#but the result was low so I had to take the full name as the calculator wanted

[thiswasachoice]

All true and delightful, but you should really report your cash tips. Not because it's the right thing to do or it's the law or any of that jazz. But because you will absolutely get fucked over on your social security payments later in life (or earlier if you become/are disabled) if you do not.

Social security works by taking the top 35 years of your employment and using that, with some arcane graphs, to calculate how much you will receive when you hit 67. If you don't have any reportable income for a year, say because you took all of your payments in cash and didn't report it on your taxes, you get a zero. If more than 25 of those years are 0s, i.e. if you have reported less than 10 years of income, YOU WILL NOT GET ANY SOCIAL SECURITY. Period. None. Not even if you contributed enormous amounts in the other 9.5 years. It will all be gone and you will not be eligible for any social security payments, even if you become disabled or would be eligible for survivor's benefits. (Yes these rules have exceptions and details based on ages and categories, but this is a general rule.)

But Jack, you might say, I have basically no money! I can't afford to pay taxes on what I do earn!

How do you know my name, and why are you in my house, I will reply.

But in all seriousness, if you have basically no money, you are exactly the person who should be reporting it! If you have very low income:

1. You will likely pay low or no taxes and may be eligible to receive payments instead, which you can only get by filing. If you are in the bottom 20% of earners, on average social security taxes will cost 8.3% of your income but tax credits will return 9.3%, leaving you ahead now and in 35 years years, just by filing.

2. Social security has a minimum benefit amount based on years in the workforce. If you retired today after 35 years of paying 5$ a year in social security taxes, congratulations you're now entitled to $1,066.50 per month! That's the best investment you could ever make!

3. You can report and pay taxes on your own income, even if your employer doesn't report or you do freelance or other non-employee work.

4. If you have an employer who does give you a W-2 and they try to get you to take your tips under the table or take a portion of your pay on the side they are trying to fuck you out of your social security. Why? Because the employer pays the same amount into your social security as you do and if they don't report your actual salary, they don't get taxed on the full amount and you don't get their payments credited.

People don't know these things because they aren't taught them. When I was a kid, I made $7 an hour working as a secretary in a church office for four hours a week. My parents made sure I reported every penny of it and paid taxes. The same thing happened for every summer job and student worker position when I was in college. As a result of that, at the age of 24 I had fulfilled my 10 year social security requirement and if I became disabled or couldn't find a job, I would still be vested in the program. If I get hit by a bus, my wife will collect a survivor's benefit. It probably cost 300$ over the course of ten years. I thought it was stupid at the time, I wanted the extra money, I thought taxes were bullshit when I made so little, but that was the best thing they could have done for me. The system is set up in such a way that it benefits those who understand it. I didn't, but I was lucky enough to be in the care of those who did.

There are people who tax evasion benefits. Those people aren't working part time jobs, waitressing, caddying, or doing housework though. They are evading tax bills larger than your yearly salary. And one of the ways they do it is to convince you to do it, so they don't have to pay their fair share of your benefits. And you know what all of those folks have in common, even as they dodge taxes across jurisdictions and try to convince you to take cash under the table? They all pay their fucking social security taxes.

STOP assigning pre-modern characters the trait “would commit tax fraud” without understanding how hard tax fraud was back in the days when a tax collector would physically come to your estate and assess your sitch. Do you have any idea how easy kids these days have it? You can just claim a few fake deductions or lie on a form and be a tax criminal. Your ancestors and fantasy faves had to work for those pennies.

Look at this house. This house has no mortar so it can be collapsed or moved to avoid taxation. That’s the sort of innovation I need to be seeing before you can call anyone in a feudal society a tax fraudster. They need to be hiding warehouses of goods, shoving grandpa in the basement to dodge the censusman, starting small regional wars, fleeing their villages in a constant semi-nomadic race against the forces of government, registering twins as a single child, or putting their life on the line to sell blackmarket bread. Come back when you have some tax fraud I can respect, not just a guy who looks kind of sleazy and sometimes does paperwork.

[vikasgarden]

💕

Send 💕 and my muse will use The Love Calculator to see how compatible they are.

[pynkfairyheart]

pairings: peircer eren x black reader

warnings: smut 18+, kinda pervy eren

Good girl

“Hello?” Your soft voice rang over the chimes as you entered the tattoo parlor.

The shop was quiet, seemingly empty besides the softening chimes of the door and surprised cursing down the long hall.

“Shit- yeah. Just give me a minute. My apologies” The culprit of the cursing called.

In the meantime, you took a look around the lobby. The reviews didn't do the place justice. The largest wall contained a bright colorful mural, contrasting beautifully with the dark floors and connected black walls.

While admiring the piece of artwork, heavy thudding from the long hallway turned your attention to the most gorgeous man you had ever seen.

You never believed in love at first sight, up until now. You hadn't even known the man's name yet, but you craved him. The reviews warned you the entire staff was attractive but they clearly left out that this man was a god.

His long hair was pulled into a low bun, strands falling in his face, the color contrasting against his pale skin. He was tall, with a full sleeve on one of his muscular arms, and his green eyes had you drowning immediately. He couldn't be Onyankopon, they said he was a brother. Maybe Connie or, Levi-

“Hi, I'm Eren” He introduced himself after swallowing the large knot in his throat.

While in your own trance, you failed to notice how he froze the moment he saw you. The bright light you stood under showcased the sparkles of your pretty brown skin.

Your legs were on display as a result of the simmering heat outside, thick thighs causing them to roll up slightly. The fitted t-shirt you wore allowed the hardened buds of your nipples to peek through, despite the hot weather.

Eren never considered himself a pervert but the way his mind instantly thought about sucking on them till you begged him to fuck you had him thinking otherwise.

“Hi, I'm [☆]. Is this a bad time?” Oh, he could have come on the spot, your voice sounded even better without the numerous walls separating you and god your perfume had him wanting to devour you on the reception desk.

“No, no I just don't know how much I can do for you, the AC is out in all the rooms but mine and I don't even know how long that's gonna last so if you're looking for an hour long tat session you'll have to come back” He crossed his arms, muscles contracting against the white tee.

“Oh no, I'm just hoping to get a few piercings but I can definitely come back another time”

“No, I can do a couple of piercings. What were you thinking?” He grabbed the paperwork from under the counter, praying one of them would be your chest.

“Uh well, I want the other side of my nose, belly button, venus dimples, and my nipples but I understand if you can't do all of that or the last one I'll just come back”

“No, no I can do it,” He said too quickly, clearing his throat awkwardly before handing you the paperwork.

⋆⭒˚.⋆

“Good girl. You're doing such a good job for me, pretty. Just hold on for one second, lovey”

He was currently doing your last dimple piercing. The pain was unimaginable at first but as soon as the praises left his mouth all was forgotten besides the growing stickiness that rested between your thighs.

He praised you after every piercing a variation of “Good girl” “You're doing such a good job for me” “That's it, baby. You did so good” flowed from his pink lips. You could never decide which throbbing to focus on, the one from your new piercing or the throbbing of your clit.

With three new holes in your body and damp panties, it was now time for the piercing both of you were dreading yet excited for.

“Do I just take my shirt off here?”

“Wherever you're comfortable, baby. You can go in the bathroom or stay in here and I'll give you some privacy” He felt like a teenage boy again. His dick twitching at the thought of seeing you exposed.

“No, it's okay you can stay in here I don't mind”

“Oh. Okay,” He perked up. Giving you some privacy he turned his back, pretending to be busy when in reality he was trying to think of anything but you getting undressed behind him. Despite his concentration, all he could focus on was the sound of your necklaces and bracelets clanking at the movements you made.

He knew your nipples were still hard, especially since he took advantage of the working AC and he wondered what your moans would sound like if he flicked his tounge repeatedly over the bud, or if he pinched them in front of the mirror while you begged him to fuck you as you pressed your ass against his hard-

“I'm ready” Your soft voice broke him from his thoughts.

If his self control was any less he'd have gotten on his knees to worship you. There you were. Looking everywhere but him, tits exposed. If it weren’t for the fact other men besides him would see, he'd tattoo this image of you on his bare forearm.

“Are you ready?” He suppressed a groan.

“Mhm”

“Okay stand up for me” He led you to the mirror where he prepped each bud. During the process, you felt as if you could crawl into yourself. The most beautiful man you'd ever laid eyes on had his hands on your breast. Despite the occasion being nonsexual, you were convinced your arousal would start running down your thigh at any second.

“Is this okay?” He stood behind you.

You gave a simple hum of approval, thoughts gone as he explained how the process would go. You convinced yourself you could handle it, that it would all be over soon.

That was until he rolled the bud in between his fingers, the whimper you'd been holding escaping you.

‘fuck’ ‘fuck’

“Shit, I'm so sorry I- I didn't mean to do that, please understand I had no malicious intentions I just” He stumbled over his words.

He was just explaining the step by step process of the piercing. He wasn't thinking, just craving. He wouldn't have realized his actions if it weren't for the sound you let out. The sound he knew he'd replay in his head the moment you left the shop, stroking his cock as he imagined it were you down on your knees in front of him.

“It's okay” You reassured him. Your big eyes staring up into his through the mirror.

“I didn't…I don't mind”

⋆⭒˚.⋆

Before you knew it you were bouncing on his cock. His moans muffled as his mouth engulfed your breast. Tongue slightly grazing your nipple with the flickers of his tongue before sucking harshly.

He was stretching you out so good, leaky red tip repeatedly hitting your cervix as his frenum piercing brushed against your walls. The added pleasure contributing to the pace of your bounces as you chased your high.

“E-eren please” You whined, attempting to push his head away from the assault on your breast. His hair was everywhere, the ponytail holder long gone the moment your hands entangled in his hair. Your buds were so sensitive, every suck and swipe of his tongue had you squeezing around him, every clench releasing your cream that pooled at the base of his cock.

“Fuck” He groaned, reluctantly giving your boobs a break. His hands gripped the soft flesh of your ass, groping the brown skin before placing a hard slap on your cheek.

“Talk to me, pretty. You like this? Like bouncing on daddy's cock hmm?” His arms wrapped around you tightly as he fucked up into you.

“Oh my- fuck” You gave him control. Your head resting on his shoulder as you let out pornographic moans into his ear.

“Answer me, mama” Another slap landed on your ass.

Before you had time to register the mix of pain and pleasure on your flesh, the gentle pressure of his finger rubbing circles on your puckering hole had you seeing stars.

“Fuck y-yes. I love it so much, daddy. Please don't stop” You whined. Tears of pleasure wetting the crook of his neck.

By no means was Eren a fast finisher but boy was he trying his best to hold on, you're pussy was just squeezing him so tight, the added tension on his scalp as you tugged on it every time he hit the spongy spot along your walls had his nails digging crescents into your skin.

“I'm so close, daddy, please”

“Let go mama” He pressed hot kisses along your neck and shoulder.

In that moment you came, your pussy tightening around the large girth of his cock. Clear liquid squirting from you in streams as he continued his thrust. Your arousal splashing and dripping onto the chair.

With sweat dripping down his forehead, and stray hairs sticking to him, his thrust became sloppy and his breathing became heavier.

“S-shit” He whimpered, head thrown back as he came harder than ever. Repeatedly pushing his load back into your pussy.

“Lemme take you on a date. Please” He panted once you both came down, his hands roaming your body as he looked down at you, green irises peeking out behind his blown pupils.

“Okay, yea- oh” A broken moan escaped you as he moved your hips up and down his length once again.

“Eren” You whined

“Don't tell me you're wiped out after one round, pretty girl. I know you have more in you, mama. Be a good girl for daddy”

for my eren girlies. this is probably the fastest I've ever wrote bc i just needed peircer eren. oh also how do yall feel about pegging bc i feel peircer eren can be a bit subby sometimes ttm. mwah <3

pt.2 wit the pegging ໒꒰ྀི˶˃ᆺ˂˶꒱ྀི১

[violet-eng]

F!reader spoils Lil Dragon!Zhongli... at first | Fluff🧸 (with dragon)+ 🔞 (with human Zhongli)

🎨by: @nagarnia_art and @JeanGreyCG

Summary: You're doing some research in the woods, looking for certain minerals, when you feel some tiny tiny eyes staring at you. After Zhongli morpps from a dragon to a human, things get a bit... hot...

Tw: with human Zhongli smut 🔞, PIV. Insinuations of breeding season, with dragon Zhongli just some cute Dragon behavior bc I ended up traumatized after writing some angst.

•┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈••✦ ● ✦••┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•

Your research is going well. Your reports to the Fontaine Science Institute were successful during your last expedition, earning you praise from your superiors. You have been living in Liyue for over six months. After learning about minerals that can emanate energy, you sought out information to educate yourself on the subject. 

The rocks in Liyue seem to have a memory, possibly due to the work of their Archon or as a natural result of high evolution and energetic vestiges from ancient wars. 

Zhongli, the Parlor consultant, had told you about a spot at the foot of a valley that might interest you, and you were amazed. You had no reason to doubt the man's wisdom. You had formed a deep bond of friendship with him because you admire his extensive knowledge about everything. You set off almost immediately. He had offered to accompany you, but you had refused because you prefer to do your research alone, surrounded by nature and away from the attractive distraction that Zhongli could become.

Your friend is attractive, in a way that you tried to express in your letters to your friends at Fontaine, but never succeeded. Your banal words and names do not do justice to the physique of this man of unshakable character, steely sense, and tenacious gaze. You could not bear to make a mistake in his presence during the expedition, not because you were clumsy, but because his figure moved your senses, your ground, and betrayed your own perceptions.

So, as you walk through a pleasant area of foliage, covered by the fierce, scorching rays of the sun, you decide to let your guard down, to take off your jacket and your gloves. You use a ribbon to tie up your hair as you walk on, arriving at the place Zhongli had shown you beforehand. The passage is strangely comfortable, very suitable for a quiet investigation, full of strange figures of small rocks of irregular and curious shapes.

Under the canopy of large trees, you spread out your arsenal of tools on the grass, put on your protective visors, and get to work. Sequencing the rock profile takes little time, your agile skills allowing you to avoid unnecessary pauses or clumsy backtracking typical of an amateur. Then you take the samples, tiny particles that do not alter the correct and productive nature that King Geo has protected for years, and while you wait for the filtering to finish, a strange sensation runs down your spine.

You had let your guard down during your experiment, letting the peaceful appearance of the place convince you, something very unprofessional on your part. So you turn to the side and feel a presence. Among the bushes, you spot a pair of curious little spheres, and you jump as the leaves rustle in the presence of an unknown being. 

A deep relief washes over you as the creature in question appears on the scene. A small dragon, microscopic in physiognomy compared to adult forms, with curious eyes and a golden tail twisted into a spiral. Its little paws make furrows in the ground, its face dejected, as if it had been caught doing something illegal.

"Little one, have you been watching me all this time?" You ask the cute little creature, who hides his head between his front paws, realizing he can't do it with his tail, which isn't long enough.

"Come here, don't be afraid of me," you whisper, approaching it cautiously, holding out your hands.

The dragon gathers itself in its own anatomy, growling low, sounding almost like a common cat, you can't help but laugh at it. You bring your fingers up to the growling pellet and stroke its head, right between its underdeveloped horns. You notice a puff of breath coming from the little guy's nose.

"How cute, you liked that, didn't you?" you laugh as you stroke his head and then his back, causing the miniature dragon's tail to wag.

"Come, sit with me, we'll have to wait a long time until the filtering is finished," you take him in your hands, on your palms.

"Wow... I've never seen one of your species so small... and those scales," you comment, bringing your face close to the reptile's, "I'd swear you have very, very soft skin, you're very rare, uh," you add, while you turn to your tools, which emit a strange smell.

You leave the dragon on the ground and approach your machinery, no, nothing out of place... well, now you can turn your attention to the little guy who... what is he doing?

You notice the tiny creature rubbing against your foot, making strange squeaks. It's... it's mating with your shoe? You burst out laughing and shake your foot, pushing it away and picking it up again.

"You horny little bugger," you say, poking him in the nose, "I forgot that your species is in mating season. I regret to inform you that you will get nowhere with me, I am not of the same species... ours is impossible."

A sad sigh escapes from the little animal's chest, and you notice how its whole face becomes depressed, its horns and ears seem to droop in deep disappointment.

"Don't cry," you say, putting it on the ground in the grass and lying down in front of it, "we can play if you want, to distract you a little”.

That got his attention, because he looked at you again. He walks up to you with his little paws and puts one on your nose, he starts to sniff you with that little button in the middle of his little face.

"Ohhh... do you want a little kiss?" you ask, flooded with tenderness, "I would do anything to make you happy" you say, placing a tender kiss on the dragon's forehead. Is like a puppy...

The dragon retraces his steps, accelerating and rolling his head in madness. You see him writhing in place, as if he had suddenly fallen ill, and then... poof... a golden flash and a trail of smoke,  ike the one he had just exhaled through his nose. A faint wave of heat and a faint smell of sulfur as a figure began to form behind the column of smoke.

You straightened up in your seat as the column disintegrated, revealing the very embarrassed image of Zhongli, covering his mouth as he coughs, with traces of smoke and golden flames escaping from his throat.

He is wearing little clothing, a tunic of the same color as the skin of the dragon you spoke to earlier... is that perhaps...? 

"You," you point an accusing finger at Zhongli, and he looks at you with flushed cheeks, "what was that? Aren't you going to say anything about it?" you say to the man, appearing to be annoyed, although in reality, seeing him in that outfit has aroused something pleasurable in you.

"Well?" you insist.

"Are you going to give me that kiss or?" he interjects, his voice still weak and embarrassed.

His embarrassment fades for the next hour, during which he relentlessly thrusts himself into you, waiting for your boring explorer machine to end.

The filtering of the rocks continues, the particles falling into the vessel like sand in a crystal clock. The small machines emit tiny clicks and a faint plume of smoke and gas. The rumble of the cycle's drumbeat advances in rhythm with your moans as you feel Zhongli sink deep into you.

You lie on the grass, your pants and panties around your ankles, your hands on your head clinging to the foliage, your waist encircled by Zhongli's large hands holding you steady so he can work his way into your pussy. You feel his pelvic bone against your center, his balls against your skin, and then he pulls away to enter again. Gently, lovingly, afraid to break you and hurt you. He's painfully slow, but how good it feels.

You hear him make low, rasping noises as faint plumes of smoke rise from his nose, as when he looked like a dragon. His cock twists inside you, slapping against your cervix, massaging your wet, warm depths that mold to the shape of his member. You feel the warmth rush down your legs, an electric current coursing through every fiber of your limbs, your chest heaving in desperation.

The orgasm hits you both at the same time, decorating Zhongli's cock with a white ring as his cum spills into you like thick ropes from his ecstasy. He pulls back your panties and pants, leaving a chaste kiss on your cheek.

"May I mark you?" he asks with a look of honor, his face sublime and devoted.

"Don't even think about it," you say, joining in, noticing the sadness in his eyes, "we weren't even supposed to do it. It was just supposed to be a kiss and that's it," you seem to scold him, though it's you who's scolding yourself for being so unseemly and impetuous, though damn... you've enjoyed it so much... ....

