#it’s right at my gums and where they connect to my teeth. painful!

[bagelbucket]

anyone else ever eat bananas and then feel the crushing weight of a stinging, raw mouth/throat or am I the problem

[outsideyourhousewithaknife]

!!! My muse visited me tonight :] I am wildly excited about this because I've been too busy to be creative of late and now I've made both art and writing. I feel quite accomplished, in spite of the full laundry basket that has been watching me sleep for the last week and my poor cat's overgrown flaws. In any case, here's my wee drabble:

They called us mad, once. No. That isn't right. It was something like that but it wasn't MAD. That was for men. Men got to be crazy and we had to be sick. But what did they call the sickness?

Hysterical! That was the word.

'Mad' was for men. 'Madmen'. A word for inventively eccentric old coots and for the sort of men for whom you might prepare a hatpin. I always liked 'madman' because it had a sort of solidness to it. Mad. Mad took up S P A C E ! It was sweet sticky sweat and footsteps and doors bursting open and noise. Mad was fear and brilliance and much too much. Hysterical, hysterical was the opposite. Not dead, quite, not yet, but going there. Hysterical was slipping around the corners, sallow cheeks and hollowed eyes and teeth that looked vampirically long because the gums shrink back. Tragically beautiful, like the luxurious cadaver of something pretty. A waste, what she could have been. Waste. Hysterical was wasting away. Quiet slipping into silence. Mad's mercurial blood clung tacky to a fist. Hysterical's flowed silver and elegant from a wrist. You could die like that, you know, letting out so much blood. But there was too much inside me too, all hot and pulsing. There wasn't enough room so I had to let it out. It stained the bedsheets and I wasn't sorry for it. There was too much blood.

Where was I? Hysterical. They called me that once but it wasn't right. I wanted to be mad, to be named a madwoman, but that was wrong too. Madness was too much life, noise, too much humanity, and hysteria was too little. My problem was neither and it was both. It was too little connection to people and to the world, and it was too much of the other thing, that old, otherworldly thing. The voices that fell to my ears, that twined and twisted up my legs to tell me truths in a language left behind long ago. Perhaps somewhere else I could have been a prophet. I would have liked to be sacred. That was like mad-too much ethereality. I would have been a good prophet, I think. But I was only a woman in a time when women who heard too much were locked away and prescribed described inscribed hysteria.

Hysteria. Hystery? History. Oh, we are markers of history, a primitive time. You feel sorry for us. You point back and click your tongue at the doctors. Malpractice, you croon, you promise. No more. We know better now. But do you? There is always more pain to be had. Our daughters, the girls that follow in our footsteps, their gazes wan or much too bright and their hearts not unmarred. Our filled granite graves bear empty granite numbers and no flowers. (The holes dug and stones engraved before we came, because our fate was never a question of if.) No, no flowers and no tears, and no one is sorry we are gone. We were a nuisance in life as we are in death, and we are to be facelessly remembered from what was done to us and never what we did. Drugs and needles and ice picks and electricity and water and so many pretty blades. Fried in utero. Passive.

I think I have gone down this path before. Said it all so many times. Who knows me? Who hears me? My sisters are gone and my daughters do not know me. It's all made circular. It seems it was my footsteps that cleared this trail. There is only so much space to wander here, after all, and after all all all of it I am only a young woman made old by time alone. Maniac like brainiac. Opheliac like hemophiliac. Leave me now and find yourself something. The crumbs will fall my way.

[thatsneakymedic]

October Writing Challenge

Day 5 Teeth

Despite that Kabuto was Orochimaru's right hand man and spy for him. Every now and then when he feels like it, he would take on a few patients to treat before he heads back out again.

For others, they get uneasy when they discover that Kabuto is their doctor for the day, especially the disrespectful and stubborn patients who can't lie their way around him. Kabuto makes sure to keep a note on the more troublesome patients so that they can be used for "something" else if their health is the avoidable kind.

Not only was he healing those who need it to keep them loyal to Lord Orochimaru, but also healing people with various injuries, sicknesses, chronic illnesses, or even incurable ones are always something that keeps Kabuto's calculating mind fresh and learning something challenging and new. As cruel as it is, Kabuto did love to see new kinds of injuries and illnesses that is brought to his table.

While rearranging the files to the correct dates since the people he left responsible keep messing up the order, he is called over to the trauma recover room where the most injured shinobi are brought to him. According to the head nurse, she told him about how someone in a spar smacked the guy on the mouth with a kanabo, and while he defended himself from it resulting in a fractured arm, his upper mouth however has been damaged along with the gum line and his teeth have not only been destroyed but they're now scattered and lost in the training field. The photos provided to him were much more traumatic and worst than he thought.

His eyebrow raised at the description of the trauma, this... is new and perhaps something that he is curious to see since depending on the damage, it could take either multiple surgeries or just one to be fixed. Either way, this man must be in serious pain as soon as the meds wear off.

"I'll handle it, which medical room is he in?" Kabuto takes the folder and he follows the nurse to the room where the heavily sedated man was resting. His arm was in a sling, which was treatable despite it being broken, but what stood out is his bandaged bloodied mouth that the only thing that was keeping him breathing was the breathing pipe connected to the machines.

"Has he eaten anything yet?" Kabuto asked as he leans down and examines his other features, including his eyes. The nurse shakes her head, "No, he hasn't. Fortunately he didn't eat before training, Kabuto-sama. Are you going to prep this one for surgery right now? Can this man handle another surgery at his state since we just stopped the bleeding."

Kabuto pulls away and his adjusts his glasses with a nod, "Perfect, prep him up and get him ready tomorrow. I'm going to bring my at least 3 other assistants and the nearest town's oral surgeon. Because he lost so much blood from it, also prepare some blood packs as well."

24 hours later...

"Is everyone ready? No bathroom trips?" Kabuto asked in a light tone as he prepares to wear his while scrub as well as his gloves and hair net. "Ready, Lord Kabuto." "Yes, Lord Kabuto." The two nurses replied to him while the third one nods silently. The oral surgeon is already there and just waiting patiently for the four to step into the room.

"Everyone's here. Alright. Now the reveal..." He and the others step into the room and as they surround the unconscious man, Kabuto is the first to carefully remove the bandages from the man's face.

"Let's get started then. Prepare for the skin grafting after we fix up his jaw and put the new replacement teeth on it..."

(Warning, real messed up gore under the readmore. It's not a real injury, it's an image from an unsettling movie called "Rabid" 2019 Look at your own risk. For reals. )

@lunyraartistry (from the October Writing Challenge)

[sierra6x]

------REALIZATION WAS A beautiful thing. with the subtle changes in expression or body language he watched it wash over melissa's dark eyes in the understanding he nearly willed her to click into place not moments before. satisfaction was far sweeter than the initial chews of the gum that cooled his tongue and six let it change the air in the room without inhibition. sometimes it was nice to be right.

if she hung around him long enough she would learn to have entire conversations in silence, with little more than expressions and barely-there gestures between them.

" first time for everything. " while he'd had partners before it'd been a long time, and he'd always been remiss to call them that. they were assets, he was an asset, and they always treated each other as such. she was asking for more than that ---intending on him being more than a tool or a gun, or whatever it was she wanted to specifically use to end her father's life. (they say that knives are personal, and six had wanted nothing personal with his own when he'd killed the man. it spoke volumes in and of itself.) his hand hovered in the air for just a moment after her squeeze, when she pulled away and readjusted herself to mimic his former pose. the scar on the palm of it was fresh and gnarled - evidence of a knife having gone clean through. (he was lucky he retained as much use of it as he did.)

someday when he retired (a laughable concept) he'd be in a world of pain. every part of his body would protest for the abuse he put it through and he was sure that he'd be just a large knot of arthritis.

part of him hoped it never came to that.

part of him knew it never would.

" do that. " agreement rather than a command (he'd never dream to tell her what to do.) after what seemed like an eternity he finally shifted ---really moved, and turned to snag a glass from the cupboard next to the sink. he turned the tap to cold, filled it a quarter way with water, and swallowed a mouthful. the cold of the gum made his mouth feel like pins and needles, and he sucked a sharp breath through his teeth for it.

" thirsty? " a beat. he didn't wait for her to answer before fetching another glass and filling it halfway this time. " schedule's open. " confirmation that he wasn't in town on business. he hadn't even come by the killer queen for information, just stopped in when he'd gotten in to let melissa know he was around. if she picked up on it or not was another story entirely and nothing else on the matter was said. six set the glass down on the island between them, then pressed his weight on both hands, gently gripping the edge of the fixture, leaning forward in the slightest.

back to staring. back to watching her for reactions and shifts. the tension between them went back to what it normally was - that thing he never named and chose to otherwise ignore. " can leave tomorrow if you want. " he could arrange for a flight out, tap into one of his trusted connections and load them up and over. set up a motel, do a little reconnaissance. learn what he needed to about edgar drysdell and his schedule. figure out where he'd acquire him, where he'd move him. make sure nobody was around. get the requisite tools ...

" call my contact tonight. just let me know if it works. " check in on claire. cash in a favor for the traveling. business. " how long it take you to kill your accent? "

Life surely worked in spectacularly weird ways. If Melissa was more religious, she might have chalked it up to a god or some other ever-present deity carving paths for people like them to follow, casually meeting at some unexpected occasion and learning something that would be life-changing (or acting towards a tipping point).

But the barmaid wasn't the type to believe in higher powers - and yet, in a single night, she had learned more about Six than over the last few months (or maybe years). Funny how she had almost given up; the car keys had twirled around an index finger for long enough, more of a toy or a distraction than the means to get to the man's address. Eventually, she settled behind the wheel, knocked on his door, dumped all that serious, outright incriminating burden on him.

So many would have walked out and left Melissa hung out to dry - Six, a man with no name (that she knew of) and no past (but for the connections and intel shared over the years and a birthplace now) was literally offering her a hand. It was to metaphorically seal a deal, sure, but it felt like he was pulling her out of quicksand; a rope for a drowning woman.

'Killing family's harder. Even if he deserves it.'

These words, the absence of a price, the willingness to go the extra mile - it was all there, and while the barmaid took his hand and shook it (firmly, no hesitation in how she gripped the operative's digits), she put the pieces together. Her amber eyes looked into his blue ones with a renewed light - as if she had been offered a revelation, only it had no biblical origin. No, Melissa's justice was of the kind that walked around in human flesh, as scarred as it was; in this existence, peace was only attainable if they worked for it.

He had done it before. Removing an asshole father from the equation, saving those who were still innocent enough and not broken like them - it was not his first rodeo. It was the only way all the puzzle made any sense, and Melissa did not know why she had been graced with that confession of sorts... She only knew it would die with her.

Southern kids; damaged ones, too. No wonder they trusted each other - it was a bit like looking into the mirror and seeing all the ways you had failed yourself in the past.

But nothing of these thoughts came out in words; Melissa's look just grew kinder, a flash of understanding in her gazer to counterbalance his hardened one. His warning, for once, was not met with animosity - just some unspoken appreciation for what he was doing there, highlighted by the way she allowed the handshake to linger until a soft squeeze followed before contact was broken altogether.

"Partner. It sounds cool, doesn't it?" the brunette asked with a small grin, but the humor was more in the notion that for once... They were not alone. Melissa suspected that Six worked without any colleagues in the field, and, for her, managing the bar hadn't been too different. Sure, there had been Borys once, then Charlie... But they had never been on equal grounds. Well, even now with Six - maybe she was more of a sidekick than superhero when the time for action came.

...But she was halving the emotional responsibility.

"I'm going to think about it - scout's honor and all of that even if I never joined the damn thing," Melissa said, using her free hand to lean over the counter, not unlike Six had done a while ago while they chatted and she had remained by the living room. Canting her head to look at them and tossing the dark hair over a shoulder with the free digits, the woman gave him another look before speaking up, taking the time to enjoy the gum in the meanwhile.

"How does your schedule look? I'm not in a hurry, but... I need to sort some things over at the bar before we leave and call my sisters. If you have stuff to do, I can manage for a while."

[oomisluvr]

the 5 love languages: baby edition!

featuring: sakusa kiyoomi

synopsis: love fosters connections from romantic to platonic to paternal. a series of drabbles between dad!kiyoomi and his daughter.

warnings: light swearing, not entirely y/n focused, baby kiyoomi is referred to as little beast bc i couldn't think of a name, kiyoomi is referred to as 'daddy' because he is a father (don't make it weird pls!!)

quality time (see: "sweet potato or mashed peas and corn?")

puffy feet stomp on the counter, fighting against gravity to maintain balance. it's been three weeks since she took her first steps, and since then all she ever seems do is dance.

“there you go, angel!” kiyoomi laughs, “you got it! spin for me, spin, spin!”

with a squeal, your daughter spins wildly, her chunky hands clenched between kiyoomi’s fingers.

“good job!” he praises, letting go of her hands to clap his own. she mirrors him, forcing her hands together with disordered coordination.

her lips purse together as she blows, the burst of wet raspberries echoing through the kitchen. spits flies everywhere, but kiyoomi doesn’t care. he dabs away the clumps of saliva and pushes his own raspberries into the soft flesh of her neck. she squeals and shrieks, laughing and babbling at her father's antics, and kiyoomi, with a wide grin tugging on his lips, playfully shushes her.

“we have to be quiet, remember?” he asks, nose pressed against hers, and she grows quiet at her father’s hushed tone, “mommy’s asleep. we have to be quiet.”

“ba! mmm— ba!“

“thank you for your cooperation.” he brushes a stray curl from her forehead after assisting her into sitting, “now, what are you having for dinner? your options are sweet potato or mashed peas and corn.”

with a great inhale, she pushes her lips together and blows the biggest raspberry she can.

gently, he presses her lips together, stopping her. swatting his hand away, she squeals, her four baby teeth on display. kiyoomi pokes her round tummy, her shirt beginning to rise just below her belly button.

“it's a difficult choice, i know, but please, focus on the task at hand.”

"mm!" her hands grip her feet, and she wiggles her toes, “pa!”

“sweet potatoes it is." he decides, turning his back for just a second to dig through the fridge to find the small jar of mashed sweet potatoes. he can hear you know, instincts kicking in and screaming at him for leaving her unattended on the counter, even for just a second. you'd go on and on, lecturing him about child endangerment and neglect, before you realize your words are falling on deaf ears. his answer is always the same. you don't giver her enough credit, y/n. she is your child, after all. she's smarter than she looks.

pulling the potatoes from the fridge, he quickly nabs her baby spoon from the dish rack. pleased to find her seated right where he left her, feet still in her grip, kiyoomi laughs as her attention follows the food in his hand. she has his eyes.

with her teeth coming in, her gums are sensitive and raw most days, and the two of you have found that cold foods help with the pain.

popping open the jar, kiyoomi scoops the smallest bit of yam onto grooves of the spoon, placing the plasticware onto her outstretched palms.

she grips it tight with both hands, the spoon pushing more food into her cheek than her mouth, but kiyoomi smiles all the same, guiding the spoon and encouraging her softly.

"for just a year old, your motor skills are remarkable."

she responds in babbles as sweet potato falls from her mouth. kiyoomi bows apologetically.

"my mistake, nine-month-old." he corrects, taking the spoon from her and collecting more from the jar, "such a perfectionist, just like your mother. i see why she calls you a little beast."

by the time the jar empties, her shirt and hands are sticky with yam, and you're pretty sure there's a chuck of food in kiyoomi's hair, but the two of them continue conversation.

at one point, she burps, far louder than any baby should, and using the inspiration of her father's breathless laugh, she does it twice more.

kiyoomi cheers her on anyways. he loves his baby girl.

physical touch (see: "hand me my child.")

"give me my baby." a very shirtless kiyoomi demands, standing in front of the television with both hands perched on his hips, "you've had her to yourself the entire day. it's my turn."

you roll your eyes, "this is the life you close. nobody forced you to play volleyball professionally." you tease, "i just put her to sleep and she's been cranky all day."

"give her here," kiyoomi plants himself next to you on the couch with a dramatic huff, "she was cranky because she missed her father."

"wake her up and you're sleeping on the couch tonight. i dare you."

he doesn't cave, "hand me my child."

supporting her neck, you transfer the little beast onto the bare chest of her father. she stirs for a bit, tensing and huffing, her brows scrunching in a soft confusion. he coos at her softly, speaking in a hushed whisper to calm her back to sleep. easy there, angel. it's okay, you're okay. i'm here. daddy's here. i missed you so much today. did you miss me too?

her chubby fingers brush his skin, and she practically melts into him, breath slowing as her body fully relaxes.

"see?" he says to you, though his eyes follow the gentle rise and fall of her chest, "she just missed her dad is all."

you turn your attention back to the show you were watching, rolling your shoulder a bit to stretch the tense muscle there. one snore becomes two, and when you turn your head to investigate, you find the two of them passed out, kiyoomi's neck tilted at a dangerous angle.

even in sleep her hand still clings to kiyoomi.

with a chuckle, you decide to leave them be. she snores just as loud as her father.

giving gifts (see: "someone also paid for overnight shipping.")

"sakusa kiyoomi."

his blood stops in his veins, the hairs of his neck standing in attention. his eyes drift to your figure, standing as menacingly as ever. there's a smile on your lips, but it's not a sweet one. it's the smile of a snake who's caught a mouse in their trap. he figures now is not the time to tell you how hot you look.

he clears his throat instead, "yes, y/n dearest?"

pulling your phone from your back pocket, your eyes scan the screen, "baby einstein jumperoo exclusive interactive activity center with lights and melodies."

yikes. he was hoping you wouldn't see that.

he scratches the back of his head, "what? where did that come from?"

his voice shakes as he asks, but ignorance is the best act he can do right now.

"amazon, actually." you take a step towards him.

"not ringing any bells." he persists.

"it was 800 dollars." another step.

"that's ridiculous!"

"someone also paid for overnight shipping." another step. you could reach out and touch him, if you wanted to.

"scammers these days," he sputters.

"kiyoomi," you stare him down and he swears you can see into his soul, "don't lie to me."

"okay, okay, fine," he caves, raising his hands in surrender, "it was me who made the purchase."

"well i knew that much already. it sure wasn't our nine-month old."

