#i just get so overwhelmed by the sheer thought my skull aches

[the-acid-pear]

They'd make a talking to people that isn't as painful and mind crushing

[spoiledleaff]

ashton. leafy. leafthaniel. love.

i have been… some would say haunted, some would say blessed, by visions of subby puppy rain

hmm i wonder whose fault that is uwu <3

and i was hoping that maybe you could make something happen involving that? i’m craving some needy puppy rain being put in their place by swiss and mountain…. if that tickles your taint fancy at all, haha !! :3

💙💍.

ahhh, thank you so much for indulging me with this, felix! :'D i'm just sorry it's taken me so long to muster up these spoons! but also thank you very much for letting me talk your ear off about my switch rain thoughts >:D

alrighty! everyone knows the drill by now, haha! but, regardless, it gets filthy below the cut! >:Dc

(cw for mentions of piss kink and breeding! )

"Please-" Rain whimpers, dropping their head against Mountain's outer thigh as they begin to loose themselves in how the empty boot between their thighs creates such glorious friction against the dampness of their pussy.

The two beasts before them were kind enough to rip every article of clothing from their unworthy body, even being so kind as to throw one of their discarded boots at Rain's bobbing cock. They think it was Swiss; the memory of sharp and dangerous teeth suddenly being brought to the forefront of Rain's melting brain. He barely missed the raw ache of their erection, but made no effort to apologize for nearly smacking Rain's erection back into their vessel with their own goddamn boot.

(But since when did a deity apologize to an ant?)

Rain whimpers again, their hips stuttering over the slick, shiny surface of their own ruined boot. Their arms are tied tight behind their back, and the ring of their embarrassing little dog tag keeps echoing in their sensitive ears.

(It's custom engraved. Mist had it practically tailored for them. The engraving reads 'DUMB MUTT'.)

"Shut up." Mountain rumbles, the sheer bass of his voice causing shivers to rupture over Rain's naked spine. "This is what you get for being such an insufferable little bitch."

Rain's eyes flicker up to take in the sight of Mountain: still fully dressed expect for his pants unlaced and open, his cock barely leaking any precum as Mountain lazily strokes his impressive shaft. It's mortifying almost. The fact that here Rain is, naked and exposed and rutting their own pussy against the toe of their own boot while their cock stood flush against their stomach.

And Mountain isn't even fully hard-

"For real," Swiss chimes in, his fingers tangled in Rain's tousled locks of hair, pulling tight. "Who the fuck tries to make Dewdrop play his guitar while fucking that cunt six ways to fuckin' Sunday, huh? Fucking foozler you are. Breeding that sweet little flame, and expecting him to still be able to think? Awfully rude'a you, doll."

Rain tries to say something around the massive dick shoved deep in their throat, but they don't know if they're either too overwhelmed or too fucking stupid to word anything.

"You always think you're such hot shit." Mountain chimes in with a growl, reaching over and lacing his own calloused fingers in the strands of tangled hair that Swiss hasn't already snatched.

They exchange grips, and Mountain yanks Rain's head off of Swiss' cock before dragging the little water slut towards Mountain's burgeoning erection. The force of Mountain and Swiss' exchange causes Rain's hips to buck harshly against the boot below them, their hard cock rubbing over the laces of their boot. Rain's mouth falls open in a cry, and Mountain uses the opportunity to shove his cock past Rain's docile fangs.

"You just need someone to put you in your pathetic fucking place, huh?" Mountain huffs with a dangerous smirk, his claws digging hard into Rain's skull. He pulls his cock out of Rain's mouth, slapping them with the ruddy head before quickly shoving himself back inside.

Rain cries out in surprise at the rough treatment, though they can't stop the way their cock is leaking, or the way their pussy's fucking gushing, or even the way their hips are still fucking humping over their own goddamn boot.

"Dumb fuckin' dog." Swiss laughs, and Rain can see the way his thumb swipes over the head of his cock, smearing the precum accumulating at the slit.

"Our stupid little knot slut." Mountain agrees with a roll of his hips. Rain exaggerates a wet gagging noise for their pleasure, though the gills lining their vessel ensures they can still breathe.

"Gonna keep that hot little pussy stretched tight over our knots, yeah?"

"Attach a leash, maybe. Pass it between the two of us and choke you on your own submission."

"Breed you like the little bitch you are."

(Mountain practically shoves Rain off of his dick, and Swiss is quick to yank Rain's head back towards his own bobbing erection, shoving his full length down Rain's open throat.)

"Choke you on our cocks until you learn your place is on your knees in front of us."

"Mark you up like the hellbeasts the Clergy expects us to be, yeah, doll?"

"Bite you all over until you bleed like a gutted dog."

"Ohoho, sweet little dirty boy," Swiss moans, dropping his grip on Rain's tangled locks in favor of using their horns as leverage, forcibly dragging Rain's mouth up and down the full length of his shaft, "why stop at just our teeth? We'll drain our little puppy slut of almost all his blood, leave them so lightheaded they won't know what's being fucked into them."

Mountain groans as his fist visibly tightens around his own cock.

"Could be cum," Swiss grins, feral and bright despite the low lighting of the room, "could be piss."

"You'd never be left empty, water lily, that's for fucking sure." Mountain agrees, and Rain can vaguely hear the rapid slapping of the earth ghoul's tail against the legs of the chair he's lounging in.

"Breed you with every fucking fluid we could possibly stuff into your stupid little puppy holes."

Rain gasps, shudders as their hips speed up over the toe of their boot, purposefully angling themselves forward to drag their sensitive cock over the lacings. The boot beneath them is fucking ruined-

And Swiss knows.

"You really are just a fucking mutt, lookit the mess you're making, dollface." Swiss yanks Rain's head off his cock once more, forcing Rain to look down at the poor boot sandwiched painfully between their thighs. "Might make you clean that boot off with that filthy fucking tongue of yours. It'd be bad manners to give it back to our lovely Siblings stained with your worthless cum, yeah?"

Mountain snorts, though it almost sounds like a guttural moan with the way he's still furiously jerking his cock.

"Clean every fucking inch of your boot from our cum and piss. Make you lap it up like it's doggy chow-" Swiss leans his head back and laughs loudly, like he just told the funniest fucking joke of the century.

"Suck on the laces like it's Mommy's nipple," Mountain gasps, and Rain thinks he might be getting close, "lick the tongue with yours."

"On second thought," Swiss pauses, shaking Rain's head with the grip he has on their horns for no fucking reason, "maybe we'll just make you clean everything up with your head, mutt. Wouldn't want you to make everything dirtier with that filthy fucking tongue."

Rain sobs as Swiss hands their head over to Mountain, and, this time, he shoves the full weight of that massive fucking dick down Rain's speared open throat.

"There's a good puppy."

[mianavs]

the assault

In Lima with You part 4

a/n: this marks the beginning of the end for this story. like previous parts in this story and it’s predecessor, there’s some messed up stuff going on in this part.

tw: non-con, dark content, nsfw, violence

wc: 1.7k+

In Lima with You

You had been scrubbing for a good thirty minutes, yet the bright red from the tomato sauce you’d spilled on your living room carpet was still there.

Glaring at you

Mocking you

Wiping off the beads of sweat that trickled down your brow with the back of your hand, you ran the scrubby through the bucket of soapy water that was now a milky salmon color. After wringing the scrubby of the excess liquid, you went back to scrubbing that spot while ignoring the growing ache in your fingers and the knot in your neck.

It’d been a careless mistake, spilling your spaghetti while your mind had been elsewhere—a common occurrence since the night your fragile world fell apart when Dabi walked out on you.

Almost as careless as the mistake of letting your captor into your heart where he left a mark that spread until it encompassed the entire thing.

A mistake you were now paying the price for, on your hands and knees trying to scrub the mark stain away only to realize it had spread in spite of your efforts.

You fell back on your haunches and threw the scrubby into the bucket. It had been five days since you’d last seen Dabi, and you were starting to lose it.

Every time you heard footsteps outside of your front door, you would rush over and swing it open only to face nothing or a bewildered stranger. The room that had once suffocated you with warmth was now frigid and made it difficult for you to fall asleep in. Your mornings started with you waking from a nightmare that almost always involved Dabi’s death. While at the beginning of his absence you could still go about your day cooking, cleaning, or engaging in a hobby, you eventually spiraled into a depression that made it hard for you to even get out of bed.

Not only was Dabi the death-sentenced protagonist of your nightmares but he was also on your mind all day. His face during your last argument was one that had been burned into your memory. You could still see the blank look that flashed in his cerulean eyes, the twitch of his mutilated mouth, and then the shock that seeped from every pore in his body as he staggered away from your enraged form.

You’d been the one wronged that day, yet Dabi was the one that fled, leaving you with an all-consuming guilt. It didn’t make sense but then again neither did the overwhelming pain festering away in your heart the more time passed without seeing him, touching him, loving him.

Love. It was a ridiculous notion when you thought about it.

Dabi had been the monster that kidnapped you. He’d broken you down physically and mentally to mold you into the obedient darling you now were, but even with the plethora of scars all over your body, you couldn’t help but feel empty without him. Even with the door unlocked and nothing chaining you down to your shared condo, you would leave only to roam around the city for a couple of minutes before a panic seized your entire body; It was that suffocating panic that forced you back home to the comfort of your bed that still smelled of Dabi’s musk and smoke.

You loved Dabi.

You needed Dabi.

So as you dumped the soapy water down the kitchen sink and washed out the bucket, you mulled over your options in tracking Dabi down to tell him how you felt. Then just as you were putting the bucket away, the muffled sound of footsteps captured your attention and you dashed to the front door on impulse.

Where a scarred face with a wicked grin should have greeted you, there was only a red winged man with astonished eyes.

“Y/N,” Keigo breathed. “You’re really here.”

You looked behind him, searching for the man you actually wanted to see. When it was clear he wasn’t there, you turned to your former friend.

“Where else would I be?” You asked before stepping aside to let him in.

“I assumed you’d be with the League,” He answered amusedly, walking in while you shut the door behind him. “But I guess this was a no ex-heroes type of mission.”

“Where’s Dabi?” The question burst from your lips before you could think it through.

Keigo’s smile faltered at your desperate inquiry, and his throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Last I heard they were two cities away wreaking havoc in true League fashion.”

You raised an eyebrow at his mocking tone. “Sounds like you don’t approve of the mission.”

Keigo laughed at that and it left a bitter taste in your mouth. “How about we drop the act, Y/N. It’s just you and me. Dabi isn’t here to punish you.”

His eyes traveled to a fading scar on your forearm before returning to your face. “We both know that what they’re doing is wrong.”

A bitter laugh tore from your throat as you approached him. “So the HPSC selling me for some intel is right? Them drugging me and sending me off to an orphanage is right? How about them trying to sabotage my career? Does all of that seem right to you, Keigo?!”

You were now in front of him, and he had the decency to appear sheepish after your rant. He averted his gaze and said nothing while you let out an exasperated sigh and ran your fingers through your hair.

“Don’t give me that right or wrong crap.” You retorted when your anger simmered. “Hero society deemed me a villain before giving me a chance to prove myself. I won’t stand in the League’s way if they want to bring it down.”

Keigo’s hand shot out and wrapped around your elbow, fingers pressing into one of your scars. You tried shaking him off but Keigo didn’t relent.

“What about the thousands of innocent civilian lives that will be ruined because of them? Will you also stand aside when they’re screaming for their lives?”

His golden eyes bore into yours and memories of a certain mission hit you like a ton of bricks. You remembered the room full of children that you’d saved with Keigo, and for the first time in weeks, you hesitated in defending Dabi and the League’s actions.

“We’re targeting the heroes and the HPSC, not civilians.” You reasoned, wrenching your arm from his grasp.

“We’re?” Keigo sneered, backing you against a wall. “Are you serious?”

At his aggressiveness, the alarms in your head went off but indignation muffled them. You jutted out your chin defiantly. “Yeah, I am. As long as Dabi remains in the League, I will too because... I-I love him and tha—”

Keigo smashed his lips against yours and took hold of your hands before pinning them above your head. Unlike the first kiss he stole from you, this one was harsh and meant to punish. He claimed your mouth with his invading tongue while you wrestled against his bruising grip. It wasn’t until you realized he wouldn’t let up that you bit down on his tongue until he hissed in pain and released you with a curse.

With the metallic taste of Keigo’s blood in your mouth, you tried recovering your breath only to hear a harsh thump that was immediately followed by pulsating pain on the side of your head. You doubled over from the sheer force of Keigo’s blow that left you debilitated and vulnerable.

And that was exactly what Keigo wanted.

In your stupor, you were picked up like a ragdoll and thrown onto your bed, landing face down on a pillow. The sudden motion only worsened what you assumed was a concussion. As a sharp ringing assaulted your ears, all you could do was grip the sheets beneath you in a weak attempt to stop the room from turning.

So when rough hands pulled off your shorts and ripped off your flimsy lace panties, you were too busy burrowing your spinning head in a pillow and swallowing bile to put up a fight. The severity of the situation finally registered with you when you felt the bed dip and rough hands lift your waist until you were on your knees.

By the time your body reacted, it was too late. Keigo pressed you into the mattress with your hands pinned behind your back as he settled between your legs and spread them open with his body.

His cockhead prodded at your entrance a couple of times before he forced it into your dry cunt in one harsh thrust. Horrified and unprepared, you screamed into the pillow that still smelled of Dabi while Keigo violently took you from behind like an animal.

Pain was all you knew throughout Keigo’s assault. It pulsated in your head until it felt like your skull was being split in half. It coursed through your arms that were pushed together and pressed into your back. It ripped through your cunt as Keigo’s cock rammed into you without mercy.

Concussed, restrained, and without your quirk and voice, all you could do was lie there and wait for your body to produce the slick you oh-so desperately needed to ease the ache in your cunt.

Without changing the pace of his hips, Keigo leaned over you and grunted into your ear.

“Don’t you get it, Y/N? I’m doing this because I love you and right now you’re sick. That so-called love you feel for that bastard is a disease. You have Stockholm Syndrome and I’m gonna cure you with each load I shoot up your womb.”

He let out a chuckle and licked the shell of your earlobe, causing bile to surge up your throat. Unable to swallow it down any longer, you used all the strength you could muster to jerk your head over the bed’s edge.

As you regurgitated that day’s lunch, Keigo’s thrusts ceased and he released you with a disgusted grunt.

“Rude bitch,” he growled, pulling you by your hair and pressing his torso against your body. “I tell you I love you and that’s how you react?”

Keigo shoved your face into the mattress and you writhed beneath his weight and grip as your lungs were depleted of oxygen. When your limbs went limp against the bed and black specks stained your vision, the last thing you heard was Keigo’s honeyed words delivering your sentence for falling for your captor.

“Guess I’ll have to take you away from him for you to be cured.”

[maybe-your-left]

Matt please jizz in my mouth challenge 😂

challenge accepted

Matt hadnt left you alone all morning, cuddling you as you slept, following you to the bathroom, standing behind you as you brewed tea, even laying his head on your lap while you watched TV.

He was being clingy, affectionate, and shy, which weren’t his normal traits around you. usually he was snappy, short, and aggressive when he wanted something...

‘Bubba,’ you cooed into his hair. Pressing a kiss to the side of his face that wasn’t smushed in your legs. ‘What’s wrong? Are you not feeling good?’

He shook his head silently, exhaling into you.

‘Tell me’

‘I saw something on Reddit I want to try. Could we do it?’

‘Sure?’

ROUND 1...

Matt yanked your off the couch and pushed you to your knees. Not listening to any of your babbling and questions. The only thing he said was ‘shut up’

Soon his cock was in your mouth, only half hard. But expanding rapidly in your heat, you were overwhelmed by the taste. He was so deliciously smooth you could hold him there all day.

But that’s not what he wanted...

He pushed you down his length hard, letting the head tickle the back of your throat. Your hands fisting his pajama bottoms in protest to get free.

‘Breathe through your nose Princess.’

Matt fucked your face, fast and hard. Not once letting you off his cock, the spit just shoved right back down your throat as your face was covered in tears.

You gargled around him, hoping he would slow down but it spurred him on. He grabbed one of your hands and guided it to his sack. Grunting out praise when you rolled it.

He painted the back of your throat with cum, keeping your nose pressed against his pubic bone while he pumped into you.

‘Thats one.’

ROUND 2...

You scrambled away from him once you were released, sputtering up some cum before staring at him with glassy eyes.

‘What?’ you croaked.

‘I’m gonna see how many times I can cum down your throat before noon.’

He cornered you in the kitchen next, buttering you up with some fingerbanging against a counter. Matt’s lips locked with your own as you came all down his wrist, the heel of his hand battering your clit before he shoved you down.

Just like before he shoved inside you and went to town, you immediately rubbed his sack. Bringing up some of your juices to lube them up better. Matt came for you much quicker, cumming with a shout as he collapsed over the counter.

ROUND 3...

Just getting to breakfast now, you could barely taste anything. Your throat already raw from the brutality, Matt sat next to you at the small breakfast table. Reading through something on his tablet while he sipped some coffee.

A free hand palmed your breast after he finished, humming while he read as he tweaked your nipple. You gave a soft sigh, pressing your chest into his side. Bringing a hand down to stroke his growing cock.

Matt shoved you under the table quickly after, fucking up into your face as he held you down with both hands. You succumbed to it now, loving the ache in your jaw as his thick length pummeled you.

Once again he came, you fought it a little more. Choking on his tip as it spurted inside you, causing some to come out your nose. Matt didn’t like that, wiping it on his pants before plunging back in so you could get a tiny bit more to replace it.

ROUND 4...

A longer recovery time, you kinda thought Matt was done.

‘Bubba I’m gonna shower!’

A low hum was the only response you got.

The hot steam and water felt amazing, flooding your senses as you rubbed your sore mouth and neck. Grabbing your lavender wash to lather into your skin. You bent over slightly, one hand on the bench while you cleaned your legs with your other.

What you weren’t expecting was a pair of large hands latching onto your wet thighs. Followed by a strong nose sliding through your folds, then a flat tongue lapping and swirling your hole.

‘Matt...’ you moaned just as he slipped his tongue inside you. Fucking your dripping cunt fast, slurping and sucking between every shove.

He shook his face into your folds, moaning against you that rang right through your core. A hand slid around your front to tweak your clit and you were a goner.

Screaming out as you washed Matt’s face with your cum, and he lapped up every drop of it.

You fell back to your knees, Matt held you for a few moments in that position while tracing soft circles in the skin of your shoulders. Wet kisses shared over your shoulder, tasting your essence that coated his tongue.

Matt fucked your throat against the tile, one hand cradling the back of you skull so it wouldn’t bruise against the wall.

But that didn’t mean he was gentle, shoving his entire length down your throat over and over. You didn’t even try to fight, letting your tongue curl around the base best you could while you fisted his balls.

‘Come on, Princess, one more.’

You whined around him, even though you hated it, you never wanted him to stop. He could keep fucking his cum into you anyway he wanted.

‘Yes,’ he shouted ask he came once more, ‘So fucking good, swallow it all or else it doesn’t count.’

ROUND 5...

Ten minutes on the clock. You spent too long in the shower together, kissing and rubbing each other.

Matt cleaned you and you him, basking in each other’s slippery skin.

Now you were standing in the living room, starting at the clock that hung on the wall. Matt was in his office, probably not realizing it was almost noon.

You spun to go tell him but then you heard a loud shout, ‘Fucking shit!’

Followed by another yell, ‘Get on your fucking knees, this needs to be quick!’

Matt ran into the room, ripping his pants off and shoving his cock it your mouth. It wasn’t hard yet, but that didn’t stop him from thrusting into your mouth.

You aided him along by sucking hard against him, swirling your tongue around the head each time he pulled back. Soon he was rock hard, choking you each time.

A hand fell to the side of your face, Matt’s thumb pressing into the junction where your jaw and skull met.

A loud click and pressure, and by the sheer power of God, Matt pulled your jaw out of its socket.

You wailed around him, tears springing down your face as you tried to close your mouth but he shushed you.

‘You’re fine, you’re fine, Bubba will set it back like last time,’ he patted your cheek, ‘Just suck.’

And suck you did, the pain numbing more and more with each snap of his hips. Your spit coating your chin, a smack of his balls against it making your him with pride.

Matt growled above you, ‘Last one.’

You don’t think he’s ever cum so much in his life. It flooded your mouth, choking you more than his previous loads. But you drank it all down like the sweet nectar it was.

Just like he said, he reset your jaw as he had before when he got too rough. Picking you off the floor and smothering you into the couch.

Tickling and petting your body as he ground into you, pulling giggles and shouts for him to stop. Little, dramatic kisses were littered along your skin, ‘thank you thank you thank you.’

‘No one on Reddit is going to believe this.’

😩

@finn-ray-nal-beads @historyandfandoms50 @contesa-lui-alucard @roanniom @ohdamnadamm @clydesfavoritegirl @jynz-andtonic @relationshipwithmybed @shesakillerkween @desiraypark @caillea

[timextoxhajima]

Grounded: Level 3

Level 2 | Level 4

Member: Minho (Lee Know)

Genre: idol minho x idol trainee reader

Taglist: @jaehyvnsvalentine​​ @licorice526 @lolwhatameme @felixn-recs​​

[D E C E M B E R 2 0 1 8]

“Do you need me to g-”

“No, please stay.”