Sensing your hostile tone, Zhongli wraps himself up and immediately transforms into his small reptilian form.

"Please stop being so dramatic," you express, leaning against one of the tree trunks and letting out a laugh. "Come back... I don't want to wait alone," you say, crossing your legs and putting your jacket down.

Zhongli, the dragon, approaches you with short steps, due to the length of his small legs, and climbs onto your lap, where he rubs the fabric of your coat, nestling into the fabric to take refuge, and lets out a yawn before closing his eyes and settling down for a nap. You stroke his back and coo to the little creature, feeling him purr like a cat.

"How cute you are when you sleep," you laugh, stroking his nose, causing him to bite your finger, "did you just mark me without my permission?" You ask, but he just squeals and jumps off your lap, looking for a way to escape. You catch him with your coat and throw it at him like a fleeing rat, but he manages to escape and hide in the bushes... you don't see him again for the rest of the afternoon, but you know that when you return to Liyue Harbour you will demand an apology, an explanation... and maybe a round two.

[joocomics]

ಬ scaredy cat

pairing: non-idol!yeonjun x fem!reader

genre: smut — 18+ wc: 1.9k

contains: friends with benefits trope, sub!reader, dirty talk, pet names, fingering, overstimulation (f!rec), hickeys

[ txt masterlist | general masterlist ]

During the slow boring hours of work the other day you created a list with the pros and cons of possibly dating Yeonjun.

For a while now he’s been throwing you signals about getting serious (more often than not), so you thought it would be a good idea to look at this more thoroughly, and kill some time until your shift is finally over. Aware of the already strong feelings you have for him you grab a pen and start writing…

… funny and reliable

likes to cuddle but not clingy

great sense of fashion

(extremely) good at sex

has a super cool tv …

“Is this why you've been coming over more often these days?” Yeonjun returns into the living room with drinks in hand. After sitting down on the edge of the couch which he transforms into a comfy bed every time you're here, he turns to you with a raised brow. “To watch your disgusting movies on my new TV?”

“My disgusting movies are well written cinematic experiences that you're too big of a scaredy cat to recognize the full worth of.” You explain, crossing arms in front of your chest. “And they're even cooler on your TV, so to answer your question, yes.”

Yeonjun rolls his eyes at you, but you can notice there’s a half-smile creeping up on his plump lips as he looks away with amusement.

“Actually,” you say almost through laughter which brings Yeonjun’s attention back to you, “recently I made a list with your good and bad qualities and your new TV made it.”

“That's not a quality.”

Now you’re the one who rolls eyes before glancing back at the screen.

“Just be grateful it's there to fill up space in the pros column.”

“So what are my bad qualities?” Yeonjun asks intrigued just when the main character of the horror film screams hysterically at the sight of yet another body, causing his heart to jump. He flinches at the sudden sound and instantly turns his back to the screen. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, who watches this kind of shit for fun?!”

You watch him scooting over and laugh at his attempts to avoid seeing the screen while doing so as the horrible scene unfolds on the large TV.

He positions next to you and now you're shoulder to shoulder.

“I still haven't gotten to them.”

“Don't waste your time,” he sighs, adjusting against the pillow, “I don't have any.”

“Don't be so sure about that.” You quickly respond, “I had to get back to work and then I forgot.”

“Because I don't have any.” He repeats after tittering. He finally dares to glance at the screen as it seems that the gory scene has passed.

“You get jealous pretty easily.” You state cautiously, wanting to shoot him a discreet look so bad, but you resist.

You also want to add, and pretty obviously, but you keep that detail for yourself as you remember how overprotective he was the other night at the birthday party you were invited to. It resulted into you getting asked the same question over and over again. Your friends were having a hard time believing you’re not dating.

Yeonjun remains silent for a moment as he tilts his head to see you. He leans in, just a little bit, to make your cheeks warm from the sudden closeness; to bring goosebumps across your skin from his mouth being close enough to your ear as he speaks through low voice.

“So it’s a bad thing that I don’t like sharing what’s mine?”

His gaze holds onto yours causing the fireworks into your stomach to ignite even harder. It’s like your heart stops for a second, and your brain as well, making the task to come up with a good answer on time challenging. It’s so obvious at this point that you’re taking too much time; too fumbled by the last word in his sentence. And especially by how much you like its presence there; how you’re already getting used to the sound of it in his voice.

Your lips part, not to speak, but to kiss him instead when another jumpscare makes him wince.

Too busy to hide his face into your chest, he only groans in despair, simultaneously pulling the blanket over your tangled bodies. One airy shit! slips from beneath it. The dramatic spine-chilling soundtrack overpowers the cussing, but you catch it nevertheless.

He sounds as if he's the one being tortured.

“Poor baby,” you tease him by cooing. “Is this too scary for you?”

He murmurs something about you shutting your mouth, but the anguish is making his frustrated words incoherent.

“How much left till the end?”

“Like an hour and a half,” you start running your fingertips through his dark hair as he adjusts even further into your arms. His head finds a comfortable spot onto your chest.

“I’ll just close my eyes for a little while…” his voice is slower than a moment ago, and you hum softly in agreement.

It’s almost like your familiar scent can lull him to sleep despite the scary movie playing in the background. He can feel his muscles loosen up, his mind relaxing with each peaceful breath you take.

Until the noise of a new jumpscare comes to frighten him again.

“I will add this in my cons list by the way.” You cackle.

Yeonjun’s brows furrow, but you can’t see his irritated eyes, because his face is hidden into your neck.

You can feel his warm breath caressing your skin once he speaks up.

“I know what will help me calm down.”

As the words slip lazily one by one from his lips, his hand slides down between your thighs. His fingertips feel the nice fabric of your little cotton shorts that seem too tight around your curves. They keep roaming around, rising your body temperature, until he guides them to your clothed clit, putting just enough pressure on it while his mouth nibbles on the skin of your neck.

“But… I want to finish the movie,” you whine softly before shutting your eyes at the thrill he’s causing you to feel kiss after kiss.

“You keep watching, baby.” His lips detach from your neck and curl up into a sinful smirk.

You centre your head again, watching him pull down your shorts as the screen behind him paints his silhouette in dark blue and purple hues, turning his features even more seductive.

Half of the fuzzy blanket is now almost on the ground as you keep your legs spread open. Yeonjun’s hand rubs in continuous circling motions that he synchronises with your breathing. Focusing entirely on your body helps him completely ignore the on going movie you keep watching with interest. He’s giving his full attention to your little squirming movements, to your rhythmical breathes, and to the erotic sounds that start escaping your mouth more frequently only to mix with the background noise in the room.

There are fresh bruises forming on your neck, but he continues to suck, making himself drool from how much he enjoys doing it. The only time he backs away is when he pushes two fingers inside you for the first time and he gets the urge to taste them, as it often happens when he’s pleasing you.

“Mmm, you always taste so good.” He humms after unwrapping his lips from his fingertips. His mouth has a red tint to it, glistening with moisture. “So fuckin’ wet for me, can you feel it?”

“Fuck, don’t stop—“ The only thing you’re able to say when he slips back into your arousal is to keep going. His fingers curl up perfectly, and aiming for the right spot they start thrusting in a steady pace causing your moans to shake. “Yeah, just like that... yeah—“

Yeonjun buries his face into the crook of your neck while starting to breathe more heavily too.

You keep closing and opening your heavy eyes at the screen where an intense moment is looming, filling the room with an intense instrumental music, but all he can register is the noises you keep losing control over. His hand flexes while increasing its speed in order to push you closer to the desired peak and it swiftly succeeds.

Your attention level drops and your head falls to one side with your eyes fluttering shut in bliss.

“Sounds so pretty,” he comments at your ear as the wet lewd noise keeps erupting with the nonstop slamming of his palm against your slick folds. Just the way you like it. “You’re close, doll.”

His fingers, stuck between your pulsing walls, get squished tighter as the seconds pass by. He keeps up the quick and smooth pacing until your breaking point comes in, forcing it to turn sloppy and rigid.

“Fuck, there you go,” Yeonjun’s chuckle rings out with a husky tone, only adding to the ecstatic effects of your intense climax.

Your whole body squirms as Yeonjun lets his fingers, wet and sticky, rest still on your throbbing clit. The fluids slowly spill out of you, forming a dark spot on the couch as the sensation turns more light and mellow, but he doesn’t mind it.

You’re still regaining your normal breathing when his fingertips start skidding rapidly along your soaked folds. You whimper at the unexpected contact with your clit that’s now extra sensitive, causing intense reactions from your body at even the smallest touch.

As he doesn’t show any signs of slowing down you whine his name, but without being able to utter any other word.

“Give me one more, baby.” He whispers, effortlessly sliding his fingers up and down your slickness in an indescribable way; so fast, so determined to receive more from you. “C’mon, doll.”

You pant uncontrollably under his tireless touch. The dancing of his fingers keep up the same energy, making you clench as they create another burning knot of pleasure in your core. Once it bursts, you’re not able to stay still and Yeonjun tries his best to keep his hand on your puffy lips so he can rub till the second orgasm washes over you.

Your legs tremble when he enters you with the same eager fingers, curious to feel how wet you are. The pool of arousal welcomes him with ease, and he cannot help but start fantasising how good it would feel to have his cock deep inside you right now. He can give it to you, but making you cum multiple times like this is just as exciting.

He notices your eyes are half-closed while gazing down between your thighs.

“Keep watching, sweetheart.” He says softly, but with a slight hint of demand which makes you look up on the instant. “You don’t want to miss anything from the movie, that’s why you’re here, right?”

He glides slowly through your tight walls and you both sense how they keep throbbing against him from lust and sensitivity. You take a deep shaky breath, trying to concentrate on the story line, but it’s so hard when he’s in the middle of building up a new wave of rush while hiding in the crook of your neck. Running his tongue over his own love marks now and then.

You bite your lip at the realisation of how much is still left from the movie that is about to become the reason your brain is going to turn completely numb and your pussy sore by the end of this Halloween night.

But the thing you will always associate it with first, from this day forward, is you officially becoming his.

! please do not repost, copy or translate my works

! please keep in mind that english is not my first language. i apologise for any mistakes i’ve might missed

[mommynott]

Naughty List

12 Days of Dickmas - Mattheo Riddle x Reader

Summary: Deciding to pass the time before your enemy heads over to work on a paired project…You lose track of time, resulting in some mind blowing fun with Mattheo👀

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, SMUT, Chars 18+, college au, enemy!mattheo, toxic!mattheo, ewb!mattheo, voyarism, legilimency, masturbation, orgasm control, degrading, dirty talk, tension, clit stim, jerking off, mutual masturbation, mutual orgasms, Mattheo controlling you with just his mind

An hour. You had an hour until god-awful Mattheo would show up to your dorm to work on the project together. You hated him. Couldn’t stand the idiot. But fuck— Did he get you hot and bothered.

—Tick tock-tick tock—The clock above your bed was loud, but nowhere near as vocal as your mind was. Your legs spread as you laid naked on your bed, flicking your swollen little bud.

Pictures of Mattheo on top of you- Banging into you at full force danced across your mind while your fingers effortlessly swirled around your clit. “-Mmmm…Just…like that…” You whimpered to yourself, your eyes shut as you envisioned it perfectly.

One hour. You had time. Or so you thought…Stuck in your blissful trance— Mattheo barged in like he usually did. But you didn’t notice. Didn’t even hear him over your loud thoughts.

His eyes widened at the sight of you sprawled out on your bed. Fully nude— Fuck me. Matt didn’t say a single word. Watching you…Feeling his cock start to pool with blood and harden. “Mmmm- Matty…Yes-“ Another whimper left your swollen lips.

When he heard his name being slipped from your sexy moans- His dick fully hardened. Rock hard. A breath escaped from his lungs as he took a step forward.

“Naughty girl…Huh? Moaning my name? Thinking of me?…. Someone’s certainly on the naughty list this year.”

Mattheo’s voice echoed through your mind, at first thinking it was something you had done yourself, envisioning it. However, you were curious, your eyes fluttering open to see his stare burning into your leaky slit.

“Fuck— Uh, Mattheo?!” Your voice rasped through as you scurried to sit up and try to cover yourself. A low chuckle emitted from your enemy as he stalked over slowly, standing right at the edge of the bed.

What the fuck? I had an hour…why is he here early? You cleared your throat, your glossed-over eyes flickering between his own. “Keep touching yourself— Don’t stop.” Again, his voice growled through your head.

The use of legilimency. You knew he was a skilled and powerful wizard but fuck- Not with this. Although, it only turned you on more. Merlin— how could you hate someone so much yet want to fuck them? It didn’t make sense, not to you, not to Mattheo.

“I-I…Why are you…here so-so early?”

You finally asked as you relaxed against the bed once more, your palm reaching over your little slit but not moving your fingers just yet. “Early?— If anything I’m a few minutes late—“ The cockiness of his words chimed through your head.

“O-oh…I thought- I—“

You were tripping over your words, stuttering like crazy. But his domineering tone cut you off. “Shut up and keep fucking touching yourself, whore—“ the vulgarity of it, the degrading, you were practically a puddle.

Abiding to Mattheo’s demand, your fingers started to swirl in small and fast little circles yet again. Your gaze fixated on him while he started to shuffle down his sweatpants.

Taking out his massive length, he slowly started to stroke it. His eyes devoured you in unimaginable ways. “Mattheo…f-feels so good—“ croaking out in a small little cry, a satisfied smirk painted across his smug face.

“Keep moaning my name- Fuck— You look so hot playing with your pussy like that—“

He growled through your mind, jerking himself off faster and faster as time went on. “—Such a dirty…Pathetic little whore.” Mattheo was speaking through your head- almost as if….if he didn’t physically vocalize them, they didn’t mean anything.

Hearing the splashing of the growing wetness between your slippery folds, your moans only progressively got louder. Feeling the euphoric sensations right before an orgasm would start to hit you.

“So close— Fuck! I’m so—“

Before you could even finish your screams, you heard Mattheo’s voice shout within your brain. “Not- Fucking- yet.” He meant business. You quickly stopped, gawking at him with big eyes.

“W-what?” You asked softly, watching as he tilted his head back and let out a loud groan. Still stroking his precum-covered cock, his darkened gaze locked with yours. “You cum when I say you can, got it, slut?”

Goosebumps Erupted over your delicate skin before taking your fingers and circling them slowly once more. Giving your enemy a slight yet submissive head nod.

You kept your pace slow and smooth- not wanting to risk finishing early and pissing him off. But then yet again, he spoke into your head. “Faster- I know what you’re doin’”

Fuck. You swallowed, glazing your fingers around your clit faster. However, you knew you wouldn’t be able to last much longer. Not with how he was looking at you.

“I-I…It feels so good-“Squeaking out through a muffled cry, Matt seemed to move his own hand even faster. His gaze going from your cunt, to your tits, to your eyes.

“Fuck it— I’m close…Cum with me, you dirty…little…-fuck…whore”

Groaning through each word, you finally got the go-ahead. God, why was I even listening to him? Fuck. It was too hot though. You could hardly handle it.

Slipping your dainty fingers with ease, that familiar feeling built up quickly with ease. “I’m gonna cum, Matty- fuck me! I’m gonna cum—“ Screaming out in pleasure, your climax finally hit. Feeling your juices squirt out all over your bed sheets.

“A fuckin’ squirter? Fuckin’ Hell—“

Stroking his dick even harder, he let out a low groan before his seed shot out, cumming all over the soaked bed sheets and a tiny trickle hitting right across your mound.

Both of you hitting an intense orgasm at nearly the same time felt strange. Having only loathed each other for so long- this seemed off.

The two of you sat basking in the afterglow. Staring into each other's eyes with jagged breathes. Not knowing what to do or say…

One the 9th day of Dickmas we get…Mattheo and legilimency😈🎁

Hope y’all liked this one of matty hehehe👀 Make sure to check out more yummy fics from @nottswitch @nottsangel and @slytherinslut0 ❄️

Dividers pinned in my masterlist🌙

Love my naughty nymphs bunches 💋

[sqtorux]

saying somethin' stupid like 'i love you'

fwb!gojo saying the forbidden L word during the deed ????

slightly nsfw, minors please don't interact. also fluff bc i miss gojo :(

not proof read !

thankyou so much for all the support on my recent ♡

satoru thinks you're so cruel. one minute you're holding onto him, nails digging into his back as if you needed him to live.

chanting his name so so beautifully as he trapped you between his bare body and the bed, relentlessly thrusting into you.

and then the next you were back to acting like even his mere existence irritated you. in a way it does but not in the way he thinks.

not once had you been there the morning after. only the crumpled sheets and your nail marks served as reminders that you were here, with him.

“gojo can you not-”

“that wasn't what you called me last night. what happened to toru?”

you glare daggers at him as one of his hand held your notebook high up. he was ridiculously tall and he liked abusing that privilege. especially against you.

“shut up” you walk past him without bothering to take your book.

“hey you mad baby?” he chuckled, getting in front of you, stopping you again.

“come on, answer me. why'd you leave? i thought we agreed to go to class together hmm?”

you roll your eyes at him and crossed your arms.

“that's what you said. i didn't agree.”

“aw you're too mean” he pouted as you scowl and try passing him again only to be stopped by his hand on your arm.

“i wanted you to stay.” his words were heavy, his face not showing even the slightest bit of his shit eating grin he always has on.

he turns to you, his round sunglasses were low on his nose and you could see his oh so beautiful eyes.

you look away because if you don't, you were pretty sure you'd be hypnotised and you'd do whatever he wanted.

“if you keep doing this i won't stay over anymore.” your words shot a painful jab at your own abdomen. his grip around you loosened slowly until he lets go completely.

“alright then.” he hands you your notebook, more like placed them into your arms as he walked away, eyes never meeting yours.

the next ‘sleepover’ took place three days after the banter with satoru. he hadn't called or texted the whole time but when you asked if he was up for it, he replied almost immediately.

so here you were again, him ramming into you as you cling onto his bare body for dear life. you could feel your climax coming as your grip grew tighter and tighter.

satoru was the same, chasing his high. he had missed you a lot the past three days but tried distancing himself just so his feelings for you would simmer down.

it only resulted him thinking about you all day and even more during the night. he finds himself wishing you were here with him, either giving you the pleasure you both agreed upon or just you laying down next to him. he didn't care.

he just wanted you to be there. with him.

and now that you are, his heart clenches the way you clench around him as the both of you cummed simultaneously.

he holds your body tight as you both work your way through the orgasm, euphoria rushing through both your veins.

“fuck y/n…” he groaned as he felt your grip loosen. he can't let you go just yet.

“i love you”

he hadn't meant to say it really. not like this at least.

“satoru we've been through this-” you push him weakly but he stays grounded, eyes boring into yours.

“i mean it.” he says, one of his hands found themselves caressing your cheeks as the other supported him while he hovered above you.

“you don't have to say it back or… feel it back…” satoru's voice was full of emotion.

“but just give me a chance to show you how much i love you. then we can work things out from there.”

you find yourself falling into the charms of gojo satoru. it's not everyday he offers his heart to someone. he doesn't offer it at all but now here he is, handing it to you on a silver platter.