"babe, i had to⁠—" his arms find yours, pulling you into his chest and pressing your face into the hard muscle there, "we have the funds to do it! and⁠—" he pulls you back to look you in the eye, "can you really put a price on the development of our baby?"

of course he went there. you want to punch him.

"no, but⁠—"

"no! you can't" he cuts you off, "as a father, i had to make the executive to prioritize her development above all else."

you sigh, "you can't be so reckless with our finances, ki. at least talk to me about this things, okay? i nearly had a heart attack this afternoon."

"you're right, and i'm sorry." he mumbles, pressing a kiss to your hairline, "i won't make any big purchases without consulting you."

"you better not."

"i won't," he promises, swaying the two of you gently, "now, where is the little beast, anyway?"

"asleep, thank goodness. she had some oatmeal and it knocked her ass out."

"so what i'm hearing is⁠—" a sneaky hand slides down your back to pinch your ass, "—is that we have some alone time."

"cute." you pull away, kiyoomi's hand falling with the motion, "but you're still in trouble."

"i said sorry!" he gasps.

"too bad." you tut, spinning on your heels and heading towards the bedroom, "i'm going to take a nap. it's your turn to feed her when she gets up."

walking away, you sway your hips a bit.

just a little bit.

"you're evil," he calls after you.

acts of service ("look who it is!")

practice was beyond awful today.

the muscles of his back ache with every step he takes, waves of pain rippling up his spine. he winces when he shrugs off his duffle bag to dig for his keys, loudly exhaling when he can't find them.

he pushes the doorbell instead of dwelling over it. a problem for another day.

through the door, he hears your muffled voice ring, "daddy's home, daddy's home! let's open the door for him, yeah?"

the pitter patter of your quick footsteps across the house brings a soft smile to his face. kiyoomi feels his heart thrum in anticipation. he always gets nervous coming home, afraid that the apartment will be empty upon his arrival. as if this were all a dream, a fantasy he was wholly undeserving off.

the door opens with a quiet creak, the drag of wood against the floor sounds louder than anything else.

there you stand, a baby on your hip with rollers in your hair, perched in faux surprise.

"look who it is!"

curious, wide eyes meet his.

kiyoomi beams at the sight, "i'm home! did you miss me?"

she squeals, throwing her arms in the direction of her father, wanting to be held by him instead. her hair is wild, inky curls sticking in every which way, one foot exposed due to her missing a sock (it's a weird temperature regulation thing), and the smallest sliver of drool bubbles at the corner of her lips from all her yelling.

ignoring the ache of his muscles, kiyoomi pulls the beast from your arms and lifts her high into the air, occasionally lowering her down to press kisses onto her forehead.

the squealing hasn't stopped, and in his younger years, kiyoomi's sure that he would have been done with fatherhood altogether.

but he's a different man now. you've made him different. soft. domestic.

he couldn't imagine the world without his baby girl in it. without the screeching and the diapers and the sleepless nights. wouldn't give it up for anything.

"how was she today?" he asks, letting the small beast pull on his ears.

he sees the tiredness in your eyes, feels it when he kisses you.

"terrible," you laugh, "i don't know where she gets all this energy from. i couldn't get her down for a nap today."

kiyoomi smiles, even though he knows he shouldn't. it's hard to be anything less than proud of her, "she has my stamina."

"she has your attitude, too."

"that, my love, she got from you."

you push his chest in reprimand, knowing that he's probably right. pain shoots to the region you touched. he tries not to wince.

"i was hoping you could take her to the park later?" you ask, hopeful, "there's some stuff i need to take care of around the house and now that she can walk--"

"of course," he ignores it, leaning in to kiss you just once more, "i'll put her jacket on right now."

the smile that graces your face is enough to make his heart stop. the beast squeals all the way to the park.

i didn't do quality time LMAO i felt like these were all quality time. also its hard because babies,,,, don't do much they're just kinda there tbh

[chiwhorei]

𝐀𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐚

✞𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐁𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐬: 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜 𝐈𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧✞

Pairing: Shouta Aizawa x Fem!Reader

Genre: Smut, Dark Content, 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 3,175 [Link to Ao3]

Tags: Darkfic, sacrelige, coercion, corruption, dubcon and noncon elements, intonations and parallels to incest, but not actual incest (ie. ‘Father’ Shouta), choking, age-gap, oral, Priest!Aizawa, Virgin!Reader

From Chiwhorei: Aizawa is where this all started, so it’s fitting he is the subject of my anniversary fic. To everyone who’s followed me along this journey despite the long bouts of radio silence, to everyone that’s participated and supported this collab, to all of my lovely, devious friends— truly, completely, thank you for this past year. Xoxo.

The pain was so sharp that it made me utter several moans; and so excessive was the sweetness caused me by this intense pain that one can never wish to lose it, nor will one’s soul be content with anything less than God.

** ** **

There’s not a soul awake this late.

The rosary wrapped between twitching fingers feels like a hot lashing against the skin. The glass and metal itch in your hold, the devotional was a gift for your confirmation-- it holds a decade of sins.

Your family has been asleep for hours now. Slipping through the back door as soon as you’re sure. Nineteen. A legal adult. Yet the only way to leave in the middle of the night is in secret. The cool, summer air hits your cheeks, it’s still for a moment. It’s so quiet, you feel like you’ve mistaken the real world for a snow globe. Static— in the moments after all of the glitter settles, all of the quiet, iridescent tears laying at your feet. It waits, patiently, until someone comes by to shake it again.

Moving into a cramped dorm room a few hours away, your childhood home feels bigger every visit. It’s bigger because nothing fills the space inside. There’s nothing but tense words and the clatter of silverware against dinner plates. Your father reminds you of an old briefcase— stern, rigid leather, unmistakably empty; your mother’s rose garden smells like poisoned wine.

Roses and leather, the combination suffocating enough to repel you in the hours you should be unconscious.

The walk from your parent’s house to the church is the most familiar thing in the world. Down to the cracks on the sidewalk and mossy steps leading up to a set of large, cherry doors. So routine it almost feels good for you.

There’s not a soul awake this late, you decide, that must be why you’re here.

That must be why he’s up too.

Pushing open one ornate door just enough to peek inside, you’re met with that distinct waft of incense and dusty missals. It smells like every Sunday morning and Easter Vigil, it smells like home.

Only votive candles light the space around you, flickering with intentions from fellow parishioners. You wonder if there’s one burning for you.

You know where to find Father Shouta, and suspect he’s waiting. He can trace every step from your parents home to the front gate. You open the confessional booth and crawl inside, the wooden space around you is cramped. It smells like incense masking cigarettes. Kneeling into the leather cushion, you face the screen partition.

“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. My last confession was,” the memory has you falter, “three months ago.”

You remember the last hollow confession like it was yesterday. You were back in town for spring break. After mass that Sunday, your dad told Father Shouta how deplorable it was that your friends had tried, in vain, to drag you to the beach a few hours away from campus. “A week of drinking and sex, not for my daughter.”

Shouta met with you that evening and you cried your sins to him. How you had been dared to kiss boys at a party during midterms week, how you drank who-knows-what mixed with cheap beer at a frat house. He consoled you then, he told you that God will forgive all transgressions. “Even the sins of a whore.”

The memory makes you want to cry all over again. Yet, here you are— knees pressed to the very same leather, face against the same dusty screen.

He’s so still, so quiet, you jump out of your skin at the sound of his voice, “What is it that you’d like to confess, my child?”

Your body aches, stiff and tense to the bone. You breathe in, shallow and suffocated, before you speak again.

“Father, forgive me I—” you can tell his posture is just as rigid, he’s only a shadowed outline and the slightest glimmer of color from his eyes. They warn you, but you ignore the familiar feeling on the back of your neck.

“I have been having impure thoughts. I’ve been thinking about a man,” one more deep breath in an attempt to keep your voice neutral, “a much older man.”

If you could hear a smile, Father’s creaks like floorboards.

His silence prompts you to continue, you knot your fingers together and hold them against your stomach, the Rosary tangled in between threatening to cut off circulation.

“The boys in my youth group, the ones in my classes— they’re all nice but,” you leave the second half of the sentence to rattle around in your mind, “but they aren’t you.”

“Impure thoughts are one thing, sinful, but,” his voice is indifferent, cold, “the true sins are ones of the flesh.”

“I- I haven’t,” you start to stutter, trying to defend yourself, “I haven’t done anything, Father.”

Despite himself, he laughs.

“It’s true Father,” you wonder why you hadn’t just stayed at home, “I’ve only ever kissed a boy— it wasn’t even a real kiss. I’m still a virgin.”

From the screen, you can only see him in fragments. Little cutouts of a dark figure and sickeningly bright red eyes. The color peaks through like pieces of a puzzle, chasing through the patterned wood before you can catch that he’s stepping out of his side of the confessional booth.

“It wasn’t a ‘real’ kiss,” each word is mimicked, emphasized by the tap of his shoes against the tiles below, “no, of course it wasn’t. Not with some boy.” Your legs are unsteady as you stand from the kneeler. There’s nowhere to hide, Father has you trapped in a toy box. Just for him to play with.

“Of course that wouldn’t have satisfied you.”

The door to your side of the booth creeks open just as your back hits the wall. You can see his face for the first time in months, you trace the features illuminated with candlelight. Father Shouta’s face is strong, even more sharp with his long, black hair tied back. His presence looms over where you’re sunken into the booth. Even standing and puffing out your chest, he’ll still be able to look down at you.

He bares his teeth. You know this by now, stupid little girl, you know he likes to play with his food.

Long fingers grip the small door frame and curl around the wood like an omen, his body slithers into your personal space until he’s only an inch away.

“Lust, greed, what is it that you want?” Each vowel cradles a hearty dose of poison, the consonants bite away and spit you out. Your skin feels raw under his attention, “You can’t atone for sins you’re not really sorry for.”

Those same fingers slide up either curve of your neck, he crawls from shoulder to jaw, slowly. So slowly it seems like he’s trying not to get caught. He holds steady against your skin, thumb rubbing lightly at your bottom lip. You must have just fallen asleep after your parents went to bed, that stale, poisoned house even lulling the restless. You must be dreaming right now.

“Don’t make me ask again.” His timber hits the three walls and brings you back to the present. There’s no rest for you, only a weak answer to his question. What is it that you want?

“I want to be a humble servant of our Lord.” Your voice shakes, battered against your throat on its way to meet the stiff air.

Father’s lips are on you, he traces the words of Luke over your trembling mouth, there’s only a breath of space between you,

“No one can serve two masters. For you will hate one and love the other; you will be devoted to one and despise the other,”

The hands holding your cheeks move down to circle your neck, each long finger lays a trap. He tightens around the skin, just enough to make you forget how it feels to breathe freely. He could do anything to you right now, and your cries for help would be swallowed by stained glass.

No one can serve two masters.

The scream caught in your throat meets his wicked smile, it fizzles into little more than a whimper. The small booth you’ve been trapped in is burning hot, you feel sweat beading on your forehead. The last ounce of courage, of restraint, tumbles out before you can catch it.

“Who do you serve, Father Shouta? God or the Devil?”

He answers you with a thick tongue finally pushing into your mouth. He smells like perfumed oils and votive candles, he tastes like sugar free gum and Seven Stars.

His grip around your neck is the only thing keeping you on your feet, you’re sure if he were to let go you’d melt into the floor below. Father’s lips against yours are a siren, dulling all other senses, rendering you malleable to his will. Whatever his will may be, whatever it is that he wants from you— you’d let him have it anyway.

He breaks away, the kiss that’s felt like hours disappears far too soon. Your body jolts forward of its own volition, trying to connect yourself to him again. You’re sure you look desperate, but you’re too intoxicated to care.

“I serve only myself.”

Father lets go of your neck and you’re allowed the first deep intake of breath you’ve had since walking into the church. You swallow hard, looking back up to him. He scares you, he always has, but that fear draws you towards him.

Does a moth know what the flame will do to it? Does the moth know their fate?

You feel like crying, really crying, but all that comes out are a few frustrated tears. Father leans over you once more, eyes trailing the tear waxing over your cheek, “You’re a wretched little girl.”

Is that why they fly towards fire, because they like the burn?

** ** **

You step forward in line, it’s almost your turn. Mother first, she’s always thought of Father Aizawa as such a “charming young man''. The notion always made you scoff, in reality he’s only a few years younger than your parents.

Your dad is behind you, he’ll give him a friendly handshake after the service and remark how beautiful the homily was. Today, he spoke of the devil tempting Jesus. You hung on every word.

Mother steps aside and makes the sign of the cross, you’re next. A sheep guided by the dutiful shepherd, a lamb onto his slaughter.

Your chin tilts upwards, eyes locked onto your part-time captor. He only has you for a few seconds this time, but his attention is a hallway— every door is a pitfall. Aizawa’s gaze turns red when he looks upon you again— a bright, bloody, captivating red. You’ve convinced yourself it’s a trick of the light. But you see them in the dark too.

“The Body of Christ,” his voice is a welcome mat in front of an asylum, holding out the wafer and obscuring one painfully beautiful eye.

“Amen.” You know you’re part, but you can’t hear your own voice.

Father watches as your eyes close and your mouth opens, a quiet obedience, nothing at all out of the ordinary. Your fingers tingle with how tight you’re holding them together.

He places the Body to your awaiting tongue. It tastes like a harsh nothing that will stick to the back of your throat for the rest of mass. You take Christ in pieces, letting it start to melt into the roof of your mouth.

Shouta brushes your bottom lip before retracting. It’s subtle, an accident— the smallest touch of chilling skin. No one notices, the earth doesn’t stop on its axis for anyone else. You step aside and follow your Mother back to the wooden pews like nothing out of the ordinary stirs in your heart.

You feel Father’s eyes on the back of your skirt. They feel red.

“Your sweet girl here has offered a helping hand getting prepared for a youth retreat the church is hosting next week.” After mass, the stop to shake Father’s hand is inevitable, a pleasantry every parishioner makes time for before shuffling out for Sunday brunch.

He speaks over your quiet, “Good morning, Father Shouta,” right as your family turns to leave, almost as if he had been mulling over whether or not it was worth a mention. He regards them with a veiled casualty, never once looking at you.

Father’s face is kind when he wants it to be, laying a hand in the middle of your shoulder blades, it's a feeling of comfort you can’t help but lean into, “We’re discussing how to remain chaste in a sinful world.”

The word ‘chaste’ is pinched into your spine and despite yourself, you smile. A heavy heart has found home at the bottom of your stomach, but you can’t let on to the sick churning in your gut. Your parents gleam with pride for their daughter. A perfect example of a good Catholic girl.

“I’ll have her meet at my office this evening, is six okay?” His question sounds like your dowry, talking past you and asking for your parents permission.

Your dad shakes Father Shout’s hand once more, delighted at how his diligent parenting must be the reason you’ve found yourself in holy favor. Said ‘parenting’ is definitely to blame, but not in the way your dad assumes.

*** *** ***

The walk through church and into the sacristy is like a meditation in fear, every step begging you to turn back, to run home like a scared child. You tread steady, feet searing on hot coals until you’re met with the sound of Father Shouta just beyond the threshold.

“You’re late.” Something sinister fills Father’s quarters as soon as you open the door. It’s scary how offhandedly he can lie. You’re at least ten minutes early, the evening toll of church bells will signal the hour. He wants to see if you’ll stutter, if you’ll argue. You stay quiet, busying your hands with the hem of your skirt, fingers lifting it slightly before you remember who owns the eyes sitting across the room. They look golden from here, a honey you could drown in. You cough at the feeling of sugar in your lungs before collecting yourself and awaiting instruction.

Seemingly pleased with your docility, he smiles wide and crooked. It’s bound into a book he will whisper into you page by page. It’s written in a language only he knows.

Shouta motions you farther inside, leaning back in his seat. He corrects you when you move to sit in the chair on the other side of his desk, waiting with little patience as you settle against his side instead. Your posture is stiff being this close, being this alone.

His facial hair is trimmed neatly, small scars litter his face, the most pronounced a jagged trail under his right eye. From the dim evening light, you see a shadow of loose hairs make a pointed crown around his head.

“St. Teresa of Avila,” Father starts, tapping his fingers against a small stack of papers, “what do you know of her?”

You’re disarmed, the question seems so innocent-- not a note of ulterior motive detectible. Even so, your guard remains high. His intentions need no subtext.

“St. Teresa of Avila, the patron saint of headache sufferers,” you’re struggling to see the point, but Father prompts you to continue, “she was a Spanish nun, she wrote about a prayerful life,”

After another moment of measured silence, you grow even more tense, “Father Shouta, forgive me, I don’t understand,”

You’re hushed with a laugh, the small collection of papers placed in your hands. The first leaf is titled with large letters, “The Life of Teresa of Jesus.”

“I’d like you to read the section I’ve highlighted.”

You shake, thumbing through until you find a block of text traced in bright yellow. You scan its contents, but are quickly interrupted by Shouta’s next request.

“Out loud.”

There’s no escaping the toy box.

His stare is unwavering, giving you no room for objection. They’re not soft like honey anymore, Father Shouta’s eye’s are harsh, bloody gemstones.

You know better than to keep him waiting, adjusting in your half sat position on the side of his desk, you begin reading with hoarse inflection, “In his hands I saw a long golden spear, and at the end of the iron tip I seemed to see a point of fire. With this he seemed to pierce my heart several times so that it penetrated to my entrails.”

Wincing, the words sound like a stranger in your ears. After every sentence, Shouta’s fingertips inch closer to the end of your skirt, right above the knee. You’d be stoned for this kind of hemline at home, but with Father it seems to be exactly the sacred skin he wanted to see.

His hands move, unwavering, as you continue with the annotated paragraph, “When he drew it out, I thought he was drawing them out with it and he left me completely afire with a great love of God.” Fingers stop their gentle assault before adding pressure to your inner thigh, he peels apart your legs with a wordless prompting to keep going.

“The pain was so sharp that it made me utter several moans; and so excessive was the sweetness caused me by this intense pain that one can never wish to lose it, nor will one’s soul be content with anything less than God.”

