#it's shock it's protective instincts it's a creeping dread

[dandylion-s]

Trent Crimm doing his little cunt walk and puffing his jacket only to stop dead in his sashay to stare at Colin making out on the street with the same look all older queers have on their faces when they see stuff like that.

[zkvry]

Are You Laughing at My Brother? | Shelby Brothers x Sister!Reader

Summary : Y/N is just a year younger than John Shelby, though her immense instinct to protect her older brothers against their enemies reveals that the Shelby name is not to be trifled with.

Warnings : cussing, misogyny, death threats, guns, descriptions of violence, racism

Additional Information : > takes place in early season 1 ; Billy Kimber era (minor spoilers) > written in third person perspective (she/her) > 847 words | 6 minutes

Author's Note : decided to use some gifs along the way, might be distracting for your reading - I apologise. My first work on here, please let me know how you find it! Enjoy <3

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"Are you laughing, at my brother?" She speaks, appearing from behind the bar. For the first time since they've dared to enter the Garrison, Billy Kimber and his two men flinched slightly at her sternness. This only lasted a split second. Still, it didn't go unnoticed.

Billy Kimber flashes a cocksure smirk, pleased at the presence of something less dreadful than matter at hand. "And what do we have here,"

John lets out a humourless laugh. "I'd be careful with that one. She's feisty," He warns Billy Kimber with an all-knowing look.

Billy Kimber rakes his eyes over her physique. "This is no place for a whore - even a pretty one at that," He tuts mockingly, shaking his head.

Arthur inhales deeply as he fights the very last nerve to not cut the cheeky bastard across the face - to not slice his eyes for looking at his dearest little sister. The word 'whore' bounces around in his head. Arthur's lips twitch, knuckles turning white as he grips onto the arm rest for restraint.

He was waiting for a signal - a sound or nod of approval from Tommy or Her. Hell, he thinks, even John could command it and he would bloody do it. No questions asked.

Nonetheless, She makes her presence known. Almost like clockwork - one of the Shelby brothers stand and holds out his chair. In this moment, it was John. He extends his hand and escorts her to his previously occupied seat with care. Recklessly, he drags a chair for himself from a nearby table beside them, and plops down.

Billy Kimber clears his throat wearily but still as arrogant as before. "Right, he's the oldest, you're the thickest. I'm told the boss is called tommy so it can't be this woman you lot here seem to worship. Then I'm guessing that's you, cause you're looking at me up and down like I'm a fucking tart, " He spits out.

Thomas finally unclenches his jaw, the throbbing pain creeping onto him. He puts on a calm façade. Unmoving, he looks to Her direction.

Only when he saw She hadn't intervene, he spoke. "I want to know what you want. And which one am I talking to, which one of you is the boss?" Thomas breathes out as he takes a puff from a cigarette. His finger darting around from Billy Kimber to the two men that accompanied him.

Billy Kimber shoots up from his seat, knocking it to the ground. "I'm the fucking boss, alright!? Enough parley, you fixed the race without my permission. You fucking Gypsy scum. I run the races. You fixed one of 'em, so I'm going to have you shot against the post!" He declares - finger pointing threateningly to Thomas.

"Pick it up," She leans forward onto the table, hands intertwined infront of her.

Billy Kimber looks at her flabbergasted, "What?" He furrows his eyebrows, offended.

She stands slowly, the men around her straightening their backs in alert at her movement. She stares at him, unfriendly.

"I said," She continues, leaning forward once more, arms stretched out on the sides of the table, dominating the space at the table. "Pick. my chair. up," She repeats.

Billy Kimber remains stunned, seemingly not knowing what to do. The audacity of such a woman to demand him to pick up a chair? He was shocked to say the least, and outrageously insulted.

Ready to argue and humiliate her, Billy Kimber opens his mouth but She was quicker.

"You swayed your arse in here like you own the place. Guns out like you're flaunting fuck knows what," She speaks fluently, rage settling in. "We fixed your race, you put a bullet in my ceiling. That's fair, but then you had to run that fucking mouthpiece of yours didn't ya eh?"

"Want to put a bullet in my brother's head, is that it?" Like a predator, She stalks closer to him.

As She approaches, one of Billy Kimber's men crouched down and picked up the fallen chair. Just as the chair was upright, She gathered her strength and slammed Kimber's shoulders down onto the seat and held him still.

"Why don't we put one in yours?" She whispers into his ear, patting harshly on his right shoulder.

In an instant, Kimber's two men draw their guns.

The Shelby brothers lurch forward, in efforts to protect their sister infront of them, moving to draw their own guns as well.

However, the men who were supposedly loyal to Billy Kimber pointed their guns at the man himself. A sinister smile creeps onto Her face.

"Let's do proper business, shall we Mister Kimber? Starting off with your races, " She declares, moving to lower the guns that have been drawn by her brothers and the two men working for Her.

She turns abruptly to face Kimber. "Though, they wouldn't be your races any longer after we're done here, would they? " Her face suggestive of diplomacy, but voice laced with threat.

[jake-g-lockley]

hi! i see that requests are open and i love your writing! could you do an imagine with all three moon boys based on the prompt “running into reader’s ex” thank you! <3

Vengeance (Moon Knight x reader)

Masterlist | Spotify Playlist | Wanna be Tagged?

A/N: Hi lovely! Thanks for the ask, here’s the protective moon boys (I had to include the all powerful being too)

Warnings: Slight dark!moon knight, them being extra protective, swearing, mentions of bad mental health and unresolved trauma, Khonshu needs his own warning sometimes. 

Word count: 1.3k

☾ .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“You know, I really could have just driven us here.” Jake grumbled, one hand protectively clutching onto yours and his other arm slung around your shoulder.

You leaned into him as he guided you through the city’s bustling streets, your bag slung on his shoulder. You smiled at your fiance’s coddling, loving the attention that he brought with him whenever he fronted. 

The new bookstore that you wanted to visit was located in a cultural hub and you had a list of books that you wanted to splurge on. Steven was happy to join you on your spending spree, Jake was happy to carry all of your books and Marc was just happy that you were happy. The second you walked in, you sprinted away from Jake’s protective grasp towards the novel section, making him chuckle at your enthusiasm.

“Don’t go too far princesa, we’re gonna lose you to books, like we always lose Steven.” he joked, shaking his head at you.

“Jake, we are quite literally attached to the same body, what are you on about?” Steven grumbled. 

“I mean mentally, hermano.”

The second you were a bookshelf away from your boys, everything started going horribly. Your eyes landed on someone that made your hair stand on its end, goosebumps rose throughout your skin as you stood frozen, in shock. The person hadn’t seen you yet, instead talking to a customer. You back away slowly, turning the corner before you collide into a familiar chest.

“Aye, why you walkin’ backwards, sweetheart?” Marc questioned, the amusement in his tone fading instantly as he scanned your face. 

He instinctively put his arm around your shoulders and you buried your face into his chest, breathing in his calming scent. You started to count from one to ten, backwards and forwards again and again until your breathing calmed. Marc knew you were scared about something but he didn’t ask instantly, choosing to look at his surroundings to find anything that could have triggered you. You fisted his jacket and pulled him close when he shifted slightly.

“Not going anywhere, baby, we’re still here with you.” he soothed, rubbing your hair and kissing your forehead.

You were safe, you had Marc, Steven and Jake, you were fine. You focused on Marc’s voice, holding on to it like he was your rock as the memories started to flood to you. Marc began to rub a spot on your back that made you begin to tear up. 

“He couldn’t hurt you, not when your boys were around.” you thought to yourself. 

You were pulled out of your swirling memories by the call of your name.

That voice.

“Huh, I thought I saw you here.” said the smug voice.

Marc, Steven and Jake were absolutely confused. Marc looked between the man in front of him and you, trying to piece together what was happening.

“Hiding in the arms of another man like the whore you are.” 

You began to shake in Marc’s arms, fear creeping up your spine and dread flooding you. Marc was in shock. He couldn’t react to what this man had just called you, he just stood there, holding you tighter than ever. You wanted to tell them what was going on, or just pull Marc away from this mess, pretending that it never existed, but you couldn’t.

“Who the fuck are you?” Marc spat when he came to his senses.

A cruel laugh met your ears, your blood curdling at the sound, your heart racing as your brain began to shut down.

“I’m guessing the right slag didn’t tell you about me? I’m her ex.” 

Marc froze. Your ex wasn’t a topic they got to discuss. You had your own troubles, it gave you nightmares and horrible anxiety that plagued you worse than any disease ever. It haunted you but the boys hadn’t figured out how to bring the topic up, choosing to deal with the aftershocks of whatever you had gone through. They were happy with you, they didn’t exactly need a full rundown of your life to know that you were good for them. 

Marc was a little lost, trying to both focus on his own anger and pushing his alters to stay at bay. Khonshu had taken an interest in what was going on and had appeared behind the man that claimed to be your ex. No matter how much he despised the god he worked for, Marc felt relief rush over him, as if Khonshu had casted a safety blanket over them and flashed a reminder in Marc’s mind that he literally had the power of the gods. He swallowed his demons and took a deep breath. 

“I suggest you apologize to my fiance and I before I make your life a living hell, Mr… Vic.” he said, eyeing the man’s name tag.

“Hmph, what can you do? Like I care about her to apologize. She should be the one facing the music.” the man lunged forward and grabbed your arm.

Fear coursed through you like a wave as you felt yourself being pulled away from Marc but all you saw was a flash of white before you. You dropped to your knees as your eyes fell on graying bandages. You knew you were not staring at any one of the boys’ suits. Slowly you looked up and there stood your fiance’s body but he looked different, more dangerous than any of the three could be.

“What the fuck is that!” your ex screamed and looked around but no one came to his aid. 

Reassuring energy took over your fear and you now knew what was happening. Khonshu had taken over Marc’s body, his eyes shining bright and white like a full moon. Your ex was cowering now, his arms over his head as the possessed Marc stepped over your body, towards your ex. 

“Don’t hurt me, please.” he begged and part of you wanted to smile at the fear that was etched on his face.

“You’re going to pay for this.” boomed Khonshu’s voice and all you saw was another flash of white before your whole vision went blank.

☾ .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You woke up in your fiance’s bed, Steven’s worried and tired face forming in your vision. You tried to smile at Steven but it came out as a grimace as you tried to sit up, your head pounding.

“Shh, stay down, love.” Steven cooed, pushing you back down onto the pillows. 

“What happened?” you whispered.

“Well, our boss decided to show his full form, right in front of you and you passed out.” Steven said nervously, playing with the cuff of his sweater. 

“What happened to, you know…” you asked, fear edging you around you again. 

You were admittedly worried that the four of them had collectively done something irreversible and you stared at Steven with big scared eyes.

