

slaughtering thousands of people is fine when they want him to do it, and when the alternative is unjust torture, re-education camps, and encroachment upon other sects' lands.

slaughtering thousands of people who are trying to paint him as evil for not going along with their genocidal plans, however, is punished.

wei wuxian knows his acceptance among the higher classes is superficial and unsteady. from the age of 10, when jiang fengmian took him in, he knew subconsciously that he could be kicked out at any time.

he knows that cultivation society doesn't care about war crimes and concentration camps and mistreatment of the remaining wen survivors of the sunshot campaign. but the right thing to do now that they aren't at wartime is to help them, plus they'd punish him either way for it, so he will.

in this regard wei wuxian is more self-aware of his position than jin guangyao. he does care about common people and he does try his best to help them as an individual. even if that ends up with him disabled, arrested, targeted in sieges, or dead.

but is he revolutionary? in the full equality, fight the establishment, rewrite laws, change social structures and people's perceptions of class sense?

no. no. he isn't.

now my knowledge of chinese society and history is fairly limited to my hindu diaspora upbringing and our shared cultural similarities ... but speaking to what i absolutely know us true, adherence to one's social class is expected.

this is rigid. efforts and merits might bring you some level of mobility, but in the end, the circumstances of your birth will always be scrutinized first, and your behavior compared to the stereotypes of where and how you originate.

mdzs is not about revolution, and none of its characters are able to truly change its society. there is no grand "maybe cutsleeves aren't inherently bad" or "i'm sorry for persecuting you and believing hearsay, you were truly a good person all along!" at the finale.

people ignore history and repeat it again with the next batch of ugly gossip and rumors.

wei wuxian, lan wangji, and luo qingyang find peace only by distancing themselves from cultivation society and its opinions.

jin guangyao and wei wuxian both cannot ever escape from others' perception of their origins and actions. regardless of their personal beliefs, they are not revolutionaries.

[kradogsrats]

The last time Lissa cries is in Katolis.

As she rides away, she feels as if she'll weep forever—tears she can't stop flowing down her cheeks, ceaseless and steady—but when she crosses into Del Bar, her face and eyes are dry. Her parents welcome her back into their home. Her siblings and their children turning out to comfort her. Lissa smiles and thanks them, lets them embrace her.

None of them say, I told you so. Not outright, at least. She can tell some of them are thinking it.

Doesn't seem all that broken up about it, does she? Not a single tear.

Shush—let the poor girl be. Not all pains can be wept over right away.

But when her mother falls ill, she doesn't cry like her sisters do. When they bury her—when her father, always mountain-strong, is reduced to gravel in his children's arms—she has no tears to shed.

Nor does she weep for her brother's son—young and bright and brimming with promise—dead the instant his horse throws him, his neck snapped cleanly. He'd planned to marry his sweetheart, in a year or two. There's a funeral instead, the other boy's anguished tears a river of grief.

Lissa still does not cry. No matter the sorrow, her eyes sit in her head like stones, hard and heavy. Dry as bone, even as her throat closes and her chest burns like her heart is on fire.

There are no tears from her even for her second sister's husband, a sailor whose ship never returns from its last journey through the spring storms. Her sister holds her own shattered pieces together for the sake of their small children, and the family rallies to support her with food and chores and company. They cry with her, late into the night—all of them, except for Lissa.

Cold as the heart of Hinterpeak, that one.

You're surprised? She married a mage, she was cursed from the start.

Then she abandoned her children in the snake's den, when she'd had her fill of him and his poison.

I suppose it takes a monster to love a monster.

What could she tell them—that Viren had meant no ill? That she'd been the collateral damage of a miracle, a negligible cost for saving a child from death? That her children were better served by staying with a father who loved them so fiercely than by their broken mother dragging them away?

That when he'd stumbled in half-mad, his face scarred beyond recognition, ranting and raving his demands that she weep to save their son, she had refused? That she'd feared what he might take from her, as if anything she possessed could be worth more than Soren's life?

That when his hand twisted in her hair and the cold glass pressed against her cheek, she cried not for Soren, but for the man she'd loved and the monster he'd become?

That, most of all, she had cried for herself?

She stays quiet, and does not cry.

Her father finally passes, never recovered from her mother's loss, and her brother approaches on behalf of the family. We love you, Lissy, you know that—but we think it would be best if you didn't come to the funeral.

Lissa's heart burns, her throat clenched tight against any protest, and she nods. She leaves that night, vanishing into the mountains. No one comes looking for her.

She settles outside a remote village, in a tiny hut halfway up the mountain, more a hunter's seasonal shelter than a house. She busies herself with survival—tends a garden, hunts and forages. Down in the village, she trades the pelts of what she can trap, and sometimes plays the decrepit, barely-tuned piano in the tavern for coins.

That's where she hears of the great march on Xadia. King Viren of Katolis, leading the united Pentarchy to end the threat of dragons for good.

Lissa returns to the tavern every day after that, desperate for more news—it's barely a week later when she hears he's dead, his army broken by an alliance between the elves of Xadia and those loyal to King Harrow's son. There is no mention of her children in any of the garbled rumors.

It's almost a relief, that she doesn't cry for Viren.