“alright”

you could see satoru's face visibly light up and his blue eyes gleammed. he leaned down to place a soft kiss on your lips.

“thankyou” he traced his fingers on your jaw, his touch so soft, so addicting.

“you better treat me like a princess” you chuckle as he physically melted at the sound.

“oh i plan to do exactly that, and more, lovely.” he leaned down to place another kiss on your lips.

[kitten4sannie]

ɪɴᴅᴜꜱᴛʀʏ ʙᴀʙʏ

ᴄᴜᴄᴋᴏʟᴅ/ᴄᴜᴍ ᴘʟᴀʏ ➠ ᴍɪɴɢɪ/ʜᴏɴɢᴊᴏᴏɴɢ

pairing: singer/rapper bf! mingi x fem! reader x guitarist! hongjoong

genre: band au, smut

summary: your bf’s band has such a good set, that he doesn’t mind sharing you with the handsy guitarist. anything for his baby. he just wants to assess the damage afterwards.

w.c: 3.2k

warnings: open relationship, mentioned alcohol/drugs use, dom! mingi/hongjoong, joongie’s got a tongue piercing ^^, sub! reader, so muchhh cucky behavior, mxm if you squint, teasing, perversion, dirty talk, degradation, pet names, fingering, oral (receiving), voyeurism/exhibitionism, unprotected rough sex, actual phone sex, creampie, two seconds of cockwarming, cum eating, more oral and fingering, some clit nibbling, squirting

a/n: urgghh im obsessed with tunnel and mingi and hongjoong’s guitar solo and just minjoong in general hhhhhnn also idkw happened but hongjoong is giving me more and more brainworms these days and i just i’m uhhhhh 🧎🏻‍♀️so yeah please enjoy whatever this is <33

Now Playing:

ᴅɪɢɪᴛᴀʟ ʙᴀᴛʜ ʙʏ ᴅᴇꜰᴛᴏɴᴇꜱ

0:01 ❍─────── 4:28

Volume: ▁▂▃▄▅▆▇ 100%

ᴘʀᴇᴠ | ꜰꜰꜰ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ | ɴᴇxᴛ

You were always full of nerves before your boyfriend’s band went on, especially when the previous band was finishing up their encore. Hanging out backstage was always hectic too, the venue’s employees running around like headless chickens in pursuit of completing the latest task their manager gave them, members of other bands and their entourages engaging in boisterous conversations, drinking, and doing drugs amongst themselves, their actions up to par with the touring lifestyle. It wasn’t until you ran into the guitarist of your boyfriend’s band, Hongjoong, that your nerves doubled, but for a different reason. 

“Y/N, there you are. Where have you been, huh?” Hongjoong greeted you with a hug, resting his solo cup against your lower back, his free hand moving down to your ass, squeezing it a few times through your skirt, sighing against your skin, his body relaxing against yours. “I missed my stress toy…” 

“Joong,” you whined, pushing gently at his leather bound chest, your hand almost getting tangled in one of his silver chained necklaces. “You always get so grabby before a show. What if Mingi sees?” 

Hongjoong rolled his eyes, leaning his face into your neck, alcohol on his breath. “You know he wants to see it. And it’s not my fault I can't keep my hands off you. Just look at you…” The buzzed guitarist gazed down at your body with hooded eyes, his jaw tightening up more and more the longer he pictured what you looked like folded up for him and taking everything he had to give. “You’d look so good underneath me, baby. Spread open all nice and wide…fuck….” 

“Joongie, please…” you whispered, squeezing your thighs together, pressing your back into the concrete wall behind you, feeling him press further into you as a result. 

“You can beg for me after the show, sweetheart. Just let me get a peek, okay?” Knowing he had you right where he wanted you, Hongjoong slowly ran a calloused finger along your jaw, down your neck to your rising chest, pleased with the way your breath hitched, his dark eyes flitting between your gaze and the slope of your bare tits through your thin white tank top, unable to resist pulling down the neckline of your top until he had a good view of your pebbled nipples. “Look at that. You’re just aching to be touched, aren’t you?” 

You were so wet, you could’ve sworn that you were about to drip all over the backstage floor, barely able to form any coherent words besides a small ‘yeah’, letting the perverted guitarist grab at your hips, his fingers pressing into your hip bones, a low groan leaving his lips. 

“Wanna fuck you, baby, wanna make you mine,” Hongjoong sighed into your ear, about to describe his needs in detail and put his hands all over you when Mingi came around the corner, a lollipop poking through his cheek, his ringed fingers rubbing at the mascara near his lash line. 

Mingi stopped in his tracks, towering over the both of you due to the studded boots he always wore during his shows. He studied you, noticing how flushed you were and how hard you were already breathing. He couldn’t help but to pull his sweet lollipop out to bite at his plump lip, his cock ready to come to life. “Oh? What’s this about, sugar?” 

“Babyy, there you are,” you greeted, bouncing on your heels, making grabby hands at your boyfriend. 

In return, Mingi lifted you up and spun you around in a tight hug, making sure to press a kiss to your cheek before putting you back down in front of his favorite bandmate. 

“Joongie’s being all needy again,” you giggled, leaning back against Hongjoong’s chest. 

“Can’t help it.” Hongjoong casually handed his drink to Mingi who took it and knocked it back, wrapping his arms around you from behind, leaning his head on your shoulder, a sickening smirk gracing his feline-like lips. “Hey, Minnie. Wanna make a bet?”

“What kind of bet?” Mingi licked at the corner of his salivating mouth, pulling at the crotch of his heavy, chained pants, his cock pressed against one of his thighs, growing harder just from seeing the way you fit perfectly inside his bandmate’s arms. Shit. 

“If I nail my guitar solo tonight, will you let me have Y/N for a night?” Hongjoong requested, nuzzling his face against your heated cheek, making a small pouty face at his dear bandmate. 

Mingi knew he shouldn’t be getting this worked up before a show, but it might make him perform better if he was thinking about how bad he wanted you, and how he couldn’t have you until Hongjoong did. He knew the odds of Hongjoong hitting every single note perfectly was a 50/50 chance. His chances were even lower if he had access to a bottle of jack that night, though Mingi was aware that his bandmate was quite skilled with his calloused fingers, only knowing because you wouldn’t shut up about it a few nights ago. 

The lead singer decided he would push all his chips onto the table, knowing he would have his darling to himself either way. You belonged to him, whether you were filled with another man’s load or not. “Sure, as long as you make sure my baby cums.” He sent a charming smile your way, bringing his hand up to caress your cheek, chuckling softly when you pressed a kiss to the side of his thumb, your lips making contact with the cold metal of his large skull ring. 

“Hear that, princess? Min wants me to have you,” Hongjoong purred into your ear from the other side. “And so do you, huh? Is that cunt of yours dripping already? I think we should have a litle peek...” Knowing all three of you would enjoy it, the guitarist snaked his hands around your waist from behind, lifting your skirt up for only Mingi to see, rubbing his rough fingers along your bare cunt.

“I-i heard,” you gasped, grasping at Mingi’s oversized sweater, your fingers going into one of the torn holes it had, leaning your head back against Hongjoong’s shoulder, trying not to make any noise when Mingi joined in, slipping two of his fingers into your pulsing cunt, the feeling of his rings stretching you out further making you jolt. 

“You know what I hear? How fucking wet you already are for us.” Hongjoong said into your ear, his digits rubbing roughly into your clit, his eyes on Mingi’s hooded ones, licking at his lips. “Your girlfriend is such a slut, Min. God, I love it.” 

“She loves it too,��� Mingi replied in a gravelly voice,  stepping a little closer to cage you against Hongjoong, pushing the lollipop into your mouth to watch you suck on it. “But you still belong to me…Don’t you, baby?”

“Of course, Minnie. I’m only yours.” You nodded obediently up at him, crunching some of the lollipop in between your teeth when Mingi added another digit inside your tight hole, your thighs trembling slightly. 

“That’s my girl.” Your boyfriend gave you a pretty smile, pressing his hand against the wall near your head to further display his dominance over you, his eyes fixed on your submissive gaze, and the way you just let him fill you up with his thick fingers, his bandmate’s fingers still working you clit like he would would a six string. “Fuck…you’re so sexy like this, baby…” 

“Try not to blow your load before the show,” Hongjoong mused, his smirk growing more and more reminiscent of the Cheshire Cat’s. He was about to tease Mingi more when the previous band sang their last angsty lyric and shredded their remaining guitar notes, silence filling up the air for only a moment, before there was an immediate uproar of rowdy cheers and shouts from the pumped up crowd. 

Your boyfriend’s band was up next and you couldn’t wait to watch them from the sidelines, ready to catch their occasional hungry glances, knowing they were ready to tear you apart once they finished their heavy, energy filled set. 

Mingi delivered as usual, showing off his impressive duality, going from spitting quick, head-turning bars with a devilish smirk on his sweaty face, to expressing emotional, thought provoking lyrics with a soft, expressive voice that would have anyone shedding a tear, his face contorted in melancholic concentration, his hands wrapped tightly around his mic, his dominating stage presence alone having the entire venue in a chokehold throughout the entire set. 

Hongjoong arguably delivered just as well, consistently shredding notes on his sleek guitar with a borderline psychotic look in his eyes and a heinous grin that would make the Devil himself blush, working his rough, agile fingers song after heavy song, never failing to provide Mingi with his own unique back-up vocals. And just like clockwork, despite being a bit tipsy and high on some kind of illegal drug, Hongjoong captivated the large audience with his infamous guitar solo, making everybody in the crowd cream themselves with his nasty riffs. All Hongjoong could do after was push back his sweaty hair and send Mingi a shit-eating smirk, that was returned with a soft chuckle and head shake. He made sure to give you a look too, though this time he had his fingers held up in a V, his pierced tongue sticking out in between them. 

You were in for a busy night. 

࿏࿏࿏

“Hey, eyes on me, baby…” Hongjoong commanded in a low whisper from below you, sitting comfortably on his knees, using his thumbs to keep your cunt spread open for him, watching you writhe around against the wall of the spacious hotel shower, beads of water dripping through his damp bangs and past his smudged eyeliner, pooling in the crevices of his collar bone, the rest trickling down along his dangling necklaces. 

He had easily coaxed you inside his hotel room, not having to do much to get you in his shower, claiming he needed to cool down after giving it his all during the show — though he still made sure to give you his all during your own private show, using his calloused, dexterous fingers to play with your body, delighted with the pretty, wanton sounds he created, wanting nothing more than to write a song about how delicious you looked in that moment — flushed, transfixed on his pierced tongue lapping at your throbbing clit, and moaning out the little pet name you gave him. 

“That’s it….” The side of his lips quirked up a bit at the pout you gave him, before he pursed them and sent a wad of spit directly into you, pushing two fingers back inside you to rub it around your tight, pulsing walls. “I love when you look at me like that.”

“Like what, Joong?” you breathed out, running your fingers through his wet hair, gripping the sides of his head, your thighs beginning to feel like jelly from the way Hongjoong was finger-fucking you into ecstasy. 

“Like you want my cock,” he sighed, unable to keep himself from diving back into your cunt, lapping at your clit and slit like a pussydrunk maniac, easily slipping a third finger inside you. 

“I do…! I need your cock, Joongie, please,” you moaned out, so close to your high that you began to push his face into your cunt, rubbing it against his moving tongue, his piercing repeatedly catching on your clit, driving more pleasured moans out of you, neither of you aware in that moment that your dear perverted boyfriend sat on the other side of the wall, standing fully clothed in his own shower and jerking himself off with fervid desperation, his jeans hanging loosely around his jolting hips. 

“You’ll have it, baby, I promise. Cum on my tongue first,” he said with his lips against your soaked cunt, curling his fingers and rubbing at the gummy spot inside you, sending you over the edge, sticking his tongue out to catch your arousal on it, his cock throbbing at the sound of his name mixed with swears being cried out by his bandmate’s pretty girlfriend. 

Soon, you grew docile and dazed, wrapping your limbs around him as soon as he stood up and carried you over to his bed, not wasting any time sending a few drops of spit down onto your hot cunt and plugging it up with his thick cock. 

Mingi felt like he was going to melt, his brain and body going into overdrive over the fact that his beloved bandmate was busy putting a baby in his baby, making her feel so good she was starting to cry, his cock throbbing inside his closed fist, listening closely to the pants and moans that made their way into his pierced, attentive ears, along with the incessant creaking of the mattress springs — though the disruptive banging sounds of the wooden bedframe hitting the thin wall contended for Mingi’s attention as well. 

“Joong..! It’s so good, you’re so good,” he heard you whine out in a broken voice, not hearing the rest of your cries due to Hongjoong stuffing two fingers into your willing mouth. Mingi couldn’t help but want to drown in his sin, pulling his phone out of his back pocket. 

You looked to your phone with half-closed eyes, watching the way it buzzed against the moving mattress, your legs suddenly getting closer to your body, Hongjoong lifting your lower half up to fuck into you even deeper than before, rendering you speechless from the pressure of his heated body on yours. 

“Answer it, baby,” Hongjoong huffed from above you, his necklaces dragging along your flushed skin with each sloppy thrust, blowing a bit of wet hair out of his half-lidded eyes. 

“Mingi,” you sighed into the receiver, trying to catch your breath, knowing you were on the edge of ecstasy with the way your body was starting to feel heavy, despite the feeling like you were ready to float away. “I’m gonna cum, baby, it– aaah, oh my god…!”

“Cum for me, princess. Let me hear how pretty you sound cumming on his cock,” Mingi moaned back, squeezing his hand around his length, his eyes ready to roll underneath his eyelids. 

Hongjoong put his entire body weight onto you, his lips sliding across your neck to leave a few marks, his cock throbbing against your tight inner walls, pounding into you a few more times before he painted them white. “M’ cumming inside your girl, Minnie, it’s feel so fucking good…”

It was when Hongjoong bit down onto your neck that you catapulted over the edge, grabbing at the guitarist’s bare back, digging your nails into his skin. “Mingiii, he’s filling me up…it won’t stop…”

“Oh god, baby, oh my god.” Mingi huffed and huffed, his entire body tensing up as he drove himself over the edge right after you, splashes of cum landing on his rapidly rising chest and abdomen. 

You simply laid there making small squeaks from the aftershocks of your orgasm, while Hongjoong stayed put inside you, his soft, deflated cock suddenly twitching with newfound interest, a light bulb appearing inside his hazy brain. “Min, I want you to come over here. You need to see the mess I made inside your girlfriend…”

And just like that, Mingi made his way over to the next door hotel room, fumbling with his loose pants and the doorknob, wiggling till it unlocked. He kicked his jeans off once inside the half-lit room, climbing onto the bed to join the both of you, having the same intensely horny, almost deranged look in his eye that he usually had before a show. 

“Baby, look,” you sighed out, spreading your thighs open, while Hongjoong pulled out inch by inch, until a flood of creamy white liquid bubbled out of your pulsing hole, dripping down your thighs and onto the already damp mattress below. 

Before Mingi could properly access the arousing situation, drool falling from his moaning mouth, Hongjoong suddenly grabbed him by the hair, pushing his head down in between your legs. “You wanna clean it up, don’t you, Minnie? Come on, be a good boy and lick up the mess I left inside her.” 

Blushing, Mingi lapped at the mess of cum and slick, using his fingers to scoop the rest out into his eager mouth, Hongjoong’s hand still pressing his face further into your used cunt, eventually letting go when he started to go at it, watching his bandmate’s tongue swipe at your clit and slit. Mingi didn’t even seem to notice, too busy drowning in his baby’s sweet cunt to have any awareness, his hands clutching your trembling thighs. 

“Gonna cum again,” you whined out, unable to speak when your boyfriend suddenly lifted his fingers up to your mouth to suck on them, his lips sucking around your sensitive clit, his dark, glazed over eyes focused solely on the way you seemed to completely fall apart in front of his and his best friend. 

“Think you can get her to squirt?” Hongjoong asked from beside him, resting one of his hands on your moving thighs, holding it down so that you couldn’t close them. 

Mingi glanced over at Hongjoong, rolling his mascara-smudged eyes, knowing exactly what to do to make his baby feel so good she sobbed. He pulled his fingers out of your mouth, instead pushing three of them inside you, curling them up until you cried out. With his other hand, he forcefully pushed Hongjoong’s head down onto your cunt next. “Lick,” he commanded gruffly, concentrating solely on fucking you into ecstasy with his thick fingers. 

Moaning against your cunt, Hongjoong lapped and nibbled on your throbbing clit, his cold piercing dragging over your sensitive flesh, feeling his bandmate’s fingers tugging at his hair, eliciting another muffled moan from him. 

“Bite it. Bite her clit and make her cum,” Mingi demanded through gritted teeth, working your cunt like he always did, enjoying the sight of you writhing around, unable to speak or think, knowing his pretty baby was experiencing some of the best pleasure of her life thanks to him and his friend. 

It was when Hongjoong bit down and moved your clit in between his teeth, Mingi’s fingers still moving relentlessly inside your clenching cunt, that you screamed, your boyfriend’s slick-covered fingers going back into your mouth to keep you from waking up everyone else in the hotel. Both bandmates watched as a small fountain of liquid squirted from your pulsing cunt, seeping into the mattress and turning it dark. 

A few moments of silence went by, before Hongjoong gave Mingi a sickening smile. “Bet you can’t get her to do that with your cock.” 

Mingi shook his head, blowing his wet bangs out of his eyes. “Of course I can. She’s my baby. I know her body like the back of my hand. I’ll make her drench the both of us.”

Hongjoong giggled softly, tilting his head to the side, his eyes flitting from you to Mingi. “Wanna make a bet?” 

You were definitely in for a long night. 

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© kitten4sannie, 2024.

[v1x-x1]

✧𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟗: 𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 - 𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐞✧

✧|| 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 | 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ✧ 𝐚𝐨𝟑 ||

✧|| 𝐟𝐞𝐦 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 | 𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 ||

A yelp left your mouth when Childe’s hands landed on either side of your head with full force. His eyes narrowing as they stared deeply into your soul, the emotion finding its way all the way to your heart.

The two of you had just come home from his parents’ house, you spent the evening taking care of his nephew together and it seemed that it got the baby fever fueled on his end.

“You looked so beautiful tonight..” He leaned in to trail kisses from under your jaw and down to your collarbones. “Taking care of my nephew…”

He didn’t give you a chance to say anything, do anything or even process the images he was putting into your mind before he slammed his lips against yours, capturing them in a passionate kiss.

The soft sounds that left your lips tangling in a harmonic melody with the deeper groans that played in Childe’s throat.

It didn’t take long before both of your clothes were off and thrown onto the floor, the heat of your bodies increasing with every additional movement. 

“My love..” His voice a gentle contrast to his desperate touch and the sudden contact of his tip against your pulsing hole. The teasing soon ended when he thrust into you, bottoming out immediately, causing you to let out a painful moan which was laced with so much pleasure.

He grunts with every thrust, “My.. Mine… You were so pretty today, my angel- my darling.. I’m going to fully claim you as mine tonight.”

He kept moving faster, your breaths and moans helpless stutters, your mind a scattered puzzle of broken thoughts.

“I’m going to breed you. Make you the mother of my children. Breed you.. I want my baby to grow inside you..”

