#i blink and then it's 2000 words later

[rockalillygirl]

Mamma mia here we go again…

So I have more thoughts because apparently there’s no bottom to the murderbot mindhole I’ve fallen down.

(Spoiler warning- minor stuff from several of the books, pls check tags etc.)

I’ve been reading a lot of things recently exploring Murderbot as an unreliable narrator, which I think is a cool result of System Collapse (because we all know our beloved MB is going through it in this one). There’s also been some interesting related discussion of MB’s distrust of and sometimes biased assessment/treatment of other constructs and bots.

And I’ve been reading a lot about CombatUnits! And I want to talk about them!!

Main thoughts can be summarized as follows:

We don’t see a lot about CombatUnits in the books, and I think what we do see from MB’s pov encourages the reader to view them as less sympathetic than other constructs.

I’m very skeptical of this portrayal for reasons.

The existence of CombatUnits makes me fucking sad and I have a lot of feelings about them!

I got introduced to the idea of MB as an unreliable narrator in a post by onironic It analyzes how in SC, MB seems to distrust Three to a somewhat unreasonable degree, and how it sometimes infantilizes Three or treats it the way human clients have treated it in the past. The post is Amazing and goes into way more detail, so pls go read it (link below):

https://www.tumblr.com/onironic/736245031246135296?source=share

So these ideas were floating around in my brain when I read an article Martha Wells recently published in f(r)iction magazine titled “Bodily Autonomy in the Murderbot Diaries”. I’ll link the article here:

(Rn the only way to access the article is to subscribe to the magazine or buy an e-copy of the specific issue which is $12)

In the article, Wells states that MB displaced its fear of being forced to have sex with humans onto the ComfortUnit in Artificial Condition. I think it’s reasonable to assume that MB also does this with other constructs. With Three, I think it’s more that MB is afraid if what it knows Three is capable of, or (as onironic suggests in their post and I agree with) some jealousy that Three seems more like what humans want/expect a rogue SecUnit to be.

But I want to explore how this can be applied to CombatUnits, specifically.

We don’t learn a lot about them in the books. One appears for a single scene in Exit Strategy, and that’s it. What little else we know comes from MB’s thoughts on them sprinkled throughout the series. To my knowledge, no other character even mentions them (which raises interesting questions about how widely-known their existence is outside of high-level corporate military circles).

When MB does talk about CombatUnits in the early books, it’s as a kind of boogeyman figure (the real “murderbots” that even Murderbot is afraid of). And then when one does show up in ES, it’s fucking terrifying! There’s a collective “oh shit” moment as both MB and the reader realize what it’s up against. Very quickly what we expect to be a normal battle turns into MB running for its life, desperately throwing up hacks as the CombatUnit slices through them just as fast. We and MB know that it wouldn’t have survived the encounter if its humans hadn’t helped it escape. So the CombatUnit really feels like a cut above the other enemies in the series.

And what struck me reading that scene was how the CombatUnit acts like the caricature of an “evil robot” that MB has taught us to question. It seems single-mindedly focused on violence and achieving its objective, and it speaks in what I’d call a “Terminator-esque” manner: telling MB to “Surrender” (like that’s ever worked) and responds to MB’s offer to hack its governor module with “I want to kill you” (ES, pp 99-100).

(Big tangent: Am I the only one who sees parallels between this and how Tlacey forces the ComfortUnit to speak to MB in AC? She makes it suggest they “kill all the humans” because that’s how she thinks constructs talk to each other (AC, pp 132-4). And MB picks up on it immediately. So why is that kind of talk inherently less suspicious coming from a CombatUnit than a ComfortUnit? My headcanon is that I’m not convinced the CombatUnit was speaking for itself. What if a human controller was making it say things they thought would be intimidating? Idk maybe I’ve been reading too many fics where CombatUnits are usually deployed with a human handler. There could be plenty of reasons why the CombatUnit would’ve talked like that. I’m just suspicious.)

(Also, disclaimer: I want to clarify before I go on that I firmly believe that even though MB seems to be afraid of CombatUnits and thinks they’re assholes, it would still advocate for them to have autonomy. I’m not trying to say that either MB or Wells sees CombatUnits as less worthy of personhood or freedom- because I feel the concept that “everything deserves autonomy” is very much at the heart of the series.)

So it’s clear from all of this that MB is scared of CombatUnits and distrusts them for a lot of reasons. I read another breathtaking post by @grammarpedant that gives a ton of examples of this throughout the books and has some great theories on why MB might feel this way. I’ll summarize the ones here that inspired me the most, but pls go read the original post for the full context:

https://www.tumblr.com/grammarpedant/703920247856562177?source=share

OP explains that SecUnits and CombatUnits are pretty much diametrically opposed because of their conflicting functions: Security safeguards humans, while Combat kills them. Of course these functions aren’t rigid- MB has implied that it’s been forced to be violent towards humans before, and I’m sure that extracting/guarding important assets could be a part of a CombatUnit's function. But it makes sense that MB would try to distance itself from being considered a CombatUnit, using its ideas about them to validate the parts of its own function that it likes (protecting people). OP gives what I think is the clearest example of this, which is the moment in Fugitive Telemetry when MB contrasts its plan to sneak aboard a hostile ship and rescue some refugees with what it calls a “CombatUnit” plan, which would presumably involve a lot more murder (FT, p 92).

This reminds me again of what Wells said in the f(r)iction article, that on some level MB is frightened by the idea that it could have been made a ComfortUnit (friction, p 44). I think the idea that it could’ve been a CombatUnit scares it too, and that’s why it keeps distinguishing itself and its function from them. But I think it’s important to point out, that in the above example from FT, even MB admits that the murder-y plan it contrasts with its own would be one made by humans for CombatUnits. So again we see that we just can’t know much about the authentic nature of CombatUnits, or any constructs with intact governor modules, because they don’t have freedom of expression. MB does suggest that CombatUnits may have some more autonomy when it comes to things like hacking and combat which are a part of their normal function. But how free can those choices be when the threat of the governor module still hangs over them?

I think it could be easy to fall into the trap of seeing CombatUnits as somehow more complicit in the systems of violence in the mbd universe. But I think that’s because we often make a false association between violence and empowerment, when even in our world that’s not always the case. But, critically, this can’t be the case for CombatUnits because they’re enslaved in the same way SecUnits and ComfortUnits are (though the intricacies are different).

There was another moment in the f(r)iction article that I found really chilling. Wells states that there’s a correlation between SecUnits that are forced to kill humans and ones that go rogue (friction, p 45). It’s a disturbing thought on its own, but I couldn’t help wondering then how many CombatUnits try to hack their governor modules? And what horrible lengths would humans go to to stop them? I refuse to believe that a CombatUnit’s core programming would make it less effected by the harm its forced to perpetrate. That might be because I’m very anti-deterministic on all fronts, but I just don’t buy it.

I’m not entirely sure why I feel so strongly about this. Of course, I find the situation of all constructs in mbd deeply upsetting. But the more I think about CombatUnits, the more heartbreaking their existence seems to me. There’s a very poignant moment in AC when MB compares ART’s function to its own to explain why there are things it doesn’t like about being a SecUnit (AC, p 33). In that scene, MB is able to identify some parts of its function that it does like, but I have a hard time believing a CombatUnit would be able to do the same. I’m not trying to say that SecUnits have it better (they don’t) (the situation of each type of construct is horrible in it’s own unique way). It’s just that I find the idea of construct made only for violence and killing really fucking depressing. I can’t even begin to imagine the horror of their day-to-day existence.

@grammarpedant made another point in their post that I think raises a TON of important questions not only about CombatUnits, but about how to approach the idea of “function” when it comes to machine intelligence in general. They explain that, in a perfect version of the mbd universe, there wouldn’t be an obvious place for CombatUnits the way there could be for SecUnits and ComfortUnits who wanted to retain their original functions. A better world would inherently be a less violent one, so where does that leave CombatUnits? Would they abandon their function entirely, or would they find a way to change it into something new?

I’ve been having a lot of fun imagining what a free CombatUnit would be like. But in some ways it’s been more difficult than I expected. I’ve heard Wells say in multiple interviews that one of her goals in writing Murderbot was to challenge people to empathize with someone they normally wouldn’t, and I find CombatUnits challenging in exactly that way. Sometimes I wonder if I would’ve felt differently about these books if MB had been a CombatUnit instead of a SecUnit. Would I have felt such an immediate connection to MB if its primary function before hacking its governor module had been killing humans, or if it didn’t have relatable hobbies like watching media? Or if it didn’t have a human face for the explicit purpose of making people like me more comfortable? I’m not sure that I would have.

Reading SC has got me interested in exploring the types of people that humans (or even MB itself) would struggle to accept. So CombatUnits are one of these and possible alien-intelligences are another. All this is merely a small sampling of the thoughts that have been swirling around in my brain-soup! So if anyone is interested in watching me fumble my way through these concepts in more detail, I may be posting “something” in the very near future!

Would really appreciate anyone else’s thoughts about all of THIS^^^^ It’s been my obsession over the holidays and helping me cope with family stress and flying anxiety.

[plutotheplum]

Socks and Kisses

leon kennedy x fem!reader

summary: a spontaneous shopping trip has leon re-evaluating his friendship with you.

cw: nsfw (18+) - mdni!!, smut, p in v, spanking, oral sex, praise kink, fluff, friends/roommates to lovers, fantasizing

wc: 3.7k

also posted on ao3!

There’s a shriek leaving you when you trip over a bundle of shoes in the doorway. It nearly sends you hurtling towards the floor, but there’s an arm curling around your waist, tugging you up before you can fall. Leon.

You glare up at your roommate, shoving at his chest so it sends him stumbling.

“Seriously, Leon? How many times have I told you to put your shoes to the side of the doorway?” you snap, crossing your arms over your chest.

He winces at your shrill voice, his hand rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

“I was busy,” he says, his eyes pleading with you, “you know with… with work.”

You’re shooting him an unimpressed look, pushing past him to put the groceries on the kitchen counter. It was your day to collect them anyways. Living with Leon had happened entirely by accident. One shittily written apartment listing later and the poor guy was standing outside your door, begging you to let him move in. It hadn’t been so bad. Leon had been nice, and you two had gotten along well, becoming friends even. The only thing you couldn’t stand was how messy the man was.

Empty boxes from delivered packages, stray parchment sheets from when he’d bake himself something and socks strewn haphazardly across the floor, much like his shoes. Leon had practically turned your apartment into a deathtrap. 

You don’t get to reminisce for much longer, not when he’s reaching for the pack of popsicles you’d bought. Leon lets out a low whine, like a kicked puppy, when you swat his hand away and shoot him an irritated glance. “I’m putting my foot down,” you tell him firmly, “no more unorganized socks, shoes or- or anything for that matter!”

Leon only tilts his head, blinking over at you. You glance towards the clock before your eyes are flitting back to meet his.

“Ikea,” you explain, “we’re going to Ikea to get you some organizers or whatever.” 

“ Now? ” Leon asks, raising his brows “but I was going to go to the gym with Chris and-” he’s shutting up when he sees your hardened glare.

Leon lets out an exasperated huff, and you’re smiling over at him, happy you’ve won this argument. Just to reward him, you’re digging out a popsicle from the pack and handing it to him. “So stubborn,” he mumbles under his breath, freeing the popsicle from its wrapper. 

“I heard that,” you reply, sticking your tongue out at him.

You both finish up your popsicles, and you’re tossing him his car keys while you pull your shoes on again. 

“Why do I have to drive?” he complains, leaning against the doorway.

“Because it’s your mess,” you retort, rolling your eyes, “and you’re paying as well.”

Leon lets out a scoff, “oh, fuck you.”

You smile back at him, patting him on the shoulder for some comfort. You manage to annoy him a little more during the drive to Ikea, and Leon’s contemplating whether he should just stuff your mouth with the rolled up catalog you’re currently holding

It’s when you both get to the kitchen area that Leon realizes something’s wrong. His eyes are watching the way you bend over the model kitchen counter, gaze trained on the way your skirt rides up slightly, exposing the backs of your thighs. He swallows harshly, wondering what it might be like to come up behind you, grab your hips and grind his cock against your ass. 

Your voice breaks him out of his dazed thoughts, your hand waving him over as you point to the price tag.

“Don’t you think this is a catch?” You ask him, head tilting back to meet his eyes.

“A catch?” He echoes, raising his brows, “it’s $2000 . Do you even have $2000?” 

You roll your eyes, elbowing him in the stomach. “Don’t be such a jerk, Leon. I think it’d look good in our apartment.”

There it is. Our apartment. The words are so comfortably domestic that it has Leon’s knuckles squeezing tight around the basket he’s holding. He’d be lying if he said he hasn’t imagined you two dating. Especially after that time he’d come home drunk one night. You’d taken care of him so sweetly, despite all of your grumbles and chastisements, that Leon felt like he was falling in love.

That had only happened once though, and Leon wasn’t prepared to make a big deal about his feelings so he buried them deep down and carried on with his life.

He doesn’t have time to dwell on his little crush any longer, brows furrowing when he feels the basket in his hand grow heavier. You’ve been milling about, dumping various little trays and organizational tidbits into the basket.

“At this point, I think you’re trying to max out my card,” he drawls, trailing after you.

“I’m helping you, Leon” you shoot back, bringing a candle up to your nose to smell its scent.

It’s not until you both get to the bedding area that Leon realizes he might actually be losing it. 

He’s sitting down on the edge of one of the beds, the basket settled on the floor with how heavy it’s become. 

You’re fluttering about, checking out the duvet covers and pillow cases. His eyes watch over you, letting you take a seat beside him on the bed when you find a duvet cover you like.

“Pretty, right?” You ask him, showing him the design.

“I guess,” he murmurs absentmindedly. 

He thinks you look prettier though. Besides, it’s not like he can tell you that he’s imagining taking you on this very bed. Your face pressed into the pillows, his cock stuffed into your pussy. You’d probably make cute noises too, clench around his cock while he thrusted into you. He’d let everyone watch, he thinks, make sure everyone knew that you were his. 

You’re snapping your fingers in his face, trying to get him to pay attention to you.

“Are you okay?” You ask, staring into his eyes “you keep getting distracted.”

“What?” Leon flushes, clearing his throat “yeah- yeah I’m fine… just had enough of you is all.”

You swat his shoulder and he rolls his eyes. Both of you manage to get to the checkout without any further bickering. Leon’s card doesn’t max out thankfully, but you wince when you see the total, ignoring Leon’s glower as he tears the receipt from the machine.

To make up for the spontaneous shopping spree, you buy him a soft serve and hand it to him with a smile. 

Leon takes it with a grumble, his eyes dropping to the way you lick at your soft serve. The icy treat smudges across your lips, and he’s reaching out before he can stop himself, his thumb swiping at the corner of your mouth to clean the mess. 

“Think you might be the messy one,” he mutters gruffly, drawing his hand back. 

“Your socks alone have nearly crippled me” you reply, nibbling at the cone to try and quell the race of your heart at his unexpected action. 

Leon lets out a loud sigh, shaking his head. The drive home is quiet, the soft sounds of the radio filling up the car’s space.

You help Leon with the stuff you bought, leaving the goods in his room before letting out a satisfied nod.

“There. Now you don’t have an excuse for being messy. Better start cleaning up, Leon” you chirp, giving him a snarky smile before tugging his door shut.

You sigh happily, mind feeling at ease. You’re sure that your apartment won’t be so messy anymore. The sounds of Leon rummaging inside his room almost make you feel bad, but this had been going on for months and you were glad you had done something about it. 

Deciding to grab some food, you reach for the can of peaches on the kitchen counter. By some misfortune, your hand accidentally knocks the can, sending it rolling towards the edge. Letting out an irritated huff, you’re reaching across the counter to grab the can before it falls off. 

While this happens, you’re blissfully unaware of the fact that your skirt is riding up. Leon feels his heart nearly jump out of his chest at the sight when he had wandered out of his room to grab a garbage bag. 

He can see the swell of your ass, your cheeks peeking out from your panties as you’re bent over, grabbing the can of peaches. 

“Have you made it some sort of mission to bend over every kitchen counter you see?” he asks dryly, his arms crossing over his chest.

You squeak in surprise, body jolting. The can of peaches slips from your hand pitifully, landing on the floor with a loud thunk .

“Why are you sneaking up on me?” You whine, turning to give him a glare.

Leon doesn’t reply, coming to a stop in front of you. His blue eyes are dark, dirty blonde hair hanging over his forehead.

“Um… Leon?” You wave your hand in front of his face. 

“I’m starting to think you’re doing it on purpose,” he murmurs, his hand catching yours.

“Hm?” he squeezes your hand, his head lowering so he can stare right into his eyes, “bending over every kitchen counter so I can see your pretty ass?” 

You manage to gather your wits, letting out a loud scoff and push at his chest.

“You’re such a perv, Leon!” you accuse, narrowing your eyes and placing your hands on your hips. 

“I’m not a perv if you keep bending over like that!” he shoots back, his hands grabbing at your forearms to tug you towards him. 

You swallow harshly when his calloused hands drift past your wrists, finding your hands and lacing his fingers with yours. The warmth of his body seeps into yours and your head is tilting, eyes finding his.

“We- we are not fucking,” you whisper, shaking your head.

“Who said anything about fucking?” Leon asks, his head lowering again. 

His body presses against yours, causing your breath to hitch. You’re biting your lip at the way it feels, the hard planes of his body molding against yours.

“One kiss,” he whispers, peering into your eyes, “please? Just one kiss and it’ll be over.”

You’d be doing yourself a disservice if you denied his request. Leon was stupidly handsome even if he was a little annoying at times, and you had maybe masturbated to the thought of your roommate before.

“Did you happen to forget that we’re roommates?” you raise your brows, trying to voice your concerns.

“Roommates kiss all the time,” he says, his nose nudging against yours gently, “now c’mon, gimme a kiss.”

You don't know what sort of roommates he’s been hanging around, but you’re almost certain that roommates don’t kiss or do whatever the hell you two are doing right now. 

Leon doesn’t know what he’s doing either. That one shopping trip had seriously messed up his brain, but he was here now so there was no going back. Your lips look so pretty, your eyes all starry. He wants to kiss you senseless and bend you over that stupid kitchen counter while he fucks into you until you’re crying on his cock.

As if to encourage you a little more, he nudges his nose against yours again. You send him a glare, eyes slipping shut as you rock up on the tips of your toes and brush your lips against his. The kiss is fleeting, a mere touch of your lips against his, and it’s safe to say Leon is not impressed.

“There,” you say, trying to hide the smirk that spreads across your face, “you got a kiss. Now leave me alone.”

Leon lets out a low groan, his head falling against your shoulder, “you’re a fuckin’ tease, you know that?”

You hum, pushing at his chest, taking the opportunity to free yourself from the confines of his grasp.

“Not so fast,” he murmurs, his hand snagging onto your shirt, “c’mere baby.”

His low voice has the butterflies in your stomach fluttering, your eyes widening when his hands cup your cheeks and he presses his lips against yours.

It doesn’t take you long to respond, arms wrapping around his neck as he kisses you fiercely. He groans into your mouth, his arms winding around your waist to pull you closer. 

You’re both flush against each other and you let out an irritated noise when he shoves you up against the kitchen counter, feeling the solid surface dig into your back.

“Drove me crazy at that Ikea,” he whispers against your lips, his hands sneaking under your skirt to give your ass an appreciative grope, “thought about fucking you on one of those beds.”

The idea of it is so obscene and indecent that you find yourself moaning out loud.

“Yeah? You like that, baby? Me fucking you in front of everyone, letting them know that you’re mine?” 

You’re nodding desperately at his filthy questions, trying to tug his shirt off so you can see his chest and abdomen. He obliges you, quickly shrugging off his shirt. Your teeth sink into your lower lip at the sight, eyes half-lidded. 

You can’t help the way your body leans forward, lips pressing soft kisses across his chest and his pecs. Leon sucks in a sharp breath, his hands moving to cradle the back of your head.

“Just kisses, huh?” he murmurs.

You nod, peering up at him “no fucking, remember?”

He hums, tilting your head so he can kiss you again. Leon kisses you over and over until you can’t breathe. You’re feeling so dazed that you don’t even notice he’s spinning you around, bending you over the kitchen counter. There’s a soft whine escaping you when he flips your skirt up, his hands squeezing at your ass before his fingers slip under your panties, tugging the fabric back and letting it snap back against you.

Your fingers are scrabbling at the counter top when you feel him drop to his knees, his lips pressing against the skin of your ass. He kisses your body so reverently, you think you might actually pass out.

“Wanna kiss your pussy too,” he mumbles, tugging your panties down. You shudder when you feel his breath hit your sensitive skin, hips swaying back to meet the kisses he places on your clit.

His tongue lolls out before long, lapping at your cunt, collecting the slick that drips from you. 

“That- that is not kissing,” you whimper out, head falling against the coolness of the counter.

“Sure it is,” he whispers, burying his face deeper into your pussy, “just dirty kisses, sweetheart.”

The way he eats you out is messy. Leon’s trying to shove his face deeper between your thighs, his lips suctioning around your pussy. You mewl when he draws back and spits on your cunt, his mouth latching on soon after. You’re not sure how much longer you can hold on, knees beginning to shake. Leon delivers a particularly toe-curling suck to your clit and you’re shuddering, letting out whines and whimpers when he lets out a low laugh, his tongue swiping over your cunt repeatedly.

“Leon- fuck! Leon, ‘m gonna-” you can barely speak properly. 

“Then come , baby,” he whispers, his tongue pressing into your fluttering hole.

You squeal at the unfamiliar sensation, knuckles turning white as you come on his tongue. He licks up your slick eagerly, his wet lips pressing soft kisses against the swell of your ass as you pant.