But Soren would be old enough to have joined the Crownguard, just as he'd always wanted. With two kings dead in such quick succession—first King Harrow, and then, somehow, his own father—could she even dare hope he still lives? And Claudia, so fascinated by magic, even when it tore their family apart—had she succumbed to all its dangers? Would Viren have let her walk a different path, if she chose?

She imagines going back, demanding to know what happened to her son and daughter—if Viren remained in a place sufficiently prominent to somehow become king, someone has to know. She imagines seeing them again, being able to run to them and take them in her arms. She imagines crying, then—a decade of stolen tears released in a flood of joy and relief.

Then she imagines their revulsion at the mother who left them, should she be unable to shed a single tear of grief or regret.

Lissa stops going to the tavern. Her heart burns as if its falling to ash.

She doesn't cry.

[rebelrainfall]

Rebelcaptain and "miracle"

Or Jyn and Kay shenanigans and "loose"

for the prompt game ✨️

Hiiiii sorry, I didn't forget about this my brain was just full of bees <3<3

---

The galactic new year passes like any other night for Jyn as always, an unremarkable evening spent reading with her feet in Cassian's lap, no dramatic realizations or sentimental moments had. No realizations at all until two weeks later, when suddenly she's scribbling the date at the top of a form, suddenly staring at the year she's just written, suddenly struck by it like a wave crashing over her.

Cassian looks up at her, curious, when she finds him working in the garden, the form and stylus abandoned inside in her sudden, helpless need to see him right fucking now.

"I've lived longer with you than I've lived without you," she breathes, the words tinged with a soft, nearly disbelieving wonder, and she doesn't even complain about the dirt he smudges on her face when he stands up to kiss her fervently, because this, it's a miracle.

His heartbeat beside hers now, his breath against her mouth, it's as much a miracle as every day of the last twenty-three years she's lived with him has been, every living, breathing day since she didn't die at twenty-two.

[vanmarkus]

Fuck It Friday 💌

I keep wondering if people even know that I write... like, I know giffing has captivated me lately, but actually this is where I'm "based", so to speak. I just kinda fell off the map since the new season started airing (and since posting that 75k monstrosity that was the mudslide fic lmao).

Anyway, I am finally, finally getting closer to finishing the buck loves tommy fic (which pretty much does what it says on the tin, though it does have an actual title now), all it needs is some hefty editing and it's ready to be posted — hopefully within the next few days. Until then, here's some soft angst that somehow found its way into the middle of the smut.

“Good.” Tommy’s lips stretched into one of those wide but close lipped smiles and it was hard to hold back the urge to trace it with his thumb — so he didn’t. Tommy gave a small kiss to the tip of Buck’s thumb, before opening his lips and sucking it in between them, humming quietly. “God… did you get even hotter while you were away?” Buck mused with an incredulous huff. “Are you trying to talk your way into my pants?” Tommy’s grin was downright dangerous as he let go of Buck’s finger and leaned down to get a hold of the hem of his t-shirt, rolling it up as much as he could with the stupid sling in the way. “You’re not wearing any pants.” Buck pointed out with a teasing lilt of his voice. “Must be doing real good on all that talking then, huh?” “Funny.” Buck rolled his eyes jovially, but when Tommy didn’t answer or in fact moved at all, he zeroed in on his face with a frown. “H-hey, you okay?” “I don’t know. Are you?” Buck followed his line of sight, only to realize that Tommy was staring directly at the bruises on his ribs, where they were blooming like a collection of poisonous clematises; hugging his torso tight, probably for weeks to come. “Y-yeah, I told you, I’m fine. It’s- it’s just some bruising, no big deal, I swear.” “We can wait until you feel better.” Tommy suggested, his face darkening and his eyes never leaving the big blotches of purple and pink. “Baby, does it look like I wanna wait?” Buck scoffed, gesturing vaguely at his achingly hard cock, only inches away from Tommy’s own. “Evan, that’s not—” “You a-asked me what I need.” Buck cut him off with a serious set of his jaw. “This- this is what I need. You. That’s all I want, okay? So just… please, would you just touch me already?” Buck closed his eyes with a frustrated little sigh and only opened them when he felt a feather light touch on his skin, causing it to twitch with a tickle, as Tommy’s lips brushed over the bruises. “That okay?” He hummed quietly, his lips gently vibrating with it and bringing a small tingle into Buck's ribs, one that somehow felt like it was going much deeper than skin or bone. “Y-yeah… okay.”

✨I have been tagged by and am absolutely no pressure tagging the ever so talented @sunshinediaz @spagheddiediaz @jeeyuns @exhuastedpigeon @bidisasterevankinard @diazsdimples @likegoldintheair @honestlydarkprincess @watchyourbuck @actualalligator @wikiangela @bucksbignaturals @loveyouanyway and anyone else who feels like sharing mwuahhh 💛

[max-nico]

Sonic noticed Tails glaring at him a few minutes ago. He hasn't called it out or said anything, after about a year of being with the kid he's learned it's better to let Tails come to him first. Though he will say his patience has been wearing thin, it's been a week of nonstop staring and cutting eyes.

Sonic glances at Tails with an eyebrow raise making the fox flush in embarrassment. For another few minutes Tails sits with his namesakes on his lap and his head buried in their fluff. Sonic gives him privacy and looks the other way, hoping not to embarrass him any further, he'd really prefer not to prompt the kid more than he has to.

