#furnace making strange noises

[goheatingairplano]

(via GIPHY)

[ambrozjas]

hiiii could i request sfw sleeping w/ dallas or just relaxing w him in bed 😛

“can you, like, crank your body temperature lower? you’re like a fuckin’ furnace.” a thick new york accent hit your ears, an accent that could belong to someone no other than dallas winston. despite his snarky comments and jabs, he had you snug against his side with an arm wrapped around you and his head turned to the side, his one act of compliance. he knew you hated when he blew smoke in your face.

“i’m not a robot, dal.” you stated calmly, your eyes still closed as you didn’t feel him stiffen under you. if he really had a problem with it, he would’ve shoved you off a while ago.

he simply huffed. you hummed as it got quiet for a bit, the only noise radiating off of the small television in the front of your room as it played an old recording of ‘the andy griffith show’, which dallas only sat through because you liked it so much.

even though he had claimed to hate the show, it never failed to have him sat in front of the tv with his eyes glued to the screen. he claimed it was because, “there’s nothin’ to do ‘round here” but you knew dally. that was just a ruse, another way of accepting a part of you into his life slowly but surely, breaking down the walls he had so carefully placed after sylvia had penetrated them with her unfaithful behavior.

dallas always had an itch, an itch he could never scratch. he wasn’t sure what for or how this itch developed. all he knew was that he needed to scratch it. one way to look at it is; just like someone who couldn’t put sunscreen on their back, dallas could never reach this itch. no matter how much he smoked or stole or got thrown in the cooler, he could never scratch it.

dally could also never shut up.

“at least change this thing? i can’t stand watching—“

you groaned and flipped over out of his grasp, covering your ears and returning back to your fetal position as he chuckled. dallas liked making you tick. it was like a dog cocking its head at a strange noise, he watched you with intense eyes as he studied your facial expressions. dal always took mental notes, even if you didn’t think he did.

dallas leaned back against the assortment of pillows you had displayed on your bed, eyes still glued to you and a smile still evident on his face. maybe you could scratch this itch that dallas always craves to scratch, maybe you can complete the empty space that remained in him. maybe he’d actually give you a chance, he thought.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ stip because why do i always add these metaphors that don’t maje sense in my writng

kiss kiss ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒 ꒱

[shares-a-vest]

I feel like over the past week and a half, I have been any given one of the trio in this ficlet. So yeah, I'm projecting onto my blorbos. Enjoy!

Eddie can sense Steve isn't in bed when he blinks awake. It's still dark out and the apartment is freezing. Well, Eddie is freezing without the furnace-like warmth of his boyfriend curled into his side.

He looks over at Steve's nightstand to find that the alarm clock only reads a little past 3am and that's when he begins to panic. It's nowhere near time for Steve's early morning run, nor is it a reasonable enough hour that he might be pottering about in the living room.

So, Eddie hops out of bed and is immediately hit by the winter chill of the two-bed apartment he and Steve share with Robin.

He shivers as he walks into the hallway, where he finds the apartment still shrouded in an icy darkness. He chances a peek into Robin's room, where he finds his housemate sound asleep and snoring, lying in the middle of her bed and certainly without the company of her best friend.

Steve has nightmares – hell, the three of them do. But Steve usually ends up with Robin if the situation arises.

Eddie continues on, now tucking his hands under his armpits, hugging himself as he dips his chin into the loosened neck-hole of his oversized sweater – a maroon-coloured former Harrington Classic.

He tiptoes along so as not to disturb Robin, almost sliding his socks along the floorboards as he makes his way into the living area, his path illuminated by outside street lamps.

Eddie tsks under his breath when he comes across Steve, curled in on himself as he lays soundly asleep on the couch, his nail bat close by on the floor.

Steve hums, or more shivers – visibly freezing as he sleeps in nothing more than an old pair of gym shorts whose material Eddie suspects might evaporate the next time they find themselves in one of the building's shoddy washing machines.

He sits by his boyfriend's side and places a hand on Steve's shoulder, desperate to stir him enough to coax him back to bed, but not spook him entirely.

"Sweetheart," he stage-whispers as Steve grumbles.

"Hmm?" he murmurs before startling awake. His eyes snap to attention and he looks up at Eddie as he speaks full volume, his voice groggy, "I heard a noise."

Steve rubs at his arms, the iciness of their surroundings hitting him now that he is (at least, partially) conscious.

"Love, I need you to come back to bed, it's freezing out here."

"But, I heard a noise," Steve whines, sitting up now.

Eddie can't help it, he presses his palm to Steve's cheek and his heart skips a beat at just how cold he feels.

"Shit," he curses and loops his arm around Steve's middle, commanding, "Bed, now."

Steve grumbles, but complies, lazily reaching for his bat before they both stand up as one. Eddie takes his boyfriend's weight, the bat dragging along by Steve's side as they shuffle back towards their bedroom.

Steve shivers and continues mumbling something about the noise he heard. And Eddie can't tell if it was an actual noise or something heard in that strange (and admittedly, scary) space between wake and sleep. Whatever it is, Steve seems both frightened and stubborn all in one.

He shudders again and Eddie can't bring himself to bite his tongue any longer.

"Baby, why aren't you wearing a shirt?"

Typically, he'd be all over Steve in such a state of undress – with all that hair and muscle. But right now, his arms are peppered with goosebumps and his eyes are starting to droop with every step.

"Got hot before," Steve explains, weary.

They pass by Robin's bedroom and the door opens fully, revealing a duvet-covered mass and in the darkness, Eddie can still spot a frown.

"What's going on?" she asks, voice like gravel but nonetheless worried.

"I heard a noise, Robbie."

His tone pains Eddie from his heart down to his gut and the same must happen to Robin too because, in an instant, she retreats to her room in haste.

Eddie continues on to his and Steve's bedroom and gently lowers Steve onto the edge of the bed before he takes the baseball bat. He makes a show of rolling it back under the bed but Steve isn't watching. Instead, his boyfriend is looking over at Robin, who has reappeared, cradling a handful of items and hunching her shoulders in a feeble attempt to keep some kind of hold on her blanket.

Eddie flicks on the bedside lamp and crosses her as he heads off in search of a sweater. He rifles through a drawer and listens on to what sounds like Robin crowding the nightstand with her stuff before she swishes about the excess bedding. Steve whines and Eddie turns back to find Robin with her arm around her best friend.

"Alright," Eddie says, holding out a navy sweater, "Time for bed."

He gestures for Steve to lift his arms up and he complies. It takes a moment, but Eddie wrestles the near-dead weight of Steve into a cozy sweater before he lifts his legs to help him into bed.

"In the middle, Dingus," Robin instructs, "And don't snore."

"How about, you don't fart," Steve quips, shuffling into the middle nonetheless.

There's a bitchy lilt to Steve's voice that has Eddie relaxing a little. He rolls his eyes, thinking the pair burrowing under the covers will probably bicker on. But honestly, he'd prefer that to the balled-up, half-naked, scared Steve he found out in the living room.

Eddie exchanges a glance with Robin before she reaches for the nightstand and grabs a hot water bottle, her Walkman, a notepad and a pencil.

"What the hell are you doing?" Eddie grouses, rounding his side of the bed – thankful to slip back under the covers.

But he pauses mid-way, distracted now as Robin juggles with her wears.

"I need my things," she grumbles as she places the hot water bottle on her stomach and dry sobs, "Oh no, it has gone cold!"

Steve rolls his eyes in Robin's direction, more sleepily than annoyed.

"Eddie, go get some hot water," he mumble-commands, turning to snuggle in close to his best friend.

"What?"

"Eddie..."

"Fine," he reaches for the hot water bottle and snatches it from Robin's grasp.

Eddie thinks he must love his boyfriend a lot, considering how he freezes his ass off to a doubled-over, teeth-chattering level in the several minutes it takes for their stupid kettle to warm up. And by the time he gets back to the bedroom, Robin is quietly snoring with Steve tucked into her side, the two of them forming a single hair-filled mass of platonic soulmatedness.

Eddie tucks the hot water bottle under Robin's covers as best he can and resumes his spot, giggling at the thought of the inevitable drool that is going to make its way into Steve's hair at some point. He snuggles in behind Steve, forming a cocoon around him and his boyfriend snuffles at the touch.

"It's okay, Stevie," he says, kissing him just behind the ear, "Get some sleep. Don't think about the noise. You're safe here with me and Rob."

"What about my ba –"

"It's back under the bed, sweetheart," Steve hums at that, relaxing against him, "We'll figure out the noise in the morning, I promise."

"'Kay," Steve breathes more than speaks as sleep overcomes him, "Love... you."

"I won't let anything hurt you, Steve," Eddie says, hugging him tight.

[god-o-bees]

Bloodsucker

Vampire Nikto

Happy Halloween!!!

Nikto x Reader

Gender neutral, Reader's bits are not specified.

Warning for NonCon.

Two weeks in a safe house in rural Siberia didn't seem so bad on paper. You had all the supplies you could need, a nice remote location away from any danger, and a lovely view of a small lake to wake up to every morning.

The cabin was cozy, clearly built for only one guest at a time. It was heated with wood burning furnace, which you kept fueled with firewood someone had helpfully collected beforehand. There was canned food and medical supplies in the cabinets, and even some old fishing gear in storage, next to all the assault rifles and packs of ammunition. The radio dish only needed occasional cleaning to keep working, and you only received signal every now and then. You didn't mind the silence, though. In fact, this short trip might even be a peaceful break from your routine back at base.

Within the first few days you could tell something was wrong. You woke up cold, no matter how many blankets you added to your bed and no matter how many logs you added to the furnace. You started to feel dizzy too, often having to pause what you were doing to sit down and have a few cups of water. You probably didn't look so healthy either, but there weren't any mirrors in the cabin, so you had no idea.

You began to have strange dreams- cold hands on your thighs, on your waist, up to your neck- whispers in your ears and nails digging into your flesh.

"Beautiful... all alone..."

You toss and turn in your sleep as the sensations start to feel too real.

"We are so hungry... and you have so much to give."

A sharp painful sting plunges into your neck, and you wake up the next morning sore and tired.

That day, you look for some painkillers in the cabinet to no avail.

The next nights aren't much better.

"Sweet thing... just a bit more..." The voice is louder this time, and you can detect a Russian accent in his words.

This time the other side of your neck is punctured- bitten, he's biting you. You can feel his warm breath on your neck as he sinks his teeth deeper. The ache turns from ice cold to red hot, and you groan and protest as your body gets weaker and weaker.

"Don't struggle..."

A hand travels down your chest, past your stomach, to your inner thigh-

You wake up in a cold sweat. It seems that you aren't just sick, you're also pent up.

That evening, after completing all your daily tasks, eating your favorite canned soup from the small collection in the kitchen, adding a few more logs to the fire and getting into bed, you decide to ease some of the tension from last night.

The only light in the room is from the oil lamp on the bedside table, bathing the space in a soft orange glow- it's soothing, you think.

When's the last time you even did this? Too long, apparently, because your hands are clumsy and awkward as they feel up your body.

You're supposed to imagine someone else, right? You didn't seem to have any trouble with it last night- the deep, gravelly voice of an you're sure you've never met saying strange things, touching you with cold hands, and leaving in a flash.

You close your eyes, letting instinct control your motions. Slow rubbing, massaging, and stroking, up and down, like waves crashing on a beach. It's not as good as you had hoped, but it's something.

"Fuck..."

A thumping sound jolts you from your short lived moment of pleasure.

It's not the noise a fox or squirrel would make. It was a loud bang against the front wall of the cabin- a small bear, maybe?

You quickly retrieve your pants and a tank top and grab a loaded rifle from the storage unit before readying yourself to open the door.

The instant you do, and rush of cold air momentarily distracts you- just enough time for a pair of strong arms to reach from behind and grapple you, squeezing the air from your lungs. The gun falls to the floor with a clatter as the door swiftly shuts closed.

"Our little soldier... you have no idea how much you tease us..." He growls under his breath.

The voice. The voice from your dreams. He was real.

He loosens his grip on your ribcage slightly, letting you breathe again.

"Now, let us finish what you started."

With inhuman ease, he carries you to the bed and pins you down. You finally get to see the man haunting your dreams, the man who's been watching you for who knows how long.

His face is scarred and disfigured, cuts and chemical burns painting his skin. His black hair is patchy is some places- more scar tissue, you notice- and is cut short everywhere else. His eyes are beautiful, a cold crystal blue that freezes you in place.

He wears a large black coat, making him look bigger than he actually is- and he's still very big.

He unbuttons it, letting it fall to the ground. His muscles stretch the fabric of his white dress shirt. He looks like he just came back from a dinner party.

"You must be so confused. You are wondering who we are, why we have been watching you, yes?" He caresses your cheek with his thumb as he speaks in an ineffective attempt to soothe you, especially considering the permanent scowl carved into his face.

"You were our dinner for the last few nights. You have the most delicious blood, you know that? It's addictive." He lifts your wrist up to his mouth and kisses it.

You struggle against him, but he keeps you pinned to the mattress like an insect, small and pitiful compared to him.