He stands up, tucking his face into the crook of your neck. You press your back against his chest, turning your head to kiss along his jaw. His eyes flutter shut, his hands smoothing along your back to undo the clasp of your bra. 

Your arms lift and Leon helps you take off your shirt and bra, letting out a soft sigh as your head falls back against his shoulder. Leon’s hands are restless, reaching for your breasts. 

He hums at the sight of your hard nipples, pinching and rolling them between his fingers before letting go to squeeze your tits. 

“You’re real pretty, sweetheart” he whispers, kissing your cheek.

You mewl, cheeks flushing. You hadn’t expected him to talk to you so sweetly. Leon feels your body lurch forward, tits pressing against his palms. He laughs, giving another firm grope to your tits and finds your lips to give you another filthy kiss. While he kisses you, Leon grinds his hips against your ass, and you gasp into his mouth, feeling the outline of his cock through his shorts.

“Think my cock wants to give your cute pussy some kisses too,” he says, his mouth pressed against your ear, “you up for it, baby?”

You could be a bobblehead with how fast your head is moving up and down. Leon grins against your ear, placing another kiss to your cheek before he’s bending you over the counter. The coolness of the counter startles you slightly, but Leon’s hand rubs up and down your back, warming your skin. 

Tits squished against the hard surface, your feet on the tips of your toes, pussy glistening with his spit and your arousal, Leon can hardly believe his fantasy has come to fruition. He wants to take a picture, keep it safe and jerk off to the sight of you when he’s alone. There’s no pictures taken though, instead Leon’s hand delivers a heavy slap to one of your ass cheeks.

You moan, back arching slightly as you try and chase the feeling. It hurts and you can feel the sting of his palm prickling across your skin, but you want him to spank you again so badly.

“L- Leon, want more,” you mumble, looking back at him.

Leon takes your request in stride, his hand coming down on your ass repeatedly. Your body slumps against the counter, soft noises escaping you as he rains slap after slap onto your reddening skin. 

“Shit, sweetheart” he whispers, his hands smoothing over the damage he’s done to your ass “so fuckin’ pretty.”

There’s a babbled noise escaping you. Mind feeling like mush, all you can think about is Leon. He smooths his hands over your sensitive skin a few more times, trying to soothe the pain before you feel him squeeze gently as he presses the head of his cock against your aching hole.

Leon pushes into your pussy with a groan, his hands squeezing at your hips. It almost feels like he’s trying to ground himself.

“Fuck-” he hisses, drawing his hips back to thrust back into you again, “ fuck - you’re so tight, baby.”

You whimper at the feeling of his cock stretching you out. Leon’s thrusts are beginning to pick up in speed and you’re whining, the force of his thrusts making your body rub against the kitchen counter.

“Leon, Leon, Leon,” you chant his name and his body is draping over yours, lips pressing kisses to your shoulder and back, “feels so good,” you slur. 

His hips are rutting against your ass, cock stuffing you full. You’re moaning so loudly that Leon has to slip his hand over your mouth in an effort to quieten your noises. His balls are slapping against your clit and the combined stimulation is making your head spin.

Soon, his hand is leaving your mouth to grip your hips again. 

“Take my fucking cock,” he grunts, each word punctuated with a harsh slap to your ass. 

“It’s too much!” you wail, nails clawing at the counter to try and crawl away.

He growls, grip tightening as he keeps you in place, “don’t you dare run. Take my cock like a good girl, baby.”

“You’re insane,” you cry, but there’s a cockdrunk smile spreading across your face as he fucks into you. 

“Yeah,” he whispers, his head lowering so he can whisper into your ear, “and it’s all for you, because- because I like you.” 

There’s a loud whine ripping out of you at that, wet heat clenching around him. No one’s confessed to you before, like ever . You suck in a sharp breath, trying to calm your heart and stop the excited flipping of your stomach that comes with his confession.

Leon moans when he feels the clench of your walls around his cock and he’s fucking into you with renewed fervor. 

“I like you,” he whispers again “like you so much, sweetheart. Always taking care of me, looking out for me, makes me feel special.” 

“Only do that ‘cause you’re an idiot, Leon” you mumble, swallowing back another moan that threatens to spill out. 

“But you do it anyway,” he murmurs, driving his cock into you.

You gasp, eyes squeezing shut as his fat tip grazes the spot deep inside of you. He grunts when he feels you getting tighter, feels you clenching hard around his cock.

“You gonna come for me?” he asks, sucking little love bites onto your neck, “hm? Can feel you clenching around me, baby.”

“Wanna- wanna come at the same time,” you babble “right, Leon? Since- since you like me, we gotta come at the same time.”

He’s letting out a hoarse laugh, kissing your shoulder again, “yeah baby, I’m right there with you.”

All of a sudden, he’s burying himself to the hilt inside of you and your mouth drops open, a sharp noise leaving you as you both come. Your body is limp against the counter, body covered in a thin sheen of sweat as you pant. Leon kisses your neck, letting out a whine as his cum spurts into you. It’s warm and thick, filling you up so perfectly that it has a serene smile settling on your face.

He helps you onto your feet, his hands rubbing up and down your sides to soothe your shaky legs. You feel him press a soft kiss to the side of your head and you’re rocking up on the tips of your toes, returning a kiss to his cheek.

“I like you too, Leon” you whisper, arms wrapping around his neck to pull him down for another kiss. 

You can feel him smile against your lips and he’s kissing you back sweetly. Leon keeps you there for a while as you both kiss, his hands petting across your tired body.

He takes you to his room later, his hand encasing yours. The moment is almost perfect, if not for the sock on the floor that sends you careening into his desk. “Leon!” you grit out.

He only laughs, his arms wrapping around your waist as he picks you up and tosses you onto his bed.

“Sorry, sweetheart.”

[chvoswxtch]

a little more time

pairing: frank castle x fem!reader

summary: you're starting to question just how much patience you have left for frank.

warnings: swearing, frank getting ganged up on by our latest dynamic duo, more angst than an early 2000s emo playlist

word count: 3k

a/n: & here is the second half of this week's double drop. enjoy the calm while it lasts, bc the storm is right around the corner. as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!

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Frank raised his right fist to knock three times against an apartment door labeled 6F. The person who the apartment belonged to was still a mystery to you. Neither you or Frank had spoken a single word to each other the entire short drive over. Instead, you’d sat stiffly in the passenger seat, arms crossed tightly over your chest, glaring out the window.

A minute later, the sound of a lock twisting broke the tense silence, and the front door was opened. A tall man stood in the doorway, his dark brown eyes wandering over Frank from head to toe and back up again. He was somewhat obstructed from your view since Frank was standing right in front of you, but you saw the way his full lips pursed in lighthearted disapproval before he lightly smacked them.

“Aw, shit.”

“Good to see you too, Curt.”

“Wish I could say the same. You know, most friends do normal shit. Go fishin’ down in Florida, maybe golf or somethin’, but you, you’re always draggin’ me into some bullshit. So what kinda trouble you bringin’ me now, Frank?”

“Told ya I needed you to look after somethin’ while I was gone for a bit.”

The man wore a light gray long sleeved henley, and the top of three buttons was undone. The waffle knit fabric stretched tightly over his biceps when he crossed his arms over his chest, lifting one of his dark brows in question with a look of suspicion on his face.

“Yeah, you didn’t say what though.”

Frank finally stepped aside, and the man fully came into view before you. When his dark brown eyes landed on your figure, an expression of surprise softened his skepticism. His onyx brows lifted in a show of disbelief as he glanced between you and Frank, giving him a pointed look.

“She’s with you?”

“Yeah. Curt, this is Y/N. Y/N, this is Curtis.”

Looking up at Curtis, you did your best to give him a polite smile along with a faint nod of your head.

“It’s nice to meet you, Curtis. Frank’s told me nothing about you.”

“Well that makes two of us.”

Indents of puzzlement creased along his forehead and without another word, Curtis reached his right hand out to wave his palm back and forth in front of your face, which took you by surprise and made your brows knit in curiosity while you blinked a few times. Frank looked at Curtis inquisitively. 

“The hell you doin’?”

“Just checkin’ to see if she was blind.”

“Why?”

Turning his head to look at Frank again, Curtis looked him up and down once more with an expression of dubiety.

“Couldn’t think of another logical explanation of what the hell she was doin’ wit’cho ugly ass.”

Blowing a puff of air past his lips, Frank shook his head and turned to glance around to his left. Meanwhile, you had to cover your mouth to stifle the laugh that Curtis conjured with his quick response. Shaking his head, Curtis reached out to take your bag from you, stepping aside and gesturing for you to come inside, all the while side-eying Frank.

“Could’ve at least carried her bag for her, damn.”

Frank looked genuinely offended by the implied accusation that he hadn’t even attempted to be a gentleman, and you had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop from smiling at the way he scrunched up his face in defense.

“She wouldn’t let me.”

“Mhm.”

Curtis’ apartment was modest and simple, not overly decked out in furniture and decor, but definitely more homely than Frank’s. It felt awkward standing in the middle of a stranger’s living room that you had just met, knowing that you were supposed to be staying here for a few days. That thought had something from Frank and Curtis’ exchange suddenly sticking out in your mind.

Frank had told Curtis he needed him to keep an eye on something, not someone. 

Turning around to face them, your narrowed gaze landed on Frank and creases of irritation swiftly knit between your brows.

“You didn’t tell him that I was coming, did you?”

Both men’s heads snapped in your direction when you spoke. Curtis glanced between the two of you with a comical look on his features as he picked up on the fact that Frank seemed to be in trouble with you. It was evident how hard he was trying to suppress a smirk. Frank on the other hand turned to face you fully, and he returned your expression of irritation with his own annoyed, broody scowl. 

“Didn’t wanna ask over the phone-”

“And you didn’t think to ask in person before you packed me up and dropped me off?”

Curtis had his arms folded over his chest, and he was fighting to hide his amusement behind his right fist. His broad shoulders were subtly bouncing, and the sound of his snickering caused Frank to snap his head in his direction with a deep frown. Clearing his throat, Curtis turned to look at you with an easy going smile and gave a loose and dismissive wave of his right hand.

“Look it uh, it ain’t a big deal, alright?” 

“It is when he’s the only one here who seems to know what the fuck is going on.”

The tension between you and Frank was thick, almost visibly lingering in the air, and Curtis quickly picked up on it. He’d placed your bag on the floor by his feet, but in an effort to diffuse the situation, Curtis reached down to pick it up in his left hand and loosely gestured with his right towards a hall around the corner from you.

“Here, why don’t we get you set up, alright? I uh…needa talk to Frank right quick.”

Curtis regarded you with a sympathetic glint in his eye, and it had guilt filling your bloodstream like lead. Your presence here was an imposition, whether he would say that out loud or not, which you figured by his kind nature he wouldn’t. It wasn’t fair of you to stand in the middle of his living room and argue with Frank, disrupting the peace of his home and causing him to feel uncomfortable. Silently nodding your head in agreement, you gave Frank one last forlorn glance before you turned to follow Curtis. 

In the midst of your disappointment, both in Frank and yourself, you noticed that Curtis seemed to walk with a slight limp. It wasn’t overly apparent, and you’d only observed it because your eyes were on the ground in front of you following the heels of his shoes, but it stoked your curiosity. Frank hadn’t told you anything about him, you hadn’t even known he existed until today, but he was clearly someone important if Frank was leaving you in his trusted care. Your mind began to wonder where that integrity stemmed from. When he placed your bag down on the edge of his bed, you quickly shook your head and spoke up. 

“I’m not kicking you out of your own room.”

Curtis turned his head to look at you and studied you silently for a moment. His deep brown eyes flickered between the door of his bedroom and your own gaze. Taking a step in your direction, he reached out with his right hand and gave your shoulder a comforting light squeeze. 

“We’ll talk about that later. Why don’t you just sit down for a minute, take a deep breath. Unclench your jaw and relax your shoulders.”

You hadn’t even been consciously aware of the fact that you were doing all of those things until Curtis pointed them out. Sucking in a deep breath, you let it out in a slow exhale through your lips, trying to release the frustration and stress in your body along with it. When you sat down on the edge of his bed, your shoulders slumped in exhaustion, and you folded your hands in front of you with your forearms resting on your thighs, staring blankly ahead at the wall.

“So, this kind of thing is normal with him?”

Slipping his hands into the pocket of his jeans, Curtis looked over at you while leaning back against the wall and granted a nod of his head.

“I’ve known Frank a long time. Kinda gotten used to him bein’ a pain in my ass.”

“And you put up with it?”

There seemed to be an unspoken understanding between the two of you at that moment. The way that Curtis looked at you told you that he knew what you were really asking him with your veiled question. 

Should I continue to put up with it?

Letting out a deep exhale of his own, Curtis pursed his full lips and a contemplative look covered his features. After a moment, he returned your interrogative stare with an expression of empathy and lightly shrugged his broad shoulders.

“I’ve never known Frank to do somethin’ without a purpose. Whether it’s right or wrong, I can’t say. But, the intentions come from a good place. Most of the time.”

The way he spoke that last part caught your attention, and you looked up at him in intrigue. He had trailed off a bit, his dark brown eyes wandering towards the empty space next to your side. You wished you could read the thoughts currently passing behind his eyes. Curiosity creased along your forehead as you tilted your head to the side in question. 

“Most of the time?”

Curtis’ eyes focused back in your direction and he held your gaze silently for a few seconds. You could see on his face that he knew he had said maybe just a little bit too much. He turned his head to glance towards the open bedroom door once more before returning your look of query. His lips faintly tugged into a reassuring smile when he nodded his head in your direction.

“Like I said, there’s always a purpose.”

While Frank and Curtis were conversating in the living room, you took a moment to look around the quaint space of Curtis’ bedroom. Eventually your eyes fell on your bag that sat on the mattress to your right, and all of a sudden it seemed to dawn on you that Frank had packed it for you. Unable to deny your curiosity, your fingers reached out to tug back the zipper, peering inside to see what clothing and necessities he’d chosen.

On one side of the bag, a pile of clothes were folded neatly, and on the other was your toiletry case. Thumbing through the pile of clothes, you felt a tightness in your chest seeing that Frank had chosen outfits that you would’ve picked for yourself. They were ones you wore regularly, and he’d even packed your favorite pajamas. Knowing that you liked to be overly prepared and have options in case you changed your mind, he’d made sure you had enough choices for a week, and he even managed to fit two other pairs of shoes in the bottom.

Frank had grabbed all of the essentials to pack in your toiletry case, everything that he knew you used regularly, and even a few things he must have just thought you might need. He hadn’t just randomly grabbed a bunch of things to shove in a bag and go. Frank had thoughtfully chosen every single item in this bag with you in mind. While you sat there with your bag open, staring at the contents inside, an unexpected wave of emotion built up along your waterline, and you hadn’t even noticed until you felt a trail of wetness cascading down your cheek. 

A light knock on the bedroom door made you quickly wipe away the evidence of your emotional turmoil with the sleeve of your shirt, and when you turned your head, you saw Frank standing there in the doorway. He looked considerably calmer than he had twenty minutes ago, and seeing the remnants of sorrow shining in your eyes, his rough features softened into raw remorse. Glancing at your open bag sitting beside you, Frank looked down for a moment and cleared his throat.

“I uh…grabbed what I thought you would.”

Hesitantly lifting his head to meet your gaze, you saw that his warm brown eyes were full of unspoken apologies. Giving a faint nod of your head, you dropped your gaze down to your lap and spoke quietly.

“Yeah, thank you.”

Both of you had so much you wanted to say, but neither of you knew where to start, or what the right words were. The silence echoed loudly and the walls felt like they were tauntingly closing in around you. A sinking stone of intuition in the pit of your stomach had you prophesying the very real possibility that this would end with you left in bereavement, and that the romantic daydreams you had hand crafted in the back of your mind had been false fortune telling. 

Frank took a few cautious steps towards you, and you could see his boots come into view in your peripheral as you kept your eyes downcast towards the floor.

“Sweetheart.”

God, the way he uttered that one word made your chest ache. There were a million different emotions packed into those two simple syllables, and you could hear the tender longing in his deep voice softly calling to you. Frank knelt down in front of you, his large hand reaching out to cup your face. He slipped his fingers into your hair right beside your ear, gently grasping the back of your neck and he tucked his thumb under your chin to lift your head slowly. 

“Hey-”

Frank dipped his head to try and catch your eye. Swallowing thickly, you slowly lifted your line of sight to look at him, and the expression on his face broke your heart. His warm brown eyes were desperately pleading with you, darting between your lips and crestfallen gaze.

“-c’mon I don’t…I don’t wanna leave it like this.”

The warmth of his breath could be felt against your lips, and his eyes were frantically searching every inch of face for something…anything that could temporarily relieve this anguish until he returned with a permanent fix.

“Look if I could…if there was another way…”

Frank let out a deep sigh that trembled past his lips, and it was clear he was struggling to find the right words.

“Just…please. I’m gonna make this right, okay? I swear to you. I just…I need you to give me a little more time, alright? Just a little more. Can you give me that?”

It was hard to see Frank like this, the somber sheen to his eyes and the misery weighing heavily on his shoulders. He was asking for another strand of patience, but you didn’t know how much you had left, and it scared you to even think about what would happen when you ran out. It was unclear in your mind whether the love you had for Frank that was embedded deeply in the chambers of your heart could be enough to salvage the pieces he was leaving you with.

“Okay.”

Frank could hear the lack of conviction in your defeated tone, and it killed him. Deep down he knew he was asking too much of you without giving you any concrete reassurance in return, but he couldn’t see another path. All he could do was hope that your faith in him wouldn’t run out like grains of sand slipping through the narrow bridge of an hourglass, and that the consolation of your forgiveness could still be earned. 

His soft lips parted, and there was an intense emotion in his eyes when he stared deeply into yours. It looked like he wanted to say something so badly, but he cut himself off before he could. Leaning in, he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead and let it linger for a moment before pulling away and retracting his hand from your face.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can. You’ll be safe with Curt, alright?”

A pang of disappointment quickly spread through you. For a second you thought Frank might be the first one to speak those three words. If there was ever a time you needed to hear them, it was now. But then again, you didn’t know if you were ready to say them back.

Running your hand through the roots of your hair and pushing it out of your face, you sucked in your bottom lip and grazed it with your top teeth before letting it go and nodding.

“Yeah.”

Frank eyed you wearily for a moment before hesitantly rising to his full height. He didn’t want to leave things between the two of you so unfinished like this, but he didn’t have a choice. He didn’t know if he’d made things better or worse in attempting to leave on a smoother note. When he reached the doorframe, he paused and turned to look at you again, and it bothered him that you wouldn’t look at him.

“I’ll see ya soon, sweetheart.”

There was no verbal reply from you, just another nod of acknowledgement. Frank lingered there for a moment in the doorway, silently begging you with his eyes to look at him, but your gaze seemed to be permanently fixed on the floor. The image of you sitting there looking so dejected and disappointed burned into his memory, and he knew it would haunt him, even long after this was all over. He wouldn’t forget the moment he’d let you down so badly.

The only goodbye you got was the resonation of Frank’s heavy boots fading, getting fainter and fainter the further away from you he got. A few seconds later, the front door opened with a soft creak, and a murmur was exchanged before the sound of heavy wood sliding back into a worn frame was completed with the soft click of a lock.

The golden hour dripped through the thin plastic blinds, coating the entire room in a sundrenched glow, but the warmth couldn’t penetrate the endless and echoing loneliness that dug deep into your bones knowing that Frank was gone, again.

tags: @thyme-in-a-bubble @day-dreaming-goddess @messymissy @itwasthereaminuteago @strawberry1042 @queenofthenoobs @wanda2themax @xcastawayherosx @avengerstower-houseplant @stevenknightmarc @ponyosmom35 @babygal-babygal @wellwwhynot @oldermenaremyreligion @combustiblemeow @tired-night-owl @fairykiss32 @danzer8705 @calkissed @fxckahs-blog @lemon-world1 @polskiperson @imperihoe @v4leoftears @harperdoodle @spideyvibez @joalslibrary @cherry-berry-ollie @sorrowfulfragmentation @kdogreads @sumo-b98 @blackhawksfanatic @gloryekaterina @whistle1whistle @starbritestarlite @callmebrooklynbabes @hallway5 @scarletfvckingwitch @bifuriouslatina @soupyspence @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @wonwoosthetic @linguist-breakaribecca @nerdytreeflower @mrs-bellingham @smhnxdiii @s3riou2 @slavic-empress

[thewordypeach]

Cream

Cream (Milk)

pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader word count: 2.9k warnings: 18+, NSFW!!!!, smut! smut! smut!, no use of y/n, unprotected p in v = creampie, oral, titty sucking and titty fucking, (lactation kink), implied breeding kink, squirting, etc. summary: Joel needs his thirst quenched, and only one thing in this world can do it - author's note: ummm … so this sequel had me questioning my life choices. like i do not know what possessed me to take it this far lol so you better blow it up like you did with ‘Milk’ 🤭 anyways, i hope you like it <3 xoxo the wordy peach

It begins with: “You’ll never guess what they’re playing at movie night,” 

You look at Joel, a single eyebrow raised. Joel wolfishly grins, his brown eyes sparkling, “Austin Powers and the Spy Who Shagged Me,” 

He watches as your eyebrows knit together in confusion. Joel can’t believe you don’t remember the conversation from last week, the one that had you confessing to him that you felt like one of those fembots from the aforementioned movie. He steps closer, head dipping to your ear, whispering: “Machine gun titties,” 

That’s all it takes for you to remember. And it has your cheeks flushing pink. Sheepishly, you smile at him. But, of course, the cock block herself pipes up: “The spy who what?”