"I uhm- I have a question. If that's okay." Sonic shrugs, reaching down to dig in his bag, but he's not reallt looking for anything. "Oh, if you're looking for the cans of chili we put them in my bag, remember?"

Sonic plays it off as if that's what he was looking for, it's basically dinner time anyway so it's not a waste to start cooking.

"Right uhm- anyway, what makes you different?" Tails asks.

Sonic raises an eyebrow again, asking him to elaborate.

"I just... We're friends right-" Sonic nods without hesitation- "okay good. It's just that the people back at Westside didn't like me much, so... So why do you?"

Sonic gives another shrug. Is he supposed to have a reason for liking him? It just came naturally. He had a good heart, big ambitions, and an even bigger brain. Is there a reason he shouldn't like the fox?

"Is there a reason I shouldn't like you?" Sonic signs.

Tails' snout wrinkles a little, "Obviously."

The hedgehog gestures for Tails to keep talking.

"I'm weird, and I can't brush my fur by myself yet, I talk too much, I take half a portion of your food, I slow you down I-"

"It's our food, and you don't slow me down," Sonic huffs. "Those things don't matter. Why would they make me not like you?"

Tails frowns, gripping his Tails between his fingers, seeming unsure of the answer himself. His mouth opens and closes as he tries to gather his thoughts into a neat sentence, and Sonic continues food prep. An anticipatory silence sits between them.

It's not until Sonic's almost done with the first chilidog that Tails speaks again. His voice is a quiet murmur under cracking fire and a few distant flickies, but Sonic still catches his voice and it's little sniffles in the wind.

"I can't understand how someone so cool can like something that wasn't even tolerated by its parents..."

And isn't that heartbreaking? Sonic could join Tails crying after hearing that. What's he even supposed to say? Is there anything he can say?

Sonic places a hand on Tails' shoulder to get his attention, making the fox wipe his tears away.

"Your parents were dumb."

"But they were the smartest people in the village! My dad was the head research-"

Sonic places a hand over Tails' muzzle to quiet him.

"Being the smartest dumb person in a room full of dumb people isn't the win you think it is."

Tails looks away from Sonic with a sniffle and huff, wiping his eyes again.

If Sonic could take it all away he would. Unfortunately, he doesn't have memory altering magic, at least as far as he knows.

"How about I become your new family. I can be your brother or something." He says on a whim, looking for something to make the kid feel better. Maybe offering a replacement family would be better than claiming the old one.

And for just a moment Tails looks starstruck. His already teary eyes grow large and seem to well up even more before he tilts his face down, his eyes glistening in the ever brighter glow of the campfire.

Sonic swears he didn't do anything wrong, but those tears make him feel like the scum of the earth.

"You're just trying to make me feel better... You wouldn't actually want that. No one in their right mind would."

Sonic crouches down in front of Tails, waiting for him to turn and look him in the eyes. It feels like an eternity before the fox actually looks at him, and Sonic grasps desperately at the patience he's never had, but is determined to find.

Tails' face fur is wet and sticks up awkwardly, and the eye contact he gives is minimal at best but Sonic will take that over nothing.

Gently, Sonic bumps his fist to Tails chest, right above where his heart is. "We're brothers!" He says, in a voice that's just as foreign to the fox as it is to him. The re in the word we're doesn't quite come across, neither does the br in brothers making the word sound like buzzers, but Tails seems to understand him anyway.

Sonic can't tell if the fox is surprised by him standing his ground or by him talking, but it's probably a healthy mix of both. He repeats himself, pushing just a little harder on Tails chest to get the point across.

Tightly, Tails squeezes his eyes shut. Heaving out a sob, dropping his head down to stare at the log he's sitting on.

"Okay." The fox mumbles, "Let's be brothers."

Yooooo guess who finally wrote something !!! (Hint, it's me !!!) After receiving some of the most devastating news of my life, I decided to write some hurt comfort !!! Welcome back unbreakable bond fans, I'm glad I could keep us all fed this winter's night !!! I have so many unfinished drafts but take this, and thanks for reading !!!

This is NOT ship content. I am under the same name on AO3, and will post this there soon ! Come hit up my DMs or my askbox for now !! Toodles !!

[burning-academia-if]

Beware! Nsft!

How would the ROs (in a crushing stage) react to having a spicy dream about MC?

This is just...pure smut lmfaO

Rook:

            This isn’t the first time, and he doesn’t think it’ll be the last. You beneath him, gasping, his own body pressing close to you. Your mouth on his, your moans being swallowed by the desperate kisses he gives you. His hands skim down bare skin, wanting more, so much more. More then you could ever give.

            The way you say his name is everything he’s ever wanted. His mouth leaves yours, wandering down your neck, your shoulders, you neck, stomach, hips, to the spot right between your legs. You writhe against him, back arching and he takes far too much pleasure in the sound that gasps out your mouth.

            An alarm sounds, somewhere, and he blinks awake. It takes too long to register where he is, considering how many times he’s had this dream. The flash of guilt isn’t as strong as the first time he’s had it, but it’s still there. Especially when he realizes how hard he still is, and the way your image is lodged into your brain.

