#every second i feel nothing but agonizing shame

[tamagotchikgs]

talking 2 my mom n crying realizing just how little she realizes or chooses to acknowledge how badly my upbringing fucked me up how being isolated and deprived of basic care has built Me.................like. i . im not allowed to be cared for. im not allowed even as an adult when suddenly she expects me to be able to do everything including go to the doctor n the dentist and do everything flawlessly when i have never had a chance to learn or be anything but terrified. i cant go to the dentist no matter how bad the pain gets or how disgusted i am of myself like i have been since i was a literal child because I'm Not Allowed. i cant just take that and switch it the other way suddenly because im an adult i dont know hwo to train myself out of it. all ive ever known is just Wait. wait it out it doesnt matter how much pain im in it doesnt matter what im going through just Shut Up and Wait.

[saetoru]

AGE IS NOTHING BUT A NUMBER — GETO SUGURU.

kinktober day two — overstimulation ; find masterlist here

synopsis. befriending nanako and mimiko has its perks—like fucking their father, for example. suguru might have aged over the years, but that doesn't mean he's lost his touch. don't believe him? that's okay—he can always just show you instead

length. 5.3k words (bro this fic was agonizing)

contents. minors do not interact, fem! reader, dilf! suguru, college au (reader is a student), age gaps (20+ difference), jealous suguru, teasing, cunnilingus, fingering, edging, nipple play, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, creampie, pet names (baby, sweetheart, princess, angel)

notes. this took me so long bc i hate it so im posting it and running away to play genshin to slave away for primos

most people can tell their best friends everything. not you, though—you have a secret. a dirty, shameful, horrible little secret, in fact.

no one knows that every chance you get, every small little moment you can possibly squeeze in, you fuck your two best friends’ father—and it’s going to stay that way, unknown and forever hidden. suguru is young as far as parents go, just barely in his twenties when he’s found himself a single father of two, but that doesn’t mean he’s not too old for you. and it especially doesn’t mean that it’s not inappropriate to fuck the man that raised your two closest friends.

you meet nanako and mimiko during your freshman year of college—the rest is history. the first time you spend the night at their place, suguru (he insists you call him that on your first meeting) is overjoyed that his girls have someone as lovely as you.

who wouldn’t be? you’re smart, well-mannered, respectable, and incredibly studious. what a perfect role model for his girls—after all, every father’s worst nightmare is his sweet, precious daughters venturing off to the real world. men are dogs—suguru should know. they’re sleazy and prey on young women who are naive and unsuspecting, taking advantage of their hopefulness before completely destroying their innocence. suguru can’t bear the idea of his perfect little girls becoming victims of such sinister behavior—but that’s all quelled when he meets you.

but he never thought, not even for one second, that he’d become one of those men.

those older men who fuck girls half their age—the girls that are barely in their twenties and still don’t even really understand how taxes work. the girls that have just started to learn how to hold their alcohol and can only recently buy it legally. the girls who don’t realize how complicated adulthood can be, just barely spreading their wings and learning what it’s like to be free.

suguru has always found those men deplorable. they’re the awful, disgusting, untamed vermin of society—women must be protected from them at all costs.

but now? well….now he’s one of them—and he finds, even as disgusted with himself as he is from time to time, he has little regrets.

not when you’re sprawled under him, hands tracing over his bare chest, feeling the soft skin under your palms in wonder. suguru, though he’s not let himself go by any means, is past his prime—he still frequents the gym, and he has more time to go now that the girls are gone most of the day, but he’s not immune to the effects of aging.

his hair has more than a few strands of white sprinkled in now; nanako makes sure to remind him not to pull them out unless he wants more. he’s still managed to keep the abs he was once so proud of in his youth, but they’re still not as hard—layered over a slight belly that he can’t seem to get rid of no matter what he tries. his skin is a bit looser, and his eyes have slight wrinkles in the corners of them, but despite it all, suguru still looks as handsome as ever.

he’s aged well, still looks remarkably young for men his age, and still looks like that dashing young man he once was who stole hearts. in fact, he still hears about his looks, especially from nanako and mimiko’s friends—he’s always chuckled to himself and shook his head in amusement.

that’s your dad? god, he’s so hot.

what? he’s single? oh my gosh, do you need a mom?

i can’t believe he’s never been married—women in his generation don’t deserve him. i’ll take him off their hands.

wait, do you have pictures of him when he was younger?

oh my god, he’s so fine. are you sure he’s in his forties?

nanako and mimiko, bless their hearts, have always crinkled their noses at the…less than proper comments they’ve had to witness about their father. in fact, they’ve watched teachers practically throw themselves onto suguru at parent-teacher conferences. it’s bothersome—a little disturbing to hear their friends talk about all the things they’d let their dad, of all people, do to them.

but you? you don’t make unhinged comments. they appreciate that.

but if only they knew…

if only they knew that sometimes, like right now, when you’re spending the night, you don’t actually sleep—instead, you sneak off to their father’s room, lay on his mattress under his body, and feel his touch. you can feel him, hard and throbbing in his sweats as his clothed cock presses against your thigh—but he takes his time with you, and doesn’t do anything about the clear arousal pooling between your legs just yet. 

instead, he focuses on remembering your body—it’s been a while, after all. he hasn’t felt your hips, hasn’t tasted your skin, hasn’t heard your voice. 

“missed you,” suguru breathes, hovering over you as you hum, nipping at your skin as his nose brushes along your neck. your hand is playing with his hair, twisting long, black and white strands along your fingers. “haven’t seen you in a bit, angel.”

“i’ve had midterms,” you murmur.

suguru knows—nanako and mimiko have been studying for them themselves. he’s more than a little disappointed that you haven’t come over to study with them yet. but then, just the other night, mimiko mentions you’ve been spending your time with a boy at the library, sharing a table as you lean over his shoulder to look at his laptop. nanako giggles that you might have finally gotten yourself a boyfriend. mimiko hums and nods as she murmurs it’s about time.

suguru swallows down every bite of dinner with an aftertaste of bile that night.

a boy—a boy? you’ve been skipping coming over to study with the girls (and, by default, seeing him) just to study with some boy? what’s got your attention on the guy so badly? why would you break the routine you’ve had for the last few semesters for someone you just recently met? have you finally started to realize that this is a mistake? is suguru a mistake?

he thinks maybe not, now that you’re back in his bed—but he still has too many unanswered questions. 

“so i’ve heard,” he says lowly, “i’ve also heard there’s a certain boy on your radar.” he smiles bitterly, pulling away from your neck to stare at you with those dark, sharp eyes of his. “a much younger, and fitting match for you, i suppose.”

you roll your eyes, snorting.

“is that what nanako and mimiko have told you? honestly, those two,” you huff fondly, “i told them already. he’s just my partner for a presentation. we’re practicing.”

“oh?” suguru raises a brow—and then he shivers lightly when you lean up and kiss his jaw, eyes fluttering shut at your touch.

“yes,” you giggle, “no need to be jealous of someone half your age, you know.”

“that’s exactly why i’m jealous,” he breathes, leaning in to kiss you softly.

your lips taste like honey—probably sweeter, in fact. they drip with that decadent, saccharine taste of youth. he feels twenty again every time he kisses you, feels not a day older than his glory days.

“oh, you poor thing,” you grin, cupping his face as you scatter kisses along his cheeks and nose, thumb tracing the skin. fuck, is this what it feels like to be in love? it makes him feel so young, so free, and hopeful for the future. when was the last time he felt this way? “have you been losing sleep over my nonexistent college boyfriend?”

“well, kids your age fool around quite a bit,” he says in that father tone that he uses on nanako and mimiko, “what was i supposed to think?”

you’ve heard that tone so many times before; the one where he talks like he knows better, like he’s wiser, like he’s aware of something you’re not. 

girls, make sure you share your location with me—i need to find you in case anything happens. it’s for your own safety, end of discussion.

make sure you watch over your drinks, okay? men these days take every chance they get to spike them when you’re not looking. mimiko, i was your age once, too. i’ve seen this happen plenty.

don’t walk alone in the streets at night. call me. i’ll pick you up—no, nanako, it’s not lame. the streets are dangerous at night. there are creeps, you know.

don’t get into any boy��s cars, girls. you never know what’ll happen; one mistake is all it takes to ruin your life—hey, don’t roll your eyes at me. one day, you’ll understand i’m right.

“i’m not a kid,” you pout, and then, smugly this time, you wiggle your brows. “did’ya lose sleep over my imaginary boyfriend? you need plenty of sleep at your age, y’know.”

“no, you’re not a kid,” suguru agrees, “you’re a brat.” and then he’s back to pressing those hot, open-mouthed, hungry kisses along your jaw, humming in delight when you angle your head to give him better access. 

sometimes, it’s fun to get under suguru’s skin—it’s fun to break that carefully built, mature patience of his, pulling a twitch of his eye and a furrow of his brow from him. so, you grin widely as you murmur, “who knows? maybe he’d fuck better—more stamina, y’know?”

it’s supposed to just tease him, to make him glare at you unimpressed so you can giggle and kiss between his brows—but suguru stills at that, painfully stiff for a moment before he bites at your skin. hard. 

“oh yeah?” he hisses, his voice low and dangerous as he pulls away to glare down at you, “you think so? what, you think an old man like me can’t fuck you long enough?”

you don’t get a chance to reply—not before he pulls your pants down your waist to reveal your soaked panties, pulling a hum from him as he grins at the damp patch of fabric. his fingers circle over your clit for a moment, right over the cloth, making your breath hitch as you buck into his touch. 

“suguru—”

“look at that,” he chuckles, “wearing my favorite one, huh? can’t fuck you that bad if you try your best to impress me. isn’t that what you wanted? is that what you were thinking when you put these on before coming over? how precious,” he murmurs—he speaks so condescending, so knowingly, as if he’s read your mind just by looking at the red lace covering your dripping cunt. you cover your face in humiliation, but he grabs your wrists and pins them over your head, clicking his teeth in disapproval. 

part of you knows you should quit while you can—the other part? well…it wants to test the limits a bit longer. suguru has never been so easy to rile up, you want to indulge in it for just a bit longer if you can help it. 

“well,” you huff, “what’re you waiting for, then? don’t tell me the age has slowed you down—”

“you really don’t know when to quit, do you?” he says in a low snarl, “fine, you want me to hurry up? you got it, princess.”

it all happens before you can even register—one moment, you’re grinning at him with mischief in your eyes; the next second, he has you in nothing but your bra, bare in his bed as he pulls your legs apart and leans close to your pussy.

“you know the thing about guys your age,” he hums, toying with your clit lazily as you gasp with a twitch, “is that they really don’t know how to take care of anyone but themselves. guess they just don’t have enough experience to really figure it out.”

his lips latch onto your clit, sucking before he rolls his tongue over the sensitive bud as his fingers sink into your core, pushing past your folds and stretching you open. it’s slow—deliberately so, in fact. it makes your head spin, and your fingers curl into the bed sheets as you pant. 

“suguru, m-more—”

“don’t worry,” he coos, pulling away from you to grin up at your glossy eyes, “you’ll get plenty, baby. we’ll see if you’ve got the stamina. y’know, since you’re so young.”

his lips are back to wrap around your clit, fingers sinking and curling exactly where you’re most sensitive—suguru finds your sweet spots instantly the first time he has you sprawled under him. didn’t even take a moment of trial, just knew where to touch and kiss to have you unravel in his hold. that much still hasn’t changed—his fingertips press against the sensitive spot in the back of your walls, pulling pretty little whines from you as his tongue flicks over your clit. 

it’s always been a blessing that nanako and mimiko’s room is across the house—had they been closer, they might hear the mewl you let out as his fingers bully into you faster, unforgiving as they brush against your walls and build the ache up between your legs until it’s about to burst. 

“s-suguru, ‘m close, so, so close—”

“already?” he gasps, chuckling as he presses a kiss to your clit with a sly grin, “thought you had more in you than that, baby. so youthful—figured you’d last a bit longer.”

he’s mean about it—rubs it in your face some more that you’re so close so fast before he pulls his fingers away and doesn’t even give you the satisfaction of falling apart on his digits. it makes you sob, hips bucking up to chase the friction of his fingers, but he’s already gone, leaving your walls empty and fluttering around nothing.

“no,” your voice breaks, “n-no, so close, please. i want—”

“that’s what he would’ve done,” suguru hums, “pulled out before you even finished. that’s what guys your age always do—they don’t know how to make girls finish. you ever had that problem with me?”

“no,” you say quickly, shaking your head. you’re a pretty little thing, he thinks—pouty, wobbly lips and those glossy eyes as you sniffle. “no, you always make me cum—please, i wanna cum, sugu.”

“yeah?” he pouts with faux sympathy, “didn’t feel good, huh? feels better when i take care of you, doesn’t it?”

“uh huh,” you nod—you’re still panting through the aftershocks of having your orgasm ripped from you, chest rising and falling harsh enough that it fills him with pride he can pull such drastic reactions from you. no one knows your body like suguru—he’s too good at giving it what it wants for anyone else to compare. 

“think that boy—” he spits the last word like it’s poison on his tongue, “—can take care of you?”

“no,” you whimper, “no, he can’t. not like you, never like you.”

“that’s a good girl,” he nods approvingly, rubbing his slick-coated finger over your clit, toying with it teasingly as you writhe, whining for more. “you know something else about men your age? they don’t care to please a woman—don’t bother to appreciate them enough to make them feel good. you think that boy would be here—” he pauses to motion between your legs, where he’s currently situated, “—willingly? taste you willingly? let you cum on his tongue willingly?”

“i-i don’t…i never asked someone to—”

“did you ever ask me?” he interrupts, raising a brow at you, “you ever have to ask me? i just do it. wanna know why? because i know what i’m doing—know how to treat you right, how to give you what you need. isn’t that right?” 

“yes, yes—you always give me what i want—”

“what you need,” he corrects, “and you know what i think you need right now? this.”

his tongue licks a stripe along your entrances before you can say anything else, pulling a gasp out of you as your hands find his hair and tug—suguru groans at that, feels his pants get impossibly tighter as the aching erection he sports throbs between his legs at the way you pull at the strands so desperately, so needy. for him. only ever him. 

his tongue fucks into you, messy with the way he devours you, the slick arousal pooling from your cunt coating his lips, his cheeks, his chin. you moan—and really, it’s almost a squeal—when his fingers are sinking back into you, tongue flicking away at your clit mercilessly as he thrusts his digits in and out of your pussy. you’re close, painfully so, the pressure steadily building and building until you just can’t hold it back anymore. 

“sugu—’m c-cumming. god ‘s so good—feels good,” you babble, thighs closing around his head as his fingers curl into your sweet spot over and over again, not stopping for even a second as he helps you ride out your high. your walls spasm around his fingers, tight as they flutter around him and make him groan at the thought of being inside you. 

he watches, hungry and in awe, as your back arches off the mattress and your mouth parts, broken little wails of his name rolling off your tongue in a sweet melody. 

“i bet he’s never seen someone look like this,” suguru murmurs, watching the way the ecstasy takes over your features as your face falls slack from pleasure, “so pretty when falling apart. bet he’d never even get close to making you look so fucked from just his tongue.”

your orgasm ripples through you—it’s not new, the way he makes you feel so good, but it’s definitely nothing to get used to either. your body slumps back onto the mattress as you finish, panting harshly while he climbs up to hover over you once again. 

“that felt good?” he asks, nosing at your cheek as you nod breathlessly.

“yeah,” you breathe, wrapping your arms around his neck. 

“hope you’re not tired out just yet,” he says smugly, eyeing the way sweat clings to your forehead and huffs of air exhale from your lungs with each labored breath, “because we’re nowhere near done, baby. not even close.”

just like that, your bra is unclasped and pulled off, freeing your tits for his mouth to latch onto a nipple, sucking and lightly grazing his teeth along the bud while his fingers tease at the other, pinching and rubbing over it with his thumb. you whine, eyes squeezing shut as your hand cups the back of his head and keeps him in place. 

“bet i could make you cum just from this,” he says with a laugh, “i don’t even need to fuck you.”

“please,” you dig your nails into his shoulder, moaning as he switches to wrap his lips around the other nipple, “please, sugu—n-need more.”

