#he'll always have his hands dripping with blood.... yeah....

[mothheart]

"i saw that hes capable of doing good but was it all just a facade" <- YOU SEE.

yes. simple answer would have to be yes????? (questioning my own train of thought!!!!!!!!)

because subspace, in this au of your au, is like this. being a sadistical, evil scientist is a core foundation to him being him, yk? its like that one saying:

You can take Subspace out of torturing people,

but you can't torturing people out of Subspace.

its a need for him. an out. an unhealthy mechanism egged onto him since he was spawned, id think. "we need you to be fucked up ok?" "okay~!"

and id think medkit would come to that conclusion too. that subspace *is* nice, can be nice, but will always have his hands dripping with blood. *its just who he is*.

idk, just forethoughts. the brain is wonky rn lol

- 💫 anon

YOURE SO REAL

and god i love the thought of subspace having been like. manipulated from spawn to be Fucked Up and encouraged as he got worse and worse like. that's definitely the case for subspace in my au (amongst other things but i get nervous to talk about them)

[gaypirate420]

Haircut //Jasper W. Hale.

Jasper Whitlock-Hale x gn! reader.

Summary: Jasper did a thing while he was in a mood.

Angst/Fluff. Jasper icon by @jasperhaleobsessed

The vampire steps out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist. The water dripping down his yellow hair, his pale hand wipes the steam off the mirror above the sink.

Golden eyes stare at his reflection.

Paper white skin decorated with deep scars. His muscles tensed up. He leans over, his hands holding hard on the sink, cracking it slightly.

It hasn't been a great week.

No, it hasn't been a great month. Year. Decade(s).

Since Victoria and her wannabe army of newborn vampires showed up he's been spiraling each day.

Slowly, the glass have been a drops away from spilling.

The memories just flooded his mind everytime he closed his eyes.

They're always there, but they're more vivid this time, he doesn't like this, Jasper knows this cycle too well, he doesn't want to be part of it again.

He thought he was getting better.

Jasper's been pushing you away and he's an idiot for that because he needs you, he needs you so so so bad but Jasper just can't tell you he's struggling. And he doesn't know why that is. Maybe he feels ashamed for being so weak, so broken.

There's a reason why you and him have been together for almost fifty years. You just bring the best of him and make the pain go away. Always.

A smile creeps on his face but it goes away quickly, he sighs and looks at the mirror one more time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Jasper? Sunshine, you in here?" You asked while stepping inside the Cullen's house. The ironey flavor of blood still in your mouth after a successful hunt.

"...yeah." He mumbled from upstairs there was a slight shake on his voice. No waiting for you at the door? No bouquet of flowers? No forehead kiss? No 'Darlin' I missed ya.'?

Something happened. Something bad.

You approached your shared bedroom opening the door slowly.

Your eyes try to process what their seeing.

Jasper was sitting at the edge of the bed, eyes unfocused starring at the locks of hair on the floor. His pale fingers holding a pair of scissors, shaking.

And of course his hair. Short. Cut at random lengths after a fit of raw emotion. Anger. Sadness. Desperation. That's what his aura is filled with.

"Sweetheart..." You called softly and closed the door behind you. The vampire doesn't react to your presence at all, he just looks straight ahead, deep in thought.

Jasper catches on the steps getting closer to him and a gentle hand tilt his chin up gently to make his eyes meet yours. His almost numb expression makes you want to cry. The golden color of his eyes holds no shine, they're dull and empty.

"Hey, sunshine." You whisper softly and cup his face, leaning on your touch and a small gasp leaving his lips, if he was human he'll be all tears right now.

"Oh—it's okay, sweetheart." You whisper reassuringly. The blonde wraps his arms around your waist and holds you close, burying his face on your chest, taking a deep breath and drowning on your comforting scent.

You stroke his now short hair.

"...sorry" He whimpers against your chest trying to find some peace with your touch.

"Why are you apologizing, cowboy?" You whisper softly and caress his face, he can't look at you right now, he feel so ashamed because you're seeing him like this.

"... because— I'm a mess." His voice breaks and he holds closer to you. You just stroke his hair and kiss his forehead.

"...and my hair is ugly now." He added, a bitter chuckle follows. You take the scissors from his shaking hands and brush his hair down.

"May I fix it?" You asked before cutting anything.

"Can you?" He asks hopeless as he closes his eyes, he feels defeated, tired, he just wants to sleep but he can't sleep because of his nature.

"Well... either way I think you'll look handsome bald." You try to lighten the mood and it surprisingly works because his frown turns into a smirk. He nods and allows you to fix his hair.

You lean down to kiss his lips, a tender, slow and gentle kiss. He holds the kiss for longer, the feeling of your lips against his are a great distraction from the memories that are haunting him.

Jasper closes his eyes as you work on his hair. He doesn't know if the silence is dreadful or comfortable.

"Do you want to talk about what happened? I'm very worried about you, don't think I don't notice how distant you've been." You whisper with a serious expression.

He shakes his head slowly, the idea of discussing his feelings and pain being something he is not ready to do just yet. Your touches help in distract him.

"...maybe later, darlin', I'm sorry." Jasper whispers as he keep my eyes closed, focusing on the sensation of your fingers through his hair to avoid a relapse of his previous train of thought. He takes a couple of deep breaths as the gentle movement of your fingers helps him calm down and have a clearer mindset.

"Done." You said softly and clean his sweater from the fallen hair. You take on his image, his new look.

"You look real pretty, Jazz." You smiled, Jasper returned the smile in a much weaker way. He doesn't check himself in the mirror, he trusts you and knows you did a much better work than he did.

"....thank you, sugar." He whispers, feeling a little tired from all this. He holds your hand and kisses your palm.

"Cuddles?" You whisper back, he nods and picks you up to throw you in the bed with him.

He nuzzles his face on your neck, holding you so close to him. He takes a deep deep breath and closes his eyes.

".... you're- stuck with me forever...I'm sorry. You deserve someone better. I'm so sorry, sweetheart." He whispers against your skin.

"I'm happy to have you forever. I don't want anybody else." You whisper back and kiss the top of his head. He smiles weakly and hols you close, nuzzling to you like a needy kitten.

"...and I'm happy I got you too. I don't know who I'll be without you." Jasper closes his eyes and leaves gentle kisses on your neck.

"I love you so much." You whisper.

"I love you more." He answer with a gentle whisper.

"hmmm, I don't think so. I love you more than that." You speak teasingly, he chuckles softly and hugs you tightly.

"I love ya a hundred times that." He answers with a weak voice, like he's very sleepy.

"Well, I love you a thousand times that." You speak with a following giggle, Jasper chuckles and kisses your lips once more.

He's going to be okay. Here in your arms.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: heyyyy, here's an angsty fic because an idea came to my mind thinking about why did Jasper has such a radical haircut in between movies. And I was like "that's how you cut your hair after a breakdown." Y'know? So here's this, hope you like it, requests are open!

[thatfreshi]

OH THANK GOD anyways I think it'd be funny if astarion just found out his also elf lover was younger than he thought lol. Like vampy brain think "oh elf? Must be like 100 something at least" but nah they about as old as he was before the big bite lol

Recommended Song: Beneath the Mask - Adriana Figueroa, FT. Insanetherain

You and Astarion love waking up together. Despite the fact that he doesn't have to sleep all that much, he likes to, as long as it's with you. Even so, if he can't sleep, he'll lie next to you, his eyes wandering over your peaceful form. Most mornings, he wakes up before you. Or most nights. Your sleep schedule has gotten quite chaotic, living with a vampire and all. Then evening in particular, you wake up to his loving stare, eyes that tell all. You remember when they said nothing, when you could only hope to understand him.

"Good evening my sweet."

He goes to kiss your neck, clearly a little peckish. You feel one of his fangs graze your skin.

"I just woke up my love, give me a minute. So desperate, gods..."

You shove your face back into the pillow, exhaustion unwavering.

"I"m always desperate when it comes to you my dear."

He's right beside you, his sweet voice resonating in your veins, dripping into your blood like honey.

"At least you admit it."

He nudges you, urging you to get up from your slumber.

"Come now, you don't need any more beauty rest. You're perfect."

You move to look at him again, smiling like a little kid, wondering what you did to find this man. Well, technically you got kidnapped by mind flayers, but that's besides the point.

"I guess I should get up. Won't be young forever."

"Oh, you flatter yourself. You're not that young."

As you stretch in the moonlight through the window, you turn to give him an odd stare, raising an eyebrow.

"Aster, what do you mean?"

A laugh lies on the end of your sentence.

"Why, you're decades old at this point. I know us elves are supposed to live for a long time, but you're not some spry little thing."

You just continue to stare at him, confused. Is he kidding?

"Astarion, just how old do you think I am?"

"A hundred or so, maybe more, maybe less."

He then realizes it has never once come up in conversation. You don't really talk about ages all that much, as that often leads to birthdays, and you don't really celebrate birthdays either, considering Astarion doesn't remember when his is.

"Wait, have I really never asked how old you are?"

"Nope. I guess it doesn't really matter."

"Well, please share. I have to add it to my 'Encyclopedia of Tav'"

You get a little nervous, wondering if this will change anything. Clearly you're both mature people, but you hadn't thought of just how far apart you were.

"I'm only thirty."

He sits up.

"Are you- you're being serious? You're thirty?"

"No, I'm clearly joking about my age to get a rise out of you Astarion."

You roll your eyes at him. He looks off for a moment, clearly pondering something.

"You... you have so much time."

"Yeah, I guess so."

"Well, in that case, we have plenty of nights to spare."

He wraps his hands around your waist, pulling you on top of him. You smile, intertwining your fingers with his, holding hands against the blanket. You lean over by his ear.

"Might as well make the most of them."

[that-basic-simp]

Blood & Bruises PT. I

Mizu X Fem!Reader CW: Blood WC: 1.2k+ Uses he/him and she/her pronouns for Mizu. Changes depending on who is being spoken to.

"Again, Mizu?" I asked as she stumbled into the house with blood dripping down her upper body. Puffs of her breath could be seen as well as the sound of her heavy breathing.

Slowly nodding her head, she walked towards me, immediately collapsing. Rushing up, I caught her before she could fall. Sighing, I carefully laid her down and that was when the door opened up.

"Go away. I need to treat someone," I stood up, turning around. "Oh, Ringo. My apologies."

"And Taigen," Taigen poked his head out from the left side of Ringo.

"Quickly, get in here. Actually, Taigen, leave."

"Why do I need to leave?"

"I need Ringo's help."

"He doesn't have hands."

"Not in that way. He knows how to make medicine for Mizu. You know, medicine Mizu will actually take," I shot a glare towards her.

I knew Ringo knew about Mizu, but Taigen still doesn't know. I don't want him finding out without Mizu telling him. She should be the one to inform him of her true identity. But would it even matter to him at that point? All he sees her as is a monster. That's all he'll ever see her as.

"Fine," Taigen said and walked away from the front door.

Ringo stepped inside and closed the door.

"Get to making the medicine," I said and walked to where Mizu was laying.

"I-I'm sorry, Y/N," she breathed out.

"Save your breath," I sighed. "I'm just glad you come back to me in one piece."

Removing her top, I found the stab wounds were by the top of her shoulder, the left and right side of her abdomen, and one in the center. Typical Mizu. Always stepping in front of harm's way.

"You do know you're supposed to block with your sword. Not your body."

"Sorry I can't help it," Mizu said in a serious tone.

"Lighten up, Mizu. I was joking. I know you can't help it."

"Then why say it?"

"To get you to smile. You're pretty when you smile. Or handsome. Whichever you prefer."

"Either is fine, but handsome in front of Taigen."

"Understood. But I am speaking the truth. You are pretty when you smile. And when you let your hair down. Does it need to be trimmed?"

"No. The length is fine. And I only let it down when I bathe."

"I know. Which you need to do since there is a lot of blood. You can bathe in my bathroom and I'll sew your clothes back together. Sound good?"

"Yeah. Thank you, Y/N."

"Anything for you, Mizu. Ringo, is that medicine ready?"

"Getting there."

"Of course," I breathed out, continuing to stitch Mizu's wounds. "How are you not dead?"

"I don't think I can die, even if I tried to."

"Mizu, the last thing I need you to do is die on me. You still have a mission you need to do."

"And I will get it done. No matter what it takes."

Once I had finished stitching up the wounds, Ringo came over and handed Mizu a hot bowl filled with broth and vegetables. After she finished it, she headed towards my room to get undressed and to bathe. She even set her clothes outside so I could have easier access to them. Heading outside, I began to rinse the blood from her clothing. Every time she visits or comes by, she's always bleeding. I guess I solidified a place for her as a trustworthy person. Because I never judged her when I first found her almost bleeding out in the snow. Even after everything she told me, I still cared for her like how my parents cared for me.

"You don't have to do that for him, you know," Taigen came over to me.

"Do what?"

"Take care of him. He can take care of himself."

"I know Mizu can, but who will take care of Mizu when he himself can't?"

"What?"

"He can't stitch up every wound he gets. He can't even make medicine without Ringo. Someone needs to watch after him at times. But in battle, that's a different story."

"Have you seen him fight?"

"I have," I said.

"He's a monster," Taigen whispered.

Reaching down, I grabbed a soaking wet towel and smacked him with it.

"Hey! What was that for?!"

"Mizu is not a monster."

"Clearly you haven't met him."

"I have. I know of his eyes. I know of his heritage."

"And you don't think he's a monster?"

"No. He's just another person."

"That is a monster."

"You need to stop thinking about how you were raised and think of Mizu. You were one of his childhood bullies, weren't you?"

"I was."

"And yet you're working with him."

"I am making sure he doesn't die by another person's hands. Him and I are set to duel one another."

"Ah yes, because the mighty Taigen never loses. Not ever. And yet wasn't your top knot cut off by him?"

"Yes."

"And you have yet to do the same to him. Shows how strong he is compared to you."

"He could never beat me."'

I turned and faced Taigen with a 'are you serious' look, "Wasn't he also the one who showed that you could be taken down by a chopstick? While he was still recovering too?"

"Who told you that?"

"Same person who told me about you and the fight at the Shindo-dojo," I said.

"Mizu," he snarled.

"Don't think I don't know everything about you, Taigen. Mizu tells me everything."

"Why?"

"Simple: he trusts me."