His movements didn’t falter. His hand moved to your hip to gently hold onto you. His lips pressed under your jaw, the hot breath of his words hitting the right places of your heart as his cock hit the right places of your insides.

The hand that once lay on your hip now moved across to your stomach, “Right here.. You will grow because of me. All mine. My beautiful girl, carrying my child. My pretty girl.”

For someone panting and grunting as much as he was, he managed to get his words across quite clearly, making sure to let you know how much you meant to him and what his intentions were.

You couldn’t even breathe properly because of how intensely he was thrusting into you, so close to reaching ecstasy. “Fu..u~ck…”

“So.. good. You're going to be so good at carrying my child.” His movements become more precise and steady, trying to hit specific parts of you to ensure a positive result of his plan and to make you feel good. “I’m going to fill your insides… breed you, I want to breed you..” His voice was low and direct.

That was when your name became a continuous chant rolling from his tongue, with every time came a harder thrust until the final one that made your body shake from pleasure.

You trembled as you felt his warm liquids paint the walls of your insides, resulting in loud, breathless moans to escape you while Childe’s own noises hit your ears.

Neither of you moved - you didn’t dare to move a muscle. You felt so good. So full. His cock still twitching and pulsing inside you.

“That..” You take a breath, “that was amazing…”

“I'm glad you think so.” He kisses your face with a low giggle vibrating through his body making its way to yours. “That was just one round of many. I won’t stop until I’m certain that I have successfully planted my seed in you, my love.”

Taglist: @lov3-ly @velvetyshu @coffeeisbehindyou @sanestventisimp @bokukenmakuroo

lmk if you wanted to be added or removed!!

[ssorenz]

I WANNA RIDE !

ᰔ- struggling to take true-form ryōmen sukuna (he has rotted my brain omfg HELP)

contains- nsfw content, fem! reader, manhandling, size diff, bimbofication, mdni!!

“fhuuck— s’too much ‘kunaa!” his name drawling out on your lips. for a curse, he was so hung, his bulbous tip alone stretching you out so much. and he wasn’t anywhere near close to bottoming out completely.

“oh now its ‘too much’? were you not insisting you could take all of me earlier? how pathetic.” his gruff voice chastised as he watched in amusement at how poorly you were attempting to take him.

you hung your head low, waves of sheer embarrassment washing over you as sukuna studied you so attentively—paying attention to each and every intricate move of yours. tears started to well up as you slowly sunk onto his length—having a bruising grip on his bulky shoulders as hisses of pain and pleasure escaped your parted, glossy lips.

he was all the way inside of you now, his throbbing head nuzzling against the tip of your cervix. hands draped around the mans nape, your sweaty forehead sticking against his neck as your warm breath tickled against his chest.

saying ryōmen sukuna, the king of curses, was big is definitely an understatement.

“tsk, how disappointing.. so much talk earlier, yet y’re breaking a sweat merely from taking my cock inside you.” he grumbled lowly, a hint of banter in his tone.

“are you going to move, or do i need to do the work for you?”

and without warning, he’s buried himself deep into your embarrassingly dripping cunt.

a series of sharp cries echoed throughout the room as sukuna jerked his hips in and out if you with such ease, such precision. he smirked as your expression twisted into something much more fittingly lewd—eyes rolling to your skull as your top teeth gnawed on your bottom lip.

“ry-ryōo. . .haah—!” you surprisingly managed to babble out, considering the fact your brain had turned to mush due to the way he was maneuvering himself inside of you. each quick but calculated thrust, resulting in him kneading against your sweet spot every single time.

“feels too good, hic need m-more..” you desperately begged, the sensation of being so full making you go dumb.

“you need more? or you want more, girl?” sukuna scoffed at your audacity. he raised a heavy hand, then smacked it against the fat of your ass, making you squeal. you were one hundred percent sure you would find a red mark there later tonight.

“go on now, say it properly.” he snarled into your ear, his sharp, black nails still kneading into your flesh. he was so rough, so mean.

“wan’ more ‘kuna, please!” you choked out a pathetic sob. sukuna simply hummed in pleasure, satisfied with your obedience.

“atta girl, thats more like it.”

@/ssorenz™ do not, copy, repost or translate anywhere without my knowledge.

[pradabambie]

the roommate. rafe cameron x reader x felix catton. pt. 3

masterlist

"are you sure you like it?" you asked rafe for the fifth time, running your hands on your pink dress, trying to get rid of the few wrinkles.

"you look hot as fuck," rafe said as he planted a kiss on the crown of your head and playfully slapped your ass, earning a laugh from you.

"so, remind me again, why do you have to wear pink?" the blonde asked as he sat on the table, a blunt in his right hand, which he lit up "trying to calm the fuck down after the little stunt you pulled," he had explained.

"it's a little tradition felix and i have," you mumbled while retouching your mascara.

rafe rolled his eyes in response.

"can you try to loosen up tonight, rafey? it's important for me that the two of you get along."

you turned to look at him with your best puppy eyes, the kind rafe couldn't ever resist.

he sighed. "i promise to be on my best behavior," you smiled, "as long as he doesn’t touch you, talks to you, or looks in your direction!" he finished off with a grin.

"now let’s get out of here before i change my mind about letting you out in that tiny dress."

a couple of minutes later, you were already at the door of the pub. the scent of smoke and alcohol invaded your lungs, and the pounding music invited you in.

"there she is! over here, love!" lex called for you from the other side of the crowded room, waving his hand to get your attention.

the pet name seemed to annoy rafe, who clung to you possessively as you guided him to the table.

you introduced your boyfriend briefly to the rest of the people there, not that they paid any attention, except for a couple of your closer friends, who got up and greeted him.

felix saw an opportunity when rafe was distracted making small talk with one of your classmates.

he lowered his head to your ear, and you could feel his hot breath on your neck as he said, "you look fucking incredible tonight, not that i can say it out loud, but just so you know."

he winked as he stood straight again, making you look up at him since he was so goddamn tall.

"so, pink, felix? really?" rafe mocked as he pointed at the fuchsia shirt the boy was wearing, matching perfectly with your dress. "what’s that about?"

felix, catching the comment, grinned in response. "come on, mate, not everyone can rock the posh boy look like you do," he said, taking another sip of his beer.

as the night unfolded, felix and rafe engaged in a subtle competition for your attention.

if felix wanted to do shots with you while licking salt off each other's hands, rafe would get extra touchy with you on the dancefloor, placing his hands on your hips and pulling you closer and closer to him, so close that you could feel him.

and when rafe went into a full make-out session with you in a corner, a result of the building tension the two felt while dancing, felix got needy and wanted to take pics with you in your matching outfits. of course, he wanted rafe to take them, so he could stare right at him as he placed his hand on your waist.

he was getting to rafe, and he loved it.

eventually, you all got drunk and returned to the initial table, taking a break from the nonstop dancing and drinking.

the conversation was light between the few people left, and at one point, felix leaned in, his voice low. "you know, you and i should get matching bracelets someday. what do ya think?"

his finger traced imaginary figures in your hand.

rafe, catching wind of the conversation, shot felix a disapproving look. "she doesn't need more bracelets. she's got plenty. all bought by me."

felix chuckled, acknowledging the tension. "easy there, tiger. just a suggestion."

“i need to get some air,” rafe said to you as he got up from his seat.

“you don’t want me to come with you?” you were kinda worried felix’s banter was getting to him.

“no, baby, you’ll freeze,” he stopped you from complaining by planting a kiss on your lips, holding your face with both his hands. after that, he made his way to the outside of the bar.

you didn’t notice felix staring, and you didn’t notice when he went after rafe.

[sapphiresaphics]

^^^———

I’m P.O’d because I spent 10 mins writing a response only to find they’ve blocked me. So I’m gonna do it anyway here. Let’s go!

So the reason the AU is different is because of the different circumstances of the explosion. In OUR universe the kids set off the explosion and run away. They become fugitives who stole from Piltover and blew up a building. They become low level terrorists in the eyes of Piltover.

But in the AU universe, Vi dies. The kids don’t get away. Marcus finds them crying and mourning her death. The story becomes not as mini terrorists, but as poor kids trying to survive brutalized by the negligence of Jayce (and by extension Piltover). Vi dying here becomes a wake-up call to police themselves better and to help the poor of the undercity.

And let’s not forget Heimerdinger too. He was transported into this universe 3 years before Ekko was and by his own admission has achieved wonderful things here. Given that he’s more connected to helping the undercity because of Ekko, it’s not really much of a stretch to assume that his influence helped shape the AU to become a much better place. That he frequents the Last Drop and knows the kids there is evidence of this.

Powder isn’t cured of her psychosis either. While she doesn’t have the negative catalyst of killing her family and being slapped and name-called by Vi that sets her off into becoming Jinx, she’s still struggling with the loss of Vi in the AU. Vander says as much to her. She may have had healthier coping mechanisms to get her through losing Vi, but she’s still refusing to move on despite how brilliant and smart she is.

Silco knew who the kids were. In our universe the explosion and blame on the kids gives him the opportunity to take Vander down because at this time Silco sees Vander as keeping Zaun from achieving its ultimate goal. But in the AU, the blame for the explosion is on Zaun. This would be a perfect opportunity to reach out to Vander and work with him to champion for the rights of Zaun. So while it’s nice to think that the letter helped bridge the gap, I don’t think that was the only thing that did it. I think Vi dying caused him to reach out.

And finally, there’s no Jayce. He either died in the explosion, was expelled, or killed himself for causing what happened. Either way, without him to champion the idea of Hextech, nobody else is around to MAKE Hextech. That seems pretty straightforward to me.

———

It’s amazing how this initial two paragraph “arcane critical” post requires SO MUCH unpacking. Their ignorance and refusal to see beyond the surface of the show results in them glossing over SO MUCH STUFF that to properly address it all I need to write 6 full paragraphs to explain each point! It’s SO reductive to take this AU and simplify it into “Vi dying is why it’s better.” That’s not wha the show is presenting, and it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to piece to clues together.

[lunarflux]

x: Thomas Shelby found his match in an information bookie who has eluded the grasp of the Peaky Blinders long enough to crumble their power over Birmingham. But at last, he found you. The ghost he'd been chasing was finally in front of him, but you were trickier than he expected. Dangerous, cunning - and a bit too much like himself. To buy your loyalty, he would have to sell his in equal measure. Loyalty for loyalty - blood for blood - how much were either of you willing to spill before the game changed entirely?

part 2: ghost on the field

word count: 2,001

✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒

Thomas Shelby didn’t make deals lightly. Every conversation, every transaction had a cost. But you had a way about yourself that made him reconsider his usual approach. He didn’t trust easily, and he had been burned enough times to know that the wrong person could send everything to hell. But there was something in you, something he hadn’t quite figured out yet, but it was enough to make him want to keep watching.

When you arrived at the Garrison, he was two seconds away from considering the deal null and void. Perhaps having him on your side really wasn't worth what he thought it'd be, and if it came down to it, he'd try to dwindle down your influence one man at a time.

But then you walked in, coat open despite the winter chill. The first three buttons of your blouse were undone - exposed enough to see the freckles on your chest. You pulled a chair back and poured yourself two fingers of whiskey.

"So this is the ghost," Arthur laughed through the smoke. John stood off to the side, propped against the doorframe. He watched your movements carefully.

Your eyes didn't avert from Tommy's, ignoring their presence all together.

"I take it we have an agreement."

You sipped the beverage slowly until only meager drops were left sliding down the edge of the glass. Arthur stood, circling behind you like a vulture waiting for the stench of death to rise.

"Conditionally," you said, your eyes glimmering with amusement.

"Name your terms." Tommy refilled your glass, and, again, you finished the full serving before answering him.

"How do you plan to show me what possessing you is worth?"

Possessing him, now that was an interesting notion. But if that was how you defined having his loyalty, then he was in no position to argue. You wanted proof - proof that what he was offering wasn't just an empty promise. You stared him down, silently urging him to answer.

"Do we really need her?" Arthur lowered his face down to your cheek.

When the stench of stale smoke reached your nose, you bore your hostility with few words. "Two steps back, Arthur," you said coldly and was met with the sound of his chuckle by your ear.

Arthur's breath caught in his throat at the faint prodding of something by his crotch. He looked down and found a small dagger gripped between your fingers - the tip threatening to tear the seams of his trousers.

Tommy motioned for him to step away. He removed a spare cigarette from his pocket and offered it to you.

You accepted it with a grin and tossed the dagger into your empty glass. That low cackle rumbled as the intensity of Arthur's glare came into sight. You held the cigarette out, and Tommy lit it carefully. Sitting back, you looked up at him through your lashes. "I take it I will have to wait and find out."

Over the next few weeks, Tommy kept his distance, but his eyes were never far from you. You moved through Birmingham with the same quiet confidence, handling your business like it was second nature, no flash, no fuss—just results. Results that funneled back to him at the end of the day, and that was all he cared about. The infamous ghost was now in the open, haunting in all the right places. That was something Tommy respected. The way you worked told him you weren't one to make promises unless you intended to keep them.

You worked your influence from the periphery, always to the side when Tommy made his deals. If someone lied, you knew. If they told the truth, you knew. And if a deal was about to go south, somehow you knew before anyone else.

Tommy caught word that there were newcomers encroaching on their territory. Before it came down to something more... explosive, they arrived at the Garrison. He expected a brief talk. He needed to know how determined they were and where their boundaries lay. Only then would he know how much effort it would require to settle it.

One of the men talked with unphased confidence, rattling on about bringing in more people from London, ones that ultimately would strengthen the Blinder's influence. As he spoke, Tommy felt the tension in his head growing larger. It felt like empty talk, but the names he gave were ones not so easily recognized.

The door to the room parted, and you walked in. Your heels clicked against the worn floorboards with each step, meticulously placing yourself at Tommy's side. The men each studied you, some with obvious stares at the curve of your back. You put your hand on Tommy's shoulder and lowered your lips to his ear, your breath delicately trickling down his cheek like a drop of dew. Arthur and John held back the urge to pull you away.

Your hair fell over your cheek, and the scent of your perfume drifted across Tommy's nose, a distinctly sweet aroma that slowly carried throughout the room.

"He's got a price on his head," you whispered, almost playfully. You never revealed enough for him to use it. You wanted him to wonder, maybe even ask for an explanation, but he played the game well.

Tommy's jaw tightened. Not only was his time being wasted, but now you dared to show yourself. There's a gleam in your eye as you delivered the information, a flicker of lighthearted satisfaction as you watch Tommy's mood shift. He glanced up at you as if to confirm that he understood. In that brief moment, you sense his silent approval.

"Get rid of him."

Before Tommy can respond, you tilted your head again, still close to his skin, and brushed your lips against his cheek. The touch was light but unmistakable, and the warmth lingered longer than he expected. It was a bold move - one that told everyone in the room that you enjoyed every second of how this would play out, a muted chaos that would inevitably bubble to the surface. You straightened your back and glanced at the baffled men across the table before walking out just as boldly as when you arrived.

A crude grin spread across the stranger's face. He pointed towards the door as if you were still standing nearby. "A striking woman you've got there, Mr. Shelby. Keeping the missus around you lot. It's a daring move -"

"Get out." Tommy's words set a chill over the room.

No explanation was needed, and any he was willing to give would be for a later conversation. Arthur roughly grabbed the man's collar and dragged him out of the Garrison. John was quick behind him, tossing the rest out to the street. The second the door shut, Tommy stood. He grabbed your arm and pulled you to the back rooms, swiftly locking it.

He closed his eyes, the strain wearing down on him in your presence. "What was that?"

"You seem suspicious of me, Tom. Did I hit a nerve?" You resisted laughing at his inability to contain his frustration with you. You'd managed to last nearly a month keeping yourself hidden, quietly helping him with his dealings, and only now does he show you what he believes his position to be between you.

In control, no cards on the table, all secrets close to the vest.

"You showed yourself."

"Even ghosts grace others with their presence every now and then. You wanted my help. I gave it to you."

Tommy stared you down. This was the only response he should have expected. Everything you were doing for him was at a price, and the longer it took for him to pay up, the more daring you'd get.

"Don't fucking show yourself again." He put weight into each syllable, slowly approaching you with his finger pointed between your eyes. "I asked you for information, not a fucking show."

You didn't back down. Instead, you met him halfway. "You don't notice, but they all have tells. You could have done all of this without me. You're busy trying to wear them down with... Words. Threats. And so I give you just that. Words to threaten them with."

You pushed in closer.

"Careful, Tommy. Don't make me wait too long for that payment." Your eyes flickered between his. "If you think my words can damage men, imagine what else I could do."

All this time, he'd resisted touching you, but you were walking a tightrope. He took your face in his hand, his fingers squeezing just tight enough to force a pout on your lips. "And what will you do when I have to wear them down with something else? Hm?"

"Then the price goes up. And you'll be out of time."

The dim light from the only remaining lamp casted long shadows down his face, the heavy scent of tobacco and whiskey rolling over your tongue as he held you in place. His movements were deliberate, measured - a predator backing a prize into a corner. He stepped forward, and with each tap of his shoes against yours, you backed up until your back hit the edge of the table.

The mumblings of anticipation didn't show on your face. He was determined to settle this conversation on his terms, and he wouldn't let you leave until it was done. He radiated tension, thick and unyielding.

Tommy's grip shifted ever so slightly, possessive and rough. He held your stare in place, and you felt his thumb dig deep just below the edge of your jaw. You wouldn't flinch. There was no fear, just the same cold gaze he'd grown used to seeing every time you'd watch him during the meetings. He waited for the reaction he wanted.

But you stayed still, and the edge of your lip curled into a grin, the kind of smile that hinted no amount of force was going to make this situation go his way.

"You're no good to me dead. You call yourself a ghost, then act like a bloody ghost. What game are you playing?" His voice was low, rough, and the question hung in the air, unclear as to if it was directed towards you or to some omniscient narrator who would have the answer for him.

"Nothing you're familiar with, Tommy. The game I play requires something you're not quite ready to give me." You wrapped your fingers around his wrist and squeezed, gentle enough for his grip to let up. You closed the short gap, your lips grazing the corner of his grimace. Your breath left a trail of warmth across his cheek until you stopped short of his ear. "Maybe you're too broken to understand the weight of the debt you're racking up with me, but touch me like I'm a fucking ragdoll again, and I will make damn sure the next time you need a cigarette, some whore is going to have to hold it for you."

Tommy pushed against you, mirroring your stance. "You're not as untouchable as you think you are. Show yourself again, and you're headed to the pyre." The words trickled down your spine, and he felt you smile against him in response.

Something about the way you laughed unsettled him, but it was this sound that set his nerves on fire at this very moment - not because it showed him that you were powerful. It was something else.

"Neither are you. If I get tied to the pyre, there will be a trail of petrol puddled around your ankles. I burn," you whispered breathlessly against his ear, knowing fully well that the sensation made him twitch. "You burn."

He pulled back and met your eyes directly. His gaze softened ever so subtly as the quiet understanding passed between you both. Tommy Shelby, for all his power and grit, was playing your game - not his. He wanted to break you, but you were not one who bends easily.