“be more specific,” he says lowly, looking up at you in amusement, “gonna need more than that, princess. you gotta help me out here—i’m afraid i don’t know what i’m doing.”

suguru is doing everything he can to drag this out—if you’d known one small comment would have him riled up like this…well, truthfully, you can’t say you wouldn’t have made it anyway. it’s exciting in its own right when he’s so determined to show you why you need him, why no one else but him is meant to see you like this, make you fall apart like this, have you sprawled under them like this. 

no one can know about you and suguru—not nanako and mimiko, not your other friends, not your family. you know what they’d say, how they’d feel. 

disgust—shame, even. he’s far too old for you, you know they’d say; he’s a red flag for getting with someone so young. no one can know that you come here, dead in the middle of the night when your friends are asleep, and fuck their father. not only that—lay with their father, talk about your hopes and dreams for the future with their father, giggle as you gossip with their father, fall in love with their father. 

something tells you the feeling is not unreciprocated—that suguru feels the same, that he loves holding you in his arms just as much as you love laying in them. maybe it wasn’t a joke, what you’d said. not to him, at least—maybe deep down, it stung; maybe he had something to prove. that boy might be closer to you in age, but he’ll never, ever treat you the way suguru does—no one will, for that matter. perhaps he has to show it so you really know. 

so you look him in the eye, pull him closer until his forehead is pressed against yours and you can press a delicate kiss to his lips before you murmur against them, “fuck me, suguru. please—need you.”

he groans at that, closes his eyes before his hips move to press the thick tip of his cock against your folds, dragging it along your entrance as he coats his head with your slick. it’s flushed a deep pink—it’s been neglected for so long that he shudders at the way it aches, at the way even the slightest friction along the sensitive tip pulls a soft gasp from him. 

for a moment, he wonders if he really will last long enough to fuck you properly—he might not, with the way your walls always squeeze around him, always have him ready to fuck his load into you just as soon as he’s inside you. the thought alone almost makes his cock twitch—but suguru is a man of patience, so he slowly pushes into you, inch by inch, looking down and watching as his girth disappears inside you. 

“look at that,” he coos, grinning wide as he looks back up at you, “took me so easily. ‘s cause when you do it right, it doesn’t take much, does it?”

“f-fuck—” your head presses back against the pillow, mouth hung open as you breathe heavily, trying to squirm and get even the slightest bit of friction from him as he stays painfully still. “move, suguru—please, c-can’t wait anymore. jus’ wanna feel you.”

“i know,” he chuckles, “patience is a virtue, sweetheart.”

despite it all, suguru is not feeling very patient anymore—it’s been long enough. his hips roll slowly at first, a shallow thrust of his hips that makes you both moan lowly before he all but pulls out and slams back in, hard. you can feel the burning stretch of his girth practically splitting you open, every thick vein dragging along your cunt and every brush of his tip against the back of your walls. it’s loud—the sound of skin slapping against skin, the sound of his deep groans and your breathless whines, the sound of the headboard hitting the wall as he fucks you into his mattress. 

“god—fuck, suguru—th-there,” you mewl as he slams into you right where you need him. 

you’ve lost count of how many times suguru has fucked you like you’re his. in his bed at night, in his shower in the mornings, on the couch when you drop by when the girls aren’t home, in his car that one time he drove you home when it rained, in your apartment that one time he dropped off your laptop because you forgot it. there’s one common denominator—the way he makes you feel, not just from the way his cock ruts into you, but from the way his fingers tangle with yours, from the way his mouth finds your jaw to kiss, from the way his forehead presses into your shoulder with warmth. 

it’s exciting, maybe. at first, it’s scandalous and a little thrilling in its own right. by now, it’s something much more than that—you don’t think anyone could make you feel the way he does, fuck you like he does, even if they tried. even if they knew where to touch and where to kiss. even if they knew what you liked and what you didn’t. 

they couldn’t be suguru—would never be suguru. 

“there, huh?” he pants, moaning softly as he feels your walls flutter around him tightly, “i know. i know how to fuck this pussy—my pussy. you think some boy you hardly know would know? think he’d care to learn? think he’d even try?”

“no,” you gasp, shaking your head as your hips buck up to meet his sharp thrusts, “no. no one would make me feel this good. make me feel so good, sugu.”

“ngh—sh-shit,” he hisses at your words, cock almost swelling harder at the way you praise him, at the way your words are almost slurred with no real thought behind him. it’s a little pride-inducing, the way you’re still able to sing his praises without having to really think about it first. he can hear it, the way you’re lost in the drag of his cock, drunk in the haze of pleasure, unfocused on everything else besides the way he bullies his thick girth into your abused cunt.

it’s a mess, it’s filthy the way there’s a mix of pre cum and your slick at the base of his cock, along your inner thighs, coating your skin as the squelching sound of him nudging past your folds fills the room.

it’s good, the way he makes you feel—he can hear it in your voice as you wail his name.

“s-suguru—oh.”

“what, you gettin’ all fucked out on me? ‘m not even close yet, princess,” he hums, leaning down to kiss your neck as he sucks softly into your sweet spot. you throw your head back, rasping out a cry of his name again as his balls slap against your ass with a harsh roll of his hips. 

and then his hand makes its way between your bodies, thumb attaching itself to your clit before rubbing punishing circles into the bundle of nerves—you sob at that, back arching up as your chest presses against his, nipples hard as they brush along his skin.

“s-sugu—close, ‘m gonna cum a-again—so close,” you pant brokenly, every sentence cut off with a sharp gasp as he thrusts into you. 

you’re close—you can’t fight back the way the coil in your belly snaps as he teases your clit. it’s still sensitive from the last orgasm, every nerve still burning up from before as he gives you more, gives you too much, almost. you cum harder this time—your second high creeping up on you when you least expect it. 

it makes your eyes roll back, makes your thighs quiver, and tears stream down your cheeks as you chant his name over and over. suguru, ‘s so good. suguru, ‘m cumming. suguru, ‘s all for you.

every sentence makes his cock drill into you faster, sloppier in rhythm, maybe, but faster. needier. bordering on desperate. 

“f-fuck, baby,” he grunts, “squeezin’ me so tight—such a tight fuckin’ cunt. you think just anyone deserves this? think you can just walk around and let anyone fuck this? ‘s bullshit—ngh.”

you don’t answer—can’t answer, in fact. it’s all teary eyes and soft sniffles as you mewl with every thrust, voice breaking between every pretty little sound you make. he’s still fucking into you, still dragging his cock against those sensitive walls, still bumping against your clit with his navel, still nudging against your sweet spot with his thick, swollen tip. it’s almost too much—it is too much, making you writhe under his body as you try to form the words. 

“‘s t-too much, sugu—c-can’t anymore,” you try, “can’t.”

“what?” he gasps, furrowing his brows in mock confusion, “you’re tappin’ out on me already? but ‘m not even done yet, sweetheart. haven’t even finished yet—don’t tell me you’re already spent. how will you keep up with your little boyfriend’s stamina if you can’t even take an old man like me?”

“c-can’t take anyone but you,” you sob, “jus’ you—only you. promise.”

“yeah? you swear?”

“uh huh. jus’ you, sugu—don’ want anyone else. won’t fuck me the same.”

“atta girl,” he coos, chuckling as he leans down to kiss your jaw, trailing soft pecks until he meets your lips, “that’s what i thought. make sure you don’t forget, okay?”

“fuck, suguru—’m…g-gonna…”

“gonna what? cum? you’re cumming again?” you nod at that—he grins wide, pride settling into the crinkles of his eyes before his thumb rubs harsh circles into your swollen clit once more. he looks pretty like that—hair framing his face, the mix of black and white strands sticking to the damp skin of his forehead. his skin is flushed, abs flexing as he pants over you. sometimes you feel guilty that half of why you come over to visit nanako and mimiko is to fuck suguru—the guilt is quickly extinguished when you see him like this, bottom lip caught between his teeth as his arms barely hold him over you, eyes shut tight as he groans. 

“i-i’m—fuck, fuck, fuck,” you can’t form sentences anymore as you cum—again. not that you really could before that, but now all you can offer is croaked half-syllables and shaky sobs. your walls squeeze around him, tight as they hug around his throbbing cock. 

it takes one, two, three more sloppy rolls of his hips before he lets out at a low, “baby, fuck—’m gonna fill you up. want that? want me to cum in you? make you mine? always been mine, haven’t you?”

“yes, yes—yours, sugu. yours, yours, yours,” you babble, words slurred between breathy moans and broken sobs. “wanna be yours.”

you can feel him—feel the way his cock twitches in you, the way he grinds into you to ride out his high, the way sticky, hot ropes of cum fill your walls, the way he fucks his load deeper into you with every sloppy thrust of his hips. his arms quiver as he holds himself over you—just barely, though. you can hear the way his voice cracks as he gasps your name over and over, as he mutters lowly about how you’re his, how you’ll always only be his. 

“mine,” he grits, “you’re fuckin’ mine—see how you’re suckin’ me in? see how i fit in this pussy like it was made for me? ‘s cause you’re mine.”

his body slumps onto yours as he finishes, head pressed into the crook of your neck as he kisses the skin while you both catch your breaths. you whimper, still sensitive, as he pulls out of you, a soft chuckle falling past his lips as he pulls his head up to look at you and press a kiss to your cheek. 

“so,” he starts, eyes laced with amusement as he takes in the fucked out look on your face, the tears still drying your cheeks, the swollen flush of your bottom lip, “still think you need someone with more stamina? someone who’ll fuck you better—”

“god,” you groan, slapping his shoulder, “will you drop it already? you got what you wanted, didn’t you?”

“no,” he murmurs, pecking your lips, “still wanna hear it some more.”

“your ego needs a reality check,” you huff as you brush a strand of hair from his forehead, “think i’ve fed it plenty all night.”

“actually, i think you crushed it,” he pouts theatrically, “talking about some asshole who doesn’t care about you right in front of me. after i take such good care of you, too. the girls already think you should date him,” he adds the last part with a slightly bitter roll of his eyes, pulling a giggle out of you.

“they think i don’t know how to talk to men,” you snort, “imagine they knew i was talking to men old enough to be my father.”

“hey,” he clicks his teeth, falling onto the mattress beside you—he pulls you into his chest, letting your cheek rest on his bare skin. it’s so wrong—lying in bed with the father of your best friends. but somehow, suguru feels like the only thing you’ve ever done right. “age is nothing but a number, sweetheart.”

if i have to see the word cock one more time im going to eradicate all humans that have them

do not comment about a part 2 !!!!!!!!!!

[freyito]

"ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴘɪʟʟᴏᴡꜱ" || ᴊᴏʜɴɴʏ ᴄᴀɢᴇ & ᴋᴇɴꜱʜɪ ᴛᴀᴋᴀʜᴀꜱʜɪ

✧ a/n: can't believe my first piece of 2024 is a part 2 to this booby fic... but goddamn i need my head in kenshis boobies rn. it'd make everything better...

🗒 cw: gn reader cause everyone can have boobs, bonus points!, not proofread

✎ wc: 750

⎯ Johnny Cage

Good GOD does Johnny love burying his face in your chest any time he can. He mainly does it when he's had a bad day. It's a great way to destress, he says. He promises there's nothing more to it. And he's right.

Sure, Johnny can be provocative and that charm doesn't exactly disappear. But seriously, this is like way too comforting for him. The stress of directing, making something worth it, it all dissolves when he's face first in your chest.

And he talks. He talks and talks. Will not stop yapping. His entire day, whatever he's done, something about movies. Every word muffled because he refuses to leave, or even lift his head off your chest.

So, when you return home after a particularly bad day, you decided to try Johnny's method of destressing. Johnny's on the couch, watching The Princess Bride for like the 27th time. It's the perfect time to strike. And strike you do.

Before he can properly welcome you home, your face is pressed between his tits within seconds. Sweet, sweet heaven. You understand now. You understand everything. Your stress dissipates, tensions of the day gone, immediately.

You can barley hear Johnny giggling and joking, you're too caught up in a euphoric daze. You only lift your head when it feels like you can't breathe. Johnny stares down at you with the biggest knowing grin ever. He's not gonna make fun of you, even with that hint of mischief in his eyes.

⎯ Kenshi Takahashi

Kenshi is disciplined, he likes to think. So he doesn't he really even think about burying his face in your chest. On top of that, he's pretty busy. The OIA, the Taira, the Yakuza... it's a lot. You don't seem him at home much.

However, in those rare moments he gets with you, some time's he'll lay his head on your stomach or your thighs. He enjoys the kind of connection, some sort of contact after a hard day of work. It grounds him.

But oh, come on. We've seen how big this guy is. Massive tits. C'mon. It takes you a while to build up the courage to go for it. But when he's wearing tank tops, compression shirts, etc... it's so hard to restrain yourself.

Kenshi KNOWS. Sometimes he does it on purpose. But when you start stalking him, keeping your distance, plotting... he wonders what's gotten into you. He makes it a game, kind of. But you're winning. As hard as he's trying to keep up with you.

You find the perfect time to execute your plan. You two are cuddled up late into the night, savoring the rare moment of touch. Without warning, you seize your chance. You roll over onto his chest, head first into those big naturals. Silence cascades over the both of you. Oh, it's even better than you imagined it. Soft... warm... inviting... it's a shame he keeps them hidden. Kenshi doesn't know how to react. Eventually, after several minutes of agonizing silence (and pure bliss between this guys pillows), he finally wraps his arms around you and even pulls you a bit closer.

⎯ Hanzo Hasashi

Hanzo also considers himself controlled. He's above acts like that. Or so he thinks. He won't outright plank into your chest, but when there's downtime, he quite enjoys laying on your chest, with your arms around him. Reading a book or something. That's just the way he likes to wind down.

We've all seen the side-boobage on this man though. Untapped market right there. It'd be a shame NOT to put your head between those pecs. Like, it'd be a sin not to.

One night, during some much needed time alone, you find yourself wrapped up in Hanzo's arms. It's a quiet night, he's finding it hard to fight off sleep. He's been busy, and it's been a hell of a week for him.

His defenses are down, so you take up the opportunity. Awkwardly, you wiggle in his arms, flipping from your back to your face. What awaits you is reminiscent of the gates of heaven. God, you could live like this.

Hanzo's mind is fried, so he doesn't quite understand. To him, you feel more like a weighted blanket. Which ends up making it even harder to stay awake. He's trying to savor every moment with you, but sleep is quickly catching up with him. Waking up to you still resting your head on his pecs however... part of him is glad he was too tired to understand.

© freyito, 2024 | masterlist | queue | kofi DO NOT REPOST AS YOUR OWN OR USE FOR AI/AI CHATBOTS.

[ihatealimore]

Lover, You Should've Come Over

(word count: 1.432) (angst, comfort)

Sitting alone in the dim room, Kurapika finds himself consumed by a painful wave of regret. His hands curl into fists at his sides, fingernails digging dents into his skin as he thinks about (Y/N). A beautiful woman with sharp eyes that saw right through him.

"I pushed her away," He mutters to himself, the extent of his actions weighing on him heavily, "I was so concerned about dragging her down with me... I didn't consider what it would do to her."

The memories of their past together begin to seep into his mind like venom spreading its poison throughout an unsuspecting body. Their laughter echoing through empty halls, the way she'd playfully tugged on a lock of his blonde hair whenever they sparred together. Each memory brings forth another flood of bitter sorrow that gnaws at the edges of Kurapika's already damaged heart.

"She deserved better," He whispers hoarsely against the icy silence that wraps around him, "And I... I couldn't give it to her."

The taste of regret is sour on his tongue, but nothing stings more than remembering how (Y/N) had looked at him when he walked away, pure understanding reflected in those knowing eyes. A silent acceptance that cut deeper than any blade.

"(Y/N)," Kurapika breathes out, the name slipping from his lips like a prayer. 

His gaze focuses on the empty space before him as if he could summon her back with just his longing.

"I'm sorry. I should've stayed," He murmurs quietly into the stillness of the room, shame lacing every word, "I miss you..."

A strained sigh escapes Kurapika's lips, his eyes dull and filled with sorrow, "If only I could see her again..." His voice trails off into a broken whisper, the words hanging stubbornly in the stagnant air surrounding him.

He would give anything to see those bright eyes again, to see her smiling at him so tenderly, to feel the warmth of her skin against his own. The pain plaguing him seems unending, spiraling deeper within his chest with every passing second.

His hand instinctively moves towards where he imagines (Y/N) might be sitting if she were here, an empty gesture aimed at filling a void he himself had created. He misses everything about her, her stubbornness, her recklessness...

But most importantly, how understanding she was, even when things didn't make sense.

"I'll do whatever it takes," Kurapika declares quietly as if making a vow to himself, "I just want another chance."

The blonde-haired man's hand hovers over his phone, a deep sigh leaving his lips. He contemplates calling her, the weight of his decision making his heart pound louder in his chest. His fingers itch to dial her number, a series of digits he had memorized by heart.