            He groans. A cold shower and enough mental screaming at himself will make it all go away. It’s not like the longing is as part of him as his own bloodstream.

Beck:

            Everything is soft and hazy. He finds himself pressed against a couch or bed or somewhere soft. You lean over him, and he lifts his head, eyes tracing your every move. Your fingers dance down his face, ghosting his neck and he lets his eyes close.

            “What do you want?” He breathes.

            “You.” You say it so plainly, and he rises up to press his lips against yours. His hands wrap around your waist, and you settle on his lap. When your fingers thread through his hair, his fingers go under your shirt. He tugs on it and you pull away just long enough for him to take it off you.

            His own shirt comes off and the feel of your skin against his is enough for him to moan your name, pleading. You press into him, and he says you name again and then—

            The alarm on his phone goes off and his eyes open in a daze. His skin feels too warm and the blankets too heavy. He turns off his alarm sighs. He’s in deep now, isn’t he?

Rhea:

            It starts so soft and innocent. The two of you are in a room that’s probably the Student Government meeting room. You slip into the seat next to her, resting your head on her shoulder. She means to shoo you away, before you distract her from whatever she’s doing.

            Instead you nuzzle against her shoulder and she sighs. You take her hand, and she entwines her fingers against yours, “You’re distracting me.”

            “I can distract you a little more.” Your voice is teasing before you kiss her cheek. She can’t help but laugh, trying to push you away as you rain kisses on her. But then she’s somehow against the wall, and your kisses aren’t on her face but her neck.

            You pull at her, and her braid comes undone and falls around her. Your other hand trails down and slips between her legs. The moment you press down, she’s gone. Her hands grip onto your shoulders for purchase, grinding against your hand, the mounting pressure building.

            You’re still laughing, murmuring how cute she looks coming undone. She’s so close to some kind of release.

            Then her door flies open and Eloise is shouting she can’t find something and she’s painfully awake.

            She grabs the nearest thing and throws it at the door. Hopefully her roommate thinks it’s because she’s upset at being woken up, and not notice how painfully red her face is, and how she wishes to vanish you from her mind.

Zoe:

            Zoe’s never had strong feelings about sex. It’s something a lot of people do, and some people…don’t. It makes the way their throat catches foreign to them. You lean over them, face blurry against the backdrop of a blue sky and burning sun. Your fingers splay across their face and they nuzzle against it.

            “Zoe.” You murmur, and they don’t question why the two of you are here, atop a hill with grass as soft as satin wrapping around your bodies. When you call their name, they only turn towards you, eyes fluttering closed as you brush a kiss against their lips.

            It’s soft, warm. Their usual inhibition bleeds away. They reach a hand up, and pull you close. You nip at their lips, and they gasp away. With a soft laugh, you nuzzle against their neck, and they try to move away.

            “Hey that tickles—” At least it does, until your teeth sink in. Heat ignites in their chest as they gasp. You press a kiss against it to sooth before curling up against their side.

            The sky becomes dark all at once. Your hand traces circles against their side, “I want to touch you. Can I?”

            Can you? No one has ever seen their body before, and they’ve never wanted someone to perceive it. But you? It feels so easy now, to do this with you. They rise, pulling at their shirt. Your hand stops them with a shake of your head. They relent, and let you pull it off them. Any embarrassment they expect doesn’t come, letting your eyes trace their body.

            You lean forward again, and they catch you in their arms. Your hands on their skin feels nice. They want to sink into it. They want to sink into you. They won’t run from you. No matter what you want to do.

            “Zoe! Mom said to get your ass up, it’s your turn for morning shift!” Zoe gasps awake, brain scattering as they bolt up in bed. Their brother raises an eyebrow at them, which they only meet with a throw of a pillow in their direction.

            “I had my alarm set you heathen.” They grumble, heart beat racing. Why did they have that dream about you? It wasn’t like them to dream like that? They thought they might bury themselves into the earth today instead.

Lars:

            Everything is loud and noisy, and he’s not sure who’s dragging the other to somewhere more secluded. There’s a shut of a door, he doesn’t think anyone will hear amongst the music and their own chatter. The two of you are pressed together, mouth against mouth, hands wandering across each other’s bodies.

            He slots a leg between yours, swallowing your gasps at the sudden friction. His fingers are swift with the buttons of your jeans. Everything is a neon haze. You’re arching against him, desperate to be ever closer. He’s about to show you just how close you can be.

            “Lars,” you manage to gasp, wrenching yourself away, “Someone could see us—”

            “Scared?” He slips his hand beneath your waistband and you squirm, moving against his touch on instinct. “With how you feel, you seem more excited to get caught then anything.”

            “No—I—” Your words fail you as he keeps going, eyes squeezing shut. You blindly reach for him, fumbling with his own pants, too lost in your own pleasure to do it right. Your hand finally manages to undo it, then—

            He startles awake. The grey, early morning haze greets him. Lars isn’t sure what woke him up. It could have been even the slightest of sound. That doesn’t matter. He rubs a hand over his face.

            “You can’t be fucking serious.” He groans. You in his dreams was bad enough, but like that? He couldn’t believe he’s already so far gone.