“Oh, let's just say that you’ll never have to deal with him again, my darling.” Steven said, his voice a tone lower. “And before you ask, no, he is not dead. Death would be mercy for him.”

Your mouth went dry but you didn’t question it. Instead your hands found the collar of Steven’s sweater and you pulled him down. His lips met yours gently and he pressed his forehead against yours reassuringly.

“I guess I owe the three of you an explanation.” you mumble.

“Only when you are ready, baby.” Marc’s voice slowed your heart and ebbed your anxiousness away. 

“We’ll always wait for you, amor.” Jake promised and with a soft kiss to your cheek he laid down and pulled you over him as you began your story, never feeling more safe in your entire life. 

☾ .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

With the contact’s Marc had, wiping a person off the face of the Earth without killing them was probably the easiest thing in the world. All it took was a few calls, a little bit of money and Marc’s thoughts slowly started clearing. He didn’t care about the explanation you had for him, he knew your love was true and that fuelled him to do anything for you, no matter the consequence. 

Reblogs are appreciated ~~~

Taglist: @fandxmslxt69 @randomnessfangirl @in-between-the-cafes @bodhisattva11 @marc-spectors-wife @nyotamalfoy @steven-grants-world @jbearre85 @whatsliferightnow @excitedcurtain864 @minigirl87 @wonderfulboiledcoldpotato @alexxavicry @autismsupermusicalassassin @flordelalunas @marygraceee @lia275 @euphoricosmo @sky-robin @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @sugarpunch-princess @violet-19999 @celiaswife @swiggy-needs-mental-help @ghostheartbeat @kierramofficial @ryebreadsworld @your-voice-is-mellifluous @lil-stark @absolutelybloodyhopeless @mintpurplemnm @spookyysilverr @bubblezuku @cookielovesbook-akie @mandoloriancookie

[nattule29]

The benrius kid au !!!!

So...made this thing two weeks ago and dropped it. If I'm gonna continue this or not? idk maybe, might drop it, might redo it, might continue it, who knows

There's a fic under the line

summary: how they found Dhalia :/ about 1,140 words.

btw im not much of a writer and it's not proofread YOUVE BEEN WARNED!

Five years. It’s been five years since this dynamic duo finally came together after navigating denial, hurt, and confusion. Five years since Darius said, "I love you back without the bud."

Darius leaned his head against the newly purchased, yet still old, van, watching the trees blur past in a comforting silence beside his date.

"Beep beep!"

“What was that?”

“Nothing…”

“Ben, we’ve talked about this. You can’t wait until the last minute to fill up the gas tank.”

“Fine. There’s a gas station on the way home; I’ll stop there.”

“Good,” Darius said, leaning back against the window.

Ben released a resigned sigh, a small smile tugging at his lips. He knew better than to argue against Darius; he’d probably jump out of the van if he did.

Tree after tree blurred by until Ben finally pulled into a quaint gas station café. He parked next to the pumps and got out, walking to Darius's side, he opened the car door like a true gentleman.

“Sir?” Ben teased, flashing a playful smile as he extended his hand to Darius. Darius rolled his eyes but took it anyway.

“What? Isn’t this what boyfriends do?” Ben quipped, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

Darius felt his ears warm slightly at the word “boyfriend,” and he couldn’t help but smile.

"You're such a goof" Darius’s smile widened, and it lifted Ben’s heart,

Darius decided to head into the café, leaving Ben to take care of the gas tank.

Ben whistled to himself, glancing around, when suddenly he heard a thud followed by a hiss from the side of the café. His curiosity piqued.

“Compys…” he whispered, a hint of dread in his voice. He tried to focus on his task, but another sound caught his attention—a cry? He froze and walked toward the side of the café, where the noise was coming from. There, nestled beside a small, closed box, he spotted the compys scratching at it, drawn in by the faint cooing inside.

“Hey!” Ben shouted, swinging his arm to scare the pesky creatures away.

Ben cautiously opened the box to discover what the compys were so desperately after. His face twisted in shocked confusion as he gasped, “What the-!?”

𓆈𓆌𓆈𓆌𓆈𓆌𓆈𓆌𓆈𓆌𓆈𓆌𓆈𓆌𓆈𓆌𓆈𓆌

"They sell a bunch of nasty compy meat!? So I didint get anything from the cafe, but we can cook up our breakfast for dinner…Hey, you okay?"

“I… I found a baby…” Ben stammered, holding the small cardboard box tightly in his hands, as if afraid it might disappear if he loosened his grip. The tiny creature inside peered up at him, wide-eyed and vulnerable.

Darius’s face twisted in puzzlement. “What do you mean you found a baby—” He leaned closer, peering over the box that Ben held so tightly. “Oh, wh—where did you!? Ben, whose baby is this?!” Darius exclaimed, his voice rising in surprise.

Ben’s shoulders shot up in a shrug, his eyes wide with uncertainty. “I don’t know! It was just there, behind the café!” He looked at Darius, searching for answers as panic started to creep in. His fingers tightened around the box as if he could somehow protect the tiny creature inside.

Darius took a step closer, instinctively reaching out as if to touch the box, but hesitated. “What if it’s hurt? We can’t just leave it here!” His brows knitted together in concern, glancing around as if expecting someone to come rushing out of the café to claim the baby.

Ben’s heart raced. “…so what do we do with it?” His shoulder slumped back down, the weight of the situation settling on him like a heavy cloak.

"I guess we take them home," Darius said, his voice steadying. "Figure out what to do when we get back home…they were obviously abandoned, so no point in finding the parent." He looked down at the tiny creature in sympathy, his expression softening.

“Are you sure?” Ben’s voice was barely above a whisper, his gaze darting from Darius to the baby. “What if it's parents—”

“We can figure that out later. Right now, we need to make sure it’s safe.” Studying the tiny creature peering up at them, its wide eyes glistening with innocence.

As they exchanged worried glances, Ben gently shifted the box closer to Darius. “Can you… can you hold it?”

Darius hesitated for a moment, then nodded, his hands trembling slightly as he took the box. “Okay, but let’s be careful.” He felt a rush of warmth and protectiveness swell in his chest, he tried to push it down.

“Yeah, like it’s made of glass,” Ben chuckled nervously, but his smile faded as he scanned their surroundings again. “What if someone sees us? What if they think we kidnaped a baby and-?”

“Ben, focus.” Darius’s tone was firm but gentle. “We’ll figure out the details later. Let’s get out of here first.”

Ben nodded, casting one last look at the café. A feeling of dread washed over him. They were stepping into uncharted territory, and he had no idea what they were getting themselves into.

___________________________________________

note- if I do continue this I'll continue this on ao3. I don't know if I'll stick with this story or change how they meet.

[teine-mallaichte]

Day 31 @augusnippets - write what you want.

Escape plans do not always go to plan.

eugh, so many options!!!! Ok, so I picked a prompt of "sole survivor" and this is the first peice for my new "on the run" series which is an alternative timeline to Asset 84 where 84 and 83 escape from the facility. 44 is a character they end up meeting later.

CW: violence, character death, living weapon.

On the run masterlist Complex 27

44 rushed down the hallway, desperately trying to ignore the blaring alarms and flashing lights. She glanced back to ensure 32, 45, and 39 were still behind her. Relief mingled with dread as she saw them, but there was no time to dwell on it. They had to keep moving.

The escape plan had been carefully crafted, with every detail meticulously laid out by 32. The medic had always had a flair for organization, making sure every possible scenario was accounted for. But even the best-laid plans could falter when faced with the full might of the facility—the very people who had trained them, who knew their every move. How had they ever thought they could escape?

44 shook her head, shoving the creeping doubt aside. They could still make it, they just had to keep going.

A sudden explosion tore through the corridor, sending a wave of heat and debris crashing toward them. 39 was the first to react, instincts kicking in as he shouted, “That all they’ve got?” A teasing grin crossed his face, his way of keeping the tension at bay, even now.

"39! Focus," 45 barked, his tone sharp and commanding.

39 turned to smirk at 45, but the expression faded in an instant as a jagged piece of shrapnel ripped through his torso, sending him crashing to the ground.

44 skidded to a halt, her breath catching as she saw 39’s teasing grin wiped away by the cold hand of death. For a split second, she was frozen, her mind struggling to process the loss. They had been so close—how could it all be unraveling so quickly?

“39!” 32 shouted, her voice a mix of fury and desperation. She dropped to her knees beside him, her hands moving with the precision born of countless hours in the facility’s training rooms. But even as she worked, 44 could see the truth in 32’s eyes: there was nothing she could do.

“No, no, no…” 32 muttered under her breath, her meticulous nature clashing with the chaos around them. She had always been the one to keep them on track, the one who never let emotion cloud her judgment. But now, her hands trembled as she tried to stop the inevitable.

"We have to move!" 45 shouted, standing protectively behind them, his rifle raised and ready, his eyes scanning for their pursuers.

44 hesitated, torn between the urge to stay and the brutal reality that they were running out of time. Her gaze lingered on 39, who had always been the one to lighten the mood with his teasing, even in the darkest of times. Now, his lifeless body lay as a stark reminder of the cost of their freedom.

“44, we have to go!” 45 snapped, his voice cutting through the haze of shock. There was no room for grief, not now—not when they were so close.

A deafening roar of gunfire reverberated through the corridor. As the chaos intenifird 45 returned fire, but the enemy was overwhelming, their numbers and speed relentless.

44 felt like the ground was slipping away beneath her feet as she watched 32 crumpled to the ground, her lifeblood pooling around her like a dark, spreading stain.. She wanted to scream, to cry out in anguish, but there was no time—only the relentless push of survival. Her heart pounded in her chest, every instinct screaming at her to run, to leave the dead behind and escape while she still could.

But leaving them—it felt like a betrayal. They were a team, bound together by their shared suffering, their shared dreams of freedom. 39’s teasing grin, 32’s meticulous care—these weren’t just comrades; they were pieces of her own fractured soul.

“44!” 45’s voice snapped her back to the present, sharp and commanding. There was no hesitation in his tone, only the cold, hard truth of their situation. “We have to go, now!”

44 leapt to her feet, grabbing 45 by the arm and draggin him behind her, she wasn't losing him too.

They manage to push through the final checkpoint, reaching the last barricade—a metal door with an intricate lock mechanism. The clang of metal against metal echoes as 44 frantically punches in the override code, her hands steady despite the chaos.

45 stands guard, his composure beginning to fray as he fires in rapid bursts toward the advancing soldiers. "We’re running out of time!" he yells, eyes darting between the door and the increasingly swarming enemies. "They’re getting too close!"

44’s fingers tremble as she inputs the final sequence. The door shudders, and with a mechanical hiss, it begins to slide open. Just as the gap widens enough for them to slip through, the soldier’s grenade detonates with a deafening roar.