"You look so beautiful while you slept... I had to know if you were delicious in other places as well."

His tongue pokes out from between two long canines to lick over your veins. The teeth from your nightmares.

"What- what are you?" Your voice is shakier than you expected, betraying how utterly terrified you are.

"Your lover," He responds simply, and bites down onto your wrist.

You cry out in pain as he laps up the blood, his lips slowly stained with red as he devours his meal.

You try to fight back, but his strength combined with the fatigue of the last few nights had you collapsing back onto the bed.

After seemingly having his fill, he lets go of your wrist and begins to slip off his own pants.

"You are going to love this, малыш... you will be mine, I will take care of you- you will be my little pet, never leaving my side." He yanks your pants down next, groping at your tender flesh with greedy hands.

He bends down to leave hickeys up and down your neck as his fingers work to gather up a mixture of blood and spit to lube your hole, but it's not very effective. Despite that, he still spreads your legs and positions himself between them, giving you a glimpse of his cock.

God, what a sight it is. It's got plenty of length to it, but what's more impressive is it's girth. Could you even fit that? It's not as if he's giving you much of a choice. He's already wetting his head with precum and nudging it against your tight opening.

You groan as it stretches you, bullying it's way into your gut. The pain has you seeing stars and desperately clawing at his skin.

"Relax- relax, you can take me." He moves his lips from your neck to your chest, nipping at your skin with a fierce hunger.

A short whine escapes you when he bottoms out, sinking himself inside you like he was made to be there.

"Ah- there, look. You fit me so nicely." He whispers into your ear. "I will try to be gentle for you. You're such a sweet thing, after all." You can only moan softly in response.

He grunts when he starts to pull out, his pulsating length rubbing against every inch of your walls, before thrusting back in.

"Nng- fuck, ah-!" You can't form other words, too lost in how bad it hurts and how good it's starting to feel.

It's sickening how lovingly he cradles you, whispering praise and promises in your ear. He said he'd be gentle, and you can tell he's barely holding back. Every thrust is just a bit too calculated, every movement is restrained to make sure you don't break.

Your hands find the collar of his shirt and tug him down to meet you.

"Please- more- I can take it, please-" You gasp into his chest. His grip on you gets tighter, like he's seconds away from giving in.

"You think you can handle it? You are so fragiIe compared to me, I don't want you breaking." He growls. You nod vigorously, the only thing you can focus on is the feeling of him inside you, reaching places no one else has been to, making you feel things you've never felt before.

He pounds into you hard, like he was built to slam you onto his cock, like he needed it to live. You, on the other hand, almost regret asking for more. Your body just wasn't made to take something so thick, and you weren't given enough time to adjust. It's so mind-numbingly good, though, so euphoric, you don't even mind the ache.

You don't even realize you're crying until he starts licking up your tears, back to cooing and comforting you as he picks up the pace. You can feel the tense coil of pleasure in your core tighten, and evidently he feels it too.

"So good- release onto me, it's alright. My sweet little thing, so happy on my cock-" He groans into your ear, and suddenly his hands have started stroking right there, and he's pounding into your sweet spot, harder, harder-

You whimper pitifully as you orgasm, and your whole body is shaking in his grasp. He's still going, desperately thrusting into you, all speech lost to the animalistic frenzy of the moment. His teeth penetrate your skin one more time, and as you feel his hips stutter and a warmth shoot deep inside your body, you also feel a tingling from the fresher wound. Before you can even think, your vision goes black and you lose consciousness.

○~○♡○~○♡○~○♡○~○

His little soldier had cum so hard they passed out. It was adorable, everything about them was, really. Nikto felt like the luckiest man alive- well, undead. As he bundled you up in his coat, ready to whisk you back to his manor, he couldn't help but stare at your peaceful face. He couldn't wait to bring you home... his little pet indeed.

Hey! This was my first time writing an actual sex scene. Hope it was good!

Masterlist

[kindasleepywriter]

An Unexpected Visit (Cal Kestis x Mechanic!Reader)

Summary: You find a little metal friend in your lonely workshop on Koboh and you have no idea where he came from. The answer to that question brings you more hope than you thought it would.

Warnings: Small blood mention.

Words: 3.8k

Note: Thought I'd post a little something while I work on the next few chapter of BoP! Pretty sure this is gender neutral, but if im wrong don't hesitate to point it out!!

Koboh was a hot planet to live on even on its coldest days. There was no such thing as frost here, and snow was out of the question. The native population of the planet was used to it, buildings designed to keep out the sweltering air and clothes made of the thinnest materials.

You, however, hated it.

You’d been warned the planet was warm, but no one had quite mentioned how high the temperature really was. You regretted trusting the Ihi Tib that had brought you here more than anything, but you’d used up all your credits on that trip and there was no way in hell to make that money again to leave, not while working here.

You longed for Habo, the little planet you’d decided against in favor of this one. No raiders, no empire soldiers, just nature and its shy inhabitants. No droids either, but there wasn’t any here either, so you didn’t care. Sometimes, you dreamt of reaching its lush forests and mountains and feeling cold drops of rain on your skin.

The metal roofing of your shop did you no good either, heat waves often visible above it. Its only room felt like a furnace even at the best of times, and you weren’t a stranger to the feeling of sweat-soaked clothes sticking to you uncomfortably anymore.

You tinkered with a metal detector that some prospector had brought to you, taking the opportunity of the night’s barely detectable coolness to work on a project. Apparently, it had stopped functioning properly after it’d been dropped into a chasm. By the looks of it, you were surprised it even was in one piece. Well, mostly in one piece. Maybe the revenue you’d make from this might be able to pay for new boot soles, yours having almost completely disintegrated because of the burning sand that covered the entire region.

The only sound in your workshop was the harsh grating of your screwdriver against the detector’s metal, as you tried to pry open its chassis. The thing just wouldn’t budge, and you considered whether the boots were even worth it.

A whistling sound startled you, the old screwdriver slipping and taking a chunk out of your palm. You swore and tugged a rare oil-free cloth from the toolbox beside you, hitting your head on your work lamp in the process and swearing again. You pressed the cloth against the wound to stop the bleeding and looked towards the open room to determine where the whistling had come from. The door to the shop was locked, you’d triple-checked it while closing. Was this one of the raider lackeys trying to draw you outside again? You’d fallen for it exactly once and promptly learned not to investigate strange noises you might hear outside, but this sounded like a mechanical whistle, not a breathing being.

The strange whistling sounded again, this time from behind you. You spun on your heels, tied the cloth around your hand, and reached for the rusty rebar you kept by your workstation. Nothing seemed amiss at first glance. Had you imagined the sound? Maybe the heat was getting to you, you hadn’t refilled your water canister since this morning. Dehydration hallucinations were rare for you, but you’d still had your fair share, especially when you’d just arrived to Koboh. Getting used to this planet had been a challenge.

Suddenly a flash of red and white crossed the room, hiding behind a wooden bin you used to store your own unfinished projects. The whistle came again, followed by a few beeps. A droid, you realized. He’d been speaking binary! You’d hardly recognized it, not having heard it since your arrival. Lots of droids, the Ihi Tib had assured you, the bastard.

“Hey little buddy, can I help you?” you called, slightly lowering the rebar but still holding it tightly with your free hand. A series of beeps followed in response. It was mostly unintelligible, but you could make out the meaning of some of it.

“Yeah, I’m the mechanic here, do you need something fixed?”

A scared whistle. You crouched, putting down the rebar at reaching distance from your hands.

“I’ve let go of the iron, I won’t hurt you as long as you don’t hurt me, deal?”

You received no response, but the droid tentatively stepped out from its hideout. It was a cute one, you thought, a little flat head and cubical body supported by its two lanky legs. You could see his eyes focusing and zooming on you, no doubt examining you for any sign of aggression. You raised your hands as a peace gesture, and he stepped closer. He emitted a green light from his position. You laughed at the sudden scan but didn’t move.

From up close, you could see the damage he carried. The side of his left leg was blackened as if burnt, and its small body had a gaping hole that revealed his inner components. No wonder he’d been scared, one more hit and he’d be fried. He looked mostly intact on the inside, but you’d need him in your hands to determine if that was the case. You went to speak but got cut off by the loud noise of your door slamming shut behind you.

“Beedee, I told you to wait while I left to find a spare-”

You squealed at the man’s voice, grabbing the piece of rebar again, wincing as it rubbed against your clothed palm, and jumped to your feet.

A man stood at the entrance of your shop, only a few feet from you. You shakily held up the rebar between the two of you as a threat, the droid incoherently beeping behind you and hitting you with his little leg. You ignored him, and the intruder raised his hands, showing you that they were empty. You could see a metal baton at his side and a pistol strapped to his thigh, but he wasn’t reaching for them despite the threat of your rebar.

“Whoa, easy,” he exclaimed rapidly, “I’m not here to attack you!”

“What do you want?” you called, “Shop’s closed at this hour.” It was fairly late in the night, and not many people were still up at this time apart from you. No one with good intentions, at least.

He took a less defensive stance, increasingly unimpressed at your choice of weapon, or your unsteady hold of it. “My name’s Cal, I’m just here for beedee.” He gestured to the droid. “Come on buddy, we’ve got to get back to Greez.”

The cantina’s owner?

“How do you know Greez?” you asked with narrowed eyes. You’d never seen this man, and he’d never been around here. News spread fast in a village this small, you would’ve heard about it in less than a day. The cantina sometimes welcomed suspicious or dangerous individuals, and you wondered if this new guy was one of them.

“It’s a… long story. I’m just visiting. Beedee, let’s go.”

You examined the man closer, as he was clearly only interested in the droid. Now that the adrenaline had mostly run its course, your mind pointed out how attractive the man was. Sure, his armor-looking leather garments looked like they had seen better days, but it was hard to ignore his soft-swept hair, scatter of freckles and sharp jawline that his stubble didn’t quite manage to hide, not to mention his lean yet muscled build.

The droid, beedee, didn’t make a move to leave. Instead, he pushed into your leg again and emitted a series of noises you couldn’t understand.

“Is he always this unclear or is my binary just rusty?” you asked the man hesitantly, keeping the rebar in hand and taking a few steps back to put space in between the two of you.

“He got shot in the middle of a fight, his vocabulator got damaged,” he said. Your grip on the metal tightened. A fight? “I was going to fly to a relay point to find him a new one, but this guy,” he shot a reproachful look at the droid, “Won’t stay put long enough for me to go.”

The droid continued his monologue. The only word you could make out was ‘Mechanic’.

“I’m a mechanic, beedee, is that why you came to see me?”

He near-violently nodded his head.

“I’m sorry he disturbed you, like I said, we need the new component to fix it.” Cal said, shrugging.

You crouched and took a closer look. You could view the injured piece now, its main area intact but its outer edge clearly burnt out. You shook your head. “You don’t need a new one, actually.”

Cal looked at you like you’d grown a third head. “Have you seen the chip? That thing is as good as dead.”

“Not if you reroute the circuit towards his internal commlink instead.”

He blinked. “You’ve worked on droids before?” he asked cautiously.

You nodded. “It’s what I trained for as a teen on my home planet, but I had the great luck of finding a dishonest pilot who promised me there were a lot of droids here.” You gestured to your near empty workshop, embarrassed. “As you can see, not quite the reality of the area. The only ones here are those the raiders keep, and I’ve made it quite clear to them on multiple occasions that they could shove it. Being on their bad side isn’t the greatest, but at least I’m not helping them loot and kill people. Used to work on ships too and loved that, but those are also lacking here.”

He looked at you as if evaluating your body language. You weren’t exactly hard to read; you wore your emotions quite visibly. “Why haven’t you left?” he asked.

“A droid mechanic on a droid-less planet doesn’t exactly have the revenue to jump on a hyperspace voyage. Maybe in a couple years, but at this rate the raiders will have found any stash of money I could keep. Anyways! what I’m trying to say is I can fix beedee if you want.” The droid beeped approvingly from where he stood, jumping up and down in triumph.

Cal seemed to weigh the risks. You didn’t blame him, some unknown mechanic on a near empty outer rim planet didn’t exactly inspire confidence, but you knew you could make the repairs easily.

“Alright,” he said defeatedly, “but if a single electrical filament is damaged, I’ll know, and you won’t get a cent.”

You shrugged, his threat not scaring you. The droid already had enough injuries as is, you weren’t planning on adding to them.

Beedee jumped up to the worktable you’d been working at earlier and you pushed aside the metal detector with a wince. The movement pulled on your palm painfully. The droid didn’t miss your reaction and pushed on your injured hand with a foot.

“Just a cut, little guy, nothing to worry about.” You said, perhaps unconvincingly. The screwdriver you’d used was a bit rusty, and you knew you should get a bacta patch to keep an infection from spreading, but you couldn’t afford one. You’d wash it out with water later and hope for the best.