Yeonjun turns to look at you, eyebrows furrowing because he can hear the fear in your voice. By now, he’s probably figured out how one-sided you’re feeling about your friendship with Minho. He knows you’re suppressing a backhanded anger for Minho - as much as you’re aware he cannot consistently keep up with your life, it wouldn’t have been difficult for him to drop you a text every now and then. 

“Are you sure?” Yeonjun looks up at the person you’re staring at, the distance slowly shrinking as Minho makes up his mind to walk towards the two of you. “I don’t want to be interrupting something important.”

“But he’s not the one who’s been helping me in a time I really need someone,” The thought being verbalised after such a long time leaves a disgusting linger on your tongue. 

“Wait, y/n, what does that mean-”

“It means I want him to choose.”

Yeonjun’s frown is now deeper into his forehead. Minho is about twenty metres from you. 

“Choose? You can’t expect him to choose between you and his career-”

“Why can’t I?” You are just a few notes lower than actually shouting. He’s about ten metres away now. “It’s been a year and it’s like he doesn’t remember I exist anymore.”

Yeonjun’s dark orbs are faltering as Minho closes in. Then he chooses to say something that deals a last blow to your logic. 

“If he’s forgotten about your existence then he wouldn’t be walking here right now.”

The whiplash in your neck shoots bolts into your skull when you suddenly turn to Yeonjun, your breathing becoming labored as Minho stops just about a metre away from you. 

“Can we talk?”

The way his voice manages to overwhelm the noise from the crowd is stunning. Then again, you haven’t heard him actually speak to you in about a year; it makes your heart want to stick itself through your chest like the Alien. 

“I’m surprised you’re even allowed to walk around in public without bodyguards.”

From the corner of your eye, you note Yeonjun turning his head away in slight frustration or disapproval. Minho shuts his eyes for a moment, like he’s guilty and he’s mustering up the courage to continue. 

“Contrary to popular belief, Stray Kids has a long way to go.”

The awkwardness in the air stings your nerves like water through dry, cracked skin. 

“Can we please... talk? I just... I know that I haven’t been around, especially when you needed help with training.”

“There’s nothing to worry about. I have Yeonjun to help me.”

Using Yeonjun as a shield doesn’t make you feel any better though. Instead, it hurts you more when you notice the hurt that’s beginning to brew in Minho’s face, despite half his face being covered by his mask. 

“And I’m happy for you,” Minho glances at Yeonjun, whose face was slightly contorted with a mixture of frustration and disapproval. He’s going to kill you when you get back to BigHit, but not in front of a debuted idol; not in front of a crowd. “But... I just wish we could go back to the way we were-”

Minho’s voice falters, and it’s a heavy blow on your angry stance in his presence. Starting to hear your heart in your left eye socket, the eyelid starts to twitch, and you can feel your nerves beginning to pull you backwards - away from Minho. 

The conflict within you crushes you faster than you expected - if you were even prepared for it at all. 

I hate it that I was the one who pushed you for it. I hate it that I was the one who told you to keep going. I hate it that I was the one who got so happy when you finally reached your dream. I hate it that I was the one who got mad when you prioritised your career. I hate it that I was the one who understood why you did it. I hate it that I was the one who chose to press and pull and pinch this friendship until it’s hurting me. 

I hate it that it looks like it’s hurting you... more than it’s hurting me.

“I won’t be where I am without you. I wouldn’t be standing here, worried about people figuring out who I am... Had you not given me the strength to go back.”

But you’ve always been the one who’s given me strength, not me to you. 

“I just wish we had more time,” He’s shaking his head ever so slightly, eyes finally travelling down when he realises he cannot maintain his disintegrating pride. “Please... I can’t- I can’t lose you. You’re one my best friends and I just... I can’t meet up with you as often as I do with my male friends because we’d both be screwed by the public-”

“And so... You forget that texting is a thing? Calling, maybe?”

Yeonjun sucks in a deep breath and intervenes, unable to contain his discontent with the way the conversation was developing. “y/n, he’s busy. He’s got a bunch of schedules to handle when he’s not vlogging his own private life. Give him a break.”

“A break?” It hurts on your heart because you were no longer sure where this anger was coming from. “Yeah, damn right he got a big break.”

“y/n!” Yeonjun snaps angrily, finally grabbing on your arm and nearly manhandling you backwards, away from Minho, like you were a feral dog. 

Minho’s eyes are set on the way Yeonjun’s staring at you, while your tear-glazed eyes are flitting from Yeonjun to your best friend - or at least, who was once your best friend. 

You don’t realise it until Yeonjun’s grip on your arm is holding you still - your arm was already trembling from the sheer amount of emotions ripping through you in the face of Minho. 

“If you have nothing better to say, then have this conversation another day. Right now, you’re being an ass and I would’ve slapped you if we were related.”

Aggressively yanking your arm out of Yeonjun’s hold, you shift backwards and glare at Minho. Angry that he’s not spared the minimum effort to reach out to you, you turn before he can see the first tear fall from your eyes. 

From afar, you can hear Minho say something to Yeonjun, but his voice is washed out by the swarming crowd as you rush through it in a bid to run back to your safe haven - right back to somewhere you’ve been emotionally condemning Minho for going to. 

How ironic. 

Once out along the streets and a safe distance away from the night market, the cold, almost-freezing air is threatening to solidify your tears on your cheeks. The bus stop is desolate, one of those stops that nobody waits at: that was how far you had run from where the night market was. 

The familiar pattern of shoes rustling and shuffling against the floor rushes nearby, then finally slows down to a stop next to you. Your gloves are stained with the tears had stained your face when you recklessly wipe them away, not bothering about how people probably already recognise you as a BigHit trainee. 

Yeonjun’s breathing calms from running after you, and you can feel his gaze tear through you, though in a different way than what Minho did.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

A sniffle clogs your nose. “No.”

“He cares, you know,” A pause. The tears run. “But what you said to him back there...”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see him look down at his feet and shake his head, his slightly tousled hair from the rushing bobbing up and down. 

“It wasn’t fair to him.”

Yeonjun’s comment weighed a billion tons your heart, for you know in the deepest crevices in your chest that it, in fact, was not fair.

A wince prowls over your face as you provide some kind of effort into hiding the sudden contortion when the need to cry overwhelms you. It takes you awhile to notice that the gleams in your eyes were no longer just the tears but also the snow that’s landing on the floor around your feet. 

Eyebrows furrowed and eyes finally clenched shut, your lips part to suck in the deepest, coldest breath you’ve ever taken. It feels like you’ve single-handedly destroyed the most important friendship in your life and there’s nothing you could do about it.

The breath exhaled is a thick, almost cotton-like cloud as your head hangs lower and lower until you feel a heavy scarf come around your neck. Yeonjun’s questionable boots come before yours as he wraps his scarf around you, gently patting you on the crown of your head.

“I know you have feelings for him. It’s the only reason why you’re reacting like this.”

In attempt to hide your frustration, you shove your hands into your pockets and clench your fists under the thick layer of the gloves. 

“But like I said before, y/n... If you’re doing this for him and not for yourself, then this isn’t an option,” He finally releases the scarf and takes a small step back. “You sign that contract and you’ll need to go through Hell just to get out of it.”

Relentless now, the tears. The snot’s that’s running down your philtrum’s staining his scarf too but- he probably can’t care less. You can’t care less. He’s seen right through you like glass and Minho- of all people- can’t see through you the same way Yeonjun does. 

The sound of cars whizzing past and people walking by was strangely comforting, albeit the storms and thunder claps in your head and heart. You’ve just flushed your friendship with Minho down the toilet bowl, and there was probably nothing that could atone for it. 

“Come on,” He starts, just loud enough for you to hear. “Let’s head back. The members are around, your trainees too- Hey, I heard the Bangtan hyungs are coming back tonight to celebrate the New Year with us.”

Great, another reminder. 

“Right,” You sniffle loudly and carelessly wipe away your mucus and tears, forcing a smile out through all that tainted happiness. “Haven’t seen them in awhile.”

Yeonjun looks back at you with eyes that know how you’re feeling, and he offers you one of his arms for you to slide under so he could protect you from all the ache in your chest.

[F E B R U A R Y 2 0 1 9]

스트레이키즈 현진 졸업식, '막내 아이엔이랑 왔어요'(Stray Kids, SOPA Graduation)

A scoff runs dry your lips, eyes travelling from the pixelated screen to the boy sitting next to you, swinging his legs childishly while sitting atop the railings. 

It’s fascinating, the way the school structured it’s pick up system. Idols or idol trainees could wait in a designated area for their respective vehicles or cars to come pick them up from the pick-up point - you were just lucky enough to know enough of these people to wait with them. 

“What?” Hyunjin whines, lips twisted downwards like those ‘colon and bracket’ sad faces. “It’s not my fault you watch so much Stray Kids’ content.”

Jeongin was fiddling with his sleeve when he finally looks up at you, and the boy decides to slap you across the face with words that you would’ve otherwise slapped him for.

“But don’t you only watch Lee Know hyung’s stuff?”

Hyunjin’s eyes dart to the younger, sucking his lips between in his teeth in a bid to hide his cheeky smirk. 

“Man’s got a point.”

“You two have a death wish.”

“Bye, Stray Kids!” You turn to see Daehwi and Woojin rushing for a black van. “Bye, y/n! I hope to see you on stage soon!”

“I’ll think about it!” Waving back aggressively, Daehwi giggles as he gets into the car after Woojin. 

Hyunjin, Jeongin and you wave at the passengers of the van as they drive off. Hyunjin was holding a bag full of bouquets whilst you were holding just two, one that Yeonjun and TXT had delivered and another from your fellow trainees. 

“You’re still thinking about that contract?”

“You make it sound like I’m thinking of buying a piece of clothing.”

“It’s just... you’ve gone so far. You’ve been training for- what? 2 years now? Stopping now would render your two years of training useless.”

“Look, I just need more time to... decide.”

Both boys turn to look at you, one obviously more aware of the situation than the other. Hyunjin’s brows are slightly furrowed when he can hear the weight in your voice.

His lips are parted just before he can say something, but a honk beeps him out of his train of thought.

“Oh! He’s here!” Jeongin hops off the railings and rushes to the side of the pavement. 

Hyunjin jumps off and turns to you first, eyes calming scanning your face that’s struggling to hide any hint of emotion.

“I think you should talk to him. He’s as upset and bothered about it as you are.”

Their pick-up stops right before Jeongin, who pulls open the door and climbs in first. 

Unable to set down your pride, you choose to look away, not noticing Hyunjin leaning into the car to get something before he climbs in himself.

“This,” He holds out a bouquet of roses and baby breaths wrapped in white and blue. 

For me?

“This is his apology. I think you have a part to play in this too.”

“Hyunjin-ah, time to go,” The manager calls out from inside, greeting you with a small wave from the drivers’ seat. Your smile is weak with the flowers in your hands, and Hyunjin gives you a gentle pat on the shoulder before he gets in the car again. 

Waving to Jeongin who was waving to you through the back window of the car, you can feel the weight of the flowers in your arm. After the car is out of sight, you look down and inspect the gift, picking out a small card with Minho’s handwriting on it. 

Happy Graduation! I hope you’re doing alright, and that you’re taking care of yourself well. I heard you’re still training at BigHit, and Yeonjun told Changbin that he’s debuting soon... which means he’s not around much to help you so, if you ever need help, you know who to look for.

Love, Minho 

Another horn blares you out of your raging calm - it’s your pick-up. Clutching the flowers tightly, there’s a growing desire to get to the point where he inspired you to work towards. 

[M A R C H 2 0 1 9]

Surprise 모두 기립 박수

Suicide squad 현실판에

Frightening Let’s get burning now

The adrenaline is rushing through you a thousand miles per hour, any more and you could probably phase through a wall or something. It looks satisfying in the mirror, probably later when you monitor your progress but right now, all you were worried about were your arm angles and how your head isn’t moving according to the be--

Click

Two familiar heads of brown locks strut into the practise room, completely not fazing your lonesome performance in the sickening room. 

“Wow, ATEEZ?” Soobin chuckles as he walks in after Yeonjun. 

“I- It’s a- It’s a good song to practise my- stamina-” This last San bit is a pain in the ass.

“But an ATEEZ song?” Yeonjun winces at you through the reflection in the mirror as he watches you thud to the floor at the end of the performance. The music comes to a halt, slightly echoing in the studio. “It’s like you’re practising for a marathon.”

 “Well,” There is an apparent struggle to catch your breath while you remain on the floor, eyes looking up at the two boys. “Let’s just say if it’s one thing I’m getting an A for tomorrow at my evaluation, it’s going to be dancing, so...”

“That sounds like you,” Soobin nudges Yeonjun as he stretches a palm out for you to take. 

“Whoa,” Strutting over to your bottle by the mirror, you pull the cap off and raise a teasing brow at Soobin. “I don’t think you can ever compare me with the top trainee of BigHit.”

Soobin giggles at Yeonjun rolling his eyes in the mirror, just short of hurling something at you before he tackles you over and messes up your sweaty hair. But TXT was so well-received in their debut, it almost hurt to believe that you could be debuting as their first sister group. 

“How are your vocals and rapping? Didn’t you say they’ll only make you do monthly evaluations after you sign the contract?” The plastic bag that you didn’t notice from before gets taken away by Soobin, and he fishes out some bottles of energy drinks and some sandwiches.

“I could be better at singing... I assume... Yeah, no- I... I asked for the monthly evaluations.”

“What?” Soobin’s eyes are adorably enlarged, twice their original size. “Are you nuts? Just what have you gotten yourself into? My God, you’re even dumber than I thought.”

“I would second that,” Yeonjun points to you after pointing to Soobin with his thumb over his shoulder. “But, it’s a great way to maintain your progress.”

Then he goes over to sit down next to Soobin near the sound system. “Got anything you need help with?”

“Uh...” Running your fingers through your greasy hair, you rest your free hand on your hip, running the songs through your head like an archive. 

“Are you performing 3 songs for each category or- You’re not singing, rapping and dancing to ATEEZ, are you?!”

“The Hell- No!” You chuckle and wave the nonsensical conclusion off. 

“Oh, thank God,” Yeonjun clutches his chest. “Else, you could probably pack up and move out of your dorms by tomorrow evening.”

“If it’s one thing I’m getting that A for, it’s dancing. So... I could get all the help I could get.”

Yeonjun strolls towards the sound system where the player was, scrolling through the list of songs that were most commonly played. 

And so, Yeonjun and Soobin watch you slide across the floor while performing an EXO song, sing a song from HONNE, and completely forgo the rap section. Soobin’s tears of laughter stained the floorboards as Yeonjun rushes after you in a bid to tackle you and ruffle your already messy hair, because how dare you forget that rapping is a thing!

When they leave for their own training, the coolness of the studio finally sinks in after another long day. Your earbuds are finally useful now, after hours and hours of nothing but loud blasting so you can deafen and annoy yourself with the same songs over and over. 

난 알고 있어도 날 볼 수가 없어

답답해 제발 딱 한 번만

The studio lights are still finding some way to seep through your lids despite them being shut, and his voice feels like you’ve been pulled through Hell just to reach Heaven. But the lyrics have etched itself into your brain like carvings into stone, and it keeps you awake at night. 

Maybe you were overthinking, feeling all his emotions in those two lines he got in that song. But you heard something, even if it was just in your head, it was something.

He looks different now. The way he’s on stage, the way his nerves shift along with the beat, the way his voice comes out louder but still quieter than his heart and the thoughts in his head. He was never one to actually vocalise his feelings until he hits his tipping point... so, it’s a new kind of sour or bitter or all the tastes you dislike that lingers on your tongue. 

Lee Minho, you are one of a kind. 

Tiredness gets the better of you when you are aware you’re slowly drifting off to sleep. Your muscles have ached to the point where you no longer feel the pain; they just feel numb. The world starts to feel lighter, even if its the tiniest bit, as the exhausting slumber claims you...

Thus, it’s a startling surprise when you are jolted out of your sleep by someone tapping on your shoulders, and you are sure your eyes are bloodshot. 

“Oh, y/n!” It’s Jung Hoseok, J-Hope of BTS. “My God, did you sleepover?!” 

“Oh- I-” You pull your phone out of your pocket, realising it’s dead. “I guess I did... What time is it?” 

Hoseok immediately helps you up to your feet when he sees you struggling to get up, hair messy and smelling disgusting, probably. “Um, it’s 11am.”

“WHAT-” Hoseok hops back in surprise when you nearly yell in his face, and you fumble around to collect your things to return to the dorms to wash up, only for you to come back and continue before you were royally screwed over by the judging panel. “11?! I have an evaluation at 2pm!” 

“Wait, y/n! Didn’t you ask for this evaluation yourself? There isn’t a need to worry if you can’t make it for an unofficial one-”

“No, but I- I worked hard for this-” Grabbing your speaker and phone and charger and earpiece and earbuds and clothes and knee guards, you can feel the stress building up like Jenga in your stomach. “I can’t not get that A for dance at least-”

Then you are one feet out of the studio before you abruptly run into someone, nearly smashing your shoulder into the unknown stranger. 

That is, until you look up in a bid to apologise out of politeness.

But then there it is again, those dark brown feline eyes. It’s like you’ll never escape them; it’s like you’d always run into them when you least expect to. 

“Minho.”

He blinks, obviously surprised.

“y/n,” He glances above your head, possibly looking at J-Hope, before looking back down at you. “Are you... okay? You look like-”

“Shit?”

Minho purses his lips, unable to contain the little smirk that surfaces in the corner of his mouth before he panics and covers the bottom half of his face. Even you weren’t sure if you were making a joke about yourself, or that you were genuinely trying to rub it in his face that your friendship was as good as gone. 

“I was... going to say exhausted. But I assume you already know that?”

Tired, you run your hand through your slightly greasy hair, your bag slung messily over your shoulder. “Yes, I’m aware. And I have an evaluation to worry about in three hours so... I gotta bolt.”

It feels like you’re trying to shift mountains, looking at him in the eye. He isn’t that much taller but there’s definitely something different about him. Not to say that he was looking down on you, but he now walks with confidence on his shoulders and pride in his heart, and no matter how much you detested him for forgetting that you existed, you were happy for him. 

But of course, you’re prideful yourself, so you choose to look down and walk away from him. 

It’s time to worry about myself. 

[a-dorin]

tempestuous | darth maul

word count: 5.043k 

warnings: nsfw, 18+, professor/student relationship, sexual tension, smut,  nudity, sexual innuendos, dominance kink, age gap, cursing 

a/n: hello everyone! due to the response i received, this is the second chapter in the professor!maul au! i am so happy with the overwhelming comments of kindness. you guys rock :’) thank you for keeping me sane during quarantine. as always, the first chapter is linked below. enjoy :)) 

ardor

summary: weeks have flown by, and you find yourself under immense amounts of pressures with midterm quickly approaching. not only are you stressed with the academics, but you can’t seem to shake a certain professor out of your head.

“(y/n), did you have rough night?” barriss chuckled, handing ahsoka an iced coffee before sliding into her own spot, “here, i got you a little pick-me-up.” 

wrapping your hand around the cup, you swirled your straw around, “thank you, barriss. i guess i’m just a little stressed out with midterms approaching.”

“a little?” ahsoka giggled, covering her mouth, “(y/n), we love you, but you look like you’ve been hit by a truck. is everything okay?”

you rubbed your temple, a dull aching seeping into your skull, “i’ve been pulling some all nighters lately.”

“well if you ever want to study for with us, you’re always welcome,” barriss’ blue depths shone, her lips curved into an encouraging smile, “ahsoka and i are a little nervous about the midterm as well, especially for this class. professor maul hasn’t given us any sort of notion on what the exam may be.”

“i hope it’s something simple,” you grumbled, taking a sip of the matcha latte, “again, thank you for the matcha, barriss. i appreciate it.”

barriss laid a gentle hand on your shoulder, “anything for you, (y/n). after all, you’re our new best friend.”

“she’s very right,” ahsoka shot you a wink, prodding you with her elbow, “you should come to the library with us tomorrow night! i know, it’s lame, but it’s pretty empty on the weekend. we have a good chance at snagging one of those study rooms. and if we get our homework done friday, we can always meet up before that party saturday night!” 

“you guys party?” you arched a curious brow. 

barriss and ahsoka rolled their eyes simultaneously, the togruta letting out a huff, “we know how to have fun too, (y/n). after all, they say that the bookworms know how to let loose.”