???:

            How many times had they imagined your body? They’ve always wanted you to yield everything to them. Heart, soul, and body. The image of you laying so pretty and bare beneath them feels like a lifelong longing finally fulfilled. Their teeth has sunk into so many places, leaving marks and bruises all along your body. You’re begging for them, a type of release. They kiss your inner thigh, refusing to give you what you want.

            They’ve wanted this for so long, they’re going to take their time with you. Their own pleasure hardly matters. They’re mapping out every inch of skin, cataloguing every expression your face can make. All of it. They want all of it and more.

            “Please—” You gasp, “Please.”

            Even your begging sounds like music to them. But not yet. Not quite. They rise up, bracing themself over you. Their hand traces the outline of your mouth. Your lips part, and they slip a finger inside, feeling you bite down, tongue brushing against it.

            Their voice is a command, “You can’t just beg without stating what you want, my little moon. You have to tell me exactly what you want me to do.”

            Your eyes open, and there’s the faintest flash of defiance in your eyes, even in this state. A thrill rushes through them. Oh, they love when you don’t make things easy. They love seeing you fight them, pressing you until you finally break down.

            The soft nibbles turn into a hard bite. On instinct they yank their hand away, but really they feel the way their body shuddered at the sensation. You frown at them, and the next thing they know, you’re pulling them down. In a blink, you’ve switched position. You’re on top, legs on either side of them.

            “What about you? What do you want?” Your hips grind into theirs and they suck in a breath.

            “Everything. Every piece of you.” They reach out their hands to hold your waist, but you snatch them by the wrists and pin them down. The sensation makes them feel like their falling. And the feeling of falling wakes them up.

            In the dark, they breathe hard. A hand is thrown over their eyes, thoughts scattered. You. You. You. God, they would do anything to have you.

[ohbo-ohno]

happy new year's eve @luminousbeings-crudematter, here's another version of the purge au (4k) that i forgot i finished in the process of trying to get the first one done lol

(also when i said "it's essentially the same thing but with different smut" i meant... no smut. i didn't post this one bc i couldn't figure out what to do with the smut. but this has some kidnapping and overall rough creepiness!)

cw: noncon touching, kidnapping, graphic murder, blood & violence, unedited bc im lazy

The soles of your feet burn against the hot asphalt, even though the sun’s been set for hours. The flames roaring from the burning high school alongside you are enough to heat the ground, enough to leave you wincing with every step and trying your best to walk on your toes.

You’re not sure if the wetness on your cheeks is tears or blood, or some sick combination of both. You’d wipe it off to see, but your hands are covered in red, and you don’t want to smear it across your face.

It’s impossible not to flinch at the sudden sound of cackling laughter, some indeterminate distance away but clear as a bell. The laugh cuts off abruptly, followed by a high-pitched scream that makes you wince. You speed up as much as you can, breath shuddering in your chest. You feel a few tears slip down your cheeks, just adding to the tacky mixture already covering your face.

The street is crowded with Purgers, people wearing all sorts of different gear to make themselves seem as terrifying as possible. You’d feel lacking in your black pants and shirt, if you wanted any attention like them. Instead you pray that whoever’s looking for fun won’t focus on you, that you’ll disappear with so many other distractions out tonight.

The sound of a chainsaw revving makes you shudder, and you tuck your arms close to your chest. 

You can’t believe you were stupid enough to come out on Purge night, but there’s no use dwelling on that now, not when you’re still blocks away from home with absolutely no way to defend yourself.

You should’ve known your friend - your now very dead friend - didn’t have good intentions. She’d invited you out with her to vandalize your most recent ex’s house, and like an idiot you’d agreed and walked yourself right into a trap. Your only defense is that you’d had a few drinks before leaving your perfectly safe apartment, in hopes of forgetting all the screams you’d hear outside. It’s the only reason you can think that you were so quick to agree when you’ve got absolutely no way of defending yourself.

Her blood is still wet on your hands. You don’t feel bad about her death, and that makes you feel sick. You’d never thought you’d be the kind of person to actually partake in the Purge, let alone kill during it, but here you are - stumbling home covered in blood with two deaths on your hands. The fact that it was self-defense isn’t nearly as much of a comfort as you need to make your heart beat less erratically, to make the blood stop burning against your skin.

The quick flashes of their deaths won’t stop playing on repeat in your mind - you would’ve died if you’d been any less lucky, and you doubt your piece of shit ex would have made it quick. 

If you hadn’t caught them together - your friend fucking him in the bed you used to sleep in, that fucking bitch - you might not have had the anger necessary to kill them. Might not have had the rage, the energy, to stab them both until they stopped screaming.

Your arms already ache from the force you’d used. You can’t stop seeing your friend’s face, torn to shreds beneath you, blood splattering up onto your own face and neck while your ex’s corpse cooled beside you. You’re not sure if you’re hearing her screams still, or if someone nearby is suffering just like she had.

The only thing you can bring yourself to regret is leaving behind the knife. It would come in handy now, as you walk alone down one of the poorest neighborhoods in your city.

It would come in especially handy as a hand grabs your shoulder, yanking you to the side and into an alleyway, shoving you against rough bricks and ignoring your yelp.

“Well, well, look’it you…” the man drawls, his face hidden by a bright red skull and a black hood covering the rest of his head. “Wha’s a bonnie lass like you doin’ out tonight, all alone?”

