#cage is an agent of chaos

[alien-slushie]

Choi Han: What's a Thot?

Cage: It means: thoughtful person.

*later*

Cale, handing a water bottle to Choi Han: Drink this.

Choi Han: Thanks Cale-Nim, you're such a thot!

Cale, wheezing: I'm a /what/?!

[scringleydingleydoo]

HELLO

"Use your palms not just your fingertips mate" or whatever he said.

LOOK AT THIS SCENE FROM WHEN MILES WAS TRAPPED IN THE CAGE THING. YOU CAN SEE HOBIE HOLD UP HIS HANDS AND MOUTHS 'palms' OR SOMETHING. I FUCKING LOVE THIS GUY

agent of chaos i love him

[sheerfreesia007]

Boardgame Confessions

Pairing: Jeongin x Reader

Word count: 1,077

Content warnings: Fluff

Summary: Jeongin has known since he met you that you’re his partner in crime and that he was in love with you. But what happens when over a friendly board game he decides to confess to you?

The room is in utter chaos and Jeongin grins wickedly as he feels his stomach begin to flutter with delight at the scene. The Monopoly board game is laid out on the coffee table with each one of the guys sitting around it all arguing about who had the most property on the board and who wasn’t playing by the rules while you sit quietly behind him on the couch with each of your legs caging him gently. He loudly scoffs at Jisung who adamantly refuses to pay up the fee of landing on one of his properties as the older man crosses his arms over his chest while pouting.

“Absolutely not!” Jisung snaps at him while Jeongin rolls his head back against your thigh before shooting a glare at the older man. The warmth of your thigh against the back of his head makes him feel relaxed even as he feels the soft flesh tense underneath his head. He’s been noticing for the past few months that you’ve been responding differently to any of his actions, it had started the night that he had brought you as his plus one to an award ceremony. You had been nervous leading up to the evening because of all the pomp and prestige of the event, but the night of the event when he had walked out in his fitted designer suit it was almost as if you had lost all thought of your nerves and just stared at him as if you were seeing him for the first time. If he had to admit it the way you had looked at him made him feel sexy and dangerous all at the same time, it was addicting. So that was how he found himself growing bolder with his actions around you and reveling in the way you responded.

Jeongin knew he was in love with you, had been the first time he met you through Chan. You had come off as sweet and unassuming at first but there was a sparkle in your eye that had caught his attention and an understanding dwelled inside him as he saw your subtle smirks at things the boys did around you. You were just as much an agent of chaos as he was, you were kindred spirits and lived to upend the boys day to day going ons. 

Take now for instance, you and Jeongin were the only two with the most bought properties in the game causing a lot of turmoil and grief for the others as they tried to play the game. You were very quiet and strategic in your gameplay while Jeongin was loud and boisterous not fearing to brag ot the boys as he bought yet another property. This was why you two worked so well together, you were two sides of the same coin with only slight differences in mannerisms. Jeongin loved it and he loved you, which is why he enjoyed feeling your body tense behind him as he shifted his head back against your plush thigh.

“You’re a sore loser.” Jeongin snips out just as you card your fingers through his hair and he grunts softly at the feeling before turning and nipping at the flesh on your thigh in appreciation. Your leg jolts at his action and he chuckles lowly at the knowledge that you’re affected by him. You tug at his hair slightly in retaliation and he tilts his head back to stare up at you as he groans quietly watching curiously as your eyes widen slightly and your thigh tenses underneath his head. A slow smirk starts to form on his face then and you look down at him with a raised eyebrow in question, you knew him too well not to expect something from him at this point and he grinned wickedly up at you from his relaxed position. “Join forces with me?” he asks suddenly and Jisung cries out in dismay while you quietly stare at Jeongin before a slow smirk forms on your face causing his stomach to heat with desire.

“You can’t that’s cheating!” wails Jisung but the two of you both ignore his loud cries and the other’s agreeing comments as you stare at each other. Jeongin widens his eyes slightly and pouts his bottom lip out watching avidly as your pupils dilate for a moment before your smirk broadens on your face and your own eyes sparkle deviously at him.

“What’s the magic word?” you ask haughtily and Jeongin’s answering grin causes his eyes to close nearly all the way as excitement and desire builds within his body.

“I love you.” he responds and instantly the room silences before chaos once more erupts around the two of you. Chan and Changbin are jumping to their feet shouting and cheering in joyful bursts of happiness, Minho is smirking over at the unaware maknae like a proud parent, Hyunjin and Felix are falling into each other kicking their feet as the squeal and giggle, Seungmin and Jisung are staring at the maknae with disgust written on their faces as Seungmin gags loudly. But none of that registers for either one of you as you both still stare at each other in a silent staredown. Jeongin can see the moment it all falls into place for you and he practically beams from the inside out as he watches you slowly lean forward towards him.

Your hair falls like a curtain around him as your lips press gently onto his in an upside down kiss to compete against the Spiderman one from the movie. The boys all begin to cheer and holler loudly at your action but Jeongin ignores them as he leans up to reciprocate the kiss with you letting all his love and affection speak for himself through his lips. When you both pull away to breathe you’re both panting for air and Jeongin can feel his heart trying to pound out of his chest.

“I love you more.” you whisper against his mouth before leaning past him to place one of your tiny colored houses onto his property and vice versa with his tiny colored house. Suddenly the boys all groan loudly and Changbin throws up his hands yelling that he’s not playing anymore since the two business tycoons have joined forces causing you to laugh with delight. Jeongin smirks to himself before pulling down for another upside kiss as he hears Seungmin gag loudly once again.

SKZ Taglist: @intartaruginha, @kayleefriedchicken

[witchofthesouls]

About the Other/Cybertronian!TFP crew in Jack, Raf and Miko…

What would their alt modes be like, do you think? Would they be more Autobot, Decepticon, or Predacon in nature? Also, what kind of shenanigans would each of them get into?

Personally, I do enjoy the thought that cyberized!humans would have a slant towards 'military' upgrades and beastial traits. Like a tribute to humanity's ties to the animal kingdom and their capacity for arms (tool usage lol). Think of it how a lot of civilian equipment, vehicles, fashion, and architecture, as well as groundbreaking discoveries, had a lot of roots from warfare or military applications.

Shoot, I'm thinking that Aligned verse cyber!humans could be considered throwbacks since the initial generations of early Cybertronians didn't have T-cogs!

I think it would be really fascinating to build on the Cybertronians' form of ableism (as seen with Bumblebee and Starscream with their stolen T-cogs) compared to a cyber!Agent Fowler -who was an Army Ranger-or a cyber!random human that lacks a weapon system and/or conventional armature. Plus, the massive culture clash between American views on social mobility versus Golden Age Functionist-held caste system.

(So much shenanigans there.)

Generally, my thoughts for their Cybertronian forms are consistent across the various Other aus with some tweaking on the plot and the world-building:

Jack has deep ties to blackbirds and corvids, so he's capable of flight. May have multi-forms as an ode to a fae heritage or something strange as a direct descendant to a Prime of Chaos upon a planet caging the Unmaker. Dark frame with a pale face. His (and his mother's) optics would be a grey-blue hue.

Miko is a War-Forged Seeker femme. A lot of is due my headcanons on Seekers (and their kin) and her yōkai roots. War-Forged is what I'm specifically calling Elita One's frame-kith. Cybertronians used to bleed pink, so the bright pink armor is callback their Primal Age and their ancient roots. War-Forged are mecha with extreme combat-related programs that modern science as yet to come close to surpassing them.

As for Raf, he's a dragon. Not quite a Predacon, but it's definitely aligned. Or, weirdly enough, a satellite. I think it would be funny if he's similar to Soundwave in some ways there. The Autobots would need to deal with his data-cables. A dragon shape as it's a call his family's roots to being adventurers to Elsewhere, his dad being a dragon himself, and the old warning: "Here be dragons."

[littlefireball]

Can you make a Werewolf Yeosang too?

Yah of course 😎 sub yeosang is here btw 😗

ʏꜱ|ꜱᴇx ꜱʟᴀᴠᴇ ᴀꜱ ᴡɪɴɴɪɴɢ ʀᴇᴡᴀʀᴅ (ᴍ)

ʙᴇᴛᴀ ᴡᴇʀᴇᴡᴏʟꜰ ꜱᴜʙ ʏᴇᴏꜱᴀɴɢ x ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ ᴋɴɪɢʜᴛ ꜱᴏꜰᴛ ᴅᴏᴍ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: ʟᴏɴɢ ꜱᴍᴜᴛ|ᴏʀᴀʟ| ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴᴇᴅ ᴏꜰ ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ,ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ, ꜰɪɢʜᴛɪɴɢ ꜱᴄᴇɴᴇ| ᴜꜱɪɴɢ ᴏꜰ ꜱᴀꜰᴇ ᴡᴏʀᴅ|ᴜɴᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ ꜱᴇx|ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ɪꜱ ᴘᴏɪꜱᴏɴᴇᴅ|ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ꜱɪɢʜᴛ

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 3.5ᴋ

Masterlist

Had it not been for the poisoning incident, you would have never found yourself caught up in this questionable contest. Now, standing toe to toe with your rival, you pace anxiously, battling the discontent bubbling inside you and the "toxins" wreaking havoc on your system.

A wave of regret washes over you as you think back to your adventurous spirit that led you to sample such strange concoctions—a glass of wine laced with aphrodisiacs. With no known cure for these powerful agents, the only path back to normalcy lies in having sex with others.

A searing heat envelops your body, your heart pounds wildly in your chest, and every breath feels like a struggle. At first, you tried to withstand the agony, but the toll on your body becomes too much to bear, drastically affecting your everyday existence. In a fit of desperation, you find yourself wandering into the grim world of the slave market.

Whether it's the intoxicating haze clouding your mind or amplifying your cravings, the sight of the prized "championship trophy" stirs a fire within you that demands to be unleashed.

Yeosang—renowned as the finest sex slave in the shadowy underbelly of the black market. To be more specific, he is a werewolf slave. How unfortunate for him, as he was forsaken by his own kind. The tale is straightforward. The mate of the wolf pack's leader became infatuated with him, yet he refused to yield to her advances, leading to her slandering him. Naturally, he stood no chance against the alpha; after all, he is merely a beta.

Clad in a sleek black silk suit, he kneels within the confines of a cage, his hands and feet ensnared by heavy chains, reminiscent of a peacock deprived of its liberty. His striking beauty feels utterly misplaced in this grim reality, with his youthful visage starkly contrasting the violent chaos that surrounds him.

Yet, he remains indifferent to the impending clash, for he is merely a "trophy," and the value he offers will remain unchanged, no matter who emerges victorious.

"Oh damn, what's wrong with me…" Your gaze is irresistibly drawn to him. Yeosang bows his head, his eyes fixating on the handcuffs encircling his wrists, a look of sorrow washing over his face as he gently traces the angry red marks left by the bindings. You take in this poignant scene, but soon redirect your attention to the looming battle.

Ho, you must be crazy because of that fucking alcohol. Why do you feel pity when you kill people for a living? Why do you have to compete in person when you can obviously solve the problem with money?

Just fuck it.

You inhale deeply, centering your thoughts back on the game. Both of you stand poised, hearts racing, waiting for your foes to make the first move.

Your eyes lock in a fierce stare, each of you radiating intensity. In your mind, you strategize, plotting the perfect moment to strike and finish the duel with a single, decisive blow.

Yet, the crowd's restlessness grows, their thirst for blood palpable.

"Just fight already! Quit stalling! You two idiots!"

A voice cuts through the tension, a man shouting in frustration at the drawn-out standoff. The knights halt their fidgeting, turning their fierce gazes toward the impatient onlookers.

Seizing the moment while your adversary is momentarily distracted, you launch yourself forward, driving your sword with all your strength!

He attempts to defend himself with crossed arms, but your blow is too powerful, sending him crashing to the ground, his trident skittering away.

You stride over him, looking down at the defeated figure, and raise your gleaming blade.

In a heartbeat, his head tumbles away like a ball kicked across the field, blood erupting like a geyser, splattering your armor and weapon.

Thus, the clash concludes—an outcome devoid of tension or buildup. The audience stands in stunned silence, unable to comprehend how this "epic battle" could be resolved in mere moments.

Even Yeosang stands in shock, having never encountered such raw power in any battle he has witnessed before. A wave of terror washes over him. Panic surges in his chest, gripping his nerves and rendering him motionless. His eyes, wide with fear, lock onto yours, as if he might crumble at any moment.

You step closer to Yeosang, your face devoid of expression, unlock the cage, and reach out your hand to him. "You belong to me now," you deliberately lower your voice, ensuring that your words remain unheard by others. After a tense pause, he finally responds, trembling as he takes hold of your hand.

You draw him out of the cage, your hand resting firmly on the back of his neck, and once more you lower your voice, whispering, "You understand what you need to do, don't you?" "Yes, Sir."

You both step into the room, the door clicking shut behind you. He reaches for your armor, but you halt his hand. Confused, he tilts his head, yet you ignore his puzzled expression and pull him onto the bed.

"Listen, I'm poisoned. I just need your help to detox, and I promise I don't have any strange habits."

"But… how can I assist you?"

"You're amusing. Did you forget your role?" Leaning down, you gently lift his chin with one finger while your other hand rests on his thigh.

"What's your safe word? I don't want to cause you any harm." He blinks in surprise, having never been posed such a question, but quickly gathers himself and replies, "Gr… Green."

"Good," you say with a smile, removing your mask and letting your hair cascade down. It's then he realizes you are a woman.

Taken aback, he stares in disbelief, struggling to grasp the reality. In all the slave competitions he's been part of, it's predominantly men who compete, with only a handful of women.

"You are staring."

"You are stunning"

He can't hold back any longer, his words spilling out in a rush as his cheeks flush with embarrassment. Your heart swells with affection at his charming confession, and you can't help but chuckle. You gently cradle his face in your hands, leaning in to press your lips against his.

This kiss is unlike any he has known; it's soft and tender, wrapping him in a blissful haze. There's no urgency, no nibbles—just the delicate dance of your lips, occasionally brushing against each other in sweet little pecks. You soon break the kiss, tracing your finger over his lips and softly ask, "Wanna feel good?" Confused, he nods his head.

"Words." you remind him. "Yes, sir… master." You stand up and remove your armor, leaving only your bra and underwear, then kneel in front of him.