By the last several words, Father Shouta’s lips are centered in between your open thighs, you feel tears frozen in the duct. You want to pull away, to escape, but his lips hold something you’ve never been this close to.

“Piety is a virtue,” you can feel the hot breath against your most intimate planes of flesh, “but our God is one of pleasure too.”

His kiss feels like branding. An aimless, confused lamb seared with the mark of its owner.

You cry out, loud and broken, when his mouth meets the cotton covering your pussy. Shouta uses his pointer and middle finger to move the fabric away.

No one has ever seen these parts of you, kept locked away for your future husband until now, sitting in the heart of your family's church, writhing from even the slightest touch.Hips buck of their own accord, and you’re granted one last open-mouthed lave against your twitching cunt. His tongue peaks out slightly to catch your clit before pulling away.

You move as if possessed, falling to your knees in front of your Father. Your mouth opens, that same quiet obedience, and his finger brushes your lower lip again. “No one” you think, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of fingers wrapped into the back of your hair, “no one can serve two masters.”

“Body and soul, you’re mine.”

But there’s not a soul left in sight.

✞ 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐞: All writing is chiwhorei’s original content, please do not repost or modify. Do no read my content as asmr. Do not recommend me on TikTok.©️

[gallickingun]

I’m really soft for the idea of having to use your safe word with Bakugou and he immediately snaps into the most nurturing boyfriend. He’s gone from pounding into you and slapping you around, to holding you to his chest and stroking your hair. He’d run you a bath and while you soaked in there he’d make you some comfort food which he’d feed you later in bed.

a/n: this got p long so i’m putting it under a read more!  tw: degradation

It’s all too much.

“I want to hear you beg for my perfect cock, you little slut,” his lips are curling and all you can see is your own self-hatred reflected to you in his carmine irises. A slap resounds against your cheek but it’s hard to process, save for the way your face turns into the pillow. Bakugou’s hand drifts from your jaw to your throat, encasing the tender muscles within his grasp and squeezing.

You start to see stars when you hear him say, “I said beg, you pathetic bitch, or else I’ll have to punish you for not listening.”

Your heart is pounding, your eyes are pouring tears, and your thighs are starting to clench to the point of pain that no longer feels like pulsing pleasure. You can barely find it in you to form words because your tongue feels warped and heavy within your mouth, but the second you manage to force that very special phrase out of your teeth, the whole world stops spinning.

Bakugou’s hand loosens against your throat and his hips still, buried to the hilt within you, the domineering mask slipping from his expression, “S-Say it again.”

You’re embarrassed, but you repeat the phrase, a choking sob breaking it up in the middle. You turn your head into the pillow so you don’t have to look at him when his face twists in anger or frustration, your hands covering what visibly remains of your face so he can’t see your crumpled features.

“Hey,” Bakugou’s voice is uncharacteristically soft and the sound of it makes you whimper. He doesn’t pull out of you, not yet, because he’s afraid the sudden change might bring another round of emotions to the surface, “Come back to me, princess, I’m right here.”

The gentle way his fingers circle around your wrists could make you cry for another reason entirely, and the crooning of his deep voice in your ear makes your toes curl. You clench your jaw in favor of looking up at him, focusing on the pain that is now throbbing in your gums. Your cheek still stings from the smack you received not but moments prior to your outcry, and you wonder if the skin is as red as you think it might be.

“D-Do you want me to pull out?” His voice is timid, and timid is not something well-known to Bakugou Katsuki. You are shaking your head adamantly, begging with your hands twisting in his grip to hold him by the forearms, eyes wild as you finally glance up at him, “P-Please don’t leave me.”

Bakugou is hushing you, curling his body further into you so he is filling you to the base of him, his knees tucking tightly against your hips and his arms circling around your shoulders to hold you close.

“I’m right here,” he repeats the sentiment from earlier, kisses against your temple. You swear you feel the telltale sign of damp tears against your skin and hair, but you don’t have the wherewithal to take much notice. His cock twitches withing your core and it’s comforting somehow, in tandem with the way he is kissing over your face and running the tip of his nose against your skin, providing you with all the tactile relief he can muster, “I’m not going anywhere, princess, I’m right here.”

He repeats that phrase several times, until your breathing has gone from erratic to something much more calm. Bakugou kisses the space on your chest where your heart would be, “Just breathe, baby. It’s okay, you’re okay. Come back down, I’m right here.”

Your palms press against his chest and he’s taken aback at the sudden contact, irises widening to swallow his pupils. He brushes your hair from your eyes, noting how you flinch at the sight of his hand so close to your face, and his soul cracks in half. Bakugou’s voice is wavering as he whispers, “I-I’m sorry, sweetheart, I’m so sorry.”

You are shaking your head and trying to keep him from apologizing, but he tucks your head into his chest and rolls to the side so he can cradle you within the cage of his arms, “Don’t.”

Bakugou’s fingertips sift through your hair and down your neck, massaging at the base of your scalp and shoulders. You can hear something akin to humming in your ear, and after a few moments, you realize that Bakugou is singing. A new set of tears well up in your eyes, but you dig yourself further into the cavity of his shoulder, your nose tucked against his throat so you can breathe in his scent.

“I love you,” he grits out the words, kissing your temple, “I hope you know that.”

You tilt your head back so you can look him in the eyes, tears still settled in your lids and caked on your lashes, “I love you too, Katsuki.”

A smile graces his features, and you swear you’ve seen the sun. Pushing yourself up with the gentle movement of your legs, you rub your noses together, closing your eyes as he connects your foreheads, “I’m gonna run you a bath, okay? Help you wash up.”

Your hand reaches upward to cup his cheek, closing your eyes so you can drink in the closeness you have with him at this very moment in time. Your whole body is warm, and your mind is in a haze as you come down from your emotionally spiked high. You can’t help it as you angle your head just enough to meld your lips to his.

The action takes Bakugou by surprise at first, and he doesn’t react to your kissing. You start to pull back once you’ve realized that he isn’t reciprocating, but he’s caught you before you can retreat. He winds his arms around your shoulders and tilts his head forward to capture your lips once again. He is firm, but not so much so that you feel trapped, but rather you feel safe.

Bakugou gathers you up in his arms, gently unsheathing himself from you to cause less stinging at the sudden change of stretch, and walks you into the bathroom. You’re deposited on the counter while he runs the bath water, trying to get the tub to the perfect temperature before transferring you into the sudsy pool. He’s careful as he washes your hair, dipping your head back into the fragrant bubbles and massaging your scalp. 

He stands to his feet once your hair has been rinsed, the bubbles floating around your body popping once they come into contact with your skin. With one last pass through your hair, he retracts his fingers, “I”m going to go make dinner, okay? Let you soak in here a minute longer without me sitting up your ass.”

A giggle parts your lips, and there is a pressure lifted from his chest that he did not realize he was harboring. He clutches at his heart, wrapping his fingers around his pectoral so he can make sure the organ is still beating. The pounding thud against his palm gives him relief and then a smile takes over.

The next time he sees you is when you’re fumbling down the stairs, your body clad in one of his old merch designs, a shirt that falls down to your thighs, just enough to cover your ass. Bakugou smirks, knowing full well that you can make anything look this good.

“What do you want? Action, comedy, romance, or anime?” Bakugou carries two plates of spicy meat and rice to the coffee table where he’s already set up drinks and snacks to go along with dinner. You settle on a comedy movie and he pulls you into his lap, your back pressed against his chest so he can spoon feed you dinner, your headspace still recovering from earlier. The affectionate gesture seems to be over the top, but you are not one to tell Bakugou no when it comes to expressing his admiration to you through his actions. 

It is hours later when you are drifting off to sleep, your head on Katsuki’s chest, and you hear that same tune from earlier being sung into your ears, the vibrations in his chest only furthering your lull into sleep. Bakugou is brushing his fingers against the dated t-shirt in various patterns, the warmth radiating from his body dredging your mind into a sedated state.

“Hey,” he calls to you, bringing your attention to his face with a knuckle crooked underneath your chin. A kiss is pressed to your forehead, and when he pulls away, his voice is gentle, “Where’s my girl?”

You cannot help the dopey grin that tugs on your lips, wriggling your way closer to him so you can rub your nose against his, “I’m right here, ‘Suki.”

And you seal the promise of your presence with a kiss before falling back against his embrace, allowing him to hold together your broken pieces as if he were human glue. The final thing you notice just before you drift into the realm of unconsciousness is the song being sung in your ear.

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you keep me happy when skies are gray. Don’t you know dear, how much I love you? Please don’t take my sunshine away.”

-

a/n: wow that got sappy real quick. i hope this was what you were wanting!

[rxttenfish]

Merfolk Anatomy: Part 1, Head

So, I have... a lot of ideas on how merfolk anatomy works. Unfortunately, it’s a bit hard to get across all of the various moving parts in artwork, especially if they’re covered up in clothes, or the giant earfins, or just the pose doesn’t comply with me. 

For my own help, and for the help of anyone I commission in the future, I’m going to be making a few of these posts detailing what’s going on under the hood, and to hopefully make my process more clear for people in the future! There should be a few of these (I have a lot of thoughts on merfolk anatomy), so hopefully I should be adding onto this post in the future!

Disclaimer: Here, I’ll mostly be referencing Miranda and her anatomy. Miranda is an abyssal merfolk. There are several different species of merfolk, so the proportions might change with different characters and different species. Doing one merfolk species is more feasible right now than attempting all of them.

Profile:

Abyssals have a “blocky” head shape. They’re exceptionally strong biters, so not only does the extra muscle round out their features, but their bones are also thickened and strengthened to prevent them from breaking their own faces when they bite. 

Head is long, like all merfolk. Approximately halfway between the tip and the end of the skull is where the eye is located, and between the eye and the tip is where the salt organ ends. Placed directly above the salt organ are the first pair of nostrils, in a short “crest”. There is a small eyebrow ridge, but skull profile transitions smoothly from the top of the head to the tip. Skull extends well past the bottom jaw to fit a large brain.

Third eye is located between the two other eyes, and appears as little more than a slightly off-color scale.

The upper and lower jaws are roughly equal in dimensions, with large, triangular teeth in a single row. The upper jaw can appear larger, due to the overhang of the lips, which entirely cover all teeth and obscure the size of their bottom jaw. Like all merfolk, their lips dip upwards at the very center, to produce a “:3″ shape. Lips are flexible, and cheeks are best compared to dog cheeks, able to be pulled forward or back, but are more open than human cheeks.

The jaw does not and cannot open all the way back to the joint. The gape of the jaw is larger than that in humans.

The ear is located on top of the joint that controls the jaw. This is where the earfins connect to the skull. Gills are directly under lower jaw, and open directly into the throat. Abyssal merfolk have three pairs of gills.

Large neck muscles connect to the back of the skull. The spine connects to the back of the skull - not straight down, like in humans. To have the skull and the spine at a right angle to each other would be painful in the short term and injurious in the long term. Anything further is impossible without injury. Ideally, the skull should be flush and straight against the spine.

Neck should be just as large as the skull, with a smooth transition between them.

(Note: I haven’t fully decided on what merfolk vertebrae look like yet, so consider this a placeholder.)

Eyes:

Pupils are slit in Abyssals, and can adjust their size. Bright light (such as daylight) or being upset will make the pupils shrink. Low light or interest will cause the pupils to dilate and lose their slit shape, able to nearly cover the entirety of the visible eye.

Merfolk have no visible whites to their eyes. Miranda’s iris is blue.

Tapetum lucidum reflects in electric blue when light is shone on the eyes. They cannot provide light of their own, and can only reflect back what is already present.

Nictitating membrane/third eyelid moves in from the inner corner of the eye to the outer corner. It is semi-translucent, and up close the eye itself can still be seen, although covered in a blue-grey film. From afar, details vanish.

Salt organ begins at the inner corner of the eye and extends outwards. Flesh of the salt organ is the same greyish-purple as the gums/tongue/mouth.

Eyelids are pink, and become a yellow-cream where the skin is thinnest, such as around the eye itself.

Merfolk have poor eyesight, and can see in darkness much better than they can perceive color.

Ear Fins:

Ear Fins are a structure composed of the “stem” or “shaft”, the “frills” or “feathering”, and the “fluff” or base. The structure is repeated three times on either side of the head, leaving a total of six “shafts”

Shafts are composed of cartilage, muscle, skin, flesh, and some scales. They are the hardiest part of the fin, and the least sensitive. Most of the control in moving and adjusting the size and shape of fins are directed by the shafts, which have large masses of fine muscle at their bases. They can swivel, tilt forward, tilt backwards, flatten down, flare outwards, flick, flutter, and relax against the neck.

From each shaft is where the feathering connects. Contrary to the name, all frills are long, thin extensions of delicate skin, full of nerve endings and able to extract oxygen from the water. Each frill connects back to the shaft, and have microscopic “barbs” on their surface. These barbs not only increase surface area to extract more oxygen, but they also hold each frill together, producing a single consistent shape for each fin. They do not always connect properly at the edges, so the edges of the fin will appear “fluffy”.

Because all frills are delicate skin, merfolk can feel through their fins, as well as breathe and somewhat smell through them. They are soft in texture, but due to how sensitive and delicate they are, merfolk will refrain from touching the fins of anyone they aren’t close to.

The fins are actually the exact same structure as the external gills in axolotls, with the feathering migrated entirely to the bottom, increased in number, and reinforced and modified from there.

The base of the fins and the back of the cheeks are covered in “fluff”. Structurally, fluff is the same thing as feathering, but not connecting to the shaft. Fluff is smaller and shorter than the frills too, smoothing out the transition between fins and face, but they are even more delicate because of this. Fluff obscures the base of the fins from the front. Only from the back can the connection of all shafts to a singular point, just above the jaw’s joint, be seen.

Each fin forms a single “swooping” diamond shape.

Merfolk’s internal gills are structurally the same as their earfins. The shaft forms a single, interior gill arch for each gill, keeping its shape and allowing merfolk to open and close their gills. The feathering becomes gill rakers, and are exceptionally prominent on abyssals, where they poke out of the gill covers. 

[five-rivers]

Loved 8

Danny found himself without human senses or even a rough analogue of a human body. Even so, he still had an understanding of his surroundings, alien senses leaving impressions on his mind.

His body was soft, boneless, rounded, unformed. He was intimately connected to, part of, and entirely surrounded by an infinitely greater being, whom he was dependent on. He was known, all of him, by this being.

If he’d had eyes to cry with, he would have, knowing that he would never be able to know this being as he himself was known.

Amusement and affection – or, at least, things that were like them – pressed into him as the being contracted around him. An object was inserted into the single orifice he currently possessed.

Slowly, Danny became aware of an intense… discomfort in that area. He couldn’t call it pain. He currently had no sense of pain. But he could feel it and he didn’t like it and it was growing—

He woke up, tangled in blankets, skin slick with sweat, head and teeth aching.

Except, he didn’t. He was in the Dream. But if he were in the Dream, what had that been?

Already, many of the details were slipping through his fingers. He could no longer recapture what he had felt, although the general events were still somewhat clear.

He… had sleeping here somehow peeled back the layers of metaphor through which he experienced the Dream? Or had that just been a different metaphor, no truer than this one?

He sat up – or, rather, he tried to. An unexpected weight around neck stalled him. Overnight, the chain of Clockwork’s Love for him (and his Love for Clockwork in return) had more than doubled in size. It had also been reinforced by thick, colorful, silk ropes wound in and out of the links as well as other, smaller, chains.

There were also two of them, now, leading in opposite directions. As if Clockwork’s Love was simply too great to be confined to a single representation.

More carefully this time, Danny sat up. At least the collar, despite being far, far heavier, was no longer configured like a neck brace. Danny could turn his head to look at things.

The dog, evidently sensing an opportunity, deposited itself in Danny’s lap. Danny, not knowing what else to do, started petting it, running fingers through shadowy fur. He had always wanted a dog. Although, he didn’t remember telling Clockwork that…

“Maybe I should name you,” said Danny. He wasn’t sure how he felt about naming a personification of his hate, but he wasn’t sure if that’s what the dog was, or if the dog was just a container for his hate. It was confusing. “How about Cujo?”

The dog wagged its tail agreeably.

“Cujo it is, then.” He sighed and looked around the room. It didn’t have a door or any other visible opening. Honestly, in comparison to everything else he’d experienced in the Dream, that was pretty pedestrian. He supposed he’d just have to wait until Clockwork came back.

Maybe he could take a look at some of those interesting objects along the wall in the meantime? Something in his mind whispered that they were his and they were toys. They could take his mind off the pain building in his jaw and temples.

He stood up and walked almost all the way to the edge of the depression in the floor before being brought up short. He stumbled and sat down abruptly. What-?

The end of the chain was buried in the floor at the center of the depression.

Oh. Well. This whole room was part of Clockwork, too, so Danny really shouldn’t be surprised. It wasn’t like the chain hadn’t acted like a chain before.

Still.

Being forcibly trapped in, well, a crib was infantilizing. Not that everything else about all of this wasn’t. This just seemed like a step further.

The collar hummed lightly against Danny’s throat, eliciting a croon as he reflexively attempted to harmonize. The act settled him somewhat, and he gazed blankly at the runes surrounding the depression. The drop between the depression and the rest of the floor was too high for him to get over by himself anyway… no, that wasn’t right… couldn’t be… he couldn’t see the runes if that was the case, he’d be too short… but the lip there was definitely too tall, he knew it…

He tore his eyes away, squeezing them shut against his suddenly raging headache. The dog, Cujo, padded over to him and sniffed him gently. Danny whined, trying not to cry.

It looks like your horns might be growing in as well, said Clockwork’s avatar, running a hand through Danny’s hair. Poor baby. Teeth and horns all at once. That must hurt.

“Horns? Like Nocturne?”

Yes. They will help you navigate the other layers of the Dream once they are fully grown. With practice.

Danny let Clockwork’s avatar lift his head, resting his chin in its palm. “Layers of the Dream?”

You did not think the Dream was as simple in structure as that place you call reality, did you, little Love? This place you have become familiar with is only the closest layer to that place, no matter how deep you go.

“But—” said Danny, trying to work out how that could be. The answer slotted itself neatly into Danny’s mind. “It’s… like a tesseract?”