You can’t speak, heart thudding painfully at your ribcage as you blink up at him. He’s all you can see, just a bright red skull floating in place.

“Please,” you manage to gasp, hands shakily raised in front of your chest.

“Please? Please what?” His words are sharp, almost bitten off, and he leans closer. “Haven’t even threatened ye yet, pretty thing. What’re you beggin’ for?”

You whimper as he leans closer, hardly inches away from your face, and a loud boom from somewhere nearby shakes the wall at your back. You still can’t tell if it’s blood or tears dripping down your face. You jump at the sound, and your chest hits his. Before you can move back, his hands are on your shoulders, keeping you pressed to him.

“Oh, did that scare you?” He coos, patronizing and mean. “You a little scaredy cat, all alone and afraid?”

You sob, hands pushing at his chest, and he makes a sound somewhere between a hum and a laugh, pushes you against the wall without pulling even an inch away.

“No, no, you’re not goin’ anywhere. ‘S not safe out there for you, kitty. It was so easy to grab you, you want someone else to get a hold of you? They won’t be as nice as me, I can tell you that.” 

“Get- get off!”

He laughs, loud and rough, right in your face. “Oh, I’ll be gettin’ off, kitty. Might take some teamwork, huh? A good way to get to know my new friend-”

He cuts himself off with a sharp Oh! as your knee jerks up into his crotch, the man doubling over in pain and groaning as his head comes to rest against the wall by your face. You barely have enough sense left in you to duck out of his way before his body goes limp against the wall, hand cupping your target.

“Fuckin’ bitch,” you hear him hiss, right before you stumble away, legs weak as you put all your energy into not tripping over your own feet. Your only thought is getting out of the alley, even though being more exposed is probably riskier than just taking your chances with the man in the red skull. Still, there’s some instinct at the back of your mind telling you go, run, and you’re not stupid enough to ignore it.

You hardly make it five steps away before you hit a wall - no, not a wall, a person. 

It’s almost comical, the way you bounce off of him and stumble backwards, losing your balance on weak knees and sending yourself straight to the ground. He’s a monolith above you, a massive figure clothed in all black, the light from the flames behind him almost making him glow. He’s all black cloth and white mask, a skull hovering well past six feet in the air.

The sight of him makes your heart stutter, brings everything into acute focus around you, slowing the world down to a near stop. That same instinct at the back of your mind tells you this man is worse than the last, that you should’ve taken your chances with the red skull. 

You’re jerked back and to the side, shoved roughly against the brick wall. Your face scrunches up at the rough texture against your cheek, your torso flush against the wall and the first man flush against your back. You manage to open one eye and track the new man, your other forced shut from the way your head is angled.

The white skull tilts, and its wearer steps closer. You can’t help the small cry you let out, the way you flinch back into the first man like he’ll do anything but expose you more. His hands are rough on you, one hand locked around the back of your neck and the other harsh on your hip.

The body behind you laughs, push further into the wall regardless of the stinging pain as the white skull steps closer. He stops hardly a foot away, when your vision is eclipsed by only him. You try to struggle against the hands holding you, whimpering when they dig in more harshly.

“You got her?” A voice asks, and it takes a minute for you to realize it’s the new man in front of you.

“Yeah,” the first man pants, holding you close and alleviating some of the pressure against your cheek. “Woulda caught her without you, y’know. She just caught me off guard.”

The white skull rumbles low in his chest, a rejection. You’re not sure if he’s got faith in your ability to escape, or doesn’t trust his partner’s ability to chase. He’s close enough that you can only see the black of his chest, close enough that you can watch him breathe.

“I’m sure. You got a good hold on her?”

The hands squeeze, you can’t help but make a sound disturbingly close to a squeal, and- “Yeah, course, got her tight to me, Ghost. She’s not goin’ anywhere.” There’s an air of desperation in Red’s voice, a strained tension underlying every word. He’s almost eager, but it’s all directed towards the man in front of you - Ghost - instead of towards the prospect of hurting you.

Ghost doesn’t respond, but he steps close enough to press his chest against your shoulder. The three of you are all less than a foot apart, and there’s absolutely nothing you can do to get away. Another tear slips down your cheek.

You can feel Red’s chest heaving behind you, and at first you can’t understand why - he hasn’t had to chase you, hasn’t had to fight, there’s no reason for him to be out of breath.

It hits you when you feel the hard plastic of his mask press into the top of your head. He’s eager, and it’s making him pant like a dog. You’d bet he’s drooling behind the mask and the thought makes you shiver.

You flinch when a gloved hand cups your chin, tugging your face up so you’re staring into the eye sockets of the mask.

His eyes are dark brown, so dark that you almost can’t see them past the shadows and the paint over his skin. The flames roar behind him, giving him a monstrous glow.

“Pretty thing,” he hums, chest rumbling against your side. You try to push away from him, but there’s nowhere to go. “You’re gonna be our little toy for the night. Things’ll get worse for you if you try to run. You hearin’ me?”

It’s pure instinct to nod, to give this man what he wants, but you know you’ll still try to run the second they look away. 