Your hands caress his thighs as you kiss his sensuous lips again. With a hint of aggression, your tongue slides into his mouth while dancing with his and taking control. He can't help but moan shyly. The vibrations from each moan he releases gradually pushes you over the edge that makes you desire more.

"Oh fuck, your voice is so beautiful." You say between the kisses. The heat within your body burns like a flame, urging you to have sex with him. "Damn it…"

Your lips part once more as you settle onto his lap, rhythmically swaying your body back and forth, intentionally pressing against his member. The friction between your thighs sends shivers through you both, igniting a warmth that spreads rapidly. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, drawing nearer, occasionally brushing against his growing arousal.

Even through the fabric, the friction sends waves of excitement coursing through Yeosang. He can feel himself growing harder as the tip of his cock brushes against your lower core. A rush of heat envelops him, concentrating on his manhood, while the pre-cum seeps out, dampening his underwear, leaving him with a chill from the wetness.

With a firm grip, you pin him down, and he submits willingly to the bed, your lips locked together, creating an embarrassingly wet sound with each kiss. Breaking away from his lips, you begin to suck and lick at his neck, expertly targeting his sensitive spots. Your playful teasing elicits deep, satisfied moans from him.

"I have never used the word beautiful to describe a man." You whisper in his ears before planting a kiss on his lips. "Oh… gosh…" Yeosang has never experienced such pleasure before. For him, sex is always about service rather than enjoyment.

"Sounds good" Smiling, your hand trails down to the hem of his panties, pulling down enough to free his cock. You hold his member, feeling his hardness beneath your palm. Moving up and down slowly, you make sure he feels every move of your fingers. "Goodness…" The itchy feeling sends shivers down his spine, especially your finger rubs against his tip while giving it a hard press.

He never thought he could be so eager to have sex with anyone. Even you can say, he hates it. But you are different. Each of your movements sends a thrill through him, his desire rising like a tide of ecstasy. He craves you deeply, yearning to feel your warmth wrap around him, guiding him to the ultimate climax.

"Hmmm… I wanna enter you. Please." His beg makes you let out a low chuckle. "You're more impatient than me. Are you the one who was poisoned?" You release his handcuffs and pull him towards the headboard, where he clasps his hands onto it. Taking off all his clothes, his semi-hardened cock is revealed with precum covered on it.

"So horny, aren't you?" "Yes, yes. Please let me have you, master." You are hesitant from his words, wondering if it is education in the black market. He is supposed to be strong, brave, but not beg from others. 'What they did for him.' You think, an inexplicable anger ignites in your heart.

You will kill for him after this encounter ends. You promise.

"Be patient, little wolf." You kneel down before sinking down your face between his thighs. "Let me have a taste first." Gripping his cock, you guide it to your mouth and lick it from the bottom to the top. "Oh god." He arches his back as the numbness and the pleasure crush within his body, a long-throaty moan leaving his lips as you continue to please him with your tongue.

"Open your legs wide or I will stop," you command. "Yes, master. I am sorry." His legs wide open again as you prop against his thigh as support, moving up and down quickly while teasing his ball. Your tongue circled the head of his shaft, sucking hard, leaving a reddish mark. He rolls his hip to thrust deeper; his cock twitches each time the tip reaches your throat, and you know he is about to reach his peak. But you pull out before he comes undone in your mouth.

"Why…master…I want to cum." He cries out, tears dripping down because of delightful. "Only a good boy can cum. Will you promise? Little wolf." "Yes! I will! I promise." His begging satisfies your ego and makes it grow. Maybe the beast called desire inside you is finally breaking out of its cage.

"Then help me." Removing your panties, you throw it away before aiming at his erection, sinking down slowly. You can feel every vein of his cock as your wall tightens around it, making you carve for more. "Master, it feels so good!" "Yah, fuck!" His sperm keeps flowing out, wetting your velvet wall.

"Tell me if you can't bear it." He remains in disbelief at the words that reached his ears. You actually care for him? Is that true? What could possibly motivate that? Even if he's merely a means for your own cleansing, there's no obligation for you to feel anything for him. Yet, before he can delve deeper into his thoughts, you begin to bounce, rhythmically rising and falling after adjusting his size and the sensation of being enveloped.

Your hands press firmly on his shoulders, your nails piercing his skin just a touch too deeply, drawing blood and inflicting a sting. But he feels excited instead of painful. Your breasts bounce up and down from your movements, making him lost in this alluring sight. God, he can just watch how you bounce on him for an hour.

"Ahhh…master…gosh!!" Each time you descend, his tip brushes against your tender skin, eliciting a symphony of moans from both of you. Your rhythm accelerates, and the power behind your thrusts grows stronger. It feels as though you've drained every ounce of energy, leaving a hollow sensation in your lower body that is increasingly uncomfortable.

He yearns to explore your body, to savor every curve and contour of your skin. However, he remains immobilized, his hands bound at the head of the bed. The relentless tugging creates faint red lines on his wrists, while his palms grow slick with sweat from the tension of his clenched fists, leaving crescent-shaped marks.

Your right hand finds its way to his throat, applying pressure that steals his breath and brings dark spots to his vision. He attempts to lift his head for a gasp of air, but you have no intention of granting him a moment's relief. Your rapid up-and-down movements force him to hold his breath. The overwhelming stimulation leaves him dizzy and pushes him to the limit.

"Ahh! Ahh!! Green!!" The moment he speaks the safe word, you instantly cease all movement, loosening your hold on his throat. "Are you alright? Is there any pain?" you inquire gently, a trace of worry lacing your tone. He hesitates, words escaping him as he simply gazes into your caring eyes. You tuck a strand of hair behind his ear, your fingers gliding over his delicate skin until they rest on the vivid red birthmark.

Throughout his life as a slave, comfort has been a foreign concept, with no one ever caring for his well-being. In stark contrast to your indifference towards life in the heat of battle, you show genuine concern for him, striving to bring him joy. How could he possibly resist falling for you? Perhaps he's been ensnared by a different kind of poison, one known as "love at first sight." You lean closer, brushing your lips against his, captivated by the magic in his eyes.

"I can stop if you want." You remark. "No, please. I want you, master. I want my cock deep inside you again. I want to touch you. And has your poison been cured?"

Responding to his beg, you pull out from his body and free him from his bindings. Your gaze falls upon the bruises encircling his wrists, and you gently stroke them with your thumb.

"It appears my poison still lingers. Come and help me."

In an instant, he straightens up, his hands finding their way to your shoulders as he leans over you, pinning you down. Shock flickers in your eyes at his abrupt action, but you swiftly gather your calmness and align yourself with his intentions.

"Let me serve you, my lord." His face falls into your neck, sucking and biting your skin to leave a crystal clear red mark. He is really skilled at turning others on harder;the wet muscle trails down to your breast, licking your left nipple while squeezing another with his hand. His thumb circles it along the curve, giving a hard press to make you moan and throw your head at the back.

Guiding his cock to rub against your clit, he thrusts your cunt once again, hitting your sweet dead on. "Here, right?" He smirks with a sense of pride. "Ye..yah!" Not waiting for you to finish your words, his tip hits the same place once again. The waves of numbness make you squirm, and your screams are not as high-pitched as before, but with a shy feeling.

"I love your moaning, master." You let out an exasperated sigh, feeling a surge of warmth envelop you completely. Yeosang leans in, planting soft kisses along your neck while maintaining a steady rhythm. His shaft glides against your slick walls, creating a sound reminiscent of flowing water. With each thrust, he quickens his pace, closing the gaps between each tantalizing connection to your G-spot.

Your breath becomes shallow, and your heart pounds wildly as he maps out every curve of your body with his lips and hands, as if he were intimately familiar with every secret you hold. You wrap your arms around him, your nails digging into his back, leaving a trail of marks on his skin.

Yeosang buries his head in your chest, groaning against it. You are so perfect for him, from head to toes. Just everything. Although he doesn't even know your name, your personality, he ensures you are the one he is looking for. Someone who cares about him, someone with whom he can enjoy sex.

He loathes the idea of sex, viewing it as a repugnant transaction. He has grown weary of the way others have treated him, often rough and unkind. Each encounter left him battered to some extent, reduced to nothing more than a plaything. Yet, when he sees you, everything changes. You bring him joy and tenderness, showering him with genuine care.

It may seem almost humorous, but deep down, he realizes that you are the only one he desires, and his body confirms the truth of his feelings.

He places your leg on his shoulder and thrusts as fast as possible. "Ah!Fuck!" "Please say my name, my lord. I want to hear you say it." "Oh…yeosang ar…" Shit! He is unable to control himself anymore. He withdraws a bit and pushes into your cunt in a powerful motion over and over again.

"I'm cumming, master." He feels his cock twitches as you keep sucking him in. "Cum…cum inside me." Yeosang's thrusts become rushed and lose his rhythm; you grab his shoulders, making an "O" shape with your mouth, panting as if you are about to run out of oxygen.

"Oh! Oh! God!" After a few more thrusts, you both reach climax; your hot juices cover his cock and his sperm creams your wall. He thrusts forward twice before pulling out, lying down beside you. After a short rest, the hot feeling in your body has finally dissipated, you get up and put your clothes back on, ready to leave.

"My body is already healed, thanks." You say without noticing his sadness.

"Aren't you staying?" Yeosang asks with confusion.

"Staying? Why? Didn't I tell you that I'm just here to detoxify? Also, I have work." Yes, you have to 'deal with' those people who treated Yeosang badly.

"Will you come back then?"

"Nope." You observe him bow his head, gently stroking his wrist before hesitantly reaching to the nape of his neck. Even in his silence, you can sense the thoughts swirling in his mind. "No worries. I'm gonna kill those people who treated you badly and you can be free."

"What? No…I…"

"Isn't this what you wanted? To leave the cage and no longer be bound by anyone."

"But I don't know where to go or what to do…I'm just a reward…"

"Then go find out, go explore what you want to do."

He lowers his head in silence, deep in thought. Suddenly, he tightens his embrace around you.

He bows his head, enveloped in his thoughts, and then suddenly tightens his hold around you, as if fearing you might slip away.

"Will you stay…? That's all I want. Please… don't leave me alone. You're the only one who cares for me. I'm yours, and I'd do anything for you. Just don't go."

You can't help but giggle at his endearing gesture, stroking his hair softly as you respond, "Are you really sure? I'm a knight, and my profession is to take lives."

"Yah!I'm yours! Just let me stay with you. I'll even give you a written promise, if that's what you want!""

Maybe he sees you as a lifeline. Although you have never thought about buying a slave, it seems that if you reject him, he may feel sad. Also, you don't want him to serve anyone else.

"Umm…fine."

"Really?" A radiant smile spreads across his face, his eyes sparkling with excitement. You give a nod in response.

"Can I cuddle you?" It's the first time he's asked this as a servant, and he can hardly believe he's free to follow his heart's desire. You nod again, and he gently pulls you down onto the bed, nestling his face against your chest.

"Just like a little puppy."

"Perhaps I know your name? My lord."

"Y/N."

"It sounds like a name for a genuinely good person."

"You're being overly dramatic." You chuckle softly, allowing him to wrap his arms around you as you both drift into a peaceful slumber.

Well, maybe this aphrodisiac isn't so terrible after all. And of course, you make your promise ─ kill others for him, only.

[narumi-gens]

When are we going to talk about Gen loving to be pegged? In the Chaos! couple universe

tbh cj, I think he's so obsessed with being in your ass that having you up his feels like a waste lollll

narumi gen x f!reader

warnings: minors, ageless, and blank blogs do not comment, like, or reblog, smut-adjacent (shocker), talk about anal and pegging, a dash of fingering, sex bets (as usual)

part of the Agents of Chaos series

As you watch Narumi brush his teeth beside you through the bathroom mirror, you find yourself frowning around your own toothbrush. His shoulders and head are both drooping, and his hand is moving so slowly that he might as well not be brushing his teeth at all.

He looks like he just found out that the newest entry in his favorite game series was delayed by a year, not like he spent the evening cumming so hard that he had tears leaking from his eyes as he bit into his pillow.

"Wassa matta?" you ask through your mouthful of toothpaste and he simply gives a forlorn hum in response. A hint of worry starts to creep in.

He's the one who brought up being pegged in the first place. He's the one who sent you links to his top dildo choices and told you to "surprise me 🍆🍑." He's the one who begged you to hurry up as you slowly sank your silicone cock into his ass.

But maybe something went wrong? Maybe you had somehow hurt him and he was only now noticing?

You spit your toothpaste into the sink and set down your toothbrush.

"Gen? What's wrong?" you try again as you wipe your mouth clean with a hand towel.

His hand stops moving altogether and he stands there for a moment before weakly spitting into the sink after you. You hand him the towel to clean his face but he just drops it onto the counter.

"The pegging," he sighs and you cross your arms over your chest, turning to face him and propping your hip against the counter.

"What? You didn't like it?" you guess, even though it seems unlikely considering how much cum he left all over the sheets.

"No, it was fine," he replies absently and you bite back the urge to scoff. Fine is an understatement. From the way he was drooling and bucking his ass back onto your cock, it was at least good.

"Then what is it?" you ask, doing your best to remain understanding and patient, neither of which come naturally to you.

"I should be riding the high, but all I can think about is how much I want fuck your ass," he mopes and you scoff with a roll of your eyes.

"When aren't you thinking of how much you want to fuck me in the ass?" you retort, picking your toothbrush back up to finish brushing your teeth.

You've only just started again when Narumi moves behind you and cages you in against the countertop, an arm on either side of you. You look up at his reflection in the mirror with a raised eyebrow to see that he's slipped his toothbrush back into his mouth to free his hands.

His body is warm as he presses his weight against you and he finally meets your gaze in the mirror. Your eyes narrow when you feel his half-hard cock against your ass through the thin material of your underwear and his.

"Really?" you snort. You lean forward to spit into the sink again, but doing so incidentally causes you to press back against his cock, which is getting harder by the second.

"C'mon, I'll do all the work," he says, the words muffled by his toothbrush. You immediately perk up and from the way he smirks, he can tell.

He decides to sweeten the offer by slipping his fingers into your panties to slide through your unsurprisingly wet folds. He gently brushes against your clit and your eyelids flutter shut, your toothbrush clattering onto the countertop as you drop your head back against his shoulder with a soft moan.