More than that, but essentially, yes. The avatar was gathering blankets around Danny again, swaddling him. Danny squeaked and tried to twist away, but the avatar easily anticipated him, and the fight quickly went out of him.

Danny was carried from the room and brought to a long table covered in bowls. The bowls contained pastel orbs of various sizes and colors. A single piece of furniture shaped like a basket woven of silver strips sat next to it. Clockwork’s avatar set him down gently on this piece of furniture and several of the strips peeled off to wrap securely around Danny.

Time for breakfast, said the avatar, happily.

Mentally and emotionally, it was easier to eat the orbs than the obviously alive things of his previous meal. Physically…

Danny asked why the orbs were so tough and difficult to chew. The avatar murmured something about practicing using his teeth. Danny wasn’t exactly in a position to refuse, so he was filled to satiation and beyond, until every piece of food on the table had been eaten.

By the time Clockwork’s avatar lifted him again, he felt exhausted and disgusting.

“Can I go home now?” he asked.

You are home.

“You know what I mean.”

It would be remiss of me to let you go when you are still in so much pain. Besides, sleep is necessary for children such as yourself to properly digest food.

“Don’t want to sleep,” said Danny, alarmed. He didn’t want to go back to the place he was before, where he could not see, hear, smell, taste, or touch.

That is not the only place you may go, said the avatar. In fact, it is rather unlikely for you to return there unless you do so on purpose. It touched the place where one of Danny’s horns would eventually bud. It was tender and Danny whined. Which is not something you can yet do. It paused. Perhaps I could guide you to a… cozy layer. One you might find educational. Would you like that?

“I wanna go home. I feel icky.”

I will set up a bath for you when you wake up.

Danny moaned and tried to tuck his face into the avatar’s shoulder. “Don’t want a bath.”

You do need one eventually.

“Don’t wanna.”

The avatar lowered Danny back into the nest of blankets.

Sleep well.

Danny woke up. This time in an actual crib. A mobile with star shapes hung overhead. He reached up with a chubby baby hand. A medical bracelet jingled around his wrist.

With some difficulty, his hands lacking dexterity, he turned the bracelet over. The writing there was incomprehensible and made him slightly dizzy. He huffed and rolled over before pushing himself up onto hands and knees.

The room he was in was dark, and far more defined than he was used to in the Dream. He could see picture frames on the walls and clocks. Every wall had at least one clock.

He grabbed the top of the crib railing and pulled himself up into a standing position. The rest of the room looked normal. Lived in.

The door opened, letting light in. A figure walked through the doorway and picked Danny up.

“You’re awake already! Ready for the day?”

“Clockwork?” squeaked Danny.

“Hmm, yes. But there’s something else you can call me here, hm?” The figure shifted, light falling on a feminine face and long hair.

“Mama?” tried Danny.

“There we go,” she said.

“Where are we?” asked Danny, lisping his words slightly. He wasn’t sure he had teeth right now. He put his hand in his mouth, feeling his gums. “’s different here.”

“Yes,” said Clockwork, walking out into a hallway. It was bright. There were clocks here, too, evenly spaced on the walls. Danny hid his face. “Oopsie daisy. Too bright, baby?”

“Mhm,” said Danny.

Clockwork balanced Danny on her hip and fiddled with a dimmer switch. The lights dimmed to a more comfortable level. “I’m sorry, baby. I keep forgetting about your eyes.”

“What about my eyes?”

“You’re photosensitive. That’s what the bracelet is for. You need low light.”

“Mama?”

“Hm?”

“What is this place?”

“Ah,” said Clockwork, putting him in a highchair. “A world within the Dream. Once,” she punctuated the word by clipping Danny into the seat, “it was much like the place you were first born. But we came to understand it completely and everything that thought or dreamed opened themselves to us. We engulfed it, brought it here. Now everyone is happy.”

Clockwork put a sippy cup on the little table on the highchair and then several pieces of cereal. Danny didn’t recognize the brand.

“Do I have to?”

“You need energy for today,” said Clockwork.

“But I just ate so much.”

“Not here. Come on, sweetheart. It’s just a little bit.” Clockwork sat down in one of the chairs at the dinning room table, brushing her hair over her shoulder. She smiled. “Isn’t this nice?”

Danny shrugged.

“I know you don’t care for the other part of the Dream, that you find it frightening, so… If you like this place, you can stay here. It’s just like the other place. The one you like. Would you like that?”

“My friends are there.”

“I can bring them here. It’ll be difficult, but very possible.”

Danny shook his head. Clockwork sighed.

“Well. Let’s just see how this day goes before you decide. Maybe you’ll like being here so much you’ll never want to leave at all. Give it a chance. Just for one day, okay?”

“Okay,” mumbled Danny.

“And that means eating your breakfast.” She ruffled Danny’s hair. “Okie-dokie?”

“’Kay.”

Clockwork smiled, eyes crinkling. “We’re going to have so much fun today, just see!”

[brutal-nemesis]

E&T: Red, White, and Blue

Now this. This is the fun stuff (❁´◡`❁) and yes I hate myself for the chapter title

←Previous - Masterlist - Next→

Ingredients: noncon body modification, noncon surgery, eye whump, dissociation, accidental self harm, this is pretty intense so just stay safe y’all 

Two days. Two days of rest, of getting used to the new, sharp teeth in his mouth and the way they repeatedly pricked his lower lip when he talked, of recovering from the intense pain he’d been through. Two days of answering Neteri’s questions about how the fangs were affecting him, of her hands on his face more than usual, pulling his lips back to examine his teeth and gums over and over again. Two days, and at the end of the second one, when he wasn’t brought dinner, Erebus felt cold fear settle in his stomach alongside the hunger. 

Tomorrow, he was going to lose another part of his humanity. Something he thought he’d be used to by now, but he still found himself barely able to sleep. Morning came all too quickly, and he tried to stop himself from shaking as the familiar leather straps were tightened around his body as he laid on the table once again. Neteri smiled down at him the same way she always did, affectionately running her hand through his hair a few times before buckling the strap around his head. He wished her touch didn’t make him feel a little better.

“Hey, Erebus. Since the last procedure went so well and was pretty easy I figured we should jump right into the next one. I promise you’ll get more of a break between this one and the next, though, since today’ll be a little more complicated. That sound good?”

“No.” She just smiled and shook her head before shoving the rag in his mouth, preventing him from protesting further. He focused on the little rat on the ceiling and tried to take deep breaths as she grabbed whatever awful tool she was going to use on him today. When Neteri turned back to him, she was holding some sort of strange metal object that he couldn’t guess the use of. She started to move it towards his face, causing him to screw his eyes shut. Whatever it was, he didn’t want to see what it was going to do to him. 

Unfortunately, this was something he would have no choice but to watch.

Her fingers pried his right eye open, allowing her to slide the device under his eyelid on either side, keeping it pulled wide open. Wait wait why was she forcing him to keep his eye open? His head wasn’t propped up, so it’s not like he could see-unless she wanted to replace-

No.

No she can’t do that.

No no no not my eyes please please don’t take them you can’t they’re the only part left of me that I’m not disgusted by Neteri please please please I’ll do anything anything please just stop GET THAT THING AWAY FROM ME STOP STOP MOVING IT TOWARDS MY EYE NO NO NO DON’T GRAB IT DON’T GRAB IT IT’S SO COLD I CAN FEEL IT SCRAPING MY SKULL PLEASE DON’T TAKE MY EYE NO NO it’s empty empty and cold it’s empTY YOU CAN’T CUT IT OFF WHERE DID IT GO I CAN’T SEE ICAN’TSEEIT’SSOBLACKICAN’TSEEIT’SEMPTYANDSOMUCHBLOODICAN’TSEEITHURTSANDICAN’TSEE-

Don’t

That’s not mine don’t don’t don’t attach it IT BURNS FIRE FIRE RIGHT INSIDE MY HEAD it isn’t empty anymore but it’s still cold so cold and bright it’s too bright I still can’t see the light hurts hurts let me close it please yes good it’s dark at least even though it shouldn’t be there-

“Erebus.” The sound of Neteri calling his name pulled him out of the hell in his own head. He cautiously opened his left eye, the only one left that was his, and looked up at her. She was leaning over him, looking at him expectantly. “Open your eye, come on.” He cracked it open, but the lights were so bright that it felt like he was looking into the sun, and he screwed it shut once more. She frowned and pulled the rag out of his mouth. “What’s wrong?”

“It-it’s so bright it hurts why-” the rest of his reply was cut off as she shoved the rag back in.

“I guess I should’ve expected that,” she muttered, “So that means even the younger ones are still adjusted for deep water, and I’ll have to…” she placed two fingertips on his right eyelid, awakening her magic once more. This time, however, the fire wasn’t piercing into his skull, but burning within the eye itself, making it bubble and spark, driving it to a boil and of course he was screaming because this was wrong wrong wrong he shouldn’t have ever had to feel pain like this no one should please please make it stop-

Erebus jolted awake, suddenly finding himself back in bed in his cell, sitting up and breathing heavily. What...he had been in the lab, on the table, hadn’t he? And Neteri, she had taken...his hands flew to his face, feeling for dried blood or an empty eye socket or something, but he felt nothing out of the ordinary. Maybe...maybe that had all been a dream? A horribly vivid, painful dream...no, not in this place. What had happened seemed far too much like reality. Neteri could have cleaned the blood off of his face while he was unconscious, if that’s what had happened, and there was no guarantee that the...the replacement eye would feel any different. His vision out of it seemed a little fuzzy, but still normal enough compared to his left eye that he couldn’t be sure. 

So, there was only one way to check. As if in a daze, he stumbled into the bathroom, right hand clamped over the eye, the one that might not be his anymore. He stopped in front of the mirror, his left eye still as blue as ever. He stared at it for a moment, praying that his other eye would look the same, that it had all been just a bad dream.

Slowly, hesitantly, he lowered his hand.

The eye was absolutely hideous, completely blank and white and pupil-less and it was inside of his head, horrific ugliness where there had once been beauty. He stared at it in disbelief for a moment, unable to accept the reality of what he was seeing, of what he had just been through. Before he knew it, his fist was flying towards the mirror, aiming to shatter it, to break the image of what he was turning into. The punch connected, but the mirror wasn’t broken. He pummeled it again and again, but no matter how much or how hard he hit it, the mirror didn’t so much as crack. It was completely smooth, the blood from his knuckles dripping down it in various spots the only evidence of his futile attacks. 

But that’s how it was, wasn’t it? No matter what he wanted, no matter what he tried, he didn’t have the power to change anything about himself. Was that even him, though? Whatever he saw in the mirror here didn’t look like him, it never really had. That was it, this wasn’t him at all, it was just...a monster. A monster with the same name as him...no, no, his name was all he had left of himself, those six letters were his, there was no way he was giving that to the monster, too. It was just a nameless body, just disfigured flesh that he was stuck inside of.

He snapped his gaze downward, away from the thing in the mirror. His knuckles were all busted up, dripping blood into the sink. He turned the water on, gently washing it away, wincing as the water stung the open wounds. The task was something to focus on, something that wasn’t...a glance upward reminded him that there was more blood to clean than what was on his hands. That was all he saw, the red of his blood, until it wasn’t there anymore, not on the mirror or his hands or the sink.

Then he was just left with the white. The white where there had always been blue. And it shouldn’t be a big deal, he couldn’t even tell without looking at himself, it was such a small part of him, he shouldn’t care so much, but-

But in that moment, he couldn’t bear it.

Extra - Next→

Tags: @dramaticcollapse @thehopelessopus @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @galaxywhump @as-a-matter-of-whump @mnmlover2002 @tears-and-lilies @yet-another-heathen @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @starnight-whump @unicornscotty @thebewilderer​ @kixngiggles​ @itallstartedwithharry​​ @inky-whump

[sentakushimasu]

if i can't taste your lips just let me taste blood

pairing: bakugou katsuki/kirishima eijirou summary: work studies are meant to be educational, not fatal, but bakugou and kirishima are trapped with a growing puddle of blood and no way to get out genre: hurt/comfort, whump word count: 2.6k warnings: blood, hospitals, bakugou trying to articulate emotions title from: we are the dirt - it's never enough AO3

When Kirishima came to it was with a lot of confusion and pain. The first thing he noticed was the searing pain emanating from his abdomen that blurred and subdued his other senses. The second thing he noticed was that it was really dark.

Dark to the point where he wasn’t sure if he was opening his eyes at all, unable to figure out where the hell he was or how he got there.

The pain, however, was very clearly not a fixture of his foggy and disoriented brain. It kept getting worse, the burning sensation reaching all the way down to his feet. In the haze of pain he couldn’t pinpoint any actual injury, only able to tell that there was something really heavy pressing down on his midsection.

The whine he let out was involuntary, but if he was alone he was going to make as many pathetic noises as he wanted.

Only, he wasn’t alone.

“Kirishima? Kirishima, are you awake?”

That was Bakugou’s voice, but Bakugou never called him by his name, and especially not with the worry that currently saturated his tone.

Kirishima grumbled and tried to push the weight off him. It was so heavy, borderline crushing him but he couldn’t get it to move. What he assumed were Bakugou’s hands swatted his away from whatever was pinning him down.

“Fucking hell, would you stop that?”

Kirishima squirmed again, trying desperately to get even a little bit of the weight off him. “There’s something on top of me-”

“Yeah, that’s me. You’re bleeding.”

“Hmm? Sorry,” Kirishima floundered until his fingers connected with Bakugou’s wrist, looping around the limb. “You can stop, I’m alright.”

“What the fuck? No. You’re fucking bleeding everywhere.”

Bakugou’s face came slightly more into focus as Kirishima’s eyes adjusted to the darkness. He kept looking between Kirishima’s abdomen and his face. He looked worried, and if Kirishima didn’t value his life he would dare say that Bakugou was scared. He was still in his hero gear, the stupid theatric spikes framing his head, a distinct trail of blood marring his features as it trailed down his face from his hairline.

“Are you hurt?” Kirishima couldn’t help but ask.

“What? No.”

“You’re bleeding,” Kirishima supplied helpfully.

Bakugou narrowed his eyes and turned back to the wound, applying more pressure. “Not as much as you.”

Swallowing the whine in the back of his throat, Kirishima decided to actually start a conversation with his friend. He had no idea how long they would be there and he wasn’t into spending that uncertain length of time in tense silence with Bakugou. “What happened?”

“Work study. Big villain attack so Endeavour sent us out as backup. One of ‘em cornered you in here so I came to tell ‘em to fuck off but you were on the ground and when I exploded the asshole, the fucking ceiling caved in.”

“At least I’m not stuck in here by myself, hmm? That would be unfortunate.”

It was supposed to have been a joke, something to lighten the mood between them but Bakugou’s expression remained firm as he offered no reply.

“How bad is it?”

Bakugou paused, the silence hanging heavily between them. “It’s fine, you’re gonna be fine.”

Kirishima just hummed. “You’re a terrible liar.”

Dark spots peppered his vision and he was beginning to realise how tired he felt. He knew Bakugou was fighting a losing battle.

“I’m not fucking lying, okay? You’re going to be fine.”

“It’s okay, Bakugou. Can I just ask you to do something before I die?”

“You’re not going to die, you asshole. Fat Gum is going to come for you, you know he’d never leave you here.”

The exhaustion was creeping in with the tingling sensation in his arms and legs. He was so cold. He had half a mind to ask Bakugou to set off some explosions and hopefully warm the air. But they were trapped with potentially limited oxygen and Bakugou was too smart to ever risk that. “Is he going to be fast enough? You said there was a villain, he’s probably too busy.”

“Shut up!” Bakugou snapped, his expression and tone immediately softening as the harshness registered. “You’re not dying today. Or tomorrow. Or any day that I’m alive to see. I won't let you.”

Kirishima closed his eyes, letting himself imagine what it would be like to die with Bakugou by his side. A cruel part of his chest tightened as he imagined asking Bakugou to hold him before he passed out.

The taste of blissful unconsciousness lay heavy on the back of his tongue as he spoke. “Will you stay? I don’t wanna go alone.”

“You’re not going fucking anywhere, and I’m not gonna leave you.”

“I think I’m dying, Katsu.”

Kirishima could see the way Bakugou flinched at the use of the nickname. He would have apologised for being so informal but he was tired and he didn’t have the energy to be sorry for trying to feel close to Bakugou in his last moments.

Perhaps the reaction had been to the idea of Kirishima dying, but that seemed less likely. Bakugou was persistent in reminding everyone that he didn’t care about anything or anyone other than becoming number one. Kirishima had always admired his determination but right now he just wanted to pretend that Bakugou cared about him.

Falling in love with Bakugou Katsuki was probably the dumbest decision of Kirishima’s life but he would never live to regret it. Not while Bakugou stayed with him, trying to staunch the flow of blood from a wound that was likely severe enough to render Bakugou’s efforts useless.

The older boy didn’t look at him. “You’re just delirious from the blood loss, you’ll be okay.”

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

“Because you’re fucking bleeding out!”

“Yeah,” Kirishima mumbled with the limited energy he had left, “but why is it suddenly a big deal? You've said repeatedly that you don’t care about anyone else.”

“I lied,” Bakugou hissed through his teeth, his jaw clenched with such force that Kirishima was worried the bone would shatter under the pressure.

Kirishima’s eyebrows pinched together in confusion. Well that made no sense.“Why would you lie?”

“Because I love you, goddamnit! So you’re going to stay awake and we’re going to get out of this and go on a date or some shit, but we can only do that if you stay awake, okay?”

Oh. Kirishima tried to speak, but his tongue felt like a lead weight in his mouth that he couldn’t lift no matter how hard he tried. The fog was pressing in on him much harder now.

Bakugou’s voice was muffled by the fog as he spoke again. “Fucking say something. I just confessed my feelings for you, you don’t get to fucking ignore me now.”

Kirishima was aware that he should be worried by the way it was taking more and more of his energy to keep his eyes open, but he couldn’t find the strength to care about anything other than the fact that Bakugou just said he loves him.

“Kirishima?”

“No- No, fuck, no, Kirishima you have to keep your eyes open!” Kirishima hadn’t even noticed they’d fallen shut, but he couldn’t seem to open them again, despite how much he wanted to stare into Bakugou’s red eyes forever.