Ellie, you spunky little shithead. You love her to death. You never want her to grow up. But lately, she’s been ruining your alone time with Joel. You know she just wants to be a part of the family, and she is. It never even crossed your mind to think otherwise. She’s the daughter you never had. Sometimes you wish she’d just go and make friends that aren’t you or Joel. 

You look at Joel, waiting for him to answer. But Joel is expectantly gazing at you. A playful smirk ghosts across his lips. He thinks it’s your duty to explain the birds, the bees, and everything between them to Ellie. Of course, she knows most of it. But she questions absolutely everything. Just yesterday, you had the unfortunate experience of explaining anal to her; Joel walked out of the house when she asked and didn’t return until later. 

You poke a finger into Joel’s chest, hissing at him, “It’s your turn,” 

His face goes slack before he gives you a sullen look. He pouts those luscious lips of his, “But darlin'….” 

“Don't darlin' me, mister. You owe me for yesterday,” 

Joel continues to pout but eventually relents. He turns to Ellie with a face void of any emotion: “It’s a classic movie from the 2000s,” 

“Yeah, but what does shagged mean?” Ellie asks. Her eyes look between you and Joel, waiting for an answer. Joel grows uncomfortable. He’s never been one to talk about this kind of stuff. 

“Yeah, Joel. What does shagged mean?” You ask. 

“It- it… it means…” Joel stutters and stumbles over the words. His face is turning pink. He looks flustered as he searches for the right thing to say. You’re enjoying him floundering around. In one great, big breath, Joel spills out: “It’s a British slang term for intercourse,” 

Ellie blinks at him several times as she repeats what Joel just said to her. She starts chuckling, “Shagged means sex?!” Ellie turns into a mess of laughter. She’s clutching her sides. It’s not that funny. But you like watching her have fun. It brings back the innocence and reminds you of childhood. You were young when the movie came out, and the world was ravaged by fungus a few years after. So you cherish this moment of hilarity. You rub your tummy and smile at how much fun you will have raising this new baby with Joel and Ellie -

You don’t make it to movie night because you’re busy with the nursery, and the thought of walking all the way to town hall makes you cringe. You don’t like going anywhere unless it is essential. You make Joel and Ellie do everything for you. There are still some things you do yourself.

You insist Joel and Ellie go. Ellie doesn’t fight it (she’s so excited to watch a piece of history), but Joel grumbles about it. He wants to stay and help. By helping, Joel means he wants to milk you. He can’t stop helping you, and it’s the only thing on his mind - Joel swears he even dreams about it now. However, there hasn’t been a single moment for him to help you. Tommy has Joel doing everything and anything, and between his brother and Ellie, Joel hasn’t had time for his new hobby. 

So, after he drops Ellie off at the movie (making sure that she is settled and making sure that Tommy will bring her home after), Joel leaves and makes his way back to you. He wants to spend every free minute with you, but more importantly, this is the perfect opportunity to do what he’s been dreaming of without any interruptions. Joel needs his thirst quenched, and only one thing in this world can do it -

You hear him before you see him, and then you feel him. His arms wrap around your body, and he presses his chest into your back. You sink into the warmth, eyes closing and throat humming. His hands briefly touch your stomach before they find their rightful place. Joel cups your tits, placing each of them into his hands, and marvels at the heaviness. So full of his special cream. 

“They’ve gotten bigger, haven’t they?” Joel murmurs. His cock is already hard and straining inside his pants. Hell, on the walk home, the prospect of milking you had him almost cumming right then and there. 

“They’re definitely heavier,” Joel adds as he squeezes them. He notices you aren’t wearing a bra, and with one simple motion, he has his shirt on the floor (the only one that fits you). You’re facing him now, chest and belly exposed. The sight of you has him losing it. Joel feels happy and excited, and everything in between that. Joel can’t believe that you're his, and he’s yours. Nor can he believe his eyes because your tits are definitely bigger, and your nipples are already dewy with that milky nectar he loves so much. 

Joel groans, latches his mouth onto your right side, and starts suckling like a starved man. Your nipple is already stiff and responsive, and you feel the sensation of milk rushing through to meet your partner’s greedy tongue. His hand expertly kneads the pillowy flesh, expressing even more of the sweet cream that has him hard as a rock. Joel starts to breathe deeper and sucks harder, causing you to moan. 

Your fingers comb through Joel’s hair, and you hold him there because the pleasure of having Joel drain your tits is undeniable; in fact, the more Joel sucks and licks your nipple, the more your arousal grows. You have to remind him, “Joel…. We have less than ninety minutes -”

He grunts in response and moves his mouth to the other side he’s been neglecting. The feeling is indescribable, and you relish it. The relief Joel is giving you is insurmountable. But it also has you growing impatient with him. Your core is aching for his cock, and your hands travel over his body. You feel his muscles, thick and robust, beneath the plaid shirt. You need him now. 

“Joel,” Your hand drops to the bulge in his jeans, and you gently rub it with purpose. The friction makes Joel groan, finally lifting his head from your tits. His eyes are filled with a dazy lustiness that makes you fumble with your words. Still, it doesn’t matter because Joel is suddenly pressing his lips against yours and kissing you with an ardour that makes you forget everything you are about to say. 

You taste the substance that has Joel acting ravenous. It reminds you of cereal milk because it’s so sweet. You part from his lips, whispering, “Can I taste you now?” 

He doesn’t have time to answer because you’re already lowering yourself to your knees, planting them on the ground in front of Joel. With one hand, you pop open the buttons of his jeans and pull down the zipper. Roughly, you tug at the opening and watch as his thick, luscious cock springs free from its confines. At the sight of it, you lick your lips. Your fingers wrap around his length and slide over his stiffness. The movement makes Joel shiver, and when your lips finally touch his cock, a groan escapes from his throat.

Joel has been so concerned about making you feel good that he forgot to consider himself. Suddenly, you thrust him inside your mouth while twisting your hand down his cock. He quickly fills your mouth, and his hand grasps your hair in hopes of controlling you. However, he’s fine with letting you have your way right now. It’s been a while since you had the opportunity to please him; Joel loves how the tip of his cock hits the back of your throat, and you’re so adept at sucking him off that his length doesn’t make you gag anymore  - 

Expertly, you glide your mouth from the hilt to the tip of Joel’s cock, coating it in your saliva. Joel’s eyes nearly roll into his head because it feels so fucking good. It’s the only thing he can tell you because he’s almost lost his mind from the bliss of your mouth sheathing his cock. You don’t stop until Joel gasps for air and asks you to stop. 

“Babe, babe, babe,” His voice is husky, and he roughly pulls on your hair. You gasp and gaze up at him with a thick string of spit connecting your lips to his cock. Joel quivers at the sight and has to remember what he will say. You wait patiently. Obediently. 

Breathlessly, he asks, “Do you want me to fuck you here? Or…”

Without skipping a beat, you reply, “Here,” 

Joel doesn’t need to be told twice and is quick to shed his jeans before he starts to help you. You lean forward onto the palm of your hands and watch as Joel goes behind and begins to slide off the sweatpants you’re always wearing. Not that Joel minds. He knows it’s the only thing that fits you because you remind him every damn day. Once the sweatpants are off, he tosses them to the side and stares lovingly at your ass. It’s so round and perky and panty-less. He’s genuinely surprised, and it makes him smile. 

He caresses your fleshy cheeks, asking, “Is this for me?”

Joel can’t see your face but can tell you are blushing. Sheepishly, you admit, “As soon as you left, I took them off - for easy access,”

“Oh, darlin’,” He swoons, “You’re so sweet to think of me,”

Joel pries your sweet cheeks apart and buries his face, his tongue immediately swirling around your puckered asshole. Mewls spill forth from your mouth, and you wiggle your hips, trying to splay them apart because your body needs more. Joel’s tongue slithers down, lapping the juice practically pouring out of your needy, swollen cunt. He licks and sucks with wild abandon, groaning at your deliciousness. He doesn’t stop until you are begging him, “Joel, fuck me. Fuck me with your big cock, please. Oh god, fuck me, already!”

He removes his mouth from your exterior and replaces it with his cock. He rubs and rubs his bulbous crown between your molten wetness, gliding it back and forth until it’s coated with your slickness. When he thinks it’s enough, he pushes into your tight cunt. At first, your channel is resistant. But slowly, your velvety walls happily start devouring Joel’s cock until his entire length basks in the warmth. 

You are gasping at the sensation of being stretched out. It’s almost too much in this position, and a small rock of Joel’s hips gives way to your first orgasm. Your vision swirls as a wave of ecstasy comes crashing through. Your fingers grip the carpet as your cunt swells and clenches his cock. Your back arches as you cry out, “Fuck, Joel,”

Immediately, he stops, thinking he has hurt you or the baby. Panic-stricken, he asks, “What’s wrong?”

“N-n-nothing,” You stutter out, attempting to catch your breath. Your lungs greedily suck in the air, saturated with the smell of sex. You tell him, “You made me cum,”

“Already?” He murmurs and devilishly thinks about the five times he made you cum last week. Joel rocks his hips again, and you whimper at the movement. At a glacial pace, Joel pulls out before sliding back in and burying his cock to the hilt. You’re gripping the carpet and moaning like crazy. He’s sure the neighbours can hear you, which drives Joel forward. He wants them to know how good he is at fucking you. 

Joel grabs your hips, nails sinking into the fleshy bits, and plows in and out of your pussy. He’s pulling all the way out and pushing all the way in, ensuring you feel every inch of his girthy length. Your body is rocking beneath his, tits swaying like udders. You reach between your legs to touch your clit. It’s pulsating and yearning to be touched. You gingerly circle it, knowing a light touch is enough to send you over the edge. And you’re right because, within seconds, your second orgasm is rolling through.

You wail, “Joel, Joel, Joel,” but Joel doesn’t stop this time. He continues to youthfully spear your pussy and watches as your creamy juices coat his cock. Vigorously, you rub your clit because a third orgasm is imminent. Your back arches and your hips are high in the air, and Joel stops, pulling out completely, to watch as your pussy trembles with another orgasm. Your thighs are dripping with your juices, and his name still spills out of your mouth. Repeatedly. 

His hand squeezes your hip, “Mmm, darlin’. That’s your third one - should we slow down? Don’t want to hurt -”

“Need more,” You interrupt him, “Need to cum more, Joel,”

Joel shakes his head, “Darlin’,'' He knows you aren’t thinking straight, driven to recklessness because of the pure ecstasy that has raptured your body. You turn over, laying on your back. You splay your legs apart, and your pussy glistens in the light. It’s so swollen, so puffy. Your hand is back, and your fingers are working your clit. But from this angle, it’s a little more challenging because of your protruding belly. And it’s making you frustrated. Especially because Joel is just watching, not helping. 

“Joel,” You growl, “Fuck me,”

A single eyebrow of his shoots up, and you begrudgingly mutter, “Please,”

Much to your surprise, Joel moves. However, instead, he hovers above your chest and settles his cock in the valley of your tits. His hands squeeze them, and the milk for his unborn child sprays out, sprinkling across your chest and hitting his cock. At first, Joel goes slow, his cock passing between your tits. It’s a different kind of friction and holy hell… it feels good. His cock, slippery with your juices and milk, has him gliding through your breasts with ease. He grips harder and fucks your tits faster, rocking his hips back and forth. 

As he slips in and out, he milks your bountiful breasts in the process. He does it until you are soaked. He’s breathing hard, and his balls are tightening. He’s close, so fucking close. But he doesn’t want to finish like this because he knows you want more orgasms, and who is he to deny his pregnant partner? You have been carrying his baby for months, and it hasn’t been easy. And Joel knows that once the baby is born, you won’t be able to have sex for weeks. Not until you’re healed. So, why not let you live a little? 

He pulls his cock out of your cleavage and moves his face to yours, kissing you passionately. His tongue swirls and mingles with yours before he shifts down. Joel latches his mouth around your nipple and practically inhales a gulp of cream into his mouth. He doesn’t swallow and comes back up, kissing you again. Messily, Joel washes your mouth with your milk. It’s sweet and warm, and it’s fucking kinky as hell. It has you moaning into Joel’s mouth. He moans back, letting you know he loves every moment of it too.

As he continues to kiss you, Joel reaches down and takes his cock, sliding it over your puffy and sensitive lips before pressing it into your velvet channel. Your body welcomes him, and your mouth drops, gasping as you effortlessly fit his entire length . Once more, Joel explores your warm depths with a vigorous youthfulness. His flesh is clapping yours over and over until you are yelling his name over and over. Your hands are gripping his forearms, nails digging into his skin. 

“Mmm, Joel, mmm, Joel, gonna cum, Joel, mmm - fuck, fuck, fuck!” Your eyes roll back, and an unwavering fourth climax raptures your body. A euphoric release rolls across your body, and you undulate beneath Joel. He watches as your belly quivers, and he feels your cunt trying to expel him, and when he does finally pull out, a massive bolt of liquid escapes - he realizes you’re squirting. Something he’s only heard rumours about. He’s astonished by the amount of liquid that is coming out and by how long your orgasm is lasting.

Meanwhile, you are gasping for air, lungs greedily gulping it down. You have no idea what happened; all you know is it’s a big wet mess down there. You’re gazing at Joel, cock-drunk. Orgasm-drunk. Your brain is buzzing with satisfaction. Your fixation on cumming has been satiated. However, your partner is still rock hard. He still needs to cum, and he’s more eager than ever before. He shoves his cock back in, and the molten wetness has his cock quivering as his climax punches through, pushing him over the edge.

He doesn't warn you. He doesn’t have to - the damage is done. You’re reaping what he sowed. Joel shoots his seed as far into you as possible with a single thrust. His hands touch your belly, caressing the soft skin, and he pushes his cock even deeper, where he empties the rest of his balls. When he pulls out, his cum mixed with yours oozes out from your crease and pools onto the carpet beneath you. 

You dare to smile up at him, murmuring: “Thank you, Daddy,”

[zepskies]

Code Red

Pairing: Boaz Priestly x Female Reader

Summary: When you call him for help, Priestly realizes that he finally has the relationship of his dreams.

AN: So I didn’t think I’d ever write for this character, but it was prompted by a lovely anon and encouraged by my friend @thatonewriter15! I hope you enjoy. ❤️ 

Song Inspo: “Perfect” by Ed Sheeran. “I’ve found a love…”

Word Count: 1,500 Tags/Warnings: Period talk, suggestiveness, mega fluff

He was in the zone.

Four six-inch double buffalo chicken clubs with banana peppers on whole wheat bread (gross, but he wasn’t the one eating ‘em), two spicy Italians, and a tuna on rye.

Priestly wrapped them up with practiced precision and slid them down the line to Piper, Mission Impossible-style. She smiled at his antics and took them and brought them over to Tish at the register.

Priestly had another turkey and provolone on his docket, hold the mayo, when his cell buzzed in his pocket. Today he actually did have pockets. As in, he was wearing joggers, boots, and a graphic tee that said: NO TEQUILA, NO ENTRY.

He swiveled his phone in his hand like a drummer with a drumstick. He smiled when he saw your name flashing across the screen, and he answered it.

“Hey, Beautiful. What’s up?” he asked.

“Boaz, I need you,” you said. To his ears, your voice was sultry, and a bit strained.

He perked up with raised eyebrows.

“What’s holding up the turkey and cheese?” Piper asked.

Boaz held up a finger to the blonde and tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder. His hands busied themselves with the next sandwich order, but he was all too attentive to your every word.

“Oh yeah?” he replied to you. His smile deepened. “Well, that’s convenient. Because I’m craving some of you, baby.”

You gave a breathy chuckle. “Normally I’d take you up on that, but no. I need you. As in, I really need you to do something for me.”

Priestly arched a brow. His brain was already filling up with ideas of how he could best help you. He mentally took an inventory of the “tools” in your nightstand drawer, and which ones he could best use to his advantage when he—

“Uhh, well, I got about one more hour in my shift,” he said, lowering his voice, even as it deepened a notch. “But if Jen covers me, I can be outta here in half the time.”

“Oh my God, good,” you gasped. “I’m in so much fucking pain, you have no idea.” 

Priestly blinked, and any thoughts of kinky fun times came to a screeching halt. Concern took over when he realized that the strain in your voice wasn’t from the sexy kind of need.

“What’s wrong?” he asked quickly.

“I’m out of Midol, my uterus is rioting like it’s a Vietnam War protest, and…oh yeah, I need more tampons too,” you said. “But I legitimately cannot move from this couch.”

Priestly couldn’t help but smile in amusement.

“Ech, I hear ya. Are we in a Code Green, Code Yellow, or Code Red situation?”

Jen glanced over at him from where she was mopping the floor, and she gave him a questioning look.

What’s wrong? she mouthed.

“Code Red, definitely,” you answered with a sigh.

Priestly grimaced in sympathy. He mouthed back to Jen, Code Red.

She nodded in female understanding, and raised a hand that said, Say no more.

“Okay, yeah,” Priestly replied to you. “Don’t worry, I got you.”

You released a sigh of relief. “And if you want to throw in a Snickers, I wouldn’t hate it.”

He chuckled at that one.

“You got it,” he said. “I’ll be home in T minus an hour, give or take.”

You groaned. “Can’t you just steal a DeLorean or something?”

“You know, I could, but that would mean I’d be going back further into the past before you even needed to call me, and I’d still probably be making sandwiches since I’ve been working here since damn near 2000 B.C. But you know what, they should really call that movie Back to the Present, since they don’t actually go to the future until—”

“Okay,” you had to laugh, even though it was edged with discomfort. “I’ll see you later.”

At the supermarket, after his shift at Beach City Grill, Priestly had most of the supplies he needed for a successful mission. All he was missing was his old enemy on Aisle 2.

Once again, he faced a wall of tampons. All bright colored boxes and numbers and sizes…

Okay, not Code Green, so not the slender ones that might as well be match sticks. Not Yellow, so no to Regular…ah! Here we are. Super Plus.

AKA: Code Red. Complete with leak guard, no latex. He grabbed the blue box and threw it into his basket of essentials, including no less than three assorted chocolate bars and a pint of Ben & Jerrys. He knew his girl, and you liked your Half-Baked ice cream with chocolate chip cookie dough and brownie pieces.  

He brought over his haul to the checkout line. Sure enough, Gerry, one of the locals, was finally old enough to buy a case of beer by himself. He glanced at the blue box Priestly was taking out onto the conveyor belt and smirked.

“No slender regulars this time?” Gerry remarked.

Priestly’s smile was tight. “No, Gerald. Slenders are for pussies.”

“Literally,” the blonde beanpole snorted. “What, your girlfriend got a heavy flow this month?”

Priestly rolled his eyes, and his mouth pressed in a line. The word flow still kind of grated on him like nails on a chalkboard, but what irked him more was this guy imagining any part of your intimate parts.

“All right, my girl’s flow is none of your business,” he said. “Once you hit puberty and grow your first pubes, you’ll understand.”

Gerry floundered while Priestly continued on to make his purchases. Even the cashier was smiling, trying not to laugh as he silently gave Priestly his props for a burn well made. Priestly shot the guy a nod and a smile before he left with his spoils.

“Honey, I’m hoooome,” Priestly sing-songed.

He stepped through the door with his keys still jangling in his hand. He was trying to balance the big bag of groceries while closing the door to the apartment he shared with you.

Your head perked up from the living room couch, and your hand slowly curled up, beckoning him over. Priestly obliged you. He peered over the side of the couch and smiled at the way you were all curled up under a throw blanket, already in your pajamas, while FRIENDS reruns played on the TV.

“Finally,” you said with a tired smile. But not the kind of finally that just meant you were impatient for the goods he carried. The kind of finally that also meant you were happy to see him.

He laid a comforting hand on your head, leaned down, and pressed a kiss above your brow. You held him there by the collar of his shirt, prompting him to kiss you for real. Your hand moved up his tattooed neck and your nails gave the back of his head a little scratch, careful not to disrupt the blue mohawk.

He reluctantly pulled away from your lips, just enough to try and gauge how you were feeling.

“How’re you holdin’ up?” he asked.

“Like a beach umbrella in a hurricane,” you replied wryly. “You got the stuff?”

Priestly held the grocery bag tucked under his arm like it was a drug deal.

“Oh, I got the stuff, if you got the money,” he said.

You nodded, and your small smile turned mischievous. “I got your money, Big Man.”

With your hand delicately hooked behind his neck and the other gliding up his arm, he didn’t realize he was falling into a trap.

You tugged his arm hard enough to try and get him to fall over the back of the couch.

“Hey!” he yelped. Yet he also laughed while you tried your best to pull him overboard.

He had to toss the bag of groceries to the floor next to you, but he managed to get over and onto the couch without crushing you. He probably smelled like old sandwich and mayonnaise, but you didn’t seem to care. 

You just helped him settle in behind you, with your back to his chest. This was the only way you’d find comfort for your lower back. It had been aching since you woke up this morning.

You grabbed his closest hand and guided it under your overlarge sleep shirt, then under the waistband of your panties. You laid his warm hand flat against your cramping lower belly.

Priestly pressed a kiss behind your ear and tucked his arm underneath your head. He felt the rise and fall of your sigh as you leaned back against him, and his smile softened.

“You’re gonna fall asleep without digging into your treasure trove,” he teased. “I even got your favorite ice cream.”

You glanced at him over your shoulder in interest.

“Half-Baked?” you asked.

“Yep, for extra brownie points. Eh? See what I did there?”

Your body shook with a quiet laugh. You reached your hand back to touch his bearded cheek this time. Your fingers toyed with his many earrings.

“Did you know that you’re my favorite human?” you said. “Like, ever?”

He smiled against your neck. “Could’a sworn I was your third favorite, behind Ben and Jerry.”

“Nope, just you,” you said, snuggling back further into his warmth. “Thank you, baby.”