The shockwave hurls 44 against the wall, and she feels a searing pain in her left arm as a piece of shrapnel embeds itself in her flesh. She grits her teeth, the pain almost blinding. "No time for weakness. Just get through. We have to get out." She tells herself.

A strangled cry escapes her lips, but she fights through the agony, pushing herself to her feet with the help of 45. The hallway, now engulfed in chaos and smoke, seems to pulse with a cruel rhythm. 44 stumbles, clutching her left arm as if to hold the remnants of her shattered limb together. Her vision blurs at the edges, but she steels herself, focusing on the flickering light of the emergency exit sign ahead.

A moment of silence envelops her as she struggles to regain her bearings. She glances back down the hallway, now a maelstrom of smoke and debris. The scattered bodies of her teammates and the advancing enemy soldiers paint a grim picture of their desperate situation. The metal door, once a symbol of hope, now feels like a distant, unreachable goal. She forces herself to move, each step a battle against the overwhelming pain.

Can’t let them win. Not after everything. Not after everyone."

If 45 escapes then it will still be a success.

45’s eyes are wide, darting back and forth between the advancing enemy soldiers and the door. His weapon is nearly empty, but he fires off the last few rounds. The soldiers, relentless and methodical, advance in a well-coordinated push, their footsteps like a grim march of doom.

“Go!” 44’s voice is strained, but it carries an urgency that cannot be ignored. She grits her teeth, feeling the intense pain that radiates from her shattered arm. Blood soaks her sleeve and drips to the floor, forming a dark trail in her wake.

45 hesitates, his eyes flicking between the opening door and 44’s pain-stricken face. “You’re not—”

“Now!” 44’s command is sharp, cutting through the clamor of gunfire. But just as the word leaves her mouth 45 stiffens, a strained gasp leaving his throat before he crumples to the ground.

44’s heart races as she watches 45’s body fall. With a final surge of strength, she pushes herself toward the door, the excruciating pain in her arm making every step a battle. She reaches the threshold and looks back one last time, her gaze meeting the emptiness of the corridor where her comrades fell.

The metal door finally gave way with a groan, its heavy frame sliding open to reveal the darkness outside. As 44 stumbled through the gap, the blaring alarms and the chaos of the facility faded behind her. The once overpowering sounds of gunfire and shouts were replaced by an eerie silence, punctuated only by the distant hum of machinery and the whisper of the wind.

The cold night air hit her like a physical blow, a stark contrast to the stifling heat and smoke of the facility’s corridors. She gasped, her breath forming fleeting clouds in the chilly air. The sudden drop in temperature made her injuries feel even more acute, each step against the gravelly ground sending jolts of pain through her wounded arm.

The facility's alarms fade behind her as she limps into the darkness, each step heavier than the last. The thought of the others, of 39’s grin and 32’s meticulous care, is a heavy weight in her chest. And 45… the way he fell right before they reached the end. It’s a haunting image that will stay with her forever.

But she can’t stop. Not now. Not when she’s so close to the boundary, the edge of the facility's perimeter. Her vision blurs, her body numb with the pain of her injuries, but she forces herself forward. Knowing that if she stops, if she gives in to the pain, it will all been for nothing.

[nectarous]

TOOTHSOME ⇋ OJIRO ARAN X F!READER.

TAGS: strangers to soulmates. suggestive themes [no smut]. constant changes of pov. slowburn fluff with angst ending.

W/C: 3.3K

SUMMARY: a simple study of intimate bonds and tasting love.

⇦ SEWER SOULMATE SYNDROME COLLAB MASTERLIST ♡

there’s something about the world that’s absolutely and wholly dull. waking up to blistering rays glaring through open windows, working at a lackluster club, coming home to your barebones apartment that you’ve never bothered decorating. you only look forward to collapsing into a steaming bath, dreading the fact you’ll have to repeat this all over again once the sun starts to peek up from the horizon.

it’s what’s deserving of such an uninspiring, miserable personality. you’re not interested in much outside of the bubble you crafted. you’re indifferent to the fickle things; love, bonds, and that mouthful of flavor when you meet your soulmate for the first time. it doesn’t interest you in any capacity. 

you know that there’s a lot to be desired with you. your people skills need tinkering and while your work ethics are respectable enough, all you can think to describe yourself is boring.

you’re interested in surviving and supporting yourself. living long enough to enjoy yourself, but short enough to not have to work hard—you’ve never been interested in the company and passing affections of others.

the idea of a soulmate is a delicate one to some, daft to others. you’re more indifferent on the topic, leaning closer to disdain, about the idea of a fated second half. 

how naïve you are for thinking that you’re lucky enough to escape it, unaware that in a short twelve months, it’ll only take one stranger to ruin your perception of love, of the world, of yourself. 

just like everyone else, you’ve been taught about soulmates, raised around the idea that finding them would finally open you up. from an outsider's perspective, you understand how they work, how they feel. you’ve spotted that glazed over look in their eyes more times than you care to count. you’ve witnessed soulmates bumping into each other for the first time, seen how eyes light up, and heard the crashing of heart beats from across rooms. you swore you could hear them salivate at the taste of each other’s presence. 

you’re certain that’s something you’ll never experience. you hope you’ll never meet them, hope that they're dead or far away in some other continent, or that they’re as much as a homebody as you are. you covet to be in the majority that never meet their soulmate, and have to settle for yourself and 

you’ve made it this far alone. why bother searching for your other half now?

• • •

even at 27, aran’s still hopeful he’ll find the person he’s supposed to spend his life with. it’s a silly little fantasy, one that has settled deep in his core, meeting the love of his life and instinctively knowing. all through his teenage years, he’s been teased for being a hopeless romantic. but who could blame him? what’s more serene, more absolute than the idea of finding the person who will love you for who you are, for the rest of your life?

his romanticism has mellowed out over the years, and he’s become a reasonable man with a successful career and lifelong friends and a dog he spends a fortune on every month. he’ll let life take its course, pray for the best, and continue on.

everyone has a soulmate. he hopes it’s only a matter of time before he meets his. but it’s not a necessity for him.

• • •

the first time you see him, your soulmate, is outside some onigiri shop, bathed in the purple shadows of sunset. you instantly turn the other way, stumbling into some random convenience store and ignoring that lightheadedness, and the urge to gag at the rich flavor soaking into your mouth, hoping he doesn’t feel your proximity. 

all of a sudden, you’re not that hungry anymore.

• • •

aran feels it. his knees grow weak, his heart swells twice as big, there’s a pressure in his sinuses that almost has him stumbling back. and then that feeling’s gone. when he looks around, no ones there, but the residual feelings still linger.

this is the taste of aran’s soulmate. he always expected love to taste like bubblegum or the strawberry mochi he used to split with his sister. he expected to savor the color pink, or red, delicate colors that remind him of spring and joy.

instead, there’s a bitter, heavy metallic soaking into his mouth; like antimony and lemon rinds. it clashes against his taste buds causing his face to scrunch up in distaste.

it tastes like gray.

• • •

the overwhelming taste in your mouth is pastel green, tooth-decaying sweet, and tart. it drips down your throat, makes your gums and your heart ache and throb. it feels like you’re going to choke right here, in the snack section of a convenience store.

granny smiths, heavy molasses and acerbic echoes of sumac sticks to the insides of your cheeks. the emotions so saturated it starts to burrow deep in your teeth.

you hate how warm it makes you feel.

• • •

you recognize him immediately when you’re flicking through the channels waiting for your dinner to reheat. of course the universe decides to pair you up with a fucking olympic volleyball player with amazing things going for him. you can’t change the channel, can’t ignore that he looks a little too good panting and covered in sweat. his voice rumbles smooth, his eyes glimmer, his quiet chuckle makes you throb. 

you’ve been laying in bed and trying to push out the sneaking thoughts of him, trying to erase the green flavor that creeps back in ever since. 

it’s been two weeks since you’ve been anywhere near that shop. the fear that you’ll bump into him again is… overwhelming. but you’re exhausted, working through the day for the second time this week. and of course, you forgot your umbrella at home, forcing you to run through the muggy rain in a ratty shirt and soggy sneakers. 

you told yourself you’d take the long way home, but now that cutting through this block will get you out of the rain faster, knowing it’ll get you back home in time to catch that cooking show while you take a bath, tempts you too much.

but of course, nothing that life hands you seems to go your way.

and of course he’s out there again. out of all days. you hope he’s not some mindless sap that waits outside of the shop everyday, aching for the chance to bump into his soulmate and live happily ever after. that might be the only thing that would make this soulmate bond even more painful.

you really should’ve just gone the long way home.

he looks happy and, you begrudgingly admit to yourself as you wait for the crosswalk to turn green, even more handsome than on your tv. big. he’s on the phone, protected from the rain under the shop’s awning. the taste of green’s already oozing it’s way back in.

apparently, that perspective ability you admired while watching one of his first matches bleeds outside the court too, because he immediately makes eye contact with you. eyes widen, he hangs up immediately, and his hand raises in a wave.

and the first thing you can do is run.

• • •

he can sense that his soulmate’s near, that sharp tinny taste overpowering the onigiri osamu forced him to finish. it has his nose crinkling up before he whips his head up, staring at a girl. his heart soars a bit, finally he gets to meet you, before crashing down upon seeing that expression of horror on your dripping face, before you trip your way into some alley. he doesn’t second guess running into the sheets of rain, not hesitating at the sudden chill of rain.

he can tell that you’re scared, terrified, disgusted at the idea of having a soulmate. is it because of him?

the taste of each other is overwhelming, gunmetal grating and foiled and loud crashing into his. can barely swallow it down, eyes rolling back. 

you can’t handle the onslaught of pungent syrupy sour, it’s soaking into your head more than the rain. it makes you hunched over and soaked, retching bile and the remnants of breakfast, you want to die.

you want to tell him to fuck off, let you drown in apples, in the vomit and the rain, but he’s insistent. he keeps a polite distance, a safe distance, from you. arms flex in his soaking pale t-shirt while he looks at you like some kind of wounded, rabid animal.   