"Or he's looking at sleeping with you."

"Mizu is not that kind of person."

"You don't know him."

"You're right, I don't. And neither do you."

Taigen scoffed and walked off. I kind of hated talking to him whenever he talked down about Mizu. Picking my head up, the window to my room was open and Mizu was leaning against it, a smile on her face. I waved up to her and she waved back to me. After cleaning her clothes, I walked inside and hung them up before getting her a kimono to wear. Knocking on the door before sliding it open, Mizu has dried off and was wearing her chest binding and undergarments.

"Your clothes are drying. Here," I handed her a kimono.

"Thank you," she said.

"Y-Your arms," I noticed her forearms. They were covered in bruises. Scanning down, I found she also had bruises on her calves and shins.

"Training weights," Mizu said.

"Where else do you have bruises?"

Mizu stood up and put the kimono on. There were bruises on her thighs and abdomen as well. How did I miss those?

"Like my wounds, I get a lot of bruises, too."

There were scars along her upper body, close to or exactly at the same place she repeatedly got wounded at. Now that I could see them, there was faint bruising on her lower abdomen, where her stomach was. I let out a sad sigh, shaking my head.

"I'm worried about you, Mizu."

"You don't need to worry about me, Y/N," she wrapped the kimono around her body, tying it together with the belt.

"But I do. I worry every time you leave this place and when you come back bloodier than before."

"It's what happens when you're on the path for revenge."

"When you heal, and you're not leaving until those stitches come out," I pointed a finger at her. "Please promise you will be careful out there."

"I-I'll try to, Y/N."

That's all that mattered. Is that she would try to. Stepping towards her, I pulled her in for a rare hug only we share. I had feelings for Mizu, there was no denying it. But I don't think she had feelings towards me that I knew of. Her arms wrapped around me and she held me close.

[spicyicetea]

Just my luck that I'd mention the poll saying one thing and it suddenly changing. I've decided that I'm going to go off of what the poll says as I'm writing chapter 1. Currently its caught between having no powers and being able to take peoples powers when they've been defeated. I'm going to go off of the idea that she can take powers from someone once they're dead, but the power is weakened. For example, she could take a dead mans stand but it would be nowhere near as strong as it was with the original user. I hope this makes all parties happy, yall still get your horny yanderes don't worry.

You were always ours

JJBA various!Yandere x reader

MDNI with this story it will contain NSFW themes and behaviour, you are responsible for the content you consume. TW!Blood/Mentions of Sexual assault/Y/N degrades herself due to past abusive relationship.

prologue/(Chapter 1)/Next part

With a groan and your head rocking against the cold stone beneath, you lifted yourself up. The left side of your head and hair were wet, having been soaking in the puddle you awoke in. Everying still hurts, head spinning in a nauseating way. What had just happened? Where were you? Your hands were covered in light scratches, stinging as your fingers flexed to gain your bearings. The last thing you remembered was… yes that thing grabbing you and your eye.

“Thank god you're awake! Y/N are you alright?” Eliana knelt beside you, cradling her own arm.

Blood ran down her fingers and dripped into the puddle, a rather large gash in her upper arm. In her other hand was a what looked like a letter opener, bloodied and chipped. Her hair was a knotted mess as she grabbed your face and tilted it left and right, inspecting the bruises from the harsh ground. She pause, starring at your eye with an odd intensity.

“Holy shit, no way, that looks the exact same as their birthmark. A star but not perfect, slightly warped… oh no… is that why we're here? Is this England?”

“Eliana, what are talking about-” She harshly turned your head to look at your reflection in the water, and as she stated, one of your pupils was now a strange looking star.

“So that wasn't a dream… I did see my eye right in our dorm. Wait does that mean that purple thing was real too?”

“Purple thing?”

“Yeah, there was this man who grabbed me from behind when i tried to help you after you passed out, but his body was purple…”

“No way… that was-”

“What are two little ladies like you doing out here in the middle of the night. Didn't think girlies like you were prostitutes.”

A man grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking you up to stand on the tips of your toes. You hissed in pain as he held your hair tightly, his other hand grabbing the neck of your shirt. His friend just stood behind Eliana grabbing her arms as she went to punch him.

“Woah there pretty girl, you'll get your turn once we're done with your friend here.” They laughed, fear shooting up your neck, feeling the bile rising in your throat.

“Get off of her you bastard,” Eliana thrashed, biting the mans arm.

Despite how much you wanted to scream and gouge this fuckers eyes out, you couldn't move. It had been a year since your ex had been chased off by Eliana, but it seemed he still haunted you. The echoes of his hands against your bruised skin, nails digging into you neck as he squeezed as hard as he could. Why? To punish you of course. You had spilt cola all down his shirt and you had to be taught a lesson. Always misbehaving, you couldn't do anything right. Maybe he's still watching you… maybe you deserved this. It was impossible to see with your vision obscured with tears, just letting yourself go limp as your legs became cold due to your trousers falling to your ankles. Just like him… you can just play dead and he'll get bored.

“What are you doing? That's no way to treat a lady!”

Your bare legs hit the ground as your ears rang, barely keeping you conscious. A pair of hands grabbed your shoulders as someone pulled you to your feet, helping fix your clothes. As the ringing stopped, new voices stood out from the general ambience, helping bring you out of your trance.

“Is she going to be alright? Poor thing, no true gentleman would even think of touching a woman like that. Such a fair maiden as well…”

“She'll be fine, it isn't the first time… sorry that's not my information to divulge…” Eliana said, her face coming into focus as she wiped tears from your cheeks with a handkerchief.

“Not the first? Blimey… good thing Jonathan and I got here when we did. Ah her eyes, hey are you feeling better?”

You looked over the three people in front of you, Eliana handing a handkerchief to a blue haired man. To his right was a blond man, the one who was just speaking, his eyes scanning over your face attentively. Swallowing down the feeling of anxiety as much as possible, you nodded and he smiled, turning to his friend to get his attention. His friend turned to you with a soft smile, handing you the handkerchief motioning to bellow your nose. You touch your upper lip and notice the small amount of blood stuck to it, you must have bitten your lip in the struggle.

“Ah thank you…” Your eyes scanned the cloth he had handed you, reading the name on it. “Jonathan Joestar. Thank you Jonathan, genuinely thank you so much.” Tears bubbled up in your eyes as you stepped forward, your shaky legs giving way as you face plant into his chest. He gasped before grabbing your shoulder, his other hand raising your head by your chin to make sure you hadn't hurt yourself. It was like the world went silent, his eyes staring into your own. His thumb rubbed over your bottom lip as his pupils dialated, head cocking to the side before he jolted back. His friend had put a hand on his shoulder, muttering something before he gasped and let you go.

“Ah yes! I have to return to father! Thanks for reminding me Speedwagon, you should accompany me! After my father is given his antidote I'm sure he'd let you stay with us, you wouldn't have to worry about nasty men like that anymore. I'd keep you safe.”

“I… I cant accept that Jonathan, you've already done enough.”

“Nonsense! I can't leave a defenceless woman like yourself in such a dangerous area!”

“He's right, these streets aren't safe for a sweet woman like yourself, I should know.” Speedwagon added, him and Jonathan sharing a strange look before nodding and turning back to you.

“I'm flattered, I really am but I cant leave my friend behind-”

“Then she can come to, come on then keep up we don't have time to waste!” Jonathan picked you up by your hips, holding you bridal style in his arms and he ran from the alley.

“HEY WAIT UP” Eliana yelled, running after him and Speedwagon.

“I said you had to keep up!” Jonathan yelled back, smiling down at you.

There was something about that smile, so sweet and consuming. He was so… warm. Maybe he was right… having somewhere warm to sleep would be nice. So warm…

While resting your head against his chest your eyes slipped closed, falling asleep against him. You couldn’t see the way he smiled down and squeezed you tighter, just making you mumble in your sleep.

“So what are you going to do with my friend while you’re confronting Dio huh?” Eliana said, catching up finally.

“Wow, you’re faster than you look. I’ll do what I have to… wait, how do you know about Dio.”

“We overheard you talking earlier, mentioning him poisoning your father.”

Jonathan gave her a suspicious look, before turning his head back to your sleeping form, running a hand through your hair, despite the knots and wet half. Eliana observed his motions and her face contorted in concern. This isn’t how Jonathan is meant to be acting, we shouldn’t throw off the plot too much… but Y/N she doesn’t know… is he glaring at me? Eliana snapped out of her thoughts as her eyes met Jonathan’s again, caught in a harsh glare. His gaze soon softened as he put on a smile but it was too late.

“I can carry Y/N, she’s my friend after all.”

“Oh don’t worry, she’s perfectly happy with me, what was you name again?”

“Eliana.”

“Well Eliana, we’re at my home, I’d appreciate it if you waited outside with Speedwagon while I tend to my father. Y/N is staying with me.”

“What, no what if Dio-“

“I’ll handle Dio, now stay here, it’s not safe for you.” Jonathan left to go inside as Speedwagon put a hand on Eliana’s shoulder, stopping her from following.

“So that’s your name darling… Y/N… how pretty. Hmm, Y/N Joestar.” His eyes widen as you shift in your sleep, clinging to his shirt as he tightens his grip on you. “Oh you’re so precious.”

“What have you got there Jonathan? Already moved on from the last wench, or is she some…” the man paused staring down at you. Jonathan shifted you to his side, placing your body down by the door.

“Dio… keep your evil eyes off of her. Now, we have business to discuss!”

[stargirlwrites]

so naive

Jungkook x f.reader

-> smut • huge tw.

-> request

-> warnings: a lot. It's really fucked up so if you're soft to cnc smuts don't read!! • unprotected sex • cnc sex • age gap (older jk) • mentions of drugs • kinky. • slight ddlg • slight pet play • humiliation • pussy slapping • dirty talk • dom!jk

-

"Here's your stuff ___, I think you should stay the night here. I don't want you going around town high off this stuff alright?" Jungkook said as he handed you the packet of pills. You really didn't give a fuck where you were you just needed the ibuprofen to ease your pain.

Yeah "ibuprofen" is what you thought you were getting. You were such a dumb naive little girl you really thought Jungkook was giving you the strongest dosage of ibuprofen you can't find in drug stores. Little did you know they were actually perks. Jungkook was way older than you. You were only 19 and he was 28, he knew what he was doing.

He'll give you perks and get you extremely high off of it, then he'll use your pretty little body. He'll fuck you for hours, having you dripping cum out of your stupid little pussy, he'll abuse your hole and throat and take photos. You'll remember having sex but you'll always think it was you who wanted to make "love" with him but there was no love you were just so gullible and would believe anything Jungkook would tell you.

-

"Kook.. I don't f-feel bad anymore.. needs to to sleepies, cuddle me!" You were talking nonsense again, just what Jungkook wanted. He needed you to get even more brain dead to fuck you into next week

"Okay baby, I'll cuddle you to sleep then I'll go sleep on the couch. Does that sound good?" he was so good to you. So you thought.

"mmmhh" is all you let out, letting him know that you're ready to be put to bed.

and that's how Jungkook found himself dirty talking to you while playing with your pussy.

"so fucking wet for me bunny. you're such a fucking idiot, thinking I'm putting you to sleep but I'm just playing with your chubby cute cunnie." He says as he rubs his fingers up and down your slit. You were dripping buckets. So much pre cum dripping out of you that Jungkook slapped your pussy and when he'll pull his hand away, strings of slick would be on his hand still connected to your cunt.

"Fuck getting so hard playing with this cunt. You ready for my cock? You ready have this pussy stretched so wide that you're drenching my cock in your purity blood?" He talked so nasty, but he knew it turned you on even if you were half asleep.

You responded by letting out little whines and whimpers. You always would reach for him and try to get the warmth of his body on yours. You really like to cuddle him. Him and his big muscles.

Jungkook got completely naked, he started stroking his huge cock making himself hiss. He wanted to choke you with his cock. Maybe he'll slap his dick all over your face. He wanted to ruin you. He wanted to make you into his nasty baby whore. This was a huge kink to him, he went all out too.

He'll go to kinky stores and buy cute things to fuck you in. He'll buy little cute pajamas to put you in, cute pajama jump suits he'll put you in and fuck you hard. He'll go to the pet store and buy leashes and collars.

"Fuck it I'm gonna fuck you while you're wearing a doll dress." Jungkooks goes and grabs a dress you'll usually see on dolls. It was a vintage maid look kinda dress but in human size. He took off the rest of your remaining clothes, putting you in the dress.

He then positioned you so where your legs are wide opened, laying out on the bed like a dead corpse, but you were very much alive and very much moving and awake.

It didn't take long for him to put a collar on you and stuff you with his cock. You were moaning and calling him daddy. Saying slutty things like "faster" and "harder". Telling him what a good husband he was and that he needs to take the kids to school tomorrow. You were such a cute mess.

His cock would drill your insides. It was so nasty but you really did love it. It made you feel a little too good. The way his cock would rip you inhalf always had you limping the next day. He fucked you so good, he was so generous, always giving you his cock.

The night went on. It was long. It was full of cum. No protection what so ever. He came in your little cunt about 6 times. You squirted and made a mess everywhere. You were definitely expecting a little jeon soon.

[suzukiblu]

Day fourteen of fic NaNoWriMo; obligatory sugar daddy Tim/sugar baby Kon AU.

Kon comes back before Tim has finished having his internal crisis and immediately makes it worse, because as it turns out the clothes fit and he looks extremely good in cashmere. 

And extremely good in skinny jeans. 

Oh no, Tim thinks with no small amount of dread. A flash of self-consciousness slips across Kon's face, and then he puts on a confident smirk and strikes one of those stupid teen-magazine poses, which he unfortunately makes look very good despite, again, how stupid it is. 

Tim is so far gone, isn’t he. 

“What do you think, man? Is it my color?” Kon asks, smoothing a broad flat palm down over the chest of his sweater. Tim, very desperately, wants to be the person doing that. 

Jesus Christ, no one should be allowed to look like this in cold blood. Especially not in an outfit thrown together in four minutes and fifty-nine seconds. But of course Kon would, the asshole. 

“We should style your hair differently too,” Tim says, trying not to choke and die on how hot this stupid fucking bastard looks in stupid fucking cashmere.

“Why?” Kon asks, looking puzzled. 