The screen glows softly in the dim room, casting an eerie light onto Kurapika's face as he scrolls through his contacts until (Y/N)'s name comes into view. Her contact picture is one they'd taken together during happier times, both of them smiling so brightly that their joy seems almost tangible.

His thumb hovers over her name for what feels like an eternity, every second amplifying the heavy silence encompassing him. The fear gripping at him feels strong and suffocating. What if she doesn't answer? Worse yet... What if she does?

"(Y/N)..." He says under his breath, steeling himself before finally pressing down on her contact information.

As he brings the phone up to his ear, Kurapika bites down hard on his lip. He can taste the metallic tang of blood dripping into his mouth but he barely registers it. All he can focus on is the rhythmic beating of a dial tone, a stark contrast to his erratic heartbeat.

His grip tightens around the device as every passing second becomes a harsh reminder of how much time had been wasted, how many words were left unsaid, and how many actions were done out of fear instead of love. His breath hitches when after several agonizing moments, her voicemail greeting plays.

But even just hearing her recorded voice gives him a brief sense of reprieve, grounding him back to reality from where regret and pain drag him deep within its clutches. It isn't enough though. He needs more than just echoes of her voice trapped in a digital recording.

Hearing the beep indicating it's time to leave a message, Kurapika takes in a deep breath before speaking. His voice quivers slightly, but he presses on, "(Y/N)... It's me, Kurapika."

He pauses for a moment, gathering his thoughts before continuing.

"I know I'm probably the last person you want to hear from right now but... I miss you."

The words taste bitter on his tongue, an admission of guilt and longing wrapped together.

There's another tension-filled pause before he finally lets out what had been gnawing at him all night long, "Please come over. I need to see you..."

With that final plea hanging heavily in between them, even if she isn't there physically, he ends the call. His phone drops back onto his lap as he leans back into his chair, letting out a sigh full of uncertainty and vulnerability.

She may not come... But at least now she knows how desperate he is without her.

After what felt like an eternity of waiting, Kurapika had begun to lose hope. The silence is deafening and doubt claws at his insides with a vengeance. He spends the passing hours aimlessly pacing around his apartment, trying to distract himself from constantly glancing towards his phone.

When he hears a subtle knock echo through the room, the Kurta freezes in place, heart pounding fiercely against his ribcage as he makes way to the door.

Dread and anticipation swirls within him as he gently pulls open the door, revealing (Y/N) standing there under dimly lit hallway lights, her silhouette creating shadows that dance across her features.

For a moment, it seems as if time itself has stopped, everything silent except for their shallow breaths mixing together in sync before he finally releases an audible sigh of relief.

"Kurapika?" Her voice is filled with surprise, and before she can utter another word, he has already thrown his arms around her. His grip is tight, a desperate hold born out of fear that if he lets go even slightly, she'll disappear.

He buries his face into the crook of her neck, every inch of him attempting to memorize her, the way she feels against him, the faint scent of her hair mixing with the outside air lingering on her clothes.

A shaky breath escapes him as he tries to gain control over his racing heart, albeit in vain, because now that she's here within his reach again... He doesn't want to let go.

"Kurapika?" She echoes and the sound of her voice, so close and filled with concern, causes something warm to bloom in his chest. As she returns his embrace and begins to rub soothing circles on his back, he feels a few of the knots in his stomach start to unravel.

"You sounded... Unwell in your voicemail. Are you okay?" Her words resound through him, genuine worry laced into each syllable.

"I..." He swallows hard as he draws back just enough to look at her, meeting those beautiful eyes that hold nothing but sincerity, "I've been better," It isn't a lie but it doesn't feel like the whole truth either.

"I can tell," She replies quietly.

He lets out another trembling breath before tightening his hold around her again, not ready yet to fully face what's been haunting him for so long without having her close.

For now, he wants to linger in her arms. Holding onto her as if she's his lifeline, Kurapika allows himself to sink deeper into her embrace, her comforting warmth seeping through the fabric of his clothes and into his cold existence.

He presses his face further into the crook of her neck, breathing in her scent deeply, "Just let me hold you for a bit longer," He murmurs against her flesh, hoping she'll understand just how much he needs this right now.

"Okay, I'm not going anywhere," She whispers against his ear, the softness of her voice flowing into him and further calming his anxious thoughts.

Kurapika's heart constricts at her promise, gratitude washing over him in waves. He tightens his hold on her further, as if conveying all the unspoken emotions through this one gesture.

He doesn't know how long they stood there in silence, time seeming to lose its grip on him as he simply allows himself to exist within this comforting bubble with her by his side... And for once, it feels okay to let down the walls around him even if it is just for a little while.

This feels like home to him, something he thought he had lost forever.

[girlw-amermaidtattoo]

The Shy Sub’s Torment

“Such a simple request, and yet you hesitate,” her voice dripped with a blend of amusement and disappointment. “You’ve been so eager to serve me in every other way, and yet when I ask for something so small—just a photo—you refuse. Why, pet? Too shy? Too embarrassed?”

You squirmed, the words tightening the knot in your stomach. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to send the photo. You craved her approval more than anything, craved her gaze on you, but the idea of exposing yourself, your caged cock, like that—bare, vulnerable—felt like too much. Too revealing.

Her voice lowered, seductive but firm, as if she could sense your turmoil. “Well, if you can’t do this one simple task for me, then I see no reason to continue giving you attention. We’ll speak again when I have that picture in my inbox.”

Your breath caught. No interaction? Nothing until you sent the photo? Your heart raced, a mixture of panic and longing twisting inside you. The thought of her ignoring you, of that unbearable silence, felt like a weight pressing down on your chest.

The days that followed were torturous. You tried to occupy yourself, but your thoughts always drifted back to her. Every time you closed your eyes, you could hear her voice, that sultry command. You started replaying old audios she’d sent, the ones where her teasing words had brought you to your knees in the past. Each syllable ignited that familiar ache, the pressure in your shaft building until it felt like you might burst from the frustration.

You found yourself scrolling through her blog, staring at the photos she’d posted, each one a teasing reminder of what you were missing. Her legs, those stockings, her curves—she was everywhere, but still so far out of reach. You’d goon out for hours, staring at her image, lost in your desire, but no amount of replaying old content could satisfy the hunger that burned inside you. You needed her, her attention, her approval.

But the shame—oh, the shame. How could you ever send a photo like that? Your hands shook every time you picked up your phone, fingers hovering over the camera app, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. The thought of her seeing you like that, exposed in your cage, made your stomach churn.

Each passing day was worse than the last. The ache in your cock became unbearable, the tightness of the cage pressing against your swollen shaft, teasing you with the release you couldn’t have. You couldn’t even touch yourself, couldn’t relieve the pressure—she’d made sure of that. And all the while, her silence loomed over you, a constant reminder of your failure.

Finally, one night, lying in bed, the pressure became too much. You were sweating, heart pounding, your cock throbbing against the cage. Every part of you screamed for release, but it wasn’t just physical. You needed her approval, her gaze on you, even if just for a moment.

With trembling hands, you picked up your phone. Your heart raced as you opened the camera app, positioning the phone just right. The screen showed the image you’d been too shy to send—a close-up of your caged cock, hard, swollen, desperate. You hesitated, breath catching in your throat, but the ache, the need, finally pushed you over the edge.

You snapped the photo.

Your hand was shaking as you opened the message thread. Her name glowed at the top

Your hand was shaking as you opened the message thread. Her name glowed at the top, taunting you. You hesitated for a moment longer, the shame clawing at your insides, but the ache in your cock, the desperation in your chest—it was too much. You couldn’t take it anymore.

With a deep breath, you pressed “send.”

For a few agonizing minutes, nothing. Just silence. Your heart pounded in your ears as you stared at your phone, every second feeling like an eternity. Doubt started to creep in—what if she ignored it? What if she was disappointed?

And then, a notification.

The bubble appeared, and your heart leapt to your throat. You opened the message, hands trembling.

“Well, well, pet… finally.” Her voice echoed in your head, even though you were only reading her words. “Look at you. So desperate to please, even though you made me wait. I can see how much you’ve been aching, and now I see why. Good boy.”

A rush of warmth spread through you at her praise, relief flooding your chest. That simple “good boy” was everything you had been craving. But then, the next message came through.

“As a reward for finally obeying, I have a little something for you. You’ve earned it.”

Your eyes widened as you saw the video icon pop up. With a shaky finger, you pressed play. The screen flickered, and there she was—your Domme, seated on her bed, legs crossed in those silky, tantalizing nylons you had spent hours staring at on her blog.

She smiled, that wicked, knowing smile, as her hands slowly trailed down her legs, reaching for the tops of her stockings. “Since you’ve been such a good boy,” she purred, “I thought I’d let you watch.”

You swallowed hard as she teased the edge of the nylon, rolling it down her thigh, her movements slow, deliberate, meant to drive you insane. And it was working. Your pulse quickened, the tightness in your cage unbearable now as you watched her remove the stocking, revealing the soft, smooth skin underneath.

She chuckled softly, clearly aware of how much you were suffering, of how desperate you were. “See what you get when you obey, pet? A little taste of what you’ve been missing.”

Your eyes were glued to the screen, the need inside you spiraling out of control. Every inch of your body was on fire, craving more of her, wanting nothing more than to be in her presence, to please her in any way she allowed.

As the video ended, another message popped up.

“Don’t think you’re off the hook yet, pet. You made me wait far too long for something so simple. But now that you’ve sent what I asked for, we’ll start to rebuild your trust.”

The praise felt like heaven, but you knew—this was only the beginning. There would be more tests, more demands, and each one would push you further into submission, deeper into the craving you felt for her approval.

But in this moment, despite the cage still pressing tightly against you, despite the aching need that still burned inside you, there was only one thought in your mind:

You would do anything to earn more.

[phos-phorus]

Breaking Point - Valewis FF

Valewis fic i talked about earlier!

Won't be able to finish it today but decided to post the first part of it anyway! Please read the warning!!!!

TW/CW: eating disorder, Vomiting

And as always: Any mistakes please ignore or let me know. Thank you!

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

Valtteri sat at the long table, the buzz of voices around him fading into a blur. The air in the meeting room was heavy with the usual technical jargon, the upcoming race strategy, tire choices, and performance analysis, but none of it sank in. Valtteri was staring blankly at the figures flashing across the screen. The lights where too bright, and the words spoken by the engineers and team principal felt distant.

He hadn’t eaten properly in days, and his body felt it. The tight knot in his stomach was a familiar companion now, gnawing at him relentlessly. The hunger was always there, but the idea of eating, of trying to force food down when everything inside him felt twisted and wrong, seemed impossible.

At least he was weighting less than Lewis now.

His chest tightened as the pressure built inside, a familiar gnawing feeling creeping in. No matter how hard he pushed, how much he trained, it never felt like enough. The weight of never being enough—never quite living up to the expectations, to the dominance of his teammate, Lewis—sat on his shoulders like an unbearable burden. He had been struggling with this for months—long, agonizing months of trying to control something that seemed so utterly out of control.

He was drowning in it, struggling to stay afloat.

But it's his own fault, no? It's what he signed up for all those years ago. Valtteri should be used to it by now. It was part of the deal.

He glanced at Lewis across the table, the man who made everything seem effortless. Lewis, always calm, always composed, with a confidence Valtteri could never seem to find in himself. His thoughts raced, louder than the voices around him.

It's not his fault. I just need to be better. Why can’t I be better?

The room felt smaller.

His palms grew damp with sweat, and his pulse quickened.

His stomach churned, a twisting pain that had become all too familiar. The pressure of racing, of constantly being compared to Lewis, of always feeling second-best, had chipped away at him. The pressure had seeped into every part of his life, his mind a relentless critic.

He could feel the room spinning. His throat tightened, and he knew if he didn’t leave now, he wouldn’t be able to hold it together much longer. He needed to get back into control. Quietly, almost cautiously, he rose from his seat, quickly moving toward the door. His legs felt shaky beneath him, but he forced himself to walk, head down, hoping no one would notice. No one usually did, after all.

Of course they don’t care.

He headed down the hallway, heart pounding in his chest, his footsteps growing faster as he neared the stairs leading up to his Room, a place where he could break down in peace. But his body betrayed him. He couldn’t hold it back any longer.

The nausea surged, and he darted into the nearest restroom. Slamming the door behind him, he fell to his knees, hunching over the toilet. His whole body trembled as he gagged, trying to keep what little food he had managed to eat earlier from coming up.

---

Lewis had noticed.

He always noticed when Valtteri disappeared. He had been watching him for weeks—how his mood shifted, how his energy seemed depleted, how his once hearty laughter had dwindled into almost nothing. At first, he thought it was just the stress of the season, but there was something more, something darker lurking beneath the surface.

It wasn’t until he saw Valtteri’s hunched shoulders hastily leaving the room that a sinking feeling settled in his gut.

Lewis followed.

---

Valtteri knelt on the cold floor of the small bathroom, his hands gripping the porcelain edge of the toilet. His body trembled, the shame of what he was doing hitting him in waves, but it was the only way he felt in control. He hated it. He hated himself for it. But he couldn't stop.

He felt utterly alone in that moment, as he always had in the shadows of the team. But then, through the haze of sickness and shame, he heard the door creak open.

"Valtteri?" Not now. Not him. It was Lewis. Of course, it was Lewis.

His chest ached, too late to hide, too late to pretend everything was okay. He heaved, gagging as his body rejected the little food he had forced himself to eat earlier, his body convulsing as he struggled to breathe between violent retches.

"Go away," Valtteri choked out, his voice hoarse. His knuckles turning white from the force he held onto the porcelain with. He heaved again, his body shuddering as another wave of nausea hit.

Lewis stood frozen in the doorway. His breath hitched at the sight before him. Valtteri, the strong, composed teammate he had always admired, was hunched over in a position that spoke of agony and desperation. His heart clenched painfully in his chest.

"Valtteri…" Lewis's voice was a whisper, filled with concern but to Valtteri, it felt like a stab to the gut.

Valtteri lifted his head but didn't turn around. He couldn't. He couldn’t face this—couldn’t face Lewis. Not now, not like this. His eyes were wide, chest tight, as if even breathing hurt. He wanted to tell him to leave, to walk away and pretend he hadn’t seen any of this. But the words caught in his throat, choked by the raw shame and exhaustion.

He swallowed hard, trying to compose himself, to act like it wasn’t what it looked like. But it was. He knew it, and Lewis knew it too. He couldn’­­t help it. His body trembled as he hunched over the bowl once more, dry heaving, retching with nothing left to give. His stomach was painfully empty, but still, he gagged, his throat burning from the bile coming up in harsh waves.

Lewis stepped forward, the weight of the moment hanging between them like a thick fog. "Val, what—" Valtteri could feel the concern radiating off him, but he couldn’t bear it.

His body was still shaking, and he could feel Lewis’s presence close behind him. Why did he follow me? He had always tried so hard and managed to hide it before, always kept this side of himself locked away. He couldn’t bear for anyone, especially Lewis, to see him like this.

"Don't," Valtteri cut him off, his voice hoarse, raw from the strain. He didn’t want Lewis to see him like this, vulnerable, broken. "Please, Lewis, just-" His body convulsed, another dry heave shaking him as more bile rose in his throat. He gagged, coughing, the sound echoing in the small restroom. His whole body ached, exhausted from fighting this battle for so long.

"Just… go," Valtteri croaked, his voice ragged, barely audible "please."

[ardentprose]

Absence Makes the Heart Grow....Fonder

A/N: I'm better at smut than I am fluff. Yet here I am blushing as if I didn't agonize over every delicious dirty detail. This was supposed to be a longer scene but it would end up as a novel so I split it into two scenes. If you want me to write the second scene after this one, let me know!

Type: shameless explicit smut; MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, 18+ ONLY; Foggy Nelson x fem!reader

Length: 3.3k~ | 15 min

Warnings: explicit f/m sex, explicit names for genitals; cursing; masturbation; Foggy in a suit deserves a warning; subtle dom!Foggy undertones if you were inside my head and knew that already; not beta read

Feel free to message me if a necessary warning isn't mentioned.

Summary: After a complicated court case extends your boyfriend's trip, you are desperate for relief. Try as you might on your own, nothing compares to Foggy's touch.

Good thing he just walked in the door.

You have no shame when it’s been this long.

It was meant to only be a week, but predictable complications with the justice system’s processes extended your boyfriend’s court case another seven days. Whenever he’s gone, you are left to your own devices. Quite literally.