Kirishima could feel something tapping on his cheek, shaking his shoulder. Bakugou’s voice was so broken and raw when he spoke his plea. “Kiri, please.”

That’s weird, Bakugou never says please.

As the last shreds of consciousness left him, Kirishima swore he could hear muffled yelling somewhere close to his head, he couldn’t make out the words.

But it didn’t hurt anymore.

-

Kirishima didn’t expect to wake up.

It was as simple as that.

He had been bleeding badly enough that Bakugou hadn’t even let him look, and had seemed genuinely worried and afraid for his friend’s wellbeing. So at that point, waking up was a feat on its own.

Waking up without being in excruciating pain was something else entirely. He just felt floaty and not real. But he definitely wasn’t dead because he was uncomfortable and the lights behind his close eyelids were way too bright.

“I would try to send you back to the dorms but I know you won’t listen to me even if I erase your quirk and drag you kicking and screaming out of here,” Aizawa’s gruff voice said from a place Kirishima couldn’t pinpoint. There was a lot of aural input that just dissolved into directionless static.

“I’m not leaving him.”

That was Bakugou’s voice, with its hard edge and underlying fire. It cut through the haze of Kirishima’s lingering unconsciousness, it didn’t have the same fuzzy edge to the syllables that Aizawa’s voice had.

Aizawa must have clicked his tongue before speaking again in his monotonous drawl. “You need to rest too. That concussion isn’t going to go away on its own.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Bakugou bit back.

“Then, pray tell, what matters more than your health?”

“He does.”

He wanted to fight against the stupor, to reach out and smack Bakugou upside the head. His friend was concussed, and chose not to rest, in favour of keeping a bedside vigil. At this point, it was the only thing that was convincing Kirishima that he didn’t hallucinate what Bakugou said before he passed out.

Not that it made much sense.

“Kirishima would want you to take care of yourself.” Kirishima is going to shake Aizawa’s hand the second he can muster up the energy to do so.

“Kirishima also wanted to die of blood loss and traumatise me instead of just staying awake, so I’m not going to listen to what that asshole wants.”

“You know as well as I do that the doctor said he probably won’t be coherent until tomorrow morning even if he does wake up tonight. I can drive you back to the dorm and pick you up before visiting hours.”

Kirishima could practically hear Bakugou shaking his head. “I’m not leaving him alone.”

“He won’t be alone. Fat Gum and I will be here all night.”

Bakugou’s next words were haunted, hollowed out to fit an emotion Kirishima had never heard from the older boy. “He asked me to stay with him.”

“And you did, you saved his life,” a third voice added. Kirishima was cognizant enough to be able to recognise it as being his mentor.

“Go to bed, Bakugou,” Kirishima mumbled, scrunching his eyes up tightly as consciousness fully came back to him. He wished someone would turn the light off.

“Kirishima?” There was too much noise in that moment for Kirishima to figure out who had spoken, but he suspected that all of them had something to say about his return to wakefulness.

He tried to lift his hand, hoping to cover his eyes from the bright lights of what was undoubtedly a hospital room, only to find it pinned in place.

Opening his eyes to the onslaught of light revealed that his hand was being firmly held in Bakugou’s. Okay, forget his previous claims, he was definitely dead. Or, at the very least, having the best dream of his life.

Kirishima groaned. “You guys are loud.”

“Sorry, kid,” Aizawa said in his usual grumble. His chair was the furthest away from Kirishima, sitting all the way in the corner of the room. He looked the same amount of disheveled as he usually did but his posture held a weird tension that Kirishima wasn’t sure he had ever seen before.

“How are you feeling?” Fat Gum asked, he was out of his hero suit which, to Kirishima, looked very odd.

“Pretty okay, all things considered,” Kirishima said, directing his gaze towards his friend.

Bakugou was the most noticeably different. His hair was scruffy and matted with blood, a stark white rectangle of gauze taped to his forehead, a few little strips holding a cut on his eyebrow together. He didn’t speak, but he didn’t let go of Kirishima’s hand either.

Feeling particularly spontaneous, probably due to the bucket full of pain meds that were undoubtedly currently in his system, Kirishima gave Bakugou’s hand an experimental squeeze.

Bakugou stiffened but the tension quickly left his body as he squeezed back, turning to meet Kirishima’s eyes and give him a soft smile.

Their exchange was silent but they said all they needed to.

I heard you.

I love you too.

Kirishima tried to adjust himself, to get a better look at Bakugou’s injuries. Only to promptly collapse back onto the hospital bed as pain blasted through all of his senses.

“Idiot,” Bakugou hissed.

“Take it easy,” Fat Gum said, “you were in surgery for a long time, you don’t need to be pushing yourself.”

Still trying to breathe through the pain, Kirishima opened one eye to look at the pro hero.

“Surgery?” he managed to grit out from between his clenched teeth.

Fat Gum’s eyes softened as he looked at his mentee. “We found you both not long after you lost consciousness, but you were in rough shape. You’re going to need to take it easy for a while.”

Kirishima groaned. “That sounds boring.”

“Not as boring as an extended recovery period because you refused to take care of yourself,” Aizawa chided.

“True,” Kirishima said. “What time is it?”

Fat Gum was the one to speak this time. Bakugou stayed remarkably silent. “A little past midnight, you spent six hours in surgery and we’ve been waiting for you to wake up for about two hours now.”

“And Bakugou isn’t in bed?”

“Nope. We tried but he won’t budge. Better to let it happen at this point.”

Kirishima rolled his head to the other side, narrowing his eyes at Bakugou and the older boy’s stony expression. “Go to sleep.”

Bakugou met his gaze with his usual stubborn fire. “You first.”

“If you stay, will you sleep?”

Bakugou nodded.

“Aizawa-sensei, can he stay?”

Kirishima had expected Aizawa to argue, but he was just met with a soft “okay”.

Whether it was the cocktail of medication or the trauma his body had suffered, tiredness hit Kirishima like a wave. As his blinking slowed down, he swore he saw a soft smile grace Bakugou’s lips before his other hand reached up to brush Kirishima’s hair out of his face.

“Goodnight, Kirishima.”

Kirishima just hummed, too tired to speak.

-

Kirishima woke up the next morning with Bakugou wrapped around his arm that was free of tubes and wires, snoring softly.

Carefully picking up his other hand and ignoring the presence of the IV in the crook of his elbow, he began to thread his fingers through Bakugou’s messy hair. The older boy didn’t stir, a true testament to how exhausted he really was, especially considering on any other day Kirishima could breathe sideways and Bakugou would all but leap to his feet.

Instead, Bakugou’s hold just tightened slightly as he mumbled something in his sleep.

A quick glance around the room told Kirishima that Aizawa was asleep in his chair in the corner, his face buried in his capture scarf, surprisingly sans his usual yellow sleeping bag. Fat Gum was nowhere to be seen but judging by the empty chair with a blanket on the seat and jacket draped over the back, he couldn’t be far away.

There was a weird bliss to the quiet atmosphere of the hospital room. The soft morning light filtered in through the window as opposed to the harsh lights of the night before.

The pain meds took away from the discomfort of being in a hospital, and with Bakugou clinging to him like he was the most important thing in the world was something Kirishima could easily be convinced was a dream, a fantasy conjured by his unconscious mind.

He could get used to this.

[nalgenewhore]

masterlist - ao3 - next chapter

 ☽ ☼ ☾

As he sat at his gate, he watched the other people. Something about airports had always intrigued him, so many people in their own lives, on their own paths all converging to this one place before jetting off once more. 

Lorcan was restless. On the arm of the uncomfortable chair, his fingers tapped out a furious beat. The monotonous drone of the phone line ringing in his ear didn’t help. Pick up. Pick up. Pick up. I miss your voice and I need you to pick up so I don’t lose my fucking–

“What, the fuck , do you want?” 

He chuckled, “Good morning to you too, princess.” Inside his chest, his heart fluttered. Fuck, he missed her. He missed both his girls. The minute they’d dropped him off at the airport eight weeks ago, he’d been itching to go home. 

“I told you not to call me that.” There wasn’t any bite to her words and Lorcan knew - hoped - that she was wearing that soft, sleepy smile of hers. 

He hummed, stretching his long legs out and crossing them at the ankle, “Tell me to stop without smiling and I’ll stop. Easy-peasy, Lochan.” 

Elide just muttered a curse in Blackbeak and sighed as if talking to him was some sort of divine torture, “Why are you calling? It’s not even three yet, Lor.” Instantly, remorse flooded through him. He’d forgotten completely about the time difference and told her as much. “Mmm, it’s fine. Did something happen?” 

“Nah, I just wanted to say hey before my flight. I’m sorry for waking you up,” he said. Lorcan ran his tongue over his teeth. “I’ve… I miss you two.” 

The teasing, light mood dropped a bit. Lorcan could hear her breathing slowly and then she answered, her voice weaker than normal, “I know, Lor.” Her swallow was audible. “We miss you too.” Before he could respond, before he could offer her any sort of fleeting comfort, Elide spoke again, “Hold on one second, ok?” 

She was gone before he could respond. Lorcan could hear something rustling, like someone slipping out of a bed. He froze, hardly daring to breathe. She wouldn’t- Elide and Lorcan both knew better than to have someone over when they had the kid with them. 

There was soft murmuring he couldn’t quite make out and the unmistakable whine of their daughter. Lorcan slumped down in relief, cursing himself for this… jealousy. It wasn’t fair. “Hello?” snapped Stella Luna.

He chuckled, delighted by his child’s greeting, “Hey, Tiny.” 

She gasped and that innocent sound, filled with childlike wonder and elation, soothed his aching heart. “Daddy?” 

“Hi, Stella. I’m sorry I woke you up so early, I wanted to say hey before I get on the plane,” Lorcan explained with a smile. Thinking about Elide that summer had been painful enough, knowing he was so far from her, but it was nothing compared to the agony of missing his daughter. 

“Are you coming home today? ‘Cause I got kindergarten tomorrow, Daddy. Mama said you would take me,” Stella said. 

“Yes, I’m coming home today. I’ll take you to school tomorrow, ok?”

“Ok, Daddy. I’ve been very busy, you know. Yesterday we went shopping and at Mintage, mama found me a Wednesday Addams lunch box,” Stella regaled, her words dripping with wonder and awe. “I’m so excited ‘acause I love Wednesday Addams, Daddy, did you know? We watched it last night at Fenny’s house ‘acause he let me choose. He said he was sick of the Addams family and that’s why I called him a dummy.” 

He laughed, pausing for a moment to listen to the PA. “Passengers boarding Flight 1203 to Varese, please make your way to gate C49. Passengers in zone one, please line up at the boarding desk.”  

“What was that? It sounded funny, Daddy, like a robot,” Stella said. 

“My plane’s getting ready to take off, Stel, they want everyone to come to the gate,” Lorcan explained. “How was Fen’s?” 

“Oh,” she started, “it was very good, Daddy. After the movie, he taked me to his show an’ I wanted to bring Salem but it’s too loud for him so I sat with Essar and she got me a juice box when I was thirsty. I think it was a secret ‘acause they only give them to me. It was grape which is my favourite, but I didn’t want to finish all of it so Vee drinked it after his show. Then Fenny and me and Con and Vee went to Grampy’s and I fell asleep so Fenny took me home.” 

“Passengers in zone two, please line up at the front desk.” 

Lorcan checked his boarding pass, “Kid, I have to get on my plane now, ok?” 

“Ok,” Stella replied, a little sadly. “I miss you.” 

The corners of his lips turned down. Lorcan hung his head, opening and closing his mouth a few times as he tried to think of what he could say to comfort his child. Eventually, he said, “I know, Stella Luna. I miss you too. I promise - once I’m home, no more tours, ok? I love you.” 

“Love you too, Daddy,” she chirped, already his happy, bubbly little baby again. “Bye-bye!”

“Bye, Tiny. Put your mother on for me,” Lorcan said, laughing through the sentence. He could hear Stella Luna hand the phone over to Elide. 

“Yes , you can sleep now,” Elide said with a kiss smacked on Stella’s head. “Lor, you still there?” 

“Yeah, ‘m here. I have to get on the plane now.” 

“Ok. Do you want us to pick you up from the airport?” 

Though it pained him to say it and further delay their reunion, Lorcan said, “No, don’t bother. I’ll be tired and I’ll probably just crash when I get home. I’ll see you tomorrow, though.”

“Can’t wait, Salvaterre.” 

He smiled a small smile, one that was only ever for Elide, “Me neither, Lochan.” 

 ☽ ☼ ☾

He woke up somewhere high above the Cambrian Mountains. For a few moments, Lorcan stared out the small window, groggy and confused. 

It took him a second to remember what was happening and why he was on a plane. When he finally did recall, Lorcan pulled his laptop out of his camera bag and placed it on the desk. The band he’d been working with over the summer had bought him a seat in business class for both his flights home. 

Lorcan shifted in his seat and absentmindedly toyed with the curved barbell that pierced the delicate skin connecting his upper lip to his gum as he waited for his computer to turn on. He leaned down, searching through his bag for the USB that carried every shot he’d taken in concert that summer. 

He found it and sat up straight. A small smile pulled at the corners of his mouth as he saw the background of his laptop. He hadn’t changed it in the three years since the photo of Elide tattooing Stella’s name in Ozuye on the outside of his right thumb while he held a sleeping Stella Luna to his chest with his free arm had been taken. The tattoo was his favourite, though it probably tied for first place with the cartoon-inspired Wednesday Addams on his inner left wrist. 

The placement of both designs had been purposeful, so when he was shooting something, he could see them clearly and think about his daughter. He had never met anyone who loved the Addams family more than Stella. 

Lorcan put his headphones on and played a playlist at random. Pink + White played as he opened Photoshop and uploaded a file he hadn’t even looked at yet. The photos weren’t needed for another month, but he would rather get them done now so he could focus on the upcoming studio show. 

He still hadn’t decided what or who his subject would be. Maybe he would take a break from concerts and focus on something else.

For the rest of the flight, he worked to distract himself from the fact that he’d be seeing Elide again. It hardly made any difference, his mind on her like always. Lorcan had been in love with Elide for… forever. He finally realised it, though, a couple weeks before she had their daughter. 

He had wanted… he had wanted a family with her. A real one, where Stella wouldn’t be perpetually split between two homes, but Elide hadn’t wanted that and Lorcan respected her wishes. Maybe it was foolish, but six years seemed like long enough to be pining for someone. 

As Lorcan got lost in the thoughts he spent most of his waking hours repressing, a hissing voice that sounded suspiciously like his mother snapped, Elide Lochan is not ‘someone’ and she is certainly not someone you get over. Ever. Stupid boy.  

His lips twisted with a rueful smile, though the memory of his mother ached and stung. Lorcan swallowed past the painful tightening of his throat and saved what he was working on, electing to watch something he’d downloaded on Netflix until they’d landed in Varese.

The air in Varese was balmy and he couldn’t stand it. Lorcan was seconds away from trying to peel his skin off. He had always hated the heat, but this steaming humidity was his hell. 

When his zone was called to board the flight, Lorcan could hardly keep the grin from his face. The thought of seeing his family, no matter how it hurt him to know Stella would come home with him tomorrow and Elide would stay in her apartment, was a joy nothing else had ever replicated. 

His heart seemed to beat a frantic timpani, each pat-pat saying, wait for me, wait for me, wait for me . 

 ☽ ☼ ☾

There was a crick in her neck. Elide muttered a curse with her eyes shut and reached out to her bedside table, only to feel nothing and hear an innocently delighted giggle. 

She smiled and kept her eyes closed. Slowly, Elide reached out, “I wonder who could be laughing right now. And where could they be!” 

There was that little laugh again, though Elide knew her child was doing her absolute best to stay silent. She heard Salem’s meow of protest and Stella’s sweet shushing. 

Staying silent had never been Stella’s strong suit. Elide continued on, now patting the blankets. “Hmm, I do wonder if they could be hiding beneath these blankets!” As she said ‘blankets’, Elide opened her eyes and ripped the covers away. A quick blur of orange and black flashed past as Stella’s fluffy cat was freed and Salem bounded away. 

Stella Luna’s shrieking laughter filled the room, gloomy from the rain that poured steadily against the large, paned windows. Elide laughed too as she grabbed her daughter and pulled her into her lap, her fingers digging into the soft part between Stella’s ribcage and hip bone. Stella squirmed away, begging her to stop, “No, please, mama, it tickles!” 

Elide chuckled softly and relented, choosing instead to gather Stella up in a long hug. “Oh, good morning, little one. How did you sleep, hmm?” She pulled back and brushed her hand through Stella’s hair. 

“Um, I slept good, mama, but I’m really hungry now, so I would like to have breakfast.” 

“We can do that. What do you want to eat?” 

Stella flicked her eyes up to the ceiling. Though her shape was Elide’s ethereal monolid, the colour of rich browns and deep blacks was all Lorcan. “Pancakes, mama. Can we make them look like bats?” 

Elide snorted and nodded, “Of course we can. Why don’t you go wash your hands and we can make them, ok?” 

The four-year old was off before she could even say yes, hurriedly careening into the bathroom. Her mother laughed again, but the care-free sound bled into a pained groan as she stood up and stretched. Elide really needed to stop crashing in her daughter’s bed. 

Stella hollered back from the toilet, “Mama, can we have chocolate chips in the pancakes?”

Elide smiled as she walked through Stella’s room. On the floor, one of Stella’s toys obstructed her path and Elide jammed her toe into a wooden box. She gritted her teeth against the pain and asked, “Will you clean your room today?”

“Uhhh,” Stella contemplated, “I guess. I dunno why , mama, I don’t care if it’s messy, why do you care?” 

“Because your room is messy and you might hurt yourself if you don’t know where something is,” Elide replied steadily. As she pulled on a pair of shorts, she heard little feet race into the kitchen. Elide twisted her hair up and clamped it into place with a hair clip. When she padded into the kitchen, Stella Luna was standing obediently on her stool, her hands clasped like a perfect little child. Elide hooted at the sight, “Oh, you little demon.” 

Stella grinned proudly at the nickname and pushed her wild hair back with both hands. She sighed in annoyance, “Mama, help please. It’s too much.” 