“You'd be amazed how different changing your hair up can make you look,” Tim says. And also he desperately wants Kon to let him change his hair for weird, weird reasons that he doesn't want to examine very closely right now.

Later. He'll examine them later. 

Privately. 

“Uh, okay,” Kon says, and does in fact let Tim dig out his hair gel and a comb and re-style his hair. Tim tries not to obsess over having Kon’s hair in his hands and just slicks it back off his face with a little of the gel because that’s the most efficient option, although then he’s reminded of the Kool-Aid incident and Kon standing in front of him in the base in his soaking wet skin-tight suit and raking his rainbow-dripping hair back out of his bright, bright eyes and–

Later. 

Tim is in so much trouble here, he thinks in resignation, and then wonders both why he decided to re-style Kon’s hair himself and why Kon just let him. Why the hell did either of them let that happen? 

He steps back, trying not to think weird things like how Kon probably would’ve tasted like black cherry Kool-Aid and wondering what he might taste like now, and then a much, much worse thing happens to him, because then he meets Kon’s eyes again and realizes Kon just let him dress and style him. Just–everything but his boots, Tim picked out. Gave to him or did for him. That pettable sweater and the tight, fitted jeans and the slicked-back hair all out of the way of those bright, bright eyes and–

Fuck, Tim thinks with far, far too much feeling. 

“There we go,” he says, then reaches out for the shopping bag in Kon’s hand. “Jacket and glasses in here?” 

“Uh, yeah,” Kon says, blinking at him as he lets him take the bag in apparent bewilderment. It occurs to Tim that Kon has probably literally never had someone else carry something for him unless it was something exceptionally fragile or difficult to operate, but he’s committed now and also it’s not like it’s heavy anyway, so . . . yeah, he’s committed now. 

Anyway, having super-strength doesn’t mean Kon has to carry everything. Especially when the bag barely weighs a thing anyway. Tim can swing around Gotham one-armed while carrying a panicking civilian; a shopping bag with a leather jacket and a couple of accessories in it is not exactly an imposition. 

And, well . . . this is a date, technically. So why wouldn't he carry Kon's bag? 

Aside from the doomed effort that is mapping heteronormativity onto a non-heteronormative situation and possibly making Kon feel emasculated or awkward or potentially coming on too strong and–

Kon reddens, just a little, then grins brightly at him. Tim forgets literally every single thought in his head, which is actually a very impressive feat because Tim is usually thinking several layers of thoughts and they're always annoyingly complicated. This situation is more “head empty, stomach doing quadruple-backflips”, though. 

Kon grinning is bad enough when he's not doing it at him, though. 

Tim should've better prepared himself for this, but in his defense, in what possible world would he have been able to predict this situation? Really? What possible one? 

“Smoothie time?” Kon asks. 

“Smoothie time,” Tim agrees, because anything else would require the capacity to actually think straight and that's going to take a few minutes. 

They head across the courtyard towards the smoothie shop. Tim does not succeed in regaining the capacity to think straight because Kon continues to be wearing clothes he bought for him. Clothes he bought and picked out for him, specifically. 

That is . . . a whole thing, apparently. Apparently that's a thing. Suddenly Tim has to reexamine the way he felt every time he gave Steph a Bat-gadget and wish he'd thought to examine those feelings sooner.

Like much, much sooner. 

Tim orders a basic blackberry smoothie that has maybe four ingredients in it, counting the yogurt and almond milk base. Kon orders some ridiculous flavor monstrosity with basically every tropical fruit on the menu, which is the least Gothamite option he could've gone for but therefore not particularly surprising. There's guava in it. Tim doesn't even know what guava tastes like. He's not even sure he'd know what one looked like, if Poison Ivy wasn't a thing. Like–why would he, after all?

Tim pays, obviously. Kon gets a little bit of an odd look on his face again, but doesn’t say anything about it. Well–he thanks him, but nothing else. Tim considers that a good sign, or at least a good start. 

The smoothies come in clear plastic cups, and Tim's is a uniform purple with darker flecks here and there in it. Kon's, on the other hand, looks like a sunrise with a swirly straw stuck in it, because of course it does. Tim doesn’t know what else he should’ve expected, really. 

“Do you think they could’ve fit a few more islands in there?” he asks wryly. “Maybe a peninsula or two?” 

“I mean, it could use some päpipi, probably,” Kon says before taking a sip. Tim has no idea what that is, but is distracted pretending not to pay attention to his mouth. It probably doesn’t work, but Kon’s not always the most observant guy, so it’s . . . fine, probably? Hopefully? “Wanna try it?” 

“I’m good, thanks,” Tim says, because he cannot possibly handle even the implication of putting his mouth on something Kon has put his mouth on. Like, ever. 

Ever. 

“You sure?” Kon asks, grinning slyly around his straw at him. “It’s pretty tasty.” 

Tim is a very, very weak man. 

“Maybe just a sip,” he says.

[bunnypansy]

NSFW Alphabet: Rook Hunt!

Rated R for EXPLICIT CONTENT!

A short (hm.) script covering the ABCs of Rook's sex life!

Featuring: Rook Hunt, and you!

Beware! This film contains: gender neutral reader, knife play, blood play, sounding, somnophilia, predator/prey dynamics, voyeurism, exhibitionism, nudes, sex tapes, mirror sex, marking, dacryphilia, praise, body worship, masochism, overstimulation, bondage, impact play, guided masturbation, mutual masturbation, cucking (yeah), dick piercings, outdoor sex, public sex, stalking, face sitting, nipple play

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

You will NEVER catch a member of Pomefiore lackin when it comes to aftercare. No one is better at pillow talk than Rook Hunt. Too good. Make him stop talking. Seriously, this guy starts talking after you finish and doesn't stop until you fall asleep. Mostly about how well you did, how beautiful you are, certain things you did that he particularly liked. Rook doesn't like baths, so he'll give you a shower instead, but he's still going to pamper you. You won't have to lift a single finger- frankly he won't let you. After a soothing shower that he used as an excuse to worship your body, he'll place you in front of a vanity and tend to you like you're a delicate doll. A hand tucked beneath your knee as he lifts your leg, fingers smoothing over your thigh as he rubs a sweet-scented lotion into your skin, his mutterings becoming muffled through your sleepy haze.

B = Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

For Rook to pick a single part of you he loves the most of an impossible task, this boy could go on and on and on about every part of your body down to your fingernails…however…. It's your eyes, definitely. He takes pleasure in seeing every micro expression you make, and your eyes just give it away. Definitely enjoys heavy eye contact during sex.

Rook’s favorite part of himself? Elementary, Watson, it’s his shoulders. Why, you ask? Well for one, his shoulders are very broad and well defined (catch me pushing my dorito-Rook agenda) from all the archery, and they’re still dotted with freckles from all his time in the sun, so he appreciates them aesthetically. However, much more important is the scratches you leave on them; red, raised, sometimes bleeding, nothing pleases him more than the physical evidence of your pleasure on his body.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically)

So… if you guys know anything about the semen and diet connection, you probably know that a high protein diet results in a very salty and sometimes uh… nasty flavor. We know Rook does a lot of exercise, and protein is a necessary component for building muscle so the first time you swallow for him it's a pretty gross experience. However, with a sustained relationship, Rook will happily change his diet for you so his cum has a bit more of a neutral taste. In terms of texture, he remains well hydrated so it's a bit syrupy and has a nice slightly off-white color. Rook likes cumming both in and on you, so every time you fuck, you are sure to end up with cum dripping from your hole and stuck to your face by the end of the night.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He desperately wants to let a couple other men have their way with you and photograph the whole thing. Rook has always enjoyed watching you masturbate, nearly as much as he enjoys bringing you pleasure, this is simply a natural progression of those desires. Ideally, there'd be If he could truly have his way, he'd film everything, then make you watch it back while he fucks you; the whole time commenting on little things you do that drive him crazy and attempting to recreate what happened in the video. Honestly, Rook is so up front about what he wants that is hardly a secret

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

His experience is middling. I believe Rook has probably had 3-4 relationships, but none of them lasted longer than a year (he was a bit too obsessive and his partners were put off). He's fairly experienced, but also knows that it's important to learn the intricacies of every person he's with, and not everything he knows will work instantly. Rook will approach every session like a learning experience, exploring new places and techniques to make sure he can find all the little spots that drive you crazy- and once he does, God knows he's going to abuse the fuck outta them. Also his first time was in the woods, thanks

F = Favorite Position (This goes without saying)

Before I start, I'm drawing a firm line; Rook Hunt does not like doggy style- or anything where he can't see your face! He firmly believes that any position where he can't see your beauty is a waste of his time. So of course he likes missionary and the mating press, but his real favorites require some extra supplies. Namely a mirror. If Rook is feeling rough, he'll shove you right up against the mirror and take you from behind; but usually he prefers to have you settled on his lap, one arm hooked beneath your leg to lift it up to your shoulder as he fucks you. He likes having the free hand to tease you with (:

Now, I know everybody likes big dom Rook but he's a switch okay guys. The seeing your face rule sticks for even when he bottoms, he needs to see you constantly. Honestly missionary has to take number one for him, but he's also real fond of being tied to the bed, it gives him no choice but to admire you as you work.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

Usually if there's laughter in the bedroom, it's just Rook teasing you a bit, but that doesn't mean he's no fun! Having a partner you can laugh with is valuable to Rook, so if something happens while you're fucking it out, he won't be afraid to giggle a little, maybe poke a bit of fun at you, then rather easily slip right back into sexy times.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

He's part of Pomefiore, did you think this man was anything but well-shaved? Frankly, his pubic hair is beautiful, somehow princely?? It's fine and light, but very soft and incredibly well trimmed- not to mention always clean, and never smells like ball sweat. He can't manage to grow a happy trail, just a tiny little path that starts beneath the waistband of his pants and ends in a small tuft at the base of his dick. Otherwise, he's completely shaved down there, smooth balls and not even ass hair.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

Painfully so. Rook will be intimate with whomever he chooses to bed, fuck buddies, one night stand or long term lover, it’s just in his nature. He has a knack for making your feel like the most gorgeous, lovable person on the planet while you two have sex- it’s something in the way he holds you, unabashedly keeping his eyes on your face the entire time he presses kisses against your neck between proclamations of your beauty, checking in and focusing wholly on how you feel. Your pleasure is his, afterall. Never, not even once, will you get the impression that Rook isn’t madly in love with you.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

A lot. Once a day, maybe more, if we're all honest with ourselves. Rook is a man who loves indulging his senses- He's got a high libido and he uses his own orgasm as an energy boost, which is enough to make a horny man, but he's also incredibly easy to rile up. He fully indulges the pleasure of masturbation, his favorite places to do so being your bed and outside. Rook really draws out the process; starting with gloves on, letting the leather get slick from his own precum as he slowly strokes up and down the length, squeezing around the tip just for a bit of extra pressure. Eventually, he'll pull the glove off and touch himself a bit more fervently, by now he's getting noisier, letting slip soft calls of your name, whimpering as he rocks his hips into his hand. Rook only whacks it while thinking about or looking at pictures of you, after all, you're the most beautiful thing in the world, what else would he touch himself to?

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks):

Voyeurism: I think we could all see this coming. The stalker, a voyeur?! Shocking. He prefers when you don't know he's watching you (he'll receive consent beforehand don't worry boo-boo), something about the thrill of getting caught makes blood rush to his dick. Please let him take photos though

Photography/filming: Master of the nude.Sending you nudes, receiving nudes, whatever it is, Rook likes it. Rook’s nudes are downright artful. The lighting and angles are always perfect, even at night, and he never fails to look beautiful. Rook is the king of the post work-out gym bathroom photo; standing before the mirror with the hem of his shirt between his teeth. He likes to record when he's fucking you too, just so he can watch it throughout his day as a sort of pick me up. He's also fond of some good photos after sex when you're an absolute mess, expect for him to gush over them in your presence

Exhibitionism: this goes well with the voyeurism kink, one of his greatest fantasies would be watching you have sex with another person, then get caught jerking off to you two

Mirror sex: Tenfold if you're self-conscious, he makes your anxiety his pet project. To Rook Hunt, there is nothing sexier than sitting you in lap, legs spread, forced to watch yourself while he fucks you to stupidity. Not to mention, he gets the best view of your body.

Marking: Take a shot every time you read beautiful- but really, he thinks you look beautiful covered in little rose and violet hickies. A painting of his conception, an empty canvas covered in his marks. If you cover them with makeup he'll sneakily wipe it away every time you see each other that day.

Dacryphilia: there's nothing that makes his pride swell more than bringing you to pleasured tears. Of course, Rook isn't the type to enjoy your pain, he'll never want to see you cry because you're scared or hurt, but if it's because you're overwhelmed? Then he's happy to make you cry even harder.

Praise: Again, a guy who cannot stop talking, specifically about you. It's even worse if you're self-conscious; he'll make you sit in front of a mirror, on his lap and guide you through every part of your body and why he loves it, and you. Oh and of course Rook does the standard encouragement. Murmuring sweet things as he slowly pushes into you; "good job, you're taking me so well" or "deep breaths, darling, I'm almost all the way in". And when you're close to cumming; "ah- you're close, aren't you? Go on, cum for me, you can do it"

Body worship: I feel like this one is obvious. He loves everything about you, he finds every inch positively beautiful. If Rook wasn't so hopelessly horny for you, he'd do nothing but kiss every part of your body up and down. But alas. Horny.

Predator/Prey: must I even elaborate? Man is literally a hunter. However, Rook prefers a long con; stalking you throughout the day, appearing here and there, then finally striking when you're all alone. What he really likes is watching you get nervous and fidgety before you finally break and run away from him, so Rook can chase after you. In the end it'll probably end up with you two wrestling and he's absolutely okay with however it turns out- win or lose

Overstimulation: this is on pleasure dom Rook!!! All Rook really wants to do is make you feel good as much as possible, even if that leaves you twitching and crying because you've cum 6 times in a row.

Masochism: PAINSLUT ROOK!!! Rook likes everything you give him, and if what you give him happens to be pain? So be it, lay it on, baby. Nails scratching down his back, biting, hitting- just anything

Bondage: something about being physically tied down makes him feel like a hunted animal, like you two have been fighting back and this is the result of his failure. Rook, the perfect hunter, lines to feel like he's been defeated once in a while, it keeps things fresh!