Unfortunately, when you’re this riled up neither your toys nor your own hand is sufficient. Despite the countless times you have the privilege of riding his thicker, more dexterous fingers, you can never replicate the effortless patterns Foggy massages into your clit with just the right pressure to get you off.

Even worse, Foggy has been an outstanding partner while he’s been away. He dutifully texts you several times a day, whether it’s to ask how you are doing, share his thoughts on the case that stole him away from you, or send yet another selfie with his goofy smile and a thumbs up - along with what looks like a perturbed Matt Murdock - in front of some tourist trap in the current city he was in. His ability to ask you follow-up questions about passing comments you had spoken of days ago over the phone, his willingness to call you at bedtime because he knew you were anxious alone at night, and the sincerity in his tone when he admitted he wanted to stay in the hotel room and talk to you rather than go out for drinks with Matt — it was all innocent and very sweet of him.  It makes him such a kind, caring, and thoughtful partner.

It also makes him so fucking hot.

You don’t want to rudely dismiss his texts, so you’ve been keeping your licentious thoughts to yourself for days. In normal circumstances, a flurry of text messages would leave you frustrated with your phone pinging every time you neared the peak. Instead, it only served to edge you into desperation. You were left yearning for him more than ever. And he was absolutely to blame for it too, clueless as he was to your current predicament.

Sex with Foggy usually involved his distinct skill of making you laugh so hard you couldn’t breathe and then making you come so hard you blacked out. Sometimes it was his five ‘o clock shadow whispering against your ticklish thighs. Other times it was because Foggy thought he was a stand-up comedian and liked to test out bits while fully seated inside you. He would pause to deliver a punchline and wait for your endearing giggles to distract you. Love-drunk eyes attentive to your face, he would bask in the moment your laughter evaporated into wanton cries of ecstasy as he resumed fucking you into the mattress without warning. It was his favorite method of unraveling you. You swear he’s trained you with sexual Pavlovian techniques that at this point, you couldn’t even get yourself off without his help.

You didn’t want to interrupt Foggy’s stream of texts rambling about how he found a quaint little cheese shop next to the airport this morning and that he bought way too much cheese and even found one that he thought you could eat as well as enjoy and that he might have been conned into a subscription box…

You didn’t have the heart to send him your current position on your shared bedspread, left hand buried deep in yourself. How could you admit how his sudden cheese rant had not only interrupted your deviant perusal on a private browser, but was also making you laugh so hard you couldn’t concentrate on the task at hand? The situation was becoming dire. Or downright embarrassing if you weren’t so determined to cum at least once on your own.

Hence, your shamelessly sprawled position on the bed, wearing Foggy’s boxers and one of his faded band tees when the front door opens with an audible click.

You scramble from the bed, hopping on one foot to untangle your ankle from the twisted sheets. Glad to be rid of your tireless, unrewarding solitude, your feet fly down the stairs towards the foyer without a second to lose.

Two modest suitcases make their way through the doorway first before Foggy’s hunched figure shuffles in after them.

Before he finishes locking the door, you’re bounding towards your travel-worn lover. No doubt hearing you thunder down the stairs, Foggy turns, tired eyes alighting. He drops the suitcase handle bar just in time to open his arms. You collide into his chest with a satisfying thump.

“Hello, my lo-“

Your lips cut short his greeting. The rest of his words are swallowed by your tongue reacquainting itself with his while your fingers crawl up his shoulders and tug on his hair that inexplicably feels longer since he’s been gone the past two weeks.

Twisting the blond ends before they unravel from your fingertips, your hands scope out his face next, coming down to cradle his fuzzy cheeks as the beginnings of a beard - something new he’s trying out (and achieving incredibly well) - burns your palms. Your thumb brushes over his chin, savoring the new sensation.

Foggy moves his lips in tandem with yours, and you can feel his grin as he squeezes your hips under his large palms in excited reciprocation.

Yet, he dares to pull back from your warm welcome, albeit licking his lips as he does so.

“Good to know I was missed.”

“You don’t know the fucking half of it.” You exhale.

Foggy’s laugh hitches as your hands tug on his belt and he stumbles into you.

“I have a feeling I’m about to find out.” He mutters, grabbing the base of your neck, fingertips on your chin in order to meet you halfway this time in another searing kiss.

You moan, responsive beneath the subtle weight of his hand on your throat and fully press your chest against his torso.

Foggy tries to keep the kiss going as he releases you in order to shed his overcoat, revealing a deep maroon suit beneath. The texture feels like butter and the waistcoat is impressive. The suit was no doubt another expensive investment of his fashion sense. He must have been striking to watch in court, commanding the room visually, however you cannot help feeling as you run your hands over his arms - that he’s wearing too much damn clothing.

“Baby, baby.” Foggy laughs, pecking your lips after each endearment. He tries to catch your wrists, halting your wandering hands that have managed to slip apart his belt buckle. “At least let me take you upstairs.”

“No.”

These past fourteen days were torture, made only worse by the unintentional edging from your fingers failed agility to keep a pace that would be enough to send you into bliss. You’ll be damned if you wait another second.

Foggy’s lips break and he finally acknowledges the lustful inferno of your gaze.

You grab his tie and yank him with a small yelp back to where he belongs, tasting your mouth as you devour his tongue.

“Here.” You speak against his lips. “Now. Please.”

Your hands unbutton his suit jacket, then slide into the jacket sleeves. The fabric drops from his shoulders, leaving him in his matching waistcoat. You reach for it but Foggy beats you to it, his thumbs deftly popping open the brass buttons before he sheds it, leaving him in a wrinkled, white collared button-down.

On any given day, Foggy is easily exhilarated by your affection for him. Right now? He’s beyond aroused by your demanding desire. Usually, things are much more coy between you two. A playful give and take that acts as foreplay until the teasing grows into touching. But here you are, hands pulling the belt from his slacks, desperate only to take, take, take.

If this is what two weeks away earned him, painful as it is to be away from you, he might be tempted to leave more often.

This time, Foggy steps into your space and reconnect your lips. Your fingertips skim the outline of his cock and whatever thought of leaving you alone again evaporates.

Foggy’s arms find your waist and become a vice.    He keens when you reward him with a firm squeeze. His hips return for more, pressing up into your awaiting palm while he backs you into the wall of the entryway.

The coat rack rattles as your shoulder smacks it. You barely feel it, though Foggy exhales an apology and slides you more to the left before your back finds the wall with a vague thud. His leg parts your thighs and you recoil from the wall into his chest, dropping a few inches to writhe up against the thick muscle beneath his slacks.

You turn your chin towards Foggy’s mouth, breath hitching into his own rapid inhales. Foggy presses a kiss into your chin, then drags an open-mouthed kiss up to your ear, full bottom lip leaving a trail of fire in its wake. Like a flower blooming, your head tilts in the opposite direction, opening yourself to your lover and basking in his warmth. He nips the crest of your ear, then placates the sting with a kiss.

You revel in Foggy’s kisses as they come back down your neck, his facial hair scraping against your skin deliciously. Your eyes flutter, overwhelmed by the sensations from his lips, teeth and tongue. Moaning, your thighs lock around his leg, and you grind your hips with more fervor.

Foggy grunts, keeping his thigh pressed against your body. He meets the upturn of your hips with his fingertips slipping beneath the elastic waistband of your- his boxers. He maneuvers his middle finger between your folds and up to circle your clit with an expertise that comes from familiarity alone.

With a shudder, your legs fall open as Foggy intended. His thigh now free, he adjusts his stance, keeping his wrist rotating and grinding against your pelvis so his free hand could shove down his pants and briefs,

The fabric curls around his thighs as Foggy slides his sensitive cock over the elastic band, hand growing slick from his own arousal leaking down the expanse of his dick. It should be alarming how fast you turn him on, but Foggy never hesitates to dive headfirst into your love with abandon every time.

With bitten lip, you eye the weight of his pulsating cock in the grip of his palm. Your hands fall from his biceps to tug his collared shirt up over his stomach. Bringing your nails down over the surface of his stomach, you scratch past his belly button to his happy trail. Foggy nearly whimpers and steps impossibly closer into your breathing space, removing his left hand from between your legs and lavishing his tongue over his glistening fingers like tasting icing from dessert.

“Please.” You whine, eyes threatening to water with how worked up you are from his ministrations. Foggy is no better, his own flushed skin and frenzied eyes making him look feral.

He draws his hand from his mouth, eyelids weighted with lust. His forehead comes to rest against yours, and his eyes meet your pleading gaze before flitting down.

Foggy takes the head of his cock and presses firmly against your clit. He hums a questioning tone, lips parting to ask consent.

You all but growl your assent, shaking fingers falling over his wrist to shove his cock into you. Panting into each others mouths as if the other will provide oxygen, your heads swim with the intoxication from his initial touch.

Foggy in turn grabs your face, squeezing your cheek slightly as his thumb presses past your lips. You nip him as he tries to guide himself in, careful of your comfort. The slow pace scrapes pleasure from your walls and ignites every nerve ending in your body.

Foggy just manages to slide his palm up behind your head, catching you just before you slam your head back into the wall as your hips curve, slotting him against your cervix. Your high and breathy whine harmonizes against his guttural moan pressed into the center of your chest.

Foggy brings his hips back just enough to slam them forwards, pinning you to the wall with each increasingly rapid thrust. Your arms drape over his neck, lackadaisical. Your legs jerk in his large palms which knead and claw and eventually lift you up further and further as he drives into you with relentless fervor.

Your breath punches from your lungs. You can hardly keep your eyes open past alluring slits that look down upon Foggy’s bitten, swollen lips, cherry flushed cheeks, and furrowed brow. Each thrust forces his hair to fall from it’s once professional, gelled back style. A few strands fall between his screwed eyebrows. You manage to lift a free hand to swipe the hair before it tickles his nose, curling it behind his ear and leaving your hand there to cup his cheek as you pull his face upwards to kiss you once more.

Your fingernails scratch against his scalp, his blond hair scrunched in your death grip. It will be tangled and knotted by the time this is over but that only means you get to wash it later, combing it out with an intentionally slow hand, sometimes tugging his head backwards so you can drop a kiss on his parted lips. Perhaps lick into his mouth and repeat another round late into the night.

Your lips curve into a private smirk, amused how even now, while being fucked senseless against the wall of your foyer, you’re still thinking of scenarios in which you and Foggy continue to have sex all night.

Foggy ends the kiss with a bite and sucks your bottom lip into his mouth. His short nails burn your thighs as they creep towards your ass. His gold watch is a cold contrast against heated skin as he shoves you towards him again and again, beginning to fuck into you with abandon. He always gets aggressive when he nears his climax and you take full advantage, instigating in any way possible in order to drive him even more insane.

You anchor your hands in his hair and rock into his thrusts. His breathing escalates into strained exhales through clenched teeth. Then his eyes snap shut and his head rolls towards the ceiling.

“Fuck.”

You feel his abdomen spasm against yours as he comes. He leans into you, the length of his body pressing you into the wall and keeping you pinned there as his cock head twitches against your cervix.

You gasp into his neck. The heat of his seed and the jerky pumps of his wavering hips fray the last of your nerves. Black stars explode across your vision. Your throat seizes your exhale, releasing a strained cry as you arch into Foggy’s embrace..

Coming back up to cradle your head again, Foggy’s fingers scratch at your scalp. It’s the sting of his nails that gradually ropes you down to the material plane once more.   

You crumple into Foggy’s embrace. His dress shirt is now sheer with sweat. You eye his arms, appreciative of the biceps that have held you against the wall this entire time.

“You alright, baby?”

Foggy kisses your forehead three times, lips brushing your sweaty temple.

You can only moan, the last spasms of your cunt making him stumble slightly as he lowers your feet back to the earth - or rather, the hardwood of your hallway.

Your forehead lands on his chest, using the rise and fall of his breath to steady your own gasps. Your fingers tremble as they make their way up and attempt to curl around the loosened tie that is one wrong move from falling from Foggy’s shoulders.

Foggy brings his palm down over your sweaty hair, leaves a light squeeze at your neck, then starts to run patterns up and down your back. His other hand remains on your waist, keeping you stable, but you still feel the slight tremor of his own fingertips pressing into your hip.

Another moment of quiet passes before Foggy’s hand comes forward to catch your chin, tilting your face up to his searching eyes.

You give him a lazy, sedated smile, satisfaction shining in your eyes. It makes the corners of his swollen pink lips quirk up.

“Welcome home.”

Foggy’s lips part to respond. Before you remember moving, your own teeth are pulling his full bottom lip into your mouth and sucking it with abandon.

Foggy chuckles, moans, and attempts to break the kiss as you nip at his retreating mouth. , He finally presses against the base of your neck to hold you still.

Your pulse thrums to life beneath the weight of his thumb and forefinger brushing your clavicle. By the slight shake of his head and disbelieving smirk, you know you must be staring at him with those faux doe eyes that have inevitably brought him to his knees many a past night.

Foggy says your name, firm but expression gentle.

“Don’t get me wrong, I love making you feel good - and I plan on doing so the rest of the night,” Foggy bumps his forehead into yours and pecks your lips with a grin. “But I also just missed you. Seriously, how are you?”

Your pout bursts into a smile under his soft admission.

“I missed you too.” You nose at him, tempted to kiss that adorable grin of his again but resist. You squeeze his shoulders.

“I’m sorry if I came on a little strong, but I-“

Foggy cuts you off with his own quick kiss and pulls back with a smirk.

“Honey, you can come on me anytime you wish.”

“Foggy!” You roll your eyes, annoyed at how you laugh so easily at such a terrible joke.

“You just said you missed me. Don’t you wanna know how my day went before fucking me again?”

You relish the flicker of lust in his baby blues before Foggy shakes his head, trying to stay on task.

“Yes. Yes, yeah, definitely. I missed you and your voice and our apartment and I wanna know everything you were too lazy to text me.”

He says this while stepping away from you in order to adjust his pants over himself again. Then he turns to gather up his belongings that were haphazardly thrown to the ground when you pounced.

“Hey.” You grab his carry-on as you protest. “I’m not lazy. You just text full-blown essays that no one else has the time to respond to in matching detail.”

You yelp as he swats your ass, following you through the kitchen, towards the staircase.

“You said you liked my long texts. That I’m very thorough.”

“That’s one way to put it.” You snort. “I don’t think you can help your long-winded messages. It’s the lawyer in you.”

“Ha, ha. I’ve never heard that one.”

You turn on the current step, midway up the staircase.   

“Oh, Foggy.” Your smirk grows as he balks at your sultry tone, eyelids lowering and lips parting on cue.

“Don’t misunderstand me. I enjoy that mouth of yours and just how thorough it can be.”

Foggy eyes flit all over your form before meeting you against with such intensity your heart rate picks up.

“What can I say, you’re my favorite case study.”

“Come on!” You throw your head back, moment ruined as his boisterous laugh echoes against the walls.

You continue up the rest of the stairs. Foggy ventures up the rest of the way behind you with a self-satisfied smile dimpling his cheeks. He hits the landing just as you turn into your bedroom.

“If I’m your favorite case to study, how about a dissertation?” You call out of sight.

Foggy rolls his eyes, ignoring how his heart skips at your giggles.

“First of all, that’s not what they’re called and second-“

Before he reaches the doorway, you lean into the hall, top half devoid of the faded band t-shirt.

“Second?”

“Second….Fuck it!” Foggy drops his luggage once again.

“I’m about to have seconds.” Any response at his corny humor evaporates when Foggy darts forward, chasing your giggling, retreating form into the bedsheets for the rest of the night.

[raisindave]

[Chapter 8] Seeing the World Through Ballistic-Tinted Glasses

Content Warning: Graphic descriptions of violence and death.

Neurons fire like sparklers on the Fourth of July, making your mind imagine jumping shadows in the void darkness surrounding you. Just stay on your stomach; no one will see you without you seeing them from a mile away. Ghost’s hawk eyes will keep you safe, just like Soap assured you. Expectant, teasing anxiety tightens your throat, like the feeling that you’re being watched. Except in this case, you are the one doing the watching. A single crackling branch in the distance behind you makes you whirl around in panic, wild eyes flashing in anticipation. 

“Don’t go out in the woods much, I take it.” Ghost’s voice cuts the silence, additionally startling your heightened nerves. 

“Don’t worry, corporal, I’ve got eyes on the back of my head,” he huffed back, matching your agitated tone, “and the side.”