“whatever,” you couldn’t help but laugh, pulling out your laptop. 

it was now about halfway through the semester, with midterms approaching on the horizon. the looming fact that you had about five exams, along with working extra hours with your internship, were beginning to take their toll on you. the internship at the hospital was running smoothly, and you were performing so well that you were offered extra hours. of course, you couldn’t help but accept the offer. 

yet, it came with a cost. although it was only two nights a week, they asked if you could stay a few hours later than normal. so, every tuesday and wednesday, you strolled into your apartment well past one in the morning. 

rex helped in every way he possibly could. whether it was cooking you dinner, making you coffee, tending to your laundry, as well as keeping the apartment tidy, he was adamant about making things easier for you. which, you greatly appreciated. there were even times he charged your laptop and made runs to the printer. last night was one of those nights where you didn’t get back till late, so to say you were exhausted was an understatement. 

although it was your first class of the day, and 9:56 a.m., sleep still hung heavy in your mind. the comfy clothes hanging on your frame weren’t much help either, the coziness of the fabric lulling you to sleep. a university of coruscant hoodie, a few sizes too big, was almost like a blanket. and the grey sweats were comforting. shaking your head, you attempted to focus. 

the class fell silent as he entered the room, causing you to perk up in your seat. today, he was clad in a pair of black slacks, the color of his button up and blazer corresponding with his pants. his shoes were freshly polished, glossy in the sterile light. the monochromatic outfit brought out the color of his crimson skin, his amber orbs nearly glowing. as usual, the silver chain hung from his neck, this time, settled on bare skin, as a button or two was left undone. 

you nearly choked on your matcha, as you drank in the sight of him. maker, was he gorgeous. mind buzzing, you mustered all of your strength to not admire for a moment too long. it was already embarrassing enough the sheer amount of instances you saw him on campus. 

now that you were enrolled in his class, you saw him everywhere. whether it was grabbing a meal to-go in the dining hall, bumping into him at the gym, or mumbling a greeting as you passed him in the halls of the psychology wing. it was odd, yet you paid no mind. a part of you yearned to see him, to just admire his features. 

professor maul didn’t seem to mind the encounters either. every time, he would chirp a greeting, his tone smooth and cordial. even though he was formal, you couldn’t help but notice a gleam in the golden pools as he spoke. it was almost as if his eyes were roaming your body, glittering with lust. 

just the mere thought of his lips on yours sent a faint blush painted across your cheeks. shifting in your seat, the realization that class began washed over you. letting out a quiet sigh, you typed notes as he spoke, his voice clear, thick with authority as it rang through the lecture hall. 

“now,” he cleared his throat, backtracking to the pedestal to the left of the space, “i compiled a list of terms and parameters of your midterm exam.”

groans of frustration erupted like a volcano, maul’s eyes blazing with amusement, “may i discuss the exam with you first or are you all going to complain?”

“i hate him,” ahsoka muttered under her breath. 

“you don’t mean that,” you whispered, teasing, “what if the exam is a breeze?”

“the midterm will be no walk in the park,” maul announced, gathering a thick stack of papers in his hands.

 your eyes wandered to his hands, and how they sprawled over the stack with ease, how they were would fit so well over your breasts. a shiver ran down your spine as you pondered of his hands all over your body, relishing every inch of your skin. his voice snapped you out of your fantasy, his gaze settling on you, a smirk creeping onto his lips. 

“for the exam, i ask that you research an individual or authoritative figure who is a ‘monster’ in our society. once you conduct your research, you will give me a brief presentation. the presentation will be done orally, through a video format. the deadline is printed on the assignment sheet. there are no exceptions, so plan accordingly.”

biting your lip, your cheeks reddened under the eye contact. however, his attention was taken away from you, eyes flickering towards a student near the top of the lecture hall. 

“does this mean we can talk about president palpatine? he’s a tyrant!” 

“i can’t believe he almost banned the frats!” another complaint rose from a classmate.

“if that’s who you would like to report on,” a bubbly, lighthearted laugh escaped his lips, the sound flowing like sweet honey into your ears, “you might have your work cut out for you. that is my boss after all, so i am not sure how biased i can be.”

the rest of the class droned on, ahsoka and barriss lost in their note-taking, their stares fixed to their laptop screens. meanwhile, you found yourself getting lost, daydreaming. maker, did you ache to experience just one kiss. to trace the tattoos all over his chest and shoulders as you unbuttoned the article of clothing. gnawing on your cheek, shame burned through you as you realized that you were beginning to feel a sensation in your core. the mere thought of maul had your folds slick, wet and desperate for him. 

soon, class was over, students herded to the doors. you followed ahsoka and barriss, conversing about tomorrow’s plans. you were anticipating the study session tomorrow, as you needed it.

after all, you weren’t paying much attention in class these days. 

*******

“so, are we wrapped up for the night?” ahsoka yawned, her eyes bleary with sleep. 

a rumble in the distance shook the library, a thunderstorm wreaking its havoc over coruscant. you, barriss, and ahsoka were finishing up, the building nearing closing time. it was 10:32 p.m., the three of you hunkering down in a study room for the past two and a half hours. however, the session was helpful, the three of you passing notes, sharing what you did and didn’t have. you were all caught up, thanks to them. 

“i believe so,” barriss nodded, shoving a notebook into her bag, “(y/n), would you like us to walk with you to your apartment? we can share an umbrella and give you one.”

“i’ll be fine,” you shrugged, glancing at your phone, “i think i might wait out the storm for a few more minutes. besides, my roommate has a girl over. i don’t want to impose on them.”

“you sure?” concern flashed across ahsoka’s face, “it’s not a problem to us.”

“you guys can go,” you teased, winking, “i can handle myself. besides, there’s no one in here besides the twi’lek at the front desk.”

“whatever you say,” barriss huffed, adjusting her hijab, “see you tomorrow!”

“see ya,” you waved to the two girls as they left the room, “text me when you guys want to meet up!” 

“we will,” ahsoka called, giving you one last grin before they disappeared from your field of vision. 

exhaling, you rose to your feet, slinging your bag over your shoulder. strolling out of the study room, the lights of the library were dimmed, a few students lingering, milling around the front desk or nose deep in textbooks, scrambling to finish their work. 

eventually, you made your way to the lobby, leaning against the brick wall. rex promised that he would text you when his friend was on her way, yet there were no message on your screen. no missed calls. nothing. frustration welled up inside of you, creeping into your thoughts. surely the girl wasn’t staying the night. rex didn’t mention anything about it to you earlier. 

“hey there,” an all too familiar voice rumbled, “do you need a lift?”

turning ever so slightly, your eyes widened at the figure before you. maul stood in the doorway, donned in a pair of grey joggers, a university hoodie on his top half. the hoodie was black, which was a prominent color in the zabrak’s wardrobe. you picked up on that the third day of class. his brows were furrowed, lips pursed. it was almost as if he was concerned. 

“i’m fine,” you muttered, “just waiting on my roommate to give me the all clear.”

“i remember those days,” maul mused, “savage used to have all sorts of women over when we rented an apartment together for grad school. it was downright horrid.”

“i bet,” you sucked in a breath, anxiety swirling as you read the time once more. it was 10:48 now, more and more students filing out of the exit. 

“you all right?” he inquired, his voice low, “if your apartment isn’t too far from here, i can give you a ride. it’s storming pretty bad out there.”

“isn’t that illegal?” you snorted, a glimmer of hope rising as rex’s called id lit up your phone, “hang on, i gotta take this.”

“heyyyy,” immediately, you sensed that rex was walking on eggshells, “do you have a place to stay for the night?”

“rex, i thought we talked about this.”

“well,” he mumbled, “she wants to stay the night. i’ll do all of your laundry tomorrow if you say yes.”

“rex this isn’t the right time to bargain with me,” tears brimmed your eyes as the horror crept in. you had nowhere to go. 

“please?” his voice was sickeningly sweet, “pretty please?”

“fine,” you caved, “i’ll see you tomorrow.”

“thank you-” rex began, but you hung up before he got the chance to finish. 

storming out of the library, tears streamed down your cheeks, mixing effortlessly with the icy rain as it cascaded down, piercing through your clothes. you sobbed, your cries deafened by the thunder. maker, you were so furious. how could rex do that to you? especially so last minute? the only place you could go was your car, and you didn’t even have a fresh change of clothes. 

“(y/n),” through the roar of the thunder, you heard his voice. 

“oh great!” sobs racked your body, “now i have to deal with you too-”

his hands grasped your cheeks, pulling you in. lips collided with yours, his touch warm, as you crumpled completely. fingers tangled into your wet locks, desperate to bring you closer to him, to feel your lips mold so effortlessly with his. the kiss was fiery, burning with a passion. a desire for you. it was exhilarating, intoxicating, your mind buzzing, losing any sort of coherent thought as the rain pounded against the cement, lightning illuminating your surroundings. 

“now,” he pulled away, leaving you breathless, “do you need a ride?”

“i don’t have anywhere to go,” you could barely string the words together.

“you’re welcome to stay at my place.”

“are you sure?” you wiped your tears, yet the effort was fruitless. your clothes were soaked, you were chilled to the bone.

“yes,” he took your hands, “come on, let’s get out of here.”

“what if someone sees us?” anxiety bubbled within you. 

“my hood is up,” he began to make his way towards the parking lot, clicking a button on his car keys, “besides, i’m wearing black and so are you.”

“i guess you’re right,” you muttered, a shiver rippling through your being.

as he approached the vehicle, he opened the passenger door for you as the rain pattered against the pavement. slipping off his sweatshirt, he shoved it into your hands, “here, put this on.”

“i-i’m not wearing a shirt underneath,” the words were a stutter.

“and i’m not fifteen,” maul scoffed, ducking so that he could slide into the driver’s seat, “you’re going to get sick out here and mine is somewhat dryer than yours.”

hesitantly, you made your way into the passenger seat, your eyes widening as you noticed the interior, “this is a tesla.”

in the darkness, you picked out the brightness of his grin, his incisors flashed, poking against his lips, “indeed. my apartment isn’t too far from here. i need to let savage know that we’re no longer having drunkfest.”

“drunkfest?” you couldn’t help but giggle. 

“drunkfest,” maul affirmed, his thumbs dancing across his phone, “we get absolutely wasted every friday night to forget about the awful moments of the work week.”

“interesting,” you settled into maul’s hoodie, grateful for the slightly drier fabric. his scent flooded your nostrils. it was a strong scent, with traces of leatherwood, spices, and bergamot. it was heavenly, with just the right amount of cologne. 

“it is interesting,” his eyes focused on the road, the lights of the city whirring by as he drove, “even though i’ve gotten completely trashed every single time, i can’t seem to shake you off my mind.”

blush flooded your cheeks, your breath hitching in your throat, “i see.”

within minutes, maul pulled into a parking garage, turning off the engine. he helped out of the passenger seat, “let me carry your bookbag for you. the textbooks probably need to sit out for a few hours. i’m sure you don’t want to pay for new ones.”

“i don’t,” you sucked in a breath. 

the zabrak slung your bag over his shoulder with ease, locking the car behind you. the two of you entered the elevator on the level, and maul pushed his desired designation. a wave of silence crashed over you, but it wasn’t unnerving. it was more relaxed, maul humming a tune as the elevator whirred. 

eventually, you were standing outside his door, the zabrak shoving the key into the lock. pushing the door open, you couldn’t help but marvel at the decor, furniture, as well as the viewports. the apartment was luxurious, screaming wealth. yet, maul remained humble, not uttering a single word. 

the floor was a flint concrete, glossed over with a polish. in the den, there was a massive patterned rug, intricate patterns of black, white, and crimson woven together. the couch was a sectional, a dark grey. the shelving and tables were black, paired with subtle hints of scarlet or grey decor. there wasn’t much wall decor, besides some vintage posters from the old days of coruscant. framed photos of zabraki were scattered, and you inferred that they were feral and savage, maul’s younger brothers. 

“there’s a hall leading to the refresher. it’s on your right, i’m going to set out your books to dry. before you shower, leave your clothes in a pile by the door. i’ll throw them in the wash for you. and if i pop in, don’t scream. i’m going to lend you some of my clothes,” the zabrak murmured, “take your time in the shower. i don’t want you getting sick.”

“what if i need help getting the right water temperature?” you arched a brow. 

his eyes narrowed, gleaming, “i think you’ll be fine, princess. call me if you need anything.”

your cheeks reddened, “okay. i’ll be in the shower.”

maul mumbled something incoherent, and you wandered through the den, discovering the hall that he mentioned. once you found the refresher, you peeled the damp clothing off your body, grateful that there was a towel hanging outside the shower. exhaling, you tossed your clothes outside the door, turning on the water. after adjusting the temperature to your liking, you stood underneath the stream, grateful for the warmth as it seeped into your skin. 

the shower was just as elegant as the apartment, with glass doors and a steel shower head in the shape of a square. it was far better than the shower in your own apartment, as you didn’t have to worry about wasting hot water or any spiders. steam billowed into the space, hugging the doors of the shower, droplets of water condensing on the glass. 

“i’m coming in to drop off some clothes,” the zabrak’s voice entered the room, “holy fuck do you always have the water this hot?”

“do you not?” you chuckled. 

“it feels like a sauna in here,” he chuckled, teasing, “anyways, i’ll leave you be.”

letting out a content sigh, you turned the water off once he left. opening the door, your eyes scanned the space for the light switch. after a few seconds, you found it, flipping on the vent. hopefully that would help with the amount of steam that clung to every single item in the refresher. 

on the counter, there was a black turtleneck, along with a pair of briefs. patting yourself dry, you slipped on the briefs first, then slid the turtleneck over your head. it was getting late, the clock on the counter reading 11:36 p.m. yawning, you pushed open the door, padding into the hall. 

maul was nowhere to be found, a frown forming on your lips. where could he had run off to? surely he would’ve mentioned something to you. yet, your curiosity crept in, urging you to explore. holding your breath, you noticed a door, inferring that it was maul’s bedroom.

the door creaked as you tapped it, the draft pulling it open. inside, the floor was the same as it was, a king-sized bed in the middle, pushed against the wall, supported by a black wooden bed frame. there was a dresser, along with a walk-in closet. the most breathtaking aspect were the viewports, acting as a wall. the lights of coruscant glowed, the room overlooking the city. rain flowed down the viewports as thunder rumbled. you felt drawn to them, awestruck by the beauty of the sprawling city.

“you like the view?” your heart nearly leapt out of your chest. 

“don’t scare me like that!” you pouted, folding your arms across your chest.

“don’t go snooping around,” maul smirked, matching your energy.

your heart thudded as his eyes drank in the sight of you, in his turtleneck. the sweater was a little large, hanging loosely in some areas. the briefs hugged your thighs, leaving nothing to the imagination. your nipples poked through the fabric of the sweater, the cool air sending a shiver running down your spine. 

“gods,” he breathed, licking his lips, “i-i don’t know what to say.”

“i’m sorry for wandering off,” you mumbled, your cheeks hot as shame burned through you, “i didn’t mean to-”

“just stop,” maul shook his head, taking a step towards you, “just fucking stop. you have no need to apologize.”

the air in room crackled like the lightning outside as he took another step forward, an old t-shirt clinging to his torso, the same pair of grey joggers hanging loosely on his hips. your throat tightened as you noticed the way his chest rose and fell, the zabrak’s breathing ragged. 

“it seems as if i can’t shake you off my mind,” he panted as the space between you dissolved, “lately, all of my thoughts have revolved about you.”

“what do you think about?” you swallowed thickly. 

“do you want the hear the answer?” his face was merely centimeters away from yours, “or would you rather experience it?” 

“i want both.”

his hand reached out, gently grasping your jaw. the touch was light, feathery as his fingers traced your heated skin. you melted, nearly collapsing to the floor. 

the zabrak’s eyes glowed, the amber now hardened into a deep honey hue, almost a chestnut brown, “can i kiss you?”

you nodded, almost a little too quickly, “yes.”

a low, guttural growl dripped from his lips, “i couldn’t resist you before. but fuck as soon as i saw you in my clothes, i just can’t fucking take it any longer.”

the kiss was hungry, an open-mouth, lustful kiss. his lips crashed into yours, yearning to explore the taste of your mouth. the zabrak’s hands laced into your hair, tugging at the roots, gripping tightly. a whine echoed through the room as he sucked on your bottom lip, his tongue delving into your mouth. a hand slid down, resting on the nape of your neck, holding you steady as the kisses grew hungrier and hungrier. 

“get on the bed,” he commanded, his tone thick with authority, a hand untangling itself from your hair and tugging on the hem of the turtleneck, “and take this off.”

the way the words rolled of his tongue struck you to your core, your folds growing slick as the anticipation grew. fingers wrapping around the hem, you tugged it off, your breasts bouncing. the zabrak practically groaned as he admired your exposed body, a hand palming his cock as it hardened, the outline prominent in the light. 

obeying his order, you laid on the bed, your back hitting the soft comforter. maul slipped off the t-shirt, almost pouncing on top of you. pinning you down, his mouth connected with your neck, trailing sloppy kisses down, onto your collarbone.

“if only i could leave my mark on you,” his breath was hot, coming out in pants, “i would paint you like a canvas.”

“you can,” the words were a broken moan as his tongue dragged across your collarbone. 

“oh?” you could feel his lip curved into a smile, “you want me to?”

“ye-” the reply was shortened as maul’s lips wrapped around nipple, his tongue flicking over the sensitive area. 

his tongue drifted from your nipple to your flesh, nipping and sucking, a satisfied purr erupting from the zabrak as a rich burgundy mark appeared, “i hope you’re aware that you’re the most beautiful woman i have ever met.”

“i don’t think so.”

within seconds, his mouth was hovering over the waistband of the briefs, “you better fucking believe you are, (y/n).”

“i- oh my god,” the tearing of fabric rang off the walls as maul ripped the briefs off your frame. 

“usually i take my time with this,” maul murmured, his gaze burning with lust, “but fuck i need you. i need to feel you take my cock.”

“please,” you whimpered, squirming as he parted your thighs.

“holy fuck. how are you so fucking wet? you’re soaking and i haven’t even touched you.”

the zabrak was appalled, a flash of awe painted across features as he took in the sight of your dripping core, your pussy aching. desire burned through your being, threatening to consume you whole. maker, you never knew you wanted someone this badly. exhilaration rushed through you with every touch, his fingers slipping between your folds. 

“i’ve thought about you like this,” maul was enticed, almost in a trace as your juices coated his fingers, “i’ve thought about the way your body would be underneath mine, your eyes begging for me to fuck you till you can’t take it anymore.”

“i’ve thought about you in class.”

“in class?” his voice faltered, “(y/n), that’s sinful.”

“it’s not as sinful as how i’ve wanted you to fuck me for weeks,” your cheeks were flushed,. 

“oh gods,” maul groaned as a finger entered you, “i’m going to make you mine.”

“please,” your hips bucked forward, his finger plunging further into you, “i want to be yours.”

“you’re going to be mine princess,” he purred, “i promise i’ll give you what you’ve been yearning for.” 

hastily, the zabrak tugged his sweats off, kicking them to the floor. your nearly choked on your spit when his member sprang free from the constraint of the fabric. his cock was massive, the largest you had ever seen. yet, it wasn’t too large that you couldn’t take it. crimson and black patterns wove all around it, his shaft ribbed, precum dribbling down his length. 

“tell me how much you need me,” his voice shifted from a coo to a growl as fingers wrapped around your throat, “tell me how badly you need professor maul to fuck you senseless.”

“i need you to fuck me,” the words were a broken whine. 

“louder,” his grip tightened, “say it louder. i need to hear you.”

“i need professor maul to fuck me,” the words were enough to bring the zabrak to the edge, to make him unfold. 

“good girl,” his tone oozed with praise, low and husky. 

he lined his tip at your entrance, slowly inserting himself into you. maul’s hand loosened from your throat, gripping the headboard for leverage. your moans were breathy, laced with bliss as your walls expanded, wrapping around his cock.

“that’s such a good fucking girl,” maul leaned in, nipping at your ear, “you take my cock.”

the zabrak thrust into you, his tip brushing against your g-spot. throwing your head against the pillow, your body almost went limp, collapsing. the pleasure was overwhelming, burning through you like a fire. but maker, did you want more. you needed more. 

maul watched as he fucked you, one hand steady on the headboard, the other on the mattress, gripping the sheets. he was plowing into you now, showing no mercy. the moans bouncing off the walls were rich and so loud, fueling his desire to keep going. the zabrak lost all inhibitions minutes ago, his thoughts blurred, eyes glossed over. 

the way you felt was heavenly, every single thrust euphoric. 

maker, was he losing control. 

tightening his grip on the headboard, his knuckles were almost white. he was completely feral, unhinged, detached. 

a horrid cracking filled the zabrak’s ears, and he glanced up towards the headboard. the wood split into two, a lengthy, crack down the middle, stemming from his hand. 

“oh shit,” you gasped. 

“look what you made me do, angel,” a smirk stretched across his lips, “you’re going to fucking pay for that.”

your nails dug into his shoulder blades as he slammed into you, balls slapping against skin. his cock throbbed, swelling. with every throb, your walls tightened, the pleasure building in your belly. eyes squeezing shut, you felt every inch of him buried in your soaking pussy, balls deep in you now. 

“maul,” the zabrak nearly unfolded right there, “i’m going to cum.”