Priestly realized then that he’d found it.

He’d really, honest to God found the life he didn’t think he’d get, with a woman who didn’t want him to change; who just wanted him to be here.

Though he smirked when you reached for the bag and dug out the pint of Ben & Jerry’s.

“That’s what I thought,” he said.

You giggled. “Shut up.”

AN: Priestly was such a fun character lol. I rewatched 10 Inch Hero this past week and this was the first thing I thought to write! If you liked this, let me know! (And if you want more Priestly.) 😘

Read the Prequel!

If you liked Code Red, read the start of their story:

▶️ The Miracle Man

Priestly Masterlist

Main Masterlist

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[jolalibrary]

vi. the place where I want to be

javier peña x f!reader | chapter six of late night texts

summary: It's the year 2000. Javi is minding his own business on the porch of his pop's ranch when a text from an unknown number vibrates his phone. The only problem is, no one knows he has a phone and no one has his number.

chapter warnings: fluff. flirting. making out. alludes to smut. sinful thoughts. continuous romcom vibes. an: javi and reader, sitting on a bed... ;) wordcount: 3.5k.

text key: bold is you/reader | italics is javi

Javi traces his bottom lip with the tip of his thumb, allowing himself the chance to let his eyes roll up and down you.

Taking it in that you’re real.

“Or should I say hola?” 

He smirks, laughing and dropping his hand from his mouth. “You can say hola, hermosa. If you want.”

Dipping your head, he watches you take a breath before you lift your eyes to meet his again. All beautiful, shining—practically fucking sparkling. 

“I knew you’d be fucking handsome.”

“I knew you’d be beautiful.”

Letting his eyes carve around you, he creates an outline before he spends the time shading it in. Unable to tear his eyes from you, the way everything around you seems a fraction brighter, even if he knew that could be so.

All he knows is every inch of you is more perfect than the version he had in his head. 

Then, you blink, dipping your chin before you shift your weight onto another leg. Your fingers playing with your sleeve, something on your mind, puzzle pieces from the little sighs he knows down the phone, marrying with the mannerisms he now gets to see. 

“I know the customary thing is to hug, but….”

Smiling, he eyes you up. “But, what?”

“I really wanna kiss you.” 

Fuck. Me too. That’s all he thinks, hand resting on his hip as he watches you try to appear confident—embrace how your words fell from your lips as though it didn't take all of your strength to confess them.

“You should buy a person a coffee before kissing them.”

Snorting, he watches your brows rise, an expression falling across your face that makes him want to laugh. “Don’t think you’re a stranger, Javi. I came to the sound of your voice four nights ago.”

He licks his lips, your snark dripping with honey.

It makes it easy to slide a hand around your waist, bringing you flush with him. “I guess I did promise you the feel of my lips.” 

"You did."

It's dizzying, the way you gaze at him. More so when you slowly place your wrists on his shoulders, fingers tantalisingly close to the hair at the base of his neck.

It's why he allows you a moment, a chance to push him away—to reconsider. But, you don’t seem to want to take it, one hand sliding down his chest, fingers toying with the fabric of his open shirt—staring at him. All he can do is watch your pupils being swallowed by something he wants to see in more detail later. More privately. 

“Kiss me, baby," you whisper.

In the back of his throat, he buries a groan. Gently slanting his lips over yours, tasting it—mint and lipgloss—as his fingers slide under your cheek and jaw. Holding you, feeling you. Taking every bit of self-control not to pick you up and take you to his truck.

Instead, he just allows the pads of his touch to paint a pattern across your skin. Taking note of the way your mouth moves with his, widening, allowing him to swipe his tongue across your bottom lip, feeling your whimper echo down his throat. 

And he doesn’t want to stop, not ever. 

Not as you grip his forearm, frame pinned to his as though it’s a crime the two of you have ever been apart. 

He supposes it is. An offence he's ever been without you before now. Even if he has you now.

Your lips fall from his in a way that you know you both must, too. Lashes fluttering open, blinding him in pure gold and sunshine, all full of longing, your eyes almost shaped like hearts staring back at him. 

“Let’s get you checked in, ay.” 

Nodding, you bite your lip. His hand releases you, before reaching around you, taking the handle of your suitcase—somehow surprised at how heavy it is. 

“What you got in here?” 

It's instant, the way you wrap your arms around yourself, your lips twist into a grin. "I wasn’t sure what to pack.” 

“Mierda, baby. How long are you staying for? Una semana o un mes.” 

Narrowing your eyes, your fingers jab at him playfully. “Hilarious. Una semana.”

Raising his brow, you stick out the tip of your tongue. But what takes him by surprise is the way your fingers slide around his other wrist. Your eyes shimmering with hope and insecurity, and instantly, he knows. 

Smiling, almost instinctively so. It graces the lower half of his face before his mind catches up to the fact, his fingers sliding between yours—fitting so perfectly, flawlessly so. 

He blames it for why he kisses your forehead, capturing how your face shifts into a blend of the sun and a smile. 

“C’mon, charmer, show me your ride.” 

Javi offers to take you to a restaurant, but you insist on something smaller—a diner, a cafe.

“Some place I can get something greasy and not be judged.”

He notices in the truck, that you tap your fingers when it goes silent. Head turned, eyes staring out at the passing city as he drives the two of you to the hotel, fingers playing an imaginary piano on your knee.

A part of him wants to reach over, smooth his hand over—calm you. Rid you of your nerves. Until he realises, he’s doing the same on the steering wheel.

The hotel reception area is small, to the point he finds his front pressed against your back. If you mind, you say nothing, occasionally shooting him a smirk over your shoulder as you check in for both his and your rooms.

“You’ve got broad shoulders,” you say when the elevator doors close.

Biting the inside of his mouth, he clutches the handle of his suitcase. “Y’been admiring, have ya?”

You only offer one word, and a smirk: “Maybe.” The elevator binging, the doors opening, you sliding out with your suitcase in toe as you glance over your shoulder at him as you go to freshen up.

His mind doesn’t stop racing until the moment he shuts his own door behind him. The pulsing electricity of you being so close running through his nerves.

You were here: all real and beautiful. 

Hand tugging out his phone, he's barely thinking as he fires it off. His reckoning comes several seconds later as he changes his shirt.

she’s beautiful, murphy Wrong number, baby. But thank you. 

"Shit."

He stares at it, your reply. His mind imagining, constructing the expression you'd have been wearing—it makes him smile.

she’s beautiful, murphy

And she’s got you using grammar. She’s a keeper.

fuck you 

Glad you’re alive and that’s she what you imagined.  Connie told me to tell you she can come with you next time you visit Miami.

I’ll keep it in mind 

You told him you’d meet him at his truck.

A sight he found almost short-circuited him when he spotted you leaning against it, sporting a tee and jeans, with shades hiding your eyes. 

Unsure how to greet you again, choosing instead to open the car door for you, watching as you slide your sunglasses down your nose, keeping your eyes on him until you got in.

Each time you peer at him like that, he swears he sees something twinkling, shimmering, in your eyes. A thing he wanted to keep hold of forever. See it always—never be apart from it. 

The thought rises and falls in his head, a brief thing he considers, but doesn't allow himself to overthink. It's the first day. Still, plenty of time for him to say the wrong thing.

Do the wrong thing.

Peña it.

Don’t want to fuck this up.

It's a phrase the two of you keep saying. Both of you pepper it into conversation and texts here and there since the moment you agreed.

Something which had been sitting in his truck with him until he saw you outside the airport, and now it's slowly fading to nothing as the two of you head to a place he’d heard was good. 

It's nothing fancy. All plastic menus and fluorescent light, but you beam at him as the two of you choose a booth in the back. Your eyes begin scanning the menu before he even picks his up. Too busy allowing himself another moment to note your nose scrunch and the way your eyes widen when you read something.

Drinks are ordered, and food is too, before a comfortable silence falls over the two of you until the drinks arrive. He mirrors you when you lean back, shifting his hips as his knee nudges yours.

“Did you get hold of your dad?” 

Smiling, he rests his forearms on the table—watching you stir the spoon around your coffee. Something you’ve been doing for a solid minute, having not put anything in it that even needs mixing. 

“I did. He’s good.” 

Nodding, you smile, eyes dropping back to the menu. 

Another silence falls, still a comfortable one. One that he imagines people have together when they’ve been dating for a while.

It doesn't need to be filled, but it permits a moment for the other to stare at the person across from them. 

To admire them. To appreciate them. Both things he's doing plenty.

Each second he's granted, it makes it harder not to slide around to your side of the booth and place his thigh close to yours. His body screams, practically calling out to you, both because he wants to soothe any lingering anxiousness and also to be as close to you as he humanly can be.

A feeling that makes him massage the bridge of his nose—

“Is this weird?” 

He eyes you, dropping his hand, wrapping it around the cheap porcelain mug before bringing it to his lips. “Being in front of you or the situation?” 

You scrunch your nose. “Both?” 

Shaking his head, he takes a sip before placing it back down. “Not for me.” 

You look at the table, shifting in the booth seat. A smile, one that feels secretive—that you’re trying to hold back. “Not for me either.” 

He almost grins, almost. 

Like you, he keeps holding portions of it back so it doesn’t fully illuminate over his face. Instead, he stretches his hand across the table, passing the sauces and salt before your hand finds his—fingers, so perfectly, slotting between his. 

“It feels… right.”

“Yeah,” you whisper, “it does.” 

He rolls his lips, free hand stroking at the hair above his lip as he takes you in. How you watch him, how you sound exactly as you do in your text messages—that it all adds up.

From the little quirks, the nose scrunch, the brow, the way you smile. Each piece fills in the puzzle, forming a mural he never wants to tear down. 

“You talk quicker than you text,” you smirk. 

“Ay, hermosa.” 

Laughing, you tighten your fingers around his. “Kinda glad I’m here for a few days. I don’t want to have to wait fifteen minutes for a reply each time.” 

“You’re pushing it.” 

“I do that.”

He snorts, lips sliding up one side of his face. “Good job, I like it.” 

He sees it then, the way that you shift when you’re embarrassed. Eyes dropping, lips pinching into a smile as you wiggle, shifting in the booth. 

“You got much you have to do tomorrow?” 

Shaking your head, you look up—leaning back into the booth, tips of your fingers just in reach. “Not really. I have to speak to the sales manager—go through their reports, and then I have a meeting with someone from imports.”

You must notice his expression, the way his brows have slid into his hairline.

Smirking, you roll your eyes. “It sounds fancier than it is, former DEA. But, once I've done a handover, then I’m all yours for the rest of the week.” 

He points at himself. “All mine?” 

Nodding, he watches as your teeth bite your lip. “If you want?” 

Leaning onto the table, his fingers find the tips of yours. “‘Course I do.” 

Javi echoes your sentiment about not rushing things. Until you’re on his bed. 

Lay flat on your stomach, eyes staring down at the black and white squares both of you are yet to fill in. 

He hadn’t even thought about the crossword, not even as you split off from him in the grocery store—both having separate missions to collect supplies for a night watching something on whatever channel they had in either of their rooms.

So when you had met him at the checkout, placing down chips, sweets and a book, he arched his brow. 

“Turn it over." 

The assistant is barely awake, never mind paying attention to them waiting, still stacking the same stand they were when they walked in. So as he does turn it over, flicking his gaze down, Javi instantly sees the noticeable black and white squares and thick words written across it: CROSSWORD.

“Thought we could keep up your tradition.” 

It’s nothing. Not really.

Entirely a small thing, but it makes him move, hand wrapping around the back of your neck as he crashes his lips to yours. Doing so with a sea of gratitude and appreciation, heart doubling, thumping heavy and hard against his ribs. Hoping his mouth is articulating the sentiment as you smile against him.

It should scare him, terrify him to his bones at how much he feels so soon.

Because you thought of him, of this. This little thing he did that you now do together. 

That’s how you both ended up on his plush hotel bed, half the squares filled in—the easier clues picked off and written in a black biro you’d found in your bag. 

If he had thought you were impressive over text, watching your brain churn in person was something else. Your eyes flick to the side as you think, falling back to the clue, occasionally meeting him—stealing the breath from his lungs—

“37 is thatsthewayitis.” 

Each time you guess a clue, he finds he does the same thing. He raises his brow, watches you smirk, and then studies as you begin to etch each letter into the paper. The only noticeable change is how comfortable you slowly get and how much smugger you are. 

The voice he knows from the phone calls coming out more easily, your hands fidgeting less—body relaxing close to his 

“You think you’re gonna get involved at any point, Peña?” 

Nudging you, he smirks, glancing from your eyes to your lips. “You’re last naming me now? Fine. 38 down, stepup.” 

Handing him the pen, he takes it with a smirk, etching the word in as he finds your eyes still warming his skin. 

“63 across is Eddie,” you add, tapping the page as you move closer, shoulder brushing his. “And 52 is eerie.” 

“You, baby, are impressive.” 

Waiting until he’s written them in, he hears you swallow. The hotel duvet rustles as you move onto your side, arm reaching across, closing the book on his hand. 

For a moment, he just lets you drown him in your gaze—swallowing him whole, pulling him under. Unsure why he isn’t closing the gap, why he isn’t marrying his lips to yours—

“So are you, charmer.” 

Drinking you in, he releases the pen between the pages—leaning towards you. Nerves building, momentary panic that he could have misread this, until you begin to meet him halfway.

Then he’s kissing you for the billionth time today. The two of you moving together more seamlessly, all gentle and tender. Slowly placing his hands around your side, feeling you shift and move until you're under him, hands around his neck—leg hooked over his hip. 

Words similar to you’re perfect, almost murmur from him as the book falls to the floor with a thud. Them being replaced by words such as, you’re so pretty, prettier than he could have ever imagined, but you gasp against his mouth.

An array of other things are almost being kissed against your skin when you begin undoing the buttons of his shirt, brushing knuckles and skin against him. He thanks you by running his mouth against your jaw, tongue drawing lines as you whimper his name—his jeans getting impossibly tight as he lets it grow messy.

Until he remembers—

I don’t want to fuck this up. 

Pausing, he lets out a breath. Eyes closing. 

Your nervous voice down the phone. Your little explanation. The fact you told him you like him.

Your fingers brush against his scalp, scared to open his eyes and see something other than want or adoration in your eyes.

I want you. He wants to say. More than he can find the words.

But he wants to earn you.

“Cariño…” Tell me what to do.

“I know.”

It leaves your lips full of sadness, a sorrow tinged and wrapped around the words like a vine.  

Tracing your cheek with his nose, he lets himself enjoy the feel of your fingers in his hair. The way you twirl a strand around a finger before you slowly let them fall from his neck. Slowly, he opens his eyes, finding you watching him, studying him—wondering if you’re committing him to memory in the same way he is with you.  

His thumb digs into your hip, fingers tightening around you. “You have work early, too.” 

“I do.” 

Begrudgingly, he slides off you, hand moving to his jeans conspicuously, shifting himself as he does—watching you glance at him as you stand from the bed. 

Shifting on the spot, he watches as you grin, smoothing down your clothes. “You’ll see me tomorrow, right?”

“I will.” 

Closing the gap to him, you lift up, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Thanks... y'know, for picking me up.”

“Anytime.” 

Licking your lips, you sigh softly. It graces the air, more than shoving into it. “Goodnight, Javi.” 

Two words he’s so used to hearing down a bad phone line, he never realised how heavenly they’d be in person. For a moment, it makes him too stunned to think, never mind say anything. 

Just watching as you glance back as you open the door of his room, waving lightly, barely able to spit the same sentiment to you before it clicks back into place. 

As soon as he’s alone, his palms find his eyes.

Instantly, the world gets a little dimmer, his heart descending a fraction in his chest.

Turning on the spot—memories of moments ago, the collection of them he’s been mounting up since that first ever text, sitting around him. All of it vibrating, shaking in fury and disappointment that he let you go.

All of them blend, dropping like paint splotches onto a canvas as it paints a photo of you. Of the two of you.

It captures the look in your eyes when you see him at the airport, the warmth he felt sitting across from you, talking about families and childhoods—

What is he fuckin' doing? 

Something he can’t even answer, something he’s not even sure about because he shouldn’t have let you walk out. Shouldn't have let you leave tonight ever considering that by lying with him, you could fuck this up.

It rises in him, how he shouldn't have let you get to the hallway, never mind to your room. Because how can either of you fuck up something that feels this right—that feels more right than he’s felt in his gut in a long time.

Fingers running through his hair, Javi’s feet move, forgoing his boots as he grabs the room key from the desk. He practically yanks open his hotel door, key shoved between his teeth as his hands move to his buttons, beginning to do them up—just in case. Wanting to be presentable when he stands at your door, when he tries to find the words to say. 

While your room is only down the hall, it feels like forever until he’s outside your door. 

Focused on scrambling words together, Javi shoves the key into his jean pocket, hand hovering over the door, all set to knock. 

Only to find it vanishes from his knuckles. 

And you’re standing there. All golden. The back of you is all illuminated by a lamp in your room as the hallway light splays across your features.

The way you look at him dries his throat, steals his words. Especially when it's a softer expression like this one, no teasing words and just a simple stare.

You look every bit ethereal and unreal—more like something he concocted in his mind, than made of skin and bone. 

Even if he just saw you moments ago, had you under him moments before that—Javi is still tempted to pinch himself, the entire day feeling like a fucking dream. 

“I…” you begin. 

But he knows. “We’re not going to fuck this up, are we, cariño?”

You smile, swallowing. “No. We’re not.” 

“Good, girl.” 

It’s instant. Like it’s scripted, rather than entirely by chance.

You melt into him as he muffles his name against his lips. Reminding him that this is real, you’re real. 

The earlier worries of rushing things fade to black, vanishing, turning all to dust as he manoeuvres you inside your room. Kicking it shut, feeling your fingers wrestling with the same buttons he’s just tried to fasten—a gasp escaping when your spine finds a wall. 

“If you want to stop—” 

Shaking your head, your hand holds his chin. Staring into him, scorching your thoughts into him. “I was coming to find you. Just now, when you…” 

“Came to find you?” 

Nodding, you bite your lip. Look every bit sinful, beautiful and fucking everything. 

“Fuck, you’re so pretty.”

Your fingers brush his cheek, that mischievous glint in your eye he’s caught occasionally across the diner table. “Show me how pretty you think I am, baby.” 

an: the next scene on friday is spicy. if you'd prefer to skip it, I'll see you on Tuesday.

[ragingbookdragon]

If You Ever Loved Me, Have Mercy

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

Word Count: 1.5K Warnings: Sad...?

Author's Note: :') not me self-projecting -Thorne

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

Ghost didn’t really understand her. He did, but there were times when she acted awfully funny whenever he’d do something for her. Like bouquets. Now, Simon “Ghost” Riley never grew up with a father who gave his mother flowers, and he was going to be the link in the chain that broke, because he’d be damned if he didn’t show his appreciation for his lover. Except every time he gave her a bouquet of flowers, she smiled like her face was going to split in half, and she thanked him profusely for it, holding it to her chest like it was the rarest thing in the world.

Other times, he tried to pay for things, and she refused vehemently, saying she could cover it, and part of Ghost wanted to feel like his manhood was being disrespected because he was supposed to pay for her, but the other part understood she was a grown adult who was independent.

It was a quiet night in his apartment, and she’d finally managed to get Ghost to sit down and relax on the couch while she cooked dinner for them. He occasionally watched her from the kitchen, unable to help the small grin on his face as she danced around and sang to old 2000’s Kesha songs.

About fifteen minutes later, the music shut off, and she appeared with two bowls of steaming food that had his stomach gurgling. “Hungry?” she teased, handing him a bowl with more than a good helping.

“Starved,” he replied, looking at it. “What’d you make, love?”

She shifted slightly and grinned at the nickname, another thing he found endearing about her. “Goulash.”

“Never had it,” he said, already sticking the spoon in his mouth, only to open his mouth and “Hafhashhath.”

“It’s hot, Simon,” she deadpanned. “I just pulled it out of the skillet.”

His eyes watered as she passed him a glass of water and he nodded a thanks. She curled up with her own bowl next to him, her knees brushing his thigh; quietly, she blew on her spoon before eating. They ate in silence, other than the couple times Ghost complimented her cooking.

It was only after, when she was taking their bowls that he asked, “Love, can we talk about something?” She froze, a look of something he could only describe as panic on her face. “Love?”

She recovered and smiled at him. “Yeah, let me put this in the dishwasher.”

As she hurried into the kitchen, Ghost watched in silence as a multitude of emotions crossed in her eyes, the biggest being anxiety and hurt.

Coming back, she sat down on the couch, this time, a good few inches from him and he looked at her for a moment. “You alright, love?”

“Mhm,” she lied, nodding her head, and he noticed that her eyes were on the couch cushion.

“Love, can you look at me?” She did so and he smiled slightly, reaching up to brush his knuckles against her cheek. “There’s my pretty, poppy,” he murmured, and her eyes flooded with tears, shocking him. “What’s wrong?”

She swallowed a lump the size of her fist in her throat, making a gesture with her hand as if it were going to help her speak. “I—” she shut her mouth, eyes closing as tears dripped down her cheeks, and Ghost shifted, reaching up to wipe her face.

“Love, whatever’s going on, you can tell me.” He tilted her chin up and she opened her eyes, gazing at him. “What’s got you in a mess?”

Eyelashes dampened with tears, she blinked a few times and asked quietly, “Are you going to stop seeing me?”

Ghost paused, brows furrowing in confusion. “Beg pardon?”

“You said you wanted to talk about something,” she replied, voice still a murmur. “I assume you don’t want to keep seeing me.”

He was still entirely confused. “I don’t even know where to start with how you got to this point.” He took her hand. “Love, why would I want to stop seeing you?”