[theglamorousferal]

The Cryptid of Smallville

I am posting the first couple chapters of the fic that I am currently working on juuuust in case AO3 goes down again. In the next couple days I’ll start posting some of my wips that I don’t think I’ll finish. If any of them inspire people to write more then I’ll be happy. 

I had the thought a while ago about what if Danny was raised alongside Clark Kent and the hijinks that would result in Danny being near the liminal space that is cornfields. These are basically a series of connected one-shots because I am not that great at trying to do a real plot lol

Without further ado, here’s the first chapter of the Cryptid of Smallville! (Small edit: here’s the link to AO3 the first two chapters are there)

______________________________________________________________ The night sky was clear and open above the cornfields as a gentle breeze caused the plants to stir. It was a calm night on the Kent family farm. A streak of neon green broke across the sky and landed in the middle of the fields, purple tinged smoke wafting from the crash site. A boy of about six rolled over in his sleep, glowing green eyes glancing at the stars above framed by smoke. The gentle breeze is still blowing, returning the night to calm.

*****

Danny was gonna put Clockwork in soup time whenever he got back into the Zone. 

He was laying there, staring at the clouds in the sky, surrounded by corn, and only about three and a half feet tall, wondering where in the Realms he was. Clockwork had said something about sending him off somewhere with people who could handle a child with powers growing up before tossing him through a portal by the ankle. He had ended up in low orbit and was lulled to sleep by staring at the stars he is so fond of.

Crawling out of the hole he was in, he examined the surrounding area and just found a bunch of burnt and slightly smoldering corn and kicked up dirt. The gentle breeze brought the smell of bacon to his nose and he floated to look just above the tall plants around him. He spots a house in the distance and starts heading there, making sure to walk the last few yards just in case this isn’t where CW intended him to go. He finds himself stumbling from the field just to make eye contact with a man pulling on his work boots for the day on the porch steps, the man freezes. 

“Hey Martha?” The man yells into the house.

“Yes Jon?” a voice muffled from the door yells back.

“Do we have a spare room done up?” the man, Jon, asks, not taking his eyes off Danny.

“Why? Are you expecting someone and forgot to tell me?” the voice sounds like it’s getting closer to the door.

“No honey, I think we may have a repeat situation of Clark though.” He briefly glances from Danny up to the last bits of smoke wafting from the field. A quiet “What?” comes from the house. He gentles his voice, full attention on Danny. “Hey son, did you have a bit of an accidental landing in the corn? Is your head okay? Are your parents around?”

Danny stays still for a moment thinking about what’s going on. The man seems to at least suspect that he crash landed on his property and mentioned something about something like this happening before. Have these people dealt with a random child appearing at their house before? Specifically one that crashed from the sky? He has many questions, but he should probably answer Jon first. 

“Yeah, I got sent away until I was better, my head doesn’t hurt at all and my parents are not exactly from around here, and don’t know where I am.” He pauses thinking about it. “Does the children-crashing-onto-your-farm-thing happen a lot to you?”

Jon chuckled as he finished tying his boots up and walked down the stairs just as the door opens and a woman in an apron is standing there looking surprised to see an unknown child standing in her yard. The man crouches down in front of Danny, giving him a once-over. 

“You’d be surprised, now what’s your name son?.”

“It’s Danny Fenton, what’s yours?”

“Jon Kent, my wife over there is Martha. Now you look like you could use a good meal and a washup, how’s that sound?” Jon grins at Danny and musses up his hair before standing and offering a hand to walk into the house. He smiles over at Martha who blinks and then gives Danny a warm smile, standing aside to let them enter the house.

“Good thing I made some extra breakfast then, let’s get some food in you young man, you’re as skinny as a post!” She smiles and heads towards the kitchen. “Be sure to wash up your hands first hun, can’t eat with dirty hands! And Jon! What have I told you about your muck boots being in the house! I’m sure Danny can find his way and wash his own hands; second door on the right hun; and git outta my house with those things on, I’ll have more coffee ready for you once you feed the animals!” Jon pouted and trudged his way out of the house.

Danny smiled a little to himself as he looked for the door Martha was talking about, noting the wallpaper and decor that looked like every midwest farmer’s house he’d seen in any piece of media ever. After washing his hands he made his way to where he could hear soft humming and dishes being washed. He saw a plate of pancakes and bacon on the table next to a glass of orange juice, a glass of milk, and a container of syrup and headed to the spot.

“Thank you Mrs. Kent.” he said from his seat and she smiled back at him, going back to the dishes. Danny realized he’d probably have to start explaining what he could to them soon, but decided to focus on the breakfast in front of him. The breakfast that wasn’t alive and currently trying to kill him. He nearly cried.

“So Danny,” Martha began as she wiped her hands off with a dish rag. “Do you remember how it is you got here?” She joined him at the table with a cup of coffee after setting a mug, a spoon and the sugar bowl next to the machine for her husband when he came in.

“I do, it’s a really weird story though, I’m not sure you’ll believe me.” He was hesitant, he still wasn’t sure these were the people that Clockwork meant to send him to. Though they’ve taken the whole crash-landed-child-thing pretty well��� Screw it, he’ll see if he can wait until Jon comes back and explain to both of them. “Can we wait for Mr. Kent too? I don’t really want to say it twice.” 

She smiled at him, taking a sip of her coffee and then nodded. “That’s fine hun, he shouldn’t be more than a couple minutes unless the rooster decided to pick a fight again.” she chuckled to herself, looking out of the window while drinking her coffee. She sees the faint trail of smoke rising in the sky outside and her eyebrows pinch in worry. “You didn’t happen to see anythin’ burning when you got up, did you?” 

Danny glances out the window and sees the smoke. “Oh no, there was just a little bit still smoldering in the hole, but there wasn’t anything actively burning. I can show you both when I finish explaining what I can.” The slapping of a screen door startles him and Jon walks in, heading straight for the coffee maker and making himself a cup, then joining them at the table.

“So Danny-boy, what can you tell us?” Jon gives his full attention to Danny. 

Danny shifts in his seat, looking every part the six year old he appeared to be, uncertain at the attention of two adults. “Well, it’s a long story and kinda out there? I’m not sure how much you’ll believe?” He looks uncertain at the pair across from him who share a look. Martha reaches across the table to take Danny’s hand.

“Honey, you wouldn’t believe the stuff we’re used to, I’m sure it’s fine.”

Danny only hesitated a moment longer and then sighed looking far older than his apparent six years. “So to start off with, wherever this is, I’m not from around here. I’m assuming since you both speak English that this is still Earth, but maybe not MY Earth, I’m still a bit confused on the whole ‘multiverse’ thing, but either way, I got sent here until some stuff got sorted out and so I’ll be here until it does.” He was rambling, he knew, but he’s kind of anxious about stuff. “I kinda got put in my childhood body and now I have to get back to my actual age and my Guardian said something about time here running differently than in my dimension before he just chucked me through a portal. He did say he was sending me to people who could handle my weirdness as I age, so I’m assuming you are them and maybe have some experience with kids with freaky weird stuff happening to them?”

The Kents once more shared a look, this one a little longer than the last, then turned back to Danny. “Oh son, I think you’ll fit in just fine. So, how long can we expect you for? I can tell you’re probably a lot older than six judging by how you talk?”

Danny blinked at him, trying to process the fact that they didn’t seem phased and rather seemed like they believed him. “Uh, I was sixteen, so I guess a decade? I’m sorry to impose on you for a while, really I can figure out stuff on my own, I don’t want to be a bother.”

Jon chuckled “Oh trust me son, it wouldn’t be an issue, I’m sure Clark would love a younger brother, or at the very least a friend who understands him. We have plenty of room here, and though we’d probably ask you for help with chores, we’d be glad to have you for however long you need.”

Danny blinks again at them. They weren’t serious, right? They just seem fine taking in a random child and having him live with them for however long. And who was this Clark? What did he mean by younger brother?

“Clark?” he asked hesitantly.

“Oh right, our son, you’ll meet him when he gets home from school, I’m sure you’ll get along just fine! Now Danny, let me show you to a room and we can get you settled, we’ll probably have to head on over to the thrift shop to get you something to wear besides these charred and muddy pj’s, but we should have something from Clark that’s too small that’ll fit you for now.” Martha took his hand and led him upstairs to where he’d be in apparently his new home.

*****

Clark had had a pretty boring day at school. The classes were boring. He had to hold back in gym class again and when studying the skeletal system in biology, he started studying the teacher’s bones instead of the display skeleton or the worksheet. He was really looking forward to getting home and maybe going for a fly around the fields where no one could see him or maybe catching the latest episode of Rescue Rangers. 

He could spot his house in the distance and after looking around to make sure no one would see him, he sped down the driveway as fast as he could, knocking up a lot of dirt in the process. He really liked going fast, whether running or flying. He just loved the wind in his hair. 

“Ma, Pa, I’m home.” he kicked his sneakers off and rushed upstairs into his room to drop off his bag. He listened around for heartbeats and realized that Pa was out on the tractor and Ma was out with the chickens. He froze as he heard a much closer sound though. It was very slow and faint, but he could hear another heartbeat in the house. Even more, he could hear someone muttering to themselves in the guest room and the flipping of pages.

Clark slowly made his way down the hall towards the sound and peaked in the room with his x-ray vision. There, sitting on the ceiling, was a child about half his age reading a ratty old book about space. Clark stood in the doorway, now able to see him in regular vision and just stared at him. He took a moment until he decided to just join him up there and sat across from him.

“So who are you?” Clark asked while the kid was still focused on his book. He didn’t even look up from the book.

“Name’s Danny.” The kid paused for a second before he looked up and stared at Clark. Danny looked from Clark to the ceiling, to the floor, and then back to Clark. “Oh, so that’s why they said I’d fit right in here. I guess we are pretty similar! I’m guessing you’re Clark then?” The child beamed at him, putting out his hand to shake. Clark took it gently, not wanting to hurt the kid. Then the kid gripped his hand tight and Clark realized that they have more in common than he thought and gripped his hand tighter in response.

“So where are you from?” Clark asked, very curious as to how this kid who could fly and had his strength, but also had almost no heartbeat ended up at his house. Danny rubbed the back of his neck.

“Well, I’m not from this Earth and I kinda got put here to recover for a long while and my Guardian decided your parents are the best equipped to handle a kid growing up with powers, so he sent me here. I’m guessing because of you?” 

“Yeah, mine started manifesting around your age. What powers do you have? How long do you plan to be here? Where are you from? You said this wasn’t your Earth, I’m guessing you’re from a different dimension then? That’s so cool!” Clark, ever curious, shot off many questions rapid fire and Danny laughed while answering them all as best he could.

Part 2

[therealslimshakespeare]

Friends in the Crucible

MOTA PACIFIC THEATRE || FLIGHT SURGERY AU

1: Welcome to Hell Island

Requested by the sweet @forsythiagalt

AU NOTE: due to a long-standing crush on real life heroine Ensign Jane Kendeigh and her work on Iwo Jima, the current ongoing anniversary of the battle and a hope to not step on the toes of any existing Nurse!xBuck pairings -I’ve gone with what excited my imagination the most and created an entire Pacific AU with our MOTA boys. If this AU ends up being as interesting and stimulating to y’all as it was for me in writing it, I’d be terribly down for exploring more scenarios with everyone in their new and varied roles.

Main paring: Gale Cleven and OC Flight Nurse Ensign Maureen Kendeigh…cameos by “Doc” Egan, John Brady, Ken Lemmons, Harry Crosby and Benny Demarco…and maybe a nod to a certain Marine Captain named “Andy” who I refused to let die, even though he was never on this island. You neither need to have seen HBO’s Pacific or know about the history for this to make sense, in fact it might help my ignorant writing go down better without it 😏

Warnings: WAR?! Graphic descriptions of wounds, battlefields, gore, foul language, period typical language: use of the word “Jap” and a joking insult of “fish eater” for a Catholic. Hints that John Egan is a terror to his nurses, Cleven having to take his pants off for a wound to be examined, brief mentions and emphasis on his never having been touched by a woman intimately, a nurse positioning a man’s member out of the way to his surprise, strictly professional tho. No joke, really. But they’re having a bit of a moment.

Only proof read once. So many thanks to Bee, Christi and Ashley who all enabled me into going this rogue with a simple request and for giving edits and assurances. Hope y’all enjoy!

There were a whole lotta jolts in the descent. Of course there were. Why, there were jolts and bumps even coming down to the runway at Pearl or San Diego, and there had been far more than jolts on the training tarmacs in Kentucky. She had been in enough planes, experienced enough banging about, and had enough wheels up landings that Maureen felt somewhat entitled to her opinion on the necessity of jolts or none.

So far, Major Gale Cleven had piloted this monstrous tin can like a limo, smooth, steady and with full warning for each bank and turn. Maureen had not even had to catch a single falling bottle so far and the rows of empty bunks lining each side of the plane had hardly rattled except in the same low humming frequency of the ever thrumming engine.

But now there were jolts. And of course there were, they were flying straight into a warzone. Cleven had gotten them to Iwo Jima two hours ago, and since that time he’d been circling the island in a wide arc, casually waiting for a pesky air battle between fighters to calm down enough for him to land. Sure, the beaches had been wiped clean and a landing strip had been carved out of volcanic ash and marine corps blood -cleared for their use. But still, there were Jap bunkers, Jap planes, Japs themselves and Jap equipment in that smoldering mountain and so far, no word had come down definitely as to when the island might be considered secure.

It was all very historic, Maureen has been assured -allowing a woman into a combat zone. First time ever, so they kept erroneously insisting. That’s why there was a man armed with a camera and not plasma sitting a few lines down from her on the cold metal bench. Maureen had once had plenty of time to ponder the historicity of her mission and that of her fellow nurses back in Guam, right now she wished she could focus solely on her training and ignore the ominous crack-pop of something hazardous in the air and the resulting wobble of Major Cleven’s steering.

Stupidly she wished the Major’s low voice would come back on through the near radio system and soothe them all back down like frightened livestock. Gale Cleven had a way of managing that even with his face obscured, and while it made Maureen blush to admit she needed any calming, the facts were she was 24 years old, practically untried and desperate to be brave enough to be of use. Rattling on the bench seat between equally nervous girls and a hawk-eyed journalist was no match for the cuticle picking anxiety.

Maureen chose to forcefully look up from said bloody cuticles and was met by Major Egan’s gum smacking grin across from her. How many carriers had he been on when they went down? Kamikaze planes jutting out the side of them, ocean water pouring in, sharks abounding and hundreds of patients under his care, in his charge to tow to shore?

Mild, scattered, poor-man’s flack wasn’t remotely disturbing to their flight surgeon. “He’s great, isn’t he?” Egan yelled to her cheerfully, the jerk of his head suggested his praise was directed towards someone in the cockpit.

Maureen knew well enough that much as Egan respected the co-pilot Demarco, it was no match for the love affair between him and Cleven, an appreciation that had Egan’s special request yanking his friend from Air Force to Navy to Transit. Such a series of bounces in a man’s otherwise distinguished career, all to chauffeur one charmingly entitled flight surgeon, was enough to put anyone into a bad mood -it would explain Major Cleven’s initial coolness on meeting them all at the departure tarmac.

Or maybe he was just businesslike. Maureen couldn’t fault anyone for that. He had been prepped, perhaps not as much as she had, but he didn’t act entitled in any way, and he kept the plane steady. Except for this mounting series of jolts.

“Yes,” she had chosen to holler back to Doctor -Lieutenant Commander? Bucky No Shits? Johnny? Doc “Smirky”?- Egan, knowing he’d want a favorable report on his friend, “it’s been remarkably smooth.”

Maureen was glad truth aligned with diplomacy in this instant. Although if any man could handle the outright truth it was John Egan, no matter what they all said. And “they” said a lot, he had once had two marine squadrons under his care and to them he was a Marine, simultaneously he’d had three navy squadrons to take care of and to them he was a Navy man. He’d even switched uniforms thrice in a day before. And now he was being flown about by his best friend to tend carcasses on a foreign strand, oddly suited to terrible conditions and bad scenarios, offering medical aviation expertise and poorly timed jokes wherever he went.

He’d trained her group of specialized Evacuation Flight Nurses the last three weeks of aquatic conditioning in the states, and he’d culled eighteen out of the group for getting winded after towing full grown men seven laps in the San Diego surf -all while puffing on a cigarette himself, seated with sunglasses on in an motorized dinghy. Maureen had come to hate him that day, and every day after she’d come to want to be like him. Kathleen Martin got her wings pinned first and Maureen right after, “well done, Candy!” Egan had praised while his fist drove in the tack.

“It’s Kendeigh, sir.” Maureen had dared correct for the hundredth time that training week, “Pronounced like: Ken-Day.”

“Cand-ay. Got it!” he repeated with jovial affirmation and that was that.

Major Cleven had given her the respect of calling her ‘Ensign’ as he shook her hand, a quick and firm squeeze and on to her next companion, she’d have judged him as too pristine in everything from mannerisms to features were his war record not ample justification for his bearing. The low cadence of his voice over the coms came in as a slight pitch to the plane and a swoop of decline in altitude became apparent under her—

“All personnel prepare for landing.”

Cleven was nothing like those pilots during training, barking orders laced with frantic warning in their voices. It was a cow pasture back in Kentucky and there they’d had no good reason for alarm. Here where there was real reason, Gale Cleven crooned to them and John Egan smiled opposite her as he took in the effect his chosen pilot had on his nurses.

“Like soothin’ a baby,” Egan sighed as he lounged a little deeper on his bench, long legs deceptively braced for impact, Maureen had long ago learned the man was nothing but smoke and mirrors of his actual intentions, “isn’t he great? In danger of fallin’ asleep with that guy at the wheel.”

To emphasize his point -or more likely to distract “his girls” from the imminent prospect of landing on a battleground, Egan leaned back all the way and tipped his cover over his eyes, pretending to fall asleep. Maureen caught him as he cocked one sharp eye open to see if she was still watching. She gave him a hopeless smile of recognition of his disguised kindness before forcefully suppressing a gasp of shock as the plane hit Amtrak smoothed gravel and ground its way down the beach. Egan hadn't budged by the time the momentum ceased and the plane became bizarrely still after hours of vibrating travel.

“Right. That’s us.” He straightened up, his cover and his posture, rising up in his seat and slapping at the metal ceiling of the plane, “Good job Buck.” he hollered and got no reply. “He’s still crabby about flying a C-47.” he divulged to no one in particular as they all rose and prepared to disembark, drilled for ages in this routine and finally let loose to practice it. Egan’s nonchalance was almost disorienting for such a momentous occasion.

The large cargo door was opened and a irreverently pleasant tropical breeze funneled through the plane, bearing with it the sounds of crashing waves and popping, far off gunnery. There was also a smell that came with it, sulfur and sweet. It was sickening from the first, and Maureen dreadedly wondered if it was from volcanic fumes and rotting vegetation or something more heartbreaking. With her kit on her back she followed her companions out the cargo door, finding Major Cleven blank faced and unphased on the tarmac beside it. Nothing but a smidge of sweat around his hairline to suggest the hours of flight he’d just clocked and the wacky landing he’d managed so well.