"Lemme show you how to really fuck someone in the ass," he continues and your eyes pop back open as you bristle at his implication that you don't know how to really fuck someone in the ass.

"Gen."

His fingers freeze when he hears your tone. You watch the panic bleed into his expression, only for it to fade a few moments later as his smug smirk returns – although it's undercut by the toothbrush handle that's still protruding past his lips.

"I bet I can have you squirting harder than I came," he says and he dips his fingers further down to press against your entrance, but not enough to actually slip inside of you to your disappointment.

"Yeah?" you ask, and it comes out breathier than intended. "And if I don't?"

"I'll let you peg me again next time we fuck," he replies and your eyes close once more when his thumb slowly circles your clit.

"If I lose?" you moan.

"When you lose, next time I fuck your ass." He punctuates his words by grinding his cock against you from behind.

You whimper in response, but there's a smile on your lips as you do. You peek an eye open to meet his gaze and your pussy clenches down on nothing at the look he's giving you, even with the dumb toothbrush still in his mouth and enough toothpaste foam on his lips to look like he's rabid.

"Sounds like a win-win to me."

[gghostwriter]

Yours Truly, Romeo

Chapter 0 __ No Escape

Spencer Reid x FOC

Summary: Washington, DC - A string of grizzly murders and obsessive love letters causes Olivia and Spencer’s paths to intertwine. With a serial killer proclaiming his undying devotion to her and the thick tension surrounding her and her agent turned bodyguard, Olivia’s life is writing out like a contemporary love story that she, as a successful writer, could see herself publishing.

series masterlist || next chapter

"Civilization is like a thin layer of ice upon a deep ocean of chaos and darkness" - Werner Herzog

The derelict two-story home sat in a considerable empty estate surrounded by colossal trees and overgrown weeds. The crickets chirping for all over, providing an almost peaceful ambience under the twinkling night sky. It was quiet, very quiet. 

A muffled shout rang through the basement chambers, disturbing the tranquil evening. It almost sounded like a wolf howling at the full moon. If only the muted cries after each shout didn’t escape the duct tape binding around the captive’s mouth. His golden locks sticking to his forehead with sweat, his hands and feet bound loose to mortuary stainless steel table, and an IV drip attached to his left inner elbow containing the drug Rocuronium—a muscle paralyzing drug that keeps the mind awake but the patient immobile. 

His wide eyed terrified blue eyes darting to all the dark corners around him. His mind going a hundred miles per minute. Adrenaline pumping, kicking his flight or fight response with no physical outlet to control. He didn’t know how long it had been since he passed out by the alley way on his way back home to his apartment. There were no windows to indicate if it was night or day, no way of knowing where he was and how did he get here. All he remembered was a sharp pain ringing from the back of his head, a sting at the side of his neck, and feeling his body being dragged into the deep recesses of the night. He was new in town, having just moved to Washington for a regular desk job for an mid-size IT company. Nobody would notice he was missing. The terror that ran through his mind was enough to kickstart a miracle—the ability to move his right arm on command. Not wanting to waste any more time to regain full body control, he twisted his arm out of the loose binding, ripped the needle sticking at his other arm, and removed the leather belt bindings on his arm and legs. 

Stumbling out of the mortuary table, tools for torture and surgery clanking on the concrete floor, he dragged his body out the long winding hallway away from the creaking stairs to the first level. He knew the culprit would be up those stairs in the first-story and he was in no capacity to fight no matter how much adrenaline is coursing through his body. He pushed his way through a newly painted blue door, a sharp contrast with the barren, grimy walls of the basement. He stopped short at the sight. It was a well decorated living space equipped with a working kitchen, a dining table for two, and a living room with a soft looking couple sofa in place. It was a well decorated living cage. 

Spotting a tinted egress window by the side of the table, he hurried to it reverently hoping that it was unlocked. It was. He pushed it open and crawled out of the space into the dark, ominous outdoors. Running as fast as he could go with no rhyme or reason. A twig snapping behind him made his head swivel back in terror.

“You can’t escape,” a baritone voice stated in a calming manner. The voice sounded assured and almost in laughter at his feeble attempt to save his life. “You’re perfect to add to my collection.”

Sprinting faster into the darkness, he hoped to encounter a brightly lit road or an occupied house to knock on for help. But his luck had seemed to ran out as his body stumbled forwards from the impact. The impact of being tackled down by the owner of the baritone voice humming as he injected a drug into his neck once again, rendering him defenseless and unresponsive. Never to regain consciousness again.

———

The baritone voice was heard humming a non-identifiable tune while bent over his working desk on the basement level. He appeared to be a typical male toiling away at a hobby during the night. If only it wasn’t for the coppery stench of blood surrounding his presence. His clipped and slightly calloused fingers working delicately to sew the pieces together. He reached for the nearby scissors to cut of the knotted thread. Snip snip. He placed it down and brought up his handiwork to admire. 

A face mask. His own version of a face mask, equipped with a high bridge nose—newly sewn in place. 

He giggled, happy with his progress. Soon his mask would be complete. The perfect partner for his already finished and chemically processed body suit.

“And soon, she’ll be mine,” he singsonged out loud. “After all, I will be embodying all the features of her ideal type.” 

———

Unbeknownst to the dangers lurking in her imminent future, she slept peacefully in her two story home that smelled of ink and pages  in Washington DC. Unaware on how her life is about to change with just one non-descriptive mail with images that was enough to haunt all of her nightmares and an intelligent, lanky, & handsome FBI agent that was her ideal all rolled into one.

[lordgrimoire]

The Goonion would Like a Word, Chapter 2

“You have GOT to be kidding me.” Samuel Kincaid hissed as he pressed himself flat to an alleyway wall. Along the wall behind him was a dozen Goons, mostly members of the Red Hood Gang and it’s subsidiaries, meaning they were packing some serious heat. But! Kincaid had spotted a Bat, and all of it’s Birds, staking out the building they were about to raid. He thought for a minute before uttering a ‘fuck it’ and turning to his compatriots. “Gonna get their attention, if they’re looking into it...” The mob behind him uttered agreements, some cussing qiuetly as Kincaid picked up a stone and slung it up at the Bats, hiding in the little shadows there were. He was rewarded with the Big Man himself appearing faster than he should have, staring him down as Samuel straightened up slightly.

“Hood tell you about Miss Jazz?” The Batman nodded, still staring at him, his jaw set in a firm line. “Good, we were just gonna storm the place, still gonna, I think a few of us are willing to get bruised up if we can find out what’s going on.” Batman stared at him for a moment, eyeing him and the two dozen men and women behind him. 

“You have ten minutes, if you can avoid killing do so, but I want to be able to obtain information from their files.” Kincaid nodded and turned, everyone gave signs that they understood, from Old Hannson, grey all over and lugging a mean looking baseball bat as old as he was, to the youngest muscle they had, a man boy really named Charles, though he went by Charlie, still wet behind the ears and sporting a blade as long as his forearm. They all knew the new parameters. When he turned around he saw The Batman clamor back onto the rooftops. 

“Alrighty, LETS DO THIS!” The first thing the GIW Guards heard was his shout, they never saw the full force that came spewing out of several alleyways, as the cameras had been hacked and the gate guards had been knocked out by cast stones.

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

Bruce stalked through the GIW Facility, it had been better defended than first assumed but Jason’s Gang had been disturbingly well prepared, if faced with a reinforced door they had blasting charges, if faced with armored opponents they brought forward weapons with longer reach, by the time the Bats and Birds arrived in the facility one of the Red Hood Gang’s cliques had gotten to the core of the Outpost and captured the commanding agents, now they just had to gently fight their way to the center, thankfully the Gangsters were quick and quiet enough that there could be plausible deniability, especially when one of them set off a C4 charge to open a new entry into the outpost through which a majority of the Cliques escaped.

Only one group had stuck around, under the headmanship of Samuel Kincaid.

“We found something, looks to be kicking still, don’t know how to open it and help it out.” Bruce nodded, allowing the short man to guide him through the chaos to a room near the center of the Outpost, which had formerly been tenements. Within the clean, VERY bright room they found a cage, and within it was a haggard looking figure that Bruce was struggling to keep an eye on, his shadow seemed to flicker every now and then. 

“Oh great, here to rip more of me off you jackwads? Wait, who are you?” The cage, with glowing green bars that reminded Bruce more of Kryptonite than anything else, shone a light on the blond teen in the cage. 

“I am Batman, do you mind telling me who you are?” Kincaid had vanished as soon as Bruce had nodded to him, the man likely gathering his people to beat a hasty retreat, they already looked rough from their entry into the building.

“Johnny, friends call me Johnny, I call myself Johnny-Thirteen, Your not a Guy in White are ya? Not with them that is?” Bruce huffed slightly as he began searching the cage, looking for a padlock, or even a scanner. 

“Obviously, how’d you get captured?” Johnny flinched slightly as Bruce found the keypad. 

“I promised a friend I’d check out Gotham, it’s a possible safe spot until a new portal to the ‘Realms opens up, hell there might be a proto portal cooking here, I can feel it. But my friend, his parents kicked it, his sis apparently found some good folks out here so I came to take a look, they actually picked me up in Metropolis, thought I was one of the Supers, which is kinda fucked, they had stuff all set up for “Kryptonian Subjects” Yeash!” Bruce found the lock, it was complicated, and there likely wasn’t a key, so he began trying to lockpick it, with both a digital device and the old method.

“Would you’re friends sister happen to be named Jazz?” The Ghost started slightly, eyes frantically staring at him. “Don’t worry, your friend and his family will be safe here. You have my word on it.” Johnny stared at him for a moment before looking around. 

“Do the Camera’s still work?” 

“No, why?” Bruce looked at the now slightly sheepish ghost.

“Well er, Ghosts, we like our secrets, but we like talking about what our living family is up to, how they’re doing, Your Grandfather, He’s proud of you, your parents weren’t near enough Ectoplasm and didn’t become Ghosts, but Old Man Wayne is proud of you, when he found out I’d be coming around he asked me to “Find the Batman, tell him his Grandfather is proud of the man he’s become, and that hopefully I can visit some day.” Guy’s always  creeped me out a bit, though most folks killed by the Court of Owls have some stuff, wrong, with em.” Bruce was floored, sitting completely still for a moment before resuming his work.

“Thank you for the message, do you have anywhere to stay?” Johnny chuffed as he pulled himself out of his squatting pose, pushing the lid of the cage off after hearing it’s click. 

“Not really, Kitty, my girlfriend, she’s around somewhere, I can feel her, sorta, she’s got my bike, we may just hang out, might cause some havoc via teenage rebellion, it’s our schtick.” Bruce raised a brow at him. “Oh don’t be a dad at me like that! Fine, fine, we will try not to break anything, heck we won’t even do possesions, but there will be chaos!” And with that, Johnny vanished, leaving Bruce confused but happy to have freed the Ghost.

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

[Ring Ring, Ring, Ring Ring, Ri-CLICK]

“Hood here, go ahead Kincaid.”

“Hey Boss, we got a new couple of friends from that raid, Bat’s update you?”

“Yeah, I can assume our new Friends are of the Spooky variety?”

“Yessir, Johnny and Kitty, good kids, if distrusting, good reasons to as well. We’ll get em set up, call back when you’re back from your flight, we’ll be comin off our, third maybe fourth raid today by then.” 

“Thank you Kincaid, stay safe out there, these guys don’t follow any rules.”

“Well we’ll just have to chuck ours when they stop following em won’t we? See ya later boss.”

[CLICK]

[Ring Ring Ring, Ring Ring Ring, CLICK]

“Walker Residence, Alicia speaking.”

“Code Wings of Pandora is in effect.”

“Thanks again bub, I’ll tell ‘em.”

“Thank you.”

[CLICK]

[astrobei]

hey :) so i was wondering if you could incorporate 3, 12 and 50 into a single one shot ? bc that would be Amazing but if you don't want you you can just pick whichever haha

challenge accepted !! this was super fun to write thank you !! :^)

3, 12, and 50 for touch prompts: hiding face in neck + pushing a strand of hair behind their ear + putting a hand over the other’s mouth to shut them up

If you’d asked Mike, a few years ago, how he thought he’d end up dying, he’d have a few different guesses. Clawed to death by monsters, maybe, was up at the top of his list for a while there. Shot to death by government agents also made the top five more than once, which was kind of worrying. And it was probably very concerning that getting stomped on, impaled, or eaten by an alien supermonster hivemind was on there at all.

Suffice it to say that he didn’t die in any of those ways, since Mike is currently, in the present moment, alive. But probably not for long. He’s seen some shit, and he hasn’t even graduated college, and maybe it’s a little bit pathetic that after all of that– the monsters and the Russians and the end of the world– that this is how he really dies: backed up against the wall at some completely questionable house party, being flirted with by Will Byers.

At least, that’s what Mike thinks is going on here. If he’s being totally honest, he doesn’t have all that much experience in the flirting department, considering that the one person he’d ever dated hadn’t done much flirting and the one person he had maybe wanted to flirt with hadn’t–

Well, it doesn’t matter. Said person is doing it now, and for all of Mike’s past reminiscence and speculation on the topic, he didn’t think it would be happening like this.

“You look nice tonight,” Will is saying, barely audible over the low thrum of music in the background. They’re not even somewhere particularly loud– the hallway is a blessed reprieve from the chaos of whatever is happening in the living room, but Will’s voice has dropped into something low and intentional. He smiles. “You should wear more green.”

Oh, god. Mike is going to die.

“Uh. Really?” he says, in what’s definitely not a squeak. It comes out assured and confident and–

Oh, who is he kidding? Will’s smile grows, surely delighted at the unfortunate crack in Mike’s voice. He leans in a bit closer, and it’s barely a few inches, but he might as well have just pushed Mike up against the wall and–

“Yeah,” Will whispers, so soft that Mike has to lean in another inch to hear him. He reaches a hand out and runs a thumb along the hem of Mike’s sweater, the side of his wrist brushing softly against Mike’s collarbone. Mike’s heart stops dead, still and unmoving and seized up, right there in his chest cavity. “It’s definitely your color.”

“Oh,” Mike breathes, and yeah.

So Will might be flirting with him, is the bottom line here, and the issue isn’t so much that it’s unwelcome– the opposite, in fact. Mike feels a little bit like if he weren’t caged in by Will’s arm on one side of his chest and the adjacent wall on the other, then his soul might be just flying right out of his body altogether. It feels like maybe it’s already halfway there, because Will’s gaze is steady, eyes sparkling with amusement even in the dim light of the hallway, and wow, are his hands shaking?