You swallowed the urge to bite back some nasty quip about his ego, once again fighting the bile in favour of not getting a dishonourable discharge. Maybe he was right, though; after all, there wasn’t even any indication that there was any other living creature at least a few square miles. Save for the dear from earlier and your ghoulish company. Most likely, it was nothing, but the slim chance of a counter-ambush still stuck in your mind like a thorn. Turning back around to rest your torso on your now rock-hard pillow of snow, a quick flick of your radio's on and off button hailed the others for an update. 

“Alfa team, this is Bravo 7-1, still no eyes.” Soap’s voice cut into the microphone.

“Solid copy, standing by.” You respond. 

Minutes melted by. Agonizing silence. By this time, the meeting time given by the radio had long passed, and the shame and horror manifesting inside you made you mortified that you may have made some grave error. No, trust in your skills. This wasn’t some translation error; you knew what you heard and had recordings to back it up. The message padding, the Chinese informant, and Smokey, it all hiked on your nerves, refusing to settle like a pill caught in a dry throat. One thing was for sure: something was wrong. 

More tentative check-ups on the lookout on the road, each response diligent and practiced, but that didn’t dissuade the elephant in the room: The convoy wasn’t here, and we’d been sitting there for at least an hour. Ghost would never show it, even if his patience were wearing thin, but the off-radio dialogue between your comrades must be starting to point towards you. Every agonizing minute became an excruciating hour, and rubbing the cold from your thighs started having less of an effect. All the calories burned from your body fighting to keep up with agonizing cold made the empty pit in your stomach more poignant, though a steady, nauseous sensation kept the worst of the pain at bay. 

“This is fucking ridiculous,” Price finally spoke up through the radio, speaking what was on the top of everyone’s mind, “We’re sitting ducks out here. Gold Eagle Actual, what’s the status.”

Price’s radio to Graves implied an eagerness to wrap up the mission to come home, deeming the outing a lost cause. He’s probably aching to get back to bed, though you doubt he’d ever admit that. A glance at Ghost’s wristwatch next to you said the time was 03:54. Unwelcome sweat began to bead along your hairline as your neck muscles started to ache from strain.

“Just a little longer,” you croaked into the microphone, desperately hanging on to any semblance of hope, “-Sir”

“Little Miss, I don’t believe you have the authority t-” Grave’s voice was cut off suddenly. 

“Headlights, nine o’clock.” Soap’s radio crackled alive, 

Just like that, joy followed by relief, then gnawing dread sang through your mind, and your partner beside you shifted his posture. 

“Two vehicles- Three. I repeat, three vehicles westbound, coming ahead. 30 seconds out.” 

“Don’t miss, MacTavish,” Gaz chortled over the mic.

“I don’t miss,” he retorted. 

This was when your portable radio came into play. Once Soap gave the order, a listening device would be stuck to the undercarriage of one of the vehicles, a coin toss if it landed on the one hosting vital conversation. Rolling the dial under your finger, you sparked your end of the device alive. Waiting, frigid seconds ticked by as you heard Soap rustling into position through your mic, slow, practiced breathing as he stilled for action. Like a mountain lion stalking in the bush. A crunching sound and crisp rustles came from the device in your hands, then a delicate clunk. 

“Listening Device in place, coming to your position, Alfa Team, ” Soap’s voice triumphantly. 

“Solid copy, Bravo 7-1,” Price and Graves responded unanimously. 

Deep breaths of numbing cold tore down your throat as you steadied yourself against the headphones, squeezing your eyes shut to futility cut out all stimuli- not that it did anything in the surrounding darkness. A Cantonese voice is speaking through your headphones, relaying information to another. They were discussing the hangar and that they’d also need to collect the security tapes when they arrived. Shit, that’s important. 

“Two Cantonese-speaking males discussing coming to the hangar to collect security tapes.” You relayed into your shoulder radio.

Once again, you stilled yourself for more information, not bothering with any of the formalities of radio chatter, considering this situation was already exceptional by default. A Russian voice cuts in, asking for a translation from one of the Chinese members, responding in fractured Russian with a crude translation of the previous dialogue. 

“Russian male. At least three Tangos, stand by.”

Other than the minor conversation, there was almost no noise inside, save for an eerie Slavic folk tune singing about the grace of the motherland. Unsettling accordion notes screeching through a cheap radio. Then, you hear it. The unmistakable sound you recognized from earlier. The same clicking sounds you heard from Soap’s gun maintenance in the truck. 

“Armed. Repeat, Tangos are lethally equipped.”

You detect another shift in your comrade’s posture, like he’s giddy. Opening your eyes just in time to see the swinging headlights from the treeline turn into the open landing strip. Two thick black vans surrounding one flatbed cargo truck pulled in front of the domed hangar. Their engines rumbling audible from your elevation without the need for your radio. 

“Eyes on the target, Bravo 0-7, you seeing this?” The voice of Price made your eyes flicker to the northeast section of the compound where he, Gaz, and Soap now sat in wait. 

“In my sights,” Ghost uttered into the mic, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand. 

Another voice cut through the radio, making you clamp your gloved fingertips over your headphones. Ghost murmured something along the lines of ‘hold’ into the radio as you focused your attention intensely. 

"We’re early, cunt, I don’t like being early," A gruff Russian voice cut crackled through the listening device's speakers.

Early? The transmission said 02:35, it’s past 04:00. That doesn’t make any sense. 

“They’re early? Grant, I thought you said 02:35,” Price shot through the radio on your shoulder, you heard the barely audible sound of someone sighing in frustration behind him. 

“They did, I don’t understand,” the connection that Price, too, knows Russian churned in your stomach. It would’ve been nice to know that earlier. 

The two sturdy vans’ doors each popped open, each van carrying four armed soldiers, black body armour making them match their shadows from the floodlights. That’s a count of eight armed Tangos, information which Ghost radioed to the ground crew, with at least one more driving the flatbed. Each sported dark, ominous firearms glinting in the stark floodlight, distant chatter bouncing off the cliff face to reach your astute ears. Another chill crept over your brow as you watched Ghost’s index finger smoothly sweep across the side of his rifle, promising to shift to the trigger at a moment’s notice. Ready to paint the ground with pink mist, swift and lethal, edging toward that kill shot. 

One of the figures crouched, unclasping a lock from the hangar door and swinging it open with the sound of shambling sheet metal. The sharp, heavy clunk of industrial lights sparking to life revealed the interior of the hangar, cluttered with a handful of small boxes and a few desks in the far corner. More information was relayed through the radio, and hushed chirps were heard in reply through the speakers. They were talking about another group meeting up, waiting for ‘Púpsik’ to arrive. Púpsik, a feminine colloquialism for ‘cutie’... there’s another party coming, the feminine prefix implying a dear female figure… a... mother.

“More Tangos en route. It sounds like this is a tradeoff point.” Although the Russian language made you question if Price came to the same conclusion you did, sharing your familiarity with the tongue. 

“Copy.” Price responded in turn. 

“This is Watcher; Any eyes on the cargo?” Laswell’s voice clambered through a staticky frequency. 

“Affirmative, Tango's transporting a shipping container from the truck into the hangar.” Price responded.

“Stand by for further instructions. Let’s wait and see who’s gonna show.” She posited. 

“Rog.” 

The sound of metal scraping and casual conversation echoed through the night. Although technically morning, there were still many hours before the sun would rise in this northern climate. One of them sparked up a cigarette, amber flashes illuminating his face before sucking back a long drag. You noted no flags on any of them, cracking icy binoculars to fit your eyes. Fingers numb to the cold made your movements clunky and uncoordinated, reminding yourself how long it had been since you moved your legs. Movement was key in this gnawing cold, though any sound could jeopardize your position, no matter how minor. It was a gamble that you just had to take. 

Watching the shadows waddle back and forth, securing the container, distant idle chatter from the vehicle-mounted listening device was nearly fruitless, save for a few key phrases. ‘Púpsik’ was three minutes out. The cold gnawing at your extremities was past the point of pain and beyond the pin-prickling sensation, finally settling into a void, empty numbness. This was the time to gather your breath because, at any moment, things could go sideways. There was more radio chatter. Gaz reported headlights behind the hangar. Here comes mama. 

Another round of headlights swung out, another group of three, and a similar flatbed truck, though their flatbed seemed extensively kitted out with plated siding and heavy-duty engines. More doors swung open, and a squad of seven similarly armoured soldiers marched to meet the existing ten, all sporting glinting firearms on their backs. 

“Seventeen tangos, eyes on cargo. Grant, what’s the status?” Price relayed from the shadowy vantage point just out of view of the enemy combatants. 

“They’re exchanging greetings… One is asking about the tool…, and another is saying it’s- it’ll do wonders to clear out their backyard. Uniforms… two thirty-five…” you transcribed from what you heard from the radio in your palm, “They’re exchanging the cargo.”

“It’s now or never,” Laswell breathed. 

“Time to bring home the milk boys, let’s make it home in time for breakfast,” Graves' smooth southern tone quipped back, seemingly in high spirits now that the agonizing wait was over. 

“Bravo 0-7, take down the squirters. Alfa team moving in.” Price’s radio clicked to a close, making your stomach knot. 

“Yes sir,” Ghost uttered. 

The slinking shadows skulked around the darkness, utterly invisible to the pack of soldiers just inches from them. In an instant, the sizzle of a smoke grenade sent a cloud of piercing white smoke into the hangar with a heavenly glow thanks to the stark overhead lights. Pop, pop, pop. Commotion, more pops. It’s horrifying not to be able to see who’s getting shot at, and you can only trust the physical exam evaluations you read only days ago on Laswell’s tablet. Frantic shouting in Russian and Cantonese reverberated across concrete and metal siding. A deafening blast in your right ear nearly made you nearly pass out in shock. Ghost had picked someone off. You couldn’t decide what was worse, watching uselessly through your binoculars to watch your teammates fall potentially or the unforgiving and hammering unknown. Bang. Another deafening blast as Ghost cocked the rifle in patient preparation for another kill shot. 

Utter chaos screamed through the radio that must have been flicked on by mistake in the scuffle. Noise and shouting tore across the wild terrain, collateral of the combat below. Ghost’s rifle had gone quiet now, his steady breathing slowing to an impossibly slow pace. Radio chatter was full of expletives and fruitless commands, agonized whelping silenced by another pop. The courage to pull the ice-cold binoculars to your eyes manifested, and you beheld bodies strewn across the snow, red splatter, and brain matter pooled on concrete and asphalt. Noting the singular bodies of combatants fleeing to the treeline, picked off by your ghostly associate. 

The pandemonium stilled, gradually unwinding, like the crescendo had passed, leaving dwindling silence. Spare for occasional pops reverberating across the cliff face. There was still commotion from within the compound, out of view of your sniper’s position. 

“Alfa team, what’s your status,” Ghost called through the radio.

Silence in response, but evident gunfire, said the status was still in question. Blistering anxiety and tension rippled through your body, meagerly quelled by a deep, steadying breath. More pops and unsettling crackles from your comrade's radios. You were sitting blind and useless, with comrades cornered inside the hangar. Ghost impatiently tapped the side of his rifle with his fingertip, steady breathing, exhaling in a sudden, quick breath. 

“We’re going down there.” Ghost’s gruff voice cut over the gunfire, lifting his radio from his shoulder to speak. “Actual, this is Bravo 0-7, moving in to support the Alfa team, over and out,” his dark eyes meeting yours expectantly, swinging his body above yours and clutching your back by your crossbody firearm harness. 

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Master List

[marzsbarsz]

every star dies out eventually

another shot at klance

i feel like with the way i wrote this one, i have to explain it a bit

this is keith's inner monologue, with the "you" pronouns referring to lance

sorry if that's confusing i tried my best !

okay enjoy :-)

word count ; 906

warnings ; blood, death, "fuck" is said like 11 times, the gays never win !!

fuck.

how did it end this way?

how did i, my hoarse voice screaming to the stars, my scarred hands clutching the remains of what was once mine,

end up here?

my love, my sun, my stars, my soul, 

more than a person, more than a teammate,

more than anything i could ever hope to describe,

here,

bleeding out in my arms,

in the ship full of my own people.

my own people, who caused this disgrace and tragedy of a moment.

i told myself,

“this is why you never should have fallen in love.

this is what fucking happens to people like you, keith kogane.”

and yet,

strangely i regret nothing.

“lance! are you okay?” 

“we did it. we are a good team.”

you took my hand.

you were full of warmth. you were weak, you were all scratched up, your hair sticking out in different directions,

and yet,

you were the most beautiful, beautiful boy i had ever laid my eyes on.

that’s when i knew i fell for you.

–

your hand tugged at my sleeve.

“c’mon, keith, let’s go, let’s go!”

“i’m coming, lance, please shut the fuck up.”

jesus. please, please don’t ever shut up, lance. i love you too much. please.

–

your head resting on my chest, your ear pressed close to my heart, as i hear your soft snores and feel your warm breath as you sleep.

fuck, i need to feel that again. to feel your breath on my chest, to know that you’re still here. to know that you’re safe in my arms.

you’re the opposite of safe right now. you’re not fucking safe and there’s nothing i can do about it.

and i’m so sorry.

–

“you promise?”

your soft giggles echo through the empty training room, my arms wrapped around your waist, our foreheads pressed together.

“i promise, angel, always.”

even when i promised to protect you and stay with you, even in that moment…

i somehow knew i probably couldn’t keep that promise.

but i’d try. god, i’d try.

i’d fight for you until my knuckles bleed, until i could no longer stand on my own two feet, until my very last breath.

i never asked you to do the same for me.

–

“what the fuck do you mean you’re leaving? you’re just gonna- leave me f-for them…?” 

your defeated voice broke out into heart wrenching sobs, unable to continue speaking. and honestly, i don’t think i could bear hearing anything more. 

“i’m so sorry, angel. i have to. i’m so sorry.” that was all i could say as i took your trembling body in my arms.

your muffled cries an agonizing sound in my ears, your tears that soak my shirt feeling more like a stab in the chest.

knowing that i’m the cause for them just makes my head hang low with shame, my own tears finally escaping my eyes.

and the only words that i can utter are words of apology, pathetic phrases that just won’t reach you no matter how hard i try.

letting you go then felt like i was choking.

and letting you go now stripped all the oxygen from my lungs.

–

“LANCE!”

i couldn’t even hear myself scream. i could only feel my throat strain to call for you as i saw you jump in front of me.

it wasn’t until a few seconds later when i saw the blood.

“fuck, lance, no, no no no no, please…”

my hands grab at you: your back, your torso, anywhere i could reach.

you cough out blood, a bit splattering on my face and chest.

but that didn’t matter to me.

“k-keith…?”

your hands reach out to engulf me in a hug.

“fuck, angel, i’m so sorry. why did you do that? i could have taken it, i could have taken it, fuck, please, stay awake. stay awake for me angel. keep those eyes open beautiful, i got you. i got you.”

“keith, p-please, i d-don’t…”

“no, no, no, angel, i got you, just please, help is on the way, just stay awake for me. stay awake, okay? open those pretty eyes of yours, wanna see ‘em. can you do that for me, baby?”

“keith, i-i… keith, i…”

“no, no angel, save your breath. save your energy, baby, it’s alright. i got you.”

“t-tell my f-family i lo-love them, a-and…”

i wanted to scream out for you to stop saying that, to stop acting as if you’re dying, but deep down, i knew you were. i knew this was it.

every star dies out eventually.

“...a-and th-that… i ho-hope i m-made them pr-proud… a-and t-tell eve-everyone-e-else too, and k-keith…”

“yes, baby, i’m right here. what do you need, angel?”

it’s a miracle i didn’t stutter, with the amount of tears pouring down my cheeks and the uneven breaths escaping from my lips.

you pull me down by my collar, and our lips met for one final time.

“i love you. i l-love you so, so m-much, keith. i love you.

i’ll be waiting.”

your hand let go of my suit, and the life drained from your eyes.

and now here we are, my hands clutching onto your suit for dear life, screaming out to the moons and suns and stars and whatever the fuck else was up above.

our teammates stood behind us as i cried my heart out.

and i couldn’t even fucking care less.

every star dies out eventually.