Impact play: This is for bottom Rook for sure, but please spank him, slap him, whip him. You could slap Rook across the face and he'd get hard. I'm not even kidding. He's particularly fond of riding crops, especially on the inside of his thighs or across his back

Knife play: cut him. Do it. Do it. Do it. Being roughed up makes Rook feel satisfied, bruising, bleeding. And yeah he'd absolutely be okay with branding- if you're in a long term relationship. Cut your name into his thigh, he wants it

Blood play: Rook finds the look of blood against skin striking and gorgeous, he's not inclined to hurt you unless you ask, you can draw blood from him however you like. Hitting him til he gets a bloody nose? Hot. Biting him til he bleeds? Hot. Cutting him up? Hot.

Somnophilia: Rook is nasty okay. His stalker tendencies and love of vulnerability have made a monster, and if you'd let him, Rook would love to sneak in your room and fuck you while you're fast sleep

Guided/mutual masturbation: tell me that Rook wouldn't make you sit on his lap while you jerk off, you can't. Sat in front of a mirror, guiding you through every move so he can watch you write and get his lap all wet. Ahhh he's so cute

L = Location (Favorite places to do the do)

If you're okay fucking somewhere, so is Rook. If you let him, Rook would fuck you in front of anyone and everyone, this is NOT hyperbole. While the preference isn't strong, I think Rook probably prefers to have sex in public places that anyone could walk into; living room, kitchen, the counter of a public bathroom- of course the woods is a classic. The risk of being caught gives him a thrill that the bedroom just can't do!

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

It's the little things with Rook; how your neck looks when you turn your head, the little way you jump when he sneaks up behind you, how it feels when he can overpower you. Generally, Rook likes seeing you vulnerable, that's part of the reason he enjoys stalking so much.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Genuinely this was so hard to think of, but Rook won't treat you like trash. I know some of us like mean, cruel men, but Rook won't do it, he refuses to mar your beauty or tell lies about his feelings towards you. One of Rook's defining traits is unwavering, brutal honesty, so chances are Rook will never degrade you- he just cares too much. Doesn't mean you can't degrade him though-

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Giving, for sure. He likes seeing the cute faces you make while sucking him off, sure, but he thinks the noises you make while he's tongue fucking you are much better. If Rook is going to give you, head you're going to ride his face though- it's the best position! Sitting on Rook's face means A) he can see all your facial expressions and B) you can quite easily make him do whatever you want, which sounds lovely to him

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Honestly Rook will move at whatever pace you like but let's forget about that for a minute. Rook naturally wants to start out slow and sensual, dragging his cock along your walls, making sure to hit all your sensitive spots with each thrust in and out. As he goes along, Rook gets more excited and his thrusts pick up speed, turning a bit more rough and shallow until he's finally cumming. When Rook cums, he goes still while he's fully inside you, shuddering and moaning as he fills you up. He's got a habit for biting when he cums, like an animal sinking his teeth in to make sure you stay there while he finishes.

Now, I'll elaborate on quick rounds with Rook because they're a bit different. If you need to be fast, or if Rook is so horny he's gone feral, the word "slow" exits his dictionary. His thrusts start and stay hard, fast, and deep, it really gets across the desperation he feels good you, how cute 🫶

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

Absolutely! Rook has no problems with a little pick-me-up sex, something to just satisfy your needs and move on. Of course, he prefers to draw out sex, but also takes a good amount of pleasure in tearing as many orgasms from you as fast as he can before sending you on your way, weak-kneed and sweating. I like to think Rook keeps a vibrator on him just got this sort of occasion

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Are you kidding me rn. Rook is the risk man, the only ones fighting him for this position are the tweels, and it's real close. Rook could approach you with something new to try every single week, and if you're the one to ask for experimenting, it's highly unlikely Rook will never say no. Maybe to like… vomit? Any way you slice it, Rook if freaky deaky and pulling you along with it

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

We all know Rook is athletic, baby!! I give it six rounds before Rook gets a bit too overstimulated and needs to give his dick a break before it turns purple, but he's happy to go on pleasuring you while he gets a little rest- but chances are you're exhausted by then too. How long each round lasts really depends on what you're doing, but he can last around 25-35 minutes before- not including any foreplay -so it'll really be up to you to keep up

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

This country boy is mostly an acoustics only partner. It's not that he's against toys, there's just nothing he's particularly interested in using on you. I believe Rook owns a good ol wand vibrator that he uses on you during guided/mutual masturbation, just because he appreciates how squirmy and whiny you get when he presses the toy against your sensitive spots.

But if you're using toys on him oh well… that is a different story. I think he mostly prefers good ol 'weiner up his ass, but Rook is real fond of a good vibrating cock ring and a few bullet vibes- taped to his nipples or the base of his cock. He also likes nipple clamps, ball gags, blind folds, riding crops, and basic whips.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

You'll be shocked but Rook mostly likes to play things fair, he'll tease a little but Rook is straightforward. If Rook wants to fuck you, he'll just come out and ask, no need for any roundabout games! When it comes to actually having sex, Rook wants to make you feel good, he's not going to delay making you cum your brains out!

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

Rook Hunt is for sure the noisiest man you’ve ever met. Not that he’s a screamer, moreso, he will not stop talking. We all know he can go on for hours about things he’s passionate about, but he’ll hardly let you get a word in edgewise, he’s too busy going on and on babbling about how gorgeous you are, how good you feel, praising how well you’re doing, murmuring sweet nothings- proud member and president of the “can’t shut the fuck up” club. Of course, you’ll get some good, loud moans from him too (usually interrupting his endless chatter). Rook is more of a moan guy than a grunt guy, it comes out high and is usually accompanied with a shudder and pleased sigh.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Sounding. This is WILD but Rook likes wild, and he would absolutely be 1000% be down for sounding, in fact he's the one who brought it up. He's already done research, he's already bought toys- come babe, keep up, get the rod in his dickhole already!! (Also I think he has piercing nipples, they're just basic golden studs, but they look cute on him)

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

Rook is rocking long but kinda skinny. He's around 5.5 inches in flaccid, getting up to an even 7 when he's fully hard- man is a major league grower. As I said, a bit on the skinny side and no prominent veins, but his tip is a lovely cute pink and he gets so twitchy and leaky when he's hard. I'm not sure he has a dick piercing, just because he's a bit worried about the healing interrupting his sex life or exercise, but Rook has thought about getting a piercing or two- guiche or prince Albert I think

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Turning on Rook is like turning on a light switch; you only need one good slap and you could do it with your eyes closed. You could breathe too close to him and Rook would get hard. Rook would fuck you every single day, multiple times a day if you let him. He's not afraid to ask you- or send videos of himself masturbating to the thought of you! Mwah enjoy the teasing babe

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

It really depends on whether or not he tops, honestly. In terms of topping? Rook could never sleep after sex, it makes him energized! For this reason, Rook actually prefers not to have sex after dark, morning or midday sex works out better for him. After a good round or two, sometimes Rook will go straight into a workout.

Bottom Rook, though? He still feels refreshed but he's more likely to just settle down for a little while and chill out. He likes to lay back with you and blab on about whatever comes to mind- Rook low-key the king of pillow talk, he could give a 5 page essay debrief on your sex life.

That's all for today's showing guys, thank you for watching!

Hooooo boy! This one takes the cake for the longest alphabet yet at 3.8k (for reference, Trey's was 2.1k) this alphabet gave me some trouble, I didn't expect Rook to give me this much of a challenge! I think I got in my own head and tried to make this one really professional for a lil, then I went back a read some of my last alphabets and eased up. But there was a lot of writing, re-writing and re-formatting- sorry @birtha I did not mean to take this long, but it's finally done and I hope you like it! Also for that anon who sent in the Barbatos req, I see you, I hear you, I love you, it's in the works. Mwah thanks for reading you guys are baller

[mochiswifey]

CHLORINE

HARUCHIYO BONTEN

'For You To Stay Series`

Haruchiyo found something more addicting.

"WHERE'S MY FUCKING PUDDING! I ORDERED PUDDING TWO FUCKING MINUTES AGO! WHERE'S MY PUDDING?! AND DROWN IT ON FUCKING DIRTY MARTINI!" The girls Kokonoi brought in got scared and moved away from Haruchiyo. Kokonoi tried to calm them down but he realized it would only get worse and told the girls to go wait for him in another room.

“Yo, addict. Stop it she’s not coming back.” Kokonoi snatched the bottle of pills from Haruchiyo earning him a glare from the mad dog.

“I’m gonna kill you….” With blurred vision and an exhausted body, Haruchiyo tried to snatch back the bottle but the alcohol mixed with a few dozen of pills are taking their effects. Even his almost immune body couldn’t take the poison anymore.

Kokonoi shook his head too fed up. Koko stood up from the couch taking all of the remaining pills on the table making sure Haru won't get more that he'll might actually kill himself. After making sure there are no pills he left the dog.

Haruchiyo screamed, kicked, and swore to the aliens that he'd kill Kokonoi. His eyes were closed but he still tried his best to reach for the drugs on the table he didn't realize Kokonoi took on his way out with him.

After searching for a few minutes and finding absolutely nothing he laid down on the couch and he began sucking the Ringpop on his ring finger.

Everybody knows that he could withstand high doses of drugs but he’s been taking it much more since you disappeared from his sight.

"Y-You told me... I'm beautiful." He blurts out before his lids fully closed.

Haruchiyo never loved anyone more than Manjiro. His king was always whom he prioritized. And he hates you for changing the way his mind was wired.

“Who the fuck is that crazy bitch?”

Was his first question to Kakucho after seeing you dominate one of the strongest fighter in the ring of the illegal fight clubs.

Blood was dripping from the side of your lips and the way you licked it and smiled so menacingly caught his unswayed attention.

“Damn, girl. Lemme get some of your one-two one-two uppercut combo in the bedroom.”

He said as he suddenly appeared out of nowhere. (Haruchiyo paid a good amount of money to know where you were heading after the fight.)

You raised your eyebrow and looked at him. You were sitting alone in the bar enjoying your dirty martini and now you need to deal with a surprisingly deranged-looking man.

“What do you want?”

“I just-“

“Let’s cut the bullshit. You do drugs? I do drugs. Let’s do drugs while we fuck and we’ll be friends.”

“That was quick.” He was surprised. Traditional Japanese girls wouldn’t go out with him because of the visible scars on his lips.

Well- many girls would if he pays them which he does most of the time. That’s why he was surprised that you weren’t- that…

He was used to having women who are straight to business.

He approach them. They look at his mouth. They show fear and disgust. But then they look at his suit and watch. And the tattoo on his arm. After that they say their price.

But you?

You look at his face.

You smiled.

You tell your conditions, took his hand, and lead him to your apartment.

“You live here?” He asked as he took off his shoes.

“Yeah. Sorry, it’s small.” You tell him as you open the drawers containing all sorts of drugs you got from dealers all over Japan.

Haru is a very judgemental person. He criticizes every little thing. But your apartment felt like home to him which was crazy for him at the time. He thought that the bed pushed to the wall right down the window looked perfect. The sunlight gets in easily. The cute brown bamboo drawer which you were taking stuff from beside your bed looks cute too. He was surprised that he wasn't judging.

“What are you into? I got all kinds of stuff.”

“What do you recommend?” He says as he sat down on your carpet pulling the portable table under your bed.

“Wanna see aliens?” A dumb smile appeared on your face as you took out a ziplock bag filled with hallucinogens and waved them to Haru.

“Baby, I wanna see Jesus.”

“You got it. We’re gonna see Jesus and aliens”

That night your neighbors wondered why you were singing Hallelujah and I'm blue dabideedabidaa at 3 am in the morning.

“Gosh. My asshole hurts.” Haru yawned.

“Still here?” You kicked his ass away from you. The two of you were so busted out of your asses none of you realized it was already 2pm.

Haru reached for his phone and was immediately taken aback realizing he had missed 4 calls from Manjiro.

“Fuck babe. Gotta go to work gonna come home later.”

“Home later? Boy you paying rent?”

“Funny.”

He did what he said. He came back home. Home to you. And as much as you hated it and tried to lock him outside he always finds a way in.

The first time you pretended not to be home he went inside from the window.

The second time- well. The second time he just payed your landlord to give him a spare key.

He was so consistent and so- so-

You know who he is. You know what he is. You’ve heard rumors. And you know that every single rumors are true.

But?

His eyes. They show nothing but love for you. The way he pulls you close every night.

You know he loves you.

And as much as you tried to prevent yourself. You fell in love with him.

And he fell in love with you the day he met you.

“I don’t need drugs to see stars. I see them when I look into your eyes.”

“Haru, you high?” You chuckled before placing a kiss on his forehead. Snuggling with him every night whether it’s 11pm or 4am just feels perfect.

“No. It’s been a while since I met you- and I don’t have the need to take drugs.” He says and your body flinches.

“D-do do you still take them?” He asked you.

“Of course.”

“Stop it then.” He tells you.

“Haru-“

“Why do you do it?”

“What do you mean?” You and he sat up.

“Why do you still take drugs? Why were you taking them in the first place?” Haruchiyo raised his voice but it wasn’t the manic voice you were expecting. It was out of concern.

At first, he forgot to take them. And he swore he’ll take them the next day. But he forgot again because he was so busy watching you sleep. He had one ready in his pocket but you were eating pudding and told him to put his slacks on the watching machine so he forgot again.

He forgot, forgot until he realized you’re the only drug he needed.

“I could ask you the same thing.” You threw the question back at him.

Haruchiyo stood up and took a deep breath before facing to look at you once more. You knew he loves you and he knew you love him. Neither of you said the words but the actions were much louder.

“Because I couldn’t bear to live. Now, all I want is to live. To live with you. To live as happy as we can be in our world.” He kneels down and took your hand placing kisses on it.

“Please. Please stop. I don’t want-“ You pulled your hand away and pointed at the door.

“Just for the night.”

“N-no. No! You won’t-“

“Haru. I won’t leave you. I’ll stay here.” You smiled at him.

“Come back here tomorrow and we’ll do anything that you want. I won’t do drugs anymore.” You tell him and his eyes widen.

“Really?”

“Really.” He took a deep breath before nodding.

“Marry me then. That’s what I want.”

“Ring?” You joked as you wipe the tears falling from your eyes.