For his own sake, he hopes not. 

And the issue isn’t that it’s unwelcome, but more so that in all his years of existence and all the crazy shit he’s seen, somehow, being flirted with by Will Byers was lower on the list of things Mike thought might happen to him someday than interdimensional portals or his telekinetically gifted ex-girlfriend.

“You look nice too,” Mike gets out, in a surprisingly even voice. Will does look nice, so this isn’t a difficult sentiment to portray by any means. He’s swapped out one of his usual sweaters, big and worn comfortably around the edges and all down the seams, for something a little more fitted. It’s a soft cream color, and Mike doesn’t know where Will got this, because he’s been shopping at the same stores the entire time since they moved here for school and none of them carry clothes like this. Mature, a little grown up, and really, really attractive.

Will lets out a small, pleased noise. “Yeah?”

“How many drinks have you had?” Mike peers suspiciously down at him, because it’s not like Will is an idiot, per se, or super uptight about these sorts of things, but he’s not usually this– this bold. If Mike is going to be blunt about it, Will has never been this bold before and maybe it’s about time, but that doesn’t mean Mike is any more ready for it.

Not that he’s complaining. Oh, god.

“One,” Will grins. “Why? How many have you had?”

Christ. Mike swallows, and says, “Like, half. It was nasty so I just– um. Left it there. Heads up, by the way, don’t drink the jungle juice.”

“Noted,” Will laughs. It does something to Mike’s stomach, watching the way his shoulders relax, like he’s comfortable and at ease here, standing in front of Mike all up close and personal in a dark corner of a dark hallway with– oh, god– no one around.

“Yeah,” Mike says, kind of lamely, and notices belatedly that his gaze has settled somewhere around the general vicinity of Will’s mouth sometime in the last forty seconds or so. Maybe longer, if he’s being totally honest, but who’s counting, right?

(Mike. Mike is counting.)

“So anyway,” Will continues, without missing a beat. “You look really good in green. I don’t know why you never wear colors.”

“It’s not on purpose,” Mike insists, even though it kind of is, because it’s a lot harder to accidentally look like an idiot if all of your clothes match by default. “I don’t know, I just– I don’t have a reason to?”

“Okay, well,” Will starts, and then he moves forward until their chests are almost flush against each other, and Mike is seriously, seriously backed into a corner, even more than he was before. Both metaphorically and extremely literally. “It looks nice with your hair,” Will murmurs, and reaches a hand up to tug lightly at a strand falling loose around Mike’s face.

Will smells really nice, actually, like the good cologne he wears on special occasions, and Mike doesn’t know why he dressed up so nice to go to a party where you have to scoop your drinks out of a bowl with a red plastic cup, but hey. Again, he’s not complaining.

“My– my hair?” Mike asks faintly, because it’s just his hair, and he hasn’t ever given it much thought before now, because it’s only hair. Black and just long enough to land on this side of inconvenient, but suddenly Will has one hand in it and it’s not just hair anymore, but maybe the best thing to ever happen to him.

Will nods. He looks a little pink, which is quite possibly the most endearing thing Mike has ever seen, and it’s also more of a confidence booster than it probably should be, that Will hasn’t turned into a total smooth-talking Casanova out of literally nowhere. That maybe he’s losing his shit just as much as Mike is right now.

“Yeah,” Will says, and yeah, his voice catches just a little bit on the single syllable, and Mike bites back a pleased smile. “It looks really good with your hair,” he says again, then tucks the loose strand carefully behind Mike’s ear. “So that’s one reason.”

“I hardly think that’s good enough reason to redo my entire wardrobe,” Mike says, egged on just a little bit by the way Will is definitely turning more pink by the second.

“It brings out your eyes too,” Will murmurs, looking steadily up at him. It’s hard to tell exactly what he’s thinking– half his face is drowned out in shadow and the proximity is rendering Mike kind of useless altogether– but Mike thinks maybe he has a guess.

He blinks. “My eyes?”

“Mhm.” Will strokes the pad of one thumb over the skin there, just over his cheekbone. Mike instantly forgets how to breathe. Christ. “They’re pretty.”

“I– are you sure you’re not drunk?”

“Stone-cold sober,” Will assures him. “Why? Who’s asking?”

Me, Mike thinks, me, me, me. What he says is, “Um. Someone.”

Will raises an eyebrow, but he keeps his hand right where it is– resting on Mike’s cheek, thumb under his eye, and oh, god. Mike is going to die. 

“Someone?”

“You don’t know him?” Mike tries.

“Shame,” Will says noncommittally, and it sounds like he might be on the verge of laughing again. He steps back, the vacuum-seal proximity between their bodies vanishing in an instant as the air of the room rushes in all at once– stifling, stuffy, a little warm and sweaty and immediately, it’s like the noise in the place has been cranked up to ten.

Was it this loud in here all along?

Mike is going to scream. He’s going to die, right here in the hallway, and then he’s going to scream some more. “Where are you going?” he asks, and it comes out a bit petulant and a bit needy and way, way too thrown off-guard for his liking, but he can’t find it in himself to care. The lingering warmth of Will’s palm against his cheek is something he’s already missing like it’s a physical thing.

“Who’s asking?” Will says again, and dear god, if Mike had known before what it would have been like to be flirted with Will Byers, he would have, like, grabbed a couple witnesses and signed off an early copy of his last will and testament, bequeathed his meager belongings to whomever they may concern, then laid himself down to die in peace.

“Me,” Mike blurts out this time, taking a step forward from the wall and grabbing Will’s wrist. “I’m asking because I think you shouldn’t go and you should just stay here with me and– and flirt with me some more, because, um. That was nice, and I liked that, even if I thought I was going to die for a minute there, and if you go then– um. You can’t flirt with me anymore?”

Will smiles for real this time, wide and shocked and pleased. “Yeah?” And it’s a little shy when he says it, like maybe he didn’t actually expect this to go anywhere, like he didn’t expect Mike to grow a fucking pair and stop melting into the floor long enough to reciprocate.

“Yeah,” Mike whispers, and he’s just started to pull Will back towards him, Will already stumbling a little with the motion, when he hears a voice from around the doorframe they’re currently maybe ten feet away from.

“Mike? Will?”

“Shit,” Will mutters, eyes wide. “What the hell is Max doing here? I thought she was upstairs.”

Mike opens his mouth to answer when a second voice responds, “I swear I saw them go through here,” and it might be Dustin and it might be Lucas but all that’s really important is that whoever it is is close, and Mike doesn’t know if he has the cardiac strength in him to go through all of this again later, and all of his brainpower is currently being used to not pass out on the spot, and–

Lucky for him, Will has his shit marginally more together. “Here,” he’s saying, then there are fingers wrapping around Mike’s forearm and before he can fully process what’s happening, he’s being dragged in the opposite direction. Will throws open a door, then shoves Mike inside.

Mike wrinkles his nose. “It smells like feet in here,” he says, and he can’t see Will’s face because it’s pitch black in– wherever they are– but he’s willing to bet real money that he’s rolling his eyes.

“Coat closet,” Will says simply, “now shut up.”

Okay, yeah, makes sense. There’s something heavy and soft brushing up against Mike’s side, and he takes a couple steps backwards until he can feel the wall behind him. God, okay. This is fine. This is fine. This is–

“You know,” Mike says, as if this will distract him from his unnecessarily sweaty palms, “you didn’t have to ambush–”

Quick as lightning, Will claps a hand over Mike’s mouth. “If you want to kiss me,” Will hisses, and, okay, he’s pressed up against Mike again, which is fine, it’s great, actually– “I’m going to need you to shut up.”

The footsteps come closer. Mike holds his breath. He thinks maybe Will is too because he can’t hear him breathe, and he’s gone tense and still where he’s pressed up against Mike. A voice that’s definitely Dustin’s is grumbling, “Man, if I find them and the taco place down the street is already closed, I’m going to kill him.”

Mike bites back a laugh. The taco place closed twenty minutes ago, which he knows, because he’d been on his way to find Dustin when he’d– when he’d run into Will in the hallway.

Oh, god.

“Are they gone?” Will whispers, as if his hand is not currently over Mike’s mouth. He clears his throat like hello, and Will drops his hand. “Oh. Right. Sorry.”

“Who said I wanted to kiss you,” Mike says hoarsely, and Will’s hand pauses somewhere between his collarbone and sternum.

“Well,” he hears Will say, still entirely invisible in the dark save for a few dots of faint light coming in through the slats in the door. “You don’t have to kiss me. If you don’t want to.”

For the first time all evening, Will sounds a little hesitant. No, Mike thinks. He can’t have that. He shakes his head, even though Will can’t see him. “Let’s not be too hasty here, okay, I didn’t say that.”

A pause. “Yeah?” Will says, a little shy, almost. “You want to kiss me?”

Screw it. 

“I do,” Mike says, as earnestly as he can find in himself to muster up, and he hears Will breathe in sharply somewhere in front of him. “I really, really want to–”

To Will’s credit, kissing in the dark probably wouldn’t work out for anybody. Mike is a few inches taller and the angle is a bit off, and it’s pretty impressive, if he’s being honest, that Will’s mouth lands mostly on his. Which should also not be rendering Mike as totally speechless as it is– being kissed on the corner of his lips in an awkward, clumsily endearing sort of way– but Will has always surprised him. “Shit,” Will says, pulling back slightly, “sorry, I was trying to guess where you were, and I–”

“It’s cool,” Mike hears himself say, and he didn’t mean to say it, but it seems that his brain has sort of kicked itself into autopilot mode, because he’s reaching out before he can really think about what he’s doing. His hand brushes Will’s shoulder, and he moves it up against the side of his neck, and says, hesitating, “Here– let’s try this.”

“Okay,” Will says softly, not even a whisper with how quiet it comes out. Mike drags a hand into Will’s hair, brings the other one to cup his cheek, and slowly, slowly moves forward.

“I’m going to kiss you,” Mike murmurs, tracing a thumb over the curve of Will’s lower lip, grounding himself. “Um. Just so you know that I’m, like, coming in.”

“Okay,” Will says again, and then Mike kisses him.

It’s instantly better this time– so much better, Mike thinks, immediately going lightheaded with the sensation of it. It’s like every other sense is dialed up to eleven in the dark– Will’s hair soft against his hand, the scent of his cologne, the faint taste of orange soda on his lips. The soft, startled noise Will makes in the back of his throat, cut off like it escaped him before he could stop himself, and that thought is enough to make Mike’s stomach swoop in a dizzying sort of way, that Will really wanted to kiss him so badly that he just couldn’t help himself, that maybe he thought about it in all the same ways Mike had. That maybe he came up with a hundred and one ways it might happen and maybe this was a possibility, in Will’s mind– a coat closet in the dark, barely one drink in.

“I can’t see you,” Will says, pulling back so that their lips are just barely brushing against each other. He’s got his hands on either side of Mike’s neck, like he’s anchoring himself lest he drift away entirely in the dark.

Mike lowers his hands, pulls Will in by the waist– the solid planes of his back, the soft fabric of this sweater, this goddamn sweater– and says, “You’re the one that kissed me in the dark, you idiot.”

Will makes a small noise of affront. “You’re the one that asked me to,” he says, a little smugly, which technically isn’t the most true statement, but Mike supposes that he had kind of set himself up to be kissed, so maybe he should let this one slide. And then Will runs a thumb along to his chin, tilts his face down, slowly, slowly, and kisses him again– and Mike can’t remember what exactly it was he was protesting.

Maybe Will had been onto something, because Mike is pretty chuffed about not being able to actually see the person he’s kissing, especially when that person is Will, who Mike spent a disproportionate amount of time wanting to look at even before this whole thing went down, but this is pretty nice for now, he thinks, as Will presses him a little more firmly into the wall. And that’s also nice, because Mike thinks he might be dying, and the solid parallel weights of the wall behind him and Will in front of him might be the only thing keeping him from keeling over entirely.

“Okay,” Mike says, pulling back, which is nowhere close to his top ten most intelligent moments of all time. Or even twenty, maybe. “You–”

The rest of the sentence gets lost to the sands of time, because the door is flying open so fast that Will flinches, and Mike tightens his grip around his waist on instinct. “What–”

“Oh,” Max Mayfield is saying, arms crossed. “This is where you two disappeared to.”

Mike closes his eyes, and prays to whichever higher power might be listening for a rapid, painless death.

Nothing happens. Figures.

“Come on, man,” he hears Dustin say, “we were looking for you guys!”

“We know,” Mike says, and then immediately wants to sink through the floor and disappear at the way his voice cracks, just a little. It’s barely noticeable, really, but his friends are like sharks in blood-infested waters. Lucas’ smug grin grows so wide that Mike considers just leaning over and smacking it off his face.

“Oh,” he says, far too gleefully for Mike’s liking, “so is this what you meant by I’m going to go look for Dustin, Mike?”

“Didn’t realize I took up residence near Will’s tonsils,” Dustin grumbles.

Will groans, dropping his head to Mike’s shoulder. “Never talk about my tonsils again,” he mumbles against Mike’s collarbone, but he’s smiling. Mike can tell, even if he can’t see him.

“Not even if they’re inflamed?”

Will doesn’t pull away, just shakes his head and tightens his arms where they’re wrapped around Mike’s neck. Despite himself, despite the way his face feels about a million degrees warm right now, Mike smiles. “No,” Will says simply. “All of you go away.”

“Yeah, I bet you want us to,” Max says, “but I’m serious. We gotta go. Someone just threw up on the couch and it’s nasty in there.”

Mike wrinkles his nose. “Way to kill the mood.”

“Mission accomplished,” Max says, and wiggles her car keys in the air. “I’m leaving in five, with or without you.”

“I don’t want to stay here with the puke sofa,” Mike admits, pulling away with no small amount of reluctance. “So we should probably–”

“Yeah,” Will agrees, pressing a kiss to Mike’s cheek. “Now come on. I want to be able to see you when I kiss you this time.”

It’s a good thing the hallway is still dark, because Mike goes very, very red.