The droid didn’t miss a beat at words and a little vial was suddenly flung up in the air. You didn’t manage to catch it, not having the reaction time you might have with more rest and water in you, but a calloused hand caught it before it could hit the ground. Cal stood next to you, offering the tube in an open hand

“A stim?” you exclaimed, picking it up and examining it, “I haven’t seen one of those in years, they cost a fortune.” You glanced towards Cal.  “I’m not sure the cut warrants using one.” you added.

The man just folded his arms and leaned against the table. “If beedee says you need one, I wouldn’t argue, or else you’ll be arguing with him all night.” he said.

You mumbled a soft thank you as you injected the stim, your hands already feeling much better after only a few seconds. You took off the cloth and despite the dark red that coated your hand, the cut had all but disappeared, leaving only a thin pink line behind. You scrubbed the dry blood off as best you could and turned towards the droid again.

He sat in front of you, presenting his exposed wiring. You picked up your smallest welder and started working, self-conscious of your beat-up tools. You could feel Cal leaning in with each detailed movement you made, unquestionably watching the process to learn how to do it himself. You worked as diligently as you could despite your focus trailing occasionally to the man that held close to your side. The slight reprieve the night air provided seemed gone, his warmth seeping into your skin.

It wasn’t a complicated job, you just needed to reroute the processor to the commlink to translate the droid’s processes into clear binary code to then bypass the burnt translator located on the edge of the vocabulator. It was a trick that was specific to this type of vocabulator though, so it wasn’t a well-known process.

You finished with the rerouting, satisfied by the clear binary beedee could now emit as he properly introduced himself to you. And idea shot through you and you slipped out from Cal’s side to reach for your spare parts bin. You rummaged through it for a moment, the droid sending you a questioning whistle.

“Wait a minute! I know I’ve got it somewhere here…” you grumbled. “Ah-ah! Here it is.”

You held out a grey piece of thin durasteel as you sauntered back to the waiting duo, grabbing your heat gun along the way. “I think I can give you a temporary fix for your casing, let me just… There! It doesn’t match your colors, but it should do the trick.” You slid a newly shaped metal plate over the spot where the casing had melted away, grinning at its sturdiness. “This won’t fix it forever; I’d need a little more time to make an entirely new one and to make it the right color, but this should keep your components safe for a while!”

BD-1, as you now knew him, spun around in circles as he tried to check out his new part. You took out a small mirror from a drawer and held it up to him so he could see. He let out a string of excited beeps and whistles, repeatedly asking Cal to look at his ‘cool looking patch’. You glanced to the man on your side and discovered him watching you intently with a small smile. You felt your cheeks heating under his stare and scuttled back a few steps.

“Uhm, I hope this all works out until you’re able to find new parts, you guys! I could get started on a new custom permanent case too, so beedee doesn’t lose his usual flair.” BD-1 whistled in approval. “Shouldn’t take me more than a few days, maybe 5 at most, if you’re interested.”

Cal nodded, his intense gaze not faltering. “I think that’d be perfect. How much for today’s work?”

“Oh no, consider it as a repayment for that stim and for the opportunity to work on a droid again. Honestly, I had forgotten how much more interesting it is than working on the prospectors’ tools. As for the pickup, if I’m not here when you come back to get it, that means I’ve gone out to trade for parts. I’ll leave the finished casing in this drawer here,” you pointed to the right one, “and you seem to know how to get past the locks. Just close it back up when you leave!”

He laughed at the remark and thanked you for your work on BD-1. The droid gave you a sharp farewell whistle despite its clear disappointment at having to leave already. He climbed onto Cal’s back as the man moved toward your shop’s door.

“Hey,” you called, “if you come around this corner of the galaxy again after picking up beedee’s casing, don’t hesitate to swing by! It’s always nice seeing someone new.”

He turned on his feet, walking backwards for a few steps. “I have a feeling we’ll see each other again, don’t worry.” He winked at you, leaving you at a loss for words, and turned back to walk through the door.

After you calmed your elevated heartbeat, you locked up after him, deciding the two unexpected guests were enough for one night. You leaned back against the door and sighed. Maybe you should’ve accepted the money. Cal seemed like a nice guy, but Koboh was getting harder every day. Habo was still on your mind, but you’d settle for anything other than this damn planet. Kriff, you’d even be willing to join a crew of wandering space pirates if that meant you actually got to do something other than retrieve and fix the same old tools over and over again. Maybe one day luck would favor you, you thought, or maybe it just wasn’t meant to be.

-- 9 days later ---

The walk back from trading was always exhausting. The prospectors that held the best materials were currently residing on a high cliff that hid a cave’s opening. Getting up there was arduous, but if you left early enough it was manageable despite the climbing you had to do. By the time you made the trek back, however, there was no escaping the sun’s rays, and the only thing keeping your hands from the burning rocks as you scaled down the cliff was an almost ruined pair of leather gloves. They wouldn’t last another climb, you thought, and neither would your boots.

You’d have to find something to barter with the one villager who made most of the prospectors’ equipment. You didn’t even have money for food this week, but you’d make do, like you always did. Maybe you’d go back to the cantina tonight to offer maintenance on Greez’s bartender droid. His cantina was apparently bringing in more customers this week, so maybe you could find some other work there too.

You were also looking forward to hearing more of the village gossip. You’d heard rumors of a Jedi taking down raiders all over the region when you’d gone for a drink the night before but given that the source of that information was Turgle, you were far from convinced. A Jedi would be hunted down in a minute by the Empire, especially if they used their famed weapon and left witnesses. The fisherman you sometimes saw hanging around the streams, Skoova, had however confirmed that there was indeed a newcomer hunting down raiders for sport.

He hadn’t been very talkative, only describing him as a short-haired man of average height that fought in a poncho. You didn’t know how you felt about someone wearing a poncho on a desert planet, though you did find humor at the idea of the raiders getting their ass kicked by some new guy in a raincoat. Either way, if there was a chance that this not-a-Jedi-even-though-Turgle-says-he-is guy had arrived here by ship, you wanted to find out more no matter his unusual taste in clothing.

You entered your workshop after the long walk back from the prospectors, bracing for the intolerable heat of your metal cage. You stored what little you’d brought back in its rightful place and dragged your feet to your worktable, ready to start working on another tool a prospector had given you to fix. You remembered distantly that Cal still hadn’t swung by to pick up BD-1’s new case.

You peeked inside the drawer and found it empty of the custom case. There were a few credits in there, thankfully enough to cover the material you’d used for the case, plus a couple more. Despite the much-needed money, you couldn’t help but feel disappointed. Of course, the one day you left your workshop had to be the one when he decided to come here. You sighed and pushed the drawer away, rubbing your eyes with your palms, hoping (and doubting) that he would visit again. You didn’t even know what region of Koboh he was from, you didn’t recognize his accent at all.

A glimpse of white caught your eye before the drawer shut completely. You reached towards the unknown object and found a folded note that you were sure hadn’t been in therebefore you left. You opened it and didn’t immediately recognize the handwriting.

-

Thank you for the case, BD-1 is practically begging for a couple more designs (to match my ‘rizz’ - I have no idea what that means. He convinced me to wear an old grey poncho I had just so we matched and I fear giving in to the different colored cases will be the start of a slippery slope, but how could I say no to the little guy?)

I’ve gone off-track – What I mean to tell you is that if you still want to leave Koboh, there will be a ship (it’s mine) at the landing pad until 1500 tomorrow. Bring what you need, but I have all the essentials on board. Food and water I mean, and maybe I have a spare toothbrush somewhere too?

Anyway. We’ll figure it out.

I can drop you off somewhere if you want, but I wouldn’t mind a mechanic on board if you’re interested. Can’t guarantee regular hours or absolute safety but hey, still more interesting than metal detectors, right?

This might be my last visit to Koboh in a while.

P.S.: BD-1 wants you to know you’re the only one allowed to fix his leg, and that he ‘requires you on board’. His words, not mine. He shot an electric dart at the last person who tried to repair it (me).

Cal

-

You couldn’t help but let out a loud celebratory shout as you read. He had a ship, and you were finally getting out of here! No more prospectors whining at the time it took to fix their tools, no bedlam raiders trying to kick through your door in the middle of the night, no need to refill your water supply from the well that stood well over a mile away.

You’d happily make BD-1 a thousand little metal outfits to match Cal’s ponchos if he wanted-

Your mind screeched to a stop. Hadn't that been the outfit Skoova mentioned?

You remembered what Turgle said about the second newcomer, the one he had called a Jedi. You didn’t remember ever reading about that order using guns, but… Cal had been carrying another weapon. The metal handle, you now realized, that was hanging at his side.

Oh kriff.

Had the idea while building the BD-1 Lego set. I meant for this to be just a little 1k meet-cute oneshot, Of course, me being me, i wrote 5k. Edited it a little, and it's as short as I can tolerate lmao

My first time posting for Star Wars! Still not over Survivor despite having played it more than 100 hour in the first two weeks i got it, and having done reruns since. The double-bladed stance has me in a chokehold.

Tell me what you think, and check out my masterlist!

[jar-of-maise]

stellaron hunters found family (i)

Blade thinks to himself for a moment, in truth he has an inkling about the so-called “power” and it’s origin, but keeps it to himself for the present. For now, he contents himself with watching Silver Wolf and Kafka argue. It’s a rather one-sided affair but entertaining to watch nonetheless. 

Sam returns from a mission later and Blade gets the honour to witness one of the duo’s legendary video game duels. It’s fun to watch and Kafka joins him on the couch as the Silver Wolf and Sam battle it out. Sometime, when it’s late in the night and Silver Wolf has finally dozed off, Kafka puts on a movie. It’s an action packed one, with horrid flashing lights and cinematics that has Sam worked up to the nines. 

“That’s not how it works in real life.” He grumbles, pointing at a rather risqué interrogation, “movies aren’t made the same anymore,” he adds unhappily when the following escape scene ends with the lead actor bursting out through a window. 

“Oh well, it’s value is in entertainment. Realism is secondary,” Kafka says delicately, she’s examining her nails carefully though Blade isn’t sure how she is given the dim lighting of the room. 

He hasn’t been paying a lot of attention to the movie, more preoccupied with not moving so Silver Wolf doesn’t wake up since Kafka always insists he be a human pillow. 

“You’re just comfortable Bladie, don’t overthink it,” she once said to him after a mission where she had insisted on sleeping on his shoulder. 

Even now, she’s leaning against him on the couch, legs thrown over to the other end of the sofa. Silver Wolf is resting against his other side, snoring lightly, somehow oblivious to the noise and explosions of the movie. It’s not like they try to turn the volume down either. She’s also got his coat draped over her lopsidedly like a blanket. No one had wanted to get a blanket when asked and naturally it just happened to be the day when all their couch covers were in the wash. 

So Blade sacrifices warmth. Not that he runs cold, it’s a strange juxtaposition, because the heart beating in his chest is certainly cold, but his body itself still runs hot. Warmer than the average human for some strange reason. Perhaps he’s simply keeping the furnace fire he can no longer use in his body instead. 

It seems it comes in handy, as Kafka and Silver Wolf always use him as a pillow. Even Elio, for all his prissy, posh cat ways, isn't immune. Maybe Sam is the only one who doesn’t see Blade as a portable heater…then again, Sam is self-sufficient, relying on machinery alone to accomplish tasks. 

Speaking of Sam, he’s sitting on the ottoman. Blade isn’t too sure why, there’s space on the couch – there was a reason they had needed to upgrade it several times in the past, but when he sees Elio stalk into the room from the hallway, he thinks he knows, especially when cat-Elio jumps onto Sam’s lap to get scratches. 

The night wears on and soon, not one but two people are fast asleep on each of Blade’s sides. He’s pretty sure Kafka is faking it, but knows very well that Silver Wolf is dead to the world. Not even a hard shake would make her wake up. The ending credits of the movie are rolling on the screen and still, neither have woken up. 

Blade gestures at Sam, who stands up and takes Silver Wolf back to her room, coat and everything. Elio is perched on his broad shoulders, amber eyes gleaming as they walk away. Thankfully, Silver Wolf sleeps deeply. Blade supposes it’s one of her many strengths, especially since she is still a child. 

Left alone with Kafka, Blade thinks that it really would be rude to leave her on the couch, even with a blanket and pillow. Well he doesn’t have a coat to give her and the one Kafka wears is much too small for the night so he takes her back to her room. He makes sure to remove her sunglasses, pistol(s), jacket and katana. 

The door is carefully shut, done in a way that wouldn’t make a noise and wake Kafka up. They share a trait there, that they are both light sleepers. With Kafka and Silver Wolf secured, Blade begins the trek back to his own room. It’s dark in the hallways, but occasionally, a window opening into the starry seas appears.

[sequinsmile-x]

Noise Pollution

Emily's snoring keeps Aaron awake, but instead of upsetting his very pregnant wife by telling her, he comes up with a solution. And it works.

Right up until it doesn't.

-x-

Hi friends,

I had this idea about the snoring, and then the lovely @section-chief-prentiss tagged me in a post from Reddit where someone finds out their partner sets their alarm early just to snuggle with them...and I just had to write it in!!

Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this slightly silly Saturday evening fluff.