“let’s get you warmed up, ok?”

that tart taste eats away at the rancid bile in your mouth, and you hate to admit that his charcoal eyes start to slowly thaw you.

you’re a mess of chattering teeth, goose pimpled skin. your nipples are poking stiff peaks into your shirt and your fingers are shaking, but he politely ignores both, stepping over the puddle of vomit to pick up your dropped bag, hot hand on the small of your back as he leads you in through the back entrance of the onigiri shop.

two identical faces, the only thing separating them is the shock of pale blond hair, are watching you from a distance as aran presses soft cotton into your arms and leads you into the locker room. they both feign boredom as you shuffle by them, but even in your bleak state, you can’t ignore that interested glimmer in their eyes from behind the register.

the sound of slopping clothes dropping against the cold tile makes your skin crawl, your eyes sting, and your head ache like it was just banged into the concrete. you don’t know whether to be humiliated or thankful, unsettled or grateful that ojiro aran’s actually nice. such a simple word. just these last 10 minutes has proved his heart of gold and, as you tread back into the main room, you think you’re going to cry.

no one talks as you collapse and curl up on one of the farthest seats, as you start to lose yourself in the sounds of thunder and the stifled radio, the cold bleeding it’s way into your brain. you can start to feel yourself dissociating, vision starting to blur, losing yourself in the numb. 

the delicate placing of six onigiri snaps you out of it, aran’s look of concern makes you curve over your knees as you drag the plate closer. his eyes tickle at your soul, baring deep into your bones, as if he can see how much you're hurting, how much you don’t care. compared to him, you look like a drenched rat, hair still damp and feet bare. 

you really might cry. 

because it hurts. the thought that he’d treat you good like this, every day, for the rest of his life. you can tell he’s kind, the way he sets down a cup of tea and brings you some food. the way he offers you a change of clothes. he’s a gentleman, and you feel pity for him, that he’s attached to you. 

the tilt of your lips in gratitude probably translates more as a grimace than a smile.

he waits until after you finish eating to start talking, “i’m ojiro aran.”

“i know,” you respond back. “that volleyball player.”

your droning voice doesn’t make him flinch back as you hope.

“i hope i’m not overstepping, but i can tell that you’re not the happiest with — ” finally he hesitates, flicking the sugar packets, eyes tracing over your face. you make it a point to not return the eye contact. 

“look. i’m not sure if it’s because of me, or you’re not happy with the idea of soulmates in general.” he overlooks the way your fingers twitch around your mug. “and i’m not going to force you to do anything, because i can tell that you’re on edge right now.”

he lowers himself so he’s not towering over you, balancing on his toes, still toying with the condiments on your table.

“to tell you the truth, i’m a bit of a romantic,” something sweet starts slipping into his voice. “i can tell that you aren’t. we don’t have to rush into anything, say the word and we can forget we ever met. but i think this can work out. we just need to pace to our comfort levels.”

and as you stare into his eyes, him squatting in front of you and holding your still shaking hands, the utter care, eyes almost pleading, and a soft smile that he’s emitting, it makes you feel peace for the first time. the stains of melancholy in your bones start to fade, and pastel green leaks from the sides of your cheeks making the corners of your lips involuntarily twitch up.

maybe, just maybe this’ll work out.

• • •

it’s been months, and aran’s learnt more about you than you know. he’s picked up that you despise physical affection just as much as the rain, but that you crave the heat from his body.

he thinks about you constantly. he replays your ‘dates that aren’t dates’ on repeat at practice, printing your face in his head on his morning runs, and he welcomes that metallic bitter that comes with you before he goes to sleep.

you’re standoffishness is soft and appealing at first glance, like antimony you taste like. the more time he’s in your presence, the more that lack of intimacy burns at his eyes, and his lungs. his hands sting with rejection every time you inch and shrug away from his touch or grimace when he laughs at your half-jokes. he knows there’s a separate woman bedded underneath. he saw her at the restaurant, he sees it whenever you watch the sunset. he notices it most behind the closed doors of his apartment. 

he’s come to appreciate your hands. your hands convey the things you’re too nervous to say. he can feel the adoration pulsing underneath the fragile skin in your fingers and your wrists, whispering the things you can’t always say out loud. they speak to your sense of comfort with him, the vulnerability you only show with him. the way they sneak under his shirt to run down his smooth back when you're cold, only to pull back and hope he didn’t catch your slip up. 

he notices the chipped polish that you pick at when you're stressed over deadlines. how your hands shrink in comparison to every part of him, tracing the callouses and scars from decades worth of volleyball. he loves how you bring his hands up to kiss on his knuckles after hours in bed, before you make up excuses as to why you can’t spend the night.

much to your annoyance, it makes him want to try that much harder. 

• • •

love. a complicated, sinister, four letter word you never thought you were built for. you think about it a lot, in tandem with aran. probably too much to be healthy. he’s the first thing you think of when you wake up, plaguing  your mind as you work, and leaving you always wondering what time he goes to sleep.

it's embarrassing. the three hours you spend with him every weekend has turned you into some sort of sap, haunted with his musky scent, that soft smile and that embarrassing craving for him to pat your head again. like your some fucking puppy. and you swear, that syrupy green apple taste is stained into your taste buds, it’s seeped into your bones and ruined you.

the last thing he deserves is you. you know that. but he doesn’t think that, he’s letting that metallic taste run him around lovesick. he makes you feel blistered; every touch and adoring glance burns into your flesh in permanent, achy reminders. he has your number, knows where you live. but he respects you and the distance you’ve placed.

he’s getting too comfortable too quickly, and he keeps surprising you with how patient he is. he’s adaptive, tenderhearted, almost philanthropic with the way he took in the charity case of you. 

it didn’t pan out the way you expected the first few months. you expected failure, for him to snap at your constant rejections and complaints. apparently, experiences with his childhood friends prepared him for you.

he's too helpful of a person, wanting to talk about feelings and cooking you food when you didn’t ask for it. it scared you, how fast he accepted this soulmate thing, how fast he was able to care. his hugs lasted too long. he's suffocating you in adoration and care, and you can tell he’s almost to the point of being in love with you.

poor aran. you’ve been destined to be with this man, who’s been destined to be alone since birth, all because the universe promised you to him. 

you know you’re going to destroy this beautiful bond that the universe crafted. you’re bitter and mean and unable to open yourself up to him; he almost knows nothing about you, and you know almost everything about him. you know how his younger sister wants to become a physical therapist, how the owner of that little onigiri shop has been one of his best friends for almost two decades. and you know his favorite food’s ritz crackers, that he’s a morning person. he loves dogs and hates horror films, and his two greatest joys are his family and volleyball.

there’s an unspoken hint that he wants you to join the former.

and it’s unfair; who wouldn’t fall in love with that scar on his neck. you try to focus on his bad parts, of which he only has one. his stupid dog, adzuki. that mammoth of a german sheperd that follows you around, places it’s paws on your lap when you come over for dinner.

he laughs every time you grimace at him, looks like we both have a weak spot for you.

• • •

you shatter his heart on the first year anniversary since you’ve been bonded. you were already dangling by a heart string, and that little band of gold and red he gifts you is where you force yourself to draw the line. 

all you can think about is how you need to abandon him before either of you get too attached. you’re teetering on the edge of ignoring your gut instincts, of collapsing into him, wanting to let him see the shattered pieces inside you. but then he’ll do something as mundane as calling you over for dinner, and you remember.

he terrifies you. 

there’s a reason you haven’t spent the night again. the intimacy of you and him, and his ugly dog, and that picture frame of your date at the beach hung right next to one of his family portraits. 

he loves too much and too hard, he’s too intense. he makes your skin prickle in hot fireworks, the hairs on the back of your neck stand straight with unease. he’s beautifully passionate about everything he lays his eyes on. he lives life to the fullest and all of a sudden, you want that too. he makes you crave domesticity, waking up next to warm umber hands tracing patterns in your skin, cooking breakfast together, a house in tokyo. a wedding band on your finger.  

this wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

you remember the dulling of gray eyes, and his hunched over figure bathed in the ashy violet rays of the sun setting. you try to hold onto that flavor of green before you swallow it for the last time, saliva and tears welling up, before you press one last kiss on his cheek before stepping out. pastel green fades to emerald fades to black. you can’t taste apples or sumac anymore.

no, as much as you wanted to be, you weren’t built for love.

[anakinisvaderisanakin]

Grudge; aka a young Jedi tries to drop a bridge on Vader’s head, and it goes about as well you’d expect (for the people out there who want to see Vader being the insanely powerful murder machine he is)

“This oughta buy me some time,” the young Jedi muttered to himself in relief, while he watched the reinforced foundations of the giant suspension bridge stretching across the gouge of which he found himself at the bottom begin to give way.

He strained every muscle in his body, sweat pouring in thick globs down his forehead as the sandstone structure rumbled and whined in protest, cracks appearing in intricate patterns as they traveled and expanded rapidly along the eroded sides. The suspension cables stabilizing the viewpoints that had been carved into the natural overhang of the rock at either side of the bridge’s anchor points had already snapped under pressure. Picking up tremendous speed, the man-made platforms came hurtling down both sides of the canyon - and with them gushed an abundance of loose boulders, rocks, pebbles and sand knocked free by the sheer power of impact. A cloud of golden brown dust rushed past the young Jedi, who fought to keep his eyes open and ignore the grains blurring his vision with tears and mud.

A tiny but sharp rock struck the side of the Jedi’s cheek hard enough to draw blood, and he winced, faltering momentarily but quick to regain his bearings. His gaze remained fixed upon the top of the bridge, and the supporting pillars shouldering its ornate design against the bedrock lining the sides of this artificial crevice mined in the sandstone. Once, this canyon had functioned as a floodgate system, the only reminders of its glorious past now being the saltwater dam waiting several miles downhill. That, and the dry, dusty and cracked salt lake desert resting beneath the young man’s feet. This had been yet another attempt by the Empire to exploit and deploit a new, untouched system for its natural resources. The flood delta upstream was all but dried out, its ancient trackways drained, abandoned and littered with wildlife carcasses. Yet another ecosystem destroyed by Imperial greed.

But Jedi Knight Jarl Oda hadn’t come to Jansenn to become an environmental activist, although he had been tempted to at the very least severely cripple the Imperial machinery ruling the system more than once. No, Oda had come to seek refuge. Like any other survivor of the temple massacre - if there were any left, and he’d like to prefer he was not alone when compared to the alternative - he had seen the message recorded by master Obi-Wan Kenobi. He’d narrowly escaped unseen, lingering clone troopers discussing their plan to execute all Jedi on sight aloud. Following a direct order, gunning down their own generals. Their own friends.

It was shocking, but Oda had never taken to blindly trusting the clones - master Krell had seen to that. In his formative years, and during the war, that had been considered a fatal flaw by the council. He had often butted heads with fellow Jedi Knights like Aayla Secura or Anakin Skywalker over his unwillingness to rely upon his troops. Now, he was beginning to think himself lucky for his suspicions. His master may have been punished, unjustly Oda would like to believe, for refusing to humanize expendable soldiers. He had survived only because of that inherent doubt in their reliability.