“Ruby, Diamond, Sapphire?” Haruchiyo asked eagerly his eyes lighting up.

“Ringpop.” The two of you laughed before sharing a kiss. He kissed you so deeply you thought he’ll inhale you. You stopped him before everything turns into something else.

“Hey, tomorrow we’ll be husband and wife right?” He asked you before stepping out of your tiny apartment he had asked you to move out of many times. You sniffed before nodding. It assured Haru and he went on his merry way to plan a wedding you would’ve never forgotten.

If you went through it.

He hates sleeping now. He sees your body lying limp on the bed you two shared for such a long time. Bubbles on your mouth. Unresponsive.

He only read your letter once but he remembers every single word.

To my beautiful boy.

I have never said this in person because I was scared on how you would react. But I know that you love me. And I love you too.

I want you to know that I found someone I truly love for the first time in my miserable life. I love you Haru. I love the way you look at me.I love the way your thick eyelashes curls so perfectly up whenever I do your makeup. Lol. I love when you make me dirty martinis, and I know you get grossed out but I love the face you make when I mix it with pudding.

I love you more than myself.

And I won't ask for your forgiveness because what I did is unforgivable.

It's not your fault. I want you to know it's not.

This was my decision.

And I did it because I know I'll ruin the beauty of our love. Because that's what I do. I ruin everything.

I'm scared. I'm scared. I'm scared and I want to be in your arms. I want to see your eyes. The eyes that only have love for me.

I don't wanna die Haru. I don't want to leave you.

But I can't ruin you. I've always ruined everything that I touch.

And I don't want to ruin my beautiful boy.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

Thank you for reading.

Plagiarism is a crime.

[feral-ffa]

Taking your fat femboy bf to the mall!

Waiting around for him to pick a cute mall rat outfit, him showing you various cropped band tee and cutoff short combos, then putting on cute socks and lots of bracelets after he finally picks one.

Pulling the car around front to drop him off before you park so he won't have to waddle through the lot on a hot summer day.

Making a beeline for cinnabon after so you can get him a 2000 calorie snack, he'll need energy for all this shopping.

Taking him to hot topic, torrid, and spencers so he can get lots of alt clothes and accessories, more armbands, thigh high socks, and xxl belts.

Going to the anime store with him so he can pick some plushies for his room, (though you're not sure he has the real estate for any more,) plus a whole bunch of blind bags and some ramune soda.

Then finally you go to the food court, where you buy him all the mall food his heart desires. Stromboli dripping with pepperoni grease, a heaping styrafoam tray of chow mein noodles and sizzling beef, a big fat philly cheesesteak with a side of loaded fries, a big smoothie from the "healthy" stand loaded with frozen yogurt and sugary juice, and a crepe stuffed with berries, nuttella, and whipped cream.

The two of you get a little table in a secluded area by the janitor closet, and he attacks the food like he hasn't had a proper meal in ages (though you know that's not true!) You rub his tummy whenever he starts to slow down and hold up the smoothie so he can take sips. He pouts at you whenever he spots you taking a bite, even though he winds up eating 5 meals worth while you essentially have a light snack.

"Hey, I bought these," You remind him.

"Yeah, for me," he whines before finishing the last of the fries.

After the meal, you hold his hand at the piercing emporium while the piercer puts a cute little ring on his bellybutton. (That's why he ate so much, it's important to keep your blood sugar up when getting pierced) Since his bellybutton is always on show anyway, you both thought this would be a cute touch and go well with his other accessories.

Since rest and relaxation will help his healing process, you both decide to end the day seeing a movie at the cineplex with big reclining seats. He wedges his big butt into the seats for the previews and you run to get him some nachos, milk duds, super buttery popcorn, and a jumbo coke. When you get back to the theater, he's already munching on some snacks from the anime store.

You curl up on the seat next to him and rest your head on his, handing over the bucket of popcorn.

"It doesn't hurt does it?" You rub his tummy, being sure to stay in the upper range. The silver ring sits nicely under his cropped tee, drawing your eye to how only a few fringes of his cut off shorts are visible between his swelling belly and his plush thighs.

"It's fine. shh!" His bracelets jangle as he presses a buttery finger to your lips, his eyes fixed on the screen. Today was definitely a success.

[toothachepup]

Demo-creature Billy(specifically the demo-blossoms from the dice game), Demo Eddie, Human Steve. Self harm & destructive behaviors, description of blood + injury, Steve gets hurt too, toxic pollen

Demoblossom Billy is toxic when he's blooming, he's not always flowering- there's a difference between the fleshy, faux flowers that he is always stuck with decorating him and the flowers that bloom from him. When he blooms, he gains this crown of flowers around his head, and two little flowers bloom where his jaw unhinges. Sometimes they bloom on his body- on his joints, on his scars, sometimes somewhere random.

It's not.. completely random when he blooms, every 3 or so months, and he can always see the buds on his jaw when they come in. He can call Eddie, Eddie who's fucked up like him, Eddie who gets aggressive and sprouts wings and- and then he's fine, just Eddie again.

Billy sees the first bud, it popped up over his wrist bone, he plucks it with a hiss- then realizes what he had done as he watches the spot bleed, dripping down his arm. He can.. he can pluck them, it hurts like a bitch but he can pluck them. He goes to the bathroom and- the ones on his jaw haven't shown up yet, he can't find any in his hair- he sleeps in his own bed that night, one of the many rooms they redecorated when Steve got the house.

He doesn't tell Steve it's because he's budding, just tells him he feels sick and wants to be alone and locks the door.

By morning he's.. he's not covered in buds, he's fully bloomed, he's got a flower on one wrist and a scab on the other. He can feel the flowers on his jaw and it makes it uncomfortable to move his face and hard to speak. He knows he has his crown and the bed is covered in yellow pollen. He'll continue to spread it for the few days it lasts-

Billy grabs the flower on his wrist and pulls, it's harder than the bud was, more solid and stuck to him. He tears the flower out of himself anyway and holds it in his hand, blood is trickling down his wrist. He can.. he can just get rid of them, clean the house, doesn't have to be this.

He leaves his room, Steve has already gone to work and so he goes to the bathroom. He grabs one of the flowers on his jaw and yanks. He yelps at the feeling, blinks away tears and watches as the blood trickles down his neck.

It.. It hurts and Billy is almost rethinking his decision when he spots the pollen laying in the sink, mixing with the blood dripping down from his jaw.

Billy grabs the other flower on his jaw and rips it out, clenching his teeth tight. He doesn't even blink away the tears this time, grabs one of the flowers in his hair and starts on the crown that Eddie and Steve both say is so beautiful. Steve's seen it, from a distance, and from before they knew he was toxic.

He hates thinking about it, how a few hours later Steve was hacking up something gross, blood mixed with saliva mixed with yellow. He was sick for a week, bed bound and Billy was quarantined for the first time.

All Billy can think about is how much he hates his flowers, how much he loves his boyfriends, how much he loves Steve and doesn't want to risk hurting him ever again. He'll pluck every flower again and again, every time he blooms. His crown of flowers becomes a crown of blood in his hair, slowly saturating his golden curls and dripping down his face. Billy has to blink through the tears and blood to make sure every flower is gone, to make sure he is no longer dangerous.

He's dizzy, scooping the flowers from the sink and shoving them into the little trash can, tying off the bag and making his way downstairs, outside, and shoving it deep into the larger can.

Billy's shaking and he's still crying as he makes his way back inside and practically crawls up the stairs. Can a fucked up demo creature die from blood loss? He doesn't think it's that much, it's probably just a loss of adrenaline. Yeah, definitely.

Billy flops onto his bed, coating it in blood, mixing with the pollen on him. He hopes he didn't track what was left on him around the house because he's tired and can't risk Steve kicking it up, because shit he needs to nap.

Steve comes home to pollen and blood tracking through the house, finding Billy asleep- totally passed out in his bed, covered in pollen and blood. He doesn't care about his own safety, doesn't care he can end up bed ridden and hacking up blood, he's running up to Billy, kneeling on the bed and patting his cheek.

Billy is blinking up at him, dazed, and groans out this weak little sound that makes Steve wanna hold him so fucking close and never let go. He carries Billy to the bathroom to get him cleaned up and is surprised again at the carnage- there are a few petals Billy missed in the sink, blood and pollen spread along the sink and the floor and on the fucking trash can.

He gets billy in the bathtub, turns on the water and starts to clean his poor boy off. It takes a bit but Billy is clean- Steve leaves for just a second to call Eddie, ask for assistance to clean, to watch over Billy and of course Eddie agrees because he doesn't really have much else to do but come over and help take care of his boyfriend and definitely soon Steve.

Steve's lungs are aching, he's kicked up enough pollen, touched pollen that was stuck to Billy's blood and clothes. He's still watching over Billy in the bathtub when Eddie shows up and starts cleaning- Steve cleans too, doesn't care about it because he's already inhaled so much. He thinks it's gotten more potent, there's definitely more than when Billy first started blooming.

They get Billy into Steve's bed, what is meant to be their bed, and Steve curls up around him. Billy is weak and soon they all know Steve is gonna start reacting to what he's breathed in. Luckily Eddie knows how to deal with it, knows how to take care of them both. He kisses them both on the head, tells them he loves them, and that he'll be there.

[betweenthings2]

6 in sept prompts!

Thank you for the ask!! I'm sorry it's not September anymore, but the October prompts are here =)

September prompt 6- Scraped knees

George turns on the lamp and sets down two washcloths, one wet and one dry, then directs Matty to sit on the desk, which he does, even if he's a little bit exasperated, and rolls the office chair over so he can sit down in front of Matty.

"It's not a bit deal," Matty tries.

"You're hurt."

"Not really."

"You're bleeding."

"Only a little bit. It'd be perfectly fine if you left it alone."

"I wish you'd be better to yourself," George admits. Seeing Matty hurt, even if it's really not that bad, makes him feel a little bit like he's being choked. 

"I'm fine," Matty protests.

George frowns and meet Matty's eyes, bright and alive. The warm, low light of the hotel lamps take away all the hard edges Matty seems to have given himself lately and his wet hair drips onto his shoulders creating dark spots on the t-shirt he'd taken from George. He looks like himself.

"I really am fine," Matty insists, offering George a small smile. "It's just a couple of scrapes. 's not a big deal."

George drops his gaze to Matty's scraped knees, still oozing blood after being irritated in the shower. His knees are already scarred, remnants of a reckless childhood and other nights on other stages that ended exactly like this one and George suddenly kind of hates it. He does his best to push those thoughts down and very gently presses a damp washcloth to the wound. Matty's blood immediately soaks into the washcloth, bright red and startling against the white material.

"I don't like seeing you hurt," George finally says, pulling the washcloth away.

"I know," Matty admits. "'s really not that bad, though. I didn't even feel it. Neither of us noticed until we were in the shower. I'm fine."

"You didn't notice 'cause we were on stage."

"And then I didn't notice until we were in the shower," Matty repeats. "I'm fine. The stage was weird and rough and maybe I wasn't being super mindful, but I'll be more careful tomorrow."

George doesn't responds to that, just folds over the washcloth and presses it to Matty's other knee. It's long since gone cold in the coolness of the room and Matty's far more aware of the injury now, so he takes a sharp breath and George apologies.

"Sorry," he murmurs. "I know it hurts, but it'll be worse if it gets infected."

"'s not your fault," Matty offers. "It just hurts. And it's cold."

"Still," George insists, "'m sorry it hurts."

"I'll be fine," Matty says, taking George's free hand. "I always am."

"I still worry about you. It still scared me to see blood in the shower."

"I'm sorry I scared you," Matty says, sincere.

"'s ok," George promises. "I know you didn't mean to." He folds the washcloth over again so the bloodstained parts are on the inside and sets it on the desk, then uses the other to dry the wounds and wipe away any fresh blood.

There's quiet for a few moments, maybe a moment too long, so Matty offers a little smile and asks, "Am I gonna live, doc?"

George can't help but laugh.

Matty's smile gets bigger, but he insists, "No, I'm serious, am I gonna live? My boyfriend, he'll be kinda upset if-"

George cuts Matty off with a kiss and when they separate, he murmurs, "Yeah, I think you'll live."

"Good," Matty responds. "I love you. Thanks for taking care of me."

"Always," George promises.

[vickyvicarious]

Something I never noticed last year is how Dracula seems legitimately sad at the beginning of today's entry. Like, look at this:

I was awakened by the Count, who looked at me as grimly as a man can look as he said:— "To-morrow, my friend, we must part. You return to your beautiful England, I to some work which may have such an end that we may never meet. Your letter home has been despatched; to-morrow I shall not be here, but all shall be ready for your journey. In the morning come the Szgany, who have some labours of their own here, and also come some Slovaks. When they have gone, my carriage shall come for you, and shall bear you to the Borgo Pass to meet the diligence from Bukovina to Bistritz. But I am in hopes that I shall see more of you at Castle Dracula."

Dracula is "grim" when he says his farewells to Jonathan - very, judging by the rest of that line. He's enjoyed their time together and is sad that it has come to an end. He knows that they may never meet again... but he holds out hope that might not be the case. It reads to me like he hopes that the vampire ladies will choose to turn Jonathan into a vampire after he leaves and is hinting towards that, despite on the surface just telling mocking lies here. He's prepped them ("all shall be ready for your journey") and he knows they will come for Jonathan ("my carriage shall come for you"). But the vampire ladies have proven before that they don't always listen to what Dracula wants, and since he's put it off this long it's not like he can supervise the whole process himself (assuming it takes more than one bite/blood exchange/whatever). They could very well choose to just kill him rather than turn him.

That kind of substituted meaning for those specific lines may be a stretch, but certainly I think at least the sense of Dracula being put out to have to say goodbye is firmly there. But - luckily for Dracula - Jonathan (who is on the very last scrap of his patience) chooses that moment to push back, to outright ask to leave and say he wants to go right now. And Dracula gets a fun little idea.

"But I would walk with pleasure. I want to get away at once." He smiled, such a soft, smooth, diabolical smile that I knew there was some trick behind his smoothness.