-x-

Words: 2.5k

Warnings: Pregnancy

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

Aaron huffs out a breath as he checks the time on the alarm clock on his nightstand and then rubs his tired eyes.

3 am. 

He had to be up in three hours for work, and he’d barely slept. He sits up in bed and looks over at his wife, smiling softly at the sight of her fast asleep and curled around her pregnancy pillow. He was pleased she was sleeping, that she was getting the rest she so desperately needed in the lead up to their daughter being born in just 6 weeks time, but there was one side effect that, sadly, meant he was unable to sleep himself. 

She snored. Loudly. 

She always had snored, but not quite like this. It was something he’d picked up on their first night together. She’d fallen asleep first, half lying on top of him, her skin pressed up against his and her face against his neck as she dozed off. Her snoring was soft, bordering on cute - something he’d never tell her - and he very quickly came to find he couldn’t sleep without it. His very own form of white noise. One of the many things he’d learnt about her over the last few years, bits and pieces that he treasured, memories and facts about her stored away for when he needed them the most. He’d always been able to sleep through Emily’s snoring, so he’d never mentioned it to her. He didn't want to embarrass her or make her feel self-conscious, already aware at the start of their relationship of how big a deal it was for her to trust someone enough to sleep next to them. 

He jumps slightly when she snores again, the sound loud, rattling around the room in such a way he has no idea how she sleeps through it and he sighs. 

He used to be able to sleep through her snoring. 

Ever since she’d hit the third trimester of her pregnancy the snoring had got a lot worse. He knew it was a common symptom, something that happened to a lot of women, but he was still shocked at the sound his beautiful wife made whenever she fell asleep these days. He had decided not to say anything, partially because he knew she couldn’t do anything about it. She was already forced to sleep on her left side, curled around a pregnancy pillow that he was strangely jealous of, so telling her when she couldn’t switch sleeping positions seemed nothing short of cruel. He also didn’t want to tell her because he didn’t want to upset her, her usually famous emotional control left somewhere behind in her first trimester, and he didn’t want to make her upset, or angry, if he could help it. 

He’d touched on sleeping in the spare room a few weeks ago, albeit for an entirely different reason. She was hot and uncomfortable and entirely unable to relax enough to sleep, grumbling under her breath that he was a furnace, something she’d always historically loved. He’d offered to go and sleep in the spare room so she could get comfortable, and the irritation she’d clearly been feeling towards him and his body temperature just moments before disappeared, and her face had collapsed, tears shining in her eyes as she’d asked if he didn’t want to sleep with her anymore. He’d quickly assured her that he wanted to, reminded her that he loved her, and bought a cooling blanket for her to sleep under. 

He leans over and presses a kiss to her cheek, smiling when she snorts, a sound he knows she’d never believe she’d made if he told her, and he stands up, yawning as he stretches before he picks up his cell phone from the nightstand, planning on going to get a cup of coffee and starting the day immediately. 

It’s only as he walks past the spare room, his limbs uncoordinated in a way they hadn’t been since he was a teenager who had recently gone through a growth spurt, that he considers it. The sound of Emily’s snoring dulled by the closed bedroom door in a way that made him even more grateful they’d made Jack’s bedroom the one furthest from theirs. He walks towards the spare bedroom, almost led by his body, his legs taking steps of their own accord, as he slips into the bed. He pulls his phone out of his sweatpants pocket and sets an alarm for 5.45 am, enough time to wake up and get back into bed with Emily, and he falls asleep within minutes.

It works. For a week or so it works and he is able to get back into their bed before she wakes up, meaning she’s none the wiser to her snoring or the fact he had taken to sleeping in the spare room. He uses the time to snuggle with her, wrap himself around her so she’d wake up surrounded by his love and warmth. 

He hates that he’s keeping a secret from her, something he’d never done, but it feels like the right thing to do, especially when she smiles at him first thing in the morning, reaching out for his hand as she presses it to where the baby is shifting beneath her skin. 

It works, right up until it doesn’t.

___

At first, she isn’t sure what wakes her up. Then the baby kicks her bladder and she feels the overwhelming urge to pee.

“Okay, kiddo,” she says, groaning as she sits up, her hand on her bump as she does so, “Let’s go.” 

It’s only when she gets back from the bathroom that she realises Aaron isn’t in bed. She frowns and decides to go and look for him. She was planning on starting with their home office, he often went there if he couldn’t sleep, but she stops just outside of their spare bedroom when she spots the door is slightly ajar. She pushes it open and huffs out a breath when she sees him sleeping in there, still on the side he usually would with his hand reaching out to where she would be sleeping if she was in there with him. 

She turns on the light and he doesn’t move, doesn’t wake up even the slightest bit, and she grumbles, walking towards the bed. She picks up one of the pillows and hits him with it, feeling a strange bit of satisfaction when he wakes up immediately, his eyes going wide as he sits up and clamours out of bed, an edge of panic around him that she thinks she’d find amusing in any other circumstance. 

“Em,” he says, standing up, his hands reaching out for her, “Are you okay?” He asks, looking her up and down, his eyes fixed on her bump, “Is she okay, is she coming?” 

She rolls her eyes, and crosses her arms, “We’re both fine. Why are you sleeping in here?” 

He falters for a moment, his brain still not entirely online, and he clears his throat, saying the first thing that comes to mind, “I just thought you’d be more comfortable if I slept in here.” 

She hates the wave of emotion that washes over her, making her feel unsteady in a way she still wasn’t used to almost 8 months into this pregnancy. She’d always prided herself on how she was able to control her emotions, one of the few lasting side effects of how she was raised that she liked. Aaron was the only person she’d ever let fully let in. He’d broken down every single one of her defences, snuck under them and learnt what made her tick, something no one else had ever bothered with. And he wanted to do it, he’d made it his mission to know her as well as possible and she loved it, loved that he’d taken the time to know her so intimately. 

She knows he doesn’t need that to see how upset she is right now, that even her mother would be able to see that she was on the verge of tears, and she hates it. Hates that she’s so out of control, that she’s about to cry over the fact she’s found him sleeping in the spare room. 

He reaches out for her and grabs her hand, grateful when she doesn’t flinch or pull back, “Oh, sweetheart-”

“Is it because you don’t find me attractive anymore?” She asks, her voice breaking, her greatest insecurity in all of this immediately at the forefront of her mind. It was something she’d worried about for months. 

At first, she’d loved the changes to her body. She’d stand in front of the mirror, facing sideways as she desperately looked at her belly, keen to see it start to curve. She was nothing short of excited when she realised she had an actual bump, not something that could be mistaken for bloating, but things had changed. She felt massive now, almost endlessly uncomfortable, and she hated looking at herself naked. The scar on her abdomen had warped as her bump got bigger and she worried what it would look like when her daughter was here, how it would settle back down, the landscape of her body seemingly constantly changing. She worried he felt the same way, despite his reassurances that he didn’t, and finding him sleeping in here had set fire to those concerns, her cheeks burning with embarrassment as tears she can’t control slip down them. 

“Em, baby, no it’s not that,” he says, guilt rolling in his gut. He guides her to sit down on the bed and he wraps his arm around her shoulders, tugging her close as he places his other hand on her bump, smiling softly when he feels their little girl shift around, “It’s never going to be that. I’ll always find you attractive. Even when we’re both old and yelling at each other because we can’t actually hear each other anymore.”

She chuckles, the sound catching in her chest as she wipes at her cheeks, “Then what is it?” 

He sighs and he kisses her forehead, and he knows he has to tell her the truth. He rests his forehead against her temple and closes his eyes, “You snore.” 

She frowns and pulls back to look at him, confusion painted across her face, “What?” 

He smiles tightly at her and tucks some hair behind her ear, “You snore.”

“How…how long have I snored for?” 

He clears his throat, preparing himself slightly before he answers, “For as long as we’ve been together.” 

She chokes on a laugh and covers her mouth, trying to remember if anyone had ever told her before that she snored, and she shakes her head, her smile turning incredulous, “Why did you never say anything?” 

“Because it was cu…” he trails off as she clears her throat and raises an eyebrow at him, a clear warning sign he doesn’t ignore, “It was never very loud before. But as we get closer to the end of your pregnancy…”

“It’s getting louder,” she says for him and he nods. She groans and she covers her face with both of her hands, “This is so embarrassing.” 

“It’s not, sweetheart, I promise.”

She looks at him sharply, anger flashing through her “Then why didn’t you tell me?” 

“Because I know you need your rest. And you can’t help it or switch positions,” he says, placing his hand on her thigh and squeezing gently, “And I didn’t want to upset you,” he smiles wryly, “Which clearly I achieved.” 

She tries to suppress a laugh but it breaks free and she shakes her head at him, “I can’t decide if I should be pissed or if I think this is sweet,” she says, tilting her head at him, her smile turning curious, “So, how long have you been sleeping in here?” 

He sighs and scratches the back of his head, “About 8 days,” he says carefully, “I wait until you fall asleep, come in here and set my alarm 15 minutes before your alarm and then I sneak back in.”

She narrows her eyes at him as she takes in what he’s said, her tongue pressed into her cheek, “And I never woke up?” 

He shakes his head, “Not once.”

She presses her lips together, love for him threatening to burst free. She knows all he was doing was trying to protect her from getting upset, something she would have yelled at him for just a few short months ago, but for a reason she can’t fully explain, it makes her love him more. She furrows her brow as her eyes meet his, one more thread of curiosity she was yet to pull at coming to mind. 

“Why 15 minutes?” She asks, and he looks at her curiously, “Why did you give yourself 15 minutes in the morning? It takes maybe 20 seconds to get from here to our room and you’ve never been someone who needs time to get going.”

He clears his throat, embarrassment he doesn’t expect filling his chest, “Well,” he says, avoiding eye contact, as if he should feel any kind of shame for how much he loved her, “I missed sleeping next to you. So I used that time to just…hug you.” 

His admission hangs over them for a moment and a smile breaks out across her face, her gaze drifting to her side of the bed, to where his arm had been lying when she’d first walked in. “Okay, now we’re definitely edging into this being the sweetest shit you’ve ever done for me.” 

He laughs, “Really? You’re not mad?”

She shakes her head and cups his cheek, dragging him into a quick kiss, “I’m not mad. I wish you’d told me. And if there are any recordings of me snoring on your phone you’re never having sex again,” she says, raising her eyebrow at him, “But I understand what you were trying to do. It’s sweet.” 

He leans in and kisses her, resting his forehead against hers as he pulls back, “I love you.” 

“I love you too,” she replies, stamping a kiss against his lips, “I’ll buy some of those snoring strips in the morning, see if they help. If they don’t…just make sure you keep giving yourself those 15 minutes, okay? I like waking up with you there.” 

“I promise.” He kisses her nose, laughing when she scrunches it up, “Want to go back to bed, or shall I make us some hot chocolate?” 

She hums, the sound turning into a laugh when the baby kicks, “I think she wants hot chocolate.” 

He stands up and offers her his hand, helping her up and wrapping his arms around her  shoulders as he leads her to the stairs, “Whatever my girls want, they get.” 

-x-

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[ballimeracy]

Moonlight Love Pt. 1

A Werewolf! Toji x Reader fic!

2.6k words Content Warning: Breeding, use of derogatory language (slut is used once), use of the terms 'mama', 'baby doll', and 'baby girl', knotting (smut in the second part) read part two here and part three here!

You always knew Toji was, well, difficult. From his not so good childhood, to his illegal dealings which you thankfully got him to stop in favor of a more respectable job. However, none of his issues ever stopped your heart from fluttering every time you laid eyes upon his face. Everything has been going extremely well in your relationship with your boyfriend. You had just gotten a promotion at work, and the two of you moved into a nice quaint two bedroom house on the outskirts of the city where the edges of the forest slowly crept up onto your property. Well…everything WAS going fine. You started to notice subtle differences in Tojis behavior and changes in his body. Firstly, Toji was a naked sleeper. Quite frankly, you didn’t care. Seeing his toned muscular body underneath the faint moonlight was heaven, but you started to notice more and more hair appearing on his arms, back, and legs. You just shrugged this off, thinking it was just some normal guy thing. You also noticed that his senses seemed to have been heightened, if that even was possible. You could make the littlest sound from across the home and in an instant, Toji would be by your side in an instant to see what you were doing. It was all strange, but then again, you didn’t mind or try to pry because if Toji seemed fine, it must be…right?