Finally, as Oda twisted both palms upwards; he took a wide stance for maximal leverage, closed both fists, and tugged. Hard. With unwavering determination and with everything he had in him, narrowed eyes still focused on the looming, black clad figure atop the bridge. The ominous shadow of a man didn’t move, even as the structure beneath his feet came undone in slow motion. He didn't seem particularly concerned by imminent death, not even when the final fortification shattered and the bridge came crashing down.

Oda was prepared for the shockwave when tonnes upon tonnes of solid rock collided with the manufactured flood bed; salt crystals propelled like projectiles in every direction. What he wasn’t prepared for, however, was just how powerful the impact would be. The Jedi had no time to steady or brace himself as the first shockwave set him off balance, and the second sent him flying. The cloud of debri whirled past him in a flurry, dragging his helpless body with it and Oda instinctively covered his face with both arms for protection.

The sound came a millisecond later. Earsplitting. A deafening explosive crack, like the roar of a thunderstorm and the detonation of a thousand bombs combined. The Jedi covered his ears with a whimper when pain pierced his ear drums. An ominous, distinct pop followed closely by a shrill, high pitched ringing settled in his temples and muted any further noises like a swab of cotton. Panting, the young man found himself feeling quite a bit less confident even as he groggily managed to get up on his knees. The dust cloud kicked up by the bridge’s collapse disoriented him, both sight and sound reduced by the blast. His body ached, and his arms trembled from the sheer extersion of bringing down such a large structure. Oda had never attempted a similar feat before, and had never even imagined he might need to.

Taking a couple of deep breaths, Oda at least figured he had time to recover. No one could have survived a two hundred foot drop into a durasteel reinforced salt lake canyon, with a fifty foot overpass crashing down on top of them. Not even this menace, whoever he was.

He had hunted Oda through the vacant landscape of Jansenn for 48 hours without yielding. The hunt had begun as a creeping suspicion, as a foreboding sensation of being watched. The Jedi had no clue who his assailant was, but rumours spoke of Imperial Force wielders trained specifically to trap and dispose of any remaining Jedi stragglers. Oda had made several good friends in the underbelly of the Galaxy these past couple of years since the fall of the Republic. Perhaps he had become careless, or perhaps the vigor with which the Empire pursued Jedi had grown exponentially. Either way, Oda had a target on his back and a price on his head that not even his friends could erase. It had been a matter of time, but he hadn’t expected these assassins to be so relentless in their pursuit.

Coughing, Oda spit up a garbled mix of salt crystals, saliva and blood. His head was spinning, and he staggered backwards when he stubbornly got up on his feet. The moment felt like it had lasted an eternity but it couldn’t have been more than half a minute. Even in his disoriented state, the Jedi noticed that the topmost sheen of debris was already fading, carried away by the dry acrid winds overhead. But that wasn’t what bothered Oda and drew his attention. As he wiped his nose, attempting to stall the gush of blood trickling from the left nostril, the colour was left drained from the man’s bruised face.

The entire midsection of the expansive, collapsed walkway appeared to be hovering. Oda blinked rapidly, not believing his eyes and with a growing dread setting in, he tried to write it off as a hallucination caused by sudden head trauma. As if whatever external force that was manipulating the levitating wreckage had read his mind; the thick fog of obliterated gravel, sand and salt perforating the air seemed to settle in an instant. There was nothing natural about the way in which every single airborne particle of dust laid down as neatly as if someone had smoothed it out with their hands. In an instant the air was crisp and clear. The sun’s blinding light spilled into the canyon, reflected by billions of salt lake crystals. With one, single synchronized swipe, a serene peace settled as the rubble littering the bottom of the complex was brushed aside to create a perfect pathway. Oda didn’t want to look, but he already knew the culprit behind the inexplicable bending of physics.

Where only a collapsed bridge should have been resting, crushing its passenger under its weight - stood the man Oda had hoped to destroy. One of his large hands was aimed in Oda’s direction, palm open facing him. The other was raised to about eye level in a tightly clamped fist. There was a slight tremble to that one balled hand, but in its Force grip, the man had successfully both blocked and abruptly stopped the remains of the falling bridge mid air before they could even touch the bottom of the canyon. Around his imposing figure laid the shattered marble pillars, the stone railings that had lined the walkway in pieces. Suspension cables hung from the carved sandstone that had supported the viewing platforms. In the midst of the chaos, the majority of the demolished structure remained suspended just a few feet above the mysterious man’s domed black helmet.

Oda could only stare, mouth wide open in horror. His feet seemed nailed to the ground. His eardrums still burnt, but the ringing had begun to subside and the uncanny, eerie silence of the scene was tense and overbearing, suffocating. Shifting slightly, the large, imposing figure of a man on a mission that stood before the young Jedi began to approach. His strides were slow and meticulous, but he didn’t falter. Oda’s gaze remained transfixed by the large chunk of stone still floating freely; its vast shadow blocking out the sunlight.

“Did you believe dropping a bridge on me would be a sufficient way of stalling my advances? I am afraid I must disappoint you. Now, shall we see how you enjoy a similar treatment?” the man rumbled, his voice sharp and its bark was a sinister warning.

Oda instantly realized what it meant, and he did his best to flee on wobbly, unsteady legs as the strange assassin crouched. The man brought his arm back to take perfect aim and in one flawless heave - he hurled the remains of the bridge at the boy full force. The distance was enough to allow Oda to dodge the majority of the formation heading for him, even as it broke apart along the way - but it was not enough to completely escape the explosion that sent shattered rock and gravel raining down on him when its proponent collided with the lake bed. Tumbling, the enormous limestones that had decorated the walkway seemed to chase the Jedi with unfathomable speed for something so substantial.

Oda glanced back, confident he was in the clear when he noted that he was gaining. He thought he might get away despite the burning in his lungs and the taste of iron and copper welling up in his throat - the salt he had inhaled scraping his airways from the inside. He even dared to smile - only to stumble on an unexpected depletion in the ground ahead. With a yelp, the Jedi lost his footing and tumbled forwards onto his palms and knees. Unable to break his fall, he rolled around; the sharp salt tearing holes in his clothes, digging deep into his flesh. A sickening pop and a snap was followed by a wet crack, and Oda came to a sudden stop.

Pain shot up the young man’s spine as he was unceremoniously pinned in place. Adrenaline pumping, Oda twisted halfway around and through the agony he soon realized that his right leg was locked in a vice between reinforced canyon floor and a chunk of the bridge’s support pillars.

The Jedi gulped down the urge to throw up, blood gushing from the multiple spots on his body the salt lake’s unforgiving bed had ripped up and rubbed raw. Nausea struck full on, as he attempted to push the remnants of what was once a craving appropriating the planet’s local population’s cultural, decorative art off of his mangled limb. To no avail, Oda’s hands shook and refused to stay still, blood painting the palms a deep crimson. He was trapped, backed into a corner, tears welling up in his eyes as the monster responsible for his suffering appeared over the crest of this brand new ridge of fallen rock he had created.

The man was impossibly tall, broad shouldered and carried himself with a dark pride. All black, his cape billowed behind him like a pair of giant wings as he crossed the distance between them with one leap. The grace behind it was jarring when linked to the man who had performed the feat. The man appeared to be regarding his handiwork, and there were no signs of strain or struggle within him. It appeared as if the immense power that fuelled the impressive Force wielding he had just performed didn’t so much as phase him.

“Let - let me go… I don’t h-have anything! I’ll disappear, just p-please,” Oda heard himself brokenly sniveling in between sobs and sniffles - put face to face with his own mortality, he found himself pathetic.

“You are as cowardly as every other Jedi. Tell me, how does it feel to look death in the eye?”

There was no malice or direct spite in the man’s deep voice, his wheezing respirator serving as an unwelcome third part invited to witness this mocking display. It triggered some kind of memory, but Oda couldn’t say what it was. Instead, the Jedi focused on the monster’s stoic face plate and how it seemed to emulate something akin to disgust, or distaste despite its perpetual aloofness.

Oda realized he was being treated if he wasn’t human, as if he was just a pest or a vermin this sinister man was looking to exterminate before continuing going about his day. The Jedi could picture this menace of a man going home as soon as he’d been dealt with, and never again think of him. Never again deliberate on his fate, never regret his death. Tears poured down the young man’s bruised, cut up cheeks, and he shook his head vehemently.

“Please, I - I’ll do anything…” he begged in vain, voice cracking mid sentence.

“You have nothing to offer me. I have no use for you, and even if I did, you would be the last person I would consider worthy of making an exception for.”

The man’s montone, almost bothered delivery changed with an uncanny ease. Suddenly, there was a tangible sense of contempt seeping through his mechanical, synthesized vocals.

“I… do I know you? I don’t understand.”

Oda had never sensed such unhinged, unadulterated hatred spilling from another human being. It was enough to taint the monster’s entire Force signature; infecting it like a virus, and the Jedi realized he had never in his life come across someone so deeply connected to the Dark Side. Still, as the tidal wires of agonizing pain continued to send his nervous system into shock and meltdown - the anguish only serving to heighten his awareness of this man’s loathing - the young man found himself perplexed through his terror. Something told him this was a personal vendetta.

A Sith Lord, master Krell had said once. When you meet one, you’ll know. That’s what this nameless, faceless menace was. A Sith Lord.

“No. You do not know me, and you never will. But I know you.”

The Sith Lord drew closer, with a superhuman speed to his calculated, menacing approach. Oda tried to rear back, but with his leg crushed, he could do nothing but whine as agony washed over him and kept him incapacitated. The Sith seized the young man’s temporary weakness as an opportunity, placing one large, heavy booted sole over the Jedi’s heaving ribcage. As the assassin applied pressure little by little, Oda gasped - finding himself nearly unable to draw breath and the panic that had been threatening to overtake his senses broke through.

“I don’t - no - I---” he tried to reason and plead, but his executioner-to-be would have none of it.

“Master Yoda would not have taught you this, but I happen to believe in an eye for an eye. And while it would be decent of me to play fair, I have good reason not to. You owe me an arm, but I believe I will take… your life.”

Oda’s eyes widened as he stared right into crimson red lenses of the face plate covering the Sith Lord’s face. It all came rushing back to him. The lectures in the temple halls, the relentless bullying he had spearheaded. He’d just been a kid himself, he hadn’t enjoyed the new kid’s natural talent with the Force. He hadn’t enjoyed the attention the kid had received, he had been driven by a childish jealousy. He had thought the boy had gotten over it, as they grew up.

Yes, Oda might have accidentally broken the kid’s arm in a wrestling match. Yes, he might not have meant it when he’d said sorry and apologized at the time. Yes, they had gone on missions together when they had both been knighted. Yes, they had shared some sort of friendly connection on Ilum. Still, the kid had always been prone to holding grudges til the end.