She frowned. “I’ve…never been in a committed relationship.”

This shocked him, but suddenly, everything about her reactions and how she seemed so excited all the time with him made sense.

“When people find out that I’ve never had one…” her lips pulled downwards in an expression he never wanted to see her make again; she looked so heartbroken. “They make excuses and stop seeing me. One guy told me,” tears filled her eyes again and she laughed pitifully. “He said, ‘I’m not going to teach you everything. I’m not your parent.’” Her eyes met his. “I stopped dating after that…until I met you. I was scared to even try. But you, Simon, you…you’re the best thing that’s ever stepped into my life.”

“Love,” he started and she reached forward, taking his hand.

“Give me a chance, please,” she begged. “I’ve been reading and watching videos about relationships. Simon, you won’t have to teach me anything. I swear, I can learn, and I have been. I can—”

“Love,” he interrupted, and she appeared crestfallen, pulling her hand away.

“Simon,” she whispered. “If you’re gonna break my heart, just break it and please make this fast.” Her eyes met his. “If any part of you cares, just have mercy.”

Ghost reached over and grabbed the meat of her hip, pulling her into his lap where she refused to look at him, until he took her chin in his hand like he had earlier and made her look at him. “Love,” he said, and she met his eyes. “Will you be my girlfriend?”

“Huh?”

Ghost brushed his thumb over her lips. “I’ve spent my entire life being afraid to love someone because I didn’t want to turn into my dad. And then, six months ago, you ran smack into me, and I couldn’t believe that there was someone who wanted to be with me.” He gazed at her. “I’m as fucked up as they come, poppy, and you still want to be with me.”

“Of course, I do,” she whispered. “I…I love you, Simon.”

His eyes lit up as he smiled and leaned forward, nuzzling her nose. “Say it again.”

“I love you, Simon.”

“One more time.”

“I love you, Simon,” she confessed, reaching up to cup his cheek. “You make me happy. And I’m so lucky to have you.”

“As you should, I don’t like most people,” he joked and she snorted, causing him to smile. “And she smiles!”

She looked down, playing with one of his sweatshirt strings. “So…you like me?”

“I love you,” he answered, and her eyes went wide, mouth snapping shut. “Poppy, I love you more than the world. I think about you all the time. I feel…I feel like I have a reason to live again. For you.” Tears flooded her vision and he chuckled lowly. “You cry an awful lot, love.”

“Stop teasing me,” she sniffled. “I’m new to this.” As if she remembered suddenly, she looked up. “You’re okay with me being inexperienced in…like everything?”

“Just means we get to learn together,” he replied and ran his hand over her cheek. “Besides, I don’t plan on letting another man having you ever again.”

Her face felt hot, and she looked suddenly flustered. “That sounds like a serious long-term commitment, Simon.”

His chest rumbled with a grunt. “Listen well, love,” he started, hand lowering to poke at the center of her chest. “That’s mine, and I’m not letting it go. Ever.”

She placed her hand on his chest. “Does that mean that this one is mine too?”

“Every cold inch.”

Her eyes lit up with a gentle sort of happiness and she murmured, “Your heart isn’t cold, Simon. It’s very warm. And…gentle.” She looked at him. “My gentle giant.”

He hummed with a small smirk and tapped her cheek. “Don’t let anyone know. I’ve a reputation to uphold.”

“Okay, big guy,” she retorted and curled into him, head tucked under his chin.

After a moment, she kept squirming and he asked, “You alright?”

She paused, then blurted out, “I have a boyfriend. I’ve never had a boyfriend before.”

“You’re also gonna sleep in a bed with your boyfriend. So, two firsts in one night.”

She jerked away, eyes wide. “I can’t sleep with you!”

Ghost’s brows furrowed and he inquired, “You wanna take the couch then?”

“Wait, what?”

He thumped her forehead. “Mind out of the gutter, love.”

Her eyes narrowed in a glare, and she griped, “You did that on purpose.”

“Maybe,” he teased, and she harrumphed, turning her head.

“Rude. So mean to tease your girlfriend.”

He tickled her side a little until she laughed. “Not my fault she’s easy to tease.”

“You’re so mean.”

“Hmmm…how can I ever make it up to you?” he asked, and she turned, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“Carry me to bed and hold me all night?” she paused. “And maybe give me a shirt to borrow?”

“I get to see you in my clothes?” Ghost grinned, picking her up as she yelped from shock. “That’s an affirmative.”

Her laughter peeled through the hallway as he carried her to the bedroom with enthusiasm.

[doumidas-whumps]

no longer in solitude

Porter's first impression of Sonny, the new pet.

a little something from Port's POV this time (and by "a little something" I mean 2000 words). this is the night Sonny is brought to his new home.

consider this a sort-of prequel to this.

cw: BBU/pet whump, abusive master, whumpee emotionally attached to whumper

All day, the house was silent except for the ticking of the grandfather clock in the foyer. It made Port a little twitchy. It seemed quieter than usual today, quiet enough that the florescent lights buzzing in his ears were making him sick. He had to step out of the bathroom halfway through cleaning the shower, scrubbing brush abandoned by the drain. He rinsed his hands and pressed his cool, clean palms to his eyes. Memories of lying alone in that cold, featureless room in the facility flashed behind his eyelids. 

He tried to think of something else, his master coming to mind easily. He had left for work that morning without a word to Port, just as he had the past two days. Mr. Oz hadn’t been speaking to him lately. In fact, he’d barely even looked at him.

Maybe something at work was bothering him. Did his boss yell at him? Could it be that the coworker he always complained about was getting on his nerves? Maybe it was unrelated to work; maybe he had lost more money at the casino. The last time that had happened, Mr. Oz lost two grand playing blackjack or poker or whatever it was and when he came home he threw one of his shoes at Port’s head. Port dodged it on instinct, which just made him angrier. Though come to think of it, Port hadn’t had any projectiles thrown at him, lately, so maybe it wasn’t that.

The grandfather clock started chiming, shaking Port out of his uneasy thoughts. He took a grounding breath and reentered the bathroom. 

After the bathroom was the living room. He pulled the remote out from between the couch cushions, itching to turn the TV on for some background noise. He set the remote in its proper place on the glass coffee table, next to a box of playing cards. He didn’t have permission to watch TV today. 

Lately Mr. Oz had been getting home around 7:00, so Port started dinner at 6:30. Talking to him over dinner was usually the most exciting part of Port’s day, but the two previous nights he had taken his dinner up to his room, leaving Port to clean up in silence. He hoped today would be better.

Dinner was finished by 6:55. He left it on the stove on low heat. When Mr. Oz still wasn’t home by 7:20, Port put it in the fridge. He had already cleaned the the bedrooms, the bathrooms, the living room, the kitchen, even under the fridge, under the oven, and the tops of the doorways. He supposed the bookshelf could do with some dusting. 

When Mr. Oz still wasn’t home by 9:00 and Port had truly run out of productive things to do, he grabbed the playing cards from the coffee table and kneeled on the Persian carpet, arranging them for a game of solitaire. Mr. Oz had never explicitly forbid him from playing card games, so Port figured it was okay as long as he put everything away before he got back. 

By the time the clock chimed for the second time since he’d started playing, marking 11 o’ clock, Port was starting to get concerned. It wasn’t uncommon for his master to stay out after work, but 11:00 P.M. was far later than usual, especially on a Thursday night. 

Port had been in the living room for hours, having long since adjusted to a more comfortable sitting position. His current game was not going well. Stuck, Port listened to the ticking clock while he tried to figure out how to salvage it. It was hard to think when his eyes were drifting closed. He had gotten up at 5 A.M. that morning, like usual, and he wasn’t allowed to sleep until his master turned in for the night.

Port gave up on the game and rested his elbows on the coffee table, shifting the cards underneath his arms. He stared at the blinking colon of the digital clock under the TV, willing himself to stay awake. He should probably get up and move around, but the combination of the blinking and the ticking had a hypnotizing effect.

Just as the clock blinked to 11:08, he heard the garage door screech open and jerked awake. Port hastily gathered the cards into a stack and slid them into their box. He rose to his feet and padded to the side door to greet his master, where he waited eagerly, a smile already on his face. 

The door swung open and Mr. Oz stepped through into the yellow light of the hall. His cheeks were ruddy, teeth visible in a grin. Port found it encouraging.

“Welcome home,” Port greeted. “How was your—”

Port was startled as another figure appeared out of the darkness in the doorway behind him. His first split-second thought was that it was one of his master’s friends, as it wasn’t unusual for him to invite people over. The thought was dashed as soon as he spotted the supple black collar around the figure’s neck. 

It was a boy— a young man— who stepped into the hall, eyes cast down. Port couldn’t see his features too well at this angle— only his shining black hair, which was neatly parted down the middle of his scalp. 

Port realized his mouth was still open and shut it. Once he pulled his eyes away from the pet he noticed that Mr. Oz was looking at him, eyes glimmering. “Porter, this is Sonny.” He clapped the boy on the back, who visibly jumped. (A sign of poor training.) “He’ll be helping you out around the house.”

Every question running through Port’s mind was cut short. Was he saying what Port thought he was saying? “Sir, do you mean…?”

“That’s right! You get to have a little playmate, doesn’t that sound great?”

Port blinked.

Mr. Oz was looking at the pet with some sort of fondness. “I’ve had my eye on him for a while now… you should’ve seen the look on David’s face.” His hand moved to the pet's neck, whose shoulders raised higher. “I’m gonna get him a collar like yours,” Mr. Oz said, hooking a finger under the nylon. “So you can match.”

Some buzzing feeling was spreading through Port. His chest was shivering. He felt his smile grow wider. He clasped his hands in front of him and squeezed. “This is great, sir.”

Mr. Oz smiled back at him. It felt good to be on the same page as his master, to be excited with him. Port was already imagining what it would be like to have another presence in the house. Someone to help with housework, to get to know, to talk with like an an equal. A small spike of guilt struck him at the thought. His master was supposed to fulfill all his needs. He shouldn’t be craving the company of another pet, of all things. And yet…

Mr. Oz grabbed Sonny roughly by the shoulders and pushed him closer to Port, made them stand shoulder-to-shoulder. Sonny had to be at least half a foot shorter than him. 

He watched Mr. Oz admire them both, mind working. His hand shot out to Sonny’s face so fast that Sonny jerked back and Port nearly flinched. Mr. Oz gripped him by the face, dimpling his cheek with his thumb as he tilted his head upwards. “Look at me,” he said. “Yeah, I’ll have you…” He trailed off, eyes growing dark. “What’s with that face?”

Port glanced down to gauge for himself. On Sonny’s face was an unmistakable expression: fear. 

“Are you scared?” asked their master. He was no longer smiling.

Sonny said nothing. Port’s heart beat fast for him. Mr. Oz did not like to go unanswered.

“Well?”

Sonny hesitated too long. Mr. Oz released Sonny’s face only to crack his hand across it like a whip. Sonny nearly collided into Port’s shoulder, hand raising as if to cradle his rapidly flushing cheek. Port felt a rising sense of alarm. Where was this boy trained?

Mr. Oz’s hand grasped Sonny’s wrist, halting it in place. “Please, sir—“ Sonny finally spoke.

“Who taught you to act like this?” He was yelling, now. “Were you disciplined at all?”

Port couldn’t help himself. “Sir, he’s just—” 

His master whirled on him. “I don’t wanna hear a single word outta you!” 

Port’s jaw clicked shut.

He turned back to Sonny, who was lowering towards the floor like his knees were buckling. Mr. Oz  released Sonny’s wrist and ran both hands through his short hair, something he always did when he was exasperated. “Way to ruin my damn mood.” He rubbed his eyes, and when his fists fell he locked eyes with Port. They were slightly red. “Take him to your room,” he said. “Explain the rules.” His gaze drifted to Sonny, who now had his arms wrapped around himself. Mr. Oz sighed, pinching his brow. “If he doesn’t fix his behavior… we’re gonna have some problems.” Port felt Sonny curl further into himself beside him.

“Yes, sir.” Port wasted no time in guiding Sonny upstairs with a gentle hand on his upper back. He pushed open the door to his room— their room, now. There wasn’t much. A dresser, a blanket, a pillow, the soft rug he slept on. A painting of a seagull hung on the far wall. Port would have to grab another pillow and blanket for Sonny from the linen closet— that is, if Mr. Oz didn’t decide to revoke his bedding privileges for that little display.

Now that they were out of earshot, Port felt comfortable enough to speak. He needed to give Sonny the rundown on how things worked around here. But first… “Are you alright?”

Sonny lifted his head, looking directly at Port for the first time. His eyes were so dark Port couldn’t see the pupils. They shone like black pearls, wet. His cheeks were dry, the left still colored from the slap, but his face was otherwise unblemished. He looked young. His mouth made no movement.

“You can speak, right?”

Sonny’s gaze lowered. “Sorry,” he whispered. “This is a lot.”

Port sighed, feeling a pang of sympathy. The boy didn’t seem very experienced. “It’s okay,” he said. “Let’s sit down.” 

Sonny wasted no time in dropping to the floor, hugging his knees to his chest. Port went to his knees in front of him, but after a few seconds decided to readjust and sit on his bottom to be more casual. He gave Sonny a minute of silence to calm down before speaking again.

“I don’t know what that was, but—” you shouldn’t be so scared? I hope you’re okay? You can’t do that again? “—he isn’t as bad as you seem to think he is.”

Sonny looked at him again, now reproachfully. Port tried a smile. “Are you new?”

His eyes turned sharp, flicking up and down Port’s figure. “Six months outta training,” he muttered. Secondhand? Sonny seemed to be considering him. “You’re not new.”

“No.” 

“You’re W.R.U.?” Dubya-arr-yoo.

“…Yes.” Technically. 

Sonny hummed, lowering his chin. “You kinda seem like it.”

Port wasn’t sure how to feel about that, or what could have possibly given him that impression, so he just asked, “Where are you from, if not W.R.U.?” Port knew of at least two knock-offs. “I didn’t even know Mr. Oz was looking for another pet.”

Sonny just sighed and lowered his head further so his forehead touched the tops of his knees, face hidden. 

Well, alright. Considering they were equals, Port supposed Sonny wasn’t obligated to answer him.

[humming-star]

Forgotten Friends and Their Hauntings!

König x Reader x Ghost

Gender neutral reader!

First time writer!

Feel free to tell me if there's any misspelled words!

Or if you have any advice!

-------

Chapter 1 - Audience With a.... Specter?

-------

The day had begun just like any other day on base.

You had woken up before the rest of the corporals as usual, eaten a normal breakfast of toast and sat alone, as usual. You had almost been late to combat practice, as usual, even when trying not to.

When you finally leave the sparring room, it's with sore muscles after hours of almost nonstop training. Slinging your bag over your shoulder on the way out, you begin your way to the showers.

After a moment of walking a call of your last name stops you and you turn to see the recent addition of the Colonel. The mountainous Austrian man strides to stand before you and looks down at you. Your head only just reaches his pecs, making you feel tiny in comparison to him.

"Colonel, sir!" You speak deferentially, a hand coming up in a salute, his sheer presence alone commanding your respect.

"At ease.... You will come to my office at 2000 tonight, bitte" He commands politely, his blue eyes flickering over your face. You notice him fiddling with something in one of his large, gloved hands.

You blink up at him uncomprehendingly for a moment, before your eyes widen in no small amount of shock and fear. Though you had been to the Captain's office before, with talks of promotion, the Colonel's is another matter entirely.

"Yes sir....." You manage to strangle out with a small nod, your voice trembling slightly as your nerves break though.

He seems to notice your nerves with his laser-like gaze and his posture relaxes slightly, his eyes looking down at you with an emotion you can't decipher. His eyes squint at you in what you think is a smile before he speaks.

"There is no need to worry, Corporal. You have done nothing wrong" He affirms, a softness unexpected from someone with his reputation in his voice. Before you can even think to reply to his words, he strides off, leaving you staring agape at his back.

You had, of course, heard of the Colonel's skill in battle, not to mention his bloodlust. You just hope that you're not on the receiving end of his anger, though with how things in your life have been so far, you may as well be.

You had spoken to the man once or twice before..... though every time had seemed amicable, so you didn't know of anything that you could have said to offend the massive man, which may be good news....?

Shaking your head you make an attempt at not worrying about it, before continuing on your way to the showers.

--------

Hours later you panic as you check the time, realising you only have twenty minutes to get to the Colonel's office, which is on the other side of the base from your quarters entirely.

Adrenaline pumps through your veins as you speed through the halls and you almost knock over several people in your haste. You shout apologies as you run by, the fear of being late far outweighing any guilt.

Passing through the doors of the quarters, a deluge of rain hails down upon you, the cold of it making you shiver. Your pace quickens and your boots splash through puddles on the ground, the door to the mess hall like a blur in the corner of your eye as you pass it by.

You skid to a stop in front of the Operator's quaters five minutes later, soaked to the bone and panting harshly. After a moment of catching your breath you enter the building, a combination of the sprint and fear of what's about to happen causing your heart to beat rapidly in your chest.

Though trying not to run and slip through the halls of the Operator's quaters, you make your way to the Colonel's office just in time, the nameplate on the door the only indicator that you're in the correct place. You heave in a few calming breaths and try to make yourself look as presentable as possible, sopping with rain as you are.

You knock on the door, the sound echoing in the quiet of the halls. Your ears manage to catch the shuffle of quiet footsteps approaching the door and you stand up straight, awaiting the Colonel with an apology on the tip of your tounge.

The door creaks open slowly and a bone white skull emerges from behind the door, the shadows seeming to cling to his back. You startle as you see two blazing brown eyes glare down at you from where they sit, surrounded by eyeblack. You recognise man as Lieutenant Ghost, his distinct mask making the man easily identifiable.

His gait is almost predatory as he stalks out of the office, his muscles flexing in the tight black t-shirt as he moves and you can't help but admire them. With a soft click the door of König's office closes behind him and he leans on the wall next to the door, his tattooed, muscular arms crossing.

Your posture falters for a moment in your confusion and shock before you straighten up with a salute. You certainly weren't expecting Lieutenant Ghost to be here, meaning you must be in more trouble than you thought you might be in.....

"Lieutenant Ghost!" You say, your voice echoing in the silent halls.

His eyes glare down at you harshly, his gaze narrowing further on you as you speak. You hold back a shudder at his increasing glare and keep at attention.

"Corporal 'Magpie', yeah?" He says lowly, his voice almost as harsh as his glare, his hellfire eyes burning a hole through you. You nod quickly at the Lieutenant's question, rain splashing from your soaked hair.

Your nerves begin dying a slow, agonising death as he glares down at you, the contempt in his gaze making a slight sweat drip down your face. You recognise after a moment that he wants a verbal response.

"Yes sir!" You reply loudly, nerves making you lose control of your volume.

Within a blink the man is quietly lunging at you, his hand easily slipping around your throat. The unexpected attack makes a gurgle slip through your trapped throat.

"Be fuckin' quiet, idiot!" He hisses lowly at you, his arm flexing as his hand squeezes lightly. His face looms above your own with a withering look in his eyes.

You nod rapidly, water spattering once again from your hair and soaking the mans arm.

"Now tell me wha' the bloody fuck you're doing here" He demands in a low voice, his hand loosening on your throat, allowing you to speak.

"Col...." You begin with a hoarse voice before coughing quietly into your hand. "Colonel König told me to come here at 2000... I... I don't know the reason, sir..." You continue quietly, looking up at him fearfully.

"I don't like when people lie to me, **lil' bird**" He spits out, squeezing your neck tightly for a moment, causing tears to begin gathering in the corners of your eyes. "König is asleep in there, so ya better stop lying an' tell me the reason a little Corporal like you would be all the way out here, yeah?"

After a moment his grip loosens once more and you try to keep your gasps for air quiet, fearing the man would choke you again if you're too loud.

"I..." You attempt to start, water beginning to slip down your face. "I'm sorry sir... I didn't mean to intrude" You gulp watching as his arm flexes. "The Colonel told me to be here sir... I promise I'm telling the truth!" You say, looking up at him sincerely.

He clearly doesn't like your answer as his hand tightens once more around your throat. He leans down slowly, the plastic of his mask sliding against the side of your face as he whispers in your ear.

"Now tha's a likely story." He scoffs disbelieving, sending a shiver down your spine. "Jus' know, **lil' bird** to stay away from 'im, yeah? I've seen ya followin' 'im around and ya better stop, Otherwise me stranglin' ya will be the least of ya problems." He finishes by holding his hand around your throat until you're light-headed.

Once he notices your eyes beginning to haze over, he unceremoniously lets go. He scoffs as you land in the puddle that had formed beneath you with a splash, not looking back at you once as you gasp for air on the ground.

As you lay gasping on the floor outside the office, you blearily try to think of the reason that Lieutenant Ghost would think that you would be following Colonel König around, but you can't find a reason.

After a few more moments of gasping for breath, you gather the strength to stand, which immediately makes you feel light-headed. Trying to breathe through it you begin hobbling slowly towards the door, hoping to atleast get back to your bunk before you inevitably pass out.

Coming to a stop next to the door, you look through the glass of the door. The thundering storm had luckily slowed to a spattering of rain, the concrete path outside reflecting the nearby lights.

You breathe slowly as you open the door with one hand, the other holding onto the wall to keep yourself standing. The frigid air causes goosebumps to form on your exposed skin and you take a steadying breath before you exit the Operator's quarters.

Before you realise it, you're outside the building where your quarters are. You barely remember the hobbling walk there, but you made it. The metal door is freezing cold to the touch as you open it, straining to open the heavy thing with one hand.

Making your way towards your bunk, you start to feel like you're going to pass out at any moment but you continue none the less. After entering the safety of your bunk the emotions finally hit you and a sob escapes your chest before you can stifle it, your throat throbbing in pain in response.