“Alright then. Let’s get you home. Johnny,” the man steps away, jerking his head in clear instruction for Johnny to follow and turning away. “Come.”

“Right behind ye,” Red - Johnny - assures, that same eagerness in his tone as he tugs you away from the wall, trotting behind his partner. “It’s gonna be a great night, lass. You and I are gonna have fun.”

You can’t help but whimper at that, letting your body go nearly limp as the man drags you by the elbow. You can’t even fathom the horrors they’ve got in store for you, what fun is to two men hunting for lone girls on Purge night. 

You try to let your feet drag, but they hurt too much for that to last long. You consider going limp, making them carry you, but you’re too scared that they’ll just drag you across the concrete and let you bleed. 

You only manage to keep up with Johnny because he doesn’t give you another choice. You’re practically hobbling from the pain in your feet, forced to walk on the balls of your feet and lean your weight into his hand where it’s wrapped tight around your arm. He doesn’t give you any slack, doesn’t even seem to notice when you struggle to match his pace.

The three of you have walked several blocks - you can’t quite focus enough to count - keeping to the sides of buildings and dodging other people, when you’re tackled to the ground out of nowhere.

It’s impossible to stop the blood-curdling shriek from leaving your throat. Your bare arms feel torn to shreds as you slide across the ground, head bouncing off the ground and leaving you with black spots dancing across your vision.

You’re hardly able to blink, body alight with pain, and the heavy weight over you only serves to make your panic worse. You moan as you roll your neck, staring wide-eyed up at the dark sky and praying the ringing in your ears isn’t permanent.

Your vision is just starting to clear when the man on top of you - and he’s definitely a man, he’s not even wearing a mask and his expression is mean and you find yourself glad you can’t hear what he’s saying - jerks back, his head pulled back until all you can see is his bared throat. 

You can hardly even register what’s happening in the next few seconds. Some distant, detached part of you can recognize that someone slits the man’s throat, that his blood comes gushing out and covers your face.

The first sound you can hear again is your own screaming - it’s an ear splitting sound that melts from the ringing in your ears. When you gasp underneath the man, the corpse, you can feel his blood falling into your mouth. Every breath tastes like iron, and the world is tinted pink from the drops of it falling from your brows.

You can do nothing but pant and shake when the corpse is thrown off of you, replaced immediately by Johnny. You can hardly focus on him, are only really aware enough to know he’s there.

“Hush, bonnie, yer fine,” he scolds, one big hand coming up to cover your mouth, pinky and ring finger holding your jaw shut. “Wanna draw people over? Ye wanna see me and Ghost kill someone else for you, ‘s that it?”

You shake your head on instinct, tears running down your temples, dampening your hair. Your chest aches with the force of your breaths, nose congested from all the crying. 

“Then hush,” he hisses, face so close that you can feel the breaths from his nostrils. You flinch at the loud sound of gunshots disturbingly nearby, desperately pushing against his body to try and see what’s going on. You can hear grunts and moans, the sound of something heavy hitting the ground, and your heart races.

Then, the sounds stop. It doesn’t go silent - not with other Purgers still out, still killing - but the area you’re trapped in is quiet again. Johnny drops a little more of his weight onto you, making it even harder to breathe. 

You have to focus on every breath, deliberately making sure you get enough air so that your lungs stop aching. You only notice the movement on top of you after nearly a minute of slow breathing.

Johnny’s hips grind slow and steady against your stomach, and it makes you sick to realize you can feel his erection through his pants. His chest rises and falls with harsh breaths, and his movements are just harsh enough to force your body to move with his.

There’s absolutely nothing you can do about it. Not with shock settling in, his weight holding you pinned to the ground, and the pain in your head shifting to something closer to a migraine. All you can do is focus on your breathing and stare up at the stars.

“Johnny,” Ghost eventually calls, and you can hear him kick what you can only assume to be a corpse out of the way. You can’t help but whimper when he crouches nearby, his boots splattered with blood. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Need-” Johnny gasps, hips stuttering against you before working even more quickly. “Needed to feel her, fuck, Ghost, she’s so fuckin’ soft. Can’t wait to be inside, to fuck her full, feel her squeeze-”

You whine against the hand over your mouth, trying to pull your face away from his grip and only succeeding in dragging your sensitive head across the harsh concrete.

“You’re gonna fuck her out here, where anyone can see? Doubt you’ll be able to keep her safe when you’re pussydrunk.”

Johnny moans above you, dropping more of his weight on each thrust. “Tha’s why you’re here, yeah? To keep me and the lass safe?”

Ghost grunts, fisting a hand in the strip of hair left revealed by Johnny’s mask. “Don’t be a fuckin’ brat, Johnny. You know I don’t have to do shit for you - either of you. Maybe I want to see my mutt get all defensive, growlin’ over his girl. You ever think about that?”

The whine that slips from Johnny’s throat is nothing less than pathetic, his pace becoming uneven as his eyes screw shut behind the mask. “C’mon, Ghost, I’m close, just let me… just watch for another minute, yeah?”

The scoff from Ghost is mean, and even you feel the absurd desire to try and placate the man. He stands abruptly, stepping away from where you’re pinned and leaving you staring at the cooling corpse of a man you don’t recognize.

“You do whatever you want, puppy. Stay here and get yourself off or behave and heel. You know what you’ll get either way.”