“Welcome to hell island, ladies.” he greeted in a droll monotone and Maureen’s gait stiffened without her permission.

There was no true tarmac, as they had been warned, just a strip of cleared back sand churned up by Cleven’s wheels. Lapping waves were on the left side and then a field of sheets to the right. It was the oddest sight. Rows and rows of camo tarp and white sheets blotted pink, hardly a spot of sand to be seen between. They’d been warned it was havoc here, the situation so bad that they’d finally allowed for this exception, allowed the sending in of specialized units to evacuate by air as the boats could hardly ferry enough of the wounded out in time to save them. But this -this beach of corpses was so daunting a task it seemed impossible to choose where to start.

“John,” she heard Major Cleven address Lieutenant Commander Egan as he dropped down beside her, “you’ve only got so many births, do what ya need to do to fill them, but I’ve got my orders. You’re not settin’ up a hospital. When we get the supplies off, get this plane full -we’re takin’ off. Full stop. I’m not gonna have us here like sittin’ ducks for the mortars while you fuss.”

“I hear ya.” Egan assured him in that remarkably unassuring way of his and lit a cigarette. “Alright nurses, gather round.”

Triage was crucial for such a mission, the prioritizing of wounds and necessary services essential for prolonging the lives of those in imminent peril, versus those with the likelihood of surviving on only the essentials found in a corpsman or medic’s arsenal. They’d be back tomorrow with another flight, and the day after that. Cleven was right that they weren’t here to establish a hospital, yet still the idea of how many would perish from being left behind, even by this first flight, was a sickening probability Maureen has been trained to ignore.

“Where are all the corpsmen?” Egan asked one pharmacist's mate who came to greet them, picking his way through the rows of groaning men. The boy couldn’t have been a day over seventeen.

“Up there,” the kid had nodded up to Mount Suribachi and its ominous veil of smoke, “or dead. Lost so many in the first week they started sending us in to substitute. We’ve done what we can. Sure glad to see you guys.”

“What’s your name, boy?”

“Lemons, sir.”

“Hell I can’t call someone a lemon, now can I?” Egan’s grin was infectious and the boy grinned back like he was seeing his first friend in ages.

“Then it’s Kenny. Sir.”

“Yeah alright Kenny, let’s get to it.” Egan had drilled you all so thoroughly you could have performed even without the aid of the grounded pharmacists and their mates, yet still it was odd to see such a mass of wounded and so few to tend them. The desperation and chaos was tangible.

Maureen had barely set off out from under the plane wing when Gale Cleven’s brusque reprimand arrested her steps as forcefully as a tug to her flight suit would have, “That bunch don’t need your help.”

The terse judgment in his tone gave her sharper eyes to notice that the particular section she was headed towards all had sheets pulled over their faces. Her own face blanched at both the misstep and the sensory overload of so much sorting to do. She wasn’t going to feel sorry for herself, not here, not when faced with the easy part of all this, and she wasn’t going to be crippled by criticism while enduring her first trial by fire. “Right, thank you, Major.” she agreed with him as stoically as possible and ground her heel back around on the sand and tromped off towards the direction of sheets that were visibly alive and writhing in misery.

That changed as soon as they saw her girlish form walking amongst them. Sounds of dying anguish changed to cheerful wolf whistles and happy greetings. It made Maureen’s heart swell with pride at the unbreakable spirit in each of them.

She spent the next hour and a half amongst those men.

Gruesome was a word that Maureen swore to herself that she would never use lightly again. She wasn’t one given to hyperbole anyway, and her years apprenticing in the hospital in Manilla and her most recent training for exactly such wounds as these, understandably led her to believe she knew the mettle of such a word.

But no.

Gruesome, she decided as she began her task again and again, applied only to this: the way the tiniest slip of her hand on any part of this poor boy took skin with it, charred and soupy flesh squishing off meat and sinew like the flaky crust on a prime bit of brisket. It was the only comparison fitting. His own flamethrower had bitten him as he tried to take a countless next pillbox. He’d said it like a joke even as his teeth chattered too hard from pain to deliver the punchline.

Maureen wasn’t here to contemplate ironies, or the unfairness of war, she was here to find some intact vein through which to stab her needle and begin giving him back the blood that was slowly leaching into the black sand beneath him. Ensign Smith was holding up the bottle, throwing a shadow over his charred form that helped Maureen discern a bit better, giving the boy a kind word or ten of reassurance about home and pain relief. Maureen bit through her own tongue when she finally slid the needle home, deep and pulpy, she could only pray it would hold the blood they gave back.

“Alright, bandages, Smith.” Maureen decided and did her best not to jump as a mortar thumped on the sand, hundreds of yards away, but still, they were getting ever closer, proving Major Cleven’s grim prognostication to not be unfounded. He was confirmed that the Japanese didn’t give two shits about red crosses, much less cargo planes carrying in supplies and taking away wounded. Maureen tried not to dwell on it as she and Smith began cutting away filthy uniforms and wrapping their patients' flesh in the Vaseline soaked bandages. It was a terrible business for the first few minutes before the interlaced numbing agents in the gauze took affect and made their care something less like torture for the poor men.

Some of them could walk, a missing leg being a mild injury comparatively, they just needed the helpful shoulder of a technician and off they went to amble into Cleven’s plane. There the Major met them despite it being beyond his purview, handing out cigarettes even though he himself abstained and kept an eye on the Navy mechanic refueling his plane from a bullet riddled jeep. When he wasn’t doing that he was scanning the sky, aviators turned up and reflecting a cloudless sky. Maureen’s mouth grew chalky at the thought of what he was looking out for.

Once wrapped and tended, the men were ready to be hoisted on stretchers and taken to the plane. But those men were select ones, ones that Egan had decided upon. He had a particularly odd way of triaging, one that upon initial observation appeared rather callous and aloof to his nurses who had been trained as much in medical practice as in solicitous decorum.

Doc Egan moseyed through the ranks of wounded, keenly aware he was not as popular as his pretty faced nurses, but making up for it with such easy-going banter that chuckles followed him wherever he went, making the men forget that he was deciding who got relief and who did not. Who were to be permitted the cooling sheets of Elysium by nightfall and who were to be left burning on the sand. Puffing a cigarette and making small talk, he clocked each injury and each likelihood of recovery without giving a bit of it away.

Nearing Maureen’s own patient of the moment, she felt him crouch down beside her and take in the hopeless gut wound she was ineffectually trying to stuff with bandages. A sturner superior would tell her not to bother, to move on, save such determination for someone with a longer life expectancy than five minutes. Maureen found it hard to make that call herself when met with the pleading eyes of someone’s dying son.

“C’mon Candy, move over, lemme try.” Egan murmured and his hip knocked hers gently as he crouched over the boy, perfectly aware of the futility. “Hey bud, breathe for me, breathe. You wanna smoke?”

Egan’s now bloody fingers reached up to his own lips and plucked his fresh and third cigarette of the hour and brought it down to the boy’s chapped mouth, shifting until he was fully seated on the sand, arms around the kid’s shoulders, gently taking the refreshment away when he puffed out, then replacing it for another inhale.

Maureen knew better than to linger. Beside this scene of brotherly last rites was another dying man and a hundred more beside him, so she moved on, seeing only vaguely the way the kid coughed blood as he laughed at Egan’s conversation. The topic seemed to be on the boy’s dog back home. The Sergeant she was tending added in a bit of teasing over the name -who names their dog “puppy”?!

Maureen had barely managed a tourniquet on the sergeant's arm before she could suddenly hear Egan’s gentle chatter turn to low shushing.

The sergeant looked away to the other side.

Maureen noticed the discarded cigarette laying on the sand, it had been smoked to a stub.

The heaving rattle of panicked breath beside them stopped.

Egan shifted onto his knees again and his long, bloody fingers dragged those sightless eyes closed. There was the brittle clink of dog tags being checked.

The sheet was tugged up all the way.

That triage was over.

Maureen politely ignored Doc Egan’s harsh sniff beside her -it was dusty here- but clocked the way he rose to his feet, a rough brushing off of his flight suit and his brusque inquiry regarding her morphine distribution in sector 2.

“All tended-“ she had begun when a shout from the far off plane rang out-

“-JOHN!” That was Cleven’s unmistakable bellow and Egan, despite being in a human sea of potential Johns- responded like he’d been made to hear that one voice alone. “Incoming, west!”

“Shit.” Egan spun westward and sure enough there were fighters with a blazing red sun, rushing straight down at them.

They were such a distance away still, Maureen doubted Cleven’s sight for all of fifteen seconds before horror set in. “They wouldn’t-?” she looked up at Egan whose bitten lip suggested that they would indeed strafe these poor men given the chance.

“Stretchers!” Cleven yelled again, “Get ‘em under the wings!”

There was a callous logic to it. Those men already prepped to be saved might as well be prioritized this much more. Fairness wasn’t something promised in war and Maureen chose to hate Gale Cleven instead of some ephemeral “war” for verbalizing the awfulness of that necessary.

“Do it.” came Egan’s agreeing order and Maureen and Smith took their respective sergeant down near the waterline at a run, fifteen other nurses and the various techs mimicking them. They deposited their men under the relative safety of the flimsy wings and dashed back out for more, leaving two techs behind to hoist the poor fellas into the cargo hold and deposit them in their respective bunks.

“Come onnnnn.” Cleven’s warning yell was drowned by the commencement of allied anti aircraft higher up the beach, trying to pick off the fighters before they reached the landing strip.

Maureen hardly noticed the closing drone of the fighter’s approach, nothing but her heart beat and memorized lines of her training on repeat in her ears. She’d been trained to fight hand to hand if necessary, her folks knew the risks of their daughter volunteering for such service but there was a sour dampening of resolve at the idea of being picked off from the air, not even allowed a bit of struggle to go out with.

All she could do was lift, hoist, run, deposit, do it all again.

They were getting near to full. On one pass through she saw Cleven counting berths and scolding poor Ensign Courter for her rushed method of securing her charge- “five feet drop to the floor on my first bank, oughta be just what that chest wound needs. For God’s sake, I’ll do it!”

He had a cold sort of fury to him Maureen found obnoxiously potent, and she felt a judgment rise in her for his obvious haste in wanting to get out of there. To his credit, when the planes did go by and everyone hit the ground, he was still standing yanking on the straps to secure the top bunk. Bullets punctured the side of the plane and riddled it, tiny specks of light flooding into the dark hold. One man was grazed as he lay in there.

“John!” Cleven warned again after they’d gone by.

“I know, I know damnit.” Egan snapped back from yards away, “There’s just not enough corpsmen -let me finish my damn job.”

“By the time you finish yours I won’t be able to finish mine.” Cleven retorted and the obvious finally occurred to Maureen -perhaps it was not his own safety that preoccupied him but the fragile capability of his riddled plane being able to evacuate once full. That, was indeed, his job. Still, such sentiments expressed as they were from the shelter of the cockpit and from a man who favored a silk blue neck scarf identical to the shade of his eyes, rankled Maureen.

The returning buzz of the Japanese fighters coming back around only cemented her futile rage. Her arms were aching and the sand caught at her boots and her mouth was dry with dust and there were so many, so, so many more left to help. Ensign Smith had been called away to assist with lifting another, and Maureen was knelt beside the man they’d managed onto a stretcher, doing her damndest to find how many bullets were embedded in his left leg and how deep the shrapnel was on his right. There was so much blood and filth it was impossible to tell and Andy, as his name was, couldn’t give her much help besides informing her it hurt like hell and she sure was a sight for sore eyes.

“Egan! At your three o’clock!” There was Cleven again.

Maureen grinned back at Andy and forced it to stay on her face as the buzz of the approaching fighters grew imminent and the dreadful thwump of machine gun fire thudded into the earth yards up the beach. It hit the section of the dead first, a further injury and dishonor. Maureen felt a lump in her throat at the realization she had no one near to help her lift this stretcher and that Andy himself hadn’t a usable leg to spare.

“Go.” her patient told her with a clear look of realization on his face as the leaden spatter of strafing began to elicit responses from those wounded men still alive enough to react.

“No.” The refusal came out of her mouth about as naturally as taking the next breath.

A shadow threw over them for a second and Andy’s facial expression grew surprised, but, stubbornly focused on her patient’s face, Maureen assumed it was the plane passing by at last and chose not to spend her last seconds watching what was going to kill her. “Ensign Kendeigh, lift.” Major Cleven’s voice was so close so suddenly it spooked her flat on her backside until she saw him, squatting down and casting a shadow at the head of the stretcher, poles gripped in both hands, ready to hoist. She scrambled to the foot and took the wood in hand, lifting for the twentieth time that day and running towards the plane.

Time was slow and fast all at once. Cleven’s shadow had come before even the first fighter. But as they ran it zipped by, bullets flinging up sand into their eyes, a near miss. The second one was close behind and as they ran near to the wings, they saw no room was left under them, as crowded as an awning at Coney Island during the height of summer.

Maureen squatted fast and lowered the foot of the stretcher, feeling Cleven mimick her movements behind her. Before she could turn ‘round and enact her training, there their pilot was, body draped over the battered Marine captain, his back as stalwart and protective as the wings of his plane. Maureen threw herself to the ground as well, propping herself over Andy’s battered legs. Together they made a turtle shell of sorts and, damned to be caught cringing when death took her, Maureen kept her eyes open and stared back at Gale Cleven’s gentle face as the -thud-thud-thud- passed them, a micro expression of assurance twitching his mouth and eyes as death passed over.

Who needed to look at the sky when you could find God in those eyes his mother gave him?

For as long as she lived, Maureen would never forget the gust of his spearmint scented breath on her face, the first sensation she registered as soon as the planes were past and they yet remained, alive, locked together above a man they’d both risked dying for.

“Major, you shouldn’t’ve.” Andy’s rough voice spoke Maureen’s own dazed sentiments as they straightened up, Cleven picking up his fallen aviators from the sand, “You gotta fly us outta here, you die an’we’re all sitting ducks.”

“Eh, that’s why we have co-pilots, Skipper.” Cleven grinned before glancing back at the sky, his face morphing into anything but carefree.

“Is that how Lt. DeMarco feels?” Maureen teased wearily.

“I’d never presume to know how Benny Demarco feels.” Cleven replied levelly but the corner of his mouth quirked up in amusement, “Ensign Kendeigh, give me a task.” he demanded.

“Sir-“

“I want us outta here in ten.” His tone held no room for argument, “What’s somethin’ even a dumb pilot can manage? Egan!” He yelled as the Lieutenant Commander approached them at a jog, his dark face the picture of rage for the men in his care being further hurt. “Out in ten.”

“Not gonna happen, still got supplies to distribute-“ Egan was visibly inscenced.

“-one more pass on my plane and we’re not gettin’ up. Look at that back wheel” Cleven replied, nodding at the deflating tire. “Hand me your shit, what’re we supplyin?”

“Aren’t you queasy for needles?” Egan balked, finding time for teasing despite himself.

“Hand me the damn syrettes.” Cleven stuck his hand out.

“You're under Candy’s orders.” Egan stipulated, pointing to Maureen and Cleven nodded.

“Yup, and we leave in ten.”

“Okey Buck, go, go, go.”

The nurses that had gone before them had tagged and labeled each, making it easy for Maureen and Major Cleven to squat along the rows and complete what help could be given. Her other companions were doing the same, each staggered at a few yards and assisted by Corpsmen and pharmacists. And despite the tension from the strafing and the dismal prospect of having to leave so many behind, the hum of chatter soon picked up again on the beach.

“Shit, shit, shit, no-I hate needles!” Marty, eighteen years old but with eyes that had seen a little too much, bore his dressing with tired stoicism until Cleven pulled out the morphine syrette.

“Son,” Gale murmured with barely concealed amusement, “your side looks like a bear cub teethed on it, you’ll be fine. And this’ll help.”

“Don’t ‘son me’ you baby faced glamor boy.” Marty spat back, marine corps superiority coursing through his admittedly impressive veins.

Gale was midway through a good natured snicker at Marty’s venom when the heavy shock of lobbed mortars began to thud the beach again. “Jesus.” the Major sounded more annoyed than surprised and had the wherewithal to place a restraining hand on Marty’s chest as the kid began to scramble up in panic, displacing Maureen’s dressing on his ribs.

“Cleven, they’re chewin’ up our strip!” Demarco yelled to them from the cockpit and sure enough, craters were beginning to form at the end of their taxi-able stretch of beach.

“Don’t leave me! Don’t leave Major!” Marty suddenly clutched at Cleven and the Major had to wrench his arm free. “Calm down, private, you’re on a stretcher.” he then ducked his head as he moved round to seize the poles, “And if there’s one thing you should know,” he went on in a low murmur just for Marty’s benefit, “it’s that Doc Egan doesn’t waste his stretchers on dead men.”

Carrying Marty’s stretcher to the plane was Maureen’s last jog down the beach. She ran up the cargo ramp and Cleven was after her, handing over the task of racking the private into a bunk to one of the nurses before sternly ordering a path for himself through the crowded belly up to his cockpit. Demarco had the full radio system on, the better to communicate with the nursing personnel as they prepared for take off, and everyone aboard could hear his exasperated greeting as his reckless officer took his seat.

“You really game enough to try to get this Goony off the ground with less than a thousand feet of strip?” Benny’s broadcasted doubt made most nurses pause in their work and Maureen met Andy’s eye from the third bunk halfway along the plane wall.

“I thought he said that’s why they have co-pilots.” Andy joked to her quietly.

“Mm,” she agreed mischievously, “I guess co-pilots are one thing, co-Clevens are another.”

“Should find a way to mass produce.” Andy sighed, “War would be over in five seconds.”

Gale Cleven hadn’t even refuted Demarco’s concern verbally and already the crew shrugged it off, if Major Cleven couldn’t get them off Hell Island then no one could, and that was that.

“John Egan, get your ass onboard, it’s wheels up.” Cleven’s yell out the window blasted through the radio, too, and the girls grinned at each other -Major Egan wasn’t one to get bossed about. But, as if to challenge everything they knew about life and their own superior, mere seconds later, John Egan was hopping up into the belly of Cleven’s plane with his empty sack dangling and sweaty hair in disarray. “We’ll be back Kenny!” he yelled to the young pharmacist’s mate left on the sand as the cargo door was hastily wrenched shut by Brady.

“Honey I’m home.” Egan yelled up to the front and Demarco’s snicker echoed along the walls of the tin belly.

“Everybody stow your gear,” Cleven’s order came through, the pounding vibration of nearby mortars shuddering the plane even more than the engine’s revving, “we’re gettin’ outta here now. S’gonna be bumpy.”

“That’ll be one word for it.” Demarco snarked, “Death by bumps.”

The human cargo in the plane, those not groaning or insensible, let up a unanimous chuckle. It helped to have been to hell and back, a quick death as a plane failed to get air and plowed instead into a sand bank was hardly the worst prospect these men had faced.

“Believe, Benny, believe.” Maureen could hear Cleven’s soft smile in his voice as the wheels began to roll.