“let go baby,” his lips brushed against yours, “you can cum. cum for me.”

the orgasm racked your body, maul’s mouth connected with yours, the moans muffled. your thighs trembled, stars bursting in your vision, the pleasure almost blinding. 

with no strength left, your body went limp, collapsing into the mattress. 

his thrusts were more languid, sloppy with every stroke. maul came moments later, filling you up with it all. 

“fuck,” he cursed under his breath, a sheen of sweat clinging to his body, “are you all right?”

“i’m fine,” your inner thighs buzzed, soreness creeping into the muscle. 

every inch of skin the zabrak touched tingled, as if your body was savoring the memory.

maul cleared his throat, his cock still inside of you, “i kinda lost control.”

“kinda?”

“a little bit,” he chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair from your forehead, “it’s been so long since i’ve last had sex. it doesn’t help that i’m in heat, either.”

“you’re in heat?” you pressed, brows furrowing. 

“perhaps,” the color of his eyes returned to their normal hue, amber flowing into crimson, “let’s get you cleaned up. it’s late.”

“is it past the professor’s bedtime?” your tone was snarky. 

“don’t tempt me to fuck you again. because we both know damn well that i will.”

glancing up, you noticed the broken headboard, “how much is that going to cost?”

the zabrak let out a huff as his cock slid out of you, drenched with a mixture of juices, “i don’t know. it’s the least of my concerns at the moment. stay here, and don’t move a muscle.”

swinging his legs over the mattress, maul strolled towards the refresher, retrieving a rag to clean up the mess that you made. you sunk into the bed, questions ringing through your mind. 

yet, you couldn’t help but notice a prominent feature. in the light, the tattooed skin glowed. but there was something different about the way his thighs transitioned from flesh to an ashen metal. 

maul’s legs were cybernetic. 

and your curiosity about the zabrak, your professor, skyrocketed.

***

tagged: @sapphicstars , @maulieber , @starflyer-104 , @alwayshappysith , @doobiwankenooku , @magicalkitkat12 , @dartheldur , @princessayveke , @multifandombtch , @spaghetti-666 , @lis-ard , @swimmingsloths , @sithmando​ , @mother-0f-monsters​

[thwip--thwip]

MTBI

“Pete,” Tony whispers, and his breath has a hint of cayenne in it, what did he eat for breakfast? Peter’s never felt this overstimulated, what the hell happened? “Stay awake. You need to focus.”

“I can’t,” Peter’s embarrassed that it comes out a whimper, but frankly he’s surprised it came out at all. “I can’t, Tony please - “

*

Written for @iron--spider.

Read on AO3 | Or below the cut!

Peter wakes up to screaming.

When he puts it like that, it sounds alarming. It’s not. Well, mostly. Sometimes the screaming is Mrs. Reyes’ soap operas, three doors down the hall. Sometimes it’s the elementary school children down the block, chasing each other in circles on the sidewalk while they wait impatiently for the bus. Sometimes it’s a car horn, or a bird, hitting a frequency that makes Peter wake up in a sheen of sweat, breathless, fists curled. It’s not that bad.

Well, okay, this is bad. He’s the one screaming.

Peter jerks awake to white hot pain. Alright, maybe that’s an exaggeration. It’s red hot. Blue hot at best.

(“I’ve had worse,” Peter says later, defensive. Tony’s expression does something complicated and awful in response. “That’s not exactly a comfort.”)

His brain feels like it’s on fire, like somebody opened a hatch and poured bleach straight into his skull. And the smell! It burns his nose, makes him gag, something chemical that smells like piss -

“Kid!”

Peter clamps his hands over his ears, but Tony’s voice echoes painfully anyway. It rings and rings and rings, a neverending corridor in his brain - except it does end, at his eardrums, and it fucking hurts.

“Shh! Shh!” Peter says frantically, curling into a ball. Now that his hearing is rushing in, filling the void his unconsciousness left, he can hear everything in agonizing detail. Someone - presumably Tony - is struggling against something fibrous, something that chafes and scratches and tugs at his skin - and the harsh breaths dragging up Peter’s esophagus sound like sandpaper rubbing against itself.

There’s something beeping -

Drip drip drip

A dog barking -

Watch it, asshole, that’s my lane!

A gas stove clicks, clicks, catches -

I think I’m gonna pass out.

“You’re not gonna pass out.” Tony’s voice is a whisper, but it still makes Peter cringe on cold, hard, dirty - ew I can taste it - cement. “Peter, focus on me. Focus, kid, you can do it.”

He can’t, though. He can’t focus. It’s so much, all at once, and Peter keeps his hands clapped over his ears so hard it hurts. His mouth tastes like rainwater, like the muffins from the bakery he knows is around the corner because he can hear, feel, smell, taste -

“Pete,” Tony whispers, and his breath has a hint of cayenne in it, what did he eat for breakfast? Peter’s never felt this overstimulated, what the hell happened? “Stay awake. You need to focus.”

“I can’t,” Peter’s embarrassed that it comes out a whimper, but frankly he’s surprised it came out at all. “I can’t, Tony please - “

“You can.” Tony insists, his tone softening even more. Peter squeezes his eyes tight and tries to will the nausea away. “You’re Spiderman. You can do anything.”

The faith makes determination sit heavy in Peter’s stomach, and he takes a deep breath (ignoring the onions he can taste from the Philly Cheese truck, parked four blocks away), trying to find something to focus on. There’s too much, he can’t do it - but he’s Spiderman, he has to try.

Tony’s heartbeat is too fast, thumpthumpthump...thump, thumpthumpthump...thump, with an irregular arrhythmia Peter can only assume is leftover from the arc reactor. It’s something, though, loud and strong, and he takes every scrap of his focus, betting it on black.

Thumpthumpthump...thump

Thumpthumpthump...thump

Tony doesn’t say anything, as the minutes pass, but even with his eyes closed, Peter can feel the tension radiating from him. He listens to Tony’s heartbeat, which never falters, letting all the other sounds and sensations fade away. He’s not sure how long he lies there, be it minutes or hours, but eventually the overwhelming cacophony abates. His nausea subsides, and Peter’s left with just the dull ache in his skull. He’s not great, but he doesn’t feel like he’s about to faint anymore, so that’s something.

“I’m okay,” Peter whispers, slowly opening his eyes. Tony’s concerned face blurs into focus - the man is bleeding from his temple as well as his wrists, from where he’d pulled too hard on ropes binding him. “What...what happened?”

“Bastards got us outside of the falafel joint.” Somehow, Tony manages to infuse a helluva lot of anger into his whispering, and it makes Peter smile, despite everything. “They knocked you out, hard. You probably have a concussion, kid.”

Well that explains the pain in his head, and probably the sensitivity. If a concussion was bad for somebody normal, why wouldn’t it be extra horrible for someone like him?

“It’s a hard knock life,” Peter says, and Tony’s eyes narrow dangerously. Peter can’t help but grin, raising an eyebrow, even though he still hasn’t moved from the floor. “What, too soon?”

“Less than five minutes after you recover from having a seizure on the floor is the definition of too soon.” Tony hisses, and Peter knows he’s in for a classic round of mother-henning as soon as they get the hell out of there.

“Alright, alright, keep your pants on.” Peter picks himself up off the ground, swaying a little as he does so. He takes a minute to stabilize, and Tony watches him dubiously, like he’s expecting Peter to keel over at any second. Which, okay, fair. But still.

“Are you sure you’re good?” Tony’s head cranes to follow him as Peter walks around to undo the ropes; they’re knotted tightly, and flecked with Tony’s blood, where he’s rubbed his skin raw. Peter crouches and picks at them carefully, not wanting to cause him any more pain.

“Why wasn’t I tied up?” What, was he not good enough for rope? Did they run out? Are they just terrible kidnappers? Tony’s fingers flex impatiently, ever the fidgeter. Peter manages to undo the first knot and starts to work on the second.

“You were out cold, and you look like you’re twelve. I don’t think they thought of you as a threat. Are you sure you’re good, kid?”

“I’m threatening! I’m totally threatening. Grr.” Probably not the best way to prove it, if Tony’s pointed silence in response is anything to go by. Peter gets him out of the binds, dropping them to the floor, and circles back around to face his mentor. “I’m good, Tony. I’m fine. Let’s get out of here.”

“You’re not threatening.” Tony points out, hiding a wince as he pokes at his tender wrists. “You’re about as threatening as Elmo on sabbatical.”

“I won’t stand for this abuse.” Peter sways dangerously, and Tony catches him with a firm grip on his shoulder. He guides Peter into the chair he had just vacated, pushing him down firmly, and Peter can’t help but oblige. “...I guess I’ll sit for it.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“We can’t just sit here.” Peter protests, even as he does just that, and sits there. Tony’s firm grip on his shoulder is too much to fight, at the moment. “We have to get out of here before they come back.”

“No, we don’t.” Tony finally releases Peter’s shoulder and taps two fingers to the face of his watch, pulling up a hologram. There’s two red dots, and one of them is moving closer. “Morons didn’t take my tech. The team’s already enroute.”

“Oh,” Peter slumps in the chair, relieved. That wasn’t too bad, then, was it? Tony eyes him critically, flicking another hologram up that Peter has to assume are his vitals. The fact that Tony’s watch has the capacity to scan his vitals should be more worrisome. “What’s the ETA?”

His question is answered when the door flies open, making Peter flinch, hard. Two of the wannabe kidnappers are thrown bodily into the room, cursing and groaning when they land on hard concrete. Peter can see Falcon’s outline, as he flies into the room, hear Cap and company chatting on the man’s comm line, and it’s all so damn loud. Peter tries to concentrate on Tony’s heartbeat, thumping along, but before he can think too much about it, the man’s hands are on his ears.

Peter looks up, confused but grateful, as Tony’s palms cover his ears completely. Tony smiles gently, reassuringly, before pulling Peter’s head forward into his chest, giving him somewhere dark and quiet. Peter closes his eyes, blocking out the fighting - he can’t block it all the way, but it’s better, and more than that, the gesture brings a small smile to his face.

The fighting lasts a few good minutes, and Tony says something muffled that sounds like, Get them out of here, the kid has a concussion. When Tony does release him, the room is empty again - but the doors are wide open, beckoning freedom.

“That was easy.” Peter notes, and Tony snorts, stepping back to let Peter up out of the chair. “That wasn’t so bad, really. Pretty short for a kidnapping. Nothing even happened.”

“They gave you the mother of all concussions, I wouldn’t call that nothing.”

“What’s a little MTBI among friends?”

“Please tell me you didn’t just call the criminals your friends.” Tony pinches the bridge of his nose before rolling his eyes skywards, as if he could ascend to Heaven and leave Peter’s mortal plane bullshit behind him by sheer force of will. “MTBI?”

“Mild Traumatic Brain Injury.”

Tony sighs loudly even as Peter grins a bright, shit-eating smile. He loops his arm around Peter’s shoulders, pulling him into his side, and waggles an accusatory finger at him. “I hate you, you know that?”

“Yeah,” Peter snickers to himself, wrapping his free arm around Tony’s waist to return the one-armed hug. “I know.”

[perseusjackson-jasongrace]

Angst 1 for Jason? I'm feeling like some sad lightning boi I dont know why but ye

Hello darling Anon! Thanks for the prompt and I hope I did you well🥺 dis is hella angsty

Jercy Masterlist

Jason Grace doesn't have enough fingers to list how many things he's done wrong in the last month.

1. Losing his best friend

2.Losing his girlfriend

3.Being unable to help all the demigod's he's promised

4.Letting Reyna down by not coming back to SPQR

5.Dammit he can't even put on his fucking shirt the right way.

Holding in a scream he tugs it off and flips it so the tag is on the inside. He's proud of himself for not ditching clothing altogether, ditching life altogether. There is so much temptation in taking to the skies and floating for the rest of his days. It's not like anyone would miss him, would even notice he was gone. And maybe it's for the best. It certainly wouldn't be unexpected. For years he's wanted to be anonymous, just another one of the Campers. For years he's secretly rejected his titles as Son of Jupiter, Praetor of New Rome, Slayer of the Black Throne. He shouldn't complain now that he's ignored, unwanted.

There's a knock at his cabin that he pulls him out of his self-deprecating pity hour. Checking to make sure he has his pants and shirt on and his head firmly on his neck he grabs his sword and opens the door.

"Jason!" Will Solace gasps, "Please come it's Nico!"

His heart turns to stone, lungs become useless masses, "Let's go." He manages to breathe, "Brief me on the way."

They sprint through the camp, uncaring of the shouts and greetings coming from every side. They don't have time. It seems ever since they had defeated Kronos the clocks spin uncontrollably; hours are seconds and minutes only exist in the afternoon and nobody knows if one week is seven days or three blinks of an eye, if years are twelve months or a century.

"A breach at the west border. Monsters we've never seen before. They just snuck up on us. Nico's been raising the dead to fight but I'm afraid he's not strong enough yet. Not after the war. He'll burn out soon and they'll overwhelm him." Will gasps.

"How many?"

"Twenty maybe twenty five?"

"You call anyone else?"

The Son of Apollo shakes his head as they sprint around the corner, "Percy is in school he only arrives tomorrow. Clarisse is gone to visit her mom and there's so many Campers in the infirmary. The rest are the little ones."

"How fa—" Jason beholds the scene in front of him and every nerve in his body shut down.

There in the middle of skeletal warriors and black shadows is Nico Di Angelo. All around them are scaly four-legged vipers hissing and spitting. One opens its grossly enormous jaw and snaps it around a skeleton with a sickening crunch. Another skeleton pops up in the exact same place and with a rattling, he supposes is a scream, attacks the monster.

"NICO!" Will screams, trying to catch his boyfriend's attention.

The Son of Hades although dangerously powerful is grey and heaving as if the sheer force of his summonings are turning his own body to it's bony structure.

"Go!" Will shouts at him.

With a nod, Jason pulls his sword out and steps into the ring of the dead.

Gods these things are a hundred times more terrifying up close. Sharp teeth and poisoned spikes on their tales and oh gods jagged claws to top it all off. But he's fought armies before and survived. This will not deter him. So with the force of Zeus and the strategies of Jupiter flowing through his muscles he brings his sword down on the first creature.

It shrieks and his ears ring like a bell clanging in his skull. But the head thumps to the ground and the monster crumbles to dust.

Decapitation then.

He sidesteps the swish of a tail, chopping it off as it goes past. First mistake. Three tails grow back and he knows one drop of poison will be enough to end him. He vaults into the air using the wind to push him as high as possible and then he's slamming in the body of the creature and sawing at its head.

His foot slams into the ground as the monster powders underneath him. Second mistake. His ankle is broken and there's three more of these things advancing towards him.

He bites down a scream as he attempts to walk. It's no use. Stand here and fight it is. Summoning as much lightning as he can, blue eyes sparking maliciously, he looks directly into the first of them and slams five thousand volts of electricity into its brain. Before he knows it's dead he's onto the next. This time he bides his time, let's it come closer and when he can hear its ugly breathing and feel its lack of heat he stabs his sword into its neck and watches it bleed black.

The third monster is clever, it's learnt. But Jason doesn't know. So he gathers all his strength and waits for it to pounce. By now Nico is a few meters away, holding his own but pale beyond healthy. The monster shakes its body, scales rippling in the afternoon sun. It takes one step closer. Jason grips his sword, holds the power thrumming in his fingers. The monster moves again and he swears its smiling.

He turns to Nico, "You good?"

Third mistake. The monster let's out a vile screech and slams into them.

"NICO!" Someone screams. It sounds like Percy Jackson. But that can't be right. Percy is in school.

The creature's tail swipes at the Son of Hades.

Jason can't move as it's claws wrap around his throat.

I can't do anything right, he thinks. Those talons pierce his skin. The world goes black.

***

"He's a fucking idiot."

"Lay off. How was he supposed to know?"

"Maybe if he wasn't so caught up in trying to make friends he would have been able to do something."

"Leave him alone."

"Alright you lot, get out of here. I'll call you when he's awake."

Jason tries to open his eyes, tries to say something, anything. But he feels a prick in his neck and reality fades away.

***

"Is he awake?"

"How long does this take?"

"He had a broken ankle and a slit throat. Maybe a little patience is in order?"

"I still think we should send him back."

"That's enough! It wasn't his fault and we will stop acting like it.".

The Son of Jupiter groans, blinking into the world. Everything hurts. Everything. And the light above his head is blinding.

"What the hell happened?" He rasps.

"You almost got Nico killed is what!" Someone snaps.

He blinks trying to find the source of such bitterness. "I what?"

"What the fuck were you trying to do saying hi in the middle of battle?"

The room finally shifts into focus and he sees three faces staring at him intently, varying degrees of anger and relief in their expressions.

"Well?" Hazel looks at him, "What were you trying to accomplish? Were you actively trying to get him killed? I know you didn't trust him but trying to kill him Jason? I thought you got passed that after Cupid. Nico told me he trusted you."

"Hazel!" Percy Jackson glares at her.

"I'm—" He chokes, "I'm sorry. I just wanted to make sure he was okay. I— I didn't know the monster would try to get both of us." He's crying now, red hot tears spilling onto the white sheets of the infirmary bed.

"That's the problem Grace, you don't think." There is so much pain in her voice.

"Im sorry," He sobs, "Is he okay? Is he— is he—"

"He is fine Jason," Will says softly, "He managed to jump back before the tail swiped him. He's actually really worried about you. We all are."

He doesn't know what to say to that. He doesn't even know if he deserves that. Hazel is right. If he hadn't distracted Nico they wouldn't be in this situation. It was dumb luck that Nico managed to get out of the way. If he hadn't. Oh gods, Jason would have been responsible for killing his friend.

With that though he turns over in his bed and heaves straight into the trashcan.

"Everyone leave us." Percy's voice is soft, but there is an unmistakable command in it.

The buzzing of the infirmary hushes as people file out and Will gently clicks the door behind him.

"I didn't meant to distract him," Jason cries.

The Son of Poseidon clasps their hands together and looks into him, "I know Jase. I know."

He breaks down, sobs wracking his aching body. He can't even keep his head up. And the tears are ever flowing. He can't breathe, he can't breathe, he can't do this.

Percy hops onto the bed and takes him into his arms. They sit there for many moments, the sound of his crying disrupting every inch of the silence.

"I can't do this anymore Percy."

He feels the demigod stiffen and he's afraid he said too much, has pushed another person away. But then his head is being tilted up by a soft hand and he's looking into oceans.

"Tell me what's wrong."

"There is no-one left and I cannot do this alone."

Something sparks in those emerald green eyes.

"You have never been alone Jason Grace. When the world is dust and the gods can once again become mortal, you will find that only one thing still exists."

"What— what is that?" He hiccups.

"Love. You cannot be alone if you have love."

His eyes pool with tears, fall to the floor, "Lies. There is no love."

"You have forgotten my friend what it feels like. And that is no one's fault but ours. We should have been there. Should have helped you, seen the signs. I should have known."

"Why you?"

"Because I know what it's like to have everything you've never wanted and bear the burden anyway. And when I left I added to yours. I'm sorry for that. I got selfish, wanted to know what it was like to live. But that meant you suffered."

"It's not your fault. I just thought I was stronger than I am."

"You are strong. You are so strong because you are still here. You took the nature of the gods and made it your own. Took the burden of everyone in these camps and carried it on your shoulders."

"Thank you," He mumbles, getting lost in the seas, "For saying that. When did you get so philosophical and wise?"

Percy cracks a grin at that, "After Tartarus I started going to therapy. I think you should too."

He mulls it over, flips the idea around in his mind, "Okay."

"And maybe..." The black haired boy pauses, "Maybe you should come with me to Montauk for the winter holidays. I think you could use a break from all the hero stuff."

"Really?" His eyes widen, staring at his friend.

"Really. Annabeth is in Cali to spend time with her dad and my mom and Paul are just going to spend some time at home with Estelle. I could use company."

"Won't you dad like blast me for being in his territory?"

"I'll talk to him," He smirked.

"Okay. That would be great!"

Percy gives him another squeeze and then jumps to the floor.

"Rest easy Grace."

"Jackson," He stops the demigod in his tracks, "Thank you for this. I needed it."

"We are alive Grace, and we are enough." Those green eyes are intense, filled with emotion. "Remember that."

Jason nods and when he finally succumbs to sleep once more, his soul takes a deep breathe and exhales a new beginning.

[haikyuu-scenarios-box]

Haikyuu Horrors — Week 2🔪

Demon — DemonKing!Oikawa Tooru x FallenAngel!Reader

Previous Week: Wendigo — Kuroo Tetsurou x GenderNeutral!Reader 

TW: fire, mentions of torture, religious references, blasphemy i mean seriously demon!oikawa is in love with u ofc it’s gonna be blasphemous

Word count: 2,370

UNDER THE CUT

__________

One of the many debates in Heaven was why the number of demon contracts skyrocketed as centuries passed. As [y/n] poured the hot tea from the pot into their cup, they recalled their answer - mortals were simply hollow without greed. Koushi’s healing wasn’t enough, Azumane’s protection wasn’t enough, Kiyoko’s beauty wasn’t enough and Daichi’s wisdom wasn’t enough.