“Of course, witchling,” Elide said. Stella clambered up onto the counter to sit patiently. Elide hummed something soft as she parted her daughter’s hair and weaved two simple pigtails. As she braided, Salem gracefully leapt onto the counter and made himself comfortable in the fruit bowl, resting his chin on his crossed paws like a proper gent. “Better?” 

“Yeah,” Stella chirped as she climbed down and ran to the pantry. She flung the door open, “Mama, is Daddy coming home today?”

“He is. Remember, he called last night, baby,” Elide replied as she pulled out eggs and milk from the fridge. 

“Oh, I thought that was a dream ,” explained Stella. She lugged over the large container of flour, carrying it with both arms and almost tipped over. She decided to put it on the floor and push it to the counter. “I wanna play music!” 

Elide laughed as she picked the flour up and began measuring out the dry ingredients, “Go for it, Stella.” She watched in delight as Stella ran to the record player and sat on the floor in front of it to peruse the stack of records.

A couple moments later, Stella had decided and put the vinyl on. She pranced back over to her stool as music played. “Mama, can I crack a egg, please?” 

When I met you in the restaurant, you could tell I was no debutante

“Yes, ma’am,” Elide passed her an egg, “Be careful, you remember what to do, right?” 

“Yup!” Stella delicately cracked the egg on the side of the liquid measuring cup and used her thumbs to open it. The yolk and egg white plopped perfectly into the milk and vanilla. She picked up the whisk and mixed it all up. 

Dreaming, dreaming is free

Stella was soon bored and trailed over to the living room. She sat down and started to dance with her frog stuffie, singing along, “I don’t want to live on charity, pleasure’s real or is it fantasy…” Elide grinned at the sight and found the silicone mold in the top drawer.

A few minutes later, Elide slid a stack of bat wing pancakes onto a plate. “Stella? Food’s ready.” 

 “Ok, mama,” Stella said. She skipped to the table and climbed onto her chair. “Can I have maple syrup too?” 

Elide had already grabbed the bottle and grabbed a pair of forks drying in the dish rack. She put the plate down and sat, passing Stella her fork. Stella doused the pancakes in maple syrup and attacked viciously, stuffing an entire pancake into her mouth. Elide laughed loudly, “Baby, eat your food properly. C’mon, you know better.” 

Stella grinned around the sticky-sweet mess and chewed thoroughly before swallowing. Elide took the plate and cut the food up into bite-sized pieces before passing it back. The four-year old abandoned her fork in favour of her wee hands and stuffed as many chocolatey-mapley-buttery pieces as she could into her mouth. 

“Good gods, child,” her mother said. “You’ll choke.” Delight surged through her at the sound of Stella’s gleeful laughter, albeit muffled. She grabbed a napkin and reached out, holding her daughter’s chin hostage as she wiped the mess away. “I am so happy your father is coming back, he’ll finally take you off my hands, you gremlin.” 

Stella gasped loudly and wrenched her chin free, “Mama, can we go to the airplane place? I want to surprise Daddy. Pretty please?” 

She made her eyes big and wide, sticking her bottom lip out. Elide cracked immediately, “I think he’d like that, wouldn’t he?” Stella nodded with such vigour Elide half-thought her head would fly off. “We’ll do that later, Stel. Why don’t you finish your breakfast?” 

Stella needed no further prompting. 

 ☽ ☼ ☾

His bag was the second bag out. Lorcan easily slung the black duffel over his shoulder. He made his way out of the baggage claim and around fellow passengers numbly awaiting their belongings. 

Lorcan thought about pausing, his fingers twitching to grab his camera and freeze the moment. There was something slightly surreal about it all. A voice told him to stop, to do it, but the sweet, pure voice of his baby calling him home was louder. 

He was still listening to miss star’s jamzzz and clicked the ball of the piercing in his tongue against his teeth to the beats. I’m Not A Loser by the Descendents’ played at maximum volume as he strode across the scuffed and dingy linoleum. 

Vaguely, he thought he might’ve heard someone calling for him. Pausing, Lorcan half-pulled a headphone off his ear. He looked around, narrowing his eyes in confusion at the sea of strangers. 

“Daddy!” 

“Kid?” 

A wee one shot out through the passing crowd. Her hair, jet black and thick, curled out of her assumedly once-tight and neat braids. Her eyes were thin and dark, so rich and depthless, framed by long lashes. The little lass seemed to have a piece of the sun setting her warm, coppery complexion aglow from beneath. “ *Até , hi-hi!” 

Stella launched herself up and Lorcan dropped his bag to catch her. He held her tight to his chest, one hand cupping the back of her head. “Tiny, Creator above. I missed you so much, my darling moon.” 

“Hi, Daddy,” Stella whispered, her arms tightly wrapped around his neck. “It’s nice to see you.” 

Lorcan laughed raspily at her formal greeting, “Wow, so fancy, miss Star. ‘It’s nice to see you’, really? You’re killing me, Tiny.” 

She giggled, shaking her head as she pulled back, “No, I’m not fancy, Daddy. I’m tough ,” she snarled, baring her teeth intimidatingly. 

Lorcan laughed again, his head tipping back, “The toughest .” 

Stella beamed and abruptly stopped, an outraged gasp escaping her. She grabbed his face and pulled his head back down. When she felt his stubble, Stella Luna pulled a face, “Daddy, you have to shave. It’s scratchy.” 

“What, I thought I looked nice like this, babe,” he said, shifting her to his side. “It’s that bad?” 

She stared at him for a while before slowly shaking her head, “No… it’s ok, Daddy. Mama likes it like that.” Stella laid her head on his shoulder. Lorcan smiled and held her tightly again, his eyes closed. 

For a long moment, neither said a word, until Stella became restless and started peering out around her. “There’s so many people, Daddy.”

“There is,” he agreed. Lorcan brushed something from her cheek and Stella batted his hand away. ���So, you learn to drive while I was away, or something?”

“No! I’m still little , Daddy,” Stella Luna corrected him with a giggle. “Mama drived me.” She pointed vaguely towards the entrance, “Mama’s over there and she said, ‘Stella, hold my hand and stay close ‘till we see your dad, ok?’ but you’re so tall and I sawed your head so I ran and didn’t listen to Mama.” Gasping softly, Stella put her hands over her mouth, “Oh no. Mama! Mama, hello? I am here,” she curled her arm over his shoulder as she craned her head to look around. “Where she go?”

Lorcan looked around as well, loving and hating the way his pulse sped up at the prospect of seeing her . “I don’t know where your ma is, maybe she- oh,” Lorcan cut himself off as he saw a familiar flash of long black hair through the crowd. “There she is.”

Through the throngs of passengers and travelers, Lorcan saw a fair skinned, petite woman. Her hair was dark, streaked with purple, and fell to her hips. She left it be in its natural waves, but had it cut into a blunt, pointed fringe that framed her heart-shaped face. Her round, plush lips were painted deep, nearly black, red. They curled into a teasing grin, “Hey, Salvaterre, I see you’ve finally decided to rejoin the rabble! Was the tour too preppy for you, what with all the first class flights and champagne?” 

He laughed and reached out to flick her nose, “Shut your mouth, Lochan. I’m common folk for life.” Elide laughed and Lorcan smiled, “Fuck, I can’t believe that you two came to pick me up.” He pulled Elide into a hug, something finally settling inside him as he held his girls for the first time in two months. 

“No, no swearing, Daddy,” Stella chastised him, her frown disapproving, “Fuck is a bad word. A very bad word and we’re only allowed to say it when we listen to music.”

Elide laughed and slipped her arm around his waist, “A wretched word, really. It’s like you want our daughter to become a menace to society.” 

“Oh, really? And what if our daughter wants to be a menace to society?” 

Stella Luna nodded, sticking her chin out, “Yeah, what if I want to be a menace to society, mama?”

Elide shook her head at the two of them and narrowed her eyes at him, “This is your doing, you know, Lorcan.” Oh… how his heart stopped as his name tumbled from her lips. Lorcan struggled to breathe for a moment and Elide’s warm grin faltered. “Lor? You alright?” 

“Y-yeah, just jet-lag,” he said quickly. Lorcan averted his eyes from Elide’s concerned gaze. Stella Luna wiggled, whining slightly. When she was set down on her feet, she grabbed Lorcan’s hand in one of hers and Elide’s in the other.

“Let’s go!” she shouted, tugging them along with all her might. At fifteen kilos and a solid one-hundred centimetres, it wasn’t much, but her determination made up for it. Over her head, Elide shot Lorcan a smile and a wink. 

Lorcan rolled his eyes and chuckled. Stella skipped and hopped along to Elide’s car. Lorcan tossed his duffel in the trunk as Elide helped Stella into her booster seat and he walked over to the passenger seat. “Daddy,” Stella said, “did you know my birthday is in two months? That means I’m gonna be five whole years.”

“Wow, you’re going to be so old ,” he said dramatically, smiling in the rearview mirror when Stelle’s jaw dropped open and her eyes widened. 

“I don’t want to be old. Old people are yucky. Like you and mom.” Elide and Lorcan looked at each other and burst into gutsy laughter at their daughter’s words. Stella sniffed primly and turned her face to the side, “It’s not funny to be old. Being old means you die. Do you want to die, Daddy?” 

“If I die, I become a ghost and I’ll haunt people,” he said. 

“Would you haunt me ?” the girl asked, her eyes filled with morbid curiosity. 

Elide huffed a laugh. She turned the car on and smoothly pulled out of her parking spot to the freeway that would take them back to Orynth. “You two are ridiculous. Stella, baby, no one’s haunting you.” 

“Yeah, except for me,” Lorcan ever-so-helpfully stated. 

As Elide exclaimed in annoyance, Stella giggled uncontrollably. The dark haired woman couldn’t help but laugh along and the sound of their laughter soothed the dull ache of missing them. 

☽ ☼ ☾

“ Até, ‘m tired,” said Stella, trailing up to Lorcan. She was all ready for bed, dressed in her Jack Skellington pyjamas. Her dinner of tomato soup and grilled cheese had been devoured an hour ago. Lorcan was in Elide’s kitchen, washing the dishes as Elide worked on a sketch and Stella checked her backpack over and over and over again. She was not going to be caught unprepared for her first day of kindergarten. 

He rinsed off the iron skillet and placed it in the dish rack. Lorcan dried his hands and turned to his daughter, who held her hands up expectantly. With a fond smile, Lorcan scooped her up and asked, “Time for bed? Did you brush your teeth yet?”

“Mm-hmm,” she nodded and dropped her head onto his shoulder. “Daddy, don’t forgot Mr. Ribbit.” Stella said softly, already falling asleep. She clutched at his shoulders, a yawn splitting her little face in half. 

His grin softened and he kissed the top of her head, “Can’t forget your frog, now, can we?” There came a low chuckle from the living room. Elide walked over to them, her pencil stuck in her hair and carrying the fuzzy green animal. She passed the animal to Stella and pressed a kiss to her cheek. Lorcan offered her his hand, “Come with us?” 

Elide nodded and slipped her hand in his. They walked to Stella's room together. She breathed evenly and deeply, her eyes closed. Her lashes brushed the tops of her rosy cheeks. Lorcan set her down with care and tucked her blankets around her. “Good night, my darling moon,” he said softly - in his native tongue - and brushed her hair back before it could tickle the tip of her button nose.

“Night-night,” Stella whispered, her eyes cracking open. “Are you gonna come drive me with mama tomorrow to school?” She snuggled into her pile of pillows and held her blanket up for Salem to settle in beside her. The cat curled up against her and purred softly as he flicked his fluffy tail over her protectively.

“Yes, I am.” 

She nodded, “Good. That’s good, Daddy.” 

“Alright, Tiny,” he laughed softly, “go to sleep, yeah? You’ve had a big day.” He kissed her forehead and stood up to let Elide say good night. 

Elide sat down on the edge of the mattress and cupped Stella’s face in her hand, her words soft and too low for Lorcan to hear. She too chuckled and kissed Stella Luna’s cheek, then got up and stepped over to Lorcan. 

They closed the door and silently walked back to the living room. Lorcan sat down on the couch and rubbed his eyes. Elide curled up in the opposite corner and smiled, “Tired?” 

“Yeah,” he said, dropping his head back against the couch. “Fuck me, I have to go home.” 

“Why don’t you just stay here tonight? You’ll have to come back tomorrow anyway,” Elide said, her voice measured. 

Lorcan looked at her, but her face was turned to the side. “Are you sure, El? I honestly don’t mind and I haven’t been to my place in a while.” 

She glanced over at him, “No, c’mon, it’s fine. It’s not like we’ve never done it.” 

“Done what?” 

Elide shot him a flat look, “Slept in the same bed.” 

Lorcan choked and his eyes widened, “El- what? I was just going to take the–” 

“I swear to Anneith if you say ‘couch’, I’ll strangle you. I’m not making you sleep on my couch when you’ve been gone all summer.” Elide stood up and walked to her bedroom, her hips swinging enticingly. Lorcan quickly looked away. “Besides, my bed is big. I promise I won’t give you my cooties.” 

He snapped his teeth and crossed the room to join her. “Fine. I’ll stay.” 

Elide crossed her arms over her chest and smiled cockily, “I knew you would.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Lorcan said, pulling her into his arms. Her body melted into his. They fit perfectly together. They always had. “You’re always right, aren’t you, princess?” 

Elide hid her smile and slipped her arms around his waist, her cheek pressed above his heart. For a long moment, neither said a word. Then, Elide pressed her forehead against him and whispered. She couldn’t speak any louder, fearing that the tears she’d held back for years would finally spill over. “It’s nice to have you home, Lor.” 

“It’s nice to be home,” he murmured, gently rubbing her back. 

“It wasn’t the same without you.” It’s never the same without you.

He closed his eyes, hating the tears that blurred his vision. “Wasn’t the same without you, either, Lochan.”

 ☽ ☼ ☾

an: ahh ! it’s here ! a few things will b different for this wip, so i just want to let u all kno: 

- chapters will b posted once a week on mondays, at 8pm pacific standard time

- there will b flashback chapters !! 

- there will b depictions of recreational drug (marijuana) and alcohol consumption - i will put warnings for these n if there r any other triggers u would like me to warn, pls let me know

- if u want to b added/removed from the tag list, just send me an ask - it is rlly no trouble at all <3

translation: *Até: Father/Dad in Lakota (i headcanon lorcan to be native american - speficially Oglala Lakota. this will b more apparent/relevant in future chapters. i call his tribe 'the ozuye'. 'ozuye' means war-party in lakota)

songs played in chapter: (by order of appearance) 1. Pink + White - Frank Ocean 2. Dreaming - Blondie 3. I'm Not A Loser - Descendents

@mythicaitt​​ @werewolffprince​​ @schmlip-scribble​​ ​ @the-regal-warrior​​ @ladyverena​​ @ttakeitbacknoww​​ @shyvioletcat​​ @alifletcher2012​​ @tswaney17​​ @ourbooksuniverse​​  @flora-and-fae​​ @thesirenwashere​​ @queenofxhearts​​ @maastrash​​ @mynewdreamwasyou​​ @cursebreaker29​​ @empress-ofbloodshed​​ @b00kworm​​ @hizqueen4life​​ @silversprings98​​ @amren-courtofdreams​​ @minaidss​​ @superspiritfestival​​ @sanakapoor​​ @ireallyshouldsleeprn​​ @spyofthenightcourt​​  @thegoddessofyou​​ @more-espresso-less-depresso-xx​​ @claralady​​ @neonhellas​​ @darlinminds​​ @readingismyonlyhobby​​ @autophobiaxx​​ @silversprings28​​ @myshadowsingeraz​​ @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln​​ @elriel4life​​ @always-in-a-daydream​​ @jlinez​​ @ladywitchling​​ @mariamuses​ @darklesmylove​ @adelzd-bookblr​

[thedanceronthestreets]

PEDRO PASCAL GQ GERMANY - OCTOBER 2020

Original text by Esma Annemon Dil

Fotos by Doug Inglish

Styling by Simon Robins

Translated by @thedanceronthestreets

Intro: A broken tooth could almost have been the reason for our meeting with Pedro Pascal to be cancelled - and with that our conversation about roots, his new movie and times of change. 

Interview: It is almost eery how empty the streets of Los Angeles are under the gleaming sun. While Europe is finding its "new normal", people in L. A. are cutting their own hair even without being neurotics. Many of them have not seen their friends in half a year. The pandemic is out of control. So are the reactions to the situation. Inviting someone to a "distance drink" in the backyard can lead to the same consternation as proposing a relationship partner exchange. 

All the more of a surprise was Pedro Pascal's immediate confirmation. To the drink, not the partner exchange. He is one of the winners this year - and if Corona had not forced the movie industry to go on a holiday, he probably would not have had the time for this drink. After "Game of Thrones", the series in which his head was squished, followed 2015 the leading role in "Narcos" as a DEA agent on the hunt for Pablo Escobar, and now the leap onto the big Hollywood screen. As of 1. October the Chilean will appear in the blockbuster "Wonder Woman 1984". Furthermore, the second season of the "Star Wars" series "The Mandalorian" will start in October with him as the main character - unfortunately underneath the helmet. But we all seem to be under the same helmet in 2020. It is this man we want to meet, who worked as a waiter in New York a couple of years ago. Whose parents are political refugees that settled in Texas, and one day their son decided to walk into a drama club in high school. 

And then the cancellation. While we were preparing the house and garden for Pedro's drink and fashion shoot, which isn't an easy task under L. A.'s restrictions, his management called in with terrible news: Pedro has - no, not Corona - had to receive emergency surgery due to a sore tooth and is now lying in bed with a swollen cheek, making talking or shooting impossible. The sun shines onto empty streets. And our empty garden. 

A few days later, he stands in front of the door anyway, no huge bulge in his face, but stitches in his gum. No limousine service that dropped him off, he arrived in his own car and picked up his makeup artist on the way. He helps her to carry in all the equipment and states first and foremost: "I've got time today!" What a star! It does not seem like we are about to ask him how he managed to become a Hollywood sensation, but rather him asking us that question. Pedro Pascal! So, what kind of star is he then? 