[whentherewerebicycles]

dude it is fucking terrifying to imagine I might be experiencing a healthy pregnancy and everything in me is like DO NOT feel hopeful DO NOT make plans DO NOT think of yourself as a person who is going to have a baby, not even for a second, or you will feel so stupid and ashamed when you (surely, inevitably) lose the pregnancy. but god I am trying not to live like that. I spent so much time last time trying to preemptively brace myself and manage my own expectations and in the end all that tense anxiety did not shield me from grief. I still had to experience every agonizing minute of it. telling myself you’re probably going to lose the pregnancy did not make the heaviness of losing the pregnancy even an ounce lighter! the only difference all that self-loathing self-shaming made was I felt miserable for weeks before losing the pregnancy in addition to feeling miserable during and after. what was the point of it then?? it was just a way of hurting myself. I saw my own vulnerable, raw, cracked-open yearning and I responded to it in the familiar old way: shame yourself before someone else can do it. be cruel to yourself, derisive, unkind and ungenerous, because if you get in there first at least you can maintain the illusion of control. I decide how much it hurts, in what ways, and for how long. but I don’t live like that anymore. I don’t think like that anymore. I lost a pregnancy and it wasn’t because I wanted it too much and thus had to be viciously put in my place by God or the universe or whatever. I lost a pregnancy because of a tiny quirk of my anatomy, a timing issue, and terrible, random, senseless bad luck. I am not doomed to repeat the past. I am not! and even if I do, even if the bad thing happens again, there is nothing I can do to change it or avert it or propitiate it. and that is freeing to realize. my hope can’t influence the outcome in any way. it can’t make the bad thing more likely (my instinctive belief) or less likely. my hope is not something I can manipulate or wield in any direction to change what happens. my hope is simply a way of treating myself during an uncertain and terribly vulnerable period in my life. I want to be a parent. I want to have a healthy pregnancy and give birth to a healthy baby. but also I want my child to see me as an adult who responds to vulnerability, including my own, with tenderness and patience instead of derision. I just gotta repeat it as many times as I need to hear it: shame will not protect me from pain. shame will not protect me from pain. shame will not protect me from pain. nothing can. pain happens and we weather it. but hope is a choice I make about how I want to live in my head and heart. hope is the choice I am trying to make, over and over again, in each petrifying moment. let me feel it cleanly, the joy and the grief uncontaminated by shame. clean hope, clean pain. clean hope, clean pain. oh I hope and hope and hope!!!!!

[cock-ainee]

Fortuitous pt. 1

Sanemi cosplayer x fem!reader

_____________________________

Word count: 1.5k

Notes: So, I'll be completely honest - I have no idea what i'm doing there and why. The idea just popped in my head - as something i'd like to do, haha - but then i thought of making a story out of it. So! I want to say - this is not a typical fanfiction with Sanemi, it's about reader with a cosplayer!

Enjoy!

Since her childhood years, YN has been always viewed as a normal, sweet, intelligent girl. Everybody, always, has been jealous of her knowledge, grades, judged her every move and pointed out smallest mistakes.

But yes, YN has always been a normal girl.

Going into her teenage years, she had plans - ambitions, big hopes for the future, aiming for college and a good middle school to get her ready info further life.

But when she actually got accepted into her new school, she didn't realise how much of a mistake it would actually be.

The first year was going quite well, nothing seemed to be foreshadowing the nightmare that her school days would become. But as YN's best friend - only true friend in class she had - changed schools. Gradually, YN has dropped her grades, and started closing up from others.

Going into second year, her life became an absolute nightmare. Scared of talking to people, teachers, ditching school, getting authorities over her head - it seemed like NOTHING was going well anymore.

Her cousin enraged her, also. She never had perfect relationship with her, but what made her most furious was their conversation weeks ago.

°°°

Why do you even want to switch schools?? With your attitude, you're always going to complain about anything. Everything's going to be the same whatever you do. <

YN gazed at the message, her mind flaring with anger.

The next messages her cousin sent were just self-centered yapping about how she struggled with her own work, her colleagues, her situation, her mood, her feelings - her, her, her, her. Not even once has she thought of YN's feelings. The fact she may not be in total control of the things going on in her life.

> Go fuck yourself

YN texted back, seething the same words trough her gritted teeth.

Since then, she understood that she doesn't want to have anything to do with that bitch.

°°°

YN was scrolling trough Instagram - once again ignoring the fact she should study - and noticed a quite pretty post. A cosplay of her favorite character.

Oh, right! Because there was an obsession YN had. It was Sanemi Shinazugawa - a character of her all time favorite anime.

- Fucking hot.. it would be lucky to have someone cosplay him for me.. -

She stared at the pic for a moment with a blank expression on her face. And then she blinked, because then it clicked.

Usually YN overthinked everything she did - but not this time. She texted the man without hesitation.

> I've got a deal for you???

And then she waited.

Regretted her decision.

Then waited, waited, waited.

It was agonizing, almost. The hope of the man texting back was slowly fading, replaced by a shame caused by her doing. She was so taken over by this revelation that she dreamed of it, until one day, finally, she woke up to a reply.

What kind of deal?? <

Oh now THAT was the moment for action.

Seeing he was active, she carefully chose a reply.

> I'll pay you to cosplay Sanemi for me

Oh now that's new. If you want a pic with me, i won't make you pay. I suppose you live nearby??? <

The girl's face heated up at his words. From embarrassment, but also because he would be willing to take a picture with her for free. But that wasn't what she wanted.

> No, i don't want a picture. I'll pay you, for pretending to be my boyfriend.

He read that. He's seen that.

Silence.

And do I get to be a lil touchy 😏 <

> I'll cut your salary in half

Worth it <

> Is that a yes??

Let's say so. Where do i meet you up, princess? <

> In front of my school tomorrow, 7.50. I'll send you the adress later

YN felt like she needed a cold shower to take that news. And so, she went to the bathroom and spend nearly an hour there, nearly dying from excitement.

Then it was time to tuck herself to bed, to the thoughts of having a.. new boyfriend???

°°°

The next day, YN was waiting for her "boyfriend" in front of the school. And just when she was about to give up to her anxiousness and get inside the building, somebody grabbed her by the hips and she was pulled against a firm chest.

- Hey, princess~! Not like i stalked your profile, but i did stalk your profile. You're looking even cuter in real life than those silly pictures -

- W-WHAT?!! -

YN was so startled, she almost pushed her elbow into the guy's face.

- Are you insane?? Stop attacking, immediately! -

Just in case not to get murdered, the guy let go of her and stepped aside.

And when YN looked up she was even more startled than before. The guy was towering above her, at least a head taller than her. His hair were white, and he had this makeup indicating those iconic scars on his face. He was wearing a simple white button up shirt - with a few top buttons left undone - and black pants that were tight around his waist.

- I-is that a wig..? -

The guy's face expression softened as a chuckle left his lips. She didn't miss the fact that he had purple contacts.

- Oh? No, i dyed them this way. -

He put a hand over her shoulder, bringing her a tiny bit closer to himself.

- You wanted me to be your boyfriend, why so silent now?? Do you not love me?? -

He pouted, enjoying the teasing. YN huffed, grabbing a fistful of his shirt and pulling him after her.

- Let's just get inside -

They didn't exchange a word while walking, but he changed their position, so that now their hands were entwined together.

As they walked down the hallway, some people who knew YN were eyeing her - and she, deep down, swelled with pride.

°°°

YN had to be honest. Having a man like that walking around with her for the whole day, like a puppy, was satisfying. Her lovely "Sanemi" was all smiley - a little out of character - and his acting skills were perfect. He had no problems with playing pretend, as if he and YN knew themselves for a longer time than just those few hours.

- Wait. What even is your name? -

YN spoke about that matter after the first lesson, when she realised she never asked him this - and there were no informations about it on his profile.

- Oh fuck, right, i never told you. I'm loosing my head here with you, see? -

He let our a chuckle and brushed a hand trough his white hair.

- My name's Aiden. But you can just call me Sanemi, you know. That's what i just am for you, right? -

YN raised her eyebrow questionably.

- You sound pretentious -

- Huh?? No offense. You're just oversensitive -

The girl didn't like his response at all, but decided to just wave it off.

For the rest of the day, she had a loyal puppet running around her like he was over the moon with her.

Maybe he was?

Or what's more possible, he just wanted to be worth the money.

What YN noticed, and wasn't against, was for sure, how touchy he was getting. Seems like his message wasn't just a joke and he really was taking the opportunity. Though they knew each other for like... Max 9 hours, YN didn't complain. It would probably be the only time a man would be touching her anyways.

After school, it was time to pay him off. Aiden got dragged out of the school by his "girlfriend" - while he talked with the friends he apparently made - and when YN made sure they were far enough from familiar people, stuck a bunch of bills into his hand.

- Isn't it too much? -

His purple contacts pierced trough her as his confused face expression almost made her giggle.

- I'm paying in advance -

Her explanation was fairly brief, but Aiden didn't comment it. The thing that surprised him was how she just chose to ignore him as she quickly walked down the street.

The girl jolted in surprise as she felt her hand being grabbed.

- Why are you running away from me? Let me just walk you home -

The white haired man spoke, taking YN's silence as an agreement. When they stood in the door to her house, he did so much as to lean down, kiss her cheek and smile before walking away with a little wave.

- See you tomorrow! -

YN was too stunned to answer to his words, as she stared at him before he disappeared around the corner.

°°°

When she laid in bed, the only thing she could think about were his hands over her, the WHOLE day. She knew she shouldn't, but she felt a tiny squeeze in her heart anytime she recalled how his hands would squeeze her waist or hold onto her own.

And so, even though he wasn't hers, it seemed that YN's "boyfriend" would be what pulls her out of the cage of her own misery.

[soulslostinthewind]

I’m surprised that I did not realize she was too good for this world when she was born. I remember her plump infant cheeks, her toothless smile in which her lips curled at the edges like a kitten’s lips. I remember when she got a little older, still tiny, still beautiful. She was always too smart for her own good. She was a little thing, maybe seven or eight, when she met the sorry excuse of a man that stole my youth and beat the daylights out of me; she never did like him for second. She gave up sandwiches for lent because my uncle’s bitch of an ex-wife kept packing them in her lunchbox. She always kept that slight smirk, like she had as an infant. I think she inherited it from her father, the wounded tiger, perpetually wandering the concrete jungle for his next meal. She would ask where my father was, though he was deceased. It pains me knowing that she had to wonder where hers was for years before he passed. This year’s January had to be the coldest one I’d ever felt. Father and daughter enter the hospital on the same day in separate, nearby cities. Father dies and daughter is told that she is going to die before her sixteenth birthday. The trip I took months later further down South with my unrecognizably ill angel fundamentally changed me. We spent some time in Savannah, I’d never seen anything as beautiful as the scenery there. Juxtaposed by terminal brain cancer sitting on the back burner in every cherished moment. With an illness like hers, the illness must constantly be witnessed because it also constantly torments its victim. My perfect girl. She looked up into my eyes one night down in Florida. She had the look of fear and pain in her eyes, like a child does when they anticipate vomiting. She did right next to me, onto the bed. She is unconditionally beautiful. Cancer, however, is an incredibly ugly illness. Its nature is horrifying. A fifteen-year-old beauty queen suddenly becomes a dying girl. Around the time of the trip down South, I had been praying for the strength to be vulnerable. I’m not one for touch or sappy words, I think I may slightly fear intimacy. I couldn’t stand any moment I spent with her too cowardly to express my love for her. In some impulsive moment, I felt nothing but love and not an ounce of shame. I looked to my right and told her how glad I was that she is my cousin. She promptly laughed and told me to shut up. I found myself giggling with her like a child, my heart full of an agonizing form of love. Even if I was the corny older cousin for a moment, that feeling of raw love and vulnerability that I had prayed for was well worth it. I’d give near anything to watch her roll her eyes at me until I die.

[doxolove]

I always forget I can type a lot more on tumblr. I kind of poofed for so long, so I’ll leave some thoughts here about my last month (long) ;

tw: mental health, conditioning, recovery

I'm laying in bed, I thought about all of the times I spoke and have had conversations with people in my past… But they're all so very vague.

I can't remember them.

I assumed I just have bad memory, brain fog, static– But I realize this is part of my defense mechanisms and it has been for a long time. What was so vivid and gave me so much joy– but ended in agonizing pain and hellfire? Has already become fragments in my head. I don't even remember things I said to my ex and subsequent 'love interest'. I also realize there is another reason for this too.

Not only does my brain blank out pain, most words spoken were said from a place of insecurity, where I have been in survival mode all of my life. All of the things I said, most likely 90% of them within conflicts, we're emotionally charged impulses, influenced by deprecation and urgency. 

These words are never meant to last. Never meant to be finite or thoughtful. They were forced, coerced, influenced. I made decisions in survival mode, I remember how I would freeze. I still do sometimes, when I hear raised voices beyond a wall– I fall silent. When someone blazes towards me with accusations, I rear up to defend. I panic. I start to fawn and people-please, this keeps the anxiety away, curbs the stress.

These are all reactions and mechanisms built into my conditioning. It's taken close to a month to detangle most of this, people with codependency issues have a monumental task to overcome doing this because you're programmed to not care about yourself. I blank out the pain, I can't remember what it felt like last week, even. Going back to read my journal, I don't remember the times I let my emotions or shadow-self write specifically. They are fleeting and weightless thoughts.

But there is good news; I'm starting to remember things, specifically from this month and the mental agony I've gone through to completely rewrite my internal mechanisms. I was relentless, ripping gears and cogs out in oily streams with tooth and nail and shoving brand new gears inside. Incredibly uncomfortable and painful. I learned how to endure and let emotion just slide over myself and accept it was happening. I was crying my eyes out about five times a day for the first week, I still cry sparingly but it's over within a few seconds. Crying still sends endorphins to my brain, a type of addiction in it's own way.

My body fought me the whole way; tight chest, anxiety attacks, crying fits, loss of appetite and desire (aside what was lost). I've gone through waves of tumultuous emotion but saw improvement each and every day. Every day my mind understood something new, held onto the science of what was happening to me. It happens to so many people, and I am not alone in this pain.

It made me realize, 'they may have gone through this too'. 'They have been to therapy'. Was it just as painful? How much of yourself did you have to rip out and restructure? Are you still lost in some ways? I felt compassion completely overwhelm me. I felt fresh regrets surface with adjacent shame. It's an intense feeling, understanding something like this. It made so many emotional words, melt away.

Beyond understanding and watching weightless words and invisible expectations fade out– something remains. When the pulp is gone and meshed out, lifting the glass for the first time to look at and swirl it's pure contents; you can see it more clearly; your true feelings.

Everyone is afraid nothing will remain when they've slot in the strainer, that all these thoughts and urges weren't made to last… They're afraid that the love/care they have is truly only skin deep, that the shrines built in their minds are a shackle thrust upon both parties…

I see something there and it is genuinely true. I don't flaunt it, it doesn't have to be perceived. It's a feeling that understands the weight of true love and care,

I trust them.

Thank you so much. You're trusting me to make this right, you won't regret it. I've aged emotionally 20 years in over 20 days, and I continue to every day. I believe in science, in biology. Knowing why we do something makes my mind curb temptation. I'm not perfect, I still have raging bursts of emotion; 'I miss you', 'I wish this was fixed', 'I am so lonely '-- it's painful… But there's also hurt springing forth from this two way street. I have questions of my own, things that still upset me– but they can't be addressed until we're both in a comfortable, safe place. They can't be answered correctly until then.

Any response coming from survival mode is emotionally charged and fleeting, there will be no weight. I made people respond to me in this mindset so many times, and some have apologized for points they weren't lucid already, even though I put them there. They may understand it isn't healthy, and need time to process too.

I can apologize to these people until the cows come home, but the only thing that really matters is this;

I trust you. I want to honor your boundaries until the day I die. I can question but not test, it is not my privilege. My understanding of love and care has changed, and I know I harbor one or both in their authentic form for many. I care for your wishes to evoke change in my life, to right wrongs not just for your sake and to repent, but for my own well-being.

I feel it. I realized all this time, my actions here are a real display of self care and love for myself. The hand I've never been offered and longed for– is my own. I have the power to change everything, to be anything… And a feeling inside of me still longs to have true connections, healthy ones in any capacity. I know what this is, and I'm allowing it to keep my hearth lit and warm. It fuels compassion and further understanding, and slaps my hand away from temptation. There's no obligation or entitlement, no expectations. I'm shaking impatience out of myself like a maraca.

I eagerly await the days some feel safe enough to reach out, but I know it has to come from them. They don't owe me the chance to potentially re-wound them, so I'm making sure they see where I am to reassure that that risk's percentage can be minimized. I'm serious about all of this, I'd make a blood pact with Satan if I could. I want nothing but the best for them and pray for their continued health daily. Thank you for believing in me.

[viconic]

My favorite viconia dialogue is her talking with Jan the gnome. It's so cute don't talk to me.

Viconia: You're quite the entertainer, Jansen. 'Tis a shame you're so short, since your bent, sinister humors could sway my affections.

Jan: I'd not venture visiting your pleasures with the tool of another fellow, Viconia.