But the demons... their services fully relieved whatever emotional or superficial famine mortals were undergoing. They went beyond what a mortal desired and for that, they gained their soul in exchange for temporary pleasures. [Y/n] figured that Tooru - the king that oversaw the sixth circle of Hell - was relishing in the torture he subjected those that were damned to reside in his realm for entirety. 

The tea coated [y/n]’s mildly inflamed throat with a comforting warmth. When they caught a glimpse of the woods from the front window, a bitterness akin to a melting pill on their tongue bloomed within their chest. Keiji just dropped them in the middle of nowhere and by sheer chance, [y/n] eventually found a one-room cabin that’d been abandoned for years. It had barely been a month and [y/n] was already inflated with frustration. How the fuck did mortals live like this? They felt like a goddamn farmer every time they watered the empty vegetable patch and collected leaves from a nearby tea shrub.

Their jumbled thoughts ceased once their ears began picked up on distant sprinting. [Y/n] would be lying if they said that their paranoia didn’t exponentially increase the moment they fell. After all, most of their powers had been taken, besides a small bit of their healing ability and heightened senses. No strength. No agility. No exorcism. Nothing.

At first, [y/n] dismissed the sounds as paranoia - a camper or hiker, perhaps? Despite their attempt at composing a logical justification, a bout of nausea grew within their gut and the muscles along their jaw ached with tension. The sweat that slowly sweeped from [y/n]’s pores pricked their skin as they hurriedly reached for the door, locking the four locks along it.

It couldn’t have been a human. Those sprinting footsteps were far too fast. 

It couldn’t have been an angel. They were forbidden from contacting all of them, including fallen ones.

It could only belong to a demon that donned a human body.

[Y/n]’s hands shivered with a numbing, glacial dampness. They no longer possessed defensive abilities, nor were there any weapons in the cabin that would be effective against a demon. As the sprinting got louder within their ears, a dry knot formed itself within their throat and the intensity of [y/n]’s heartbeat weighed their head down, almost sending them to the floor. They were simply frozen. There was nothing that could be done.

A great force shattered the wooden door into splinters and boards. The locks might as well had been a layer of chiffon. 

‘W-what...’ they backed away slowly, the sharpness of a spike buried within their sternum. He appeared human, but [y/n] could very clearly see his real form. ‘How... Azumane s-sealed you away, I-I don’t...’

‘I didn’t think that this form would leave you speechless,’ Tooru said with pride, flashing a charming smile, ‘I wanted to wear something nice for you.’

‘Wear something?’ [y/n] repeated with disgust, ‘You’ve possessed an innocent man!’ they yelled, riddled with spite, ‘Who is he? A father? A son? A—’

‘I’m offended that you’d accuse me of such a thing,’ Tooru feigned hurt as he approached them, ‘I made all of this’⁠—he gestured in a downwards motion to his body as he grinned—‘on my own. It took a decent amount of energy to make a form this appealing. You could at least appreciate it.’ 

‘Well that energy has gone to waste because I can already see how hideous you look underneath it,’ [y/n] scowled, ‘get out or I’ll send you back to where you belong,’ they bluffed, stretching out their right hand towards him. They wished that the archangels could hear them curse for taking away the only ability that would’ve kept them safe. 

The smirk that Tooru’s lips curled into denoted scepticism and cockiness. The last time a substantial number angels fell was eras ago when they fought alongside the Devil (which, as most knew, ended with a victory for Archangel Azumane when he managed to seal him away within the deepest layer of Hell). Despite that, Tooru didn’t forget that those angels that fell to Earth had almost entirely lost their powers.

‘Come closer and do so then,’ he beckoned, ‘or are you scared that I’ll be the one who sends you to where you should’ve fell?’

[Y/n] opened their mouth to respond, but Tooru’s strides towards them caused that sentence ceased before it even began. In the three centuries they’d been imprisoned in Tartarus, they’d almost forgotten how ugly and twisted a demon’s real form was, even more so when it was the king of a circle. It was such a sharp contrast to the human face that Tooru currently hid behind; a smokey, pitch-black void that dripped with a various shades of a deep crimson. The blurry features of a substantial number of agonised human faces littered his form, their hands either pounding or scratching. He had the skull of a horse for what would be a face and his limbs were thrice as long as that of a normal human; the decaying shreds of muscle sizzling around the cobalt traces of fire lining them. 

At the same time, though, [y/n] couldn’t deny that Tooru’s mortal form was captivating. It was mesmerising enough to render them blind to what lied beneath it. 

‘As if dumping you in the middle of rural Japan like a bag of trash wasn’t bad enough, your powers were taken away as well,’ Tooru stared right into them, ‘a bit excessive for throwing a tantrum about serving ungrateful humans, don’t you think?’ 

Long ago, prior to when [y/n] began to develop an intense loathing towards the archangels, they would’ve sent the bastard right back to Hell so that he’d go back to trapping every damned human within a flaming tomb, or whatever other punishment that the sadist came up with throughout his reign. 

Certain affirmations simply could not be forced, and this was one of them. In a way, [y/n] was starved - they always sought more control, more freedom and much more power. Tooru stole the words right out of their larynx. If Father had truly loved them equally, he would have granted every angel unimaginable power. Equality and bias were opposites and restricting such power to the Archangels was on the far end of that spectrum. The fact that all [y/n] could do was do mortals’ bidding filled them with resentment, so much to the point where they were surprised that none of the other angels sensed it. 

‘I can still feel it so clearly,’ Tooru inhaled deeply with a pleased smile, ‘that pure hatred in you,’ he said, ‘I remember it all the way back from when you fought alongside Azumane when he was trying to seal me away. You were the only being that abandoned the battle,’ his features softened, ‘and for that, you were damned.’ 

[Y/n]’s eyes and nostrils grew warm, lower lip quivering. ‘How did you break the seal?’ they muttered after a short silence, changing the topic and neglecting his earlier statement. 

‘I’m glad you asked!’ Tooru clasped his hands together, ‘All it takes is fire created by an archangel.’ 

‘W-when I fell...’ [y/n]’s heart pounded within their cranium upon realisation, ‘... the embers from Keiji’s fire...’ 

‘Correct,’ he beamed, ‘That reminds me, I should probably thank Makki and Mattsun for taking their hellhounds on regular walks. Those hounds smelled messenger boy’s fire from towns away.’ 

They merely stood there, watching Tooru walk around the cabin curiously. The entire encounter caused an harsh headache to throb along their temples. [Y/n] could sense their eyeballs slowly rolling to the back of their skull and they wanted nothing more than to lay down. 

‘This place is depressing. And I’m saying that as someone who lives in Hell,’ he remarked, his back facing them as he glanced at the patches of dust on the kitchen counter. 

‘Did you come here take me to your realm or to judge my decor?’ [y/n] sarcastically asked, overwhelmed with emotions they couldn’t even describe (divine beings were crafted to be pragmatic, not emotional). ‘If you’re planning on torturing me for intel on the archangels, let me just tell you in advance that they’re still sitting up there doing nothing.’ 

‘Torture?’ Tooru chuckled. When he turned around, [y/n] watched ebony slowly pool into his eyes, starting from his waterline and eventually blending into his pupils. The smirk he wore only amplified his unsettling aura. ‘If that was my plan, I would’ve just asked the kings of the eight circle to take care of you. Tetsurou, Bokuto and Kei would have got you talking in no time.’

The mention of those names drove a shudder to travel through every bone in [y/n]’s body. A sudden heat enveloped them, leading sweat to become a disgusting adhesive between their clothes and skin. The wooden walls snapped and crackled, whereas their lungs felt as though they were on the verge of collapsing into themselves. When their vision grew distorted with heat stronger than that of Tartarus’, [y/n] realised that it was far too late to keep stalling.

‘What I want is to propose an offer.’

With a single blink, cobalt flames erupted from the floor in the form of a dome around them. The intense heat against their skin was excruciating enough to make [y/n] howl and whimper, a first degree burn already flourishing onto their skin. The smoke compressed and stung every one of their internal organs; despite that, they refused to sink to their knees. 

‘God’s love isn’t unconditional, [y/n],’ Tooru began, walking through the wall of fire without a flinch, ‘he made me too, yet he doesn’t love me. And he certainly doesn’t love you either. Not anymore.’ 

Several wooden planks clattered to the dusty floorboard from the ceiling, a thick blackened sheen enveloping them almost immediately. [Y/n] could barely breathe, their gasps and wheezes sharp enough to bear a similarity to skewers impaling them. Yet, terror was no longer within them; merely because they were in the presence of someone who understood. As Tooru cupped [y/n]’s face and stroked their cheekbones with his thumb, the flames began to slowly dwindle into ash.

‘But me? I love you.’

‘What?’ [y/n] questioned, confused beyond measure. Demons were incapable of love - this was either lust or pure manipulation. 

‘I love you,’ Tooru repeated, an unnerving Cheshire grin drawn along his lips. ‘Without you, your rebelliousness, your disobedience, your hatred, I never would have been able to return here,’ he slightly tightened his grip on their face, ensuring that their gaze remained fixated on him, ‘Fallen angels gain great power when they’ve suffered in Hell long enough. Much greater than your father could ever give you. Return with me and suffer, and then... it’ll be yours.’ 

His fingers ran through [y/n]’s hair, brushing away stray strands off their forehead. The gesture was so tender, so human; a complete contradiction to his nature and position. They weren’t sure that angels themselves were capable of carrying out an act that delicate. 

‘I want more than that,’ [y/n] scowled, placing their hands flat against his chest. ‘I want the archangels to suffer. I want every human in Hell. I want the entire fucking earth,’ they curled their fingers into Tooru’s shirt, aggressively pulling him towards them to press their lips against his. They were infuriated by their own thoughts and transfixed by the demon in front of them; it was as though [y/n] believed acting on their blind instincts would somehow enrage the archangels. Their lids slowly sunk closed as he placed one hand at the back of their neck and the other on their lower back, tugging them even closer to his body.

‘There’s only one way to gain that kind of power,’ Tooru smirked as he pulled away, raising their head by the chin with his knuckle to stare right into their irises.

‘I know,’ [y/n] solemnly said, gently stroking his cheeks, ‘Take us home.’

__________

It would have been logical for one to assume that Hell would be even more unbearable for a being that resided in Heaven for centuries, but [y/n] was an anomaly. They stood in front of the full-length mirror, admiring their formal attire and mortal form. A while ago, Tooru had refurbished the castle entirely while [y/n] underwent the transformation. Although it’d been eras since an angel was turned into a demon, he recalled how lengthy and agonising the process was and of course, he wanted his darling to return to a home they’d adore prior to even entering.

‘Your highness,’ a voice rang from behind them, ‘we await your arrival.’ 

It wasn’t just Tooru and [y/n] that donned their mortal form today. They’d made everyone in the realm do so as well. Demons accepted their appearance, yes, but no one could deny that they were repulsive (after all, [y/n] themselves couldn’t persuade their mind to view their new self as acceptable). Neither of them wanted to stare down at their subjects in their monstrous forms from the castle’s balcony. 

When [y/n] headed towards the balcony, their groom finally came within their sight. ‘My love,’ they cooed, prompting Tooru to turn around. Hajime, his personal advisor, was already delivering a speech about the significance of the day; though [y/n] wasn’t listening, really. 

Tooru took their hands within his, kissing their knuckles with a genuine grin. 

‘The overseer of the City of Dis’—Hajime began his introduction—‘the punisher of heresy, the ruler of the sixth circle of Hell, King Tooru!’ 

Excited yells, hollers and claps erupted as Tooru left their side to appear on the balcony. He stood proudly with a captivating smile, giving a wave to the demons he ruled over. Almost everyone in the realm attended - a “short vacation”, they all called it.

‘And the angel that abandoned the battle against the sixth circle now roams it, not as a fallen angel, but as one of us!’ Hajime announced with a loud, confident voice That was [y/n]’s cue to appear.

‘King Tooru’s [bride/groom], [y/n]!’ 

The buoyant cheers grew once more as [y/n] stopped beside Tooru; yet the attendees might as well have remained completely silent, for all their focus was on him. He wrapped his arms around [y/n]’s waist as they cupped the sides of his face, tenderly placing his lips against theirs and relishing in their warmth and softness. They both currently appeared so humane; however, they knew that they shared an intense ugliness within them. 

‘We will soon dominate the Earth and the Heavens, darling,’ Tooru whispered. 

They wouldn’t have had it any other way.

[anteroom-of-death]

Life, for Dummies p8

a/n: *tyra banks voice* the master, but make it domestic. sorry all, tumblrs tags didn’t populate part 7 in the tags. but hey! lemon! romance! a little spice...

You woke with a curious yet lazy start, the smell of coffee and other breakfast-y type scents were drifting in your bedroom door. The sun was lazing in and your ceiling fan was twisting around giving you a hypnotic white noise. You dreamt the Master had returned for you, that he was genuinely sorry, it was confusing, but you shook it off and enjoyed the morning. 

Then it dawned on you: the scent of coffee? Food? How could that happen. You were in another room. You were suddenly in not such an enjoyable mood. You grabbed your screwdriver and crept out to the kitchen and found him at your table, he was reading a well-worn copy of 50 Shades of Grey.

“Morning, I thought you’d never wake! Coffee, just how you like it. I also made those things you like.” He smiled and placed it down, clearly on best behaviors. He pointed out his place setting for you, complete with daffodils and a paper towel folded like a swan.

“Is Gallifrey a hood in Boston?” You querched up and eyebrow and eyed up the coffee tentatively. He was good, remembering that you needed coffee for any basic functions to happen. You smelled it and took a few cautious half sips. His coffee was better tasting than you remembered.

“Hmm?” He asked, clearly confused. You indulged him in an elaboration. “You are certainly brown-nosing like a little Masshole.” 

“That slang for people that are from Massachusetts, yeah?” He seemed a tad more confused, but he got the gist of the sentiment.

“Finding your inner goddess?” You lightly mocked his choice of reading material.

“Oh yes! I was out of touch with her for a while...I think I might go back to my chemises and corsets…” 

You’d seen Missy from a distance once when you landed on a planet and she was looking for hats on the Planet of the Hats, you could admit, Missy was an experience from the ten seconds you saw her and the fact she vaporized a shopkeeper for having nothing that matched her favorite overcoat. 

You shook your head and gave a chuckle.

“I’d like to see it.”

“Come with me, and maybe you will…” He alluded smoothly. 

You pointed at your mug of coffee, “I haven’t finished my coffee, therefore, I’m still thinking.” You were firm. You still didn’t know exactly what to think of this all. You were still very angry and very hurt, yet exchanging pleasantries with him like it was no big deal. There was a slight tension in the air, but it wasn't an overt cloud of angst. Perfectly palatable, and doable. Enjoyable even.

“Alight.” He gave you some time and went back to his reading. 

The food was phenomenal, you had to give them that. He even drizzled a little bit of maple syrup in the corner of the plate into a smiley face. Cute.

He was begging in the only way he knew how. As much as you would enjoy him begging more, last night's awkward display of the man who has all the words choking at the idea of sentence formation had you in enough stitches for several lifetimes. 

You may be a tad bit of a sadist, but you weren’t that big of one.

You let out a sigh, “You have to promise me that you’re all in. You’re not going to pull more nonsense. You’ll also let me put in my two weeks.Maybe even go through a bit of couple’s therapy if need be. You will also not wig out if we meet her again. You. Are. All. In…” You laid out your demands in a succinct voice.

“Lasty, you are not going to take that damned collar off me again once it's on. You are in this ride for the long run. No backing out for any reason…” You forced yourself to say it with a blank face to let him know that you were dead serious. 

“All but the therapy and you got yourself a deal.” He offered his hand out as a deal signer. You took it. 

“Man’s only as good as his word.” You muttered, but meant for him to hear.

He smiled at the deal. 

“I can be domestic around here!” He clapped. 

“What?” You staggered back.

“Two weeks of work? And I can show you how good I can be…” The words played out like he was making fun of himself being at the mercy of another. 

You rolled your eyes and smiled and rubbed your temples. Your usual migraine was flaring up. You just let him bustle around as you went about your day, clearly in servicing behaviors. Just because the Master was in town didn’t give you the benefit of getting sloppy with your days.

After you got done with everything you sat down and started drafting your resignation letter, casually posing the question, “‘You and our team were a pleasure to work alongside of…’ or ‘It has been a pleasure working alongside the whole sales team…’” 

“Pardon?” He paused his tinkering on your security system. 

“My resignation letter. Have you ever heard of one?” You dragged slightly, it’s not like Time Lords has Human Resource Management. Insane bureaucrats that they were…”What sounds more diplomatic?”

“The first…” He walked over and peered over at your laptop, peering over to parse through your letter. “Yeah..that is definitely better. Sounds more chipper.” 

“Thanks.”

You went on and worked.

Monday eventually came and you printed your letter out and delivered it to the boss.

“Furthering your education?”

“Oh, yeah. Got accepted to a university in Galloway.” You said. The Master thought it would be funny for the play on words due to a Master’s Degree being something a human could earn and Galloway being a place and sounding like Gallifrey. You let him keep it in. As if it would be verified and you’d actually be here to suffer the repercussions. A funny little white lie to fraud you over until you died at the hands of some alien in another galaxy. No big deal.

“Well, congrats! Didn’t know you were looking to further your education! We’ll miss you around here…” Your heart fell a bit, the staff here were all so nice and had that small town charm but none of the artifice. You let yourself ride the wave of guilt. You hoped this would all be worth it. 

The rest of the week got tense. Sure the days were oddly peaceful and uneventful, but you two were getting handsy in ways you weren’t quite trusting of him yet. Simple brushes and hands laid on thighs. Quite scandalous, but you even shared the couch together as you watched a movie one night and shared the same snack bowls. He was still the same frighteningly attractive dunce he always was. 

What was also on your mind was he was really trying to atone for his poor behavior, your abandonment and anything else that might come to mind. It was beyond astounding that a man would and could try to correct his behavior, especially when you knew what he was capable of in times of casual cruelty. 

Your mind ached from the sheer amount of mental gymnastics and working through your thoughts and coping. 

But you did enjoy a roomie on his best behaviors. 

Soon your two weeks were up however, and you came home and shrugged off your clothes and slipped into a shower. The sweethearts treated you to sparkling wine and mini cupcakes, and even a little gift basket filled with anything a student back to school might need, even a few gag gifts.You nearly cried, but the adrenaline of traveling the stars again won out until midway through scrubbing your scalp. You were so excited for the stars and living a truly exciting life again, but damn if Earth gives her best shot at giving you a reason to stay. You finished up both your crying jag and your shower routine and walked out of the bathroom to go get dressed. 

He was drinking a cup of tea in the living room and glanced your way, his eyes grew and got covered in lust, and it happened quicker than you could fathom. The mug fell and sploshed all over the ground as he rushed over to you and pinned you to the wall, shaking your shelves a bit. His mouth found yours as he bit your top lip ferociously. He reached under your towel and slightly worked at you until your jaw went slack and a moan rattled out of you, “I’ve waited too long to touch you, pet.” He huskily moaned. You barely tried to fight it, “I’m not letting you go now, you’re all mine now.”  He pinned you to the wall with his hand and undid his belt, “Enough playtime.” He was already hard and tossed your legs up around his waist, you obliged and instinctively wrapped them around his torso, clinging for dear life. 

He thrusted up into you and took you in the most aggressive ways, if not for the shock and the thought of “Oh no! I forgot to lotion my legs!” You would have been into it more, but the dryness of your legs was distracting, as they were wrapped around each other and you could feel them sloughing against one another. 

He was claiming you in the most primal way. It was more violent as he penetrated your mind, filling you with images of all the other ways this past two weeks he wanted to have you and fill you with his cum. 

The one involving your wrought iron fire pit spade to your bare ass was avante-garde and fascinating enough to say the least. That one threw you off the stress of your lotion-less legs. 

He pulled your hair by the top and forced you to stare straight at him, “Precocious little slut thought she can forget about her Master, didn’t she?” He pressed his throbbing cock deeper still into you, “Not anymore.” He continued to use you and glare at you with a wicked glint behind rivers of lust. 

“Who do you belong to?” He asked, grunting, the question wasn’t a question at all, but demanded an answer.

You sputtered out in an almost hypnotized shout, “You! I’m yours!” It was so painful, but it felt so great to say it and own it yourself. You were minutely processing life at the moment. 

“Call me by name…” The voice was lower and less staticy.

“M-m-Master!” 

“Again!”

“Master!”

“Can’t hear you, pet…”

“Master!” You shouted as it clicked deep inside your skull and you felt him spasm inside you. Overwhelmed by this, he let you go off the wall with his hold and relaxed before petting your hair and smiling serenely. 

“You did good…” he gently whispered into your chest as he leaned in a bit, letting himself finish up and leak out of you. 

“Uh, thank you?” You were still a tad ready to go, but it seemed he was going to tease you and leave you wanting more. Not that you minded. You could deal with that later on yourself. You were throbbing and wet and your hair was still wet, you noticed. 

He got back up and slyly gave you a sideways look, “Turn around and face the wall, little pet.” 

You did it and he muttered, “Good girl.” You felt something slightly weighted go around your throat and his hands work some fabric deftly. He spun you around and marched you straight back into the bathroom by your arm pinned to your back, your towel was off and you looked shaken.