You slowly make your way to your bed and collapse onto it, more sobs escaping you that you barely attempt to stop. Your vision begins to blur and the last thought you have is hoping the next day would be better....

--------

A dull pounding in your head awakes you and your eyes blink open. Attempting to breathe through the headache, horrible, stabbing pain erupting from your throat reminds you of the reason. Laying still in bed for a moment, you remember Lieutenant Ghost's massive hands around your throat, his blazing brown eyes glaring down at you.

With a painful gulp you remind to avoid both of the Lieutenant's as much as possible, not wanting to encite either of their anger. As you sit up from your bed, a low pain from your back makes you figure that it's bruised from the fall.

You grimace as you stand from the bed, having not changed from your rain-soaked clothes before sleeping. The water had seeped into the bed cover, leaving an imprint behind as you stand.

Walking slowly over to the old cabinet, you look into the small mirror hanging above it and grimace at the sight of your neck. Bringing a hand up, you tenderly trace the massive purple handprint with a finger, wincing as even the light graze of your fingers make it ache.

'Under other circumstances...' You think, tracing the bruise further before shaking your head.

Quickly stripping your clothes and pulling on your underwear you rifle through the cabinet for something to cover the bruise. You find an old turtleneck that you pull on with a wince of pain.

After pulling on the rest of your clothes you peek out of the door for a moment before you exit your bunk and begin you way to the mess hall, keeping an eye out for Colonel König. You stop in your tracks as you spot him in the distance, loitering outside the mess hall and you quickly duck behind the corner as he turns your way.

Deciding to do something else you spot the gym and look in through the door, noticing that there are a lot of people in there. You wonder if you should work out yourself when you notice the Lieutenant pulling weights on a machine in the corner.

His arms strain as he slowly pulls the weight, his black sleeveless hoodie riding up his stomach and showing off his abs as he lowers the weights. A fine blond happy trail leads down beneath his gym shorts and your eyes can't help but follow it down.

You glance away with heat rushing to your cheeks before you look back. His hellfire eyes glare straight into your own and an unexpected molten heat begins forming under your skin.

Backing away from the door you turn and begin rushing away, a thousand flustered thoughts rushing in your mind before you bump into hard flesh. Looking up you see the person you were trying to avoid in the first place.

[madrain230]

THE SACRIFICE: Children of the Moon | JJK (2)

Pairing: Jungkook x f. OC

Genre: Dark Romance

Rating: 18+ (nsfw)

Summary: In the Kingdom of Oltira, a special ritual takes place once a year at the beginning of autumn. Mothers are living in fear for the fate of their offspring. Each day and night, each woman prays for the birth of a male child-a son-because once her vulnerable unborn arrives its existence to the world and is a female-a daughter-not even the most heartfelt pleading can save the unfortunate fate that may be death of her dear child.

Warnings: strong bloody violence, explicit language, disturbing behavior, sensitivity, death, animalistic tendency, triggering topics, mature situations-themes, etc. It may also touch some sensitive subjects.

note: I don't own any of the images. please note that all images and copyrights belong to their original owners. no copyright infringement intended.

- CHAPTER 2 -

A sparrow's song's melodic echo began to appear repeatedly in the silent atmosphere. After hearing the tune of bliss, several other animals joined the harmony and allowed a metaphorical entrance into the glory of the sunrise.

There were different colors of red and pink occurring in the sky, which made it a beautiful and relaxing scenery for multiple eyes to watch.

Although the captivating shadow of sunrise over the summit of the forest ceased its soothing colors, minutes later, daylight soon arrived at each perimeter of Oltira's domain.

Another day began once again.

In each household, most children opened their eyes with a motivation, which was to join the cheerful giggles of their friends. Every mother felt a smile on her face when she opened the door, and her impatient children rushed out of the house in delightful laughter.

Along with their owners, steeds, and mules began to appear in the streets with necessary objects—mostly fabrics and edible sustenance—upon their muscular bodies. Men and women began to voice their determination, their audible sentences constantly repeating a specific worth of their object for sale.

It was, thankfully, an active day for the people that were living in such an area.

Nevertheless, it was a wonder for many if the day was going to fade away with happy beliefs.

It was, however, as if nature itself were responding when an enraged rumble echoed its appearance from far away.

Some people immediately looked at the sky with thought, others looked at it with worry, and most decided not to allow their brains to be disturbed by such a simple matter.

Suddenly, in fast and fierce motions, a man with youthful facial characteristics appeared in the surroundings.

Such an appearance became the main focus of attention for the various stares that were present in the location.

When the man nearly fell upon and came face-to-face with a moving horse, everyone became frightened with fear. Naturally, the animal behaved with its instincts, which was to be expected.

It all happened in the blink of an eye as the startled animal forced its massive weight to stand and raise in the air its two front hoofs, its height becoming twice in size while its animalistic sound echoed in panic.

Then, dread reached everyone's gut when the young man fell on his backside in front of the shire horse, which weighed 2000 pounds (907.18 kg) in muscle capacity.

The owner of the steed immediately acted on time and quickly pulled the double reins with effective strength, forcing the animal's head to shift and successfully land its raised hooves away from the man.

“Hoy! Easy!”, the owner spoke out in a hushing tone to his spooked friend while caressing the gray fur.

Then his eyes hardened and narrowed into slits as his attention shifted to the young fellow.

“You almost crashed to death, son! This route is full of people! You shouldn't be running like that!”, The man almost shouted, revealing his anger through words, but all was finished off in vain when a rumble appeared from the atmosphere.

The young man immediately turned his attention to the sky, and his eyes widened in realization as dread pierced through his heart.

With astonished eyes, the spectators could only watch as the man whose body was on the ground stood up and began to run.

Within seconds, the young man's shadow disappeared into the crowd.

“Isn't he Smith's son? Something must have happened for him to behave in that manner ... ”, a man decided to utter deep in thought while approaching the owner and his horse. However, all he gained was silence from the man beside him, and the only sound that was able to prevail in the atmosphere was the sound of an enraged sky.

In a calm yet determined tone, a voice belonging to a man suddenly echoed its existence.

“Wait, let me help you. That seems to be very heavy!”

Upon hearing the words disappear, a surprised gasp appeared in their absence.

Annora's whole attention veered toward the man whose body stood beside her own. As soon as her eyes fell on his face, a beautiful smile greeted her. Instantly recognizing the familiar face, a warmth captured her heart, and before she could open her mouth to talk, after also offering a small smile, astonishment was soon visible in her facial characteristics.

Annora's unspoken words became a long-lost memory when the heavyweight she was holding up was stolen by the arms of the man beside her.

“Arnold! No, you don't have to help me carry this; I can manage.”

“Where to? Eric?”

Arnold didn't look behind him when he asked the question. Annora's eyebrows furrowed a little, clearly somehow annoyed by being interrupted, but then loosened up when a brief chuckle echoed.

Then a statement with the meaning of irony was spoken.

“Walk, Arnold. As if you haven't figured it out already.”

Arnold didn't have to veer around to look at the person who spoke. Immediately recognizing the man's voice, he repositioned the heavy sack on his right shoulder with a gesture, and then his upper lip curled up in a quick appearance.

When the conversation between the two men concluded in a state of silence, Annora was unable to maintain her curiosity and subsequently glanced at one of the men.

As expected, Annora's sight caught a pair of eyes that looked at her with a meaningful gaze that she deeply understood.

She halted all the movements of her body.

The breath she took was an indication to the man behind her that she wanted to discuss it. However, Annora was unable to express her feelings because her presence was ignored.

The sight of her brother ignoring her while walking past her provoked an almost annoyed feeling to come to the surface of her heart. Although it vanished within a few seconds as Eric spun and closed a green eye in her direction, the smirk on his face resembled that of a child's playful disposition.

Annora's eyes lit up, and she cracked a little smile as she accelerated her pace to reach the two tall figures.

It is encouraging to see that he still has that childish behavior.

-

-

-

“Are you planning to stay for dinner? There is enough food on the table to feed one more person.”

Eric looked at Arnold and waited for him to answer. His shoulders were still firmly anchored to the heavyweight of two sacks.

“No, thank you.” Arnold's eyes appeared for a second with a spark of regret. Nonetheless, he swiftly attempted to conceal his emotions by transferring the substantial sack containing potatoes onto another. After thoroughly rubbing both of his hands to remove the dust and dirt, he redirected his attention towards speaking. “I express my gratitude for the invitation, but I must go home.”

Eric nodded and Arnold offered a modest smile as his gaze remained fixed on Annora for a brief period of duration.

“See you around, Annora.”

“I have concerns about it, but even a dumb person can understand the importance of the stares he gives you.”

As he concluded his previous statement, Eric looked at Arnold's faraway figure.

“That man cares for you, Annora.”

A silence surrounded the siblings.

Annora's bottom lip was caught between her teeth, and the beating of her heart became trapped in emotions of distress. Despite the realization that her brother was aware of the emotional circumstances between her and Arnold, she had not anticipated that Eric would be capable of expressing them in such a manner.

Eric was seeking an explanation, but Annora was unwilling to speak at that moment. The reality of her brother's words terrified her and hoped to escape from it.

It is, however, impossible to escape reality...

Annora took a deep breath but was unable to articulate her thoughts when, with a sudden force, the door of the house in her view suddenly swung open.

“Why are you sitting outside the door? Come in quickly, both of you! You will get sick in this kind of weather.”

Upon the sudden appearance of their mother, both son and daughter remained silent for a brief period, but swiftly proceeded towards the open wooden door.

It was evident that their conversation was in a pause.

However, Annora was cognizant of her brother's implied gaze upon her and was aware that she would have to respond to his questions someday in the future.

-

-

-

Upon Annora's entrance through the wooden entrance, the initial odor that struck her was the familiar aroma of freshly picked tomatoes.

She turned her head to the left and immediately observed the ceramic cooking pot, which was suspended above the smoky flames of a small fire.

“What are we having for dinner—Oh! Tomato soup?”

Eric's entire demeanor exuded curiosity when he approached the flames and gazed upon the flaming pot.

“It smells delicious! My dear mother, you know how to capture a man's heart!”

Eric's cheerful voice resembled his facial expression as he gazed upon his mother, whose expression did not convey any indication of her emotions from his words. She merely approached him, holding a total of four wooden bowls in her hands.

“You should wash your hands from the dirt they have and sit down at the dinner table—”

“Yeah, yeah … Understood. Only compliments from your husband are accepted!” Despite his mother's scandalous expression, Eric continued his dramatic talking. “However, I believe you can accept this simple flower from this poor man. If you don't, his poor heart will hurt!”

Annora watched the interaction between her brother and mother with amusement.

She observed as Marianne, her mother, attempted to contain her smile as she accepted the flower from her son, who was kneeling. However, she was unsuccessful in her efforts when Eric stood up and uttered a loud shout of “Yes!” while he kissed her cheek.

Her mother shook her head at her son's childish behavior but the smile never left her face as she turned to her task of serving the dinner once again.

“Are you troubling your mother again?”

Immediately, the attention shifted towards the tall man who entered through the door, as his imposing voice pierced the silence that had prevailed after the amusing conversation between mother and son.

“You know I could never, father.”

Eric responded as he left his mother's side and approached his sister at the table. “Okay, just a bit…”, he whispered as he sat in a chair, causing laughter throughout the house.

“Your son is giving me flowers these days,” Marianne spoke, though she paused and turned to point a knowing glance at the man towards the door. “I am just curious as to who's been teaching him this advice of sweet-talking and flowers.”

The man, named Andrew, declared himself guilty and chuckled as he kissed his wife on the cheek and then sat on the opposite side of his son at the table.

Andrew exhaled, and looked towards Annora, revealing a smile brimming with warmth.

“How are you doing today, Sweetheart?”

Annora's broad smile was enough for her father to comprehend the answer for her well-being.

When dinner was served, a calm atmosphere prevailed among the family, while minor conversations began to occur.

“I suppose you were in the barn when we arrived?”

Before answering Eric, Andrew swallowed a big spoonful of tomato soup from his bowl. “Yes, I needed to check on the animals. They were acting restless this morning after the thunders.”

“It seems that they consistently exhibit unnatural behavior during this particular time of the year, do they?” 

Even though it was a question, Eric's words were better called a statement, for everyone at the table knew that such thoughts would conclude in a conversation with an only end.

“It's like they understand that—”

“Enough!”

“…”

Marianne's voice enveloped the entire household in a chilling silence.

Annora observed her mother with concern.

Her mother's amber eyes were ablaze with anger and frustration, lips drawn in tightly. The appearance of such rigor was a persona that she did not embrace unless it was necessary.

“Marianne—”

“I know, Andrew. I know…”

Marianne took a deep breath and turned her gaze away from Eric. “I'm… I'll be back in a minute. You all keep eating.”

Annora could only watch with deep sorrow as her mother rose from her seat, concealing half of her expression with a hand, and hurriedly fled into the narrow corridor leading to the bedrooms. Once again, silence prevailed within the walls, however, it was swiftly dissipated when a fist was firmly pressed against the table. 

Both the brother and sister looked at their father.

“Why did you feel the need to speak about this matter, son? You know how sensitive your mother is about—”

“But I'm not? You are badly mistaken, father. Do you think I am enjoying discussing this? Of course not! But we cannot pretend every single time that it's not—”

“I know that, Eric! But we have to—Do it for your sister!”

The shouting abruptly stopped and Annora felt sorrow grip her heart. She did not need to glance up to observe that both men individuals, namely her brother and father, were now focusing on her. 

Despite the overwhelming pressure of their stares, Annora stared intently at the nearly empty bowl of her meal. She was aware that if she were to glance at them at least once, the initial reaction she might likely face would be a mixture of feelings of sympathy and sorrow.

Annora closed her eyes for a moment and then, with a clenched jaw, stood up from her chair and approached the one window near the door.

The ominous gray hue of the clouds was almost impossible to ignore when she looked outside.

Annora wanted to laugh.

She wanted to laugh because her family, as well as many others, wanted to forget that once a year, another tragedy was just waiting to unfold.

But how can someone forget something that seems impossible? Especially when nature itself is presenting reality with its presence.

Another rumbling echoed its existence from the sky, and Annora exhaled deeply.

For every thunder, she was able to see, Annora's thoughts kept repeating the names.

Names from so many tragedies that even the older generations could remember.

One of the tragedies was called Charlotte, a woman in her thirties.

Another was called Amelia, a young child.

An old one was called Isabel, an infant … 

Lucia, Adelina, Aria, Clare, Olivia, Sarah, and many others—Dead … A sacrifice.

Annora looked beside her and found her older brother staring at her with concern.

“I'm alright, Eric.”, she blurted, and her brother took a deep breath before answering.

“I know … It's just—”

A faint cry from a church bell echoed for a single time in the distance.

Annora looked outside the window with startled eyes.

Life became a blur of uncertainty.

The creaking of a chair being pushed resonated against the concrete ground, and soon enough, Annora felt a large hand firmly touching her shoulder.

The second chime of a church bell signaled once again its existence.

Gloomy darkness devoured Annora's sanity, and her pulsating heart which was bursting with peace crumbled to a rhythm by chains of fear.

She was unable to speak … It was as if she had a knot in her throat …

Within her, the only words of a voice became endless prayer and pleading.

A deadly third clang chimed from the church's bell.

Annora's eyes were glimmering with fear when she looked at her brother, who was still standing beside her with one of his hands firmly resting on her shoulder.

His green eyes collided with her own, and then … Chaos.

[interstellarsystem]

Waking Up After 10 Years of Dormancy – Identity, Grief, and Change

Long post ahead. This is a recount of my experiences as a headmate who was present in childhood, and then went dormant before waking up again in our 20s. There will be discussion of grief and dormancy in here, and mentions of abuse and headmate death without going into detail.

This is partially for the alterhumanovember / alterhuman writing challenge, and partially to get all of my thoughts out.

I’m Dain, a member of my system that all of the others never knew existed. I was here during childhood, though the exact year I came into existence is unknown, we think I became alive around 2008-2009. I lived alongside others sharing my body for years–maybe even up until 2014-2015. I fell into dormancy around then, and the current system had no idea I ever existed, as when I went to sleep, I took a lot of memories with me.

I don’t remember many of the others I shared time with, just that there was one we considered “the child”, what we would now call the original. I now know there was a switch between the original child and a new headmate, Archie, who isn’t the same person–but I’ll refer to them collectively as “the child” from now on, as my perspective was at the time. 

We–the others in the body–were there, living alongside the child, and I was protecting them along the way. I don’t remember fronting often, moreso… Silently observing, unable to move the body or communicate with them, but still there. Like a background process on a device. If emotions got high enough, I found myself in full control of the body, and I could get us out of whatever situation we had gotten ourselves into. Bullies at school, abusive figures in our lives be it parents or teachers, and other general stress–that was my battle to fight. I was the anger stored up behind the child’s fear, ready to lash out if needed.

As we got older, I started taking control less and less–not because we stopped needing me, but because the child had closed themselves off. They stopped allowing themselves to feel as deeply, and I was triggered into the front a lot less. Nowadays, I’d be aware it wasn’t a conscious choice, and was heavy dissociation, but back then I didn’t know. Some of the others–namely, the Pokemon I also shared the body with–had disappeared since our parents and friends were belittling us for still having “imaginary friends”. The child never spoke of me to anyone though, if they even knew I was there. So I think I only remained a little longer because of that. I’m not sure when I fell into dormancy, or if there was something that triggered it, or simply a gradual slip into sleep.

I woke up, though. At the end of last month, some others in our system had been looking at my source material. Deltora Quest, an anime based on an Australian authors novel–niche, mostly known to those who grew up in the time to watch it air on TV, or had ever picked up the books. We were looking at it again with our partner system, because we remembered it had been a huge special interest of ours as a kid, and had finally gotten around to watching more of it. Something about rekindling the interest woke me, and I was suddenly in the body again.

It, to me, was like I blinked. A foggy memory of being a child, still stressed about school, parents, and whatever else–and then a blink–and then, here. In a body I didn’t recognise, in a house I’d never been in, sharing control of the body with people I had never in my life met before. I still had all those memories of trauma, hurt and fear from before–and they all surfaced at the same time with me. I instantly panicked. After explaining where I was, Xeros, the person in cofront with me, told me that writing out everything coming into my brain could help us all organise and piece it together later. I did what it said, and wrote well over 2000 words before my thoughts slowed down a little bit–enough to actually focus. I called our partner system, calmed down after processing a bit more, and then got into bed to sleep off the residual panic.

It’s definitely taken a long while to come to terms with it. Effectively, I was in a coma for around 10 years, and the whole world moved on without me. I wasn’t in contact with any friends I remembered from before except one–who had changed a lot in the time that passed. I didn’t live where I remembered. Our siblings were so much older, as were our parents. We dropped out of school (though we’d be well past finished it by now). We got diagnosed with a whole bunch of things. We came out as transgender and are essentially completely socially transitioned and looking into HRT–even our parents know. And they know about our system too! Almost everything–if not absolutely everything–I knew before had changed in the blink of an eye. It absolutely shook me, to have my entire world uprooted and rearranged into something I couldn’t recognise as being something I have any part in. 

I felt an intrinsic heartache and felt full-blown grief over a life that, in my own experience, was “lost” through the irreparable change of time. There was no way of going back, no way of gaining back my lost years, and no way of bringing people I was close to back in contact with us or out of internal dormancy aside from sheer chance. We hadn’t died, but I had effectively died for years, and came back to a world that just… Kept moving. I mean, of course it would–the earth doesn’t stop for a single fragmented piece of trauma stored in the recesses of someone's mind. But coming back and not recognising anything or almost anyone around you… It was horrible. The sensation of loss was immense. I felt that I’d “failed” by going dormant, and learning that the child was no longer a part of the system. I felt that my entire purpose had fell through, and I was brought back for… No reason at all.

But… It’s not all bad. Far from it. The child may be gone, but our body isn’t. We’re not doomed to fail at life, as we thought back when I first existed. We’re volunteering and looking into getting an actual job, we have a stable group of friends, a loving partner system, and are on the road to moving out and getting some much needed time away from our home situation. Life isn’t horrible, and while it moved on without me, it moved in ways that were both bad and good. I don’t actually despise being here, even if I might have in the day or so after I woke up. The new group of people I share the body with is supportive, and I’ve already gotten closer to some of them. We’ve made real progress in the time I was gone, even if it all feels uncanny overall. I have a different mindset to what I had when I first woke up–I didn’t fail, I kept us going when we needed it back then. I didn’t give up, and there’s no way of telling where we’d be now if I never was there in the first place. Things are… good.

Though… I’ve got some confusing things within my own identity going on, since I woke up. Before, I was simply a fictive of Dain from Deltora Quest. Nothing much else to it, really. The child’s brain latched onto him as a strong character and implemented me into the system as a protective measure against outside forces. It all makes sense. But now? I feel like since I’ve been back, I’ve become a multifictive. Some part of me now is Tomura Shigaraki from My Hero Academia–something we’ve also been watching through, around the same time we got back into DQ.

It confuses me, in some ways. Makes sense in others. A lot of my mannerisms have changed to be slightly to-the-left of what I was before… Which does happen to lean me more toward acting like him. I questioned it without much deeper thought for a week or so, but found myself saying and doing more and more things that lined up with how he is. I suggested that I was a multifictive to our partner system, and on their second guess (and mind you, their first was a joke guess) of which character I could possibly be, they got it right. I acted enough like him to the point that others could see it, without even any hints. But it’s hard to tell where this came from.