[corvusspecialartist]

The Beloved Brood Mare (Demon Primarch Corax x Pregnant Reader)

A/N: This is Roboutian Hersey AU Corax. This guy in this Universe is object MENACE to society. He is essentially Bile, but as a free agent and as a primarch and Chaos aligned. In fact, in that canon they are described as one if not the MOST vile traitor legions. (If you are the AU writer... I am 50% sorry for writing this terrible fanfic for your AU) AND on top of that, this author gives A REASON on why Rushal joined the Night Lords.

Read it Here: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10578370/18/The-Roboutian-Heresy

TW: implied forced pregnancy, rape

You arise. You are trapped in a gilded cage, for Warp knows how long. Getting up, you almost tripped over the golden chain around your ankle, it was a common occurrence by now. Even since the experiments... you have never truly gotten used to this body. Everything about you has been altered to aid the process of birthing.

You were essentially if the primarch body was female with none of the sterilization that would naturally occur. Like the Marines that guarded your room, you were an abomination. You could almost remember when this transformation happened. Glimpses of the Demon Primarch, an older Marine with many appendages, and a screaming captive Thousand Son...

You remember passing out and waking up in this new form... it was awkward.. but never mind... your "duties" had to continue. Corax occasionally visited, but it was very rare. Often to ask brisk questions in a white lab coat about the progression of the pregnancy, you answered honestly.. for he could tell if you were lying given the nature of his place...

Looking around your room, it was time... you could often get food as much as requested, but just enough to make it so you could survive the process... you looked down at the swollen belly. Around this time, it would be time for "breakfast". You were often fed a random assortment of ingredients... often to see the effect would have on the fetus.

You had often tried to escape from the room, often killing the Spawn Marines that stood guard outside of your room with contemptuously ease. The furthest you had gone was at least a couple of miles within the tower before you were hit with a neutralizing gas.

Every step you took, you felt the pain in your legs. you felt helpless.. you felt your two heartbeats move faster.. you had not really entered your body this much before... for Lord Corax demanded that you have minimum exercise. However, you felt a sharp pang within your belly. It was kicking again.

Maybe the pain was fake, a phantom feeling of the soul imagining how pregnancy felt like.

Maybe the room had some form of shielding to protect the fetus from what laid on the outside.

The resulted in resuscitation of you in a lab table in which your arms and legs were strapped. You could feel the eyes of many Marines all on you. Struggling you cursed and tired to escape, but the equipment held fast. Your eye adjusted to the dark quickly, until you saw him come into the room. You felt your skin upon the laboratory table, cold and unyielding. The overpowering smell of disinfectant, mixed blood and other gore made your stomach turn. You also noticed your legs were in stirrups with your privates facing the audience.

Lord Corax's face was scared from the years from captivity, You could recall memories of you being ordered to soothe him and tend to his scars. His face held a mixture of contentment and disdain. You could hear others whisper in the long dead Kivharian, and lean forward almost if they were excited what were to come next. Corvus gave close and his statue seemed to dawn over you. He approached you and stroked your hair almost as if it was kind gently. He was in front of you, and he held a syringe within his left hand and a forceps in his right hand. As if he were giving a lecture, He gave you an gentle kiss on the forehead.. before starting to explain the process. You felt something cold enter your private.. you tried to struggle and fight but nothing really changed, then a liquid flowed in. You started to scream and fight even more... but the lecture continued on. even after the process had been done.

You shook yourself out of that feeling and sat down... you knew that your tower didn't have windows. But, given the advanced the state of the pregnancy, he would visit. That was something that you dreaded the most. TO try and entertain yourself you started to sing, of course it was old Imperial tunes that you took to heart. At that moment.... the door burst open and Corax appeared.

Immediately you stopped singing...as he moved almost with a slowness, but your mind being unable to process it it he grabbed you by the arm. "Don't even sing that again." He said, his voice still maintaining that softness... he face was a warped tone of anger.. but then softed as he left go of your arm and forcefully sat you down on the bed. It was comfortable sure, but still.. you knew that in your heart of hearts he was only like this because of the forlorn hope that you could produce functioning Marines with working geneseed...

He started to coo as he stroked your belly.. "I hope that this one is a success.... this is your fifth this year. I do hope that this one lives you to expectations..."- you swallowed a bit before trying to move out of range.. but he followed you. "This one.. I tried to do it more scientifically..." He placed his head down.. "And it is growing far past expectations, I should move you... to a more safer place." He started to touch your hair which your bristled. He paused but chuckled. "Though... your womb is really only used for procreation... it does get boring tormenting them." You tried to move away, but he got up and gave you a gentle kiss on the forehead. He left almost as quickly as he came. You shuddered, why you?

[sleeplesssmoll]

In your opinion what is Vertin suitcase animal? I'm trying to draw different gacha games as animals like Stelle and caelus as racoons, chiefs from Path to nowhere as snakes or cats, lumine and aether as bunnies or rabbits, rovers from wuwa as ravens/crow etc.

Friend, you're opening Pandora's box! We used to talk about this A LOT but at the end of the day I think it depends on what side you want to embody.

Frog because of all rain motifs?

Snow leopard cause it kinda looks like her?

Birds for symbolic reasons like liberty, or a caged bird for the exact opposite.

We also joked around about raccoons and possums too.

But I think somewhere along the lines, I stuck with cat because its more comprehensive than the others. Here is how I see it:

Cats are clever, independent, and adaptable. They're curious little things who manage to get into trouble and hang out in places we never thought they could reach. Horrorpedia convinces her to go to Greenlake, Vertin following up on rumors in Mane's Bulletin, and sometimes she chooses to get into trouble along her crew instead of being dragged in (like in Alien T's anecdote).

Cats are cute and stuff, so we see them as vulnerable creatures but they have fangs and claws. They are built to survive! They are hunters but we forget that until they bring back their prey or decide to give us a good chomp. People forget Vertin isn't a bad fighter despite her lack of arcanums. She's strong and agile AEB fighting Schneider, fighting enemies in Labyrinth, subduing Spathodea (literal boxer) with Ezra (who is sweet bby mushroom not a seasoned fighter), and protecting 37 while fighting manus.

They are stealthy, which we see in Vertin as well when she's sneaking around on missions. There is a magical quality to them too. Cats exist beside monsters, demons, humans, and so on in many stories. They're portrayal as something mundane yet still fantastical is something that Vertin embodies. Her "stoicism" also plays into the cat theme but once a cat likes you, you'd be surprised at how expressive they can be! You just need to get to know them.

Cats are alert at night too, sometimes even with Zoomies. Nap during the day, agent of chaos at night. Vertin is shown taking naps and staying up very late. I also like the idea of Kittin living in the Suitcase = Cat in a box. What is a Suitcase but a fancy box we use to carry around?

Cats also collect/hoard things. Socks, shiny things, toys under the couch... I see her a as collector based achievements and other meta (her gathering arcanists, Uttu cards, etc).

If not a cat, my second choice would be a bird. Some type of Corvid. I wish I could give you animals that you didn't already have listed! Maybe some specific type of cat?

But also I like cats and birds so that's a bias I have.

[knoepfl]

~The Devil's Jester~

Characters: Clopin Trouillefou, Reader (Evil Jester), Judge Claude Frollo 

Trigger Warnings: Emotional manipulation, distrust, morally gray dynamics. 

Summary:

As Topsy Turvy Day unfolds, Reader—Frollo’s obedient and enigmatic jester—meets Clopin Trouillefou. Suspicion, intrigue, and dangerous sparks fly between the two, leaving Reader questioning her role as Frollo’s most loyal pawn. 

Words: 1157

---

The raucous streets of Paris were a blur of color, music, and laughter, a stark contrast to the weight you carried under your jester’s motley. Bells jingled with every step you took, not to signal merriment but to warn others of your presence. Everyone knew what you were—Judge Frollo’s jester, bound to his will, more an agent of order than joy. 

Your painted smile betrayed none of the wariness you felt as you moved through the festival. The scent of roasting meat and spiced wine filled the air, and the drunken crowd danced around you like waves crashing on a shore. But amidst the noise and laughter, whispers followed wherever you went. You heard the murmurs:  “There goes Frollo’s little puppet.”  “Watch her. She’s trouble.” 

You ignored them, as you always did. You weren’t here for fun; you were here because Frollo commanded it. His orders were simple—watch the festivities, observe the gypsies, and report back. But simple tasks had a way of becoming complicated, especially during Topsy Turvy Day. 

Your gaze drifted toward the center of the square, where performers juggled fire and acrobats flipped through the air. And there, among the swirling chaos, stood the man you were supposed to be watching: Clopin Trouillefou. 

He was unmistakable, his vibrant costume as loud as his laughter, a mask perched jauntily over his face. He conducted the festivities as if he were both king and court fool, his voice carrying over the crowd with ease. For a moment, you forgot yourself, mesmerized by the way he moved, the way he commanded attention without effort. 

He saw you before you could slip back into the crowd. His sharp gaze locked onto yours, and a grin spread across his face—a grin that was both charming and dangerous. He made his way toward you with the easy grace of someone who feared nothing. 

“Well, well,” he said, stopping just close enough that you could smell the faint scent of wine on his breath. “Look who decided to join the festivities. Frollo’s jester, out of her cage. Tell me, little puppet, are you here to dance, or are you here to spy?”

You tilted your head, letting your painted smile stretch a little wider. “Can’t I do both?” 

Clopin’s laugh was warm, but there was something sharp beneath it, like a knife hidden in silk. “Ah, a multitasker. How delightful.” He leaned in closer, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Tell me, does Frollo know you’re here? Or are you out causing trouble on your own?”

Your heart quickened—not from fear, but from the strange thrill of being seen, truly seen, by someone like Clopin. No one ever looked at you like that, not even Frollo. To him, you were a tool, a weapon to be used and discarded. But Clopin’s gaze was different. It was playful, yes, but also curious, as if he were trying to solve a puzzle only he could see.

“I don’t cause trouble,” you said softly, your voice barely audible over the noise of the crowd. “I follow orders.”

Clopin’s grin faltered for just a moment, replaced by something like pity. “And what a dull life that must be,” he murmured. 

For a moment, you considered telling him the truth—that your life wasn’t dull, but safe. Frollo’s commands gave you structure, purpose. Without them, you were... lost. But you didn’t say any of that. Instead, you shrugged, the bells on your costume jingling with the movement. “It’s not so bad.”

Clopin studied you for a long moment, his gaze flickering over your face as if trying to peel back the layers of paint and pretense. “You’re lying,” he said, not unkindly. “But that’s all right. We all lie to ourselves, now and then.”

Before you could respond, he reached out and tapped the tip of your nose with a gloved finger, the gesture light and playful. “Come, little jester. Let’s see if we can teach you how to dance.”

He spun away, beckoning you to follow, and without thinking, you did. The crowd closed in around you as Clopin led you through the festival, weaving between dancers and acrobats with practiced ease. He twirled you once, twice, and though you stumbled, he caught you with a laugh that felt like sunshine breaking through a storm.

For the first time in years, you let yourself laugh too—really laugh, not the forced, hollow sound Frollo demanded. It was strange and exhilarating, like taking a breath after being underwater for too long.

“See?” Clopin said, his grin wide and infectious. “Not so bad, is it?”

You shook your head, breathless. “No... it’s not.”

The night wore on, and the festival became a blur of music and color. You danced with Clopin until your feet ached, forgetting, for a little while, who you were and what you were supposed to be. But as the bells of Notre Dame tolled midnight, reality crept back in, cold and unforgiving.

Clopin seemed to sense the shift in you. His expression sobered, though his eyes still sparkled with mischief. “So, what will it be, little jester?” he asked quietly. “Will you run back to your master and tell him everything? Or will you stay and dance with us?”

It was a simple question, but the answer felt impossible. You wanted to stay—God, how you wanted to. But you knew that staying meant more than just dancing. It meant defying Frollo, breaking free of the chains he had wrapped around your soul. 

“I can’t,” you whispered, the words tasting like ash on your tongue. 

Clopin’s gaze softened, and for the first time, his smile was sad. “There’s always a choice,” he said gently. “You just have to be brave enough to make it.”

You wanted to believe him. But the weight of Frollo’s control was too heavy, and the fear of what would happen if you disobeyed too great. You shook your head, stepping back, the bells on your costume jingling softly in the night air.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured. 

Clopin gave you a long, searching look, as if trying to memorize every detail of your face. Then he smiled—a quiet, understanding smile that made your heart ache. “Maybe next time,” he said softly.

And with that, he turned and disappeared into the crowd, leaving you standing alone in the square as the festival began to fade.

You watched him go, a strange mix of regret and longing swirling in your chest. You knew you would return to Frollo, just as you always did. But for the first time, the thought of obeying him felt like a prison sentence.

As you made your way back to Frollo’s chambers, the bells of Notre Dame tolled once more, their somber notes echoing through the empty streets. And with every step you took, Clopin’s words followed you, haunting you like a whisper in the dark.

There’s always a choice. You just have to be brave enough to take it.

---

Author’s Note: Thank you for reading! If you have feedback, want a second part or requests for future fanfics, feel free to tell me!

[semi-sketchy]

tbh I haven't exactly been hyped for the third Sonic movie, like interested, sure, but not hyped.

This trailer kinda solidified that feeling for me.

Firstly, I am glad that they're not trying to do a 1:1 adaptation of SA2. Everyone kept talking about how "we NEED Amy for movie 3" or "Rouge HAS to show up" but just because it happened that way in the game doesn't mean it'd work in this universe. I talked about this briefly when rewatching X, but the gist is you're much more likely to bastardize the original in an attempt to compete with it rather than create something enjoyable. Adaptations SHOULD be different enough to stand on their own instead of living in the original's shadow.

Heck, if I wanted to see SA2 again, I'd just play SA2. Not like the game's going anywhere.

The SCU already plays fast and loose with the game canon, really just taking names and putting their own spin on it, so I don't really understand why anyone expected a faithful adaptation.

Another risk with trying to make something mostly faithful is any changes are bound to be jarring. I'm already seeing this in the fandom and yes, some parts bother me, too.

We already went through the "why is Shadow working for GUN in '06" and now we have the sequel. Sonic is working for GUN. Top it off, Tom is no longer just a small town cop, but also a GUN agent.

"This movie better have some anti-military message" guys. It's no secret that the US military funds films for media rep. The whole movie industry is filled with pro-military messaging. The Sonic movies have been copaganda since the first, I don't understand why people keep expecting Sonic to hate cops when his dad is a cop.