But your collar was back on, and it felt strange that it was ever off. He let your hand go as you glided towards the mirror and looked at yourself, stroking both it and your collar curiously, your thoughts flew many more miles away. 

You really had thrown yourself back into this. You trembled a bit, nearly in tears because of the simple gesture. Who would have known that a damn collar would have made you feel so many emotions at once?

You had a feeling he knew…

You looked back at his casual, yet pantsless figure looming in the back. He was standing there, as proud as can be, just marveling in the fresh chaos he’d breathed into you. He had broken through what walls you erected and won. 

“Why don’t I reclean you. You had been freshly bathed, yeah?” He offered kindly.

He drew you a bath and massaged you down and made sure there was no lasting damage done to you, he even got you a fluffy fresh towel and wrapped you in it and let you alone with your thoughts. (How dangerous!) 

You sat in there for what seemed like ten eternities and finally it dawned on you: You were his. You always were his. No amount of time or space or anything would come between  you two and the bond forged. It was bizarre to come think of, but the sheer fact that he owned you in such a way, was freeing. Of all the people in the universe, your only equal was this G-dlike being who was off in your house, doing heavens knows what.

And he was crazy about you.

You let out delirious laughter and pulled yourself off the ground and walked out of the bathroom for the second time that night. 

He was sitting on your couch with a fresh bowl of popcorn, wrapped in your couch blanket. He looked completely normal. Like he was any other guy, harmless. Pants back on.

“I thought we could finish that wild documentary about the gay redneck zookeeper an the woman who took ‘eat the rich’ a little too to the heart!” He stretched out and offered you a place at his side, you slid in and grabbed a hand of it. 

The Master was very good at making popcorn. He did something wild with coconut oil and salt and sugar that made the flavor pop into it. He also somehow managed to pop every kernel every single time. It was the most disconcerting thing about him, if you were completely honest with yourself. No one should wield that kind of power. 

“You’re still a rat bastard…” You muttered as you slightly started to drift off.

“Oh, I know.” He confirmed.

You fell asleep glued to his side as some man rode off into the sunset on a jet ski and Eye of the Tiger zagged on. 

You vaguely remember stirring gently when he lifted you up and placed you in bed, “Sweet dreams, my pet…” you heard in a sleep-drunk haze. “You have all the rest you need…” 

In your mind you heard as you finally got into a deep slumber. “You’re going to need it…”

[paradoxicalcurio]

Time to share one of my stories. This one follows my character Styx, a lich.

---

  It was Styx's day off from work today, and she was certain the other doctors and surgeons could deal with the injuries from any accident that happens. It had been a while since she had spent a night on the town, and she really didn't want to spend another quiet, sleepless night at home. So once the sun set and she was free to walk around without getting burned, she grabbed some essentials and headed out.

  Her usual outfit worked just fine for her destination: a long black cloak with a hood, and a silver necklace housing her phylactery. A quick glamour disguised her skeletal arm, and she was ready to go.

  The club she ended up at wasn't at all similar to what most people would think when they imagine a club. It was more suited to the goth subculture, and thus a perfect place for undead such as herself to blend in and meet interested people.

  Almost immediately after walking in, she was approached by a short purple-haired woman and a much taller, blonde man. "Cool arm." The woman said, smiling softly. "You do it yourself?"

  Without missing a beat, Styx raised her bone arm, now unglamoured, and nodded. "It's not my original arm, but I'm still rather attached to it." The joke elicited a chuckle from both the guy and the girl.

  So casually revealing her undead nature was risky, she knew. But hiding her true nature all th time was exhausting, she knew that these people would be more fascinated than terrified, and it was unlikely anyone they told outside of the goth culture would believe them even for a second.

  Perhaps she was a little careless, however.

  Styx spent a few hours dancing and telling stories about her unlife to those who were interested, and even got a few numbers and flirtatious gestures. It wasn't until almost four AM that she checked her watch and interrupted her current story about an encounter with a dragon.

  "Oh dear, I need to get home before the sun rises." She explained, standing up. Though it didn't show much, she could tell the others were disappointed, but nobody stopped her as she exited the club.

  As she approached her car, however, she heard someone coming up behind her at a brisk pace. She turned around to face them - and blinding light and agony exploded onto her face. She shrieked and recoiled, falling to her knees and clutching her face, feeling a cross-shaped mark burned across it.

  "I knew it." A voice spat. She could barely hear it, and couldn't see its source at all, too focused on the blinding, burning pain the cross had caused. "An unholy abomination, cursed by God himself."

  Styx shuddered at the name, and forced her vision back to normal. Slowly, the red darkness faded, revealing the blonde man who'd greeted her at the entrance - Lucifer, she remembered he introduced himself as. She thought it was just an edgy nickname, but the cross clutched in his hand and the hatred on his face indicated it was more fitting than she had originally assumed.

  "Stay down!" he barked as she tried to get to her feet, and pressed the tip of the cross into her forehead. It ignited into sheer agony, and she shrieked again and fell back onto the ground, barely supporting herself with her hands and knees.

  Faintly, she heard the sound of a gun cocking, and felt the barrel press against the top of her head. The man muttered something - she caught the word 'God' and shuddered again - then fired. The sound was oddly muffled, and she couldn't tell if it was because of her senses still being overwhelmed, or that there was a silencer on it. Maybe both.

  Everything went black.

  For a moment.

  It hurt. Dear lord, it hurt. The cross burn on her face, the ringing in her ears, the bullet hole in her skull, the bullet itself - silver? It felt like silver, or gold - still lodged somewhere in her head.

  Slowly, painfully slowly, she rolled over onto her back, feeling the liquid aether slowly oozing from the hole in her head. Lucifer had turned away from her, clearly believing his job done. Fool. This may have worked on a vampire, but liches were made of sturdier stuff.

  Strength returned to her limbs as she willed her injuries healed, expending as much energy as she could muster. The pain faded to a dull ache, and as she stood up, the bullet was pushed up out of her head by the regrowing tissue, and clattered to the pavement. Lucifer turned around at the noise, eyes wide.

  "What the fu-"

  He raised the gun in one hand and cross in the other, but Styx was too fast for him to recover from his shock. She closed the distance, grabbed his right hand and yanked it back. His yell of pain was joined by the crack of the bone, and the cross clattered to the ground. The gun followed a second later, preceded by the crack of Lucifer's other wrist.

  With both hands incapacitated, he couldn't stop her from forcing his mouth open and, with an inhumane rattling breath, begin drawing his soul out from his body. His eyes were wide with terror and fear, but only for a few seconds. They dulled as his soul was pulled out and consumed by the lich.

  She was tempted to keep going until the entire soul was devoured, wiping Lucifer completely from existence. But she knew that it would only prove him and other hunters right, that it would be the first step towards becoming a true monster. Something she'd spent the last five hundred years fighting. So she stopped, just before the last, most crucial piece of the goth's soul was pulled out, and dropped the now comatose human to the pavement. 

  Her eyes turned to the club. Nobody seemed to have seen or heard anything; likely the music was loud enough to cover the gunshots and screams. Speaking of the gun, she picked it up off the ground and pocketed it. Perhaps she could sell it later.

  He'd be fine eventually. It would take a few weeks of bedrest for his soul to recover, but he'd live. Might not be as dexterous as he once was, however, and hopefully not nearly so eager to kill people.

[squiggle-dragon]

So, I've decided to also post full chapters of Faded here in addition to Ao3. So, here's the second chapter.

-

Chapter 2: "Do I know you?"

Soul cracked his eyes open, vision blurring initially as sunlight filtered in. 'Daylight…? Fuck… how long was I out for?'

He was resting on a nest of blankets in some sort of contraption, similar to a basket. While Soul was not necessarily up-to-date with the technological advances of the world, he at least managed to acquire a fair amount of knowledge.

'Plastic basket,' he decided, lightly pushing against the sides with a furry paw despite his body's protest. He started to stretch, immediately thinking better of it when pain shot through every square inch of his small form. The youkai paused, noticing a makeshift cast on his other foreleg, 'What's this…? A splint?' Soul scrutinized it, narrowing his blood-colored eyes before giving it a tentative sniff. The scent of antiseptic burned his nasal passages and he sneezed profoundly, wrinkling his nose in displeasure, 'Absolutely horrible.'

Memories of the previous night returned to the forefront of his mind and his lip curled slightly, 'They'll be six feet under the ground when I recover.' The fox drew his lips back further into a fierce snarl, digging his claws into the blanket, 'And I'll hunt down that cocky bear and turn it into a bear skin rug. No one jumps me like that when I'm-'

"Oh, you're awake!"

Soul screeched in surprise, fur standing on end and eyes wide with alarm. Raising his gaze, he spotted the source of the voice and stared at her warily. She seemed relatively young from what he could tell, as humans aged very differently than youkai. Their eyes met and Soul squinted slightly as a peculiar feeling overcame him.

‘I’ve seen those eyes before… somehow…’

The pigtailed girl knelt down next to the basket, lightly resting her arms on the edge of it and peering down at him, “I didn’t mean to startle you. Sorry about that.” The human offered a warm smile, which he felt himself relax slightly at, “You’ve been out for two days. I was really starting to worry about you, little fox. I gave you some antibiotics and-”

‘Anti-whats-is?’

“-just in case. I mean, you got beaten up by a huge bear of all things! You’re lucky I could scare it off!”

She grinned at him, and he was sure he’d blush if he wasn’t currently two feet tall and covered in fur. He wasn’t sure why, but he felt oddly embarrassed.

“You also broke your leg,” she continued, her smile fading into a look of concern. Her green eyes traveled down to the splint currently on his left foreleg and he followed her gaze, nostrils flaring slightly at remembering the scent of chemicals.

“I hope you’re comfortable,” the girl added after a small pause, hunching over slightly. “I just kinda had to use what was available. Unfortunately, that ended up being the laundry basket.”

His ears flattened against his skull and he glared up at her, growling lightly, ‘Are you serious?! Your dirty clothes were in here, weren’t they?!’

Taken aback ever so slightly by his suddenly hostile aura, his absent-minded savior frowned, “Hey, I launder my clothes daily, okay?”

‘So they WERE!’ he hissed angrily.

She narrowed her eyes and puffed out her cheeks a bit, clearly able to tell he was agitated with her, “Would you calm down? I’m quite clean! Do you actually understand me or something? Because this doesn’t seem like normal wild animal aggression to me….” He froze at her words, so she continued, “You only have to deal with me for a bit, okay? As soon as you’re healed up, I’ll release you back out so you can continue your moodiness elsewhere.”

Soul let out an audible snort, achingly rising to a seated position despite the cast. He furrowed his brows, starting to feel light headed almost immediately, 'Oh right… I haven't eaten in a few days.'

The youkai squinted slightly, feigning interest in some invisible spot on the blanket in an attempt to ignore her. There was no chance in Hell he would be accepting any more aid from this weird human. A powerful, nine-tailed kitsune at the mercy of a tiny human girl?

'Unheard of and laughable.'

In the brief moment of silence, his stomach decided to betray him and let out the most shameful growl that he was sure could be heard by the human girl in question. Soul froze, ears pinned back and expression completely mortified. ‘Fuck! No! Fuck, fuck, fu-’

“Sounds like you’re hungry,” she commented, causing him to sulk slightly. Still, he refused to look at her and remained tensed, cursing his stomach a thousand times. Hunger was such a pathetic weakness.

He started to make some noise of protest before he realized that the pigtailed girl was missing; likely finding food, no doubt. Soul growled before trying to hop out of the basket, instead throwing his body against it. The result was the laundry basket tipping over on its side, forcing him to topple forward with it. His tail obscured his vision as he growled again, painstakingly moving to where he could even make the attempt to stand up, ‘Oi! Get your ass back here! I will NOT be indebted to you! HUMAN! Don’t you DARE!’

Soul awkwardly stumbled out of the room, given the cast on his leg. His body ached and pleaded with him not to be so rash with his movements. He knew full well he should be resting, but he sure as hell was NOT about to let himself come across as some weak victim. He could take care of himself, damn it! The bandaging and doting for two days was enough.

While he had no idea of the layout of this strange place, he was easily able to find his target by following the noise. This girl didn't exactly make it difficult with all of the racket she generated - which seemed to be a talent of hers when he thought back to the incident with the bear.

The kitsune awkwardly entered the kitchen, body lowered and his large ears pricked forward as he approached. The girl in question was currently crouched in front of an open cupboard, biting the nail of her thumb in a thoughtful manner. She was examining a can clutched in her other hand, furrowing her brows in deep concentration.

Despite his impeccably stealthy entrance, the girl almost seemed like she could sense his presence. Soul froze when she looked up from the can to meet his gaze. She pursed her lips a bit before hesitantly holding up the can for him to see, "Do you eat dog food…?"

Every fiber in Soul's small body seemed to light up at the sheer audacity of her statement, wanting to yell at her for such a dumb question. The fox arched his back in an almost cat-like manner, fur ruffling as he glared at her and snarled, 'Do I look like a dog to you?!'

Despite his clearly aggressive reaction to her, she seemed mostly unaffected outside of mild irritation. Any normal person would likely be wary or even scared that the snarling fox would lunge at them. This strange girl, however, treated him more like a petulant child.

"Goodness fox, it was just a simple question," she replied with a hint of agitation before putting the dog food back into the cupboard. “Given your attitude problem, I didn’t think you would. It was just something that normal foxes tend to eat if given to them and it was on the list when I researched it.” Closing the cupboard door, she stood up and stretched her back for a moment with a grimace, “I’m a college student, so therefore quite poor. However, it would seem I need to move a little up in the price range for your more sophisticated tastes.”

“Fortunately for you,” she started after a brief pause, walking over to the stove. “I had gotten some chicken earlier to make some chicken noodle soup from scratch since I seem to be battling a small cold. I’ll give you some of the chicken and a bit of broth, if that will suit your tastes better, Your Majesty.” Ignoring the sour expression he gave her in response, the human equipped an apron and started to prepare the meal.

Soul watched her quietly as she worked, eventually deciding to lay down against one of the farther walls. When she set a pot on a nearby counter, an envelope resting along the edge drifted through the air and gently landed a short distance away from him. The fox glanced at the envelope, curiosity winning out as to what it was. With another wary glance up at her, he slowly inched his way across the floor in a rather comical fashion, given the cast on his leg.

After what seemed like an hour to him, he stretched out one paw and managed to rest it on one corner of the envelope, feeling oddly accomplished at the meager task. His long tail twitched happily, clearly easily amused at the simplest of things. Soul pulled the envelope closer to him, blood-colored irises searching out the name on it, ‘Maybe now I’ll know what the hell this crazy human’s name -- !’

‘Maka.’ The kitsune’s body went rigid as soon as he made out the girl’s name, feeling the oddest sense of foreboding. Much like her eyes, her name seemed somehow familiar.

Why did it feel like a boulder of ice was currently settling in his stomach?

While the dam didn’t break open, it was clearly overflowing and he was caught in a downward spiral. Before he could process one emotion, another broke through almost like a tidal wave - or would, but everything felt also strangely faded.

Fear… which made his recent experience with near-death pale in comparison despite the fact he knew it wasn’t but an echo of the original emotion.

A profound sadness… like something gravely important was lost. It briefly felt like his heart had been ripped out and a gaping hole was left in its place… yet he didn’t bleed. Slowly bleeding to death would have been more merciful.

And finally, a surge of anger that threatened to take over completely. The rage Soul felt almost overwhelmed the feeling of loss and his power felt on the verge of being let loose. His eyes glowed ominously, lips drawing back in a snarl as the feeling only intensified. Faint outlines of his other eight tails could be seen waving in the air behind him as his power crept up, seeming unaffected by his weakened state. At this moment, however, Soul could not care less if he transformed to his true form here in the kitchen. His mind felt blank aside from the desire to lose control - to kill.

Something needed to be destroyed…

Someone needed to be torn apart….

Somehow, the sound of the lid slamming down on the pot snapped him out of whatever confusing trance he had been in. His eyes widened in shock, trying to get his breathing under control as his body trembled in the wake of the strange event. Losing all strength, Soul collapsed onto his stomach and laid there with a distant glaze to his eyes. His brain scrambled to make sense of what it all meant, Maka’s worried voice barely registering. Even as she kneeled at his side and scooped him up, talking to him... her voice sounded so muffled.

“Tama!” another voice cried, sounding similar to the girl’s voice that was currently cradling him - yet it certainly wasn’t her. It couldn’t be, because her lips didn’t match the motions.

Just what the hell was going on?

Slowly, Soul managed to pull himself back to reality and focused his gaze on Maka’s worried expression. His hearing returned to normal to hear her muttering various things about how stupid she was to think she could take care of him properly. For whatever reason, she was in a state of blind panic over him - and he couldn’t figure out why. He’s treated her like crap this entire time, being aggressive and - as much as it pains him to admit it - ungrateful.

This crazy girl faced down a bear for him, though he was sure she would not be able to take it on should it have attacked. They would have both been dead. But this insane girl did that and he remembered being wrapped in something she had been wearing. It was warm….

And suddenly - the fact she was now battling a cold now made sense. She was sick after running out in the rain and using her main source of protection to bundle him up. Then while he was unconscious, she tended to his wounds the best that she was able. Now that he thought about it, he could faintly remember waking up briefly to see her passed out on a strange chair near his basket. It wasn’t for more than a minute or two due to being in such bad shape and feverish to boot, but she hardly looked comfortable.

She was going to share her soup with him as well, which caused another twinge of guilt. Oh, he really needed to be less of a little shit. It didn’t sound like she could really afford to have an extra mouth to feed, but here she is - offering to share.

It was at this point that Soul noticed tears starting to roll down her cheeks and he sighed, somehow feeling really uncomfortable about her crying. With a gentleness that he didn’t even realize he ever possessed, he raised a furry paw and rested it on her cheek.

‘Maka… I don’t know who you are, but the tears need to stop. For some reason, I really can’t stand to see you crying… you weird human.’

He gasped out in pain when she suddenly captured him in a borderline bone-crushing hug. The same anger from his previous interactions with her did not rise to the surface and he instead let out another sigh - possibly for air at this point. Okay, so she was worried about him.

Somehow, he could deal with that.

[ms31x129]

I thought maybe the Unremarkable House is too indistinct in this collage or maybe the other photo’s are - so there are 2 views here.

Time for Chapter 6! I had to make a another DJ! I felt compelled! Only 1 more to go! @cultureisdarkbeer @monikafilefan @today-in-fic

Chapter 1 - Courage to Jump Tumblr LINK  AO3 it is HERE.

Chapter 2: Luck of the Irish Tumblr LINK or AO3 it is HERE.

Chapter 3: Graffiti of the Heart Tumblr LINK or AO3 HERE.

Chapter 4: Leave Your Demons At The Door Tumblr LINK or AO3 HERE.

Chapter 5: Truth Is the Pain Inside Our Hearts Tumblr LINK or AO3 HERE.

Chapter 6: Final Destination  (Click on the name for AO3) or if you like Tumblr just clickity-click on the Keep Reading link below.

{Summary:

Jackson decides to make use of the fine D.C. public transit system and lets the wheels on the bus go round and round while his mind travels to a different destination. All of it leading to the truth we all know...}

“Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.” - Arthur Conan Doyle

Jackson had made up his mind and headed out into the early morning hours. After checking some routes he stepped onto the bus and let it take him away, the engine sighing from the baggage it would carry as it got him closer to his destination. Driving himself and keeping an illusion wouldn’t be an option for the kind of thinking he knew he’d need in order to finish what he had started in the attic back home.

The bus rocked everyone on it from side to side as it traveled down the road not taken. Voices began to bleed together in mindless chatter while others read, listened to music or buried themselves in their phones. Loud, obnoxious children screamed and laughed. Jackson gritted his teeth in annoyance.

One of the older kids, running wildly down the isle tumbled into him and Jackson reflexively shoved him away. “Watch it!” he growled, his temper getting the best of him as he ignored the glares of the other passengers. “Really?” he commented to the parent that finally wrangled their kids. They just ignored him and sat back down as Jackson reined in his frustration.

Children were not something on Jackson’s radar, but the confrontation served as a reminder of the vision of the ultrasound he shared with his birth mother—maybe he could tolerate a little sister. The thought of getting to babysit and teach her how to ride a bike or throw a ball made him even look forward to it. That thought alone shocked the hell out of him. He had very few friends to begin with and always felt more comfortable as a loner, shut up in his room reading, expressing himself through journaling and his online blog, or calming his racing mind with time spent in his girlfriend’s rooms.

With a squeal of the brakes and a lurch forward, the kids scampered off, even sending him a wave as they held their father’s hand and bounced down the street.  He may have missed the father/son relationship with Mulder that he had with his own dad, but there was something different—something innate with him and Mulder. It had taken the visions and, maybe, their small exchanges, but he trusted him without even trying.