Heart dropping into the pit of his belly, the Jedi instantly realized the identity of this Sith Lord. He didn’t doubt he would have died even without the personal connection, and it all made sense. Of course it was that kid who had turned on the Jedi council and their teachings. Of course it was that kid who had slaughtered the younglings in cold blood, who had brought about the Empire’s rise to power. Of course it was that kid, whomst master Kenobi would never sell out by name. That kid, who was excused and forgiven again and again.

Of course it was Anakin Skywalker.

[t-lostinworlds]

I’ve Got You, Always (Tom Holland)

A/N: This has been sitting in my draft for a lil bit and I just got around to finish it. Also, this may seem rushed, which it is, kind of, but I hope you guys still like it <3

Pairing: Tom Holland x Actress!Reader

Summary: An interviewer asked you a topic that was off limits which prompted a panic attack and Tom decides to step in.

Warnings: slight angst, mentions of past trauma, panic attack, and angry tom but with fluff in the end.

Word Count: 2.4k+

Masterlist in Bio

-:-:-:-:-

You were sat inside a room across an empty chair with the microphone all hooked up. A movie poster showing only your face — looking all horrified and troubled — was right behind you as the official one stood on the opposite side, right beside where the interviewer would be seated.

Two cameras stood on its rightful places for two continuous shots, accompanied by big blaring lights that illuminated the whole room. There were a maximum of six people occupying the space to make sure everything was working just fine and that the interviews go as smoothly as they could.

It's the last press for the day and you were more than relieved.

Not necessarily dreadful — you love your job — but it is draining doing junket, especially when you've been doing it for hours on end. Redundant questions are inescapable and they usually turn boring after countless times of repeating, but you answer them as thoughtful as you can anyway, being that you're the most proud of this movie.

You're always thankful for the interviewers who spice things up a little, make it more interesting than the whole simple question, simple answer routine. Even more so if they get to ask a genuinely good question that would pick your brain to tell more about the movie.

However, you didn't expect the last interview to be quite different from the others, but not in a way that you'd like it to be.

"Hi I'm Jim, nice to meet you." A guy, looking like he's on his late-20s, offered you a hand, which you shook politely with a smile. "Y/N, nice to meet you too."

And just as Jim prepped himself for the interview the door opens, your head turning instinctively to see Tom making his way inside with Harry right on his tail.

Catching your eyes, Tom flashed you a slightly tired yet relieved smile; relieved to finally get to see your beautiful face after such a long day. You were just the same as you felt yourself relax with a sigh, your heart melting as Tom gave you a cute wave, blowing you a sweet kiss before he found a place to sit just beside your agent.

Comic-con was just across the hotel that you're doing junket at, Tom spending all day there to promote his own movie as well. You were lucky enough that your schedule and location managed to tie in together, hence why he's here at the moment. Maybe his day ended earlier than expected and you were glad, excited to spend time with him after you're finished.

"Right, we ready?" The voice made you tear your eyes away from your boyfriend and back to the person in front of you, just in time to see him putting the familiar piece of paper down, one that's been passed on from interviewer to interviewer.

"Ready." You answered with a nod, throwing an upturned thumb for good measure.

"Recording."

"I'm Jim for HBC and today we are joined by the star of the upcoming movie The Cry, Y/N L/N, how are you?" Jim started before turning to face you with a smile. You nodded with a grin in return. "I'm good thank you."

"Now, the last few films you've done were romantic comedies or light-hearted films in general, how did it feel to do a complete 180 and star in a much different film this time around?" Jim asked.

You crossed your legs with a hum. "It felt interesting and quite challenging for sure but I'm glad to have taken up this opportunity because now I get to push myself to see how far I can go, and how much I can do be able to broaden my range as an actor."

"What's the difficult part about filming the movie?"

"I think for me, filming wasn't as difficult as the after? I was never good with horror movies when I was a child, I get so scared so easily so coming home after shooting was tough. During filming was fine because there are a lot of people and distractions and you know it's not real but after filming, when you get home and then you start thinking about what the whole scene actually was? It gets scary. I keep looking behind my back all the time and I definitely slept with the lights on." You giggled with a shake of your head, keeping the tone of the interview as casual and calm, that, until Jim got to his next question.

He sat straighter, eyes narrowing slightly as he turned the piece of paper in his hand. "Speaking of childhood, with what I've researched, I've noticed how you don't speak much about your family, why is that?"

You blinked in shock, totally caught off guard as you tried to wrap your head around his question. "I'm sorry?"

He did read the paper that was given to him right?

"Your family, how do they feel seeing you in this massive but jarring movie? What do they think of it? Or do they not know that you've got a movie coming out?" Jim was trying to act nonchalant about it, but it was clear as day what he was trying to do, trying to pry out what would make people talk and click on his interview: some drama.

"I—uhm, I'm not comfortable with that topic. I can't answer it, I'm sorry." You tried to laugh it off, but the sound only came out forced, fingers picking at the material of your jeans as the atmosphere in the room was quick switch, turning unpleasant, awkward.

Jim didn't seem to notice this though, or he did and he just simply didn't care as he kept at it with the topic. "Why not? This movie, after all, is a family movie."

It wasn't.

It's a horror movie. There's a family in it sure, but his question still doesn't correlate with the plot of the movie at all.

You cleared your throat as you shifted in your seat, eyes darting around, glancing at Tom for only a split second, the lad just noticing your agitated state being that he was slightly distracted, talking with Harry about something.

"Can we move on, please?" Your voice was soft, controlled even, but your palms were turning clammy by the second, counting inside your head as you tried your best to keep your breathing even.

Jim only hummed at that, head tilted to the side as he asked, without precaution whatsoever. "Why? Did something traumatic happen?"

That's when you felt your throat tightly close up, darkness slowly creeping in your mind, heart hammering, hard against your chest at the memory, tears prickling in your eyes as you gasp for air.

"I—I'm s-sorry, I can't—" You looked around the room for help and your gaze immediately landed on Tom who was already sitting on the edge of his seat. His eyes were coated with utter worry when it locked with yours, and he didn't waste any time as he made his way towards you hurriedly once he took in the look of pure dread and panic on your face.

"Take the mic off her." Tom spoke through gritted teeth as he helped you stand up, voice deep in anger, the sound man quickly fumbling with the wires to help get the mic off of you.

Tom held your face with both hands, your trembling fingers wrapping around his wrist for support once he did so. He felt his heart break when he saw your eyes shut tight, tears already streaming down your cheeks as your tried to catch your breath. And to see you in utter distraught because of some douche who wants a clickable headline? It made his blood fucking boil.

"Harry—" Tom didn't need to finish his sentence as his brother got the drift real quick, Harry throwing a protective arm over your shaking form as he guided you out of the room.

"No. You, sit back down. I'd like to have a word with you." Tom growled, glare dead set on Jim once he saw him slowly get out of his seat.

Tom's jaw was clenched as he took your place and sat on the chair right across Jim, arms crossed over his chest with a look of pure disdain on his features. "Right, I believe you were given a piece of paper."

"I—uh, this one?" Jim fumbled, handing Tom a piece of paper to which the lad snatched, gave it a quick read before handing it back to him.

"Yes, that's the one. Now tell me, what does it say? Can you read that out for me?" Tom said coolly, but his eyes were shooting daggers at the man in front of him, leg bouncing to try and rid just a little bit of anger off his body.

Jim cleared his throat and did as told. "It says uh, 'Kindly refrain from asking questions about her family. Thank you.'"

Tom nodded with a scoff. "Glad to know you can read mate."

With a deep, sharp intake of breath, Tom leaned forward, jaw tight as he pressed his palms together. "You think it's okay to press that question on her when she clearly was uncomfortable? Do you think she has that piece of paper handed over to each interviewer just for fucking fun Jim?"

If looks could kill, Jim would've been on the floor seconds ago, and clearly he felt that as he started to cower under Tom's gaze. "I'm sorry, I just asked questions."

"Well clearly you asked the wrong ones. She kindly requested you to move on, she told you she wasn't comfortable with the topic and what exactly did you do? You asked her about it some more! She's here to talk about the movie and promote the movie, not her life." Tom seethed, face red from rage with his nostrils flaring to match. He wanted to be civil about it, to be calm and collected but it just angered him so much knowing the pain that you were reminded of because of how stupid and disrespectful a person can be.

"Y/N is such a sweetheart, such a kind soul and I'm not going to sit here and let you take advantage of that for fucking views or clicks or whatever the fuck you were trying to gain from this. Even the fact that you're trying to gain something from someone's trauma, you should be ashamed of yourself."

Tom was aware that maybe the camera was still rolling, and that this could go out to the internet and make him look like an asshole but he could careless, he wasn't in the wrong. He was so fed up with these so called journalists who only care about clickbaity headlines and drama filled stories for good profit more than delivering the actual truth of the story. If they cross a line, then they need to be put back in place, especially when it's affecting someone who he cares so much about.

Before Tom could add another word Harry butted in. "Tom—"

"I'm not yet done here Harry." The older brother grumbled, eyes still glued on Jim who was looking everywhere but at him.

"She needs you."

That was all it took for Tom to calm back down, shooting Harry a nod and standing up from his place. But before leaving, he gave Jim one last pointed look.

"We do these interviews to talk about our craft, not our personal life. People's private lives are none of your business. It's not yours to meddle with, not yours to gain profit from. If you can't seem to understand that simple logic then you're just a dumb dickhead."

With that, Tom followed Harry outside the room, his heart shattering once he saw you sat on a chair, head hanging low as your body still raked with sobs, slight guilt consuming him for not being with you sooner.

Tom rushed in front of you, crouching down as he tried to search for your eyes.

"Darling, hey, it's me, look at me." He coed, hands gently cupping your face to make you look up, his worry ever growing to see your eyes still screwed shut, tears endlessly flowing down your cheeks, chest heaving fast as you try to take a hold of your breath.

"Open those beautiful eyes for me baby, look at me." Slowly, you willed yourself to open your eyes, meeting brown orbs filled with nothing but concern, though the familiar gaze made you felt calmer, safer.

Gently, Tom took both your hands and pressed it, palms flat on his chest, a reassuring smile on his lips as he whispered. "Breathe with me angel. In and out, breathe in through the nose, and out of the mouth. That's it darling." He repeated over and over, his tone kind, patient.

You followed Tom's soft voice, never breaking his gaze that was grounding you back to earth, the feeling of the steady beat of his heart against your palm, slowing down the fast pace of your own heart.

Once you felt calmer, a little more collected, You leaned forward as you wrapped your arms around him, face buried on the crook of his neck with small sobs.

"I'm right here. You're safe." Tom muttered against your hair, hand rubbing up and down your back comfortingly, his embrace warm and secure, his arms your safe place, he was your safe place.

"Thank you." You whispered against his skin with a sniffle, Tom giving you a gentle squeeze in response.