“...Toji?” You murmur, shifting underneath the covers of your shared bed. Your furnace of a boyfriend was no longer laying beside you, causing you to shiver from the coldness of the bedroom. Sitting up groggily in bed, you squint and rub at your face, looking around the dimly lit room. Straining your ears for any signs of your boyfriend, you purse your lips when you hear some shuffling from the bathroom. It wasn't just normal sounds, it was as if a feral animal had broken into the house and was currently wrecking the place. You let out a little sigh, climbing out of bed and shivering more at the coldness nipping at your skin, shuffling over to the bathroom. Gently, you knock on the shut bathroom door, looking at the light pouring out from the crack at the bottom. “Toji baby? Are you in there?” Your voice was thick with sleep, a yawn catching at the end of your sentence. At the sound of your voice, all noise coming from the bathroom stops abruptly. “Toji?” You repeat yourself when you get no response, knocking once more. Finally after what felt like ages, you hear the gruff voice of your man on the other side of the door. “Sorry baby doll. Had to take a leak. Go back to bed.” His voice sounded strained, which made you frown. Toji normally didn’t lie (at least to you), so you frown and place a gentle hand on the doorknob. “Toji, I'm coming in.”  You stated, turning the knob and pushing the door open, squinting at the bright fluorescent lights of the bathroom. The look of pure panic and shock on your boyfriend's face when you pushed the door open was alarming, but what was even more alarming was the set of fluffy black ears on the sides of his head and the large fluffy black tail near his tailbone. You both stand in silence, with your mouth agape as you take in Toji’s form. Along with the fluffy black ears and tail, he has grown a significant amount of hair on his arms, chest, and legs. His nails were longer, and you couldn’t help your eyes from traveling down. His cock was definitely bigger than normal, the appendage straining against the black briefs. “...I can explain mama..” Toji sounded insecure for once, his eyebrows knitted with worry as he took a step towards you. “Remember all that shit I did, yknow, before we moved in together?” Toji asked, a large hand gently placed on your shoulder. You stare dumbly up at him, giving a little nod. “Yeah…yeah I remember..” You manage to squeak out, eyes trained on the wolf ears which twitched at the attention. Tojis cheeks reddened, his tail wagging subconsciously from being so close to you. “Well, one of the missions…I didn't tell you but I got pretty damn hurt.” Toji let out a sigh. “I didn't want to freak you out mama, I should’ve told you. I don’t know what the hell that thing was, but ever since, I've uh…been turning into this.” Toji stared at you, eyes examining your face to gauge your reaction. You stared blankly up at him, processing the whole thing. “So…you're a werewolf?” He seemed hesitant to answer, giving a little bit of a nod and scratching the side of his neck. “I guess…yeah.” Toji actually looked worried, looking down where you continued to examine his new features. You stood on your tippy toes, a hand hesitantly coming out to pet one of the ears, which twitched and pivoted away. That made a smile spread across your face, a soft laugh emanating from you. “Aw…that’s pretty cute…you're like a puppy.” Toji turned red, a bit of a snarl appearing on his face while his ears flattened. “I ain't no dog, mama.” He loomed over you, which just made you giggle more as you saw his tail wag. “Sure, okay big guy. Cmon, let's go back to bed.” Toji just grumbled, allowing you to grab at his wrist and lead him back to bed.

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[greenorangevioletgrass]

openin' up | b.r.b.

pairing: bradley 'rooster' bradshaw x actress!reader

summary: it's an ordinary morning in their new house, and bradley gets enlisted for help with an... extraordinary warm-up for a morning rehearsal. [part of "the actress & the aviator" universe but can be read as a standalone]

word count: 1.8k

warnings: established relationship, domestic fluff, bradley is a simp but so is the reader, they're engaged y'all, language, smut [blowjob, dirty talk, switch!rooster, switch!reader, brief daddy kink, spit kink, cum eating, this is really filthy but soft i promise]

notes: i'm BACK, Y'ALL! i literally started this fic back in early october but life happened (i worked out of town, got out of a relationship, got into a new relationship. whew!) so i've only got around to finish it now. im a little rusty, so however much love you can give me would be greatly appreciated <3 thank you and happy reading!

✨ follow @ficsbygreenorangevioletgrass to get notified for my latest words <3 happy reading and please reblog if you liked it! ✨

***

The house in San Clemente is new. The novelty of the living room furniture is apparent, bright and shiny and smelling faintly of packing boxes, save from Goose’s old piano they brought home from Virginia. The fridge only has three takeout menus pinned onto it, from the first week you moved in. The shelves and displays have barely gathered any dust on the books and awards and vinyl collections that newly inhabit them.

But the rhythm in how the two of you go about your day in this new home— your shared home… It's effortless and familiar. Tried and tested. Bradley’s alarm sounds off early in the morning, way too early, but you’ve learned to tune it out. But the prolonged absence of the human furnace you sleep with makes the bed all cold and empty, and it’s hard to go back to sleep like that (you wish you were being dramatic, but it’s true.) By the time Bradley gets out of the shower, you’re usually there, sleepily brushing your teeth and giving him a minty kiss good morning.

This morning, you’re already in the kitchen by the time he’s dressed for work. He hears you first; a cacophony of strange noises that would otherwise be alarming if it weren’t for how routine it is now. All the hums and sirens and lip trills and are those meows you’re doing for warm-up? 

“Morning, songbird.” Rooster saunters in with a kiss to your temple. Then, as he pours his coffee, nearly back-to-back as you hold a steaming cup of tea, he chuckles to himself.

You groan, catching the amusement right away. “Whoever thought it was a good idea to have a singing rehearsal so early in the morning is clearly not thinking,” you grumble, voice still gravely from sleep.

“Whoever thought it was a good idea to stay up late and binge Fleabag like she hasn’t seen it 4 times is…” you level his cheeky comment with a glare and he backtracks behind his coffee cup, “…clearly regretting it now.”

You pinch his side, scowling but not really. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Bradley does a shoulder wiggle in response, so bright and chirpy so early in the morning. A multitude of fun contradictions; tall and broad and imposing in his flight suit, sleeves tied up around his waist, yet at the same time…

Soft and domestic and adorable as he puts the bread in the toaster and cracks a few eggs to scramble (he does it with one hand, too, that cocky fuck.)

You love him so much, it’s ridiculous. It is so ridiculous, in fact, that it gives you an idea…

“Hey, what time do you have to be at work?”

“0900, why?”

You hum, taking a thoughtful sip of your magical concoction of ginger, honey, and lemon. And then…

“Can I suck your dick?”

He bursts out laughing. But then, seeing your completely straight face, he stops. “Wait, for real?”

“I’m serious! For singing purposes. I need to open up and warm up my throat.” He opens his mouth again to comment, but you cut him off, “And don’t ask me how I know this works. But it does.”

People would say your love story is one for the movies. A movie star and a naval aviator falling in love while filming thousands of feet in the air. The two worlds collide, and your lives are intertwined forever. It’s a grand Hollywood romance.

Nobody would ever expect that your happy-ever-after is a comedy.

“Well, jeez, buy me dinner first, ma’am.” He rolls his eyes playfully, as if his heart rate wasn’t picking up. He tries to keep it cool, teasing her right back. “Also, is that the only reason? I am hurt.”

“Well, what do you want me to say?” there’s an air of innocence in your reply —a stark contrast to your request. You come up behind him and wrap your arms around his middle. “That you look so good in your uniform, and I want you to fuck my face? Come down my throat?”

Okay. Maybe it’s a slightly raunchy comedy.

There’s a heavy three-second gap. Three seconds of Bradley’s tightening grip on the spatula and the pan, from the three seconds of your figurative grasp right where you want him.

Three seconds of his slow, bracing draw of breath.

“Honestly?” He pipes up, “Yes.”

Click. You turn the stove off and he has to remind himself to let go, and let you turn him around. Amusement, intrigue, lust, and love painted his face like a swirl of colors. God, you adore him.

You back him into an empty counter, careful not to bump into any hot mugs or pans. “You know I like seeing your suit half done up like this...” Your voice is still rough from sleep, and he swears it’s the sexiest sound his brain can comprehend. “Makes really, really wanna swallow you whole ‘til I choke on your cock. Will you let me do that?”

His Adam’s apple bobs. His lips fall open slightly, but no sound comes out.

You love him like this. All dazed and dumb when you’ve barely done anything to him. It makes you feel powerful. And there’s no power trip quite like knowing you hold the reign.

Even when you give it up.

You bat your eyelashes, sighing just a little when his dick, now fully erect, flexes against your belly in attention. “Please… Daddy?”

Fuck. 

Bradley Bradshaw is still just a man. And as stubborn as he is (and he is plenty stubborn, ask anyone), he is running out of reasons to believe that this is a bad idea. Then again, who is he to deny his fiancée a blowjob for her own sake?

He groans, guttural as he grabs a handful of your ass. “‘Course you can, baby.”

You lean in for a kiss, tender and loving despite everything, and he wants to melt into your touch. It’s oddly comforting to see that amidst the absurdity, it’s still you and it’s still him. And wherever you are, whatever you do —be it having breakfast or doing weird things for warm-up—, this is home. 

And home is where you sink down to your knees, taking his pants and boxers down with you on a random Thursday morning. 

His cock stares right at you, veins running along the sides as it curves ever so slightly to the right. A pearly bead leaks out of his pinkish tip, and you dart out your tongue to taste him. And a taste is never enough —you want to devour all of him.

He can feel the ground pulling from underneath him. One hand with knuckles white on the counter, the other cradling the back of your head. Not quite pushing you, just… caressing you as you adjust to his girth.

Bradley is a big boy, and you say this with no exaggeration whatsoever. It always hurts a little at first when he fucks you, no matter how much he’s made you come before that, and giving him a blowjob is no different. Exhaling slowly through your nose, you relax your jaw and draw yourself closer inch by inch…

“Shit, baby…” His dick is all snug in your warmth, his dream woman on her knees, and he feels on top of the world. “You gonna be a good girl, take all of Daddy’s cock? Come on. Open up, that’s it, that’s… fuck.”

He reaches the back of your throat, making you gag, and it takes him everything to not lose it at the blissful sensation of you tightening around him.

“Breathe, breathe…” he rakes his long fingers through his hair, although he’s probably partly saying it to himself, too. “You okay? D’you need a minute?”

Your glassy eyes look up at him, and he’s praying please please please I might not even last a minute like this… 

It’s a strange, delicate balance of your relationship dynamic. In your obscured vision and compromising position, it’s Bradley who surrenders himself to you. Gentle. Careful. Vulnerable. It makes you feel fucking glorious. 

So you shake your head slightly, and drag your mouth along his heavy shaft.

“God, baby, you feel so fucking good… so perfect, my baby’s so perfect, Jesus fuck—” he swallows heavily, and groans just as heartily. “You’re all mine, aren’t you? I’m the only one who gets to fuck your mouth like this. I’m the only one who gets to come inside you— forever. Fuck, I can’t wait to marry you…”

You look up at him when you hear that, and he finds your gaze, catching the humorous, mischievous glint in your eyes. His brain is in your mouth, and he couldn’t care any less. If you’re gonna tease him all week for what he said, so be it. Because the truth of the matter is, he means it.

With his whole damn heart.

And as the pounding in said heart picks up, so does the rush of blood all over his body. Your hand joins your mouth at the base of his cock, stroking him closer and closer to his release. And he all but loses his mind. His fists open and close as tingles run all the way to his fingertips.

“Baby, baby, baby…” he chants, almost feverishly, “I’m so fucking close, baby, pleasepleaseplease, can I come, please baby, I need to— fuck… fuck. Fuck!”

Warmth pours into your mouth, and you make sure to catch every last drop of pearly white he’s giving— surrendering— to you. Not letting him go until he rides out the very last waves of his orgasm. And when he does, you rise up to your feet and face him.

All flustered and fucked out just for you.

You cup his chin between your thumb and forefinger, motioning him to open. Bradley leans back against the counter, tilting his head up and sticking his tongue out for you. His brown eyes are fixed on you, waiting, wanting like he hasn’t just come less than a minute ago. And when you spit his release back into his mouth… he closes them like he’s coming again.

He takes every single drop just like you did, and swallows it all. But even that’s not enough. He pulls you in by the back of your neck for another searing kiss.

“I love you,” he murmurs into your lips.

“I love you, too.” You kiss him one last time and pull away. Taking a hearty sip of your tea and humming a simple five-note scale. “Mm, much better.”

Bradley watches on, all dumbstruck, as you continue your vocal warm-up while washing your hands and grabbing plates to set up on the table. Carrying on and minding your business as if nothing had happened.

Well. 

Apart from the cheeky look you share as you continue your ordinary morning routine. Making your new home a little more lived-in everyday.

And then, he grins widely, pulls his pants back on and turns the stove back on to finish cooking. “Man, I love morning rehearsals…”

[goheatingairplano]

(via GIPHY)

[venusthepirate]

like any unloved thing part six : nothing’s gonna hurt you baby

Masterlist \ ao3 \ part one \ part two \ part three \ part four \ part five

taglist :  @avocado-writing @little-sunflower-bug @evangelineflowers @humbug5 @yume904 @sarcastic-sourwolf @chloeforde @illusionsnfantasies @cupofstarss @mystic-mara @staceysmomsposts @thatcharmingmushroom @www-interludeshadow-com @gingersass @hungoverhellhound @dunaahahah @raye2000 @eonnyx @supervoldejaygent

so sorry for the late update, I meant to post this wayyy earlier !! I hope you’ll enjoy it, please tell me what you thought :)

Fawn wakes up feeling very warm.  She blinks against the light filtering in the room through the half-closed curtains.

Tangerine is pressed against her, legs tangled with hers. His face is half mushed against the pillow, curls fully broken out of the perfectly slicked back hairstyle he usually does.