Do I like Sonic working with GUN? No. I think it's stupid. They've been after his ass for two films and now they're calling him up like "Hi! Please don't hold a grudge for the time we tased and caged you and even catfished your aunt, we want you to beat up our problem!" I can't believe this also apparently worked on Tom like buddy. You were locked up by them too and your wife had to fight through them to save you

I suppose the justification is after two movies, it'd be tiresome to do it a third time, but I think there's better ways to avoid that than simply having Sonic work with the very people who imprisoned him.

Although, I'm intrigued with what they're going to do with Gerald alive. He's now there to further push and manipulate Shadow into revenge instead of just hard-wiring him. It's not just a memory of pain, there's someone there that is still angry and it's someone Shadow cares about. It'll be interesting to see what they do with this!

Also I don't think the Chao Garden being a type of Chuck E. Cheese was on anyone's bingo card

LOOK AT THE HUGE CHAO PLUSH

If anything comes out of this movie, I want it to be a good quality big Chao plush.

[flowersforchoso]

Intro dialogues w/ mk1 male characters

background: fei is an oc and a chloromancer which means, she's a practitioner of plant magic. these are intro dialogues with the men of mortal kombat 1. ranging from friendly, flirty, subtextual romance to animosity.

sub-zero: you're as delicate as a rose

fei: wait till you see my deadly thorns

sub-zero: i do not wish to fight you

fei: are you conceding defeat already?

fei: i have immense respect for you but i wont stand down

sub-zero: a fatal mistake

fei: you have something against me. what is it?

smoke: i- well...

fei: you find me alluring?

smoke: your powers are

smoke: you'd fit right in with the shirai-ryu

fei: a compliment, but i doubt it

fei: for the last time johnny, its a no.

johnny cage: wait. i just wanna ask for gardening tips

johnny cage: you could be the leading lady in a movie. just let me contact my agent

fei: i'm not interested in your proclivities

johnny cage: i've been thinking about going vegetarian

fei: this concerns me how?

havik: you're pathetic and weak

fei: a baseless assumption you'd soon come to regret

havik: chaos is order, beauty is oppression

fei: you gain converts by spouting such nonsense?

havik: when order has been replaced by chaos, you'll be by my side

fei: keep your delusions to yourself, havik

shang tsung: your powers would be beneficial

fei: i won't be subject to your sick experiments, sorcerer

shang tsung: when i say join me, i'm being diplomatic

fei: never! not even in my death

fei: how do you live with yourself?

shang tsung: *laughs* its all too easy

reptile: i've- i've never met someone like you

fei: is that a good thing or a bad thing?

fei: you bleed green?

reptile: does that terrify you?

reptile: have you ever heard of the kytinn?

fei: yes. they're truly... bizarre

fei: you're so different from your brother

kuai liang: sharing blood is where our similarities begin and end

fei: how is young hanzo doing?

kuai liang: very well.

kuai liang: you still trust bi-han? after everything he's done?

fei: not trust. more so, understand his perspective.

general shao: i'll trample upon your vines and thorns so scamper.

fei: if raiden can take you down, then i can

general shao: your kind should not be in battle

fei: care to explain further, general?

fei: i must admit, you're terrifying

general shao: *laughs* and you still choose to proceed, woman?

fei: crafting a world and maintaining it must be tedious

liu kang: a price for the greater good

liu kang: don't overwork yourself

fei: thanks. i'll try not to

liu kang: its regrettable. what we've become

fei: i'd rather not dwell on it

kung lao: you and lord liu kang were a thing?

fei: how- how did you know of this?

fei: your ego will soon be your demise

kung lao: doubt it. its one of my greatest assets

kung lao: i'm single y'know

fei: tell that to someone who cares

reiko: liu kang is not gonna save ya

fei: i'm more than capable of holding my own

fei: basking in the glory of war makes one inhuman

reiko: keep your sanctimonious drivel where the sun doesn't shine

fei: you're no soldier, you're a criminal

reiko: and what does that make you? a sheltered brat

fei: the way tarkat holds you hostage worries me

baraka: i do not need your pity

baraka: i'm sure my mere presence sickens you

fei: don't assume such baraka.

baraka: my ilk are treated worse than dogs

fei: its terrible. they deserve better

fei: you have alot of luck on your side with that amulet

raiden: *laughs* even without it, i'm formidable

fei: confidence is not pride. gladly wear it

raiden: i suppose. old habits do die hard

raiden: you're like mother nature herself

fei: *laughs* i'm nothing but a custodian

fei: how are you so bereft of principles despite being a high mage?

rain: don't speak on things you do not know of

fei: its comical that you run with a tail between your legs afterwards

rain: i'm not above seeking repentance

rain: my storm will wash away your plants

fei: water only fosters nature.

fei: i've never faced a blind swordsman

kenshi: it'll be your first and last encounter

fei: is it possible for others to control sento?

kenshi: try it. the anticipation is killing me

kenshi: i was in the yakuza once.

fei: so you admit to having blood on your hands

fei: what does the future hold for me?

geras: that, i cannot say

fei: being only a construct must be a terrible fate

geras: why do you presume so?

geras: just as the stars are infinite, so are the grains of sand

fei: proverbial. but where are you going with this?

[redularium]

MOST RECENT VALERIE ART!!!!!! well just these two are Recent … made either yesterday or two days ago . the days Escape me . also i should’ve put more basic information on this to make it an actual ref sheet but maybe i’ll edit this post later to do all that . this is all i got rn

I FORGOT I CHANGED HER AGE SHES UM 28/29 I THINK!!!!!

Y’know i had a Whole tons of paragraphs of information i wrote for her but my upload Failed and im assuming its lost forever so um i Forgot what i wrote. life is great

I used to be So obsessed with her and always drew her a lot but i never Actually Developed her so why not do it right now . i’ll let her free from the cages of my mind and allow her to roam and finally potentially interact with the Psychonauts World and all of its Wonders…

She’s made herself a home somewhere in the Questionable Area? because i think it would be funny . She and Sam could make tons of food and stuff in that ummm the Lumberstack Diner (???) . i think they’d have fun (they’d be screaming and it’d be pure chaos maybe…)

This ref(?) is old by a Couple Months but i still like to use it . and these bottom last ones are mostly recent . except the obvious absolute last one from Last Year

Three of these ones are when i was trying to redesign her but ultimately decided against it . I might draw her with a braid though that looks fun i think

Vale’s friends with Agent Whitlatch and Agent Bigelow, my favourite Agents ever in the World . Together, they’re the Lesbians™️ cuz i thought it was funny . and it still is . I love them . OMG Whitlow… their shipname………. but the three of ‘em are Agent Lyure, Agent Whitlatch, and Agent Bigelow!!!!!!

Though I might take the Agent position away from Vale and just . I dunno . she’d of course still work at the Motherlobe though . or somewhere there

OH ID LIKE TO THINK SHE WORKS A SHIFT WITH TERRYL I LOVE TERRYL A LOT!!!!!!! She could see Hollis there in the Psychoisolation… giggles OH and she likes to talk to the Receptionist sometimes!! i havent drawn Terryl

[psychedelic-ink]

𝐑𝐞𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 - 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐃𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐧

series summary: Two years had passed since your break up with Jack, a fellow Statesmen agent. But everything re-ignites again when Champ asks you to go San Francisco to investigate the disappearance of multiple women across the country and, sadly enough, agent Malibu. While doing anything with Jack is chaos enough, you also run in to another ex, a man that actually showed you kindness and someone you thought you could spend the rest of your days with that is until he started asking too many questions about your job, Frankie Morales.

pairing(s): jack daniels x fem!reader, past frankie morales x fem!reader, eventual (+endgame pairing) jack daniels x fem!reader x frankie morales

chapter summary: The story of how you and Frankie met. In present day Jack brings his car to the garage Frankie works at.

word count: 7.1k

chapter warnings: use of weed, alcohol consumption, getting high with frankie morales, high sex, piv sex, reader talking about her break up with jack, self-destructive tendencies (reader), mild exhibitionism, dirty talking, creampie, mention of reader being on the pill, statesmen agent!reader, brief mention of frankie's cocain addiction, reader heavily relying on weed and alcohol for comfort frankie trying to help

a/n: and here we are once again! thank you to all those who were patient with me and supported this series despite it being months, I love you all and enjoy! xx

Masterlist  | Series Masterlist | Chapter 2 | Chapter 4

It was a hot day when he met you. 

After his license was taken away, and after the… unfortunate events Santi had dragged him into, Frankie had decided to dedicate himself to volunteer work—volunteer work that specifically included animals. He knew someone, someone way back, named Maria and Maria worked at the local animal shelter. Frankie gave her a call and the next day he was learning the ropes of what they did. 

Initially, Frankie thought he would be visiting once a week—but there was a lot that needed to be done and he wasn’t above getting his hands dirty for the sake of the poor animals who were abandoned. Every morning he had a habit of greeting all the dogs. It was a bittersweet experience. He loved seeing how excited they got, but he also became heartbroken when he saw the dogs that had lost all hope. They would just sit in their cages, head bowed down, only their eyes moving when Frankie came in to clean their living spaces. He felt a special bond between him and them. 

He fixed all the cages the first week, he asked for pillows, for new water bowls. Frankie became a loud protestor of mistreated animals. In the end it made him feel selfish. He wasn’t doing much, but even that little bit of effort made his heart feel lighter after all the shit he’d done. It made him feel good. 

Frankie practically begged Will and Benny to adopt a dog, a black old terrier that deserved a happy home. Frankie would be the first to admit that the small dog wasn’t really Will and Benny’s style, but he asked them anyway. Much to his gratitude, the brothers said yes. 

He thought of Pope, but he was still traveling way too frequently, meaning that he wasn’t the best person to adopt an animal. 

That’s how his days went. Most of his time was spent at the shelter, the rest of his time was dedicated to getting his license back. And of course, he had to work, which he did at the neighborhood car repair shop. The pay wasn’t much but it was decent. Enough for him to buy food. 

He was filling the water bowls when you came in. His shirt stuck to his skin, his back damp and dark in color with sweat. You looked around nervously. 

“Hello there, you looking to adopt?” 

You looked away, biting your bottom lip. Frankie noticed your swollen eyes, your running nose. Raising an eyebrow, he cocked his head to the side—you were crying. 

“Hi,” you chirped, albeit anxiously. “Sorry, I don’t really know what I’m doing here. My friend told me to get out and I didn’t really wanna see anyone so I ended up coming here.” 

“That’s okay,” he answered with a sudden sense to comfort you. His fingers twitched, the need to place a hand over your shoulder overwhelming. He pushed those thoughts aside. “We can look around. I have time, and the dogs always get excited to see new people,” 

“That makes me sad since I can’t take any of them home,” you mutter, finally lifting your gaze and looking at him for the first time. “Can I help with anything? You have volunteers right?” 

“We sure do,” he nodded, smiling. “And we never say no to some extra spare hands. I don’t really have anything specific in mind so let me show you around first. Does that sound good?” 

“Sure. Sounds great.” 

Frankie led the way, walking slowly to give you a chance to take in everything around you. You seemed to be trying your best to stay calm by wrapping your arms around your frame. Again, his need to offer comfort overwhelmed him. He’s not one to place his nose into things that didn’t concern him, but in a way, he could relate to your need to both go out and heal—but also wanting to stay away from people. He understood that. 

"Here are the dog kennels," Frankie said, pointing to a row of cages that housed dogs of all sizes and breeds. "We try to make them as comfortable as possible, but they're still waiting for their forever homes."

“Do people often adopt?” 

“It’s more common now, thankfully,” he grumbles, anger twisting in his stomach. “But  people still want “pure breeds” which is a load of shit if you ask me. There are also the people who adopt but can’t handle the responsibility and bring them back which is—” bitter laughter dropped from his lips. “I wouldn’t really describe myself as a temperamental person but some people I swear to god,” 

“Must be frustrating.” 

“It is.” 

His answer had come from a place of slight shock. Frankie was used to people being more…emphatic. He was used to the “awwws” and the sad “ohhhs” coming from the people who visited. But instead of that, or remarking on how cruel humanity was (which was another answer he frequently got), you just stated a fact. You just pointed out the obvious. Which was slightly unnerving since that obvious thing was what he was feeling. 

The dogs barked and jumped up at the sound of voices, wagging their tails. Frankie stopped to pat a few of them on the head, and he watched you smile as you got closer to the cages, patting a mix between a greyhound and a husky. 

“So loving,” you murmured, fascinated. “One of his eyes is blue.” 

“He’s a husky mix, his name is Thor—well, I call him Thor.” 

“Marvel fan?” 

“Nah, it just felt fitting.” 

Moving on, Frankie continued to talk about the shelter and its operations. He told you about how they rely on donations and volunteers to keep running, and how they work to rehabilitate animals who have been abused or neglected. He hoped to keep his voice gentle and soothing, and he was pleased that you slowly started to open up.

"Are you here full time?” you asked suddenly, taking him by surprise. 

“I wish but no.”

“Work?”

He nodded, “Work.” 

It was odd talking to you. It almost felt like you couldn’t speak in full sentences. It was clear to him that you were in some kind of emotional turmoil—something he noticed not because of his killer observation skills but due to the fact the whites of your eyes were red. He wondered what kind of person you were without whatever it was that was weighing you down. 

He wondered what your smile might look like. 

Frankie didn't ask what you did in your spare time, which would be a natural way to continue the conversation, instead, he showed you the rest of the shelter. He showed you the cats lounging in their cages, the birds chirping in their aviary, and even some rabbits hopping around in a pen. You lean forward, observing the tiny bodies of cuteness through the dirty glass. Frankie almost sees the twitch of your lip, but before it transforms into an expression you straighten up and roll your shoulders. 

“What can I help with?” 

Frankie asked you out on a date two weeks later. He liked to think it was due to the peer pressure coming from Pope and Benny rather than his undeniable infatuation with you. 

You were hardworking, emotional, and quick to point out stupidity. After learning more about the shelter and its issues, which was impressively quick, you started to constantly butt heads with Frankie. He knew your intentions were good, which is why he didn’t mind your passion coming out as impatience. You wanted to help. You wanted to see results. He understood quickly that according to you, the other volunteers were weak-handed, and didn’t want to get their hands dirty—but Frankie found that you were a little too eager to get your hands dirty. 