"I've got you, always."

Hearing those words filled you up with warmth, filling you up with reassurance knowing that you could always count on him, that you'll always have him, no matter what, and you'll forever be grateful for that.

Pulling away slightly, Tom flashed you a sweet, reassuring smile, placing a soft peck on your lips before speaking. "Let's go back to our room yeah? I'll run you a warm bath, we'll watch any movie you want, then pizza and ice cream for dinner. Sounds good?"

You nodded with a small smile of your own, Tom standing up fully and offering you both his hands to hold, which you took gladly as he helped you back up your feet, keeping you close by his side as you walked back to your room.

With his arm over your shoulder you leaned your weight on him. Not afraid to lean all your trust on him, all your love because you know, with every fibre of your being, in the deepest depths of your heart and soul:

He's got you, always.

-:-:-:-:-

Like, Reblog & Leave a Comment if you enjoyed! Tell me your thoughts! <3

Tom H. Taglist: @spacebitch2​ @hollanddolanfangirl @keepingupwiththehollands @hollandstea

[secondhand-trash]

Party Night Fever

commissioned by @lyndoll​

A/N: I haven’t written anything for Mirio in god knows how long so I was a bit anxious about how this would turn out ahaha thank you lyn for commissioning me!^^

Pairing: frat boy!Togata Mirio x reader

Description: You got more out of a party you dreaded than you thought you would.

Warning: drunk creep side character, first time!reader, oral (receiving), fingering, protected sex, vaginal penetration

Word count: 4209

-

Flashing lights beamed through the large house and the heavy base of the blazing speakers pounded on your eardrum. Hollers of people could be heard every once in a while and the lingering smell of smoke made you scrounge your face up into a scowl at the pungent smell.

You had come at the insisting of your friends that your college experience would not be complete without partying till daybreak in a frat house at least once. You tried to argue that there was something missing in that logic but lost your footing at their promise that if you went this time and didn’t like it, they would never bring it up again. 

You stuck to the side of your more outgoing friends with all your might at first but as the night progresses, you decided that finding a quiet corner to stay in was much nicer than trying to act like you were enjoying yourself when your friends greeted each person you had no idea how they knew with a squeal and lingering hug that eventually evolved into them sliding into the crowd of people that were dancing to whatever music it was playing far too loudly for your liking.

You took in a deep breath, trying to calm down the discomfort in your stomach. The red plastic cup was nearly cramped up within your tight grip, and you lifted it to your lips before pouring all of the remaining liquid down your throat. It was water, instead of vodka like most people would have expected when they saw clear liquid pooling at the bottom of a red cup, and you knew you probably wouldn’t blend it all that well when you saw the face the self-assigned bartender made when you timidly asked for water in the pantry.

It did not take an observant person to know that you were not having the time of your life as you tried your best to hide in the corner of the living room amidst the wild party that was going on.

You felt smaller and smaller as each minute passed, the anxiety of being the odd one out as people passed by you with a glance built up in your chest and suffocating you. You searched for your friends to see if they were anywhere near to no avail and as the music faded out, you quickly made a move to creep out of the house to get some much needed space.

You let out your first sigh of relief of the day when you exited to the lawn outside the large house. The music and lights were shut within, and you finally felt at peace with yourself even though you knew this was just a temporary escape. You could not just leave your friends there, you wouldn’t feel at ease not knowing if they made it back to their dorms safely by the end of the night either.

You shivered a little under the late night breeze, hugging yourself a little as you breathed in the chilly air.

You felt a whole other type of shivers running down your spine when you heard a sickeningly sweet voice, the kind that made your throat ache and your heart weighted down just from hearing it, rang from behind of you.

“What are you doing here all alone, baby girl?”

A pulsing shock sparked through your head down to your system. Your hands felt clammy as you froze there, not able to make the reaction that you had wished you could make.

“Come on? Why the silent treatment?"

An icky feeling rose in your stomach when a lanky arm swung itself over your shoulders. You tried to pull yourself away but it was to no avail. You shifted uncomfortably at how close the strange man was pressing up against you but he seemed to see it as simply you being shy. 

“We could go somewhere private if you don’t like crowds…” You could smell the alcohol lingering in his breath as he slurred, his body slumping against yours but his grip firm on your arm.

Your own limbs felt slack on your sides even though your mind was screaming for you to do something. Scream, push him away, just do something, anything. But your body was not yours as it fell under the panic of this random drunk getting near you and the connotation of what he wanted to do.

"Leave me alone,” your voice came out much weaker than you had hoped it would, and your protest did nothing to shove the creep away.

“Aww…” he only seemed to be entertained by your struggle, his eyes curling into two thin strands as he looked you up and down, “playing hard to get, huh…?”

Your eyes skittered around you as you held your hands in front of your body in defence, hoping and praying that someone would get out and see that you were trying your hardest to squirm away. Your eyes were seeing white as the man showed no intention of backing off, the weight at the back of your throat so heavy that it hurt.

“What do you think you are doing here?”

You sucked in a deep breath when the person suddenly let go of you, trying to steady your breaths that you had been holding in. You pressed your palm to your chest, feeling how rapid the beating underneath was.

Your saviour came in the form of a tall blonde with slicked back hair, his varsity jacket tied up around his waist and hanging low on his jeans. He eyed the man who had been bothering you just seconds earlier, his hands crossing in front of his chest as he glanced at your side.

He furrowed his eyebrows, “Who let you in here?”

The drunk was physically intimidated by the much bigger man, letting out a forced chuckle as he took a step back. “Mirio-”

“You know the rules here,” Mirio said, his tone making it clear that he was nothing but serious, “we don’t let harassment slide.”

“Bro, it’s not that serious-”

“Leave,” the man’s exaggerated smile froze in place when Mirio gripped onto his arm, “now.”

He was let go with a shove at his shoulder, throwing down a few mumbled cusses before scurrying away with imbalanced steps. Mirio watched as the man left the lawn, making sure that he had left the venue before turning to your shaking form.

“Hey, hey,” his instinct was to hold onto your shaking hands but paused when he saw how scared you were, slowly retracting his hands when he realised that it was best for him to give you some space, “it’s ok now.”

“I’m sorry, I-”

“Sh…” he bent down, staring up into your eyes, “don’t apologise. You did nothing wrong.”

He gulped, thinking of what could he possibly say to calm you down.

“What should I call you?” he asked, trying to get the small talk going.

“(y/n) is fine,” you muttered, your voice getting just a little louder under his gentle gaze.

“(y/n),” your own name sounded reassuring coming out of his mouth and he looked down as if that was an important piece of information he needed to process through, “are you here with anyone? Do you want me to get them?”

“No,” you blurted out, “no, it’s alright. I just want to wait for them in somewhere quiet, if that’s alright…”

He stood back up, flashing you a soft smile and you couldn’t help but return the favour. “Of course, follow me.”

You felt your headache returning the moment he pushed the door to the large house open, the music pulsing just as loudly in your ears as before. You felt self-conscious as you walked back in, hoping that no one would notice the clear distress in your eyes or how you try to hold yourself together. Mirio walked in front of you, his arm holding out to make sure the crowd would not bump into you. His eyes glanced back to make sure you were not falling behind. No one seemed to notice you with Mirio’s frame shielding you behind him. 

“Careful,” he said as you reached the staircase that was much dimmer than where the party was going on. You quickly got up the steps, lowering your footsteps as you held tight onto the carved rail.

The corridor was long and narrow and he stopped at the very end of it. He flicked the lights open with a click before moving aside. “You can stay here as long as you want,” he said, gesturing to the room, “I’ll be outside the door if you need me.”

The door closed behind you with a click, and you slide down to the floor with a heavy sigh. You held your head in your heads, shutting your eyes as you tried to calm down the burning wires that made your head spin. You pressed your back against the wooden door, gulping down the bitterness pooling up inside your mouth as you took in your surroundings. 

It was what you would expect from a college frat boy. His bed was undone, the blanket half fell to the floor. There were movie posters stuck on the walls and jerseys hung up on the closet door. You smiled when you saw a yellow bear plushie on the wall shelf above the desk at the corner, the first genuine feeling of glee you experienced for the day.

“Winnie the pooh, huh?” you said, more to yourself than to him. Much to your surprise, a sheepish laugh passed through the door to your ears.

“I’ve had it since I was a kid and I just can’t leave it at home when I left for college,” he said, his voice muffled by the thick door, “I told people that my parents put it in my luggage when I wasn’t paying attention but that’s a lie, I take him here so I have something to hold onto when I feel homesick.”

“Aw,” you grinned at the image of this tall boy who could easily scare people away just by standing there holding onto his teddy bear. He was quite like one himself in a sense, with his bright eyes and warm smile.

“Don’t tell people about it though.”

You laughed, “Your secret is safe with me.”

The room fell into silence again, and you bite your lips as you pondered if you could trust your instincts. 

“Do you want to come in?” you stood up, your hand hovering above the doorknob.

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything-”

“It’s alright,” he snapped back at the sound of the door opening, blue eyes widening just a little as he turned around to see you standing there with a smile, “I can trust someone who finds comfort in pooh bear.”

Mirio scratched the back of his neck in embarrassment, walking past you into his room mouthing a soft thank you. He went directly to pick up the blanket on the floor and pacing around checking if there was any mess he needed to clean up. “Sorry for the mess,” he said, pausing when he got to the corner of his room.

He turned around with the biggest smile on his face, hold a rectangular box in his hand. You gasped in disbelief when you saw what he was holding.

“I can understand bringing a plushie,” you said as you got closer to take a better look, “but what would have made you bring Disney DVDs with you?”

“Got a whole box of these at a garage sell for nearly no price at all,” he held his hand up to show you the titles he had in hand, “in my defence, it’s a much better investment than Disney+.”

You snorted, feeling a ping of nostalgia in your chest. “Do you have a player?”

He quirked his eyebrows up, “Are you saying you would be my disney binge partner?”

You chuckled, “Only if you let me pick what we watch first.”

He beamed and you sat down by the foot of his mattress. The mattress sunk down next to you as he sat down, his eyes glimmering like a child as the title card played. He maintained somewhat of a distance from you at first, but you found yourself gravitating towards him more and more as the movie played. How could you not when this tall boy of muscles and limbs hummed and swayed to every song? Eventually, your shoulders were rubbing against each other’s when the training montage played and your head was leaning onto his arm by middle of the movie. You pretended that you weren’t all too endeared when he held his breath in as Mulan was along with the antagonist, or that you were staring at his little smile instead of the tv screen when she made the big reveal that she was a woman like he hadn’t seen this movie an uncountable number of times before.