Brady, their engineer, navigator and the lone crewman besides the pilots aboard this transport, kindly manhandled Maureen to a seat between his legs on the rattling floor beside Egan’s built-in desk, his hand fisted in the back of her jumpsuit collar like she was a kitten. They kicked their legs out together and braced as they gained speed and the plane began to jostle into the milder craters at an ever more intense pace.

Shell fragments made a series of charming bangs off the side of the wing nearest her and Maureen could hear Brady whispering behind her in repetition “God spare the oxygen, God spare the oxygen, God spare-“

“50-“ Demarco’s countdown was unfortunately broadcasting like some morbid game announcer and Maureen could see Egan’s jaw ticking in stress under the harsh overhead lights.

There was a terrible blast in front, the sound of shattering glass or metal and a jarring shudder went through the plane, “Damnnit.” Cleven hissed but the acceleration remained.

“You hit?”

“No. Read me, Benny-“

“80-“ Demarco obligingly resumed counting.

“C’mon Buck.” breath gusting on Maureen’s neck behind her, as Brady had begun to direct his prayers to the Major now and as if in answer, the stomach swooping feeling of flight took over them seconds later as the cargo plane let out a mighty roar of strained endurance and lifted with a wobble that had more than a few bunks puking their guts out. There’d be over five hours to clean the plane floor and attend to housekeeping if they could just level out and stay up long enough to get out of range.

Down the way from them Egan was still seated, one hand holding aloft a not yet hung plasma bottle and the other gripping a support bar. But his head was starting to nod like a dancer keeping pace with the band’s ever growing tempo. The engines had a beat, if you’d been personal with a plane long enough to pick it up, and Maureen paid attention to Egan’s stippling fingers on the cross bar as they mounted and mounted, little bursts of enemy gunnery causing a comparatively mild wobble to the plane body every few seconds. She figured a veteran like Brady would know when it was safe to let her go; judging by the grip on her collar he was still highly dubious of their lasting success.

“Fighters, -everyone brace.” Cleven’s voice warned about as cooly as if he was pointing out the drip of ice cream slipping down a cone.

“Ice man.” Andy praised from his bunk to the agreement of his companions as the fighter zipped by without so much as a shudder from Cleven’s steering.

Plenty of the passing bullets had punctured the belly and one man got a direct hit. “Candy!” Egan commanded from his place checking the unfortunate man’s pulse, “Go remind Buck that we haven’t got the oxygen to go full bomber, he’s gotta keep low and -Candy! When ya come back, time to start throwin’ on blankets. Brady, get our pumps going. This is as steady as it’ll get.”

“You got it, commander.”

More than a little sure her mission was more provoking than necessary, Maureen still obeyed and followed Brady up the length of the plane and towards his electrical station, then past it to poke her head between the pilot’s seats.

“Well, well, this is a pleasant surprise, getting car sick, kiddo?” Demarco joked, “Hey, I get it, I’d find it hell back there with no windows to look out.”

Their front window was partially shattered and the metal on Cleven’s side was gnarled.

“Those mortars obligingly made a few.” Maureen joked back.

“Anybody hurt?” Cleven asked, and to her surprise, he turned from his panel to look at her with unmasked concern.

A joke was ready made there about everyone quite literally being shot to hell but she sensed he’d not appreciate it and following some uninterpreted impulse of desiring his good opinion, she hardly wished to repay his earnestness with flippancy. “Only one.”

“How bad?”

“He looked -dead.” Maureen admitted. She hadn’t gotten a good look at the man moving past him but she’d seen Egan’s treatment of the body and it wasn’t promising.

Cleven’s jaw worked overtime at the news and something snapped in his mouth, followed by a soft curse from lips too full and soft to always be so stern. Maureen thought he may have broken a tooth with all that tension but he spit out two halves of a blooded toothpick instead. It fell to his pant leg.

“Major Cleven, sir, you’re bleeding.” It had drawn Maureen’s attention to his wet lap.

“That’s what I said.” Demarco agreed.

“It’s somebody else’s.” Cleven shook his head.

“You know if you pass out on me-“ Demarco warned, completely ignoring Cleven’s denial.

“-that’s why we’ve got co-pilots.” Cleven finished for him with a maddening smirk that made Benny Demarco throw his hands up.

“Can you check him?” he asked, “I mean -you are a nurse!”

“What? Hell no!” Major Cleven spooked for the first time all day at the suggestion, glancing quickly from his reddened trousers, behind him to Maureen Kendeigh, and back again. “I’m fine.” he declared in a firm tone that dettered her almost as much as the challenge of getting over the instruments and a steering column to pull down his pants and look. “Ensign Kendeigh, was there a purpose to your visit?” He redirected, resolutely ignoring Demarco’s unabated concerns.

“Yes sir,” she replied, meekly as she could, “Doc Egan asked me to remind you that you’re not flying a bomber. To mind the oxygen, sir. And that it’s cold.”

Cleven let out a mirthless little laugh. “We’re full of holes Ensign, of course it’s cold.”

“I know sir.”

“Yeah, ‘course you know,” his eyes lightened for a moment and Maureen almost deluded herself he was being chummy when he murmured next, “you’re smart like that. Tell the Lieutenant Commander I’ll keep her nice and low, so low the Jap navy gunners can blow the floor out without a sweat.”

“Much obliged, Major.” Maureen chirped, pleased to have been trusted with a bit of morbid humor -it was the truest test of being taken seriously a woman could hope for in the service.

“Thank you, Ensign.” And with that she was dismissed.

By the time she got to the belly again her assigned job of doling out blankets had long been accomplished by her fellows. Brady had the place lit up like an operating theater and there was the added drone of medical equipment added to Cleven’s engines. She liked to think of them as his now, Maureen realized, a tiredness seeping in now that the rush was over, now there was just six hours of the same until they touched down again in safety. His engines stayed with them, consistent, steady, dependable yet a little absent, just like the man himself.

“Major Cleven said he’ll keep her low, Doc.” Maureen reported dutifully but whatever humor Egan once held when sending her to the cockpit was now gone, a bloody mess on his hands as he and Ensign Dormer worked over a head wound.

“Good.” Egan gritted out, “I need a monitor on vitals and I need new gloves, c’mon Candy, c’mon!”

The hours passed like this, no way of telling time in the artificially lit tube of metal. Some men needed a cup of water and a kind smile, others required every bit of grit and intelligence to keep even the faintest pulse discernible above the hum. When one of them passed away in the anonymity of the top bunk, Egan didn’t bother to cover his face, the man looked to be sleeping and it suited the morale better if his fellows were not disillusioned on that score.

It was impossible not to think for a split second on the unfairness of it all -live to be finally evacuated and only die before getting safe. To think how someone else less tore up might’ve been given that bunk and survived the trip.

“Can’t dwell on it.” Ida Brady, their headmistress back in Manila, had said -and she had been right. But seeing her brother Lt. Brady cross himself now in recognition of a soul passed did something to Maureen’s own spirit, a grieving sort of fury possessed her which matched Egan’s own as they worked on the next unsalvageable man until he became a likely contender for seeing his wife and kids again.

She had been up for nineteen hours, flying for ten of those, nursing for four. She was bone tired and yet there was always someone to be tended and the thought of leaving one of these poor men without even the slightest of their needs met felt impossible. Maureen didn’t even think to pause or lag in her expertise, neither did the nurses around her and up there at the front somewhere, Cleven’s eyes were sharp and focused as ever, she knew it, and knowing it brought a calm over her that made her sympathize with Egan’s own superstitious preference for the man.

Brady came through with coffee, an abnormal duty he picked up as a result of trusting no one else with the process or the electrical requirements to make it. “Figured our pilots could use it.” he explained before passing out a passel of paper cups to the girls filled with the peppy stuff, belying his practical excuse, before taking two to the cockpit.

He came back out with a funny look on his face- “Benny says he needs a pan.”

“What the hell for?” Egan balked.

“Or a condom.” Brady dutifully amended the petition.

“I repeat -what the hell for?”

“They’ve drank a lotta coffee sir.”

“Any of you fellas got condoms?” Egan asked his patients with a laugh and got a series of predictable replies. “Gale Cleven sure as hell don’t.”

There were light hearted moments like that, many of them in fact, but six hours of flying with wounds as bad as the ones they were tending was no joke, there were bits of laughter and there were times of quiet and there were restless sleepers whose terrors not even morphine could dim.

“Forty minutes out.” Major Cleven had gone quiet over the coms for so long it was like hearing from God again when he came on, gentle and steady.

Those they couldn’t get comfortable were at the height of their groaning as the cold and the endless buzz got to them. Helplessly the nurses offered pillows and water and irrigated the burns with saline and checked needle positioning. Maureen had taken to charting, something too often neglected in high stress environments but something that proved terribly crucial as soon as they landed and handed over their charges to a new set of professionals. On the left side of the plane she held one man’s wrist after another and noted their pulse. On the right side she did the same, one man’s left hand after another, wedding band or sans wedding band, in her notes it was only ever:

“94, 57, 88, 91, 63, 82”

The lights had been dimmed, hopes were some rest could be gotten by those in any shape to manage sleep. It made for a drowsy atmosphere, only the flashlight in her teeth illuminating the veins under her fingers and her co-workers faces, Egan’s face was a shiny mess of freckles in the torch light despite the chill, exhaustion seeping out of him but not a hint shown in his workmanship. It made the dull chorus of groans in the dark all the more ominous and Brady remarked to Smith on one pass that maybe they should have brought a record player.

“Twenty minutes out.” Maureen and every other soul on board was living for those little updates from Cleven.

Men told to hang in there and not die before they could be gotten to surgery suddenly had a goal in mind and the suspense was growing brutal. Stashed and stowed, secured and checked, landing preparations were already done and it was last minute tending before taking seats. Maureen found herself nearly piddling by one young private, trying to soothe him with a washcloth as sepsis fever wracked him when over the intercom came the oddest lulling hum, like a far off jazz intro.

It was too soft initially to be recognized but the surety picked up, something about the tone unmistakably belonging to their pilot, his hums about as characteristic of him as his laconic speech.

“Is that whadda friend we have in Jesus?” Demarco’s voice overtopped the gentle melody.

John Egan was wheezing in a chuckle beside her as Maureen shook her own head in disbelief.

“No,” Gale murmured, humming paused only briefly, “it’s ‘Leaning on the everlasting arms’ -you fish eater.”

“You gotta be jokin’.” Benny was wheezing too but Cleven was back to his gentle humming, words actually forming this time and filling the tired plane with a timbre that could put Bing Crosby out of a job.

“What have I to dread, what have I to fear

Leaning on the everlasting arms?

I have blessed peace with my Lord so near

Leaning on the everlasting arms”

It worked, the sickening drop in elevation was -if not noticed- bravely pushed aside for a hymn sing, Brady leading from the back and Cleven from the front. And for a brief moment, men from Kansas to Florida, Oregan to Rhode Island, strapped in a flying coffin of flickering souls, were seated back in the pews of their childhood, trusting something larger than themselves. Even if that something was Gale Cleven’s steady hands or the justness of a cause worth dying for or God Almighty, it was something big and above the pain of right now.

“Leaning, leaning

Safe and secure from all alarms

Leaning, leaning

Leaning on the everlasting arms”

The Navy station at Gaum had a runway, in fact there were five Cleven could have picked at whim, and there was no feeling so beautifully civilized and sure as the smooth roll of plane tires on asphalt after what they’d just left. “Flaps at quarter!” and they were slowing, the deflated back wheel only causing some slight disturbance, and then they were stopped.

That bizarre stillness settled again as the engines were cut. Egan gave Maureen a smile so soft and telling that her heart about seized in realization -they’d managed it. “Well that’s us.” he repeated for the second time that day, voice gone raspy with cigarettes and fatigue. “Welcome to American soil, boys.”

There were so many lights outside the cargo door, searing white flashes in the nighttime, jeeps and ambulances and all manner of medical personnel at the ready, it was overwhelming in the exact opposite way the beach at Iwo had been. Maureen hopped down onto the tarmac with Ensign Mann, ready and prepared to stay with her charges until the transition could be made. Clipboard in hand and kit on her back, she’d go in with her select five until they’d been admitted and charted meticulously in the various wards.

“How’s it feel to make history, Miss?!” -some of those lights, Maureen realized with a dull throb behind her eyes, were flashbulbs. Journalists were thick as thieves, snapping and hollering, others respectfully keeping a distance, “You're the first woman to step foot in a combat zone-“ Maureen kept her hand on her stretcher even as she watched Cleven limping over to a jeep and piling in after Demarco. Her mouth set in a sour line of suspicion regarding his claims of being unscathed. He’d be in interrogation and she in the wards for the next hour, she’d have to find out later.

A couple of hours later John Egan was sat with Captain Crosby in the administration office, nothing but a small alcove at the front of the ward, his legs spread wide in his chair and good scotch whisky being slurped from a cleverly injected orange while reviewing the charts. Croz was a whizz at this, meticulous and careful to a fault and John adored him for it because men who gave a damn were scarce after this many years of grueling loss and, also, because it allowed himself to wind down sooner than he was technically free to do so.

“Two men lost, that’s -that’s still good odds.” Crosby couldn’t manage an upbeat tone, he felt those two lives as deeply as Egan did, but facts were facts and over all, this experimental mission had proven beyond successful. Now to tell that to the families of the two men now being carted to the morgue instead of surgery and salt baths.

“Yeah, my girls were Trojans out there.” Bucky sucked his teeth, the squint in his eyes beginning to relax with a boozy sort of calmness. “Speakin’ of Trojans! —Candy!”

Maureen approached the little alcove at a tired gait, not above reprimanding Egan for his loud voice with all those occupied beds just feet away. “It’s late, Commander.” she reminded with hinting softness that only made him crane his head back and grin sloppily at her.

“It is, it is.” he agreed, reaching up to pat her arm and she squinted at the smell of whiskey, Crosby’s sudden and transparent busyness with the charts confirmed her suspicions. “You should get some shut eye, Candy! Back at it tomorrow.”

“So should you.” she hinted kindly.

“Mm,” he hummed in negative, “apparently my ‘specialty’ is needed elsewhere before then.”

“And so the booze?” she struck back and Crosby’s pen briefly dragged along his tidy line in shock at her daring.

“Steady hands, Candy darlin.” Egan responded, lifting two sticky palms up and showing, indeed, not a tremor. “I’ve got a surgery in less than an hour -working with Brady’s old sister, of all people, the one who snuck out of Manila after?- anyways, she’s 90 pounds of spit and vinegar. Starved for two years, but she takes three weeks off and a round of anti-parasitics and she’s all ‘let me back at ‘em.’ Hell of a dame. Anyway, surgery with her. I need this.”

“Well,” Maureen Kendeigh knew when to let go of a fight with a man who’d as yet never failed her or anyone else, despite his habits, “I can confirm it does nothing for your eyes bags.”

“Kiss ‘em better?”

“Not in my purview, sir.” she couldn’t help but smile, “Perhaps lieutenant Brady will be obliging?”

“She scares me.” he objected.

“And I don’t?”

“Only in the ways I like, Candy Darlin’.” he insited.

“Ah Major!” Crosby’s strained greeting drew their attention away from this over rehearsed banter and Egan straightened up fast upon sight of his friend.

“Buck!”

“John.” Gale Cleven was in the same uniform he’d been in for hours, flight jacket undone and scarf hanging loose. He must have come straight from interrogation and standing in front of the administrator's desk he was turning his cover over and over in his hands. Maureen was certain that were she to devote two hours a day to brushing her hair she could never bernish it to the golden brilliance that twelve hours of flight-sweat gave his. On a more concerning note, his was pale as death except for those lips. “I came to check in on everybody. Load of journalists out there.” He thumbed back behind him at the public area, “Mostly curious about you, Ensign.”

“Historical.” Egan affirmed and sent Maureen a sly look as she sighed over the fuss being made of her mission.

“I’m one of twenty.” she reminded.

“I hope you were nice about her.” Egan goaded his buddy and to her confusion, Gale flinched as if that were a remarkably successful mode of attack.

“O-of course.” he frowned severely and Maureen had a desperate urge to thumb those lines away. “I told them the truth.” he defended, mildly heated.

“Which is?” Egan was enjoying this and neither Maureen nor Harry Crosby could seem to puzzle out why.

“They did remarkably.” Cleven didn’t budge.

“Better than you thought.” Egan prodded.

“Yeah. Admittedly, far better than I thought. Jeeze, John.”

“But were you nice about her?” Egan insisted.

“What?”

“You said they were particular about Candy.” Egan said, “So what did you say?”

Maureen grew concerned that with such a level of fluster in the Major’s face not a stitch of blood seemed able to raise a blush.

“How ‘bout you read it in the paper.” Gale replied, coolly mean before clearing his throat and straightening up, back in possession of himself. “I came to see how many -how’d we do?”

“Twenty eight.” Egan confirmed.

“Outta thirty?” Cleven asked for confirmation.

“Yes sir.” Crosby answered him.

“Alright.” The Major accepted that, hat still whirling in his hands, a strange contrast to his perfectly contained posture. It drew Maureen’s eye to his hips and that deep red stain running down his pant leg.

“How’s your hip Major?” she asked, seeking to break the silence before Egan did so with some new and regrettable subject.

That did bring a flush and a sheen of sweat broke out on a face Maureen knew would be feverishly hot were she to touch it. He looked peeky, truth be told. “It’s fine, ma’am.”

“Hold up,” Egan stood from his chair and leaned over the desk to glare blearily at Gale’s trousers. “You're hit.”

“It’s a scratch.”

“Scratches don’t keep bleedin’ like that.“

“Well, mine do.”

“Hey, I don’t go tellin’ you how to fly your planes-“

“-you do though.”

“-so you don’t go tellin’ me what’s a scratch and what’s a wound. It’s still drippin’, that makes it a wound.”

Cleven moved his boot to the side impatiently and only succeeded in proving his friend’s point as a line of fresh blood smeared the white tile. “I was gonna just -“

“-What?”

“-Clean it in the shower.” Cleven sighed, defeated but with an edge that suggested he might yet do it .

“Oh, just gonna rinse mortar fragments outta of your thigh, yeah?”

“It’s not that bad. Dunno if it really got hit.” He protested, “Might be scratched.”

“Or you might have a piece of your instrument panel snuggled up to an artery.” John affirmed sarcastically. “We’re goin’ up again tomorrow. I need you fit, I need you good.”

“I am.”

“You’re gonna get checked.” Egan commanded and Gale looked back at the double doors leading to freedom and a pack of journalists and sighed. “You’re on the ground now, flyboy, I call the shots.”

“Ok.” Cleven mumbled, “If you’re so goddamn eager to pants me, do it.”

“I am, I am but I’ve got even better things to do.” Egan rounded the desk and flung an arm around Gale in parting, bringing him in close despite Cleven’s stiff necked antipathy that hid only the deepest seated endearment, “Like putting a left lung back where it should be and trying to get Lt. Brady to smile at me.” Egan expounded, letting go and beginning to actually leave, much to Cleven's sudden concern, “Which is, naturally, on the left -the left lung, that’s where it goes.” Egan went on.

“Wait, aren’t you gonna-?” Cleven called after him.

“Pantsing is more of Ensign Kendeigh’s purview.” John replied cheerfully. “Don’t look so appalled, I'm sure she’s seen smaller.”