But he never said anything. He kept his observations to himself and asked you out for dinner at his place, he didn’t really have the budget to take you out, and his cooking was way better compared to Burger King or any other fast food chain. 

You showed up half an hour late with an apologetic smile and a bottle of red wine. 

“Sorry,” you said before hello. “Traffic was insane,” 

“Don’t worry about it,” he answers with a soft smile. “Come on in.” 

He took the bottle from you and waited until you’d completely passed the threshold, he noticed that you had a slight limp to your step. He closed the door and followed you inside. 

“Are you okay? You’re limping,” 

You were visibly surprised by the question, shoulders raising. Frankie understood then that you were attempting to hide it, and he flustered at the thought, he hadn’t meant to call you out or anything. 

“An asshole kid kicked me,” you sighed, clearly exasperated. “I was just waiting for the light to turn green and this little demon spawn kicked me while holding his mother’s hand. It hurt as hell, but surprise surprise mama satan said nothing!” 

Frankie placed the wine on the table and wiped his palms on his jeans, he was sweating. “Parents tend to be worse than the children they’re rising,” he cleared his throat. “Is it sprained? I can wrap it up for you if you want.” 

He held his breath when you walked up to him, placing a flat hand over his chest. 

“Eager to lick my wounds already,” you hummed, a faint glimmer in your eyes. “How chivalrous.” 

“Force of habit,” he grinned, which was followed up by a loud swallow. “I have a lot of friends that tend to get into trouble.” 

“Are these the soldier buddies I heard so much about?” you pull back your hand. 

He watched as you head for the couch, shrugging your jacket off before taking a seat. With practiced ease, he grabbed two crystal wine glasses and a sleek wine opener from the kitchen. He uncorked a bottle of red wine, letting the rich aroma fill the room, and poured it carefully into the glasses.

Frankie had made a somewhat decent charcuterie board. He raided his local grocery store the day before and picked up some basic items: a block of cheddar cheese, a package of sliced salami, a jar of olives, and a sleeve of crackers. He also added some grapes and cherry tomatoes for color.

He arranged everything on a wooden cutting board and placed it on the coffee table prior to your arrival. He was pleased to see that you’d already made yourself comfortable by crossing your legs, nibbling on a cracker topped with cheese and salami. 

“Thank you,” you said with a mouthful when Frankie placed the glass in front of you. Swallowing, you took the glass by the stem and brought it to your lips, swallowing the ruby liquid. “This is great. I really needed this,” 

“You do know that this isn’t the main course right?” he chuckled, throwing his arm over the back of the couch. “My budget isn’t that tight. We have pasta.” 

“Ohh pasta,” you sighed, licking your lips. Frankie’s eyes followed the bath of your tongue. “And that’s not what I meant. I’m just…I was trying to express gratitude I guess. It’s been a while since I felt good and I’m pretty sure it’s all thanks to you.” 

“Well, I’m sure that’s not true,” he couldn’t help but draw slow patterns across the back of your bare neck. He felt like a man possessed with the need to touch you, no matter how minimal. “You’re quite competent. I don’t think you need to give credit to me for your own healing.” 

“I can’t exactly discredit you either,” you smiled, shaking your head. “I’m sorry for being—” you swallowed, words seemingly failing you. “—for being not myself.” 

“Would it be okay if I ask what happened?” his, voice a beat above a whisper. “It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me, you don’t seem like the type to talk about your feelings a lot.” 

“You’re too observant for comfort,” the fact that you smiled when saying it relieved him. “But I don’t mind talking about it. I feel like you deserve some kind of explanation—” 

“You don’t owe me anything.” 

“Even so…I would…like to talk about it,” you took another sip of your wine before turning to him completely, fingers nervously moving up and down the glass stem. “This is going to be cliche.” 

“I have no issues with cliches,” he smiled, the pads of his fingers pressing firmer into your skin. “Cliches are cliche for a reason.” 

“That’s a nice thought.” 

A moment of silence. You took another sip, lips shimmering with the residue left from the wine. 

“I was somewhat recently broken up with. I want to say it was a nasty breakup but it actually wasn’t—which shouldn’t bother me but it does.” 

Frankie remained quiet, waiting for you to continue. He didn’t dare to move or even breathe, in the passing silent seconds. Your chest raised as you took a deep breath, remembering made you wince. 

“We’re coworkers so I see him quite often. He’s also not the easiest person to get along with—and that’s not just me saying that. He kept a lot of things to himself, and it made me think ‘why be in a relationship if we’re not going to comfort and be honest with each other’ he took it well, actually. A week later I heard him being with someone else. I—I took it pretty bad.” 

“That’s okay,” Frankie said without waiting a beat. “He sounds like an asshole. And no one should expect you to take it with a smile.” 

“I guess not.” you sighed and leaned over to place the glass on the table. “I’m not being a very good date am I?” 

It wasn’t difficult to see that you were deflecting. However, being a man of his word, Frankie didn’t press for more details. He would learn more about the man that broke your heart with time, and even if he didn’t, that was alright, as long as he was able to make you smile, it didn’t matter to him what happened in your past. 

Considering his own mistakes and misfortunes, he hoped that you would spare him the same consideration. 

“You’re being a lovely date,” he answered, leaning closer. He noticed the way your eyes dropped to his lips, a soft exhale escaping them.

“That’s an awfully generous statement.” 

It was the way your lashes fluttered when he fully cradled your nape, squeezing softly, he allowed his lips to brush yours. Your eyes closed in a sort of surrender. Maybe he should’ve thought about it more before allowing himself to be a distraction. That was he was; a distraction—a balm to soothe your heart. He didn’t mind being the cure. Maybe that was fucked up of him. 

In that moment he liked to think that some part of him was using you too, for his own comfort. You treated him like he was a pure man, excluded from all sin. It’s far from the truth but it was nice for someone to look at him with admiration instead of ‘you fucked up’. 

He kissed you. Wine stained lips molding together, tongues intertwining, leaving no room to breathe. He inhaled your scent, smoke, and something sweet he couldn’t quite place his finger on. His tongue swiped over your bottom lip, teeth gently digging into the soft flesh. Your hands skimmed his waist, goosebumps pebbling under the fabric of his shirt as he felt your fingers moving up and down. 

Frankie was the one to part away, but again, he kept you close, his forehead against yours. Your eyes remained closed, lips looking tender and swollen under the dim lights. 

“Frankie, can I ask you something?” 

“Anything.” 

“I don't mean to be presumptuous or anything, but I didn't just bring wine with me. I actually brought some weed, if that's something you'd be interested in smoking," you opened your eyes, staring directly into Frankie’s. “I know it's not for everyone, but it might be a nice way to unwind a bit."

In hindsight, Frankie probably should say no. He didn’t have any issues with you smoking it, but he just wasn’t sure if he should. It had been a while. He remembered using it a lot when he wanted to forget, or before inhaling a shit ton of coke, which he hasn’t done—at least not to that amount—since his license got taken away. 

His cock twitched when you dragged your lips down the column of his neck, pressing a kiss into his shoulder. He exhaled slowly, something that could be easily confused with a sigh. Your grip on his waist tightened. He didn’t want you to feel like he didn’t understand, or that he was against it. He wasn’t. 

While you laid another kiss above his collarbone, he placed one on your temple. 

“Sounds great.” 

They were on the floor. Smoke lingered deep in their lungs, a cloud of cannabis entrailing and curling around them both. Frankie had no idea how they ended up there; backs pressed against the couch cushions, coffee table pushed ahead, empty charcuterie board on your side. Their limbs were tangled with each other, your legs propped over Frankie’s thighs. 

His fingers curled around the meat of your thigh, stroking and squeezing the muscle affectionately. 

“What does it mean to be a bad person?” you asked suddenly. 

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. He slid his hand forward, following the peak of your knee and moving to your calf, there he drummed his thumb against the bone. “What do you think it means?” 

“I don’t know that’s why I’m asking,” you chuckled, you shimmied closer until the curve of your bottom touched the outside of his thigh. “Everything is so gray. I want to be a good person, always have. But then why am I suffering? Why am I having these thoughts that convince me I’m a waste? I thought being good meant sacrificing parts of yourself, to do good no matter what—being good means not thinking about yourself, that is what I was told. And I think I do that. With my job—” 

Your sentence came to an abrupt halt, you shook your head and Frankie could feel the tremors of the movement mirroring in his lap. He dragged his nails up and down your leg, imagining that a shudder would settle over your spine from it. 

“If being good means making sacrifices for it, why is it that the people who don’t are happier than me?” 

“You don’t know if they’re happy or not.” 

“That might be true but I do know that they’re not struggling like I am. They’re not lonely. They’re not afraid of it. Me on the other hand, I cry myself to sleep almost every night,” you shook your head, legs slowly starting to recoil. “Sorry, I—I can’t think, that was such a childish thing to complain about. You’re right. I don’t know what people think, maybe they’re just as tortured as I am.” 

Frankie kept your legs over his lap, forcefully so. “I don’t think it’s childish,” he exhaled one breath and inhaled two. His fingers slid down to your ankle, and there he felt your beating pulse. Your breath hitched. “I just think you’re hurt. We’re all afraid of something. You’re not alone in that.” 

“What are you afraid of?” 

“Losing myself.” 

The air around them stilled. Frankie’s mind threatened to spiral, he took heavy breaths, trying to focus on something, anything. He felt his heart beating in his throat and he swallowed—again and again. Your veins throbbed under the pads of his fingers, he focused on that, he thought that he could hear the blood rushing in your veins. 

“I think you’re too stubborn to lose yourself,” you whispered, hooking a finger under his chin and lifting his gaze back to you. “But I’ll tell you something, if you do, I’ll pull you out of it.” 

He smiled, his heartbeat finally slowing, “And I’ll always be there for you. You won’t have to worry about being alone. No matter what, I’ll be there. Deal?” 

“Deal.” 

He blinked and when he opened his eyes again you were straddling his lap. Frankie’s hands moved on instinct, large palms securing you by resting on your back. His lips found yours, he licked himself into your mouth, teeth digging into your bottom lip maybe a bit too hard. You moaned into his mouth and he swallowed every noise, he sucked the air from your lungs, urging the sway of your hips. Before he knew it, your shirt was off, and so was his. Naked bodies came together, the softness of your breasts against his chest. You kissed him like it was your last day on earth—like you needed it to survive. 

He cradled your breasts with both hands, pushing them towards his mouth. He flattened his tongue over the pebbled nipples, sucking them between his lips as much as he could. His cock strained against the zipper of his jeans, painfully so. But he didn’t care about that. How could he when you were grinding down on him, head thrown back and mewling as his teeth nipped the sensitive flesh?

More, you kept on begging, more. 

Frankie was eager to give you what you wanted. A fog settled over his mind, his common sense heavily guided by his need to fuck. Within the haze, the ungrounded whispered promises, they both managed to strip themselves. He couldn’t help himself. He squeezed, pinched, and bit. You returned it in kind. Nails raked over his back, teeth marks formed dents in his skin. 

His cock ached to be buried in you. It dripped heavily, precum smeared the inside of your thighs and stomach. Your chest heaving, placing both hands on his shoulders you lifted yourself up. His head fell back, his hands kneading your ass indulgingly as you sank into him. 

Frankie’s eyes rolled back. You were so fucking wet—wet and incredibly warm. He cursed into your skin, buried his face between your breasts, and kissed wherever his lips touched. You shuddered around him, walls clenched tightly around his cock. A stuttered breath left you both, his nails bit into your skin, the skin above his stomach taut as your arm slowly coiled around his neck. 

“Need you to move, querida,” he groaned, teeth grazing the swell of your breast. 

You relied on him to be able to move, it felt more poetic than it actually was. His muscles strained as you moved, your planted feet doing little work to lift your weight. Instead, you used him like an overhead bar, trusting him enough that he wouldn’t let you fall. It was beautiful, in a way. You trusted him even when he didn’t trust himself. 

“You feel so good,” he whispered, nipping your chin. “This pretty pussy feels like it was made for me to fuck.” 

He felt you shudder through his cock, his balls tight when your movements began to falter, legs shaking. “It was,” you gasped, clamping around him. “Frankie—I’m close. P-Please just—” your words cut off with a moan, head falling over his. He heard you sniffling. 

Frankie’s hands drew soothing patters over your back, feeling every dip and curve of your body. 

“Do you want me to make you come?” he asked. 

“Please.” 

With his feet firmly planted on the floor, he pushed up into you, burying himself as deep as he could. Your arms curled around his head like spiderwebs, the scent of sex and cannabis clung to your skin, breasts heavy as they swayed with his thrusts. 

He couldn’t help himself. You felt tight, warm—just aching for him to fill up. His entire body clenched as he shoved you down, his cock fully engulfed by your heat. He spilled into you, it’s so overwhelming that it’s borderline painful. He could fuck you until the end of time. 

A sudden worry consumed him. Frankie was quick to smooth your back with open palms, looking up at you with soft and pleading eyes. 

“S-Shit, I’m sorry—” 

But on the contrary, you seemed glad. You seemed satisfied and happy. 

“Don’t worry,” you let out a shaky breath. “I’m on the pill.” 

He found you half unconscious sprawled upon the couch. It wasn’t the first time Frankie found you like this, like a picture of his past, showcasing his worst moments and forcing him to re-live them. You groaned as he lifted you up, pushing you into a sitting position. He parted your fingers and shoved a glass of cool water into your hand. You smileed in a daze. 

“Thanks,” you muttered, your voice scratchy and dry. “How was your day?” 

Frankie didn’t answer. He scoffed and continued to clean up, when that was done he guided you to the bathroom. He placed you into the warm water, scrubbing the sweat off your skin. You started crying then. Shaking and muttering apologies, that he didn’t deserve this. He didn’t really think that way. Was it sad to see you like this, yes, no doubt about it. But he didn’t blame you. He didn’t think you were being evil or malevolent. You needed help. 

He needed help once too. And you weren’t anything that he couldn’t handle. Just a shit ton of weed and alcohol. He just needed to be here and it would be okay. He wanted to keep his promise.

Frankie told you as such. Not that you believed him. But he said it anyway. Reminding you that he was here, that it was okay. He would talk about himself, what he’d gone through without going into much detail. He didn’t think you were ready to hear that part of him yet. 