Viconia: Jan. While I would be tempted to let the situation play itself out, perhaps it is best if I warn you now.

Jan: Yes, my dusky little margarita? What warning would that be?

Viconia: You have a venomous spider on your neck. A lovely creature, known to cause an agonizing, bloodcurdling death within moments of injecting its nerve poison.

Jan: You know, this reminds me of the time Uncle Scratchy laid me flat with the handle of a horseman's flail. "Look behind you!" he says. "Why? What's behind me?" I say. "A Tiberian Dung Beetle!" he cries, looking frantic. So of course I scream in terror and look behind me... and lost a bag of the most scrumptious turnips ever to come out of Scornubel. Ma Jansen was furious, and the lump was more painful than six weeks with the Calishite itch.

Viconia: Oh, look. There it goes down the back of your shirt.

Jan: And then there was that time I took a drow at his word. "Bifflechips," says I, "you had better be telling the truth." And, of course, he swore up and down that he was. Needless to say, not four weeks later, I was stewing in the lower intestines of a giant cave wyrm without even so much as a torch or a sense of irony. I would have been a goner if gnomes weren't well known for causing severe bouts of intestinal gas.

Viconia: I wouldn't squirm about so much, you foolish jaluk. You're likely to anger it, and I have no spells that can counteract its particular poison.

Jan: Now, if I had a copper for every time— Eh, wait a second. I feel something... who's behind me? What *is* that back there?

Viconia: Did I not try to tell you? No doubt it is sinking its fangs into your gamey flesh as we speak.

Jan: What? But I—ouch! AHHHH! AHHHH, NOOOO! I'M TOO YOUNG A GNOME TO DIE! AHHHHH! HELP ME, SOMEONE! AN ANTIDOTE, AN ANTIDOTE! PAIN GIVES ME GAS! AHHHH!I DON"T WANT TO—eh? Wait a minute, that's a fly. A dead fly. You mean I ripped off my own shirt for nothing?

Viconia: Ha ha! Sometimes life has its little rewards. Even for the drow.

Jan: You're a cruel, cruel woman, Viconia. Garl help me, but I am so turned on right now.

Viconia: All right, now I'm leaving.

[rinpoo-blog]

You’re Where I Belong.

Stuart sat melancholily atop a grand New York City Highrise. He had flown up to the top hours ago and daydreamed about his future choices.

In the eight or nine years since the Littles adopted him, he refined himself through schooling and aviation, yet this unspoken uncertainty prevented him from action.

Now that it was time for him and George to apply for university and begin the next chapter of their young lives, Stuart found no motivation to do anything about it.

It wasn’t difficult to understand why, given that Margalo was the only thing ever on his mind.  This August, like every other, she was to leave with the rest of the birds, and every time, it felt like a piece of his soul was torn from him.

Their bond was different….  Special….  In ways that Stuart still struggled to understand.  True, by the time of her second or third return to stay with the Littles for the spring and summer, he had told her he loved her.

Her expression at the time was shocked, but her body language was accepting. A hug happened then, and tonight, in the dwindling heat, he could still feel its warmth.

A mouse with a canary girlfriend…. 

Was it absurd? 

Was it more absurd than a family of humans adopting a mouse?

Perhaps….  However, the drastic things that Stuart was contemplating these past months made those absurdities look downright standard normalcy.

“….”

As Stuart exhaled and felt the chill of the approaching fall blow over him, he knew it was time. His family knew it was time….

Sadly, Margalo didn’t know it was time….

The difficulty in bringing it up to her had driven a wedge between them this visit, and he inexplicably and unintentionally found himself distant from her.

He could tell it was hurting her, but he genuinely didn’t know how to get what was in his mind out.

Turning his gaze forward, he stared at the rhythmically blinking red lights atop the skyscrapers that alerted human planes to their presence. 

Glancing down, he saw the microscopic people going about their nightly lives.

“….”

Strange….  How this change in perspective made him feel like the giant one.  It made him realize that he had outgrown his fear of being too little and was ready….

Stuart stood up, about to turn to his plane, but frighteningly, his vision went completely dark.

!

!

!

Because of the sudden shift, he tried to get his bearings, but when he heard Margalo’s voice speak gently, he immediately calmed down.

“Guess who~!”

Her voice was playful, and Stuart could feel her gentle feathers across his face, blocking his vision.

Rather than be dour or distant, he decided that since she took the time to find him, he would return her playfulness.

“Hmm…  Let’s see…  Is it Snowball!?”

“Nope~!”  Margalo chuckled.

Stuart couldn’t help but smile and responded jokingly.  “Is it you, Mango?”

Margalo became playfully annoyed and sighed.  “Mango?  Really, Stuart?”

Now Stuart laughed and responded, “Well, you are yellow and sweet, so it is an easy mix-up….”

Margalo removed her wings, and when Stuart glanced at her, he saw her grinning.  After gazing into one another’s eyes, Margalo became sad and stared at the ground.

“I…  That’s the Stuart I have been looking for since I got back….”

Stuart only stared. Seeing how hurt she felt was agonizing, but he was still struggling to express himself.

Eventually, Margalo became angry and shook her head.  “Well, at least I got to see him before I leave tomorrow….  It is just a shame that he wasn’t here when I first came….”

Stuart placed his hands in his pockets and shook his head, and then Margalo became angrier and expressed her hurt directly.

“What’s going on, Stuart…?  Everyone is happy to see me but you….  I see you here; you speak to me, but it is as if you are gone…”

Stuart was still tight-lipped and fidgety, which made Margalo look defeated. “What did I do, Stuart? This is always my favorite time of year….”

It was at this point that Stuart became afraid and cut her off.  “You did nothing, Margalo!  Really!”

“Then what’s going on?”  Margalo said, relaxing her posture.

Stuart really only had two choices: tell the truth or lie.  After all the hurt he’d caused, he spoke openly for the first time.

“Margalo….  Look, I am….  Having trouble with you leaving….  I….  It is just so hard to do….”

“….”

Margalo’s heart felt like breaking, but she stood silently, allowing him to speak.

“Margalo….  I don’t want to sit here while you leave….  I want to migrate with you this year….”

Margalo’s eyes were wide and full of terror.  Of all the things she was expecting, this was not one of them.

“I… Stuart… I don’t know what to say….”  Margalo’s voice began meekly and then became stronger as she continued.

“I just….  I don’t know how you would….  I couldn’t carry you all the way there….”

Margalo glanced at his old plane and shook her head.  “We both know that won’t make it….”

Stuart understood her reasoning but spoke matter-of-factly about this.  “I…  I have been thinking about this for years now….  Every dollar at my part-time job I have earned has been put into going….”

Margalo was speechless. She could see how serious and difficult this was for him to do and ask. While it worried her deeply, the thought of having him all year almost made her explode from sudden excitement.

Before she could find words or Stuart could continue, she thrust herself forward and wrapped her wings around him.

“….”

Stuart wrapped his arms around her and spoke gently through slight tears.  “I….  I am sorry, Margalo, I never meant to hurt your feelings….  I just…”

Margalo only squeezed him and then spoke gently into his ear.  “I trust you, Stuart, if you want to come, you can come…  Well, so long as your family thinks it is a good idea….  You’d be leaving behind a lot.”

Stuart only spoke back as the two began to walk and turn slowly as if in an intimate dance. “It’s okay. My family knows I want to do it…. I feel I am ready to do it….”

Margalo pulled away while holding him with her wings and stared into his face.  “Tomorrow morning, then…  Shall we take off from your home?”

Stuart nodded. “Yeah, tomorrow morning… I will get packed, and then you can show me the way….”

When they broke apart from the hug, they realized how long they longingly awaited this, but trepidation kept seeping into their good feelings.

“….”

After staring for a bit, Margalo beamed and began to climb into his plane.

“C’mon Stuart, it’s been a while…  Let’s head back home and get you ready….”

Stuart only nodded and jumped in the cockpit.  As the engine started, he could feel her wings rubbing his shoulders from behind.

When the two took off, Stuart finally realized that this was it. It was yet another small adventure that would lead him to new horizons.

“….”

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

The next morning, Frederick, Eleanor, George, and Martha Little gathered to see their dear family member off. 

Everyone expected it, and despite the trip's dangers, they knew Stuart had prepared well in the few years since he began thinking about doing it.

Of course, George was hurt that the brother he was closest to was leaving and not joining him for college. Still, he wanted Stuart to find happiness, so he gave him money as a parting gift.

Elanore and Martha offered him delicious food for the trip, just the right size for himself and Margalo to enjoy if she wanted to.

When it came time for Fredrick to offer something, he only placed his hands in his pockets and gave Stuart something intangible: the family's love.

“Stuart, it warms my heart to see you ready to find your path in life….  While we will miss you dreadfully, we know you will return with Margalo this spring.  Please take care, and contact us every chance you get….”

Margalo sat perched on the side of the roof they stood on and watched while Stuart sniffled and responded.

“I love all you guys, thank you for everything….  Thank you for letting me do this….”

Fredrick laughed and shook his head.  “No, Stuart, we aren’t letting you do this, we are happy you are doing this….  You are following your heart and feel bigger than you ever have….”

With that, Stuart moved away, and after entering a hollowed-out, defunct air conditioning unit, a small engine could be heard humming.

Once the new plane emerged, it was clear to Margalo what Stuart meant by “prepare.”

It was more than just a toy plane, and it was apparent that Stuart had extensively modified it over the past few years.

It was bigger and held more cargo than the old one, and solar panels were attached at critical points to ensure extended and emergency power. The two seats featured a pullable plastic dome that kept out inclement weather if it was needed.

Once Stuart shut the engine off, he held his arm out and smiled at Margalo.  “Well, what do you think?”

Margalo was impressed and flew over to sit behind him. While this new plane was more expansive, she found she could still reach for him if she wanted.

“It’s incredible Stuart….  I didn’t realize you were….”  Margalo began.

As she paused, she realized how much Stuart thought about her, and it made her heart soar higher than her wings could ever take her.

“….”

Stuart looked back at her and was about to turn on the engine again but was stopped by Frederick.

“Stuart?”

“Yeah, Dad….”

Fredrick pulled something out of his pocket and dangled it above Stuart.

“Don’t forget this, now….”

Stuart’s eyes widened, and he quickly grabbed the small leather pouch above him. Then, he quickly pushed it down onto the floor, out of sight.

“Thanks….”

Stuart appeared anxious, and it made Margalo speak.

“What’s that Stuart?”

Stuart shook his head, glanced back, and answered.  “Oh, it is something essential for the trip….  Can’t forget it….”

Margalo nodded, understanding this new plane had many things she did not know about.  Once relaxed behind Stuart, there was only one thing left to say.

“Little hi, Little low~!”  Both Stuart and Margalo called from the plane.

“Little hey, Little ho~!”  The Little family called simultaneously to their special greeting.

“….”

With that, Stuart roared the engine to life, and within seconds, they were off sailing into the sky.

…

…

…

…

…

…

Margalo was impressed by the new plane. It was much quieter than the old one and seemed far more powerful.  Once they reached an altitude above the city, Margalo called out to Stuart.

“There!  That is the roof we usually meet on!”

Stuart looked, and it was easy to spot a congregation of birds gathering atop one of the roofs.  With precision, Stuart turned the plane and landed it with little effort.

Once the engine was cut off, the birds stared at Stuart as if he were an alien, but when Margalo jumped out, they all greeted her pleasantly.

“Heeyyy, Margalo~!”

“Margalo is here~!”

“Woo!!”

Margalo grinned and looked back at Stuart, who had climbed out for the greeting.

“Everyone,” Margalo began.  “This is Stuart. He will be joining us for the migration this season.”

When introduced, Stuart waved his fingers, a tad intimidated, and spoke.  “Uh, hey guys….”

The birds looked at each other and seemed doubtful.  “Uhm, Margalo?”

Margalo became defensive and shook her head. “You let me join? What’s wrong with Stuart?”

When she said that, a giant pigeon walked in front of the group and spoke bluntly: “Because he’s a mouse, he can’t come. He will slow us all down, and it’ll be miserable flying….”

The birds began chattering amongst themselves, but Margalo spoke loudly and clearly.

“Stuart is coming; if he is not allowed, I’m not going!”

The group looked at Stuart and his plane, and he could only offer a meek refutation of their skepticism.

“I….  I won’t be in the way, I swear….  Please, give me a chance….”

The birds chattered some more, and eventually, the giant pigeon grumbled.  “Fine, he can come, but he’s your problem, Margalo. If anything happens, we aren’t risking ourselves to help.”

“….”

With that, the birds readied the formation, and the pigeon barked at Stuart.  “Line up, and try to keep up!   It’s a long trip!”

Stuart merely nodded and responded.  “I know….  Thanks for letting me come….”

The pigeon ignored him and moved to the front of the organizing birds.  Margalo, on the other hand, spoke to Stuart lovingly.

“I’m sorry about that, Stuart….  Peppy can be a tad….”

Stuart merely waved his hand and didn’t let her finish.  “Don’t worry, Margalo, just lead the way, and I will follow…  Ok?”

Margalo was extremely worried but decided to trust him.  She took her place in the back of the formation so Stuart could easily see her, and he took to his own plane.

As the lift-off began, all the birds could do was get distracted by Stuart.  In a way, they admired he would do this, but in another way, they thought he was extremely foolish.

If that plane hit the ocean somehow….  There was no getting him to safety….

Stuart sat in the cockpit with the engine on, and Margalo was in front. After some tense waiting, Margalo gave a thumb-up motion with her remiges and put on her goggles.

As she took off, Stuart did also.  With quite a bit of delicate maneuvering, Stuart got into the formation with the birds and skillfully followed without an issue.

His flying was impressive, even to Margalo, who could tell he had practiced flying much of the year when she was away.

On their way out of the city, Stuart and Margalo eased up.  It was looking like this might be far easier than previously thought….

“….”

…

…

…

…

…

…

In a few hours, they were making way reasonably fast.  Stuart was doing well at keeping up with the group and was only motivated more every time he saw Margalo.

Even as the sun set, Stuart couldn’t help but take in the breathtaking sights that appeared before the evening.  The deep reds and golden hues that assaulted him were beautiful and felt like a lifelike natural painting.

Hours more came and went, and Stuart was somewhat tired; the flying schedule was unlike anything he’d done.  Fortunately, Margalo kept checking up on him as they flew.

It must not have been until midnight that the bird group slowed, and Stuart landed for some rest.  At first, it felt normal, but Stuart could hear Peppy complaining to Margalo about already having to stop.

Stuart felt terrible, but his feelings diminished when Margalo admitted she was exhausted. He couldn't be sure whether she was lying to Peppy or not, but he appreciated it.

“….”

The birds ate and hung out together, but Stuart stuck to his plane and pulled some food from storage.  Quietly, he watched the group while he ate, and it wasn’t until Margalo came to join him that he spoke to anyone.

“Sorry, Margalo, I guess it is way more difficult than I thought….”

Margalo only smiled sweetly and then responded while climbing into the passenger seat.  “Don’t worry about it, Stuart….  Peppy is being….  Well, he’s being difficult….”

Stuart watched Peppy grumpily speaking to other birds but couldn’t hear him from this distance.  Eventually, he looked at Margalo and asked the next logical question.

“I…  Why is he like that?  I just met him….”

Margalo fidgeted and then eventually sighed.  Stuart deserved to know the truth.

“It’s because he, well… he ‘likes’ me, Stuart….  He has tried to spend time with me every migration….”

“Oh….”  Stuart cast his gaze on the dashboard of his plane.

“Sorry….”

Margalo became angry and spoke directly.  “Sorry for what?  That is his problem, not yours….  I…  I love you, Stuart….  If it weren’t for you, I would still be trapped in my old life….”

When he heard that, Stuart felt strong and responded, “I love you too, Margalo... more than you can ever know….”

Margalo only laughed and touched his back with her remiges.  “I think I do know. You are a mouse migrating with a massive flock of mixed birds….”

Stuart had to chuckle at his predicament and relaxed in the cockpit.  “I….  am really sleepy after food….  I am going to rest, Margalo….”

Margalo also shut her eyes and breathed, “Then I will sleep behind you….  It is nice to….  Have you here with me….”

Stuart only mimicked the sentiment and shut his eyes.  It was everything he had dreamed of and more.

At least, for now….

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

At least five weeks passed and the group eventually found themselves in Florida along the Atlantic flyway. During this time of travel, Stuart was being run ragged, and Peppy was pushing for longer and longer travel times.

Eventually, Stuart realized most of the birds there were upset by his presence. Peppy endlessly blamed him for their slow flying, and they were convinced that Stuart was ruining the trip.