You can’t help but furrow your eyebrows as Johnny hisses out shit above you, hips working desperately against you for a few long moments before he drops his entire body weight onto you, knocking the air out of you.

“Okay,” he whispers, seemingly to himself. “Okay, alright, it’s fine. It’s fine.”

He pulls himself away from you with a long oan, pushing up until there’s no place the two of you are touching but you’re still entirely caged in by him. He takes his hand off your mouth to hold himself up and you wince at the string of blood between his hand and your lips.

“Not gonna fuck ye yet, kitty,” he tells you, staring into your eyes with an intensity you don’t quite know what to do with. “Ghost’ll make the both of us regret it, and ye don’t deserve that on your first night home.”

You hardly manage to bite back a whimper. “Please…”

His eyes crease, like he’s smiling beneath the mask. “God, yer so scared, aren’t ye? I can fucking taste it in the air, kitty. It’s delicious. Cannae fuckin’ wait to have you on my tongue.” You shudder, eyes dropping to his neck when his gaze becomes too heavy.

He forces you to stand before you’re ready, leaving you to lean on him if only to avoid crumbling to the ground like a ragdoll. You ite your tongue against a sob at the sight of three corpses around you, a twisted sense of appreciation and disgust warring in your mind.

Johnny herds you like a dog, pushing you by the small of your back and your shoulders as he tries to catch back up with his partner. You’re left stumbling in front of him, unsure and terrified, not quite strong enough to think running away would be a good idea. It doesn’t take long for you to spot Ghost’s large back on the street in front of you, and a part of you resents the fact that he’s already so recognizable. 

He’s an overeager shadow, unable to decide if he wants to tug you forward or chase you from behind. He ends up almost circling you, shifting from your back to your side to your front and back again, always moving, always rushing. It leaves you unstable and nervous, unable to predict what he'll do next.

Chills run down your spine at the thought of this man… taking you. If you’re this terrified of him fully clothed, you’re loath to think of how you’ll react when he gets you where he wants you.

The two of you only manage to catch up to Ghost because he stops for a cigarette. His pale jaw is exposed when he tugs the mask up enough, and you try your best to memorize the scars covering his face, telling yourself that you’ll remember him, that you’ll never let him near you again once this night is over.

The look he sends Johnny is approving, the look he sends you is distinctly smug. It makes your teeth grind, makes you really wish you still had that knife so you could lurch forward, thrust the blade into the solid center of him and twist, pull out again and aim a little higher, then again, then again, then again-

“Made your choice, then?”

“Yes, sir. Wanna be good.”

Ghost hums, flicking the butt of his cig then dropping it to the ground, the cherry still glowing. “Settin’ a good example for your girl, huh? That’s my boy.”

The sound Johnny makes is animalistic, and despite the harsh grip he’s got on your arm you try to lean as far away as possible. There’s a building energy under his skin, a twitch in his fingers, that unnerves the animal part of your brain in ways Ghost doesn’t. 

“‘Course. Gonna teach her how to be good, too, gonna keep her perfect for us.”

Ghost is completely stoic with the mask tugged back over his face, nothing but his heavy gaze as he stares you down. It’s hard not to jerk away from Johnny and run, no matter how futile you know the effort would be. 

He reaches out a big, gloved hand towards your face, moving quickly enough that you can’t fully flinch away and hide your face in your shoulder or chest. His thumb strokes across your cheekbone, smearing the sticky mess of liquid across your face and huffing a sound just loud enough for you to hear.

“Cat got your tongue, girl?” He rumbles, a faint note of something in his voice lost in the sounds of anarchy behind you.

You try to shake your head, unable to manage anything more than a, “Please.”

Johnny scoffs beside you, wrapping both of his massive arms around your shoulders and holding you close. “Broken record, this one. Hasn’t said much else since we nicked her.”

“That’s alright,” Ghost rumbles, give Johnny one firm stroke over his mohawk. “I’m sure you’ll drag all sorts of pretty sounds out of her tonight. Now, let’s get goin’. Don’t want your little toy gettin’ her nerve up and earnin’ herself a punishment so early in the night. Come, now.”

Johnny laughs, loud and harsh as he tugs you to follow him and Ghost. You know you should be upset about what he’s said, know he should be doing exactly what he warns against and try to get away.

But you’ve got no energy left to fight. Everything hurts, your system is overrun by fear and just the tiniest drop of adrenaline, and your best chance of making it through this night is passing out and forgetting any of it ever happened.  

A few tears, stragglers, drip down your cheeks when Johnny tugs you beside him. The places his fingertips squeeze against your arm have gone numb, and your feet feel like they’re on fire. Your arms are sluggishly bleeding and you’re not convinced you don’t have a concussion.

It’s hard to hold back sobs when you think of how much worse it’s going to get. Staring at the broad back of Ghost, feeling the feral energy of Johnny hardly contained by your side, all you can hope is that they let you survive the night.

You close your eyes as Johnny guides you, take a deep, steadying breath, and pray for your own strength. You tell yourself that maybe next year you can seek them out, find them at the very start of the Purge and get your revenge.

It’s a comforting enough daydream to lessen the aches of your body, to shine a spot of light after the hurricane of your future.