He looks younger like this, face relaxed. There’s no crease between his eyebrows, with the way he’s always frowning, as if the world personally made something to offend him. She raises a hand and gently brushes the pad of her thumb on the patch of skin.

Tangerine huffs in his sleep, mumbling incoherently, before turning a bit more to the other side, mushing his face even further into the pillow. Fawn can’t help but smile slightly.

After a while of staring at the ceiling and then at his back, she starts feeling overheated. The man is like a goddamn furnace, and the sweatpants he gave her are not really helping. She slowly disentangles away from him, wondering how it’s possible for a human being to radiate this much warmth.

She sits up on the mattress, feet against the warm carpet. There’s a small clock on the nighstand. It’s already eleven in the morning, but they did get here pretty late last night. It must have been… What, two a.m. ? Three ? She doesn’t even know.

The weight of everything that happened dawns on her. The dead man, somewhere. Tangerine, soundly sleeping next to her.

She should maybe wake him up, ask him if she can go home. She has a thousand things to do. She needs to check up on Violet, to… She doesn’t exactly know what. She wants to hole up in her small flat and not go out again, for maybe a few years, until she’s sure the world’s forgotten about her.

At the same time, she doesn’t really want to leave this place. Here, she feels like the real world doesn’t really exist. Like time stopped, and she’s here, in a safe cocoon. She strangely feels like she is safe here. Nothing would happen to her.

Which is maybe not a healthy way to feel, especially seeing as the man asleep beside her is an assassin.

She shakes her head, trying to put some sense into her thoughts, and decides to get up. Maybe she can make herself some tea. Make him a cup as way of saying thank you.

She stands up and pads silently towards the door, trying to make the less noise possible. She steals a look back at Tangerine, unable not to. She can’t even see his face where it’s buried into the pillow, only the mess of curly hair peeking out from the sheets.

There are faint noises coming from the kitchen, but her mind is so wrapped around last night, whatever the hell she’s feeling right now, and Tangerine, that she doesn’t really pay attention to it. It’s only once she’s stepped into the living room that she notices the man standing behind the counter.

She freezes, so surprised that she’s unable to act, or do anything, other than stare at him. The man is tall, with dark skin and bleached short hair. He’s pouring what looks like cacao powder into a mug.

He must have sensed her presence, because he looks up and startles a bit, the cacao power he was holding in the spoon spilling everywhere around the mug. Fawn is torn between the need to laugh or not.

“Shit”, the man murmurs, looking very dejected at the mess he made on the counter. Then, he brightens up, looking back at her. “Hi”, he tells her, extremely jovial, which makes everything even more confusing.

“Hi ?” Fawn replies, confused.

“Want some hot chocolate ?” The man asks, as if this is the most normal thing to ask to a stranger. “I can make a second mug.”

Maybe she was hit harder than she thought yesterday, because she simply nods, dumbfounded at the way things are going, and walks further inside, until she’s standing on the other side of the counter, across from him.

She watches as he takes another mug from the cupboard behind him and busies himself with pouring chocolate powder into this one too. The spilled powder is still on the counter. He doesn’t even bother wiping it, and Fawn resists the urge to tell him to be careful, but the sleeves of his white shirt are already stained with it.

“Oh ! I’m Lemon, by the way”, the man says. “I’m Tangerine’s brother.”

She doesn’t really do a great job at hiding the surprise on her face. Lemon chuckles, batting a hand.

“Yeah, we get that a lot. Grew up in foster care, yaddi-yadda.”

“He did tell me he had a brother”, Fawn murmurs. She doesn’t comment on the obviously fake name. She can’t help but think that it’s sweet, the way they chose matching code names. Both fruits. Citrus, even. Tangerine and Lemon.

It does have a nice ring to it.

“I’m Fawn”, she tells him, then.

He looks up at her, arching an eyebrow.

“Fawn ?” He repeats. She nods, unsure. “Like, baby deer fawn ? Bambi fawn ?”

This is the weirdest conversation she’s ever had.

“Yeah.”

Lemon snorts, nodding to himself. “That’s a pretty cool name, actually. I like it. Bambi’s an amazing movie, y’know. The message, the scenario”, he adds, gesturing with his hands. The microwave beeps behind him, and he pauses for a moment to get both their mugs out of it, depositing Fawn’s in front of her. “I legit still cry when I see that scene. Don’t understand how those rich assholes can enjoy hunting animals after watching that movie. Shit, killing animals really is fucked up.”

“Yeah, those rich assholes really love hunting”, Fawn murmurs, taking a sip of her drink. It tastes amazing. She wants to ask him how he makes such a good hot chocolate.

“And I love killing those rich assholes”, Lemon says.

Fawn nearly strangles, struggling to swallow her next sip of hot chocolate. She stares at him, coughing a little. What the fuck is she supposed to respond to that ?

“I’m a vegetarian.” It sounds kind of like a question. She absolutely did not mean to say that, nor did she mean to make it sound like she’s asking herself.

Lemon nods, completely serious.

“I should really become one”, he muses. “I really love animals. Always wanted to get a cat or a dog. But Tangerine makes a really mean lasagna, and he says he doesn’t want hairs on his suit.”

Fawn is faced with the mental image of Tangerine in the kitchen, cooking. The vision is so oddly domestic. She doesn’t really know what to do with the information that Tangerine actually know his way around a kitchen.

“Maybe I should start small”, Lemon continues, rambling. “Maybe a gold fish, right ?”

Fawn coughs, trying to clear her throat.

“Tangerine told me you didn’t have time to take care of your plants, though. That’s why you got fake ones.”

He sighs, looking disappointed, and Fawn feels suddenly very guilty for crushing his hopes.

“You’re right. Oh ! But I could adopt one, and you could drop by to feed it when I can’t !” He sounds so excited and happy at this idea that Fawn just stares at him, unable to say anything, like, what the fuck.

“I-”

“That reminds me”, he adds, serious again, not letting her answer his previous statement. “I don’t mean to be rude, but, who are you exactly ? I know only three things about you : your name’s Fawn, you somehow know Tangerine, and you killed a guy yesterday.”

Fawn tries to swallow around the sudden lump in her throat. She takes a sip of the hot chocolate, trying to take her time, while her mind desperately scrambles to find an answer. The last two parts of his sentence are things she doesn’t really know how to address.

But she really doesn’t want to address the murder part. Not now.

“I’m just a friend of Tangerine’s”, she finally manages to reply. She wishes she could sound more confident. She’s usually much better at lying, but now her voice sounds pathetically weak, even to her own ears.

Lemon arches an eyebrow, looking unconvinced.

“You came out from his room, though.”

Fawn winces. She can’t well say that she’s a hooker and he hired her, right ? If his own brother doesn’t know, then she should really keep her mouth shut. Also, it would be pretty difficult to explain what exactly the deal between them was.

She’s not even sure herself what the deal between them is anymore. She knew, at the beginning. Now…

“It’s… Complicated”, she settles on offering him, trying to hide her uncertainty behind her mug.

Lemon stares at her still, looking extremely unimpressed.

“That doesn’t sound ominous at all”, he comments, sarcastic, but he seems to let it go, swiveling his stool around to put his empty mug in the sink. He stands up then, extending his arm to grab a small craft bag, and offers it to her. “Pastry ? Bought them this morning, they’re fresh.”

Fawn realizes that she hasn’t eaten for maybe twenty hours, and that she’s really, really hungry. She sends him a grateful look, taking a small round pastry out of the bag. She takes a bite, surprised to find that it’s filled with whipped cream.

“Shit, this is delicious”, she blurts out, wiping some crumbs from her mouth.

Lemon gives her a beaming smile.

“Right ? It’s from a small French bakery, just around the corner. It’s fucking awesome. Tangerine always pretends he’s above things such as pastry, but half of them always go missing when I’m not looking.” He looks at something behind her shoulder, and grins. “Well, speak of the devil. Would it be that sleeping beauty finally woke up ?”

Fawn whirls around. Tangerine is standing at the entrance of the living room, messy curls falling in front of his face. His eyes fall on Fawn, and there’s a brief look of relief on his face, as if he’s glad to see that she’s here. Something in her chest constricts, staring at him. It’s painful, like her insides are twisting themselves.

“Oh, fuck off”, Tangerine mumbles, raking a hand to pull his hair out of his eye. His tee-shirt rides up a bit, exposing a patch of skin at his hip. Fawn tries not to look at it.

“I hope Lemon here isn’t going on about Thomas the tank engine”, Tangerine tells her, passing by her to join his brother behind the counter. He grabs a mug from the cupboard and sets it down beside the sink.

Fawn has no idea what that even means.

“I was not”, Lemon protests, sounding offended.

Tangerine snorts. Lemon turns to Fawn, almost pleadingly.

“Tell him I wasn’t.”

“He wasn’t”, Fawn says, trying not to sound too uncertain. He definitely didn’t mention any Thomas the tank engine, she’s pretty sure she would have remembered it.

Lemon nods at her appraisingly, before addressing his brother again.

“Want some hot chocolate ?”

“Absolutely not”, Tangerine replies. He sticks a coffee pod into the coffee machine, presses onto some button, and turns back towards Fawn. “Let me get some coffee, and I’ll drive you home, alright ?”

Fawn nods. Tangerine stares at her for a few longer seconds, before focusing back on his coffee. He frowns at something on the counter.

“Fuck’s sake, Lemon, there’s fucking chocolate everywhere.”

Maybe these two aren’t related by blood or share any common features, but there’s absolutely no doubt now that they’re brothers, simply by the way they act around each other.

Lemon’s eyes widen. He winces and stands up.

“Right”, he says, “I really need to get a shower. It was nice meeting you, Bambi.”

Fawn offers an awkward little wave and a smile as Lemon scurries out of the kitchen. When she swivels back towards the counter, Tangerine is leaning against the sink, looking at her with an eyebrow raised.

“Bambi ?” He repeats.

“Yeah, uh, you know, Bambi”, she replies, circling the edge of the mug with a finger, for lack of better thing to do with her hands. “Bambi the fawn. From the movie.”

Tangerine snorts, shaking his head.

“Should have guessed.” He takes a sip of his coffee, before pointing with his mug towards wherever Lemon went. “Sorry about him.”

“Oh no, he was nice”, Fawn protests. She actually means it. He seems… Sweet, which is maybe not the right word to describe someone who apparently kills people for a living, but she can’t find other words to describe him. Their conversation was definitely the weirdest one she’s ever had, but she doesn’t mind. Weird is nice sometimes.

“Yeah, he drives me fucking crazy”, Tangerine sighs. “Always leaves his fucking mug in the sink.”

Fawn can’t help but smile slightly. They fall into silence for a few moments, before she speaks again.

“So, Lemon and Tangerine. Matching names ?”

He groans aloud, thumping his head back against the cupboard.

“Please don’t start with this too.”

“It’s cute.”

“Fuck off”, Tangerine says, but without any heat to it. He swallows the rest of his coffee in one go, head thrown back. Fawn catches a glimpse of his golden necklace, hanging around his neck beneath the collar of his shirt.

He puts the mug into the dishwasher, then hers and Lemon’s. She doesn’t know why, but seeing this simple action sends her lungs into another painful twist.

“C’me on”, he tells her. “I’ll drive you back.”

She waits for him to get dressed, and follows him out. She wishes she could have said goodbye to Lemon, but when she retrieves her purse, the door to the bathroom is closed, and she can hear water running.

Tangerine opens the door for her, letting her slip inside the passenger seat, before closing it behind her and circling around the car to sit behind the wheel. She gives him her address, and finds that she’s not as freaked out as she thought she’d be at giving a client her personal address. Especially one that does end up being a murderer.

Just as he’s putting the key into the inhibition, Fawn realizes she’s still wearing his clothes.

“Shit, what about your clothes ?” She asks, gesturing at herself.

Tangerine glances at her with a shrug.

“Yeah, you can keep them, love, don’t worry.” He looks at her again, before looking quickly back at the road, as if he’s feeling guilty for looking at her and getting caught. “Also, don’t worry about the whole… yesterday. Lemon took care of the body, and any cameras that could have caught a sight of you.”

She nods. “Thanks”, she murmurs, fiddling with the hem of the too large sleeves of the sweater.

The rest of the drive goes in silence. Fawn stares out of the window, while Tangerine taps on the wheel absently, rings clinking softly together. She steals quick glances from time to time, staring at his profile, the way he looks like this, disheveled, hair unstyled.

Before she knows it, Tangerine slows down the car in front of her building. She hides her surprise when he gets out of the car too, but is actually glad he’s walking her up. She doesn’t know exactly what she’s supposed to say when he leaves.

He follows her up the stairs to her floor, and waits behind her as she finds the keys from her purse. Maybe she ought to feel self-conscious about the fact that he’s going to see where she lives, but she was just in his home, so she figures turnabout is fair.

She lets him in, closing the door behind him. He takes a few steps inside, looking around, and brushes a finger against the leaf of one of her plants at the entrance.

“Real plants”, he says, turning back towards her. There’s a hint of a smile in the curl of his lips. “You got a whole lot of them.”