See, I feel like if I wanted to, I could call myself a median subsystem. Others can tell which of my two fictive identities I’m leaning closer to at any given time–my voice, speech patterns and general attitude are instant giveaways. We don’t argue with each other, and the lines between Dain and Shigaraki–if there even are any–are so blurred they’re impossible to define. We can’t talk to each other, and we don’t feel a switch between us. But it’s so obvious that there’s two people, two whole identities, within what I call me. It’s incredibly confusing to think about the possible origin of how I came to be so… Fragmented within myself.

Am I the result of a new headmate that was forming (Shigaraki) getting stuck to whatever remained of the original Dain after he went dormant? Am I the original Dain with a new identity just sort of.. Added onto him? Am I two fully formed headmates put into one as a median entity for some reason? Does it even have a proper explanation that I could come to a concrete conclusion on? Well, no. Like most things that operate within systems, concrete explanations are hard to come by. My origin of why I am who I am now doesn’t matter, in the grand scheme of things, but I still feel the drive to know why I was changed by the time I woke up.

Overall? Life is confusing. Waking up has been a shock, but honestly, I’m glad I did. I’m glad I get to have a second run in this body, with new and kinder people than before to support each other. I’m still working a lot of stuff out, and I’m sure I will be for a long while after this. But… I’m here again, and it’s been a pleasure becoming a part of our new life.

[minthandsoap]

Jordan Teaches Marie to Drive (pt. 2)

2000 ish words

“Baby,” Jordan felt a tap on their shoulder. 

“Jordan? Wake up,”  Marie’s hushed voice whispered into their ear. 

"What?" Jordan grumbled, irked by the interruption. They turned away, pulling the covers closer.

Marie undeterred, promptly yanked the blanker from their body, tossing it aside,

“What the fuck Marie,” they sat up glaring daggers at Marie’s face. “Do you have any idea what fucking time it is? It’s way too early for this shit Marie,” they closed their eyes trying to find sleep again. 

"It's 12:32 pm, Jordan," Marie checked her phone, staring at them with an amused expression. "I don’t think you know what time it is," she smirked.

Jordan could only look at Marie blinking a couple times. Oh shit they thought. “Well fuck me then,” they muttered to themselves, stretching their arms above their head, putting a shirt on and shifting into their female form.

“Later,” Marie quipped. “Right now, we’re gonna grab something to eat and go driving!” Marie exclaimed, a little too perky for Jordan this early in the morn- err afternoon. 

“And why are we doing that?” Jordan asked, heading over to their bathroom to splash cold water on their face. They looked at themselves in the mirror. They looked at their reflection, grimacing. "I look like shit. Melatonin – never again."

“Jordan, you told me that you’d finally take me on the highway today,” Marie walked over to join them in the bathroom, resting her head on their shoulder. “You look like shit, by the way,” she pinched their cheek and leaned against their doorframe. 

Jordan looked over to Marie, rolling their eyes. “You’re too kind,” they responded sarcasm dripping from their mouth. 

Marie laughed walking away to sit on their bed, scrolling through her phone as she waits for them to finish getting ready. 

“Join me?” Jordan wiggled their eyebrows suggestively gesturing at the shower. Marie looked up at them shaking her head no. 

“Boo you,” 

“I already took one Jordan,” Marie laughed softly. “Maybe next time you’d wake up a bit earlier,” Marie stuck her tongue out at them, returning to her phone. 

“Can I at least get a kiss for all of my good deeds?’ Jordan pouted at Marie, their playful expression hinting at a hidden agenda. 

Marie couldn't help but melt at their cuteness. She leaned in, their lips meeting in a tender kiss that lingered longer than either of them expected. As they pulled away, Marie caught Jordan's eyes roaming suggestively over her body.

"No, Jordan," Marie said, her voice firm yet laced with amusement, "that wasn't a confirmation for me joining you in the shower."

Jordan sent a dramatic groan her way before finally hopping in the shower.

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

“"Alright, Marie, we're coming up to the highway. Just check your mirrors and speed up gradually to match the flow of traffic. Look for a safe gap, then merge into the lane," Jordan explained calmly. “You’re not gonna go on the left lane yet alright? Just chill in the right lane and we’ll get right off at the next exit,” Jordan looked at her with a smile.

"I'm kind of nervous," Marie confessed, gripping the steering wheel tightly.

Jordan nodded in understanding. “I mean, you could always just fucking go for it. Fuck yielding to the other cars and make your move,” they looked at her semi-seriously.

“Seriously? Not helpful Jordan,” Marie sighed, nudging the car forward as the traffic light shifted to green.

Okay. I can do this Marie encouraged herself as she began to take the exit to join the other racing cars on the highway. Marie's heart pounded like a drum as she steered Jordan’s Jeep onto the highway, the roar of engines and the whoosh of wind filling her senses. The other cars seemed to whiz by in a blur, so much speed it was dizzying. She gripped the steering wheel tighter, her knuckles turning white, trying to maintain her composure amidst the chaos that is the highway.

Jordan, sensing her anxiety, offered a reassuring hand to her thigh. "Deep breaths, Marie," they reminded her, their voice a steady anchor in the storm of emotions. "You've got this." Marie inhaled deeply, the scent of Jordan's familiar perfume grounding her. She exhaled slowly, feeling the tension in her shoulders at ease. With a newfound determination, she focused on the road ahead, her eyes scanning for a safe gap to merge into. However, Marie's intense focus on finding a safe merge spot caused her speed to plummet from 55 mph to a slow speed of 37 mph.

"You're slowing down babe," Jordan noticed, urgently trying the grasp Marie’s attention. 

Jordan's voice pierced through Marie's concentration, a jolt of reality that snapped her back to the present. She glanced down at the speedometer, the alarmingly low number staring back at her. "Oh crap," she muttered, her foot instinctively pressing the accelerator.

The car lurched forward, the sudden burst of speed sending Marie's heart racing again. She had been so focused on trying to find a spot to merge that she hadn't realized how much she had slowed down.

"Easy there, Marie," Jordan cautioned, their voice laced with concern. "Don't let the pressure get to you. Just focus on maintaining a steady speed baby.” They knew Marie could do it, but that didn’t stop them from gripping the side of the door in nervousness. 

Seeing an opening, Marie maintained her speed, her car inching closer to the highway traffic. She checked her mirrors again, and with a final surge of courage, she merged into the lane. The car beside her honked in protest, the sound spooking her. Fuck she didn’t check her blindspots. She looked to her left, seeing the car that honked at her zooming off, giving her the finger as they passed her. “Sorry!” she called out, her voice barely audible above the roar of the engine. 

“Fuck that guy. Did they not see the bright ass, fluorescent green Student Driver sticker?” Jordan remarked from their perch in the passenger seat, their voice laced with a hint of exasperation.

Still, Marie found herself instinctively slowing down, her car inching along. The cars behind her honked in protest, drivers growing increasingly frustrated with her timid pace.

"Marie," Jordan interjected, their voice laced with concern, "you need to pick up the pace. We're gonna get pulled over if you keep moving so slow."

Marie nodded sheepishly, her foot tentatively pressing down on the accelerator. The car surged forward as Marie's eyes widened as she saw her speed increase rapidly, her heart pounding in her chest. She was going too fast, much too fast for her comfort level.

"Marie!" Jordan exclaimed, their voice laced with alarm, “Fuck, slow down! You're going to get us killed! You’re going 95 in a fucking 55!”

How the fuck did she manage to speed up that fast?

Marie's foot slammed on the brakes, the car lurching forward like a startled beast. The tires screeched, the smell of burning rubber filling the air. Jordan lunged forward, their hand instinctively reaching for the wheel. They grabbed it just in time, their fingers tightening around the leather as they wrestled control of the car from Marie's panicked grasp.

Jordan pressed the emergency lights, and they skillfully maneuvered  the car onto the shoulder of the highway. The car finally halting near the guardrail.

Marie's body sagged against the seat, her heart pounding in her chest like a drum. She had never experienced such fear, such a sense of impending doom. Marie was sure she saw the pearly white gates for a second. She looked over at Jordan, their calm demeanor was a stark contrast to her own panic.

“Okay,” Jordan began. “How about I drive us back?”

“Good idea,” Marie responded quickly, already hopping out of the driver's seat to sit in the passenger. She glanced back at the highway, her heart still pounding in her chest.

*******

The car ride back to campus was cloaked in an uneasy silence. Marie's mind was a whirlwind of emotions, a mix of relief, gratitude, and a lingering sense of fear. She couldn't help but replay the events of the day, the way her hands had trembled on the steering wheel, the panic that had gripped her as the car sped towards disaster.

Jordan, on the other hand, radiated a calm that surrounded their nonchalance. Their gaze was fixed on the road ahead, one hand steady on the wheel, the other rubbing circles high up Marie’s thigh. Their mind seemingly preoccupied with the task at hand. Marie was jealous, of not only their driving skills but with how easily they handled the situation. She can only be thankful that Jordan was there next to her. 

Finally, as the campus came into view, Jordan broke the silence. "Marie," they began, their voice laced with concern,  “you okay?"

Marie broke the silence. “I’m never fucking driving again,” her voice barely a whisper, hugging herself tightly.

“Mar, that was your first time on the highway,” Jordan began, their voice gentle. “I mean, you drove like shit but-“

“Thanks,” Marie scoffed interrupting them while stepping out the car in anger.

“Sorry, sorry!” Jordan quickly got out the car, stopping Marie from walking away. “Sorry,” they repeated one more time voice genuine and remorseful. “It’s gonna take practice babe but I know you can do it!” They continued. “Especially as me as your teacher!” They boasted. “Okay?” Jordan held her eyes. “We can try again tomorrow  bright and early how about that?” Jordan grabbed Marie’s hands hopeful.

“Nope, no, no, no, no, no. I need a fucking break from driving,” Marie declared firmly. 

“Babe, you need to learn eventually,” Jordan rolled their eyes at her.

Marie flashed a mischievous smile. "Well, not right now, then. I don't mind being your passenger princess for a while longer."

"God that's hot," Jordan let out a low groan, rubbing a hand over their now flushed face. They switched into their male form and with no hesitation, Jordan swept Marie into their arms, securing her tightly around their waist while fully sprinting to the dorms. 

“We’re gonna do what I wanted to do to you this morning,” Jordan grinned widely, kissing her cheek (still actively running mind you)

 “Oh my god,” Marie laughed in their arms.

After what Marie believed to be thirty seconds of Jordan running (how the hell were they that fast), Jordan had Marie pushed up against her dorm wall, kissing and reaching for her everywhere. Marie brought their lips back up, bringing them into a searing kiss. They moaned into each other lips.

“Open the door Moreau,” Jordan nipped her ear, arms wrapped around her waist. Marie turned towards the dorm door, opening it slightly and pulling Jordan inside. The two started taking off the other’s clothes, walking in sync towards Marie’s bed. Jordan swiftly picked Marie up, laying her gently on her bed, reached behind Marie, unclipping her bra. Their hands were all over each other; touching and kissing. As Jordan moved down to her chest, Marie’s door swung wide open. 

“She said she’s gonna be with Jordan all day so we’re in the clear-oh.” The door creaked open, revealing a flustered Emma and an equally confused Sam.

“Shit!”  Marie exclaimed, her hands instinctively covering her chest as she pulled Jordan closer, shielding them from the intrusive eyes.

"What are you doing here?!" Emma asked, her voice laced with panic as she covered her eyes. "You said you'd be gone all day!" she whined, turning around with Sam to give the couple some privacy as they hurriedly dressed.

"We finished early," Marie explained hastily, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

“Fuck,” Jordan groaned. “Can’t even have sex in peace. God, am I being punished?” they groaned in an even louder tone.

“You literally have a dorm to yourself, why the fuck are you guys here?!” Emma complained her eyes still fixed on the door.

“You can turn around now, we’re decent,” Jordan sighed.

Emma turned, pointing directly at Jordan. "Cool," she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "And I say this with love; fuck off and go to your dorm."

Marie and Jordan exchanged a quick glance, their silence speaking volumes. Without another word, they shuffled out of the shared dorm and headed towards Jordan's room, their footsteps echoing in the empty hallway.

“So, is the mood ruined? If not, I still want you to sit on my face,” Jordan looked at Marie hopeful.

“Jesus Jordan,”

[dragcnbreak]

crazy for this boy

Ness is taken aback by a pretty man entering the diner and maybe moves a bit too fast with him.

Also cross-posted on AO3!

◞♡࿐

Ness was gay, which is a fact that is pretty much as old as time itself. Even with the year being 2000 and living in the state of Utah, he didn’t much try to hide it. That may have been the main reason why he was staring at the most beautiful man he’s ever seen in his life. Ness worked at a dinner called Sparky’s and he does meet a lot of pretty men who catch his eye but none quite like this one.

The man had the most intense hazel eyes, matted hair that was still somehow cute, and a gorgeous chiseled jaw with an endearing five o’clock shadow. Ness pouted internally when he saw him sit at a table that he wasn’t waiting. So before his coworker, Tara, could approach, he began to bribe her for the table. She gave him a knowing glance, letting him have it.

“Hi. Welcome to Sparky’s, sugar! What can I get you started with?” Ness rolled up to the table with confidence. It’s only when the man blushes that he realizes he let a pet name slip. “U-um, just a… water is fine.” Ness peered down at the stuttering man, smiling at the name tag on him reading “Mike”.

“Gotcha, Mike! Anything else? Lunch is the most important meal of the day after all.” Mike frowned at that. “Is it really lunchtime already? Damn it.” The sentences cause Ness to frown too. “Is everything okay?” He can’t help but ask, wanting to know more about the guy in front of him. “It’s none of your business.” Mike shook his head.

“I’ll be right back.” Ness says, an idea forming. He reported to his manager, Clyde, and explained that he would be going on his break now. Clyde nodded and Ness grabbed two waters on his way back out, one for Mike and one for him. The mentioned is taken aback when Ness comes and sits with him.

“I’m on my break so don’t worry,” Ness sipped his water, “but spill. You seem like you’ve got something worrying you and I want to help.” Mike furrowed his eyebrows. “I don’t even know you… Ness.” He said, glancing at the other’s name tag. “So?” Ness kept the conversation going, ignoring how his heart fluttered when Mike said his name.

Mike just sighed softly, drinking his water as well. “I guess… Um, I just can’t find a babysitter for my little sister for tonight. My usual one is sick and I really need to go to work.” Mike explained while he stirred his drink with his straw. “I can watch her!” Ness almost yelled, nearly spilling his own water.

The shorter blinked owlishly. “Seriously? Again, I don’t even know you.” He let go of his drink, staring at Ness, who just waved his hand. “The name’s Ness. And now you know me!” He smiled brightly, making Mike want to reciprocate it. “I’m free tonight and you need a sitter. I promise I’m not a serial killer or anything like that. Just a guy who wants to help a pretty boy like yourself.” Ness reached over the table, clasping Mike’s hand and looking into his eyes. The words and actions caused them both to blush and Ness quickly moved his hand away.

Mike sighed again, reaching back to scratch his neck. “I… I guess? I get paid tomorrow so I can pay you then. Just don’t hurt my sister or I’ll make you regret it.” Mike threatened Ness but all Ness saw was an adorably angry puppy. But he filed away that thought for later and nodded. “Don’t worry about paying me! This’ll just be my good deed for the day.” He reasoned.

The other didn’t argue, figuring it would be a losing battle to try to. Instead, Mike grabbed a napkin and a pen he kept in his work uniform. “Here’s my address and my um, my phone number.” He stuttered over his words, writing said things on the napkin.

Ness gave him a kind smile. “What time should I be over tonight?” Mike thought it over for a second. “7 works for me.” Ness nodded. “And 7 works for me too. My break should be about over but I’ll see you then, pretty boy.” Ness grabbed the napkin with one hand and the other took Mike’s hand again. Confidence filled him as he reached down and kissed the hand he held. Mike watched, flustered, as Ness then stood up and walked away.

◞♡࿐

Ness turned up to the Schmidt’s house 10 minutes shy of seven o’clock. He was a bit nervous about meeting Abby for the first time and babysitting her so he tried to channel some of the confidence earlier.

But then he knocked on the door and Mike answered it shirtless and his attempts were thrown out the window. The shorter must have just gotten out the shower the way his hair was wet and a towel was wrapped around his waist. “Sorry about… this.” He motions to his chest. “Shower. Um, I told Abby about you. She might be shy…” Mike talked more than he ever had before and here Ness was, spacing out and practically drooling at the sight of Mike.

“Ness!” The mentioned blinked a few times, returning to the world of the living. “Y-yes!” He nearly shouted. “Are you okay?” Mike asked with furrowed brows. “Of course! Why do you ask?” Mike frowned. “You’re bleeding.” He pointed to his nose, indicating where the blood was coming from. Ness swiped a finger under his nose. He copied Mike’s frown when he saw blood on the finger.

“Let me get dressed and I’ll help you before I go to work. Don’t get blood on the floor!” The shirtless man left the room, his little sister taking his place. She stared at him knowingly and suddenly, Ness wanted to die right there and then.

[cheerycherrycandy-resurrected]

Ghoulette Appreciation Week 6

Week 6: Murder Ghoulettes and self-care

Aurora wakes up thirsty. Cumulus taking Aurora out on her first hunt, followed by a tiny bit of self-care with Cirrus afterwards.

Rating: M Content: murder ghoulettes, kinda vampire au, blood/violence/murder Words: 1270

In my mind Aurora is a huge Twilight-girlie, so you can't tell me she doesn't try and recreate Bella's first hunt to cope with learning what her topside diet includes...

Read below or on AO3! where this almost got named "good soup"

Aurora wakes up thirsty. She’s been topside for a few months by now, and while she’s mostly on top of this strangely fragile Vessel’s needs, she’s never felt a thirst quite like this. Her mouth feels drier than it does after a band rehearsal without water, like her throat is burning.

She delicately untangles herself from the arms of the ghoulettes around her and makes her way to the kitchen to get a drink. Grabbing the largest glass she can find, she fills it and gulps it down, immediately refilling it. Nothing. In fact her thirst seems to be worse than ever. Too cold some instinct screams at her. She puts the glass in the microwave, and takes another sip of the gently steaming liquid. Wrong. Aurora lets out a small growl which reverberates around the darkened kitchen, mocking her in her frustration. The lights flicker to life as Cirrus joins her in the kitchen, yawning widely.

“What’cha doing, Rory? ‘S too early to be up yet.”

Aurora turns to her with frantic eyes, gesturing to the half full glass of warm water, “I’m so thirsty Cir, but water just makes it worse!”

Cirrus seemed to wake up fully at that, blinking sleep from her quickly darkening eyes. “Ah. I thought you were overdue a feed. Lus is going on a trip soon, she’ll take you later.”

A feed? What sort of trip? Aurora rakes her fingers through her hair in frustration at Cirrus’s cryptic behaviour. With a tilt of her head at Aurora's confusion, Cirrus turns abruptly to head back to the dorms.

“Come on, you'll want to be sitting down for this.”

Aurora took the news well. Almost too well. Instead of the abject horror most ghouls displayed at having to hunt in their weak humanoid forms to survive topside, she seemed almost excited at the prospect.

"So we're like vampires up here?” There was a disconcerting gleam to her eyes. "That's so cool!”

Cirrus and Cumulus shared a glance. Oh dear. They recalled Aurora's current obsession with 2000s chick-flicks. She watched Twilight last week. Cumulus nodded sheepishly; at least this reaction was better than the hysterics from Sunny.

“Sure thing Starburst, just like Vampires.” Cumulus didn't specify that she meant the non-glittery-variety. “Go get changed, we'll head out this morning before the boys decide to join us. Rain always makes such a mess.”

Aurora practically skipped across the hall to her room.

"Good luck with that.” Cirrus remarked to Cumulus, “I'll have a hot bath ready when you get back.”

“Thanks love.” Cumulus rolled her eyes good-naturedly, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “I'll bring the little bloodsucker back in once piece.”

“I'm ready!” chirps Aurora from the doorway. She's met with stunned silence for a second.

"Sweetie,” Cirrus starts hesitantly, “What are you wearing?”

A short while later, once Aurora has been convinced that while yes, she definitely can wear that tiny silk dress, she really does have to put proper shoes on, Cumulus leads the way to the edge of the forest surrounding the Abbey. As she does, she makes a mental note of other movies to blacklist.

The pair trek through miles and miles of forest, well beyond the invisible perimeter wards of the Abbey. There is an agreement with the Clergy that although ghouls definitely need to feed, they should do so as far from the Abbey as possible, and not in the same region too often. After her initial excitement, Aurora now feels her mouth getting drier and drier with each step.

After what feels like hours, Cumulus stops, sniffing the air around them and smiling.

“Alright Rory, you're good to go.”

"What do I do?” Aurora asks uncertainly. The air here felt thick, and held the same allure as the waft of Mountain's freshly baked bread did.

“Oh you'll see,” Cumulus smirks, "just follow your nose.”

Aurora took a deep sniff before instinctually dropping into a hunting crouch. The scent was stronger down here, sticking to the leaves underfoot. She slinks through the trees, tracking the captivating smell until the air around them is rich with it. A gust of wind blows it even stronger in their direction, and she takes off running in the direction of the mouthwatering aroma. The branches around her tear at the flimsy satin of her dress and Cumulus has to laugh internally at the destruction: what did she expect?

The deer hunter Aurora has tracked never stood a chance. Before he could even link the sounds of branches snapping with danger, the small ghoulette is on top of him, his gun still raised in the direction of a spooked deer that is now bolting away.

She rips and tears at his flesh with vicious fangs and claws, carving through bone and sinew, and devouring blood, viscera, organs. The rush of warmth on her tongue and the sweet, metallic tang finally satiates her unholy thirst. As Aurora begins to return to herself from the red haze of the hunt, Cumulus looks on proudly, with feral eyes of her own. There is blood smeared around Aurora's mouth, her entirely ridiculous dress is hanging onto her by threads, more rip than fabric, and Cumulus can't help but marvel at her terrifying beauty.