Dracula gets to play one last game with his good friend Jonathan Harker! It may be the last day, but it's not all over yet! He gets to toy with him at least one last time! How delightful! No wonder he is suddenly anything but grim. Instead, he's dripping with charm:

The Count stood up, and said, with a sweet courtesy which made me rub my eyes, it seemed so real:

Dracula is fully pulled out of his funk by this opportunity to torment Jonathan in an extra-blatant way. Not only does he threaten him with the wolves he controls, but he pushes until Jonathan is forced to once again rely on him for safety. This entire bit is such a mockery:

I knew then that to struggle at the moment against the Count was useless. With such allies as these at his command, I could do nothing. But still the door continued slowly to open, and only the Count's body stood in the gap. Suddenly it struck me that this might be the moment and means of my doom; I was to be given to the wolves, and at my own instigation. There was a diabolical wickedness in the idea great enough for the Count,

Yeah. Dracula is the only thing standing between Jonathan and the wolves, literally! But of course he will respect his guest's wishes, so he won't stop opening the door, he'll keep going, he'll make him ask to stay...

By the end of that scene at the door he is fully cheered up, he is delighted, he's kissing his hand to Jonathan and promising (to the vampire ladies, but where Jonathan can hear) that tonight is his still and tomorrow they get their turn. He's ending this lovely visit on a very high note.

It's just. Brutal.

All the more so because Jonathan is so clearly at the very last fraying thread of his restraint, so the contrast between Dracula's initial disappointment shifting to burgeoning sick delight and Jonathan's seething hatred and fear and despair (and one brief moment of possible hope despite himself getting snuffed violently out)... it's super intense. Dracula gets to push him one last time, and Jonathan just barely holds back from outright throwing away the pretense altogether. It starts with his open anger and hatred in his diary at the sight of Dracula imitating him once again, nearly comes out when he insists that he wants to leave. And yet, he feels his own powerlessness as strongly as the rage, and in the end that fear and the understanding that pushing forward will only result in his certain death stops him. But in doing so, he feels complicit yet again, worse than ever before because he can see the way out and he has to refuse to take it, and Dracula gets to enjoy his anguish. Just like every other time before.

And it nearly breaks him this time. After he's forced once again to 'willingly' continue to stay in the castle Jonathan's mask finally breaks. He says he "covered my face with my hands to hide my tears of bitter disappointment." He started to cry. Not the first time by any means, but this time is right in front of Dracula. He held out so long but he just can't anymore.

No wonder they were both silent on the walk back to Jonathan's room. If they said anything at all, Jonathan couldn't possibly keep pretending, and then Dracula would have to kill him right away. He doesn't want that, not when he can enjoy this for a few hours more.

[evilhagspage]

I'm Sorry.

Sam Winchester x reader, Dean Winchester

Angst

This is set in the epilogue of Season 5, episode 2. I got most of the boy's dialogue from the transcript on supernaturalwiki.com. Like normal, this is written in first person, and there are a couple instances of y/n. read at your own risk...sorry in advance for breaking your heart. enjoy!

I'm sitting next to Dean at the picnic table as he examines the ring, the gold band glinting in the bright sun.

"So, pitstop at Mount Doom?" he jokes. I chuckle half heartedly, and Sam is silent across from us. He has a stern, pensive look on his face.

"Dean-"

"Let's not," Dean interrupts him abruptly.

"No, listen. This is important. I know you don't trust me," Sam continues, determined. "Just, now I realize something. I don't trust me either." I feel Dean shift to look Sam in the eye, surprised at his sudden clarity. Images flood through my mind...Sam, alone in the gas station, his knife dripping with demon blood, his chest rising and falling with the effort of not consuming it. Sam, writhing in pain as he detoxes from the effects of demon blood in Bobby's panic room. Sam, kissing Ruby...his hands running all over her body. I shake the last image out of my head, refocusing on Sam. The real Sam, in front of me, now. The Sam that started the apocalypse.

"From the minute I saw that blood, the only thought in my head..." he falters, too ashamed to say ut out loud. "And I tell myself it's for the right reasons, my intentions are good, and it, it feels true, you know? But I think, underneath...I just miss the feeling. I know how messed up that sounds, which means I know how messed up I am. Thing is, the problem's not the demon blood, not really. I mean, I, what I did, I can't blame the blood or Ruby or...anything. The problem's me. How far I'll go. There's something in me that...scares the hell out of me, Dean. In the last couple of days, I caught another glimpse..."

"So what are you saying?" Dean asks as he falters.

"I'm in no shape to be hunting. I need to step back, 'cause I'm dangerous. Maybe it's best we just...go our separate ways." My heart sinks in my chest. There's no way he would give up that easy. He can't he means too much to us...to me. And, there's no way Dean is gonna let him get away with this, surely he'll talk some sense into him-

"Well, I think you're right," Dean responds, interrupting my frantic thoughts.

What?

"I was expecting a fight," Sam replies, taken aback.

Dean continues, "the truth is I spend more time worrying about you than about doing the job right. And I just, I can't afford that, you know? Not now." Sam nods as I fight to control my breathing. I cannot believe this is happening. Not again.

"I'm sorry, Dean," Sam says sincerely.

"I know you are, Sam."

Sam moves to stand up, and I am frozen in my place. He glances over at me as I stare at the table, eyes darting around and brows drawn in thought. Dean asks, "hey, do you, uh, wanna take the Impala?"

"It's okay," Sam replies.

Sam stands up, takes a few steps, and turns back, as I just watch, tears welling in my eyes.

"Take care of yourself, Dean," Sam says.

"Yeah, you too, Sammy," Dean replies, with way more finality than I'm comfortable with. No, I decide. This is not how this ends. Not after everything.

Sam looks to me like he is going to say something, but I interrupt before he can start.

"No," I nearly shout, scrambling to my feet and around the table to stand in front of him, "You-you can't give up. I...I can't let you leave Sam. Please...after everything we've been through? You're gonna leave because you're scared? I...I know you have no idea what to do. I know you're probably embarrassed and uncomfortable and sure, that's valid, I am too, but we are supposed to figure it out together. It's always been that way. You don't have to go it alone...we-we need you, Sam. I need you. I'm not scared of you. I'm not. I believe in you. Just, please, Sam. Please." I finish my ramblings, tears falling freely now. I'm standing in front of him still, and he stares at the ground in thought.

"Y/N," he says, meeting my eyes. "I'm sorry," he starts again, before I interrupt by clutching his jacket in my hands.

"Please," I sob. "Please, don't leave me again. Don't you dare, Sammy."

I can see his heart shatter behind his eyes. He knows how much he is hurting me. He knows how often in our lives he has abandoned me because he thought it was the best thing for me. I'm begging, pleading for him to see that it's not. I need him. I love him.

"Y/N," he grips my wrists gently before guiding them back down. "I can't. I'm sorry. I'm too dangerous. I can't hurt you."

"The only way you would hurt me is by leaving. You can't do this every time things get a little too hard."

A resolved look washes over his face, my words clearly hitting a nerve. "Look out for Dean. He'll be there for you. And you keep him sane. Please, try to understand that this is for the best." He drops my hands, before locking eyes with Dean one last time. He walks to the Impala, grabs his backpack out of the back seat, and walks over to the pickup truck parked nearby. He says something inaudible to the driver and gets in the passenger side. The truck drives off. I wrap my arms around myself, as sobs wrack my body. I feel Dean walk up next to me, pulling me into a hug. I wrap my arms around him, burying my face in his collar, findinga small amount of comfort in his familiar warmth.

"I'll never forgive you for letting him go," I say into his jacket.

"I know," he replies, his hand smoothing down my back, comfortingly.

[kareofbears]

a fragile line, chapter 1/3

Newt and Thomas always had something going on—even in the Maze, Gally knew right away. But never did he think it would turn into something like this; a devotion fermented. A reverence that made the chapel look blasphemous in comparison.

—

Or, as they infiltrate WICKED, Gally notices the shift between Newt and Thomas.

read on ao3 or below the cut

The worst day of his life was when Gally realized he still fucking cares.

He always cared. Probably cared too damn much, back in the Maze. Cared so much it tore them all apart.

They had lost everything in the span of days. Crops burned, walls torn down, weapons picked up only to be dropped, dripping in blood. Gally tried telling everyone to stop breaking the rules, but nobody listened, and people died. Boys, his boys, died. And he tried so hard to save as many of them as possible, took that burden on himself, tarnished his palms with invisible callouses from the effort of forcibly keeping them all together. There's nothing worse than having the hands that helped kids out of the Box be the same ones to etch their names off the wall.

Gally was younger, then. It feels like years have passed even if it's only been months since it all went down. He was struck with terror, confused, determined to find answers, and most of all, he was angry. Angry with grief, angry at the situation, angry at change. Of course, nobody pissed him off more than the Greenie, sauntering around and making big speeches like he built the damn Glade himself. And guess what—Gally was right about that, too.

But what really got to him, what really made his nerves light up with fury and sink deep into his bones was that nobody listened to him about the Greenie. Yeah, Gally can see now that he was a massive dick back then, but all of his worries were valid. Thomas was dangerous. Thomas was working with WICKED. Thomas did lead people to dangerous situations without thinking things through or considering the consequences. And nobody questioned that, because they were making progress on the Maze for the first time ever.

It's not something he'll ever say out loud, but damn the Maze. Damn freedom. What the hell is the point of fighting your way out when you see the bodies lined up behind you? What's the price of escape? Too high. It would always be too high for him.

When they left him there, bleeding out on the floor of some busted up WICKED lab with a meter-long spear sticking out of his chest—Minho did always have one hell of a throw—Gally cursed every single one of them. Croaked out their names with whatever breath was left in his lungs, lips tracing the syllables in a haze of red and hate. Was still mouthing it when Lawrence's guys found him.

Months later, slouched on top of a combat vehicle for a routine trip of the Last City's outskirts, he sees them.

They looked like shit. Clothes that have been through the ringer, hair matted with grime, every inch of their skin covered in soot and who-the-hell-knows what, and eyes blazing with something only anguish from the Scorch and running from WICKED can bring to someone.

He wanted so badly for that same, familiar hurt to rise. That thorn on his side that he convinced himself would never leave, the phantom spear in his chest to make itself known. He waits for the anger to rear its ugly head again, like it always has. The need to feel hate.

It doesn't come. What does come, unfortunately, is knee-buckling relief.

They're alive.

After all this time, even after they left him behind to rot, they're Gladers. They're boys. They're Gally's boys, first and foremost. He protects his own until his last breath. For better or for worse, he still gives a damn about these guys.

If he's going to care, he's going to do it properly this time. And with these shanks? This is going to suck. It's going to be hell. But Gally doesn't do things in halves.

—

“Words?”

“Circulation. Novel. Badger.”

Thomas nods, taking a bite of his apple as he writes into that beaten up notebook of his. “Looks good today, too,” he says approvingly between chews. "And you're not—"

"I’m fine. Don't feel any worse than I did twelve hours ago," Newt cuts in, amused. "I feel bloody sparkling, Tommy. What's the next set?"

Gally watches as Thomas continues writing, brows furrowed in concentration. The three of them are sitting underneath the awning of the chapel's entrance, shielding themselves from the morning sun's abnormally hot rays, making last-minute preparations for when they head into the Last City tonight. Frankly, he was glad for it. Already they've lingered for too long, the paranoia of timing itching at his skin.

"Next words are 'narrow, switch, illusion,'" Thomas replies, closing his book shut. "Don't forget."

"I'll try my best," Newt says drily. "Can we move to actual business now, doctor?"

Thomas leans over and knocks on the wooden door, hard, taking another bite of his apple. "Brenda. Get out here."

Immediately, the door swings open and she peeks her head out, bob bouncing as she squints. "Done flirting?"

"Never," Newt says easily, scooching over so she has room to sit. "Lucky us, the doc cleared me to join the grown-up conversation."

Part of the last-minute preparations, apparently, is this. The Greenie playing Medjack and clearing Newt for a clean bill of health every twelve hours with little memory tests.

It's easy to make fun of, which Newt never hesitates to do. But when Gally first saw them doing it, saw Thomas' stone-faced expression as he insists on checking Newt every time, he's reassured, just a little. He still has his reservations towards the Greenie, probably always will, but if there's one thing they can both agree on, is that Newt's health isn't something to fuck around with.

Brenda flops down between him and Newt, giving Newt a side-hug and raises her fist towards Gally. Unhesitatingly, he bumps it with his own.

"Okay," Thomas swallows, passing the fruit to Newt, who takes his own bite in turn. Despite fatigue prevalent in his posture, Thomas’ voice is sure. "We're heading out tonight. The objectives are saving Minho, busting out twenty-eight Immunes, and taking the serum from the vault. We're taking the tunnels, like we did the first time." The way he's reciting the plan feels clinical, worn out, the same way sharp rock smooths down after years of being under rough waters. "Brenda's getting the bus for the kids with Fry's help—"

"Why isn't Fry here?" Gally interrupts.

"He's scavenging the place for something to mark the road with." Thomas slumps against the pillar like it was the only thing holding him up, before straightening again. At Gally's nod, he continues. "Newt, Gally and I are going in with Teresa to the main building. Gally and I will take point, Newt stays a few steps behind us as backup."

"Just a few?" Newt clarifies, coughing a little before biting into the apple.

"Just a few."

Newt’s teeth sink into the core, a piece falling with a loud crunch. There's still a hint of bruising still smudged just above his cheekbone; the only remnants of the mysterious black eye that appeared before they all had dinner a few days ago.

"Just a quick chat with Tommy," Newt answered when Gally raised a brow at him then. "Little trouble in paradise, just had to let out some steam, is all. You know how we are."

The thing is, Gally doesn't.

Individually, the two of them are pretty much the same. A lot happened in six months, and he'd be a liar if he said he's the same shank that was tearing his voice out in the Glade. Thomas is impossibly more difficult now, but he always was. At his core, though, he's still the brave, overly-observant idiot he pulled out of the Box. Newt's still the embodiment of wit, the patron fucking saint of composure, even if that's starting to chip away because of the Flare, judging by Thomas' twin bruise on his jaw.

But the two of them? As a unit? Gally has no idea who these bastards are.

It's as if the universe took a pinch of Thomas and a pinch of Newt, threw it in a barrel, and topped it with a gallon of deranged before stirring. A mixture of whatever the hell the two of them are now. It's something Gally doesn't want to put much thought into, because something about the two of them feels almost threatening. Warning bells, the presence of danger when something involves the two of them.

Newt and Thomas always had something going on—even in the Maze, Gally knew right away. But never did he think it would turn into something like this; a devotion fermented. A reverence that made the chapel look blasphemous in comparison.