Perhaps, diving into his past might be easier for him if he wasn't so afraid of his future. Jackson considered the unexplainable trust he felt from Mulder. He allowed that trust to wash over him, causing him to relax. Shutting his eyes, Jackson attempted to do something he'd never done before—never wanted to do before. He focused his mind and traveled all the way back through his life, back to his first memories…

He heard the whoosh and whirl of the amniotic fluid and even in his transient state it calmed him. The steady beat of his mother’s heart soothed him along with her distant muffled voice and muted baritone of… of Mulder. The presence of his large hand pressing in towards Jackson’s curled up body within the womb left an imprint that lingered. The feeling of absolute love, trust, and open communication radiated from his palm.

Jackson strained to pull the vision forward as if his life were a DVR. And there was Mulder’s voice, his face coming into focus, eyes gazing down at him in awe. “The truth we both know.” Jackson calmed down instantly from the recognition of his father. His father!

Mulder had been correct that night in the motel room, he had held him in his arms.

An early morning shower beaded the windows and drummed out a precarious tune, sending him back to the present and then into a meditative state as the world slid by. “Him,” Jackson whispered, vocalizing what he had just felt. “The truth we all know now.”

The memory of opening the motel door and the image of Mulder’s relieved face rose to the forefront of his mind. It was filled with hurt and love and missed opportunity. He had trusted the man with little to go on beyond some flashes of an uncertain future and an overheard conversation with his birth mother. Jackson recalled the static shock when Mulder had hugged him. At the time, he pushed it away, almost angry at the invasion into his most primal emotions. Now, he just wished that he had more time to learn of the man who cared for him so deeply and longed to protect him, something that seemed humorous at the time.

“I’m here.” Those two words, when they left Mulder’s mouth, sent an ache through his heart; but, at that time, Jackson wasn’t about hearts and sentiment and family reunions. Now, he wondered about conversations on a porch, knowing what their favorite food was, or how they took their coffee. Maybe, they wondered the same about him.

The bus lurched again as it came to a stop. Jackson watched out the window as people got off and more got on. A woman dropped her cigarette and smothered it with her foot, stepping inside, swiping her metrocard. Another grasped tightly to a small child and helped them up the huge steps, while yet another paid no attention to any of the surrounding world, lost in an audiobook chatting away in their ear. That used to be him, he realized: oblivious to the world around him when his depression and anger took over. Hope in changing that, he realized, is what he had now which he didn’t have before.

Eventually the doors closed with a gasp of air and the bus chugged along, engine purring, repeating its pattern of stop and go, turning down corners on its route, bouncing over potholes carved in blacktop. The tires fell into another rain filled hole and as the water lifted and sprayed across the pavement, it struck the memory of his windmill snow globe bouncing and cracking, water spiraling out as it dropped from his birth mother’s hands.

Jackson knew when she held it that she was holding onto a past and praying for a future. One that they might share together. His hands trembled and his eyes welled at the thought that he now shared that same hope. One that had been steadily blossoming inside since that night in the frigid water.

Reaching down into his bag, he pulled out the now well-worn letter and laid it across his lap.

After taking a deep breath and readying himself for yet another vivid trip down memory lane, Jackson found his way down closer to the bottom of the page. The end of the letter was near and that left him feeling both relieved that the mental anguish would stop, and saddened at the thought that the glimpses into his mother’s past were almost over. Jackson may be a typical teenager with a carefree attitude and a history of hurting those around him, but he had a heart—a big one, and it was simultaneously breaking and growing with each new vision that flashed through his mind.

His eyes trailed along each loop and curve of the next sentence and welcomed the instant sting of pain throughout his skull as the words sucked him back into his mother’s memories.

“If one day this chance may befall you, my son, do not fail or falter to seize it. The truths are out there.”

April 4, 2016

A small photo of a baby staring up at him with wide, innocent baby blues through blurred vision was the first thing Jackson saw within Dana Scully’s eyes. Hot tears stung beneath her lashes, welling along her lids and she shuddered, blinking them down in droplets along the wooden desk.

“My son,” she whispered, her voice hoarse as she spoke around the lump growing in her larynx. “My son… the truths are out there. And so are you, somewhere... out there. There are things… so many things I could’ve done different.” Her eyes flicked up to a small framed photo of Mulder and her time-stamped from December, 2013. They were standing hand in hand under the gleam of Christmas lights, gazing at one another as if the world existed of only each other. Jackson felt a surge of intense heartache creep into her chest that trickled down, leaving an acidic-like burn roiling in her gut. “So many things…”

The amount of sheer sadness that enveloped his mother was physically painful for Jackson to experience, knowing it was due to him and somehow about her regrets and sadness regarding Mulder. He felt an overwhelming yearning within her to rekindle her comfortable relationship with his father again, yet a reluctance to take that leap and jump back in. The irony that Jackson himself still struggled with that same fear was not lost to him, even while he endured the flood of emotions churning inside her.

She stifled a sob as the recollection of her alone in her old apartment, writing the letter addressed to her child without Mulder by her side took hold. She remembered it so vividly—tearing the page from her journal, carefully storing it in an envelope for the future as her cries of longing woke William from his slumber. Her memorized words from that night poured from her trembling lips as she stared at the photo of baby William, pulling her back to the night she and Mulder became a family of three...

“And if one day you should behold a miracle as I have in you, you will learn the truth is not found in science or on some unseen plane, but by looking into your own heart.”

May 20, 2001

The power of Fox Mulder’s swirling, green gaze never lessened in intensity for her through the years. Their communication with words unspoken, their connection, and incredible bond was unique only to them. Even though they knew what they felt deep within their hearts, the moment had come for them to speak the words aloud with their son cradled between them.

“From the moment I became pregnant, I feared the truth. About how… and why. And I know that you feared it, too.”

Mulder nodded, unable to tear his eyes away from studying every tiny feature of the baby boy wiggling in his arms. “I think what we feared were the possibilities. The truth we both know.”

His response left her relieved yet a thread of doubt still knotted itself in her belly. It left her searching for more of a concrete answer from the one she trusted most. “Which is what?”

Mulder leaned in and tenderly solidified their shared truth with a long-lasting kiss; a promise from one parent to another. The remarkable feeling of pure joy that Jackson’s mother only seemed to feel with Mulder sent warmth thrumming through her small frame from head to toe.

“I love you, Scully... so much,” he hummed along the corner of her mouth. “I hope that’s one truth that you’ve never needed to search for.”

“Mulder… me too,” she murmured with a smile along his bottom lip as her hand gripped his arm tightly. “So much, and… loving you has been my easiest truth to find.”

He pressed a kiss to her forehead and she sighed, easing herself into his embrace as their baby squirmed against her. “The truth—our truth is not found in science or on some unseen plane, but by looking into our own heart’s… and seeing what we both know is real. He’s our’s, Scully. Our son. Our miracle.”

Jackson felt a sharp twinge as her memory faded and her watery eyes stung with fresh tears. Her hands shook with the tight grip along the edges of his baby picture.

The soft glow of lamplight shimmered across the moment of happiness frozen in time, while one slender finger traced along the slope of her baby’s tiny body in the blue and white sleeper. A sigh escaped as she blinked away one last tear that threatened to fall. “A mother never forgets.” Her whispered covenant was punctuated by her sliding open the drawer, returning the photo of she and Mulder’s son, then shutting it and her memory away with a smothered sob.

Jackson gasped, startled as he found himself torn away from his mother and back on the bus with the sun now shining in his own watery eyes. Tamping down his raging emotions, he ran a hand through his hair and thought hard about what he had just seen.

Jesus! He knew his mind worked in ways far beyond the realm of scientific explanation, but having his own recollection of the significant effect of Mulder’s presence inside the womb confirmed by his mother’s memory, only supported the truth spoken aloud in his head. It was all too much, yet not quite enough to fulfill that lingering void he’d felt his whole life.

The truth… well, that had always been a rare commodity in his teenage life. Jackson easily lied to his friends, family, girlfriends, teachers, doctors, therapists… yet he realized he had never once lied to his birth parents. Sure he’d used an illusion, but that was only for their safety as well as his at the time. Everything he did, everything he had said to Dana Scully and Fox Mulder was truthful. He shook his head in disbelief, mumbling, “That’s a first.”

Jackson carefully folded up the nearly finished letter and slid it in his back pocket. He noticed there was only one final sentence to read, one final immersion into the past he needed to see and feel in order to witness as much as he could through his mother’s eyes. There was no way in hell he wanted to experience that on a bus full of strangers gawking at him as he tried to pull himself together. The visions, flashbacks, whatever they were had been easier to control once he had given into them. But he could feel the intensity growing as he crept closer to those last words, and enduring anything more now would surely affect him on level of public embarrassment he’d rather live without.

The PA system clicked on. “Next stop, Farrs Corner. Please gather your belongings and prepare to exit if this is your final destination.”

Jackson could only hope that a final destination was exactly what this was for him.

[cryptids-and-muses]

Interference

@hesitant-vampire made this amazing comic and I had the overwhelming urge to turn it into a fic. Enjoy

Ao3

Talon watched closely as the speedster limped towards him. His head tilted slightly to the side as he examined his opponent. The mannerism was so Dick it made Wally’s chest ache. He wanted to run over and wrap his boyfriend up in his arms, but at the same time he wanted to scream. Because while the action was familiar, Dick’s expression was completely blank. There was no curiosity or mischief in his once sapphire blue eyes, no small quirk of his lip like he got when he put all his focus on a single thing. All Wally got were a pair of calculating yellow orbs, void of any emotion at all. He wasn’t even sure if that was Dick, or if the thing wearing his face was just trying to mess with him, but he’d be damned if he just gave up on him. Wally took another step forward.

He shouldn’t be standing. They both knew it. Talon had not been expecting to fight the Flash, although he suspected the Grandmaster knew this would happen at one point or another. He had only revealed himself to the bats two days ago, and considering what he had done to their youngest they would be preoccupied with his recovery for at least a little while longer. Talon hadn’t expected them to call in help, it wasn’t their style. The fight itself had been brutal if a bit one-sided. Flash seemed to have no interest in fighting him. Strange, since he was the one to seek Talon out. The assassin did not have those same reservations, he hadn’t held back at all.

Wally kept moving towards Dick, his hand over the scratch marks on his side trying to stop some of the bleeding. There were more on his face and arms. Dick had always been the better fighter of the two of them but this was insane. He noticed Dick's fighting style was different too. There were no wasted movements, all the unnecessary flips and tricks he'd add in for the sheer joy of them were cut out, replaced with cold precision. If the pain he felt was any indicator it was a very effective style. Wally ignored it and kept moving forward.

Talon wasn't sure why he was letting the speedster approach him, but he made no move to attack. Flash was interfering with his mission and anyone who did that was to suffer the same fate as his target, yet Talon knew he wasn't a threat.

“Dick, please.” There it was. Talon was use to victims begging for their lives, desperate pleas made in hopes of survival, but the speedster wasn’t begging for his own life or even the lives of the bats, it was all directed at him. Something prickled in the back of his mind. It had happened with the bats too, but they were his targets. He couldn't engage with them even if he wanted to. The Flash, however, wasn't one. He could indulge the feeling a bit.

There still wasn't any emotion in Dick's face. Now that he was only inches away Wally could see the black veins snaking through his boyfriend's skin. Slowly, he reached out and touched him. Dick didn't flinch or pull away, didn't move at all. That alone was more unnerving than the veins and eyes. Dick should never be this still.

"It's me, Wally. You....You know me.” there’s a tremor in his voice, “Every weekend possible I run to Bludhaven so we can spend it together. We would play video games or go out to eat. Sometimes we just lay down together, you like to count my freckles. I do the same with your scars," there was no recognition in Dick's eyes. Wally broke. Sobs began to tear their way out of his throat and tears poured down his face. He buried his head in his boyfriend's shoulder like he use to do after a rough mission or a nightmare. Only now Dick didn't wrap his arms around him like he was supposed to. He didn't move at all.

Talon didn't know what to do. The emotional display was unexpected. He shouldn't allow the speedster to be this close, but the part of his brain telling him that was getting quieter. Drowned out by that feeling he couldn't describe. He knew that having Flash pressed against him was feeding it, so were his words. The longer he listened on the stronger the feeling became and the fuzzier everything else did. A harsh ache began to form in his skull. Something wasn't right. "Listen to me," he continued, desperation weighing heavy on his voice, "This isn't you. You have to wake up." Talon could feel his suit getting damp from the speedsters tears. Why aren’t you comforting him?

"Don't listen to them," Listen to who? What was Wally talking about? Why did his head hurt so much? "You don't have to do this. You don't have to serve them."

Suddenly everything snapped back into focus. Flash was trying to get him to betray the court, to abandon his purpose. That simply wasn't possible. He was the Grey Son of Gotham, he only existed to do the courts bidding. There was nothing else. Flash was interfering with his mission and anyone who did that was to suffer the same fate as his target.

Wally was shaking as he clung to Dick, "We need you. I-" his voice cracked, he gulped down a breath, "I need you."

He felt an arm wrap around his waist, holding him steady. Instantly his body relaxed in the familiar sensation of Dick holding him, too overwhelmed to notice Talon draw one of his blades. Wally let out a shaky sob, "Don't...Don't leave me."

Talon paused for a moment, the same feeling from earlier flaring up in his mind, and then brought down his knife.

------

Talon ran. It was one of the few privileges the court gave him. After he completed a mission he was allowed to roam around Gotham for a couple of hours. Those were the times Talon felt most at peace, running along rooftops, darting between shadows. It came as naturally to him as flying.

This time his mission took him to Bludhaven. Some Gotham politician was visiting the city and it was the perfect opportunity for the court to strike. The mission had been laughably easy, leaving him with plenty of time to explore the city. Talon could never grow tired of Gotham, but it was nice to have a change of scenery.

As he ran Talon found himself navigating the city with ease. Knowing exactly where to find his next perch, or how far a jump would be without looking. He didn’t remember ever being in this city before, yet he knew it just as well as Gotham. Talon shoved those thoughts out of his mind before that feeling came back. He still couldn’t fully identify it, but he knew that it led to pain. He emptied his mind and let his body take over, operating off of muscle memory and instinct. After about half an hour Talon found himself on the balcony of an apartment in one of the shadier parts of the city. He stopped, Talon hadn’t realized he’d been running through the city with a destination in mind until he reached it, but he knew that’s what had happened. Why did he come here? That feeling began to creep into his mind again, pulling him towards the apartment. Before he could banish it again something clicked in his head.

Familiarity.

That’s what the feeling was, or at least it was part of it. A sharp pain stabbed through his skull. He didn’t flinch, Talon was better than that, but god he wanted it to stop. His instincts screamed for him to get somewhere safe, somewhere away from the pain. But instead of heading towards his meeting point with the court, he found himself opening the window to the apartment. Part of his mind screamed that this wasn’t right, that the court would punish him for his actions, but the other part egged him forward, whispering that the apartment was safe, that he belonged there.

No, this was ridiculous! He belonged with the court, not in some shitty apartment in Bludhaven, or with the bats, or even with the speedster. He belonged to the court!

And the court had given him the freedom to roam this city, to explore. He wouldn’t get in trouble for looking a bit more closely. Besides this feeling was getting in the way of missions. If he could figure out its cause he could figure out how to make it stop. By doing this he was serving the court. Talon kept that thought in his mind as he entered the apartment. Somehow this made things both better and worse.

A sense of warmth washed over him, he felt….he felt safe. Safer than he ever felt with the court. He felt home.

The other half of his mind screeched that this was wrong. He shouldn’t be here. It was dangerous and the court would punish him. He needed to leave immediately before more damage was done. He shoved both lines of thinking down and surveyed the apartment.

It was small, and a bit of a mess. Some of it was the type of mess you’d expect in a place someone lived. Clothes were strewn about, there was a box of cereal left on the counter, a lot of the apartment looked like it hadn’t been touched in months. There were also things you wouldn’t expect to find in a normal apartment. One of the closets had an evidence board set up in it, a variant of batarang stuck out from under the couch, there were skid marks all over the floor.

“Every weekend possible I run to Bludhaven so we can spend it together.” Talon scowled in a rare show of emotion. His encounter with Flash had been a week ago, and for some reason, his mind kept wandering back to it. While unexpected, Flash was no different from any other target he’s killed. If anything Talon should be proud of his accomplishment, the Grandmaster certainly was. By all logic, this shouldn’t be happening. Even with the Flash’s odd behavior, the way being near him brought on that feeling, how it hurt to see him cry.  

As he thought, Talon found himself wandering the apartment, eventually finding his way to the bedroom. He looked around, trying to find anything to distract from the horrible throbbing in his skull. Then his eyes fell on a small polaroid picture on the nightstand. He blinked and picked it up. The photo was worn from age, with a few small water stains on it, tears. It depicted two figures. One was the Flash, Talon didn't know how he knew but he was sure that the redhead in the picture was the same one he'd run into a week ago, when he killed him. He was smiling widely, tears in his eyes from laughter. His arm was around another boy, this one a bit shorter with black hair and tan skin, bright blue eyes peeked out behind a pair of sunglasses and a mischievous smile spread across his face.

Talon let out a small whimper and clutched his head. The picture was making both sides of his mind shriek. It hurt so much. He couldn’t think, it felt like his mind was at war with itself.  He could feel grief, pain, fear, and guilt battling inside his head with him caught in the middle. Talon grabbed the black pen off the nightstand and began to desperately scrawl over the figures in the picture, anything to make the pain stop.

What was happening to him? Everything was all wrong but he didn’t even know how. It felt so different from when he encountered the Flash, when he stabbed him in the back as he held him, he was only trying to help and he-

Talon let out a cry of frustration and put his face in his hands. It felt damp. There were tears running down his face. Talon hadn’t even known he could cry. He needed to get out of there. The court could help, they could fix him. A talon was not supposed to act like this, to feel these things. Punishment be damned he just wanted the pain to go away.

Stumbling out of the room he went for the window. Images of that night not leaving his head, the speedster begging him to wake up, the shakiness of his voice, his tear stained face, the way Wally had instantly relaxed in his arms even though he had a knife to his back-

Talon froze.

Wally.

Wally who would come to galas even though he hated them just to make them more bearable for him. Who asked for a good luck kiss before every dangerous stunt he pulled. Who stayed up with him when he had nightmares even if he was exhausted. Who swept him up in his arms after missions and spun him around until they were a laughing heap on the floor. Wally, who loved him so much that he’d come to Gotham after he resurfaced as Talon, despite the danger, and tried to bring him home.

Dick fell to his knees.

What had he done?

(The picture described is also by hesitant-vampire​ and can be found here)

[naromoreau]

Eyes wide open

Pairing: Joseph Seed x Deputy Rook Rating: E (NSFTUMBLR) I wrote this idea based on one of the amazing @outranks’ hedcanons, you can find here. Also, big shout out to @outranks herself for being such an awesome friend and encourage and review this. SMOOCH. _______________________________________

Behind the lectern, Joseph wrings his fingers and lets out a sharp breath. It’s not as if he’s nervous. Perhaps a bit anxious. A lot of water has flowed under the bridge since the last time he felt like this about someone. Always waiting for her to show up as if he couldn’t concentrate otherwise. It’s hard to mask it though. His attention can’t be astray from his duty because his flock needs him, especially now. He’s the Father and they are his children.

And now more than ever he’s determined to strengthen the Project, having something especially precious to protect.

It’s just right then when he sees her.

His jaw tenses of its own accord and the air is suddenly puffed out of his lungs. There’s a dry click in his throat as he swallows, his cheeks flushing at improper – certainly impure – thoughts. He tries to deflect them, to scythe them completely, thinking about his sermon, but he finds no comfort there. His eyes swivel from the line of her chest up her face, where she’s looking at him with the biggest smile. A vestal virgin and wanton Venus all in one.

He clears his throat making an effort to smile nonchalantly, watching her take a seat in the front row next to Faith. Right in front of him.

//

By now he’s acutely aware of his dick already at full mast inside his pants, forcing him to keep his place behind the lectern. Her stiff nipples poke through the thin fabric and he feels his lips dry, stuttering in his speech. Big drops of sweat slide down his temples as he tries to sail through words that just haul his mind to wrong places.

“Lest again, when I come, God humble me among you, and I mourn many of them that sinned before, and have not done penance for the uncleanness and fornication and lasciviousness that they have committed, says the Apostle.” He almost gruffs at the irony, “and we should not let the root of that sin fester inside us.”

He grits his teeth when she shifts in her seat, uncrossing her legs and spreading them just enough to offer him a perfect view of her bare cunt. His cock throbs painfully and he musters all his will to not crack mid sentence and throw himself down the stairs and claim her. He’s only human, he thinks, and it stings like a pin prick. Her darkened eyes are burning into his skin as she leans forward, her full breasts almost spilling from her dress.  

He glances to the sides, casually, just to make sure no one is setting eyes on his Rook and he draws a breath of relief. The attention of the crowd is on him and him alone. The possessive vein pulsing inside, shrouds his mind, urging him to take her right then and there.

No. Focus.

What was he saying? The brief stop has John and Jacob already leaning forward, inquiring gazes directed at him. Joseph raises both hands and keeps going.