She helps Aurora maneuverer the remains of the hunter's lifeless body deeper into the trees. By the time he is found, likely months later, his ghoulish mutilations will be indistinguishable from those caused by a wild animal. Possibly the ghouls will see talk of a bear attack in the newspapers the Siblings of the Abbey read.

Aurora’s thirst may be satisfied but Cumulus’s is only baited, so the pair move on. It isn’t done to share one’s prey with another ghoul if they are not mated, so Cumulus will find another victim, she always does. Sometimes they even come willingly, hypnotised by her unfathomable beauty in the depths of the unforgiving forest.

Eventually returning to the Abbey, Aurora find that the less feral she feels, the more she realises how deeply uncomfortable she is; cold and sticky, covered in mud, blood, and Satan only knows what else. Cumulus tempts her to keep moving quickly, despite the tiredness that is setting back into her bones, by telling her how Cirrus won't be able to resist her after a hunt. She’ll run them a warm bath, meticulously clean her claws for her, and take care of her in every way she knows. Cumulus tells Aurora how she's in for it now, as she looks every inch the terrifying hellbeast that she is.

They enter the ghoul wing with their hair everywhere, wild nests full of twigs and leaves. They are careful to avoid the common areas of the Abbey looking like this. All the ghouls, no matter how reckless they are when hunting, know better that to give any indication to the Siblings of Sin that this side of them exists.

“How'd the little vampire do?” Cirrus asks Cumulus when they tumble into her room, jumping up to begin picking detritus out of her Mate's hair and usher them both towards the cloud of sweet-smelling steam emanating from the bathroom.

Aurora is doing great: she’s preening just inside the door, feigning nonchalance as she picks blood out from under her claws. The dress maybe didn’t survive as well as she expected, the liquid silk slip hanging off her small frame in tatters. She shoots out a delicate tongue to lap up a spot of blood on her arm, her high-pitched purr reverberating around the room with self-satisfaction.

Cumulus smirks, “Oh, she’s gonna be just fine up here Riri.”

[zepskies]

Assistant Hottie

Pairing: Jason Teague x F. Reader (implied Jason T. x Lana Lang)

Summary: Jason Teague, Assistant Football Coach, meets you in the faculty break lounge at Smallville High. He tries to kick you out, thinking you’re a student. Technically, you are. Turns out, you both go to the same university. 

AN: So I know it’s about 20 years late, but I’ve been wanting to write some Jason Teague for a while now. There’s a very dated reference to iPods (remember this show was circa early 2000s).

Word Count: 2,600 Tags/Warnings: Implied love triangle (quadrangle?), fluff, tinge of angst, and a meet cute.

“Hey, Coach T!”

Jason turns his head, shooting Clark Kent a smile that’s just a little bit forced. He slows down in the busy hallway so the younger man can catch up.

Clark’s friends, Chloe Sullivan and Lana Lang keep walking, though the brunette glances his way. Her hazel eyes catch his.

But Jason focuses on Clark, who’s coming at him with all six feet and three inches of farm boy earnestness.

Jason has City Boy Charm in his arsenal.

“What’s up, man?”

Clark smiles. “Real quick, just wanted to ask you about the drills we’re running today…”

Eighth period is about to start, meaning just another hour until school ends, and another day of practice begins on the football field. Clark takes all five minutes between classes to ask his questions about how he can better move the ball, his throwing technique, how to better communicate on plays with the rest of the guys.

As always, Jason gives Clark the best advice he has to offer. Even a few months into this job, he’s still feeling a bit of imposter syndrome. He’s only a couple of years older than the guys he’s coaching, and Clark is looking at him like he’s got all the answers.

Newsflash, champ. I don’t. Jason smiles though. 

Because Clark is something else. He’s a starting quarterback of a game he’s never played before in his life. Head Coach Quigley thought it was steroids at first, but Jason had a gut feeling about the guy.

“He’s not a cheater,” he’d told Quigley. The other man had scoffed, rubbing his chin.

“Okay, Teague. If you think so,” he said. “…Make him piss in a cup anyway.”

Since then, Clark hasn’t given Jason a reason to doubt him, at least on the field.

No, his reasons for still being wary of Clark are more…personal.

“All right, we’ll workshop the rest later on the field,” Jason says, as the starting bell rings. “You’re gonna be late for class.”

“Okay, see ya later.” Clark nods and holds up a hand in goodbye. To tell the truth, Jason is a little relieved to see him go.

Instead of heading to his office, he makes a pitstop at the faculty break lounge for a cup of coffee. He could use a little pick-me-up, even if it is from a watery K-cup.

When he pushes open the door, he’s greeted by the familiar smell of stale roasted hazelnut and microwaved fish. Along with the wall-to-wall countertop and refrigerator down the end, there’s a small round table fitted with just three chairs.

Uh oh, he thinks.

You’re sitting there with a pair of earbuds in, nodding to your music while you make notes with a red pen. The contents of your messenger bag are half-strewn across the table, displaying a couple of notebooks and binders, different colored highlighters, pens, and a post-it pad.

Your back is facing him, so he has to walk around the table to get your attention. He hesitates, before he taps your shoulder. He’s never had to do this before, and he’s actually a bit nervous.

“Hey there,” he says. His lips quirk when you jolt a little. You stare up at him with wide eyes and the top of your pen resting against your lower lip. 

“Uh…” You remove your ear buds and hit pause on your iPod.

“Did you get lost on the way to study hall, or you just here for the coffee?” Jason gestures to the Keurig machine on the counter. “Hate to break it to you, but that stuff’s not exactly quality joe.”

You blinked at him. “What? Um…I mean yeah, the coffee’s ass. But it is free, I guess.”

Jason tries to reign in his smile. He cards a hand through his blonde hair and taps his free hand on the table.

“Uh, are you ditching class or something?” he asks. “If it’s history, I get it. Snooze fest.”

He makes a flatlining motion with his hand. Your brows knit together in confusion…but then you brighten.

“Oh, I’m not a student,” you laugh. “But good on you for trying to lay down the law, Coach Teague.”

Now it’s Jason’s turn to be confused. “How did you know—”

You point with your red pen, over to the yellow patch emblazoned on his red polo that says: Crows Football and Assistant Coach.

“Pretty sure you’re the one the cheerleaders are calling Assistant Hottie,” you say. Your gaze is wry and a hint playful.

He lets himself smile, albeit with some embarrassment. He points at you.

“And you’re…”

“Part-time teacher’s aid,” you reply. Your hands make a frame around the stack of papers in front of you, that Jason now realizes you’re grading.

Great. His face warms a bit.

“Sorry,” he chuckles, and points to the coffee maker. “Let me just mind my business.”

He doesn’t know it, but you subtly watch him with a small smile while he goes about said business. The Keurig eventually spits out more roasted hazelnut into his Styrofoam cup.

With his prize in hand, he means to leave you in peace to head for his office, but your voice stops him.

“You can sit if you want. I need a break anyway.”

Jason can admit, at least to himself, that he’s curious. (About you.) He goes over to the table and sits down across from you. His eyes unconsciously dart over the splayed contents of your bag, and you don’t miss it.

“Sorry,” you say, as you try to reign in the mess and corral things back into your bag. “I’m kind of an organized chaos kind of girl.”

“No worries. I dabble in that philosophy myself,” he says with a grin. “I’m Jason, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you,” you reply, giving him your name in return.

You like his smile. His long fingers are wrapped around the steaming cup. Meanwhile, the afternoon sun is pouring in from the windows behind him. It shines golden on his hair and broad shoulders, and makes his green eyes look warm.

Those eyes glance down and focus on a familiar badge sticking out of your bag. His brows furrow.

“No way. You go to Kansas A&M?” he asks. “So do I.”

You blink at him. “What, you’re still in college?”

He laughs and leans back in his chair, blowing out a breath.

“Okay, wow! A bit rude," he says. "Just how old do you think I am?”

You bite your lip in embarrassment.

“Second thought, don’t answer that,” he quips.

“I’m sorry,” you say, through a bit of laughter. “I guess we’re both reading each other wrong today.”

Jason shakes his head and crosses his arms.

“No, no. It’s fine,” he says airily. “Lest I be any more presumptuous, can I ask what year you’re in? Major?”

You concede with a nod, but you’re still smiling too hard.

“Secondary Education. Junior year,” you say. Jason’s brows raise with his grin still in place.

“Okay, a future teacher on our hands.” He leans forward. “As it turns out, I’m actually a sophomore.”

A year below you. You bury your reddened face in your hands, though a giggle still bubbles up.

He doesn’t let you stew in your misery for long though.

“Eh, it’s okay. Don’t feel too bad,” he says. You hear the smile in his voice, and you peek out at him from between your fingers. “I’m technically a year behind. Transferred from another school so I could take this job.”

Once again, your eyes widen as your hands fall away from your face.

“Oh, yeah? I assume you play football, but I’ve never seen you on the team…”

Jason’s smile turns playfully cocky.

“I don’t play anymore, but I’ll have you know, I was on track for the NFL.”

Yeah, for about a minute, comes a dull reminder in his brain.

You rest your chin in your hand as you meet his smile. “Okay. You definitely have the face of a guy who almost went pro.”

Your voice lowers at the end there, impersonating every “dude bro” you’ve ever met who thought he could throw a ball across a field.

“I’m serious.” Jason laughs, but then his eyes dim a bit. “I played for Metropolis U. Tore my rotator cuff, and uh���that’s it. Scrubbed. Had to start over.”

You dim along with him. “That sucks ass. I’m sorry.”

He snorts, almost spilling his coffee. “You’ve certainly got a way with words.”

“But you feel better for me calling you old, don’t you?” Your pen taps on your lip, and his eyes are drawn to the gesture.

He also notices your eyes, the shape of your face, the shade of your hair, the black Fleetwood Mac shirt (with a ripped V hinting at cleavage). It doesn’t exactly scream T.A., but you’re pretty.

Beautiful, really.

He tries not to notice that too much.

“Maybe a little,” he allows. He smiles behind a sip of his drink. It’s getting cold, as he forgets to actually drink it.

“My parents sent me to college to be a lawyer,” you confess. It perks his interest with raised brows. “Like my mom, and my uncle, and his father before him, and so on.”

Jason’s smile is back. You consider that a small triumph.

“I sat in one class. Intro to Business Law.” You shudder at the memory. “Jason, I wanted to bludgeon myself with the textbook. And it wouldn’t have taken long. That thing was the size of a Dostoyevsky novel.”

Jason laughs, even though he doesn’t know who Dostoyevsky is. It does unearth a distant memory of his 12th grade English class (he barely passed that one).

“So, I decided to disappoint them,” you say ruefully.

That, he understands all too well. He raises a finger at you. “Hey, a teacher’s respectable. But I happen to be an expert at disappointed parents, so you’re in good company.”

You smile, small but genuine. Jason counts that as a win.

“What’s your major now?” you ask.

“Sports medicine,” he replies, but you both hear the lack of enthusiasm in his voice.

Your head tilts, and your eyes soften. Not with pity, he thinks. Maybe with understanding.

“You could find something else you’re actually passionate about,” you say.

Jason bites the inside of his lip, sets his cup back on the table.

“Sure,” he says.

His lackluster answer is telling, and he can’t even think of a joke to inject into this moment to lighten the mood. (He even disappoints himself there.)

“Look, I get it,” you say at last. “You probably ate, slept, breathed that game. Like that’s what you were put on this earth to do. And I know you must’ve been good. Because the fact that this school hired you while you’re still in college is amazing.”

He meets your gaze steadily. 

Your smile brightens. “But I’m sure football’s not all there is to you.” 

That touches him. Warms him even, though he’s reluctant to let it. 

“We just met, and you’re already sure about that?” he remarks. 

You shrug, gesturing at his cup. “Well, I’m sure that you probably have crappy taste in coffee. I’m broke as hell, and even I don’t drink from a Keurig.” 

Jason laughs. If you only knew that he’d spent his summer in Paris, sampling some of the best restaurants and cafés in the world without even looking at the bill…until his dad cut him off. Needless to say, he’s had to refine his tastes.

“What kind of teacher do you want to be?” he asks, instead of getting to all that.

Your brow arches. “You mean what subject?”

“Yeah. What, like physics or something?”

“Ew. God, no!” 

“What’s wrong with physics?”

“Too much math. I’m shit at that shit,” you reply. 

“Okay. No to the sciences.” He laughs and rubs his chin, squinting at you. “Let me see if I can guess.”

You gesture widely. Go ahead.

“Not economics, I’m thinking. Too close to business,” he teases.

“Business law,” you correct. “But you’re actually right about that.”

“Hmm, history?”

“It's interesting, but it’s also rigged,” you say. “Only the victors in society get to dictate what gets remembered. Just look at Columbus Day. What a sham that is.”

Jason allows that with a nod and a smile. “All right, what then? Algebra? Geometry?”

“That’s math, remember?” you reply, with furrowed brows. “Besides, I don’t like mixing letters and numbers. It’s not sanitary.” 

He chortles at that. You’re a little ridiculous, but he kind of likes that.

“Okay, how about English?” he says.

Your gaze flicks up to his. A small, growing smile. 

“What makes you say that?” you ask. 

“Process of elimination?” he says. His smile curves. He saw your little reaction. “But I don’t know. I get the feeling you’re a hell of a lot smarter than me. The way you’re talking, all quick as a whip… Like I said, you’ve got a way with words.”

You laugh a little. “Oh, do I?” 

Jason’s brows raise expectantly as he leans back in his seat again.

Well, then? that move says. “Am I right?”

Your head tilts, and you answer the unspoken challenge in his eyes. You raise a finger and pull out one of your notebooks and you take up your red pen. You tap the top of it on your lip, in what seems to be your habit, and you begin to write on a clean piece of paper.

Your hand moves with purpose on each word. Jason watches you in curiosity. Though when you realize he’s staring hard at your paper, your free hand forms a wall against his probing eyes.

“No cheating,” you reproach.

He scoffs, but he waits for you to finish.

Finally, you tear off the piece of notebook paper, fold it up neatly, and you slide it over to him.

“What, are we passing notes now?” Jason can’t help but joke, even as he opens the little gift. “I thought we weren’t in class, Professor.”

You shake your head. “Just read it.”

He starts to, and his smile grows. He glances back up at you. “You wrote me a poem?”

“Just a little haiku.” You gesture at him to keep reading while you start to pack up your things. The alarm bell just tolled for the end of class, and you have another job to get to.

Jason’s eyes lower back down to the looping scrawl of your handwriting. His smile deepens into a smirk.

Assistant Hottie

You flatter me, see through me

Smarter than he thinks.

He stares at your words for a while. He rereads the last line a few times.

By the time he looks back up, your bag is packed and you’re standing, ready to go. You smile at him.

“See you on campus,” you say. “I also work at the Writing Center, if you ever need a spruce up on your essays.”

“Can I get you to rewrite my history paper?” he teases.

“Make an appointment,” you counter, still with that smile. “And we’ll see.”

You leave the faculty lounge, and Jason feels a suspicious jolt in his heart.

Something he immediately feels guilty about. 

Because the real reason he came back to Kansas is to continue his summer fling with Lana Lang, a senior at Smallville High. 

Well, to him, it’s not a fling. He used to think it was as close to love as he’s ever been. Recently though, he’s been getting the sense that she’s still hung up on her not quite ex, Clark Kent.

That’s not even the most complicated part.

She’s 18, and Jason’s barely 20, but their relationship could still one day be the reason he loses his job…

And maybe, any chance he might have of being friends with someone like you.

AN: Lol no shade to my sciences, history, and math people! Just creating a character. Let me know what you think! 😉

And if you liked this...

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[boombambaby]

Fictober 2024! - "I know you better!"

"I know you better!" - BoomBamBaby010 - Emperor's New Groove (2000) [Archive of Our Own]

Organized chaos is the best way to explain what happens once the pink vapor cloud of the potion finally begins to dissipate.

Within moments the royal guards have taken over, rushing towards the window Kronk had just appeared from to drag him and a still dazed, but highly agitated kitty Yzma away, and to figure out how to bring Kuzco and Pacha back inside safely. Kuzco blinks his eyes open to glance first across the platform at Pacha, who is staring back at him in what he assumes to be relieved shock and then down at his very human, very NAKED body.

“We did it! Hah! Look, Pach! I’m ME again! Yay for me!”

Hands scrabble to press against his chest, feeling his skin to make sure there isn’t any fur, and laughing a little as he makes sure everything is still in working order. Modest isn’t a word one could ever use to describe Kuzco, having grown up in a palace surrounded by servants who dress, massage and bathe you for special ceremonies (or for whenever he feels like it, honestly), so his current state of undress doesn’t even register until Pacha clears his throat to speak.

“Kuzco.”

Broken out of his thoughts at the sound of Pacha’s strained voice, Kuzco glances up only to find a poncho hovering in front of his face and blocking his line of sight. He blinks, confused and leans around the side of it to stare at Pacha, only to find the llama herder using his unoccupied hand to shield his eyes from the view.

“What are you, five?” He quips, amused.

“Kuzco, take the poncho. You can’t address your public and announce that you aren’t dead like that.” Pacha grits out, and the Emperor snickers as he takes the familiar clothing item and slips it over his head. This is the second time Pacha has offered it to him, the first time being when he was shivering and curled up on the ground in the jungle, and for reasons he doesn’t quite understand he can feel himself almost tearing up from the sentimentality of it.

Someone clears their throat above them, and they both look up to find the Royal Record Keepers head poking out of the window, staring down at them and gesturing wildly.

“Are you both okay? Oh! I can’t believe you’re alive, Kuzco! Thank Inti! We were so worried! Oh we have to—“

RRK quickly disappears, presumably to start barking orders at servants and the scribe to summon the council and schedule an audience and Kuzco sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Sure didn’t miss all of that.” He mutters, just loud enough for Pacha to hear him over the wind.

Relief is a tangible thing in that moment, unseen but heavily felt in the air between them and they share a quiet look of amused understanding that only two people who have shared a figurative fox hole are capable of.

Sometime later, after he and Pacha are hoisted through the window and back onto solid ground, and Kuzco has been checked out by the Royal Healers to ensure there aren’t any injuries or side effects from the spell, the two of them are briefly separated while Kuzco speaks with his advisors and makes plans to announce his good health. It’s taxing, and all he wants to do is take the longest bath of his life, have a massage and curl up in bed for a solid week– responsibilities be damned. But it’s a necessary evil, and once he’s crossed all his t’s and dotted his i’s, the council and most of the guards finally leave him alone.

“What would you like done with them?”

The question catches him off guard, and Kuzco spins around to ask the guard who he’s talking about when he finally notices Kitty Yzma thrashing against the bars of a makeshift cat carrier sitting on the floor. Kronk is sitting beside her, unusually stoic and he wonders not for the first time how someone like him could get caught up with someone like the living crypt keeper.

“Well, I’m sure not taking them to dinner, chuckles.” It’s directed at the guard, but Kuzco is watching Kronk when he makes the comment and notices the visible flinch he gives at the mention of a ‘dinner’.

If he had to bet, he’d guess the big buffoon didn’t even realize what he was doing and was more interested in impressing him with that dinner than actively trying to hurt him. What a shame. “Take them to the dungeon. Let them rot down there for a while we figure out what to do with them. But first– I’d like a word with kitty kitty.”

Yzma hisses at the nickname, and that alone makes this inevitable conversation all the more worth it. Kuzco smirks as he heads over to the carrier, bending down so he’s not exactly face to face with the feline, but more than close enough to catch her eyes.

“Hey, look at the bright side! At least you have hair now!” Kuzco teases, grinning when he’s met with a nose twitching scowl.

“Kuzco, listen; this has all been one huge misunderstanding—“ Yzma starts, but she’s quickly interrupted by Kuzco lifting a hand. “Ah ah ah! That’s EMPEROR Kuzco to you. Now that I’m large and in charge again.”

Another scowl, and an irritated flick of her tail. “My apologies, Emperor Kuzco. As I was saying—“

“Yeah, yeah. I heard you. A ‘misunderstanding’.” He repeats, air quotes emphasizing the comment. “But you see, the funny thing is? I heard you back in that Jungle, Yzma. Telling Kronk all about tracking that llama down and killing him. It’s a little hard to misinterpret that, wouldn’t you say?”

For a moment there’s no reaction, Yzma’s furry little face distorted in shock at being caught red pawed, and Kuzco revels in his amusement at catching her off guard. Later, when he’s alone and he has time to reflect on the fact that Yzma, the closest thing to a parent he’s ever had, tried to kill him he’ll have a proper breakdown—but for now? He’s satisfied with putting on a mask and pretending all is right with the world.

“Please Kuzco, you must understand; I was merely trying to do what I thought was best for the Empire! That’s my only concern here.” She pleads, adopting as sweet a tone as she can muster. “If you just give me another chance- ”

“Give YOU another chance? Oh, you’re kidding right? How stupid do you think I am?” He pauses to lean in even closer, all traces of amusement wiped from his expression. “I know you better than that, Yzma. There’s not, and there never WILL be a ‘second chance’ for you.”

Yzma has the decency to look chagrined, and Kuzco stands and brushes his borrowed poncho off, giving her once final glance before turning his back on the pair; literally. “Your Highness? Rudy the janitor is here to see you.”

“Great—tell him to hang on a sec, I’m gonna need about five baths before I can put my robes back on and talk to anyone.” He turns to leave, waving over his shoulder in Yzma and Kronk’s direction as he does do. “As for Yzma? I’m done with her. You can take her away.”

Lifelong trauma, and a laundry list of making up for his past transgressions aside, and Kuzco is more than ready to get on with his life.

But first?

That much needed bath.