He smoothly guided the loofa over your skin, suds moving up and down. He noticed the bruises on your arms, your ribs. 

“What are these?” he asked. 

You looked down, shaking your head. “From work,” you quickly said. “I fell. Nothing important.” 

Frankie nodded and didn’t press any further. 

But the bruises didn’t stop. 

Every night when you came back from work, you had bruises, cuts, it almost looked like you were fighting but with who he had no idea. It became a problem. Him asking. It agitated you, made you lash out. And you lashing out made him lash out. He never wanted to break up, the opposite, he wanted to be with you. 

The words just slipped. 

“You need to tell me what’s going on so I can help. Do you want me to leave, is that it?” 

“Maybe you should.” Frankie made a face and you sighed. “Maybe it’s better for the both of us if we spend some time apart. Honestly, it’s probably better for you. I’m not…I’m not well, Frankie. You deserve someone better.” 

“What does that even mean?” Should he be angry? Should he put weight on these words that you were saying? 

“It means that my…my feelings aren’t enough to make this work.” 

“I think they’re plenty.” 

“They’re not, Frankie. You know that. This isn’t fair to you. You deserve someone who’s whole, someone who isn’t broken.” 

“Stop calling yourself that,” he snapped. “you’re not broken. I never thought that you were.” 

You walked up to him, a single tear trickling down your cheek as you placed a hand to his rough, stubbled cheek. "Goodbye, Frankie. Thank you," you whispered, before leaning in and kissing him softly on the lips.

Frankie's eyes widened in surprise, his body tensing for a moment before he relaxed into the kiss. It was brief, but it spoke volumes - of regret, of love, of loss.

When he left Frankie heard the sound of glass shattering against a hard surface.

Frankie regretted everything. He regretted Benny talking him into flying to San Francisco and he regretted saying yes to coming to this shitshow of a club just because Benny went on and on about how it was the hottest new thing. 

And typical of Benny, he was nowhere to be found. 

The air around him was suffocating. It smelled of alcohol and sweet perfume that was strong enough that he felt his nose might fall off at any given moment. People around him danced and laughed. He never felt more out of place in his life. He lifted his ballcap and ran his fingers through his hair. He should definitely go back to his hotel room. He’s sure Benny would understand. Besides what was the alternative? Find a random person to fuck? He wasn’t really in the mood to make pleasantries and act like he was fine when in reality he wasn't. 

Needless to say, the breakup had affected him more than he cared to admit. 

A group of girls shoved him around and his eyes went over the many drunk people in the club. He was desperately hoping Benny would miraculously appear in the midst of the people. Wouldn’t that be amazing?

His eyes caught glimpse of a couple sitting in one of the booths. It was hard to see due to the red light but still, he could never truly forget what you looked like, no matter how dimly lit it was. The man you were sitting with somewhat resembled him, he was clean-shaven, his mustache trimmed and neat. His eyes traced the curve of his nose, the dip of his eyebrows, the flat line of his lips. Frankie found the cowboy hat to be comical but he couldn’t really judge anyone when he wore a baseball cap 24/7. 

The cowboy leaned into your ear and murmured something but you were heavily distracted, your gaze glued to Frankie. It truly must’ve been a shock seeing him here. Not wanting to be rude, Frankie smiled, it was forced, it was broad but it was the best he could do as he headed in your direction. It just happened. He hadn’t really thought about it. 

“Hey.” he said. 

You looked up, a forced smile slowly spreading across your face. Frankie was somewhat pleased he wasn’t the only one feeling awkward. But despite it all, it was good to see you. 

“Hey,” you answered, a slight tremble in your voice. “How are you, Frankie?” 

“I’m good, you?” 

“Doing better,” this time, he noticed, your smile was a sincere one. “What are you doing here? This place doesn’t exactly scream ‘this is a hangout place for Frankie Morales’.” 

He chuckled and scratched the back of his head. For a second, he’d forgotten there was someone else with you. His heart sank when he heard the deep voice cut through the greetings from the past. 

“Aren’t you going to introduce us, buttercup?” 

Both you and Frankie turned to Jack, Frankie’s eyes scanned the other man with a hint of curiosity. He followed the way the other’s arm was tightly wrapped around your waist. Jealousy rolled in his stomach, he was glad that you were happy, of course. Still, he couldn’t deny the loud blood rush in his ears. 

“Frankie this is Ja– Bruce. This is Bruce,” you said, Frankie raised an eyebrow at the mixup. He wasn’t stupid. “He’s my–” 

Bruce (Frankie didn’t believe that was the man’s name but he’d play along for now) cut in, his voice dripping with amusement. 

“Boyfriend,” he leaned forward with an extended hand. With a kind, yet emotionless smile, Frankie squeezed the aforementioned limb. “Nice to meet you, Frankie.” 

“Nice to meet you too.” 

It wasn’t. 

The air was thick with tension. You moved uncomfortably in your seat, as Frankie held “Bruce”’s gaze. He’s not sure what it was but the other man managed to rail him up by simply just sitting. It was an odd feeling, usually, Frankie was known to be level-headed in these kinds of situations. After everything he’s seen, he just assumed stuff like this wouldn’t bother him anymore. He pinched his brows together. It was uncomfortable to think that he was just faking not being bothered. Acting above it all.  

His jaw tensed, his skin incredibly warm. Suddenly the music and the loud chatter faded into the background, all he could focus on was the other man—even you had become a blurred image to a degree. The man smiled, his hand on your waist gradually sliding up your body while answering Frankie’s gaze. The latter swallowed. 

You gasped when the same hand cupped your breast and began to knead it. 

“What are you doing?” 

Frankie’s mouth went dry. 

“Don’t fret, I’m just giving our friend a little show,” 

Frankie vaguely noticed you staring at him, he was frozen still. His gaze was glued to the hand lazily squeezing your breast. Bruce nuzzled the dip of your jawline, lips gently grazing the line of your neck, and he breathed you in. Frankie licked his lips, his fingers twitching against the denim of his pants. Something primal stirred in him when your breath hitched. The red light gave the two of them a vibrant, erotic hue. The front of his jeans suddenly felt tight, uncomfortable. 

The cowboy’s other hand traveled down to the wetness that Frankie’s sure had grown substantially between your legs. He noted the way your eyes rolled back, his finger underneath your dress, he imagined the other tracing your clothed folds.

“Do you enjoy being watched, dear?” he purred into your skin, his voice low and mocking. Then he looked up to Frankie who was frozen still. “Look at you, staring at her like a deer in headlights. Don’t you wanna come over here and feel how wet she is?” 

Frankie had to stop himself from leaning forward, he was more than ready to take that extra step. His skin tingled. His eyes flit from the other man to you. He saw the way you stared at him, blinking heavily, a silent plea for him to come closer. He furrowed his brows, if you wanted to he’d happily take a seat next to you. He stepped closer, his heart skipped a beat. Bruce seemed to be delighted. 

“Are you sure?” Frankie asked you. 

You’re about to nod– No, not about to, you’re in the midst of nodding, but the movement was cut short when you saw something Frankie couldn’t. You were staring through him, your eyes went wide. 

“Shit.” 

Frankie watched dumbfounded as you grabbed Bruce by the arm and tugged him along as you scurried up from the booth. He took a step back, trying to make sense of what was happening. Bruce glared at you and yanked his arm away.

“What the hell–” 

“It’s him– Albert Dunn, the waitress tipped him off. Come on Jack we need to go,” 

Frankie raised an eyebrow. “Jack?” 

He fucking knew his name wasn’t Bruce. He didn’t look like a Bruce. 

Jack rushed to the door, leaving you alone. Frankie was worried, but he also felt anger simmering in his gut. So you went back to your ex, the ex that made you feel like shit and pushed you to seek comfort in other substances. Oh yeah, he was definitely angry. 

He took a hold of your wrist and pulled you close so his voice could reach you. 

“That was Jack? I thought–” he sighed and shook his head, it was hard to swallow his frustrations down but somehow he managed to do it. “You’re not in any kind of trouble, right? You’re safe?” 

You nodded as you attempted to peel yourself away from his grasp, but he didn’t let you. He squeezed your wrists hard enough to be understood as a warning.  

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” 

“I can’t, I’m sorry.”

He felt defeated at that moment, his stomach sinking and his pulse slowing. His grip around your wrists loosened, and despite the crowd, it felt like it was only the two of you present. The bass of the music made his heart thud accordingly, his gaze dropped to the floor. 

“I’ll call you,” you said suddenly. 

Before Frankie could answer, you ran and disappeared into the crowd. He just stood there, hands lifeless against his body. Some part of him wanted to chase after you, but another part knew that he shouldn’t. 

He didn’t know when but he jerked when a hand smacked his shoulder. Frankie turned only to see Benny, his smile faded as he saw Frankie’s expression. 

“Are you alright, Fish?” 

He wasn’t.

Frankie was working on a car for what felt like hours. 

Sweat drips down his forehead and neck, leaving streaks of dirt on his skin. He wipes his oily hands on the rag that hangs from his back pocket, his eyes squinting against the hot sun. The air around him is thick with the smell of gasoline and motor oil, but he barely notices it anymore.

He sighs as he stands up, his knees aching from being hunched over for so long. The car is almost done, but he needs a break. He reaches for his water bottle, taking a long drink before leaning against the hood of the car.

That's when he hears it - the roar of an engine. He turns his head to see a vintage Ford Bronco driving towards him. He raises an eyebrow, surprised. It's not every day that a classic car like that pulls into his garage.

As the car comes to a stop, he walks towards it, wiping his hands on his jeans. He squints into the driver's seat, but he can't make out the driver's face. He shrugs, assuming it's just another customer, and goes back to his work.

But as the driver gets out of the car, Frankie's heart skips a beat—which he doesn’t appreciate. It's Jack. He feels a rush of emotion that he can't quite place. The man hops out of the car and greets him by tipping his hat. Frankie doesn’t return Jack’s enthusiasm. He just stares at him, confused. 

“Need your car fixed?” he asks, hoping this is just a coincidence. 

“Not quite,” Jack drawls. “I actually wanted to apologize for my behavior a week back—in the bar.” he adds when Frankie gave him a quizzical look. “I would like to buy you a drink.” 

Frankie waves him off in dismissal, “No need. It’s nice for you to apologize but we don’t need to be friends. It’s weird.” 

“I suppose it is,” he grins. “Just one drink.” 

“Why?” 

“I just want to talk,” he answers, teeth poking above his lip. “I don’t bite, promise.” 

Frankie seems to have a lot of regrets nowadays. This is just one of many.

They walk into a dimly lit bar, the cool air conditioning a welcome relief from the hot day. Jack leads the way to a booth in the corner, and they both slide in, facing each other. Every muscle Frankie feels uncomfortably tight over his bones. 

He really shouldn’t be here.

Jack orders them both a whiskey on the rocks, and he unpromptedly clinks his glass against Frankie’s. The first sip burns down Frankie's throat, but he relishes the sensation. 

“So… you’re a mechanic?” Jack asks. 

“She didn’t tell you much about me did she?” Frankie smiles, the corners of his lips twitch. “No, I guess she wouldn’t. Why would she tell her boyfriend about her ex.” 

“We aren’t actually—” Jack swallows. “We aren’t actually a couple. We ain’t even friends to be truthful, just acquaintances.” 

“From work?” Frankie asks despite knowing the answer, the other nods. 

Frankie takes another sip of his whiskey and studies Jack’s face. There’s something different about him now. Maybe it’s the way he carries himself or the set of his jaw, but Frankie can’t quite put his finger on it. Frankie leans back against the booth, his eyes fixed on Jack’s face. He can feel his body tensing up again, despite the coolness of the air conditioning. He takes another sip of his whiskey, hoping it will calm his nerves.

“Listen, Jack,” Frankie says, his voice low. “I don’t know what you want from me.”

“I don’t want anythin’,” Jack says, his eyes meeting Frankie’s. 

“Then why are we here?” 

“I was just curious about what kind of man you are,” he swipes over his bottom lip. “She might’ve not spoken about you much but when she did, she did speak highly of you.” 

Jack leans in closer, his arm brushing against Frankie's. 

“It seems like you’re a much better man than I could ever be.” 

“I wouldn’t really go that far. I don’t know you and I don’t know what she said but nothing is ever that simple.” 

Frankie observes as Jack’s eyebrows slowly raise, eyes only slightly wider. The other seems taken aback by the words and Frankie’s not really sure why. Maybe Jack still wasn’t aware that good and bad didn’t exist, that they were just terms. No one is really truly bad or truly good, you understand that after being at war, after shooting others that had families and loved one’s before they shot you. 

He shakes his head, trying to rid his thoughts of unpleasant memories. Those thoughts were only reserved for the late hours till morning—

Frankie feels the heat rising in his cheeks as Jack's hand brushes against his knee. He tries to ignore it, but he can't help but feel a stirring in his chest.

They start to get closer, their arms touching as they lean in to talk. Frankie can feel the heat of Jack's body next to his. Jack’s gaze lingers on him. He takes a sip of his drink, trying to steady his nerves. Frankie’s leg bobs up and down, he should leave. 

“I should go,” Frankie chokes out, he shifts in his seat, getting ready to get up.

“Stay.” 

Frankie can feel Jack’s breath on his cheek and his heart starts to race. It’s just a voice. Jack’s not even touching him, he not holding his wrists, doesn’t have a gun to his head but despite it, Frankie stills. 

“I appreciate the drink,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady. “But I’m fine.”

“Are you sure about that?” Jack asks.

“I’m sure,” he says, his eyes locked with Jack’s.

Jack leans in even closer, his lips just inches away from Frankie’s ear. “Alright then,” he whispers, his breath sending shivers down Frankie’s spine. “See you later, Francisco.” 

Frankie can’t throw himself out of the bar fast enough. 

The world around him spins, the cars louder, brighter the before. He heaves a breath. What the hell was that? He thinks over and over. The warmth of Jack’s breath still lingers and Frankie crosses the street, adamant about putting as much distance as he can. 

When he’s on the other side, his phone buzzes in his pocket. He doesn’t recognize the caller ID but takes any kind of distraction with open arms and answers. 

“Hello?” 

“Frankie it’s me,” you say and an odd sense of relief washes over him. “Can we meet up?” 

He stops, takes deep breaths of the city air. His throat is dry and he lifts his head to the sky. 

“Sure,” he answers. “How does tomorrow sound?”