She smiles back, unable to stop herself. “Lemon is right, it’s good to have them around. For the purity of the air.”

He rakes a hand in his hair again.

“Yeah, maybe I should buy him real plants. But they would die.” He glances at her. “You could always drop by to water them, or some shit like that.”

Fawn is so stunned she remains silent. She’s suddenly reminded of Lemon’s earlier suggestion for her to come feed his potential gold fish. The image is so ridiculous she wants to laugh.

But here, staring at Tangerine, at the way his eyes are wide, honest, his expression full of something like uncertainty and… Vulnerability ? She doesn’t know what to say. She doesn’t know how to act, face with his openness, how she’s supposed to feel. Someone carved a hole in her ribcage and left her bleeding.

“I should go”, Tangerine murmurs, expression guarded again.

Something in her chest catches, panic flooding her senses, and she grabs his wrist when he tries to pass by her to leave. He stops, eyes flicking up to hers. He looks as uncertain as she feels, but he doesn’t pull away from her grip, and she doesn’t let go. She slides her fingers from his wrist to the palm of his hand.

His eyes are very blue. He’s standing very close.

“Thank you”, she says, quietly. “For helping me.”

He nods, looking at their joint hands. She can almost feel his pulse.

She asks the question she’s been agonizing over for the last few hours.

“What now ?”

His eyes find hers again. He seems to be searching her face for something.

She doesn’t know if she means to ask about what happened yesterday, or about the two of them. Maybe both.

“Carry on as usual. Wait a bit for the bruises to fade. And then… You can go back to your life.”

She swallows around the lump in her throat, nodding. She feels… Disappointed, that he didn’t catch on to the other meaning of her question. At the same, she doesn’t know if she’s ready to address the situation.

“Hey”, Tangerine murmurs. He raises a hand to settle at the back of her neck, not pulling, just… Holding. Fawn’s breath catches in her chest. “I’m sorry about last time. And about yesterday. I’m... I’m an asshole, I know that. I’m really shit at excuses and whatnot. But you deserved better than that.”

Fawn is, once again, at loss for words. She hates it. She’s not used to it. Usually, she’s the confident one, taking the reins with her clients, making them comfortable. She’s the one to give them affection and whatever they desire. She’s not used to the other way around.

She realizes, with startling clarity, that she craves the same thing he does, and that he paid her for. And she wants it from him. Not someone else.

“Take care of yourself, alright ?” Tangerine tells her, softly.

He pulls his hand gently from her grip, and steps back, his other hand falling away from her neck.

Her skin feels cold in the absence of his touch, even though she can still feel the ghost of his fingers. She shouldn’t miss his touch this much, but she does. Fuck, she does. She doesn’t want to, but there’s not so much denial one can do. Her palms are empty, weightless. She feels like she’s floating away without the weight of him grounding her.

She doesn’t need him. She doesn’t need anyone. She’s always lived her life this way, alone, walls between her and others. Protected, safe, but alone.

She doesn’t need him, but she still wants him all the same.

She remains standing there for a long time, even after he leaves. Even more uncertain on where both of them stand.

[definesanity]

Pretty When You're Crazy

She fell to her knees disgracefully, hidden from sight, dirtying the floor with fluids.

Sonetto breathed heavily, hand on her heart as the vibrations inside her grew more and less powerful every few seconds, sometimes a gentle flame, and then a roaring fire.

And Sonetto herself felt like a furnace.

Oh, she felt like she made a mistake, telling Vertin to use a vibrator on her--

Her mind went empty for a second, gushing once more, her legs shaking as she fell further down.

"It's good training," she had said. "It will help me with being influenced by other forces."

She lied through her teeth. And now, she's paying for it, one mind-numbing orgasm at a time.

---------

It was midday when Vertin head a knock on her door. It was weak.

Walking over and opening the door, Sonetto fell into her arms.

And she looked beautiful.

A feral look was in her eyes, looking at Vertin with many emotions; madness and affection most of all.

Her thighs and pants were drenched, it dripping down her thighs and clinging to her body.

And of course, a slow buzzing noise between her legs.

"...pl...e..." the poor girl couldn't make a sentence, never mind a thought. A feral look, but one that was clouded.

Vertin held her chin, tilting her up and hugging her. "Shhhh... you did good, Sonetto. Good job."

Sonetto sobbed into her shoulder, but was one made from happiness.

It was a strange bond. But they would not trade it for anything in the world.

[idiotwithanipad]

How Agatha met Rogh

(TW: Death, Injury detail, Panic, Trauma from past abuse, Blood)

Agatha couldn't feel anything. No pain, no weight about her chest and middle, no saturated burlap sack against her face. Her eyes adjusted and could see nothing, the candles must have burned out. The basement and it's lack of ventilation became a furnace flue in the dark, fresh air a blessing in this part of the manor.

Her hands still remained bound above her head, but she could no longer feel the rough ropes. Almost as if to test her luck, she tugged her arms forwards quickly and felt no resistance. They weren't tied anymore. Agatha sat bolt upright, reaching her hands up to the sack covering her head. She wrenched the foul bag from her head and dropped her legs from the side of the table.

A man stood before her. A different man from the last two. He looked strange, Agatha didn't get a chance to take a closer look at him, as the burlap sack somehow, in the blink of an eye, materialised itself back over her head, plunging her back into darkness.

Agatha released a shrill scream at the sudden realisation that another man was with her, and at the fact that the terrible bag was back over her head. Did he put it back there? Was she to be punished further? Yet, there was no time to worry about the bag. Agatha fell from the wooden table and splattered onto the floor on her side, quickly gathering herself and getting to her knees, her hands grasping and feeling around on the floor for the strange man's shoes.

"Oh please, sir, no more! I hath taken such beatings on this night, sir, I hath wailed so! I can take no more weight, sir!" Agatha pleaded and sobbed, tears pouring from her swollen eyes. Her little hands grasped onto an object, a soft object; it felt as though she had gripped onto an animal. The silence that followed only made her sob and quake even more, her shoulders and covered head wincing and shying away at every second.

The softness of whatever her hands grasped began to move, shifting slightly and brushing against her fingers and wrists, the heavy aura the man gave off seemed to hover over her like a giant. Unseen to Agatha, the man hand crouched down and began to inspect the heavily blood stained sack.

"I hath been falsely accused, sir. I committed no such crime nor sin, I hath only breathed for 11 years, sir. I hath never bedded another, nor hath I wished so". Agatha sobbed, her fingers still clutching onto what she assumed to be a large, fur lined coat.

A small sound caught her attention, even the snuffling of a mouse would've alerted her in this state; the slightest noise making her picture those two awful men charging back into the basement to tie her hands again and lash her with leather.

The sound rippled above her head, slight at first, but it's volume and intensity grew by the second. Fearing her pleading sobs had been taken as an offense, Agatha retracted her hands and held them together before her covered eyes, reciting the prayer that her mother had taught her in times of sorrow.

The sound was of a man, the man she had just managed to catch a glimpse of before her vision became clouded by the blood soaked burlap. Breathing. Inhaling and exhaling. Sniffing.

"Look like it hurt..." Definitely a man's voice, the gravely drawl of it seemed to send shards of ice through her flesh. Agatha froze as she heard the scraping of fingers against the burlap above her head.

"I beg of thee, sir... No more, no more... I cannot take no more..."

Her cries were cut short when a warm, somewhat calloused hand came to gently hold onto hers, the thumb rubbing softly over her bloodied knuckles.

"No more" The voice agreed. The tone and depth of the voice changed to one of pity and understanding, the kind her father would take to her when she would cry.

"Why does thou seek me? I am but a scullery maid, sir. Hath I overlooked a chore? The dogs hath their meats? The candles hath been lit? The fires been stoked? I should cease my tongue, lest I wish to have it torn from my throat" Agatha winced. The unseen figure remained silent for a moment, for what reason, Agatha couldn't tell, nor see.

"Not maid no more. No pain no more. No more blood. Bad man not squeeze feet in rocks no more. Is done now. No more"

Come to mention it, Agatha didn't feel anything, she could barely even feel the Rocky basement floor grazing her knees beneath her skirts. All she could feel was the man's hands slowly and gently move to her underarms, lifting her off of the ground and onto the table again. Carefully, being gentle so as to not frighten her.

"Feet in bad shape. Pressed too hard. Snapped. Broken like stick" The voice seemed full of pity and concern, yet Agatha couldn't feel anything which the voice described. The description the voice gave made her mind conjour images of what her abused feet would look like if she could see them, the very mental image of it turning her faint.

Agatha rose her hand to pull the burlap sack away once again, before the man's gentle hand came up to clasp at her wrist to stop her.

"No. No look. Won't lie, it big bad, but me not want little girl to see it"

Agatha jolted at the sudden contact.

"How am I to go about my chores, sir? I hath work to tend to. Must be nearing my time to awaken, I must light the fires to warm the house before the family rises for morning prayers" Agatha panicked, fearing another lashing.

"No need to work no more. You ghost now, same as me" The voice spoke, reassuringly. The word rattled Agatha's pounding brain.

"You die on table with two men putting heavy rock on chest, you stop breathing and spit blood. Now you ghost, so no more work and pain"

The man couldn't see, but beneath the burlap sack, Agatha's eyes bulged in horror and confusion. Agatha had always been taught that St Peter would greet her after death. But there was no St Peter here.

"Bad men, bad death, painful. Even other ghosts didn't want watch" The voice commented, followed by a stirring from the floor above. A second voice called down into the basement from the wooden steps.

"Have they stopped yet? I couldn't bare to watch it, turned me stomach and that's sayin' a lot" A man called, his face peering between two balusters, his jagged and awkwardly set teeth chittered in his protruding jaw.

"Looks like they're gone now, Mick" A woman's voice soothed.

"They were 'oribble to 'er!" The strange looking man, presumably 'Mick' cried.

Agatha turned her covered face towards to source of the noise, but she still couldn't see past the burlap.

"Sir, this wretched bag will not keep itself from smothering me, sir. I cannot remove it" Agatha remarked, her fingers toying with the frayed fabric.

"You stay how you die. You die with bag on head, you stay with bag on head" The man said, almost too calmly, like he was well experienced. Agatha wasn't ready to accept that word, 'die'. Had she died? Is that why she felt nothing? How could she possibly survive a crushing that would kill even a grown man?

"Sir, I doth need air, sir. I must excuse myself" Agatha croaked, bowing her head slightly to the man and shuffling to drop herself down from the wooden table. Her twisted feet landed on the floor but soon after buckled when she took a few steps toward the stairs. She went hurtling forward, her arms flailing to find something to grab onto for leverage, only to collide with the stone floor.

"Oh. You okay?" The man called from behind her, shuffling closer and patting her back with his hand.

"I cannot seem to walk proper, sir. I'm to be given the boot, sir? Cast out to become a woman of the night?" Agatha whimpered, rubbing at the palms of her hands from her rough landing on the floor; she expected a few grazes, but felt no damage at all.

"No. You ghost, me told before. But can still go up there, come me show you" The man chimed. He carefully gathered the eleven year old maid into his arm and began up the stairs. The sickly looking, boil covered ghosts backed themselves against the walls as they watched the caveman pass. They looked at the state of the young girl, although they didn't see her face, they saw the state of her chest and feet, their eyes bulging in shock. One of them even started crying.

Agatha made sure to turn her face away from the man's; she was terrified that he too would scream and yell at her, her fists still clasped together as extra measure just in case she needed to say a quick prayer.

"There, this a big room, I call it 'Big Room'" The man finally spoke, Agatha could feel that he stopped walking and stood turning left and right in place.

"Sir, I cannot see much through this bag. Tis a task" Agatha mumbled.

"Oh... Well, is big room, red walls, picture of ugly man on wall with ugly woman and ugly boy, got swords on hip-"

"I should like to go back downstairs now, sir!" Agatha blurted, a harsh rattle in her voice.

"Ey? But only just got here. Said needed air-"

"Yes, sir, indeed I did, sir. And I hath gotten air now, sir... " Agatha's arms came up about her chest, forearms crossing over each other, the lace of her leather corset tickling down her cuffs.

The strange, still unseen man gave a small grumble of confusion and mild annoyance and turned on his heel, Agatha still in his arm. She flinched and practically buried herself under her own arms, snapping her face away from him and shielding her head with them.

"NO no, I beg thee, sir, don't!"

The man froze, his wide eyes stared at the state of panic the girl had gotten into from a mere few seconds; surely she didn't think that he'd hurt her, did she? Had he given that impression?

"Ey, me not hurt, have I?" He spoke, gently, being careful not to panic her further. It took a few seconds for Agatha's trembling to stop, her arms slowly lowered to rest neatly in her dirt covered lap.

"No, sir. Thou hath not risen thy hand to me in fury, sir..." Agatha agreed meekly.

The man began slolwy walking back towards the basement steps, carefully trying not to jostle her anymore, he didn't want her to think she was in danger.

"And my name not 'Sir'. It's 'Rogh'..."