“John!” Major Cleven and Maureen both inflected his name like twin, scandalized parrots.

“You deserve each other.” John laughed, “Ensign, do your duty.”

“This is the kinda behavior that has you gettin’ write ups for bein’ a terror to your nurses!” Gale growled after him in remonstrance but it did nothing to slow Egan’s tactical withdrawal.

“Bulshit, everybody on this ward loves me!” John dared to claim even as he was berated on his way out by more than a few wounded marines for being a little too jovial at two in the morning.

Cleven didn’t wait for the doors to fully close on Egan or for Maureen to collect her professional demeanor and clipboard before he was leaning over Captain Crosby at his desk, large hands splayed on the fresh paperwork, assuming the pose of a supplicant before a lawyer. “Harry, Captain, do me a favor this once and take a look fo-“

“-Major Cleven sir,” Harry Crosby interjected levelly and with the utmost respect, “I’m an administrator.”

Maureen composed herself, the sight of this stoic man losing a grip on himself due to the prospect of lost modesty was surprising, it was also motivating to find her own professionalism and put him at ease. “Major, if you’d follow me?” she nodded her head towards the ward and started clopping down the dim aisle toward one of the last empty beds. He didn’t need to lay down for it but she needed her instrument tray, an isolated light and, if his shyness was so severe, drawing the sectioned curtains would hardly be amiss.

When she arrived and turned round to instruct him, he was obediently there to obey. Something about that dogged respect for authority he possessed and his compliance with her own profession filled her with an odd protectiveness and she motioned him into the space gently, tugging the curtain closed behind him. He was taller than she realized, made more apparent as he took the initiative and tugged off the bulky weight of his flight jacket, methodically laying it out in a half fold on the bed, nothing but a lean line of him left in olive green.

Lanky, her mother would call him, a long drink of water. He looked all of twenty four, suddenly, soft and in need of a meal. “Your leg, yes?” she reaffirmed, jotting it down in the chart. She had found that men found it easier to talk of injuries when she wasn’t making eye contact.

“Yes.” His voice was low as the grave and hushed too, “And -I think maybe my hip.”

Maureen’s eyes flicked to the place in question, recalling how she had suspected his lap in general on the plane. “Right.” she made the customary jot down of the detail and then an arguably unnecessary note beside it, the longer to give him a chance to cool himself. “Your pants Major, if you would.” she filled in the date and the time, cursory information so as not to be idle while he undid his belt, the clank of the flat uniform clasp deafening in the space where he seemed to hold his breath.

She was used to discerning the moment when it was safe to look up. Often there was a brief period after the sound of pants hitting the floor where one might have the misfortune of catching a man adjusting himself to a preferred side. She was prepared to give him that moment in peace but his voice called her to attention.

“Is this?-“ he didn’t finish his sentence and she looked up to see his vague gesture as he stood in briefs and boots, jacket hung open, too.

“Yes I think we can manage with those on.” she smiled reassuringly, discerning his query. His skivvies were blood stained on the right and clinging to him but the wounds appeared to be above and below their coverage, “I’ve always got scissors if need be.”

“Scissors.” He repeated with a nod, teeth savagely dug into his lip.

“Jacket off, this could get messy.” She ordered and something about her decisiveness seemed to soothe him like she knew it would, he shrugged it off gracefully and laid it beside the sheepskin, and yanked at his tie to relive his bobbing throat. “Please, sit Major.”

He sat down on the bed, a little stiffly, and she reached above her to turn on the large overhead lamp, shining it down on them both and in the harsh glow of it she wasn’t sure she’d ever seen something so beautiful as Gale Cleven’s blushing face fixed upturned towards her own.

“You’ve lost a lot of blood, looks like.” she attempted to make conversation and got a mere nod instead, once she stepped nearer, his eyes devoutly focused themselves somewhere to the right of them, on the floor.

She rinsed the area first, wiping away the crusted blood until his smooth, lightly haired skin came into view, little jagged tears visible in it with small fragments embedded. It wasn’t bad at all, but deep enough to keep it bleeding.

The touch of cool water made him jolt in surprise. What it didn’t do was make him shrink. She saw his hands curl, white knuckled around the mattress pad beside him as she gently dug out the metal, and she had a suspicion it wasn’t from the pain.

As unabashedly as her profession had taught her, Maureen tugged up his boxer leg until she was satisfied she’d uncovered the last little shard and did what was necessary, reaching atop the wet fabric and moving his heavy member up and away. He about bucked off the table at that mere touch of positioning and Maureen backed away out of pure animal instinct to avoid getting reflexively kneed.

“I'm sorry!“ he rushed out, his chest suddenly tight like an elephant were sat on it and his blood thudded in his ears, “Ensign, I apologize, I don’t know why-“

“It’s fine.” she insisted, stunned and pitying at the realization she probably was the first woman to touch him this way. To touch him at all. “I’m sorry this requires it.” she admitted.

“Please don’t -“ he took a large breath and began again, actually managing to meet her eyes out of sheer willpower, “-I’m the one who’s sorry. You’re doing your job, i don’t know why I get- it’s unprofessional of me, I'm sorry.” he repeated firmly and straightened his spine as if he could discipline a most human reaction away.

“It’s not at all uncommon.” She whispered, feeling compelled to be unprofessional herself if only to make him stop berating himself, “We nurses deal with this all the time, quite normal after combat, particularly.” Maureen paused for a moment and weighed the joke on the tip of her tongue as she dabbed iodine on a cotton ball and prepared to go back into the dreaded zone of his thigh crease, “It’s to be expected, the manual says; your blood is quite literally UP.”

Stood there in suspense between his legs with the iodine swab waiting mid air, Maureen waited until she saw a flicker of amusement twinkle his sad expression and a snicker escape that sober mouth. “Tell me about it.” he rasped, exasperated at his own body. “Every damn time.”

“That’s what I’m doing,” she teased, bringing the swab down and ignoring the sizable jolt his whole body and appendage gave at this dab to his thigh or the way his belly caved in with his deep intake of breath, “I’m telling you it’s normal.”

“Damn, you are sweet.” He declared suddenly with gut wrenching emphaticism that finally broke Mauren’s own precarious composure. “Not just to me,” he hastened to add in response to her melting expression so close to him, “to everybody out there. You were incredible today.” He paused and Maureen swallowed hard and tried with great difficulty to find the capability to thank him for the compliment. Before she could, he added with youthful honesty, “But you are -sweet to me.”

“Right back at you. Major.” she insisted, daring to stay that close and look back into those eyes she thought would be her last sight on earth for a second there on the beach earlier. His shuddering breath suggested he was recalling it, too.

“It’s nice to have friends in the crucible with ya.” he explained and Maureen felt her heart glow.

“Your poor hands.” she whispered, dropping her swab to gather his shaky hands in hers, the large palms engulfed her own even as she tried to cradle them. Never a hint of this anxiety while flying them, yet here he was shivering with it afterwards. “Probably blood loss.” she gave him an out, some men weren’t ready for talk of flight exhaustion or strained nerves.

“Then why’s it wasting all I’ve got to spare on…that?” He actually managed to joke back and Maureen actually allowed herself to laugh -god help her, she laughed at a man’s joke about an ill timed erection.

“John would say something about hope springing eternal, right about now.” she wheezed even as he groaned, his hands still placidly jittering in her grip, “I enjoyed your singing, by the way.”

“Mm, yeah, well,” he cleared his throat, “you didn’t see the hole in the wing or the busted flaps all the way home. That landing didn’t promise to be as pretty as it was.”

“But it was pretty.”

“Yeah. Not too bad.”

“A gorgeous landing.” she insisted and his eyes started to water under the harsh light. Impulsively, and in an act of unprofessionalism she would have never recognized before today, Maureen Kendeigh drew his hands close to her chest and pressed a kiss to his lined forehead. The way he sagged against her in a shuddering lunge suggested her impulse was a good one. “Doc Egan insists whiskey is good for this.” she whispered into hair that smelled so strongly of his musk and the wool of his cap she about buckled from it.

“Mm, but is it g—good for him?” he responded rhetorically, a gust of moist breath against the open throat of her flight jacket, his usual irony still remained with only a hiccup of nerves interrupting his speech. Maureen wasn’t sure anymore, what saved a life, well, it had saved a life, so why demonize it? She was here to force things to keep living in environments so hostile wildflowers gave up. Some men needed their booze and some men needed to be held in the hospital ward at two in the morning until their shakes calmed. As if he could read her mind, she felt Gale turn his head to the side a little for breath, face still pressed to her chest as he uttered quietly, “This is working. For me.”

“Good.” Nose buried in his hair she took a few measured breaths herself, feeling that odd calm still radiating off him, even as his body was shot to hell and giving off the overtaxed jitters. “You bring people calm, you know that, Major? It’s why Egan picked you for this, deep down, you make a plane load of dying men hang in there. That’s a gift. But when you’ve got a cup you keep pouring out of, it’s bound to go empty. Gotta refill yourself, sometimes, yes?”

“I thought this was blood loss.” Gale replied softly and it took Maureen a beat to recognize the sad mischief in his blue eyes.

“Alright. I’ll speak for myself.”She conceded with a huff.

“You must be exhausted.” he noted, suddenly as sober as they come.

“A little tired.” she admitted, questioning the way she instinctively tightened her hold on the back of his neck as he stiffened to pull away. Entirely unprofessional, she wasn’t a medicine spoon or a needle, he had every right to pull away.

“So what would fill your cup back up?” he asked in that low voice that sent a million varied undertones crashing through her, whether he intended it or not.

Too tired to be much more than plainly honest, or as honest as a woman should be with a half undressed patient cradled to her chest, Maureen admitted the half of it, which in many ways was the whole, “This is working for me.”she repeated his own words to him and watched them take effect.

Like a sudden reanimation had occurred, Gale Cleven untangled their hands with emphatic surety and then, in an act of kindness Maureen never expected, brought them to her shoulders and tugged her down for a solid embrace. “A hug and a nap then.” He prescribed, his solid shoulder beneath her cheek and his legs parted for her to step between. Only the bandages kept him from bleeding further on her.

“Not a nap,” she smiled, an inexplicable warmth and calmness flooding through her in his hold, his back was broad and lean under her hands, “we should go to sleep.”

“No such thing as going to sleep in the military, Ensign.” Gale murmured, “Sleep -that’s what happens when your mama tucks you in and you’ve got a whole night to waste. Naps. That’s what we take.”

“Alright, a nap, and a hug.”

“Alright.”

“You know,” Maureen dared with a little smile as some part of her slotted back in place and gave her the boldness to be a little too much, “there’s this thing people came up with ages ago where you hug and take naps at the same time.”

Pink cheeked but with a jaw clench that had defeated warzones, Gale Cleven pulled his head away and gave her a heavy look of admonishment, “Marriage.” he stated unamused.

Well, she had meant sex, and she wanted it, always had after danger -but Cleven had a point too.

“Uh, yes, that’s the most common-“

“-If I were to marry you, Maureen Kendeigh,” his voice took on a teasing lilt that was somehow more devastating than all his commanding earnestness, “there’d be no nap taking.”

“Oh.” A single utterance was about all she could articulate in the face of that smirk and gentle refusal. Both flattering and painful all at once. “Well, that’s not for us then.”

“No.” he pondered, full lips twitching downwards in disappointment, “At least, sounds like a decidedly post-war endeavor. No naps.” he clarified.

“Oh -yes.” she caught on, well used to the code of superstition all around her that didn’t allow men to spell out any sort of lasting, long term hope. “A postwar endeavor.” she agreed, never having heard marriage so smartly categorized.

“Uhuh,” his hands trailed up from her ribs to squeeze the sore muscles of her deltoid, “for now -naps. Back up tomorrow.”

“Alright.” she agreed, stepping a small distance back and looking him over, this time his presence didn’t shrink, in fact if anything he expended in the small room and it made her chest ache, “You're alright?” she made sure one last time.

He held his palms flat up and Maureen could attest they were indeed steady, terribly large, too, and his watch on his wrist was careening towards three o’clock. “Looks like it.” he rasped. “But you’re in charge here. Can I go, Ensign?”

Regretfully Maureen nodded, “You’re dismissed, Major.”

When he stood up from the bed he was by necessity in her space, looking down at her rather fearlessly as he yanked up the waist of his trousers and gathered the belt closed around his lean waist. Maureen felt her cheeks burn but couldn’t look away, if she were to glance away from those eyes she might see something even more tempting before he’d secured the fabric.

“Got any more duties after this?” he asked, breaking the moment as he bent to arrange his trouser hems over his boots.

“No.”

“Then I’ll walk you to your billet.”

“For naps.” she clarified cheekily.

“For naps.” he agreed with mirthful vehemence, finger pointed at her with almost paternal caution to not push his patience.

“Do you want your shell fragments?” she rattled them in their dish, the pieces she'd pried from the shallow muscle of his hip.

Cleven paused with his hand on the dividing curtain, shaking his head in amusement, “Give ‘em to Egan,” he suggested with a wicked little smirk, “knowing him he’ll make a talisman out of them or something equally useful.”

Hope y’all enjoyed! Feedback is a writer’s life blood, lemme head your thots or screams! Xoxo

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[o-sachi]

Sk8er Boi - Drabble (Request)

ᯓ confessions? whuzzat? clearly, neither of you know what that is ᯓ character; shidou ryusei (blue lock) ᯓ tags; mutual pining, angsty?, shidou is a menace, afab reader, no y/n, sfw, based on Avril Lavigne's song Sk8r Boi

[🐟]: Idk what I did with this tbh.

He was a boy She was a girl Can I make it anymore obvious?

Shidou Ryusei. The pink-haired lunatic. The freak.

People knew him by several names and people knew him through several reasons... most of which aren't good. Your friends, your family, everyone who knew that you knew him—would all say the same thing. Don't get yourself involved with that guy.

But you could never ever find it in yourself to not get involved with Shidou Ryusei. You were like a feeble and naive moth prancing around his raging flame. You teetered on the precipice between bravery and downright stupidity. Not that it mattered to you. Truth be told, you thought Shidou Ryusei was a nice guy.

You had your reasons, of course.

He was a punk She did ballet What more can I say?

No, you didn't do ballet. Hell, you can't really dance. But Shidou? He was a full-blown punk—through and through. His personality, the way he dresses, the people he surrounds himself with—there's no denying it. If you extracted his blood and got it tested, it would come back with the results of 70% Monster energy drinks and 30% cigarette butts.

Though he wasn't a low-level punk. In his bad crowd, he was hailed as their king. Perhaps this was a testament to his wickedness. But for you, it made him feel like a legend—a myth untouched that you could only dream of coming close to. There was a word for this... romanticizing? Delusion? Kids these days have a term for everything lately.

It remains a mystery why someone like you would vie for someone like him. Maybe after living such a mundane and "proper" life—you were looking for a bit of thrill in your life. Maybe you just made terrible decisions.

But nothing's bad when it comes to love, right?

He wanted her She'd never tell Secretly she wanted him as well

Rowdy as he is—Shidou loved pretty things. He loved acquiring them—making them his and only his. It just so happens you were one of those pretty things he had the greatest pleasure of laying his eyes on.

And Shidou Ryusei hated two things. One, children when they start infesting the local skate park which he lovingly calls his "second home." And two, when the pretty little thing that he likes is being threatened.

When he saw your face contort in fear being surrounded by a bunch of other punks—that all too familiar itch to go punch something flared up within him. It happened way too fast. Even though your eyes darted from side-to-side, trying to make sense of what was happening—Shidou was simply too quick.

Too quick at jumping into action and too quick to fall in love.

Well, he called it love. But it was more of a deep and carnal infatuation. But never mind that—all he knew was that he wanted you. This was his way of showing you exactly that.

His ego inflated for every second your eyes remained fixated over his triumphant form. He stood above the defeated men who were just threatening you a few minutes ago. Shidou was your savior and it was only right for you to show him your gratitude now.

And like a play, the roles were filled. Others might say you were too eager.

"Thank you... for saving me," you managed to stutter it out. Your hands shook, probably from the surge of adrenaline.

He smirked. It was one of the three facial expressions he had after all. But everything was going according to his plan—a plan that consisted of a mere 2 steps: to save you then to make you his.

Simple, but reaching. Although, for Shidou Ryusei, he believed everything was possible with his own two hands.

He held out his calloused hand for you to take, pulling you up back to your feet. "It was nothing. Just glad I could help a damsel in distress."

"I... I don't know how I can repay you..."

He brought those same calloused hands to your face, heat radiating off of his dirtied palms. His thumbs pressed the corners of your lips, forcibly (but gently) pushing it into a smile—the same smile he fell in love at first sight with.

"That's about right. Just wanna see you smile again."

In that moment you had no words because there wasn't a single string of words that could contain what you felt. Perhaps you two had a thing in common after all—you were both too quick to fall in love.

He was a skater boy She said, "See you later, boy" He wasn't good enough for her

The first people to notice your budding romance was actually Shidou's friends. Quite ironic, by the way, that his friends intimidated you but not Shidou—not the man who was supposedly scarier than all of them combined. But maybe there was an explanation behind it.

The simple fact was that—his friends did not like you.

Sure, you were pretty, sweet, and the kind of girl a guy could take home to his mother. But that was exactly it. You were too good and it was slowly and surely changing their leader.

All of a sudden, Shidou's time was divided between their usual activities and courting you—whether that meant "accidentally" bumping into you at random places and being present whenever you needed some assistance.

"You see, she's a no go. Like c'mon, man. What are you gonna do once her parents find out about you? Think they're gonna open their doors for you? Tough luck, man."

Shidou sat back and hoisted up his feet on the table. "Don't need her parents to like me. If she likes me then that's all that matters."

His friends looked at each other, knowing what everyone else was thinking at the moment. "Well, do you even know if she likes you?"

...

"I'll worry about that when I have to," he shrugs.

That was the end of the discussion. As much as they disliked your presence in their lives, they knew better than to question his fondness for you. Shidou has fought for you before and he's not afraid to do it again... and again... and again—for as long as he had to.

But what if you didn't like him back? What then? Would there even be a fight for him to engage in? There wouldn't.

It's been a while since he felt this way—the feeling that gripped his heart and wrung it dry. The feeling that made him want to slam his fists into a wall until his knuckles were down to the bone.

It was the feeling of fear.

She had a pretty face But her head was up in space She needed to come back down to Earth

You were no better, of course. In many ways, it was like the two of you were made for each other. That is, if we were talking about how both of you became crippled with fear at the thought of rejection.

Fate worked in funny ways and its humor was evident with how your heart desperately chased for the man you couldn't have.

When you were with him, you were on cloud 9. But you never had a chance of staying up there too long. There were people that pulled you down from your fantasy land as soon as they saw the changes in you.

Shidou was careful enough at least to catch you at times when others wouldn't have to see you. But you've been with him too much that he was starting to rub off on you.

And it showed. The people around you knew because you wore your heart on your sleeve.

Then the same words echoed in your mind: Do not get involved with Shidou Ryusei no matter what.

Don't.

Just don't.

o-sachi © 2024 pls do not translate/copy/reupload my work on other platforms.