Even asking Brenda about it, once, didn't help clear things up. "Those two? The only thing I get about them is that you should just get out of the way before you do something stupid."

"What, you make a bad comment or something?"

"Kissed Thomas." A pause. "Yeah. Don't ask. Newt laughed it off but Thomas wouldn’t speak to me for days."

Gally refocuses back on the meeting, as Thomas continues. "—into Sub-Level 3. Get the serum, give it to Newt right then and there. Get the kids out, meet with Brenda, get picked up by Fry." He pauses before nodding, as if he were confirming his own plan with himself. That, paired with his deep eyebags, Gally has to wonder if this guy's slept at all since they interrogated Teresa a few days ago. "Good that?"

Two good thats and one sounds good. Looks like Brenda never picked up the Glader lingo.

"Okay. Be back by sundown. We leave at nine." Thomas looks over them, voicd curt. “Don’t be late.”

"What Tommy means to say," Newt chides. "Is do what you need to do. Get some rest, pack what you need. Take care of yourselves, because who knows when we'll get free time again, yeah? Go on, now." Newt turns to Thomas. "Dick," he says, but it comes out oddly affectionate. "Never did pick up on niceties, did you?"

Thomas shrugs. "Figured they'd appreciate efficiency."

Gally gets on his feet, fully intending to slink away somewhere and get in the mindset for the infiltration tonight when he hears Thomas call out: "Stick around, Gally." A mild thump sounds out, like someone getting swatted. "...Please."

He doesn't repress a sigh, but doesn't complain—he has a thing or two to say, anyway.

They wait for Brenda and Newt to leave. Gally doesn't let him have the first word. "You look like shit," he says bluntly. "You can't go in there when you look like you can barely stay on your feet."

Thomas shoots him a glare but doesn't bother getting up from where he's sitting. "I'll be fine." Gally keeps staring, and Thomas visibly deflates, curling in on himself a little. "I'll be fine after we talk."

"Okay." Gally crosses his arms and waits. "Anytime, Greenie."

He doesn't answer, and Gally has the urge to tell him to just spit it out, but then Thomas' expression turns solemn. "Be honest with me."

"I don't think I have it in me to bother lying to you, man."

"Would you choose Newt over me?"

The question stuns Gally to silence. "Feeling insecure?" he asks instead of answering.

Thomas ignores the jab. "You would, right?" he insists, eyes intense. "You must. He has three years over me. You built the Glade together, one of the originals. You respected him even when he disagreed with you during Gatherings, I remember. You and I, we were never close. Got on each other's nerves a lot." He tilts his head, considering. "Still do."

Gally hesitates, honesty catching him off guard. "Shit, Greenie," he sighs, but he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about it before. They’ve made strides, him and Thomas. They’re not as cut-throat with each other like they were before, as much as Thomas tried to reignite the feud between them. Is it good? Fuck no, but it’s better than before.

Nonetheless, it’s nothing on the affinity that Gally had towards Newt.

Eventually, he nods. "Yeah. If it came down to it and I had no other choice, I would choose Newt over you."

He’s not surprised when Thomas relaxes, tension easing from his frame. "Good," he breathes out, flopping down to the hot concrete and closing his eyes. "So if it came down to it, you'd make sure Newt would get out of there, even if it killed me?"

Gally gives him a hard look. “You planning on dying out there?”

“I’m planning on Newt coming back alive.” When Thomas opens his eyes slowly, gaze sliding to him, his expression is almost unbearably vulnerable. "Please," Thomas says quietly, and he almost doesn't hear it. "Please."

"You asked me to be honest." A hum sounds out in reply. "I think if I got Newt out of there, but you didn't make it, there would be nothing left of Newt to save."

Thomas frowns. "Yeah," he agrees, a little too easily. "But he'd be alive."

—

Gally peers over Newt's shoulder, standing on his tiptoes a little to get a better view. "You choose which one you're wearing yet?"

"Red one, I think." Holding up the WICKED jumpsuits, he watches as Newt's eyes jump between the three choices. "I like a good pop of color."

"Well, I don't." Gripping Newt's shoulder, he grabs the plain gray jumpsuit, and pauses briefly when Newt tenses underneath his touch. "I'll take the boring one."

"Doing us all a favor, mate."

Gally glances at Newt—who gives him a mild, withdrawn smile—before turning his attention back down to the jumpsuit. Tracing it with his fingers, he studies it, unseeing. A sick sense of premonition tingling down his spine.

"Well," Newt says, "I'm gonna—" he jerks his head to the door, clearing his throat, and Gally really, really considers letting him get away with it. But he can't, not when they're leaving in a few hours. Not when the stakes are so high. Newt, of all things, can’t be considered a variable. But it might be too late.

"Newt," he calls, still directing his gaze at the jumpsuit in his hands. "You have no idea who I am, do you?"

He stops in his tracks, turned away from Gally.

Dread grows in his stomach. Silence reigns for a long moment.

"No," he admits, finally. "But Tommy seems to trust you, so." Facing Gally, his smile, sickeningly foreign and apprehensive, is being directed right at Gally. "You must be a half-decent guy."

Gally laughs, because he knows Newt would want him to and he doesn't know how else to react. "Now I really know your memory's fucked." Hopping on top of a crate, Gally lets the humor drop from his voice, fist tight around the fabric in his hands. "How bad is it?"

That earns him a scowl, harsh and abrupt. "How the hell am I supposed to know the bloody details? I don't fucking remember."

"Calm," Gally placates. He has to constantly remind himself that, despite the fact that he hides it so well, Newt is sick. "Come on, man, we need to talk about this. You remember Thomas?"

Like a smothered flame, the fight immediately burns out of Newt. Carefully, he sits on the ground in front of Gally, crossing his legs. Gally wonders why Newt wouldn't just sit beside him when he remembers that he probably wouldn't want to sit next to a complete stranger. It stung, a little. "Yeah, I remember him."

"Does he know about this?"

"Yeah."

Gally narrows his eyes. "Really?"

"Yes," he repeats, exasperated. "You really think I can hide anything from that Tommy bastard? Especially about me and my—" he gestures at his head, circling a finger around his temple lazily. "I tried, mate, and that didn't work out for the two of us."

"Gally."

"What?"

"Stop calling me 'mate.' It's Gally. Just ask next time."

Newt scrunches his brows in concentration. "Gally," he stretches out, like he's hoping muscle memory of the name will kick in, a faint recognition flashing in his eyes. "It's kind of ringing a bell, now."

"Hope it's not alarm bells," Gally huffs. "How does the memory loss work? Are you going to be okay for tonight?"

"Not sure, it's kind of a new development. Sometimes I forget small details like what I ate for breakfast, and sometimes I forget you exist. Tommy's been trying to keep track of the progress with the little tests, but not sure that's doing a whole lot. Thinking that he's just obsessing over my health, like usual. As for tonight," he shrugs. "I have to be okay, don't I?"

"Newt."

"Gally," he groans out, matching Gally's tone. Looks like the memories are back; a quick recovery, for now. "I don't have a bloody choice. Besides, it's not that bad yet. It usually happens for a few minutes at a time and then I'm right as rain. So don't bother convincing me—"

"And I won't." During Gatherings, arguments with Newt had always been a losing battle, especially when the Greenie was involved somehow. Gally can count on one hand the times he's disagreed with Newt—this isn't one of them. "We need you out there," he says truthfully.

"Thanks," Newt says, eyes crinkling in relief, before morphing into a thoughtful expression. "Did Tommy say anything to you?"

Gally was shaking his head before Newt even finished. "Nope," he jumps down from the crate and walks out. "Not taking anymore bodyguard requests from anyone."

“Gally.”

Gally flips him off without turning around, mouth twisted unhappily. It’s a steep learning curve, but he thinks he’s starting to get it. Newt and Thomas are an old book that hasn’t been opened in years—you can’t separate the pages without risking both being torn in half. But what he wishes they knew is that he doesn’t want to have to choose between the two of them. He doesn’t like choosing lives, weighing the risks of success and death. There’s nothing more he wants than to leave that mindset back in the Maze. Especially between these two; they’re finally back in his life and they immediately get to talking about how willing they are to martyr themselves. Like they don’t realize how much this fucks with Gally’s head.

Just as the door is about to close, he hears Newt sigh, tired and frustrated. “Shit.”

—

"Punctual," is how Thomas greets him when he gets there ten minutes before the meeting time. He looks impossibly worse. Shoulders drooping and eye bags bordering on purple, he looks like he’s only standing on his feet through rage alone, as if it is only his heartache that propels him forward.

By now, the sun had long since set, replaced by a huge full moon that they ignored. They're both dressed in WICKED uniforms, masks in hand. He may not see it, but he knows both of them have weapons laced and hidden throughout their entire body like a second skin, like suits that he sees adults wear in the city. It flickers in his mind, sometimes, that in a normal life, they’d all still be too young to wear suits.

Gally snorts. "While you shanks were eating sand in the Scorch, I was in the military the whole time. Punctual made sure my ass didn't get beat."

Thomas' expression doesn't so much as twitch. "Makes sense," he says, effectively ending the conversation. Not that he minded. Greenie was a real stick in the mud nowadays. He almost prefers the hundreds of questions that spewed out of his mouth over the contemplative, fuming silence that's associated with Thomas nowadays.

“You always gonna be this much of an asshole?” Gally prods, because there’s time to waste and he’s never been afraid to ruin Thomas’ day.

“Well,” he replies, tone perfectly level. “By the end of tonight, I’ll either be the most pleasant, cheerful, carefree shank you’ve ever met—“ he lolls his head towards Gally, eyes dead. “Or I’ll be begging you to kill me.”

He doesn’t get a chance to respond. Footsteps, paired with the heavy thumps that only someone wearing a WICKED uniform can bring, paired with a throaty cough. "You alright, Tommy?"

The change was instant; it’s as if dawn broke at 8:56 pm. Thomas, the miserable, angry, short-fused Greenie, splits a grin brighter than the sun. A happiness sharp and abrupt and covetous that it felt like a weapon in its own right, an ax to grind so cutting that it makes the guns and knives strapped to their bodies feel like childrens’ toys. Ridiculously, Gally has the urge to take a step back out of its range.

“Could be better,” Thomas replies, reaching for Newt’s hand. One thing he’s grateful for is that these two always keep the PDA to a minimum. Small mercies. “Brenda?”

“Hauling our lovely Teresa over.”

As if on cue, the chapel doors barge open, Teresa and Brenda stepping out. If it weren’t for the sunken, lifeless expression plastered on Teresa’s face, they might have looked like two friends in a different life.

“Oh, and here you are,” Newt slips Thomas a folded piece of paper, clearing his throat. “Keep it somewhere safe.”

“What’s that?” Gally asks.

“Insurance. I’m supposed to give it to him, in case he—“ Thomas gestures vaguely, still unable to vocalize Newt’s sickness. There’s an emotion Gally can’t place scattered on his features. “Can I read it?”

“Sure,” Newt shrugs. “Nothing you don’t already know.”

He unfolds the paper, and it was quiet as they watched him read it. When he finishes, he looks up slowly. For some reason, Thomas looks overwhelmed.

New rolls his eyes. “I told you, it’s nothing you don’t already know.”

“Yeah, but still. It’s in writing.” With a care he isn’t used to associating with Thomas, he tucks the paper deep into his breast pocket. "Can I keep this?"

"No, that’s for me." Newt pauses, considering. "I'll write you your own letter, maybe."

Gally’s barely listening to them, much more interested in how Teresa looks like she just got her soul sucked out of her. “What’s wrong with her?” he asks Brenda.

“Beats me. Ever since the interrogation, she’s been out of it.” Cutting a glance at Thomas, “You have something to do with that?”

“You already know everything I did during the interrogation,” he says, hands up in surrender. “Haven’t even talked to her since then.”

Somehow, Teresa looks even more dejected after hearing that. An unforeseen benefit; she’s easier to handle this way. Gally catches Newt’s glaring at her, a mildly amused look etched into his eyes, and wonders how much is unforseen and how much is just Newt.

Turning his attention back to Brenda, he double checks his belt. Pistol, knife, dagger, radio, hacksaws, extra rounds. “Ready?”

Teresa’s head shoots up and blinks, suddenly alarmed. “Brenda’s coming?”

“Look who’s back from the dead,” Newt taunts, and Thomas frowns at him slightly. “You’re a bouncer now, are you? Of course Brenda’s bloody coming.”

“But isn’t she—?” Her gaze drops down to Brenda’s shin, where the Flare used to be etched. “She’s not getting treatment, right? Otherwise Newt would—“

Thomas sighs loudly, not bothering to look in her direction. “We need to go. What the hell are you talking about?”

“Where is she getting her serum?”

Gally looks at her like she’s lost it. “Do you think if we had any serum, we wouldn’t shoot that shit straight into Newt?”

Newt blows out a breath, eye twitching, and a tingle of premonition tingles along Gally’s nape. “Can we get a move on now? This girl’s just wasting our time. Don’t we have something better to do?”

Thomas gives him another long, long look. “Okay,” he concedes. “Let’s head out.”

Teresa opens her mouth, but Gally grips her wrist. “Haven’t you learned to just keep quiet?” he hisses, the question more genuine than he intended. It’s a wonder she’s still alive. “It’s a simple thing. Shut up. Get us in. And maybe Tom will hate you less.”

The venom in her stare could rival a Griever’s, but at least she doesn’t complain when they start walking.

—

The tunnel sucks. It always does.

It has a perpetual stickiness that seems to permeate into the aged bricks in the wall, a natural humidity that makes the heavy stink of a sewer rise and settle onto their clothes like a snowfall that Gally has only ever read about and has lost all hope of seeing in the sun-scorched world. With every step, an unnamable liquid would make their shoes squelch with a viscosity he doesn’t even want to think about; yet another thing to ignore if he wants to keep it together. It’s dimly lit, slippery, a nasty piece of work. The sound is strangely amplified there in a way he knows gives all of them hives—loud sounds get you attention. Attention gets you killed. Just how it works nowadays.

Thomas and Newt climb down first, then Teresa. Brenda gives him a dubious look, one foot on the ladder’s ring.

“What?”