Pedro Pascal: Sorry for ruining your plans. The operation was a total emergency. 

GQ: Really? We were wondering whether the swelling was the result of a secret trip to the plastic surgeon. Apparently, because of the quarantine in Hollywood, their schedules are packed. 

Sorry to disappoint you. A few days before our appointment I raced to the hospital with a tooth fracture and the worst pain I've ever felt - a hospital where the severe Corona cases are treated. I was unable to contact any dentists! Right before I parked, a specialist called back. I'll spare you the details of the surgery, gruesome. The pain was excruciating despite the 10 anaesthetic shots. The doctor said I wasn't the only one going through this, a lot of people grind their teeth at night thanks to stress. 

What are you most afraid of at the moment? 

The way the government is handling the pandemic scares me more than the virus itself. The lack of intelligent crisis management is a moral disgrace. The leadership crisis makes orphans out of all of us - we're left to fend for ourselves. 

How have you spent the last few months? 

With frozen pizza in jogging trousers in Venice Beach. I live in a rear building that's in the garden belonging to a family. In reality there are enough good takeout restaurants around that area, but for some reason I like salami pizza from the supermarket. 

That doesn't exactly sound like the movie star lifestyle. What does it feel like to be forced from top speed to zero? 

Considering the things happening in this world, my own state really isn't the top priority. But I would have to lie, if I said I wasn't disappointed. The entire cast and crew of "Wonder Woman 1984" put so much heart and soul into the production. We had so much fun on set. I had hoped to carry this feeling of exuberance around the globe to the openings of this movie. 

You are part of a political, socialist family that fled the Pinochet regime in Chile. What do you remember from back then? 

My sister and I were born in Chile, but I was only nine months old when we claimed asylum in Denmark. From there, we moved to San Antonio in Texas, where my dad worked as a doctor in a hospital. 

Texas isn't exactly considered to be socialist utopia. How well did you settle in? 

San Antonio isn't a cowboy city but rather very diverse with large Asian, Afro-American and Latino communities. In my memory it's a romantic place, culturally inclusive. The cultural shock only hit when we moved to Orange County in California later. Suddenly, the environment was white, preppy and conservative. 

How were you welcomed in California? 

To this day I'm ashamed when I think about how I let my classmates call me Peter without correcting them. I'm Pedro. Even without growing up in Chile, the country and language are part of me. I was quite unhappy in that place. At least I was able to switch schools and visit one in Long Beach, where I felt more comfortable. With its theatre programme, I found my path. 

Could you visit your family's homeland as a child? 

Yes, after my parents ended up on a list of expats that were permitted to re-enter the country. First, there was a big family gathering, then me and my sister were parked at some relatives' place for a few months while my parents returned to Texas. They probably needed a break from us. They'd had us at a very young age, had a vibrant social life, and my mother was doing her doctorate in psychology. 

Was your mother a typical young psychologist that tested her knowledge at home? 

You mean whether I was her lab rat? Absolutely. I can remember weird sessions camouflaged as games, where someone would watch my reactions to different toys. Even though I couldn't have been older than 6, I knew what was happening. My favourite thing was to be asked about my dreams. That was always a great opportunity to make up fantastic stories. 

Was that your first performance? 

Definitely! My strong imagination alarmed my mother, because I'd rather live in my fantasy world than in real life. I didn't like school. I ended up in the "problematic kid" category. At some point the subjects got more interesting and my grades improved. So many children are unnecessarily diagnosed with learning disabilities without considering that school can be daunting. Why is it acceptable to be bored out of your mind in class, when there are more stimulating ways to convey knowledge?

With everything happening in the world this summer: Do you believe that social hierarchy structures are genuinely being reconsidered? 

Hopefully. After the lockdown my first contact with people was at the Black Lives Matter protest. The atmosphere was peaceful and hopeful until the police got involved and provoked violence. At least during these times we can't avoid problems or distract ourselves from them as easily as we usually do. It seems that the pandemic provided us with a new sense of clarity: we don't want to go on like this. 

The trailer of "Wonder Woman 1984" represents the optimism of the 80s. That almost makes one feel nostalgic nowadays. 

That holds true. It's two hours of happiness. Patty Jenkins, the director, managed to make a movie full of positive messages. We shot in Washington, D. C., then in London and Spain - which now sounds like a different time. 

Do you miss travelling? 

I've only now realised what a privilege it is to just pack up your things and fly anywhere. With an American passport you can travel freely. And that's why the small radius we live in now is kind of absurd. Over the last few years I often retreated in between takes, because I was always on the road and overstimulated. Friends complained about how comfortable I had become. We all took social interactions for granted and realise now how reliant we are on human connection. Now, I wistfully think about all the party and dinner invitations I declined in the past. 

In L. A., people spend more time indoors or in nature than in other metropolises. Could this city become your safe haven after New York City? 

My true home is my friends. Ever since I was young I've lived the life of a nomad and haven't set roots anywhere. Until recently, my physical home was a place for arriving and leaving and hence I didn't want to overcomplicate living by owning lots of things. The opposite actually: Without having read Marie Kondo's book, I got rid of all the stuff that was unnecessary and lived a very minimalistic lifestyle. 

Is there something you collect or could never say goodbye to? 

Books! I still own the literature I read during my teen and university years. Recently I found a box of old theatre scripts and materials back from my uni days at NYU. I can't separate from art either, same as lamps or old pictures. Furniture and clothes are no problem though, they can be chucked. 

Do you remember any roles that were defined by their costumes? 

Yes, "Game of Thrones" comes to mind immediately. During that time I first understood what it means, as an actor, to be supported by a look. I owe that to costume designer Michele Clapton. She developed these very feminine robes and brocade cloaks for my role that looked very masculine when I wore them. I felt sexy in them. And very important were of course Lindy Hemming's power suits and Jan Sewell's blond hair for the tycoon villain Maxwell Lord in "Wonder Woman 1984". Relating to the style, I couldn't really see myself in the role since the shapes and colours of the 80s don't really fit my body. My type is the 70s.

Do you adopt such inspirations into your private closet? 

At this point in time, I'll choose any comfortable outfit over a cool look. Sometimes I mourn the days when I defined myself with fashion. It's a bit mad when I think about how, in the 90s as a teenager, I would go to raves; a proper club kid with crazy outfits: overalls, chute trousers, soccer shirts and a top hat like in "The cat in the hat knows a lot about that!" by Dr Seuss. Later in NYC I was part of a group that placed immense value on wearing a certain style. The fact that I only walk around in joggers nowadays is actually unacceptable! 

Normally, actors who work on comic screen adaptations become bodybuilders and eat ten boiled chicken breasts per day. You don't? 

My body wouldn't be able to handle that. I find it difficult enough to maintain a minimum level of fitness. As of your mid 40s, you suddenly need a lot more discipline. Until the tooth incident happened, I worked out a couple of times a week with a trainer to keep the quarantine body in shape. 

What would annoy you the most, if you were your own roommate? 

I can be very bossy. I have to gather all my goodwill not to force my movie choice on to everyone else. When I want something, I'm not passive aggressive about it, I attack head on. Also, I can get caught up in tunnel vision: When i feel down, I can't imagine that I'm ever going to feel better again. I have difficulty with seeing the bigger picture when experiencing problems or emotions. Method acting really wouldn't be my thing. That's why I try to only work on projects that feel good and where people encourage and lift each other up. 

While you were trying on the outfits you pointed out a lack of self-esteem. How does that coincide with your career? 

Isn't it interesting how traits and circumstances go hand in hand? Self-esteem comes from the inside, but it's also influenced by what society believes. We use critical stares from the outside against ourselves. I lived in New York for 20 years, I studied there and worked as a waiter up until my mid 30s, because I couldn't live off acting. It was always so close. The disappointment of always just barely missing a perfect part or opportunity is exhausting. When is the right time to stop trying and what's plan b? That's not just a question actors ask themselves, but anybody who struggles to earn a livelihood - unrelated to how much potential they have or how close their dream may seem. We are beginning to see now how our narrow definition of success is destroying our communities. At the same time, it's becoming obvious that, until this day, your family background and skin colour determine your chances of living a dignified existence. 

What are the positives of becoming a leading man later in life? 

I have the feeling that I've got control over my life - without the pressure of having to accept projects or be a social media personality. That surely also has to do with the fact that I'm a man. Women are surely pressured to appear quirky at any age. 

Life is always a management of risks - especially at this time. For what would you risk losing something? 

Usually, if you don't play the game you're not going to win anything. That applies to friendship, love, work, creativity. Anything that really means something to me, is worth the risk. 

Wonder woman 1984 will appear in cinemas 01.10. The 800 million dollar earning DC comic franchise is moving into the New York 80s with its sequel. It looks spectacular - only Pedro Pascal with blond hair in a three piece Wall Street suit looks better.

[rkrebreed]

Fixation

Pairing: Top!Chan x Reader

Words: 1.4k

Warnings: Blowjobs, Oral Fixation, Dirty Talk, Pet Names, Come Swallowing, Come Swapping, Slight Daddy Kink

There was nothing that felt better, nothing that could entrance you more than where you were right now; desperately sat between Chan’s spread legs, his cock pressed all the way into your mouth, the tip angrily stabbing at the back of your throat. He used his hands to grip tightly onto your hair, pulling when you licked along his length, tracing the bulging veins with your tongue. And when you pull off, attempting to breathe, he’d fuck his dick back into your mouth, relishing in the sound of you gagging. This was your favorite game to play and his to control. 

Chan had noticed before you did. It had only started small, biting your nails or sucking on things like pencils, pens, straws or popsicle sticks. Then you began to suck on the TV remote or sucking on your thumb like a child. However, nothing was out of the ordinary to you so you continued your routine as normal while Chan observed. But as time would tell, the objects kept getting absurd and Chan finally brought it up when he came home from work to find you on the couch, fingers dripping in drool and bleeding sightly as your teeth dug small nicks into the flesh. The sound of him gasping had snapped you out of your hypnotic trance and you pulled your fingers away, staring at him blankly. He sat beside you and questioned you about it, surprised when you mentioned that you weren’t really aware of the habit occurring. He reassured you it would be okay and he would be there to help. So that night you both ordered take-out and brought your laptops out to do extensive research. 

An ‘Oral Fixation’ is what they called it. It wasn’t a bad thing and seemed pretty common and unharmful but Chan did make a good point that you were borderline committing cannibalism. You both erupted in laughter and spent the rest of the night drunk on the couch, kissing as cheesy romcom movies played in the background. 

Everything was fine at first and your fixation hadn’t caused any troubles; That was until the need for something more grew. Chewing gum or sucking pens didn’t feel as good anymore and you felt a craving for something bigger, something better. You didn’t want to bother Chan with your problems despite him wanting to help you with it, so you did your best to ignore the feeling while simultaneously searching for another object. 

It was a complete accident at first. Chan had come home stressed out and the circles surrounding his eyes were darker than ever. He plopped down on the couch next to you and tossed his head back, hands coming to rub along his face. Neither of you spoke for a while and you just stared at him, watching as he became lost in his train of thought. It was then that you just stood, clumsily sliding in between his spread out legs and falling onto your knees. He hadn’t registered your shift in positions until you were grabbing his belt to unbuckle it. He opened his lips to say something but you shushed him and smiled. 

“If you want me to stop then tell me, but if it’s anything else then save it. Let me make you feel good, you deserve it.” 

He nodded slowly and not long after you were deep-throating him to the best of your abilities, choking as he fucked up into your mouth, groans echoing in the small living room. When he finally came down your throat, grounding his hips into your face, you realized this was exactly the object you were looking for. God, were you truly fucked.

You stayed silent about your newfound discovery, trying to hide it but it was increasingly hard as you felt the need to initiate more blowjob sessions. Chan was started to put the puzzle pieces together and soon he had connected the dots. So here you two were again, another living room meeting about your fixation. He mentioned his theory and your face bloomed red as you ashamedly admitted he was right. He chuckled and told you it was okay and if it was what you needed or wanted then he had no objections. You still felt embarrassed slightly but he kept reassuring you with soft words and before the night was over he had fucked the embarrassment right out of you. 

And now, here you were present day, his cock nestled between your lips as you glanced up at him with teary eyes. He cooed and traced over your cheek with his thumb, pushing the plush flesh in slightly. You whined and swallowed around him, pleased to hear a guttural groan escape from him.

“You’re such a good girl, baby. You like daddy’s dick so much, don’t you? You’d probably die without it.” He teased, slightly rocking his hips and you nodded, moaning loudly as you attempted to bob your head. He pulled tight on your hair to stop you, tsking softly. “You know better, baby girl. Don’t make daddy mad or you’ll go without his cock for the rest of the week.” The threat was clear and well-meant and you shook your head the best you could, fresh tears spilling down your cheeks as you brokenly sobbed. Chan only smiles sickeningly sweet, eyes playful as he pulls your head back slowly. His cock pops free and you immediately try to suck it back in, tongue rolling out in a last desperate attempt. 

“It’s pathetic, really. Who would’ve known you’d become such a slut for my dick. It’s all you ever want, huh? You just want me to keep fucking your pretty mouth, filling you up with all my of my cum.” His words are cruel and the mocking tone in his voice has you rubbing your thighs together, frenetically searching for any form of release. He laughs in your face, watching you with a twinkle in his eyes. “What do you want, baby girl? Entertain daddy.” 

A gasp came before any words, broken and whiny. “P-please daddy, please fuck my throat. I’ve been your good girl, please I need it. I can’t live without your cock.” You lean closer, eyes wet as you feel his tip brush against your lips. 

“I guess you’ve been good. Keep being good for me, yeah? Open up, darling.” You quickly follow suit, mouth wide and inviting as he slowly slides back in to the hilt. You let out a straight-up pornographic moan, eyes crossing as he immediately begins to pull out, pushing back in roughly. The pace he sets is quick, erratic and so intoxicating. Every sense is clogged with Chan, Chan, Chan. It’s all you can breathe and feel. 

Chan is unforgiving in his thrusts, his grip on your hair causing a sharp throb to pound over your mind but you only moan, the pain amplifying the pleasure. You close your eyes but a heavy slap against your cheek has them opening wide, staring up into his own. “Eyes open, slut. Look at me.” You can tell he’s trying to maintain his calm, controlled exterior but the telltale signs of him losing it are clear as day, especially as his hips struggle to keep his steady pace. 

The room is filled with wet sounds and moans, loud and so very exhilarating and the noises only egg you both on, the whole filthiness of the situation so intense and wild that you can’t help but let out the loudest whine. And completely unstimulated, your eyes are rolling back, coming undone underneath Chan. When you’re finally back on Earth, Chan is holding your head between his hands and with one final thrust, he’s burying himself completely down your throat and releasing. His cum floods your mouth, coating every inch of it and you sputter around it, the liquid seeping out around his dick. You whimper quietly as he slowly begins to pull his softening cock out.

Before you can swallow his load, Chan is falling to your side, kissing you so passionately and pushing his tongue between your lips. You moan as you feel him licking around your mouth, his throat swallowing down his own come and your spit. It’s so filthy but so hot and you cling onto him, clambering into his lap as he grabs your ass with both hands. He pulls back slowly, gazing into your eyes with a smirk on his lips. “You’re absolutely going to be the death of me, baby. I swear.” His voice is nothing but a whisper, delicate and cracked. You giggle instead of responding, wrapping your arms around his neck and resting your head against his chest. And truly, there was nothing that felt better, nowhere that felt safer, than being here with Chan. 

[han-shinsuke]

m o s s i n m y h e a d

Y U T A O K K O T S U

🔞🔞⚠️⚠️ SMUT

heads up; corruption, family stroke 😂 charr

icon: https://pin.it/2GlfuUV

•••

I had some drinks downstairs. The elders offered so, I accepted those. It was my second time chugging down two bottles of alcohol and I must say it affected my system pretty well. I feel dizzy and all I want right now is to enjoy my bed. I excuse myself and make my way out of the small party in our garden. I pass by through another table occupied by my cousins. They offered a shot but I took them down. I am not a drunkard so yeah, shot rejected. On my way to the glass door, I bumped into a pot that almost sent me flying inside.

“Hey, careful.” The man speaks, holding me tightly on my limbs, “let’s get you settled.” I let out an ‘oh!’ It was Yuta. The foster child of my uncle. From my forearm, his left hand crawls down to my palm and intertwines his fingers with mine as he drags me slow to my bedroom upstairs.

“Can I have a taste of heaven, Y/N?” I may be drunk a little but I heard him clearly. Slowly, he pulls me in his arms as soon as the door closes. “My head is on fire. Both.” Chuckle follows.

“I’m your cousin, Yuta.” My timbre was not convincing. I search for his eyes and when we met, he immediately lowered his head and smooched my lips hard, “on papers but by blood, no connection was established.” His lips pops when he released mine.

“I’m a virgin, Yuta. I cannot guarantee your satisfaction.” I distance myself from him. It’s just the alcohol that made him feel needy, “I know someone who can put out the fire in you. I can phone her for you.” I should have not feel this way. I fish out the phone from my pocket and started dialling my friend’s number. She has a crush on him. They would make a good couple.

“Don’t push me to someone, Y/N.” He says through gritted teeth. My phone disappears from my hand and it crashes againsts the wall. Yuta just broke my phone! “I’ll teach you a trick, babe, okay? We can work you out of your cave, yeah?”

“I’m not tasty.” My sight is far. Staring completely at nowhere. Mind blank. Yuta sits me on the bed and he kneels in front. “I don’t taste good, Yuta.” A tear escapes my eye. What am I crying for?

Yuta was fast. He kisses my tears to stop.

“We will find out about that, babe. I’m gonna remove your short and this thin cover, okay?” He talked softly so, I just nodded.

I rise from the bed. Giving Yuta the time he needed. My denim short was pulled out of my legs but my underwear remains on my knees. Yuta pushes me back on the bed, spreading my legs and peeking over the flesh that lies in between my thighs. He looks at me with sparks of hunger in his eyes and I swear, I never felt so sexy under a man’s stare my whole life.

“We have to be quiet, babe. Can you hold your cute voice down?” Again, I just nodded.