He forces himself to draw his attention elsewhere, to not dwell on her, but it’s easier said than done. His eyes are pull to Rook as if they were metal to a magnet, provoking even in the peripheria of his vision. He stomps down a growl when she draws her index finger to her lips, seemingly deep in thought, just to suck it gently, her lips pursing enticingly.

Images of Rook, smiling at him from between his thighs, the tip of his dick disappearing into her mouth, flood his mind in a slew that makes his blood run hot. It’d been just one time but every single move and sensation is scorched in his brain making him shiver whenever he decides to dredge them up. That’s more often than he wants to admit. He clasps the sides of the lectern tightly, knuckles white, and good Lord in heaven– It’s not lust. It’s not. She’s the only one who makes him feel like this.

He doesn’t know how, but he finishes the service, stumbling upon words. He beckons to John and Jacob to help him dismiss the faithful, and he’s sure by now John has a pretty tame idea of his predicament. It’s written on his face. Soon everyone is dispersed and away.

He finally set his eyes on Rook, narrowing them slightly, and nods once the doors close. If that’s what she wants, he wouldn’t fight against it anymore.

//

Rook’s heart thunders in her chest, blood buzzing in her ears as she winds up closer to Joseph, counting her steps as a form of grounding. Has she pushed too far? She can’t tell but yet she hopes. Wants to feel him fucking her, all tethers of his restraint loose until there’s only raw touch and lewd sounds, until they both are dazed by everything they are when they’re together.

She doesn’t want to admit to be bested in her own game, not yet, because she could’ve sworn she’d seen a crack in his calmness if just for the splinter of a second. Rook feels her slick wetness trickling down her thighs, her core aching for the thick fill of his dick. This is wrong. This is a sinner’s doing, but she can’t hack a low moan as the space disappears between them.  

As soon as she’s within his arm’s reach, Joseph pulls her close, his fingers curling around her arms so tightly she can feel how very disrupted he is. Shaky hands when he’s always firm. His breath puffs against her lips and she trembles under the intensity that radiates from him, her throat going dry. He presses her against a wall, giving her a bruising kiss, all tongue and teeth, and thick amounts of spilled lust. She gasps for air the moment he releases her, overwhelmed by the sheer force of what she intentionally unleashed. She can’t help but huddle closer when he finds her swollen folds, dipping two fingers inside her. Her teeth sink in her bottom lip hard enough to draw blood.

“So this is what you want?” It’s not a scolding, but the tint of his voice isn’t mellow.

He grinds her hips against hers and Rook whimpers, feeling his hard on rubbing her thigh. She wants to answer, wants to blurt out a yes, but he’s pushing words aside as he slides in and out of her, and the only thing she can do is nod.

“On your knees.”

Joseph’s order threatens to overload her, his voice thick as his need mounts on every word.

She does as she’s told, not doubting for a second, and a sliver of surprise gleams in her mind at the realization of how much she wants this. To let him do as he pleases and maybe, just maybe she’ll watch that self-control shatter like cracked glass.

He places a finger under her chin, tilting her head up, a dark smile dancing on those lips she craves to kiss. “You shouldn’t have done that, my dear,” he says. He frees his engorged erection and she can feel herself positively clenching. Aching.

“Done what?” She swallows a hard gulp, finally finding her voice, pretending it doesn’t affect her, pretending she still has a tinge of control.

“You know well I’m not one to be teased,” he chides softly. He pops the buttons of her dress open, baring her before him. “What if someone saw you? Did you think of that?” A flash of unhinged anger glimmers behind the yellow tinted glasses but Rook knows it’s not aimed at her.

“You wouldn’t let anyone touch me,” she purrs, trying to look as innocent as she knows she’d like.  

“You’re are not wrong, my dear.”

He pumps his dick, his rosary swinging from his palm in stark contradiction to the scene in place. She opens her mouth in a thoughtless reaction. Ragged breath in and out, air seems so scarce around her.

“Are you– are you really so eager to–”

Rook has never seen him stepping on his words, but now Joseph looks almost struck dumb,  

“Yes,” she says, flicking his tongue out and winding it around the thick head of his cock; her intentions crystal clear.

He groans, stricken, leaning down to cup her face.

He guides himself into her mouth and she takes him in. Rook tries to relax her jaw, otherwise she knows it’ll hurt next morning; a blessed ache regardless. He hisses as soon as she has her tongue flat against his ridges. His fingers flex against her skull, as he slides deeper down her throat.

“That’s my good girl,” he rasps, voice hoarse, “you’re perfect for me–so good, you take my cock so beautifully.”

She sinks her nails on his hips at the first deep thrust, gagging a little. He stills but she quickly bobs her head up and down, trying to show him. She can take it. She wants to. Her lips close tightly inches near the base, almost making her choke on his cock but she still manages to swallow, greedily. Her eyes squeeze shut, trying to give steady breaths pressing herself forward. Is worth it because Joseph is fucking her face, too far gone into her wet heat, head tipped back and mouth slack.  

He tightens the grip on her hair, twisting his wrist. “You’re made for me, and me alone, you hear me?” His words are airy, interspersed with grunts and puffs of needed air.

She makes some kind of noise that resembles a word. To shows she agrees. She knows he’s getting closer when his hips jut forward and his cock pulses in her mouth. A pang of disappointment arrows through her, her cunt aching to be filled, but she hollows her cheeks determined to swallow until the last drop he gives her. In that moment, Joseph stills, hefting her by the shoulders.

“As much as I’d love to come in your mouth, my darling, I think I need to claim other parts of you as well.” By now his eyes are just a thin rim of blue around dark pools of hunger. It makes her body feel like jello.

He kisses her again, gruffing a little as he swirls his tongue over teeth and palate, lips demanding against her own and swallowing the overflow of drool she accumulated within. She clings to the broad line of his shoulders, as if it was a lifeline. A sharp whimper is all what her wrecked throat manages.

Joseph turns her around, bending her over, making her press her hands flat against the wall. She grinds against him. Shamelessly. Some fiction is all she needs.

“You just need to ask, darling.” He nudges her entrance, teasing her and she knows this is just fair payback, “you’ll always get what you want from me.”

He pushes inside, burying himself to the hilt in one glide, and a whine catches in her chest as she rolls her hips to try and adjust to how thick he is. If she didn’t know him better, she’d think he’s as composed as always, but his push is a bit forceful and it would’ve chaffed her if she wasn’t soaking wet by now. She spreads her knees further apart, rotating her hips as if she could drag him deeper, moaning at the hard stretch of his cock.

Her calves burn, taut in the stretch and she’s glad she’s using heels. Joseph is a little bent but he’s still so much taller than her and she doesn’t think she would’ve manage to– to–. Her body jerks under his harsh thrusts, his pace nor gentle or slow. But it feels good, so fucking good she’ll break in no time. His hands slide over her hips, up her waist, one moving up, up, until he’s massaging her breasts. A very gentle squeeze in honest contrast with his hard fucking.

“My good girl, that’s what you are.”

She can feel the panted gust of his broken words on her back, flaring goosebumps on her skin, breath that’s catching in his throat in every syllable. She turns her neck, and the ravenous hunger flaring back from his eyes stings her deep. He cups her jaw catching her lips. It’s a sloppy kiss, far more animalistic than never before and Rook shudders feeling his hips slamming against her ass. Her hands slide down, coated in sweat, unable to support her but she finds some leverage to keep her hips poised.

“Come for me, darling, come around me, let me look at you,” Joseph whispers, leaning forward, hands curled around her hips. The beads of his rosary brushing intermittently against her thigh.   

Rook suddenly forgets how to breath, how to speak, mind numb by every steadfast touch and the thick fill inside her. “I just– I– please, please.”

She’s falling apart in a downward spiral, drawn to edge by Joseph fucking her open, testing her limits everytime he ruts against her, and she’s aware of that blissful ache in her cunt that predicts her imminent climax. Every thrust forces a word, a praise, a moan out of her until she finally comes, a whole constellation of stars revolving in her vision, a broken kind of sob rent from her throat and into the room. She loses herself to the ripples of pleasure and the rush of blood in her ears, body going limp. Joseph holds her, pressing flat kisses to the hollow crease of her back, up to the nape of her neck, his hands circling her waist until she’s able to stand on semi steady legs again. It feels so wet. She can feel it and hear it and she’s sure the gush of liquid must’ve soaked Joseph’s pants. He’s not complaining, only grunting at the quivering clench of her core, now practically hammering his way into her, faster and messier.

“You’re mine, my love,” he pants, withdrawing almost entirely just to slam back home. Once. Twice. And again. “You belong to me.”

His pace goes off rhythm, rough and frantic, and Rook lets out a muffled sob of anticipation.  His release comes swiftly, pulling her closer until her hips are flush with his, filling her up like he always does. A hard gasp as his only telltale.  

When he pulls out, she closes her thighs trying to prevent his come from dripping out. Something that comes natural to her after all this time. Joseph grins watching her, a low rumble of satisfaction in his chest and draws her closer. He kisses her, lips now soft, almost soothing. Calm after a storm.

“I think we may need atonement for this, my darling.”

She sighs, a shaky intake of breath, as her eyes flicker locking on his. “Yeah, I think you may be right.”

Joseph smiles, kissing the back of her hand. Always a gentleman. “Come, then, our bed is waiting for us.”

[carmenlire]

Satiable

Trigger Warning for disordered eating.

read on ao3

He doesn’t notice at first.

He doesn’t notice that he’s subsisting on coffee, that he can’t quite remember the last time he had a real meal. He’s just not hungry and he can’t figure out why his headaches have come back.

When he was a teenager, Alec suffered from terrible, pain in the ass headaches that made him want to collapse into bed where he could cry until he finally fell asleep and get some relief from the pain. It’s a dull ache in the back of his head, a sharp pain in his temples.

It’s been awhile since they’ve been this bad, though Alec doesn’t notice that their intensity-- and frequency-- has been ratcheting up. All he knows is that by mid afternoon he can hardly focus. He takes a deep breath and as his lungs expand, he feels a quiet easing of the bands that seem to tighten around his chest a little more with each day that passes. It’s a temporary relief from slogging through paperwork and approving expense reports but it keeps him from screaming.

Sighing heavily in the quiet of his office, Alec tosses his pen onto the blotter and brings a hand up until he can press fingers into his temples hard enough so that the blunt pain can drown out his headache for a brief, blissful moment.

Glancing at the clock, Alec sees that it’s almost six. Shadowhunters should be coming down to ops soon for their assignments and Alec’s glad that he gave Jace that responsibility a couple of months ago. He doesn’t know if he could leave the sanctity of his office right now and go into the control center where everyone would be talking, eager and ready to head off on patrol as their runes kicked in for the night.

The very thought of the controlled chaos makes his head pound a little more viciously.

Shaking his head a little, Alec works another hour or so until he deems the day done. He still has a thousand things that will be waiting for his attention in the morning-- and he knows a thousand more will drop in his lap overnight, no doubt-- but he’s done all he can for today.

Standing, Alec feels himself sway a little in his spot. Blinking, he frowns and reaches for the mostly empty mug of coffee that’s never far from his elbow. He takes a last swig and while it’s gone cold and more than a little gross, his shoulders lose some of their tension.

Reaching behind him, Alec shrugs into his coat and pockets his phone and stele. He’s out the door a minute later and manages to avoid everyone on his way out. Fall is sneakily fading into winter and Alec huddles a little tighter into his coat.

Magnus is out of town for a few days, tending to a werewolf pack illness in Dubai, so it’s just him as he swings the door open to their loft.

Alec briefly debates making dinner-- maybe heating a can of soup up or scrounging for some cheese and crackers-- but just the thought is exhausting. As he goes to walk past the kitchen, however, he abruptly stops as he realizes that the only thing he’s had today is six cups of coffee.

Suddenly, he’s starving and with a sigh, he enters the kitchen and heads straight to the fridge. Opening it, his head throbs as the fluorescent light pierces into his skull.

He’s not seeing a lot of options. He’s definitely not in the mood to cook and Alec briefly wishes that he’d had this realization just ten minutes before. He could’ve stopped by the pizza joint down the block or ordered takeout from the Thai place halfway between here and the Institute. Undoubtedly unhealthy but he needs calories and he's too tired to worry about their quality. He figures something is better than nothing.

Now, if he could just find something that wasn't too damned exhausting to prepare, something he wouldn't need to wait an hour for. He wants his bed so fucking bad he feels his eyes burning.

He’s just about to give up altogether when a deep blue Tupperware container catches his eye on the bottom shelf. Leaning down-- and that feels like so much goddamn effort-- just a little, he slides the box out enough to see a bright pink post-it on top.

This is for you, darling. I shudder to think what’s passed for a meal since I left you a few days ago. Before you collapse into bed, I want you to eat this entire bowl.

Love, Mr. Lightwood-Bane

Huffing out a laugh, Alec wonders idly that Magnus knows him too well. He hadn’t looked in the fridge in a few days but he’s filled with a quiet wave of warmth at Magnus taking the time to prepare-- or summon, for Alec’s not quite romantic enough to think that Magnus toiled away over this pasta when he wasn’t looking-- dinner while he was away. It's well known that Alec gets tunnel vision when he's at work. Magnus is used to Alec coming home and devouring the whole fucking kitchen once he's out of the Institute and breathign fresh air.

Alec tries to tamp down on the guilt that Magnus doesn't know that that's not what this is lately. It's not enough to be cause for concern, he tells himself and ignores it when the thought strikes hollow.

The pasta-- chicken fettuccine, his favorite-- warms up perfectly in the microwave. It’s delicious, even if Alec barely manages to eat half of the container before he’s too full to continue.

Figuring he’ll have leftovers tomorrow, he pours a glass of tap water and downs it while standing in front of the sink. Placing the empty glass next to the fork he’d used, Alec runs a hand through his hair before giving the room a once over and stepping out to the hallway, turning the lights off as he goes.

Pulling his shirt over his head and pushing his pants down until they pool on the floor next to his side of the bed, Alec slides between cool sheets and sighs into his pillow.

The weight of the day sloughs off him and he closes his burning eyes, finding almost immediate relief from the headache that’s held him in a vise grip for most of the day.

Sinking into the sheets, he falls asleep quick, pulling Magnus’s pillow to his chest and breathing in the scent of his husband’s shampoo.

--

The weeks blend together and Alec feels like his whole goddamn life is a never ending dumpster fire.

Well, that’s not quite true but he’s overwhelmed and stressed to the max and if Jace asks for special permission for a dumbass mission one more time, Alec won’t be responsible for his reaction.

His vision blurs as he reads over a request from the Clave that’s as subtle as a fucking grenade asking for his expertise to calm rising downworld tensions in St. Petersburg. Their flattery falls flat and Alec’s well aware that he’ll be portaling his ass to Russia by week’s end to deal with shadowhunters who will need to be brought to heel quickly and with as little bloodshed as possible.

That’s a headache for future Alec, though, he thinks with a grimace.

Reaching for the last bite of his pain au chocolat that he’d picked up along with his quad latte this morning, Alec barely tastes the damned thing. He figures it’s more than enough to get him through a day that’s busting with meetings and reaches for his coffee to wash it down only to scowl when the to go cup is unforgivably light.

There’s not a drop left and Alec growls a little-- there’s no one around to hear his irritation, at least-- as he stands, rounding his desk to head to the canteen, hoping to hell that someone’s bought more hazelnut k-cups since they were out last week.

Thankfully, Izzy is the only one there when he arrives and she bites into her sandwich as he grunts at her, the bare minimum greeting she’ll take and the most he can summon the energy to give.

“Rough day,” she asks dryly, reaching onto her plate for a cheddar and sour cream chip.

“Everything’s a pain in my ass,” Alec replies roughly. “If I have to hear another recruit talk back I’m putting them on ichor duty for the rest of the goddamn decade.”

Rasing a brow, Isabelle doesn’t say anything. She just watches him as she makes her steady way through lunch.

Alec opens one of the cabinets and breathes a quiet yet fervent sigh of relief when he sees the red box, almost three quarters full of his favorite k-cups. Placing his mug under the drip, Alec fires the Keurig up and selects the biggest size, tapping the button for strong before hitting start.

Almost immediately, the fresh smell of brewing coffee hits the air and his shoulders relax. It’s like coming home. It’s a brief respite and Alec inhales the notes of hazelnut and beans and prays that his headache stays away until after he has a chance to peak into the new recruits' training.

He’s just reaching for the almond milk in the refrigerator when Izzy asks, “When’s the last time you ate?”

“I had a croissant this morning,” Alec says absently.

“And before that?”

Alec’s quiet for a moment as he tries to remember. There was that granola bar he’d forced down last night as he’d been reading over a treatise draft. Frowning a little, Alec can’t remember anything else that he’d eaten yesterday and shit if he can remember the day before that.

He’s too busy to eat, he thinks with a frown. He’s never hungry in the mornings and by the time he gets to the Institute, he’s too busy to take a break. Most nights, he’s so damned tired that he takes a few mechanic bites of food before going to bed, just to wake up the next morning and do it all over again.

His plate is full to bursting and eating is as low a priority as he can have right now. There’s a little voice, though, that tries to slither its way through his head.

It’s not that he likes not eating. It’s not that it makes him the tiniest bit happy when he’s realized that he’s managed to go sixteen-- or twenty four or thirty six-- hours without anything but coffee to serve as a meal.

It’s something he can control. He can ignore his hunger pains through sheer force of will, even if nausea sweeps through him occasionally and he has to close his eyes to regain his equilibrium.

It’s something that’s plagued him off and on since he was in the Academy. When Alec was stressed-- when he was tired and the only thing he felt he could control was his eating-- his appetite vanished. It’s nothing unusual and Alec knows that in a few days, a few weeks, he’ll feel better one morning. Waking up won’t be so exhausting and he’ll go over to the East Village and have the best bacon burger in the city with an extra large fry and Oreo milkshake. Everything will go back to how it’s supposed to be and Alec won’t have to wonder when his last meal was, won’t feel his sister’s piercing eyes over a bag of Ruffles potato chips.

He doesn’t answer her and Iz doesn’t push. He pours a healthy dollop of milk into his coffee and leaves, resigned to going back to his office and getting through the day’s work.

Distantly, he wonders if he’ll have time to sneak in a quick training session before he calls it a day. He feels light and there’s an energy that’s simmering low in his gut that he knows from past experience just needs an outlet. Blowing across his coffee, Alec takes a slow, deep sip and wonders if he could persuade Jace to a sparring match tonight.

--

The next morning, Alec wakes up to a long line of warmth along his back. Sinking into the sheets, his breath catches at the dull throbbing in his ankle. He’d used an iratze after sparring Jace last night and he’s pissed that his ankle still feels off. Deciding to deal with it later, Alec relaxes further against Magnus and his eyes fall shut as he feels his husband nose along his spine.

He lets himself be urged onto his back and stares up at a sleep-rumpled Magnus. It’s a vision that still makes his heart ache in the best damn way, no matter that they’ve been together for a few years now.

Magnus studies him in the low light and Alec closes his eyes again as Magnus leans forward and nibbles across his collarbone, along his deflect rune.

“What do you say to waffles this morning, Alexander?” Magnus’s voice is a low rasp and Alec smiles a little even if words get stuck in his throat.

As though he knows Alec’s thinking, Magnus raises his head and studies him carefully. The intensity in his unglamoured eyes is a little unnerving.

Running a thumb over a stubbled jaw, Magnus smiles. “What do you say? Surely the Institute can wait a couple of hours.”

While there’s a part of Alec that’s uneasy-- while Magnus could be coy when needed, with Alec his attempts at subterfuge had all the subtlety of a sledgehammer-- Alec knows that Magnus has realized that his appetite has been damn near nonexistent lately.

Resigned, Alec thinks that he wouldn’t be surprised if his husband knew about his over-training. Alec’s not dumb. He might be pissed off but his ankle is screaming and the only reason that ever happens after applying an iratze is because his energy stores are too low.

Things have finally come to a head and while he still feels like he’s in a fog most days, he knows that something had to give sooner or later.

“Sure,” he replies hoarsely. “Let’s have waffles for breakfast.”

Magnus’s gaze eases just a tad even as the gold warms. He leans down and kisses Alec.

“Right answer, darling.”

The two of them get ready slowly, showering together, lingering under the warm spray. Magnus catches Alec’s wince when he forgets not to put his full weight on his left foot and his eyes sharpen.

He doesn’t say anything though, merely lowering until he’s kneeling on the marble of their shower, reaching a hand out to wrap it around Alec’s ankle. Alec watches as azure flows into his skin and the relief is immediate.

Magnus kisses the delicate bone of his ankle before lowering his foot back to the ground and stands, pulling Alec closer with arms around his middle.

They stand there for long minutes and Alec feels warmth that’s been missing for longer than he wants to admit.

He’s finally hungry. Not starving, not ravenous. But he can admit that he’s craving food.

It’s the breaking of the dam. It’s a start.

Alec knows the next few hours won't be easy but Magnus hasn't stopped looking at him, warm and open, and suddenly he's tired of hiding from his husband.

It feels like the quietest of snicks as the puzzle pieces align. Maybe, he wonders, if he felt guilty about keeping something from his husband then it was time to come clean.

He breathes easier at just the idea.