[realllyrandommann]

One day I thought I should get out of my comfort zone (my cosy little world) and play something harsher. On Forge. Yeah, severe lag incoming. Anyway, I installed a bunch of eerie mods and jumped right in. Almost immediately I started taking notes of my in-character experience. Here's what I wrote.

---

cut down one of those big trees. meant to spend the night high up but it's freezing cold, and I'd left my workbench on the ground. seeing monsterous creatures but fine so far.

these sights man. the aurora in the night sky is something to see.

getting so very cold. had to lit the furnace again. as long as there's something to burn, should be ok.

the day has come, but so did the rain. i had hoped to get warm in the sun but the sky is grey…

it's been raining the entire day. i need food, need shelter.

found a clearing with purple flowers and purple trees. upon being cut down, one of them revealed a core of deadly white.

i-i see eyes. i hear voices! noises- i must hide somewhere, quick!

something hit me while i was staring down a deep hole in the ground. i'm not alone! i cannot see a living soul but i'm not alone!

all horses stare at me

i smashed a snail. disgusting goo came out of its shell. ew!

back in the forest. it's much warmer than in the open.

i don't want to die! they're creeping all around me. the shadows. the shadows!

i… have calmed down a bit. but very weak.

extremely exhausted but with a place to sit for the night!

risked it all, risked my tired legs but got down to the river and collected some sand for window panes. and fish! i cut down fish! i can finally eat! only to get home-

so nice and warm by a firepit with my stomach full. i feel blessed!

how dangerous nature is, and how beautiful. i saw the sky tinted in reds as i was climbing the mountain last night. i must be at the very top of the world.

carelessly lost my sword in the river. i cannot keep killing fish anymore. i'm disgusted by it! have to find another source of food.

the sword is- i got it back. i don't know how but it's back to me.

went out to set up a crop farm and got ambushed by them exploding creatures. not setting a foot outside until morning. the tree i planted won't grow. i wonder if crops would?..

i simply cannot believe how good i feel. no voices or strange sound, no running through darkness and freezing night.

i'm making a mistake. it's getting dark, i am far from home and don't have anything on me. even food! only the rotten pieces from those monsters. although it seems to be warm here. i'm digging down.

working hard but still can't help thinking. what if i won't find the way home? will i perish in the darkness?

it's raining outside! i don't know where to go! is it morning or evening? i can see the overgrown field… faintly, in the distance. that's where i came from. will try to make it. i've mined a shiny stone.

the field be damned! i lost all sense of direction. what will become of me when it gets dark?

i'm cold. god help me! am i dying? there are creatures in the crying skies. huge, flying creatures. i can see something glowing ahead but dare not risk it. i-i will die.

there are pale lips in the sky, grinning with a wicked smile. …is this the moon?..

should i… should i eat the thing i got from these walking corpses? ah! the fire is out. i'm so hungry. what am i to do? the awful creatures are still waiting for me. if i survive this… i'll have only a day.

i- i- i ate the cursed thing. it's a bit more bearable now. it- it did me good. bah, cannot believe i'm saying it.

dawn! begone, awful demons!

what… what is this? am i… dead? was i?.. i went to investigate a mysterious frame standing in the open. there was a block of solid gold, but the place was so hot! my greed blinded me. oh, how embarassing! how i stumbled between the rocks, swoony and still hoping to somehow escape my fate. but- but i'm still here. i'll find that place. as i've said, i only have one day.

it's so very dark. but thanks to the night i found the place! the frame is broken and has a strange violet glow. and also, i- i'd seen my own body. not sure. it's not there anymore. i'm waiting in this unholy place till the morning-red and- i just want to be back home.

---

Even more beautiful screenshots ↓↓↓

Shiny!

[myhauntedsalem]

Rolling Hills Asylum

New York

Genesee County Home also known as Rolling Hills has a long tormented history. Over 1,000 deaths reportedly took place within its walls. Genesse County purchased the property in 1826 and opened its doors to the poor a year later. They took in anyone who could not support themselves including orphans, elderly, paupers and the insane. They were self-sufficient farming on 100’s of acres of county owned land.

Besides being a poorhouse, it was a hospital, a prison for both men and women, a TB ward, and an insane asylum at the same time as an orphanage. By the 1950s, it was turned into a nursing home, but the residents were moved to a new facility in 1974. For twenty years, the building sat empty until 1992 when it was open as Carriage Village, a mall of unique shops. The name was changed to Rolling Hills Country Mall in January 2003, and became a co-op a year later. In September 2004, overnight ghost hunts began at Rolling Hills making it the first historical site in New York to do so.

There have been reports of figures in windows, shadows passing out of the corner of eyes and strange noises. Jason from TAPS had an interesting experience in a furnace room. A heavy metal door kept closing on him by itself. However, witness accounts such as these may end soon. The owner has supported the upkeep of the building by holding weekly Ghost Hunts. Unfortunately, due to back taxes and other financial obligations, Rolling Hills is currently in danger of foreclosing. The owner applied for National Historic Status in order to save the building, but that takes several years.

[myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19]

Part Of The Gang

I haven't posted in forever but I missed Tumblr. I also had to take this piece somewhere. Nothing else to say but missed the whump community.

@irathgo @smellofsnoww Keir is not happy.

********************

Keir had finished another one of Jeremy's stupid errands. Breaking into a warehouse was the not the most ridiculous things he had ever asked but its up there.

He said it was important, whatever it is, he just wants it done already.

He pulled his coat up, it looked cloudy outside, could rain. Good the rain's noise could cover for him.

Just as he got into the warehouse through, the lights were turned on. Aimed at him and only him. Keir shielded his eyes from the light.

"happy you made it." A voice behind the light said.

Keir didn't give a reaction to Jeremy's surprise entrance. Another game he figured.

There were more people in the room, he could feel it.

"Finally introducing me?" Keir asked, his tone and expression blank as always.

Jeremy hummed, "you could say that." He replied. Keir could hear the happiness in his tone.

"got anything on you?" Jeremy asked.

Keir put his hands up to show he wasn't armed. He can't try anything here if he wanted to. They'd probably kill him in an instance.

Despite this two men walked up behind Keir, search probably, he thought.

What he didn't expect was the sharp pain he would feel at the back of his head. Then everything went black and he fell to the ground .

****

When he woke up he was in a chair, restrained to it. Jeremy is always playing on his nerves one way or the other but this was different.

He realized he was in a large cage and he was locked down in a chair. Medieval style with his feet and hands as well as the chair locked in place. But everyone else could see him.

Keir tried but of course he couldn't get free from the restraints holding him.

"Look, this is going to hurt." Jeremy said, the cocky smile ever so present. "but it's going to be good."

He wanted to answer the man but realized he couldn't. They gagged him with a piece of cloth in his mouth and tape to keep it in place. Keir could only look at him with fury in his eyes.

Jeremy walked around him, admiring his new member. "I had high hopes for you kid.'' Jeremy said, circling Keir.

It was visible this was a public thing, so many members were here. An initiation.

"And you surpassed them all." Jeremy commended him but honestly this whole thing made Keir sick.

He had to run every errand that this fucked up asshole sent him on. Jeremy still held everyone's life above Keir's head. He knew Keir would never risk the lives of the people around him.

With the gag on, all Keir could do was glare at Jeremy and all the others.

"After everything you've done, I think you deserve to be a part of my family." Jeremy said, motioning to the people around.

There was a sense of ceremony as the people gathered around. The more Keir looked, the more he realized that everyone wasn't wearing their shirts.

The room wasn't well lit but he could swear he was seeing something around them. Something on their chest. He squinted trying to make out what it was. It was circular with a strange pattern in it. He moved his head closer to make it out some more, it didn't look like a tattoo…no it was….

Keir's eyes grew wide when he realized what that was. A brand, they were branded, that's what this whole thing is about.

He began to move around the chair, trying to get his hands and legs free.

"Welcome." Jeremy's loud voice announced.

Two men came and stood beside Keir, holding the chair and him in place.

He demanded they let him go but his demands were muffled by the gag in his mouth.

Jeremy continued as always, a person came closer wheeling what looked like a furnace that had long metal bars sticking out.

Keir's eyes turned to horror when he saw that. He turned to Jeremy, only to see him being handed thick gloves by some other guys.

Keir tried again to get away, but they held him down.

Jeremy proceeded with his business, picking out a white hot branding iron. It had a pattern that Keir had seen on Jeremy a few times.

He gave a nod to the two people holding him and they ripped Keir's shirt away.

At some point when Jeremy was merely a foot away Keir stopped struggling, it was futile,but they didn't let go. Trying to ready himself for the inevitable pain, he wasn't getting out of this.

The branding iron was still so hot that some of it seemed to melt away, dripping to the wet floor. Fizzling out but not before a fight.

That would be put on him and he couldn't do anything about it. It was all too real finally when Jeremy was standing right in front of him. Branding iron in hand and proud grin on his face.

"You're now part of my family." Jeremy told him, Keir looked up at him with cold fury that Jeremy just seemed to eat it up. He looked….proud.

Without warning the white hot iron was dug into Keir's bare chest. He screamed but the sound was mostly caught by the gag.

His struggles were stopped by the men holding him. All he could do was endure the smell of his burning flesh and the pain that came from the heat.

The people around were cheering the new addition but all that was drowned by the explosive burning sensation. Jeremy dug deep and he began trying to shake away some more just wanting it to stop. He begged at some point.

It felt like it went on forever but at some point, Jeremy pulled the iron away and placed it in a bucket of water brought beside him.

The men from before let go of Keir, the young man's head fell to his chest. He felt exhausted, all this just took the energy out of him. He breathed heavily through his nose until someone removed the gag and he breathed through his mouth.

"Almost done," Jeremy said and Keir struggled to look up.

"F…uck…y��ou…" Keir huffed, still unable to even lift his head.

Jeremy chuckled, "just hold on." He put the gag back in Keir's mouth.

Someone came later with a plate, there was powder on it. Jeremy put some on his hand, covering only his fingers.

Keir's mind was fogged up with all of this, sweat dripping from his forehead, wetting his hair.

That's why he couldn't see as Jeremy began to rub the powder along the fresh wound.

"This is to make sure it's visible." He said as he applied the powder gently. Every spread made the pain worse and Keir just wanted it to stop.

Keir began to scream again, trying to move his shoulder away but Jeremy held him with one hand until it had gone full circle and inside the pattern.

All this continued despite Keir's pleas for it to stop. At some point they got quieter, Keir feeling more and more fogged up. His mind shutting down.

By the time Jeremy was done Keir's cries were merely mumbles and barely whispers.

Jeremy removed the gag and lifted the boy's head, feeling proud of Keir. He raised Keir's head by his chin. Keir's eyes were glassy and empty. Unable to focus on Jeremy until they closed.

That's when he lost consciousness. Jeremy smiled as usual. They began to take Keir out of his restraints. Now the next couple of days would be rough, but he knows Keir can handle it.

****

James wasn't expecting such a weird call that day but everything connected to the kid is weird. But this is worse. He took his coat, noticing how rainy it was just minutes before.

They say they found the kid, but he was passed out somewhere in an alley. He always has people around and they know to look out for Keir.

He rushed over, taking his car with him until he stopped at the place Keir was supposed to be.

They didn't touch the kid yet, something was keeping them from doing it apparently.

"Where is he?" James asked immediately as he stepped out of his car.

The guy that called him sighed, "this way." He said and began leading James to his nephew. They all knew who Keir was and they saw him as family just as James did.

James kept following, the guy stopped a few feet from where Keir was propped up against a wall.

The kid looked about alright, he wasn't bleeding, he didn't look beat up and he was alive from what he could see. But that doesn't explain why he was unconscious.

James stepped closer, he knelt down. Before he could even check for a pulse, he saw it. That's why his men were hesitant to get close. That bastard branded the kid and made him a part of his gang. Everyone must have been scared just in case he was dead.

James cursed, but proceeded and checked for a pulse, thankfully he found it. He has no time to think about gang laws right now. Keir would be fine, he probably just passed out from the initiation.

He lifted Keir off the cold floor, the kid was shivering. Well he was soaked right now. They just had to leave him in the cold rain. Fucking pricks.

He got to the car and his friend earlier at least helped him open the door.

James took off his jacket and immediately wrapped it around the kid. They didn't even give him a shirt at least

James hurried upstairs when he reached the loft. He dried and clothed the kid as quickly as he could. He could feel his temperature rising the more he helped him get dry.

Before he could dress Keir however he had to take care of that nasty brand. He couldn't get rid of it, it's too late for that now. He made the hard decision to just treat it so the kid wouldn't get a terrible infection. It's the only way he could make this go smoother.

He started with the painful process of cleaning and dressing the burn. Keir moaned and whimpered as he did it. Trying to get away from pain, James held him down without much effort.

"Yeah I'm almost done." James told him. The kid probably couldn't hear him anyway. But he finished dressing it and put something warm around the kid.

He placed a cold pack over his forehead and wrapped him up to try and get that fever to reduce. Already did all the other necessary things, like antibiotics and pain meds. Just had to wait to see how he takes it.

This won't be easy