Yuta sits besides me, anchoring my one leg over his thick one. The huge man held my eyes captive as if that was a some kind of ritual in luring me in his charms. I was too focused on his bright ones that I have chosen to disregard his words. “I’m gonna touch you now, babe.” He spits on his fingertips before moving down to the part of me that aches to be touched by a man.

“Yu–Yuta...” My voice was low when I breathed in his name. His touch was warm and his two digits were thick. When he pushes a finger down to the slit, I find myself gripping the hem of my knitted sweater that rest above my thighs. “Tell me if it hurts you.” He pushes again, feeling the bud through his calloused middle.

“N–No... but your touch feels sharp.” And warm. I breathe in again his name with a long soft moan when he doubled the presence between my folds. “Hmm... Yuta..” The fingers rubs up, pressing down the clitx with gentle pressure. Unknowingly, my legs shut closed and as well as my orbs.

It hadn’t been long since my last actions but Yuta was fired enough to hit my knees to separate them and captures my glistening eyes, “stay still.” He licks his lips then continue pressing my bud. The pressure he was putting on it has increases. “Yuta...” I squeal from the abruptness of his fingers. It suddenly moves down, pressuring my tight core with the heavy push. My chest moves up and down, chasing the air that escaped my lungs.

I can feel my cheeks heating up with the way Yuta watches my face whenever I make a sound. “Open your mouth, babe.” There was strictness in his tune so I obliged. Parting my lips as I struggle to breathe. Yuta leans down to my face, ghosting my lips. “I wanna fill your mouth with my cum fuck.” He hisses, rolling out his tongue to my mouth then flicking it against the gum wall. I swear. I fucking swear, I could tell his actions are for testing how I would taste in his. And there it comes, the kiss only a real man could give. “Fuck it.” The curse before the heavenly kiss.

My hands holds onto him when his kiss gets rougher and deeper. His fingers that have been playing with my flesh also gets meaner. He rubs my clitx fast while kissing me so deep that it feels like he was ready to devour my whole mouth.

My legs shakes as well as my lips, “Yuta~ ooh God~” his fingers were getting deeper into my cunt and fuck, I snatch his hand from my folds and cry, “It hurts!” His nails grazed my walls! Yuta stops mid air from kissing my lips again. “It hurts, Yuta.” I repeated.

“I’m sorry, babe!” His expression softened. Yuta touches my cheeks and kisses them softly.

When the pain subsided, Yuta kissed his way down to my neck. Tracing each corners with soft and wet kisses before sucking the skin where he thinks his marks would look better.

“Yuta...” I guess that’s all I can do. Moan his name as he nips the skin to bruise it beautifully. There must have four of them placed on my neck for him to smile sheepishly. “I feel bad for causing you pain, babe.”

“I still have to stretch your core. Bear with me, hmm?” He pecks on my lips and then rolls out my sweater up to my neck before latching his mouth on the two erected buds that makes my body jolts. Not only his fingers were sharp against my skin but also his tongue. It burns the spot his tongue touches. Yuta has to restrain my body inside his arms to minimize the movements I am creating every time his lips pops and sucks my nipplesx.

I don’t recognize the person writhing underneath him. How could a mouth bring out a different version of me? The thought was terrifying.

“Please, Yu–Yuta...” The swirl was rough and abrupt. It made me arched my body and rubbed my naked womanhood against his crotch. He moans, milking a bud, “fuck, babe~ don’t be like that hahnnggg!” I rub my cunt again, holding onto his hair tightly.

“I need you, Yuta!” It ain’t that loud but Yuta was forced to cover my mouth with his hand before feasting over my chest again. “Hmmpppfff~” I shed tears with the continues flicking of his tongue on my chest. The need to cry his name was arising.

Let me moan, Yuta. Let me, please.

I put my hands on his face and try to push him. He tugs a bud and chuckles as he releases my mouth. I gasp for air hungrily. It’s what I need this time. ”You okay, babe?” Yuta asks, drawing circles on my abdomen that clearly has a massive need of air.

“You said you would stretch me, Yuta.” I try moving away from his cage-like position on top of me but he catches my legs and fold them to my chest. “Hold your legs up, babe.”

Yuta undresses himself in a very, very, seductive way that makes me gulp a lump. That was quite a show, I must say. For the second time, Yuta spits... directly on my gaping hole. I savor the warmth of his saliva down there by closing my eyes and licking my lips.

“Fuck me now, sir...”

“We’ll get there, babe but first, stretching.”

I have no idea on how he would do it so, I stay still like a good girl and let him do the work. First, I feel the tip of his two bent digits nudging my tightness, knocking softly, pressing softly against the wall. Secondly, something inside me was opening up with the continues nudging and pressing of the walls as if the nuscles down was making a path for his fingers and lastly, it was embarrassing but by just having Yuta’s fingers stretching my cunt, I find myself dripping wet of my partial orgasm.

“I feel so good hmm... Yuta, please... ”

I heard him chuckle and just like that, Yuta takes control of my legs, wrapping it tightly around his waist. “Yuta hmp!” His next move scares me. He also wrapped his hand around my neck as if he was choking me.

“Moan quietly, babe, do you understand?”

“Yesss~ Oohh gosh, Yutaa hmmm~”

He points his tip and without a warning, pushes it all the way down to my very end. It went smoothly and it stings but the pain was bearable and at the same time, Yuta has a big and long cockx that was enough to make me full and shaking from his upcoming assaults.

My mouth has formed an ‘O’ and definitely my other mouth, too.

“See, babe, it feels good, yeah?” Ah, shit. I touch my belly and shit! His cockx head is carved perfectly inside me for it to make my stomach swells.

“Yuta, oohh God!” He really does not give a warning. His fingers tightened around my neck and for hell’s sake, Yuta pulled halfway then slammed deeper.

“God, babe! Your tightness excites me shit!” He pulls again only to slam harder and deeper.

My core is clamping his length and so my hands on his arm that holding my head down on the bed.

“Yuta... Yuta...” I am currently in a delirious state with all the pull and push as heavy as the weight of the man pounding on top of me.

“Tighten your legs, babe~ I’m gonna ride this fucking cunt to hell!”

And Yuta really did. He rammed himself fully and devilishly into me. Not missing the essential spot to properly stimulate satisfaction with every fast pulls and sickening pushes that drives me to the edge.

“I’m gonna breed you so damn good, babe. Just moan and take it all you fucking virgin.”

No. No. No. I try stopping him from unloading his juice balls deep into my cunt but Yuta knows better how to incapacitated a woman....

Cover her mouth...

Choke her while throwing heavy strikes into her tight cunt...

And most importantly,

flood her pussyx with warm juice.

Breeding complete.

••••

salamat sa maglalabas ng mga saloobin nila 😂

[imaginejamesandsirius]

Hey, I love your writing! Could you please write one where it’s slytherin! Sirius and gryffindor!james. Can you make it that they find out their mates like they have creature inherences ( since their both pure bloods). At Hogwarts btw if it was unclear. Don’t feel pressured to write this if you’re busy.

((A/N: I’ve never written creature inheritance before, so it’s a little choppy))

Personally, Sirius thought this whole thing was a load of shite. Not like it was fake, because it was definitely real, but it was an absolute pain in the arse. It was going through puberty again, and he'd hated it the first time, thanks. And also? This was worse. He felt like a bloody toddler again, unable to control his magic. It's not like it was lashing out at random or summat, but his spells rarely turned out the way he wanted. Too much power or not enough, and he never knew which way it would go.

Regulus kept assuring him that he'd be ecstatic when he finally settled and got his creature inheritance, but Sirius would prefer to just be comfortable now. Besides, the only creature in the Black line was Veela. Sirius had too many people staring at him without adding a magical element to it. Did he mention the whole process was shite? Because it was. In addition to his magic not responding like it should, his entire scalp itched and his eyes responded to any big change in lighting with pain and his gums ached like a fucker. It made eating ridiculously difficult, and it had been that way for three weeks straight. It was supposed to all even out on his birthday, but that didn't make it any less miserable to live through.

He would love to commiserate about it with someone, but there were only a few other people in Hogwarts that had the possibility for a creature inheritance, and he wasn't exactly friends with any of them. He wasn't friends with anyone other than Regulus actually, so commiserating-- if it was going to happen at all-- would have to wait a few years.

When Sirius got his creature inheritance-- gasp! Veela! what a surprise!-- he walked into the Great Hall and wanted to walk right back out again. He didn't really know how to control the allure. Make that, the allure was running rampant and he couldn't make heads or tails of it-- the fire throwing part had been easy; he hadn't even had to practice-- but even that wasn't enough to make him want to leave. He took one glance at the Gryffindor Table, saw one James Potter, and realised there was a connection.

His parents had sent him a book about Veela inheritances when he started showing signs, and there had been a section on mates. Recognizable on sight. And that's what James Potter was. Sirius had two words for that: 'hell' and 'no'. It's not like Potter was bad looking or an unforgivable arse, but he didn't exactly like any Slytherins, and Sirius was one. He knew that mates weren't something that could be avoided, but how the hell did he explain that to Potter? 'Hi, I know the most time we've spent together was in detention from hexing each other for like, the entirety of fourth year, but you're bloody gorgeous and also we're mates? Wanna hook up sometime? Maybe spend the rest of our lives together?' Yeah. That wouldn't go well.

Sirius wished he could leave-- after all, who needed breakfast every single day?-- but there were appearances to keep up, and everyone would give him shite if he left right now. He was supposed to not act any different now that he had his creature inheritance. He was supposed to pretend he felt the same and didn't think he was better than anyone and all that rot. Nevermind that Sirius had thought he was better than everyone else from the age of five.

He didn't bother to keep in a sigh as he walked to the Slytherin Table.

"What?" Regulus asked, because of course Regulus was with him-- just to be clear: not complaining.

"Everyone's staring."

"Of course they are. You're the first wizard to get a creature inheritance at Hogwarts in the last decade."

"Hooray," Sirius said flatly. "I'll just pose for photos then, shall I?"

"There's no need to be a prick."

"How long have you known me?"

Regulus rolled his eyes, which was pretty much the response that Sirius had expected.

*

Sirius might have stared at James. A lot. It wasn't his fault, okay? There was no ignoring your magic screaming at you to go be with someone, but Sirius refused to give in so easily-- just to give him something to do, his classes were kind of boring right now.

So he stared, but he didn't talk to James. Maybe he should make friendly chit-chat between classes so that they had a foundation other than rivalry and the other person being gorgeous. And okay, it's not like they were total strangers, but being friendly with each other wasn't something they were familiar with. Like he said, rivalry. 

He got caught by James one time in the corridor, but he didn't bother to pretend like he hadn't been staring. It was only the two of them, after all. An empty corridor was a rare thing this close to the Great Hall, but not so surprising this time since it was dinnertime. They were probably the only people not eating right now.

"Is there a reason you're looking at me all the time?" James asked.

"Yes," Sirius said and didn't elaborate.

As expected, James looked bewildered. "Are you going to tell me why?"

"No. What were you in the library for?"

"Books," James said. He was trying to make his voice flat, but it was obvious to Sirius that he was hiding something.

He cocked his head curiously-- an unfortunate habit he'd picked up since his creature inheritance, replacing his usual skeptical eyebrow raise. "For what?"

He shifted, holding his bag tighter like he thought Sirius would snatch them from three meters away. "Nothing," he muttered unconvincingly.

"C'mon, who am I going to tell?"

"Stop mocking me."

"I wasn't aware that was something I was doing."

James glared at him.

It was probably the mate part of him that found it attractive, but Sirius had never had the smartest taste when it came to men. "Honestly. It was an innocent question."

"So you weren't staring at me because you... y'know, know?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Sirius said honestly.

James sighed, relaxing from the somewhat rigid posture he'd been holding. "That's good. Or- I guess bad? If you knew, I could ask- but no, we're not friends."

"What's got you in a spin?"

James chewed on his lip.

Sirius's heart beat a little harder in his chest at seeing that-- his imagination was more than happy to provide him with ideas about James's mouth-- but he was going to ignore that for the moment. There were more pressing matters, like what the hell James was talking about. "Honestly, who would I tell?"

"Your brother."

"Right, but who would he tell?" Regulus didn't have any friends either. Their parents had made a point to tell them that they could only trust family, and now look at them. "And who would care?"

"Most people care about creature inheritances. You should've heard the way everyone fawned over you when you presented."

Sirius snorted. "Yeah, I have eyes, love; I'm well aware of how much attention people were paying me." Then, because it was more important, he said, "So that's what this is? You're coming into a creature inheritance too?"

"No," he said instantly, then he shifted. "Maybe. I dunno, that's what the books are for. I thought you could, like, tell from looking at me or summat."

"I don't have a creature sensor."

"Well how was I supposed to know that?" James asked defensively. "Nobody knows anything about creature inheritances unless they have it, and then they keep it in the family because it's personal. It's not like I could just ask you."

"Couldn't you ask your parents? Like you said, it's a family matter."

"There's no history of it in the Potter line. Whoever was a creature that married in? They never recorded it. I went over the bloody family tree with a fine tooth comb, and I came up blank."

"I don't know how much help I'd be. Different families, different creatures," Sirius said, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the wall.

"I don't need specifics, but- Merlin, did it buggering itch like this for you? I feel like I'm going to crawl out of my skin."

"Can't say that happened to me, no. Mostly it felt like my teeth were about to fall out."

"Right," James said, nodding, "Veela have fangs."

Sirius cocked his head again. "Most people don't know that." 

James blushed. It wasn't very noticeable, but Sirius had eyes on him-- he had a theory that he had enhanced eyesight specifically when it came to his mate, but there was nothing to verify that; it just felt like he was capable of noticing more about him since becoming a creature. "I've done some research."

Sirius hummed, smiling.

*

"Nice wings," Sirius said, trying to keep from looking overly delighted.

One of James's wings snagged against a suit of armor because he'd been walking too close to the wall. "They're a pain in the arse," he muttered, flushing bright red as he tried-- and failed-- to get himself out.

Sirius walked over and stepped behind him. It was a lot easier to do it from this angle. Push, nudge, and he was free. "I kind of thought your wings would be red."

James turned to face him, and Sirius had to step back or risk getting hit in the head with a wing. "Why? Because I'm in Gryffindor?"

"That, and because you look so good in it. I'm not sure black is your colour."

"I look great in black, and you know it," James said.

He did, but Sirius wasn't about to say that. "Do these things not go away?" Sirius asked, looking at the wings curiously. This was the first time he'd seen him since his birthday, and it was no exaggeration to say that James had never looked better. Ill-coloured wings aside. It's not like the black feathers made him look bad or summat, but red would look better.

"If they do, I haven't figured out how." Then James squinted at him. "Did you change your hair?"

"No? It's the same it always is." Which is to say, fabulous. But he hadn't changed it at all. When he'd become a Veela- oh, maybe that's what it was. It had looked different to him in the mirror after that, but Regulus had said he didn't notice anything. "It did change on my birthday though. Maybe you can finally see it."

James reached out, strands of Sirius's hair sliding through his fingers. "It's beautiful," he breathed.

"I get that a lot," Sirius managed to say while sounding normal, but all he wanted to do was step closer and lean into it.

*

Unsurprisingly, James was the one to kiss him first. Sirius kept wanting to, but he also kept chickening out. So it wasn't really a surprise that James made the first move. What was a surprise, was about a month into their relationship-- still a month away from the end of the school year-- and James stopped a rather delightful snog to say, "Does this seem kind of sudden to you?"

"Er, no, we had to sit through like ten hours of class in order to get here."

James chuckled, pressing leisurely kisses to his cheek and down his neck. "No, I mean..."

"You mean?" Sirius prodded when he didn't continue, running his hands down James's back and into his wings. His fingers worked on straightening his feather automatically.

"I dunno. Like, I always fancied you, but after my creature inheritance, it's like I couldn't take my eyes off you."

"I know what you mean. Probably the whole 'mate' thing."

Abruptly, James stopped what he was doing and tilted his head up to look at him. "What mate thing?"

"That creatures have." When James still looked confused, he added, "Because we're mates?"

"Like... soulmates?"

"I guess? There wasn't a whole lot of information about it in the books my parents sent me. I don't think they thought I'd meet my mate at Hogwarts." Sirius snickered. "Their heads would explode if they knew it was you."

"Wait," James said, sitting up, "you knew about this?"

"Er, yeah?"

"Since your birthday?"

"Yeah."

James looked upset, which Sirius didn't understand in the slightest. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Sirius sat up when it was clear that James wasn't willing to let this slide. "Because we weren't exactly friends? You say that you fancied me back then, but it sure as hell didn't look like it. What was I supposed to do? I wasn't going to walk up to you and say we were destined for each other. You would've hexed me."

"I would not have."

"Sure," Sirius said flatly.

"Alright, so I might have overreacted if you told me, but it's not like you wouldn't have too in my place."

"Is there a reason this is bothering you?" Sirius asked. "It all worked out. I didn't trick you into anything by not telling you."

James opened his mouth to answer, then paused and frowned. "That's true," he said, sounding a touch bewildered. "I mean, this goes both ways, doesn't it? You didn't tell me, and I didn't tell you when I first noticed something was going on so..."

"So we can keep kissing?" Sirius said hopefully.

"You're so bloody weird."

"That sounds like a yes."

James snickered. "It's a yes."

*

"Woah," James said, eyes wide.

Sirius may or may not have snarled unkindly at being woken up before he was ready. "Sorry," he muttered. It was a gut reaction to flash his fangs when he wasn't happy, and when he was tired, it just sort of happened. He yawned, fangs retracting.

"I didn't know you could do that."

"Mm."

"Really though, you have to get up. You'll get caught if you leave any later."

"Don't care," Sirius said, snuggling his face into the pillow.

"You told me to make sure you get up."

"Past-me was an idiot."

"I trust past-you more than tired-you."

Sirius opened one eye to glare at him. When that did nothing, he turned to pouting. "Are you really going to throw me out?"

"Using your allure is A. cheating and B. not going to work."

"I should date someone who's nicer to me," Sirius grumbled, slowly pushing himself up with another yawn.

James snorted. "You have fun with that." He nuzzled at Sirius's cheek before giving him a quick kiss.