Margalo was unhappy about it, but nobody was confronting her or Stuart.  It was a simple vibe that she and Stuart could feel, and it didn’t let up.  Even as Peppy proposed they take a more dangerous route to make up for lost time.

Rather than circumnavigating the land masses, the group could fly straight south over the ocean. There would be no rest points, but it would shave much time off the trip if they made it through.

“….”

“We can’t do that, guys!  It is dangerous!”  Margalo protested loudly when the plan was introduced.

Peppy became fierce and rebuked her.  “Dangerous for who?  We have drug your little mouse this far. Tell him to go home if it isn’t safe for him!”

Margalo was about to begin arguing, but the other birds cut her out.

“Yeah, I am done with the mouse!”

“I just want to get there….”

“Margalo, we need to get a move on….”

“….”

“You see!?”  Peppy began.  “They are done with this nonsense….  Come with us, Margalo, send him home….  For his own safety….”

Margalo was speechless; she knew that Stuart might die, and she wanted that never to happen.  With the whole group against her, she considered genuinely asking Stuart to turn around.

 Unfortunately, Stuart spoke out of turn before she could.  “I know everyone, and I am sorry for the hold-up, but I know I can make it.”

“Stuart….”  Margalo began, but Peppy shouted her out.

“Very Good then!  We take the quick route over the ocean.  Let’s move fast!”

“….”

Margalo could only watch Stuart tiredly trek back to his plane.  At this point, she felt like she wanted to turn around with Stuart, but her hesitancy was too much to resist.

Stuart and Margalo readied to fly before dawn without words or an attempt to converse, uncertain of precisely where this bold move would lead them.

…

…

…

…

…

The group readied, and it took only minutes for them to take off.  Stuart struggled to keep his eyes open after the first hour of the trip.

It wasn’t until the sun came entirely up that the sky over the ocean was painted a deep red. 

It looked gorgeous, yet ominous.

Stuart sat mesmerized.  The only thing more beautiful to him than that sunrise was Margalo.

Pushing forward for hours more, the only thing that appeared besides the endless ocean was deep grey clouds that blanketed the sky.

Anxiety rose as it began to rain—slowly, then harshly. The waves below crashed and moved violently, mercilessly throwing anything unlucky enough to be caught in them.

Stuart liked the rain splashing on him, but soon, he used his hand to close the window hatch he had built.  It kept the rain out but at the cost of being able to hear anyone speak.

The turbulence became heavy, and some birds were so spooked that they turned around for safety. 

Margalo’s small size worked against her, as the winds made it challenging to stay on course.

Stuart’s plane was experiencing turbulence, and the rain was beating down on it so rough that he feared it would be damaged.

The larger and more skilled birds had flown on ahead without concern for him, and after moments of rough riding, it became apparent that he’d been left behind.

Barely able to see through the storm, Stuart anxiously kept his wits about him and decided to focus on his one genuine concern.  Carefully navigating the roughness, he approached a struggling Margalo.

She was flapping violently and was utterly winded.  The fierce winds buckled the plane and even tore some of the plane's solar panels off.

Glancing over, Margalo could see Stuart close by with the cockpit window up.  He waved his free hand for her to get in but quickly put it back on the steering as he nearly lost control.

Margalo flapped as hard as possible until she was even with the plane. Then, she flew towards the empty seat….

Unfortunately, she miscalculated the distance and missed.

!

She grabbed hold of the side with her wings so as not to fall, but she was rapidly losing her grip.

Stuart reached out at the last second and grabbed her blue scarf. Over the rain and wind, the only thing he could hear was Margalo screaming.

“Ahhh!  STUART!!”

The plane jolted, nearly knocking Margalo’s grip off, but Stuart pulled as hard as he could on her scarf.  His fear of losing her was so great that his adrenalin yanked her halfway into the seat before the scarf became undone.

Once unfurled, Stuart threw the scarf at his feat on top of the leather pouch and put both hands on the steering to stabilize the plane.

Margalo forced herself into the plane, sat safely on the seat, and began gasping. She could no longer see any of the flock she traveled with.

“….”

Stuart could barely see because of the rain, so he pulled closed the plastic cockpit covering.  Once it shut out some of the noise and all the rain, Margalo expressed extreme gratitude.

“Ah….  Stuart, I would have fallen if I didn’t have this shelter….  Thank you so much….”

Stuart heard snapping plastic on the plane and cried to Margalo, “HANG ON! THIS IS GOING TO BE A WILD RIDE!”

Before they knew it, they were flapping everywhere as Stuart fought with all his might to keep the plane in the air.

“You doing ok, Margalo!?”  Stuart cried out.

“Yeah!  I am fine, Stuart….  keep going!”

Stuart bucked around in the plane and kept it as level as possible.  The rain was so overwhelming that the plastic dome protecting him and Margalo was impossible to see out of.

“Rrrrr, COME ON!”  Stuart cried.

Margalo held his back with her wings and felt fortunate to have shelter.  This was way worse than she could have imagined, doubly so since Peppy meant what he had said earlier.

“STUART!!!”  Margalo cried as she felt parts of the plane breaking off.

Stuart kept focus and drove himself forward. There was no way out but through, and he hoped the plane would make it to the other end.

Lightning flashed, adding further fear to the small animals, and then roaring thunder boomed so loud that it made them jump.

Despite everything, Stuart managed to fly for a tense fifteen minutes, at least, until he heard more plastic snap and the plane lost altitude.

As Stuart realized what was happening, he cried to Margalo, “HANG ON!!”

Before Margalo knew it, they were flapping everywhere as Stuart fought with all his might to keep the plane in the air.

Sadly, it collided with the ocean water and was pushed to-and-fro by the waves.

“Are you ok, Margalo!?”  Stuart cried out when they crashed.

“Yeah!  I am fine, Stuart, but I can feel water seeping in. We need to get out of here!!”

Stuart could also feel it around his feet as the water began to sink the downed plane.  The plastic cover over the cockpit was already cracked from the crash, so Stuart forced it open to allow Margalo a chance to escape.

“GO!!”  He cried.

Margalo stood up in the rapidly sinking plane and was about to fly but stopped when Stuart dove underwater to search.

“STUART!!!  WHAT ARE YOU DOING!!!?  WE NEED TO GO!!!”

Stuart frantically looked everywhere but only pulled up Margalo’s blue scarf from the plane floor.  After he tossed it aside, he dove back under before Margalo could convince him not to.

With the plane almost entirely under now, Margalo knew it would be difficult to take off without a platform if she let it get under that far.

In her contemplation, she glanced about and was quick to realize that there was a shoreline not too far away from her.  It was barely visible, but she was sure it was there.

!

Taking to the air, Margalo struggled to look into the distance.  It seemed relatively close; she was sure she could make it if she tried.

“….”

She glanced down and saw Stuart resurface for precious oxygen, and to her surprise, he rapidly dived right back under.

Margalo realized she needed to snatch him the next time he came up. She couldn’t allow this to continue.

Bombing downwards, she flapped heavily to stay near the area Stuart was diving.  The next time she saw him burst up, it was clear that he had that leather pouch with him, but holding it made him unable to swim.

!

“STUART!!!  DROP THAT STUPID THING!!!”  Margalo cried out.

Stuart refused to let go, so Margalo grabbed his arms with both feet and pulled him from the water with every ounce of strength.

Up they went….   Margalo knew she couldn’t carry them forever, so she headed in the direction she thought the shore was blinded by rain. 

Her wings struggled heavily, and she felt the burning in them.  By this point, she wasn’t even looking; she was shutting her eyes and flapping, trying to get as far as she could before she would inevitably crash.

As she went a bit further, her wings gave out, and they fell from an indeterminant height.  “AHHHHHH!!!”

They were going to die. Margalo was sure of it…  She’d reached the end of her ability to weather the storm.

“….”

Margalo and Stuart crashed on something solid but surprisingly soft.

“….”

As they lay on the ground, Margalo sat up.  She saw that she and Stuart had landed in what appeared to be some home garden.

The plants and soft earth had cushioned them….

A glance to the left showed a traditional South American home.  Margalo had made it so far inland that they were safe.

“….”

In this quiet reprieve, as the rain softened, Margalo realized that Peppy and the other birds had abandoned her and Stuart.

…

…

…

The two sat there in shock while the storm cleared and the sun began to re-appear.  It was so difficult to believe they were still alive, and Stuart could only sit there and cradle his soaked leather pouch.

“….”

As Margalo stared at him, her pain got the better of her, and she tiredly forced herself up and over to Stuart, who sat there looking up at her.

“Stuart!  What were you DOING back there diving for that junk!!  You almost died!”

Stuart pushed himself to his shaky feet and spoke.  “I…  Look, I know Margalo….  I am….”

“Stuart, ENOUGH!  This has been a terrible disaster…!  I’ve lost everything!  All because I selfishly wanted to bring you along with me!”

Stuart hurt more and more as she began to sob.  She was overwhelmed by barely surviving that horrible event and the shock of being abandoned.

Eventually, Stuart could not bear it any longer, so rather than clinging to the leather pouch, he threw it on the ground at her feet.

“….”

“No Margalo….”  Stuart’s voice quivered with pain as he cried slightly.  “I am so sorry….  It was my fault….  All of it!  I should have just been content with seeing you when you migrated back ….  I just…  I couldn’t bear the thought of not being around you always….  I just….  I don’t know….”

Margalo stared at him as Stuart silently cried. She knew what he meant by his words because she felt the same way. 

This, though, this adventure wasn’t possible….   He’d lost everything….

Eventually, Stuart turned away and sighed. “Look, I am sorry, Margalo… You should finish your migration…. I can check in with that house. I will ask my family for help getting home….”

Margalo immediately understood that there was a chance he wouldn’t be able to speak to anybody there.  Still, in her flabbergasted state, she could only watch as he sauntered solemnly towards the home.

“….”

Her mind raced with confusion, and her heart wept.  She knew she couldn’t continue without him, no matter what, and his sudden actions stunned her.

She stared at the soaked leather pouch for the longest time, and as she did, her need to see what was inside grew.

“….”

Eventually, she used her foot to rip the button on it and opened the flap calmly.  In a moment more, she pulled the slender object hidden inside and let it begin to sparkle in the afternoon sunlight that had returned.

The golden hoop nearly blinded her as it shimmered, and the diamond that hung downward was instantly recognizable to her.

As her heartbeat pounded roughly against her chest, she realized it wasn’t a ring but one modified by a jeweler in the fashion of a parrot collar.

In disbelief, she moved her head down, and it easily slid onto her.  Clearly, it was fitted for her measurements….

“….”

Looking at Stuart near the house, she immediately took flight with a burst of adrenalin and tiredly pushed herself to get to him as quickly as possible.

…

…

…

…

Before Stuart knew it, he was outright stopped by Margalo landing in front of him wearing the jewelry.

Seeing her wear the modified ring made him freeze, but she only opened her wings for him as she stood there, blocking his way.

Soon, he thrust forward and was smothered by her bird hugs and held tighter than ever.

The two began to cry, and Stuart trembled.  “I…  I am sorry, Margalo….  I really wanted to make it, to prove that we could be…  Together….”

Margalo only used her free wing to pull his head up to face her.  “Stuart….  Whether you made it or not….  I don’t care….  We can find a way….  I….  I accept….”

Stuart brightened instantly and kissed her beak.  “Really?”

Margalo only nodded with a smile, and the two held each other quietly.

“….”

Eventually, Stuart and her broke the embrace, and Stuart rubbed the back of his head.

“Well, I don’t know what we will do now….  I lost my plane and food….”

Margalo smiled, and with a flap of her wings, she pulled him up in the air abruptly.

“Whoa!”

 Her profound excitement superseded any exhaustion, and after a quick rise, she dropped Stuart on what appeared to be a wooden plank.

After Margalo perched next to him, Stuart glanced about, finally realizing they were in front of a handmade birdhouse.

Stuart got the idea and spoke.  “I…  don’t you have more to fly?”

Margalo shrugged her wings and responded.  “Close enough….”

Without anything else needing to be said, the two entered the birdhouse and made themselves cozy on the hay stuffed within.

They snuggled and kissed for some time as they watched the golden rays of the sun’s last light disappear over the horizon.

“….”

As night fell and the two dreamily recovered and dried, Margalo could only ask the next logical question.

“So, since we decided to stay here, how will we migrate back without a plane to carry us?”

Stuart only smiled and looked over at her from his place beside her.

“Don’t worry, Margalo, I think I have an idea to make this easier for us….”

Margalo could only see Stuart’s smile, which was enough confirmation for her. Rather than say anything more, she cuddled close to him and looked down to admire her “engagement collar.”

“….”

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

When spring came again, Stuart and Margalo sat in a giant plush seat. Many people moved around them as they traveled down the aisles of the big airliner.

Stuart held onto her wing and spoke softly to avoid disturbing the other passengers.  “See, this makes it easy for both of us….”

Margalo beamed. She felt sad she wasn’t flying freely in the open spaces, but she was endlessly willing to accept this compromise if it meant Stuart could always be with her.

As the pilot reiterated the trip from Chile to New York on the speaker, Margalo and Stuart felt contented. 

This was their migration to share now; whatever happened from here on out, it would always occur together as husband and wife.

“I love you, Mrs. Little….”  Stuart bashfully said.

Margalo smiled and kissed him gently.  “I love you more, Mr. Little….”

“….”

[iamfloryan]

Don't be too good

Learn to express what you are feeling

without agonizing over it.

It is a life skill every bit as important as 

learning how to read. Without, 

dissatisfaction build up, arguments break out, 

and relationships can blow up like volcanoes.

Does it make you feel frustrated

to be the only one doing the work?

If so, don’t just swallow the feeling; speak up:

“It’s difficult for me to do it on my own.

Could you please help me out?”

Little by little, expressing your feelings will become easier.

Just on a plane

you are told to put

the emergency breathing mask on a child

only after you have put one on yourself, 

there is nothing selfish about looking after yourself first.

Only if you are happy will you able to 

make those around you happy.

When you care for yourself first,

the world will also find you worthy of care.

In the same way that when you’re in love and 

you want to spend time with only that person,

try spending time on yourself —

you deserve your care and attention.

Treat yourself to a delicious meal, 

a good book, a nice walk with a lovely view. 

As you would invest in yourself.

My dear friend:

Because there is some part of you

that is imperfect or broken, 

it can motivate you to work hard

to overcome it, and can ultimately bring you success in life.

It can also help you relate to others 

and become more compassionate.

Do not despair over what is imperfect in yourself.

Instead, look at your flaws with love.

It’s okay that you have flaws. 

How could our lives be as clean and white 

as a blank sheet of paper?

Life naturally takes a toll

on our bodies, our minds, and our relationships.

Rather than choosing a life in which you do nothing

for fear of making a mistake,

choose a life that improves through failure and pain.

In our hearts we all carry secrets

that we cannot easily share with others.

They can be about illness, money, sexuality, relationships or family.

They can evoke deep sense of 

inferiority, shame, anxiety, or guilt.

But because of the weight of the secrets

we become more humble and understanding.

Don’t judge people based on how they are appear,

as they may have difficulties that nobody can see.

Seeing on social media how your friends are enjoying themselves,

have you ever felt envious?

One of our common mistakes is 

to compare how we feel inside with how are friends appear outside.

We don’t know what is going on inside of our friends, 

but we are well aware of what is going on inside ourselves.

Your friends might be envying you based on your social media posts,

without knowing what is really going on in your life.

Have you ever felt a sense of inferiority 

because of a cousin who is doing better than you?

She may be smarter than you, attend a better school,

work at a better company. But remember that

none of us can know our lives will turn out in the end.

Though school and work might be measures of success, 

the older you get, the less important they will be.

You may appear unattractive

not because you have many unattractive qualities

but because you think you do  and look uncomfortable.

Even if you have unattractive qualities,

if you are confident and at ease with yourself, 

you won’t have such a problem.

Remember that the most attractive quality is your confidence.

It’s okay not to be ranked

first, second, or even third.

Compare yourself not with other,

but with the old you.

Like yourself for making an honest effort.

And continue to have faith in yourself.

If you keep letting criticism upset you,

then you will gradually wither,

and in the end you will not be able to do anything.

And that is exactly what your critics are hoping for.

Do not let those who criticize you determine your destiny.

Every time you hear from your critics, shout more loudly:

“No matter what you say, I won’t give up, 

Let’s see who is the right in the end.

“Why should you life be destroyed

by the easy criticism of those 

who do not know you or care about you?

—Seok-cheon Hong