Her tone is forcibly nonchalant. “Have a thing against going underground.” In the corner of his eye, he sees her twist her ankle this way and that. “You sure there’s nothing dangerous down there?”

Gally cracks a grin. “If you’re worried about Cranks, I think there’s technically one down there.” It’s the kind of joke that would get his teeth knocked out if he told it to Thomas, but it pulls a startled huff out of Brenda.

“Guess so.” Scraping something like a smile, she descends, and he follows her, closing the trap door with a thud.

Hopping down the rest of the way, his boots hit the ground with a splash. “Straight ahead,” he tells them, blindly reaching for the lever and pulling it up with some effort. Lights flicker on, bulb by bulb, as the tunnel stretches on for what seems like miles. “Let’s make quick work of this place.”

Thomas and Newt set the pace, a brisk walk that reminds Gally that Thomas was a Runner and Newt would still be one, in another life. Gally studies Newt’s leg from behind, nodding to himself when there’s only the barest stutter in his gait. He must have worked hard to train it up to where it is now.

“Anyone ever told you that you’re not as good at being a jackass as you think you are?” Brenda whispers beside him, soft enough that the sound doesn’t bounce against the tunnel walls.

Gally bristles. “No, actually, they tell me I’m worse than they remember.”

A scoff, then, loudly: “There’s only room for one brooding jerk in this group, and I don’t know if you can rip it from the lovestruck fools.”

“I heard that,” Thomas calls back, annoyed.

Brenda chuckles, before dropping her voice. “Listen, Gally. This tough guy act? It’s not doing anyone any favors. You don’t realize how quickly—” she falters. “How quickly it can go away.”

Irritation rises in him. “It’s not an act,” he rebukes, fighting to speak softly. “It’s more than that. You don’t think I know about loss? Give me a break.” He gestures to himself before Thomas and Newt, “What do you even know about this? Because, correct me if I’m wrong, it’s not really any of your damn business.”

“I’m the one who watched them for six whole months while you were gone,” she reminds him. “It’s not the Maze, but the Scorch is its own hell. It changes people, it changes priorities. And it’s also when Newt and Thomas became Newt and Thomas.”

He scrubs his face roughly. “And?” he prompts, because saying Who fucking cares? is probably rude.

“You can probably tell that they’re—” her lip twitches. “A little off.”

“Batshit insane?” he offers.

“Yeah,” she agrees. “And with how they trip over themselves to stare at each other, all I’m saying is that it’s nice that someone out there is watching where they’re going. Make sure their footing is alright.”

He gives her an incredulous look. “And that’s me?”

Brenda shrugs. “You and me. We can take shifts.”

Gally continues staring at her before throwing caution to the wind. “You still in love with him or something?”

It’s Brenda’s turn to be irritated. “Can’t you just accept the fact that some people aren’t ashamed to look out for their friends? Why do you have to make it weird?”

“Can’t you believe the fact that I’ve already tried looking out for my friends before and ended up with a stick in my chest?” His tone is more piercing than he wanted it to be.

She falls silent, and they walk for a few minutes with only the sound of their shoes slushing in sewer water and the muffled staccato of Newt and Thomas whispering with one another.

“I heard about that,” she says eventually. “It sounded deserved, if I’m being honest.”

Gally grunts, because she’s right and he doesn’t want to grace her with acknowledgement.

Brenda’s mouth quirks. “Who’s the sore loser now?”

Despite his best efforts, he cracks a smile. “Whatever.” And then, begrudgingly, “Yeah. It was deserved. But it was also—“

“Complicated?” Brenda finishes. “Look, man. We can grill those two all you want, but one thing about them is that they keep their shit simple and clean. There’s one priority: each other. It doesn’t have to be more complicated than that. What you did is in the past, but you’re here for them now. Your hands are full enough as it is, so maybe—” she shrugs. “Try letting stuff go?”

There’s nothing to let go, he wants to retort.

I already let it go, he fixes.

I thought I let go already, he tries again.

I don’t think I’m allowed to let go, is what he actually wants to say.

A quiet, trilling voice, one Gally almost forgot about, made itself known. “You held them too tightly before.” Teresa mutters, eyes downcast. “So now you don’t even want to touch them now. Right?”

Bitterness coats his throat. “You, of all people,” he says, emotionless. “Don’t get to speak to me about that.”

He shoulders past Teresa, ignoring her. “I’ll go ahead and take the first shift,” he tells Brenda.

“That’s the Gally I’ve heard about.”

He scoffs without heat and has to jog to catch up to Thomas and Newt when he hears something that makes him stop in his tracks, liquid sloshing at his shin. Dread, cold and heavy, settles in his stomach.

“Narrow, beatle—no, it’s not beatle,” Newt’s back is to him, shoulders pulled in tight and fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “Narrow, hoax…”

“Newt,” Thomas speaks quietly.

“No, Tommy, just give me a minute. I swear I’ve got it.” Newt takes a deep breath. “The words are narrow, insight—fuck.”

“They’re just words,” Thomas tries mildly, but even in the poor lighting, Gally can see how his hands tremble. “Nothing more to it. It’s a stupid thing I made up, anyway.”

“It’s not stupid,” Newt hisses. “It was bloody important to you twelve hours ago, wasn’t it? Don’t go changing the rules on me now.”

Thomas places a hand on Newt’s chest lightly but firm. Taking a deep breath, movements exaggerated, shoulder rising and falling, Thomas holds eye contact with Newt. In the next set of breaths, Newt joins him; reluctantly at first, until the tension in his shoulders gradually relaxes, their chests rising and falling in time with each other.

“We good here?” Gally interrupts quietly.

Newt turns to him, meditative state seemingly broken, and for a second, he thought that Newt was going to have that distant expression on his face again, the one that says he doesn’t recognize Gally anymore. Expects to be met with gritted teeth and wild eyes and black veins. Gally readies himself. Anger, he can work with.

But Newt lets out a sharp breath and casts his eyes to the ceiling, visibly deflating. “We’re good here,” he sighs, and when he glances back down, his expression is sheepish. “Sorry.”

Gally nods, eyes flickering to Thomas, who reveals nothing.

“Come on,” Gally says, brushing past Newt, gently squeezing his shoulder. “Tunnel’s turning soon.”

—

The trickiest part of their journey into the city was always going to be outrunning the train.

“There’s too many of us to go all at once,” Gally announces, all of them hunched in a cramped tunnel with jagged rocks pressed against their palms. He speaks with a raised voice, the train whooshing loudly, the lights rhythmically lighting up their faces like search lights. “We should split this up into two runs.”

He studies each person and doesn’t hide a grimace. The dramatics of how to split this group of shanks is annoyingly complicated. “Me, Brenda, Newt. Greenie, Teresa. Sound good?”

Thomas opens his mouth, and Gally gives him an unimpressed look. “What is it now?”

“...Nothing.”

“Great.” Gally pokes his head out slightly. It’s almost time. “Brenda, Newt. Ready?”

They nod. “Don’t trip this time,” Thomas tells Newt, a shadow of humor in his voice.

“Nice to see you well enough to make jokes, Tommy.”

“Now!” Gally calls.

The three of them hop down, one after another in quick succession. With the rumbling of the next train behind them, they didn’t waste time with idle conversation again. They set out in a sprint, and Gally lets Brenda and Newt pass him, opting to take the tail-end this time. He expects their serious expression, unyielding even in how harshly they suck in their breaths, but Newt’s brows are ruffled in together as he passes Gally.

It goes smoothly, thankfully. The rubble doesn’t even get a chance to truly start vibrating until they were long up the ladder, slumped against the concrete walls to support themselves as they catch their breath. Gally stares at the ceiling, lets himself zone out for a few moments, waits for his lungs to stop stinging, before glancing to his right.

Newt is sitting up, spine ramrod straight, a tense hand on his holster and unblinking.

“Newt?” Gally asks slowly, starting to recognize that vacant look in Newt's eyes.

He watches as Newt’s focus darts between Gally and Brenda, lips moving silently. There’s a glint in his eye that leaves Gally uneasy.

“Newt?” Brenda repeats, levity gone. “What’s wrong with you?”

“How do you know my name?” Newt presses his back tighter against the wall, like he’s trying to escape. Escape from them.

Brenda and Gally share a look. “We’re your friends,” she starts.

It wasn’t the right thing to say. Newt tightens his hold on his holster. For a fleeting moment, he wonders if this is what Teresa felt during the interrogation. “I’ve never seen you before in my life,” he mutters, and Gally strains to hear him. “Not once.”

Gally slowly attempts to sit up, but Brenda subtly shakes her head. He settles back down.

“Where is he?” Newt breathes out, low and urgent. It’s faint, but there’s the softest hint of leather creaking, like Newt’s considering pulling out his gun. “Where’s Tommy?”

Sucking in a breath, Gally tries to reply—he’ll be here in a minute—when the next train whooshes past them, drowning out his response. In this sporadic lighting, Newt’s eyes burn bright, rapacious, boring deeply into Gally’s. The train fully passes them, and for a moment, darkness swallows them whole.

Then the lights flicker back on and Gally is staring directly into the barrel of Newt’s gun. When he speaks, it’s guttural, very nearly inhumane. “Where’s Tommy?”

Gally doesn’t flinch. “He’s coming,” he assures him, refusing to let his voice waver. “Maybe in ten seconds, he’ll be here.”

Newt presses the barrel closer, actually touching Gally’s forehead this time. “He wasn’t supposed to leave my side,” Newt retaliates, but it comes out unsure. “I know that much. We—we talked about that, I think.” For a moment, he shrinks on himself, before anger seems to seize him once more. “Where?”

A hand grazes Newt’s shoulder. “Hey—” Brenda murmurs.

The barrel leaves his forehead and is pointed at Brenda, but her draw is the quickest out of all of them. In an instant, both of them have their pistols pointed at each other, Newt shaking uncontrollably and Brenda calm, the only sign of her worry is from the downward tilt of her mouth.

Then, out of nowhere, Newt lowers his gun. “It’s been ten seconds,” he states abruptly. The whiplash leaves Gally reeling.

“What?” Brenda asks, lowering hers. “What are you talking about?”

“Tommy, he—“ Newt’s face scrunches, thinking. “He’s fast. I remember that much. It shouldn’t take him long. It’s not like him to be late. There must be something wrong.” The tunnel they’re in is cramped, but Newt tries to stand anyway, and suddenly collapses. “What’s wrong with this bloody leg…?”

In the back of his mind, Gally is vaguely impressed. Never mind forgetting Brenda and Gally; Newt forgot his limp, but is able to recall that Thomas can run faster than the average person. “You think Thomas is in trouble?”

Gally doesn’t hesitate—he foregoes the ladder and jumps down directly from the platform when he hears them, voices raised and Teresa clutching onto Thomas' arm like a lifeline. A flash of disbelief flares in his chest. How did Newt know?

“—You see that Brenda's fine? Can't you see there's—"

"I'll let this train run you over Teresa, I'm not fucking—"

"Please, this can save Newt's life—" Faintly, the screech of the train becomes audible, but the two of them pay no heed to it.

"Keep his name out of your mouth. You're the reason why his life needs to be saved—"

Gally doesn't even try to break into their argument. When he's close enough, he grabs Teresa's wrists and forcibly tears it away from Thomas. "I'm really starting to regret not taking Greenie's offer to just chop your thumb off."

"You have to listen," she starts, eyes shining with frustration, but the screeching is getting louder and louder. "The cure—!"

"How dare you," Thomas lashes out, ablaze. "Taunt the cure in front of me when you know I'd skin anyone alive to get my hands on it."

"The train!" Gally yells, but neither of them look at him.

"I'm not taunting, I know how much this means to you, and I want you—"

"And I don't, Teresa. I don't want you, I don't even want to see you, I can't stand to look at you."

Enough is enough. "Newt's memory is blanking again," Gally cuts in. "Has no idea who me and Brenda are."

Thomas whirls on him, Teresa completely forgotten. "Shit." Without warning, he turns and runs, the soles of his shoes barely hitting the ground before it's up again.

Teresa stares at his back for a long moment before turning to him. Heartbreak isn’t a strong enough word to describe the devastation on her expression. it's as if she doesn't hear the train that's rolling closer and closer to them. Or maybe she doesn't care. "Will you listen?" she asks him.

Gally gives her a blank look. "If you don't run now, you'll die."

He sets off, and he can't help the surprise he feels when footsteps sound behind him.

—

Curiosity gets Gally this time around. “How’d you know?”

Newt glances at him. By the time they got back, breathless and exhausted, Gally doubly so, Newt seemed to have found his memories again.

After a long moment of silence, Newt simply shrugs.

It would have been naive to expect any other answer.

[cheerstotheelites-if]

“ when i say run, i need you to do as i say and don’t even think about me. ” MC protecting Emery

Prompt list

//TW: BLOOD MENTION & HORROR THEMES

~•~•~

“Protecting your family is every person’s basic instinct, it is why we would do everything to make sure the ones we love stay safe and out of harm’s way.”

– Unknown

~•~•~

"You have to trust me," You tell Emery, hands gripping his shoulders tightly which causes the young boy to wince, "when I say run, I need you to do as I say and don't even think about me."

"But you said everything will be okay!" Emery protests a bit too loudly, and you quickly look back behind you, praying that thing didn't hear him, before returning back to your Familiar. "Didn't Eliseo say he'll take care of it?"

"Well, things don't always go to plan," you say, with a rueful smile. "I'm sorry, Emery."

"But... what about you? You'll follow after me, right?"

"I..."

C R A S H

Twisting your head back in alarm, you see Eliseo's body ontop of some broken furniture. He groans in pain as he staggers back to his feet, blood dripping from the side of his head. The old metal pipe he found earlier is still in his hands, coated in black, oily ichor. A snarl is on his face.

"COME ON, YOU FUCK!" He shouts at the thing as wet slithering and skittering noises draw louder that's followed by a hellish shriek.

You look back at Emery, with alarm bells ringing in your head and urgency in your movement as you turn him around to the darkness.

"Go!" You order frantically, pushing him down the small tunnel in the wall. "We'll meet you outside."

"You promise?" Emery looks back at you, tears running down his cheeks.

Your heart aches as you give him a nod. "Yeah."

As you watch Emery crawl down the small tunnel until the darkness obscures him, you hear Eliseo's scream and wet squelches behind you.

It wasn't long until you're dragged back by the leg to join him.