Should gut feelings be trusted? Because you almost felt safe when he casually draped his arms around you, pulling you close as the end credits rolled. You looked up at him, watching as he let out a satisfied sigh. His biceps flexed against your shoulder as he leaned back, making your face heat up a little.

“I can never get tired of Mulan,” he turned to look at you but paused when he realised how close you two had gotten. You were practically on his lap with your face nuzzled against his neck. He could feel you pressing against his side, the softness made his mind go to all the wrong directions. He gulped, staring into your eyes as he glanced down. Every hair at the back of your neck stood up as you felt the tension lingering in the air, both of you afraid of moving in fear of breaking whatever you had going on.

“Um,” his eyes shifted around, trying hard to look at anything but your lips that was right in front of him, “do you want to watch something else or…”

His face was dangerously closed to yours and you could feel the soft puffs of hot breath fanning against your face as he whispered. In a sudden surge of courage, you did the unthinkable and leaned up to close the gap between the two of you. You backed away immediately, leaving Mirio dumbfounded at the slightest of contact he felt on his lips. He dipped his head down, giving you a much firmer kiss on the lips as he held you close, his other hand resting on the side of your waist. 

You felt clumsy as you tasted the lingering scent of beer on his lips, your mind going hazy at the how soft he was with you. His hand trailed down from your waist to your thigh, pulling you so that you were straddling him for real. He let out a soft whimper at the feeling of your soft legs on his lap, his hand holding you by the small of your back as he never once stopped kissing you. 

He took the gentle tilt of your head as a sign that he was doing the right thing, his plush lips trailing down to your neck. Your heart stammered in your chest as he inched lowered, his thumb hooked under the collar of your shirt and leaving kitten licks on the exposed skin. He paused when his finger brushed past the hem of your shirt, looking up at you like he was waiting for permission. 

You gulped, feeling your stomach twisting into knots from your nerves to anticipation to arousal. You gave him a gentle push on the chest, pulling your shirt over your head as his burning stare grilled onto your skin. Your arms linger in front of your chest, feeling vulnerable now that you were half bare in front of someone as attractive as Mirio was. He sat up, giving you a soft peck before gently holding onto your hand. Goosebumps rose on your skin when he flipped you around so that you had your back on the mattress with him perching on top of you, his lips gracing past your exposed skin as he trailed down the valley of your breasts, pecking every inch of skin he could reach before stopping at your stomach which he nuzzled against.

“Mirio?” you squeaked.

“What is it, sunshine?” 

“I’ve never,” you gulped, feeling the weight in your chest settling in as you contemplated if you should let him know, “done anything like this. Well, not with another person…”

“Oh,” he looked down, his finger tapping a soothing rhythm against your thigh before looking back up, “but do you want to?”

You paused, your mouth feeling a bit dry as you darted your tongue out to wet your bottom lip, “Yes.”

He smiled, placing a soft kiss right above the button of your shorts, “Promise you’ll tell me if you want to stop?”

You chuckled, “Ok.”

His hands were gentle as he pushed down your shorts, guiding you to lift yourself off the mattress for utility. Your breath hitched when he parted your legs, feeling like you wanted to crawl away when he was staring right at your clothed pussy. His touch tickled your skin as he peppered feather light kisses on your inner thigh, his head kneading the doughy flesh encouragingly while inching closer and closer to where you wanted him the most. You let out a soft whine the pad of his finger brushed against the wet spot on your panties before hooking it under his knuckles and pealing it off. He licked his lips when he saw the clear essence that was starting to gather.

Shivers shot down your spine at the first experimental swipe of his tongue against your folds. The feeling was unlike anything you had felt when you were touching yourself, the thought of someone else taking control over your body had your eyes closing in anticipation. He drank in your reaction, getting a little bolder and bolder the more you seemed to enjoy it. His thumb pulled back the hood of your clit, the tip of his tongue tracing the sensitive bud before latching onto it in gentle sucks. Your skin was set ablaze by his miniatures, tickling your senses when he released it with a lewd pop before darting his tongue out to flick against your clit. You moaned under the sudden jolt of pleasure, and you could feel him grinning like he just hit jackpot. He repeated the action again and again, until he trailed his tongue down to part your soppy folds. 

Your mind melted at his kitten licks and your knees went weak when you felt the warm muscle slowly pushing into your cunt. Your hands fisted the sheets underneath you as he slowly pumped his tongue in and out of your tight walls, stretching you out as his thumb rubbed against your engorged clit. His tongue pushed past your insides, reaching as far as he could get before pulling back and repeat. You threw your head back at the new found pleasure, unable to focus on anything but the loud slurping that filled your ears. 

You slammed your head back when he pulled away, replacing it with his ring finger as his lips latched onto your clit again. You felt your muscles spasming as it accommodated the new object, more of your juices gushing out on top of the lubrication from him going down on your earlier making it less difficult for him to push in. He started slow, his eyes never once peeling away from you as he experimented with the pace to see what you like before slowly adding another one of his digits, pausing whenever he saw even a hint of discomfort in your eyes. Your toes curled and uncurled as he slowly scissored his fingers inside of you, prepping you so that you would be ready for what’s to come.

“Mirio,” you panted, “I want you…”

He groaned at your soft pleas, feeling his patience reaching his limits as the dullness in his pants got worse. His fingers were still inside of you as he leaned up and you could taste yourself on his lips. You whined at the emptiness when he pulled out, reaching to the side to fumble through his drawer before pulling out a silver packet. Your hands felt like they weren’t yours when he gently guided them to his belt buckle, your fingers all tangled together as you undid his belt. He pulled his shirt over his head, his toned stomach flexing as be breathed. 

You gulped when he pulled down his pants to free his half hard cock from its restraints. It wasn’t… exactly something you would describe as a work of art but you still felt the slightest bit intimidated by his size. He brought your hand up to his abdomen, giving you an encouraging nod as your hand wandered down. His length was hot when you wrapped your hand around its crown, and you could hear the pounding in your chest as it filled. 

“Just relax,” he whispered as he slowly laid you back down, ripping the aluminium before rolling the rubber onto his length, “I’ll take care of you.”

You held onto his shoulders as he rubbed his tip against your folds, gathering the wetness on his length. A pang of discomfort pulsed through your spine when he started to push in and you feel the stretch tearing into you from his thickness. You held him there when panic shot through his eyes and he was about to pull out, looking at him through glassy eyes as you slowly get used to the girth. His chest rose and fall steadily as he watched you with intent, letting out a relieved sigh when your arms relaxed around him. He took his time, pushing in little by little until he finally hilted inside of you, your lips parting with nothing but soft pants coming out as your walls stretched around him.

You let out a soft laugh, feeling the discomfort slowly going away as the knot at the pitch of your stomach filled in. “You can move, Mirio.”

A mewl was ripped from your throat as his tip dragged along your insides and he moaned at the feeling of you sucking him in. You were so warm and all wrapped up around him and he had to pull himself back from completely wrecking you with all the might he could muster.

“Fuck- baby you’re so tight,” he gritted, holding your leg so that you could wrap them loosely around his waist, “is this good? Tell me if it feels good?”

You could do nothing but nod from the overwhelming sensation of being filled up and his chuckles hit you in full force as each thrust brought his chest against yours. 

“That’s good, that’s-” he hissed when you clamped down on him, his pace slowly picking up as your body relaxed, “good…”

Each surge of his pelvis had his hips smacking against your thighs and the sound of skin slapping filled the room. You weakly threw your arms around his neck, pulling him close to latch your lips on him sloppily. You could barely keep your eyes open, moaning into his mouth as you felt the heat spreading all over your body. You saw white at the corner of your eys as the first wave of orgasmic bliss washed over you, his name rolling off your tongue like a mantra as you held onto him.

“You’re so pretty when you cum on my cock,” he whimpered, his eyes rolling back as your cunt fluttered around him.

He pushed your legs back and the new angle had tears forming in your eyes as he fucked you deep in your sensitive state. His hand dug into the side of your hips, his thrusts getting sloppier and sloppier. 

He throbbed inside of you as he threw his head back, his lips trembling with his brows locked together as you felt the warmth of his release inside of you. He dredged his cock inside of you, weakly riding out his high before pulling out and collapsing next to you. His chest was still heaving when he turned to you, pulling you close to him as he let out a breathy chuckle.

“I’ll clean you up later…” he was panting through his words and you laid your head on his side with a small grin, “but right now let’s just- let’s just stay like this…”

His pants were all you could hear until he collected his breath. Your skin felt sticky but your head was too filled with endorphins for you to care about it at all.

“You know,” he said, his palm rubbing against your back, “we should really go out sometime. I know that we messed up the order of things already but-”

“I don’t know,” you mused, “watching disney movies on dvd together sounds like a valid first step to me.”

He laughed, and pulled you close to plant a kiss on your forehead.

“We still have a lot more to binge through so you better be ready.”

[bts-hyperfixation]

Hot for teacher

Professor Kim may be the hottest man to walk the planet. It was such a shame he was a pretentious asshole with the ego to match. From the moment you first walked into his philosophy lecture you knew it was not going to be a fun semester. His eyes raked across you and he smirked, from then on you became his punching bag every time no one was willing to answer his questions. He would pretend to look for someone else to call on, but he would always come back to you, seemingly taking pleasure in the way you squirmed unable to recall which philosophers he had been talking about.

After a particularly gruelling lecture, your friends decided you needed a night out. They had enough of seeing you come home and flop down onto your bed before reading every philosophy book on the reading list just to avoid the humiliation of your teachers questions again. It took some convincing on your end but eventually you find yourself in a revealing outfit, into an uber.

The destination was a bar popular with locals downtown, the uni students often avoided it because it was out of the way of the main clubs, making it perfect for your plan of quietly studying your e-books while your friends got too drunk to notice you breaking their rules. You ordered a cocktail to nurse as the girls you were with pounded a few shots before moving into a booth hidden in the corner. You didn’t see the professor enter the bar, but he saw you. Eyes once again dragging down your form, enjoying the new skin on offer while also cursing his old roommate’s choice of watering hole. He tries to concentrate on the conversation he is having with Jimin, but when your friends leave you alone in the booth his attention is drawn back to you. He watches as a couple of frat boy types seize the opportunity to descend on your now vulnerable position.

The boys squeeze into the booth, backing you into the corner. You can smell the beer on their breath as they get uncomfortably close to you. The one sat next to you puts a hand on your thigh. You wince as he pinches the exposed skin.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing alone in a bar this far away from campus.” He flashes what you’re sure he thinks is a charming smile and leans impossibly closer to you. You dig your nails into his hand in an attempt to make him remove it, but he just grasps tighter.

“I’m not alone, my friends are over there” your voice is weaker than you would have liked and when you glance at your friends you notice they are a little too inebriated to help you right now. The boys smirk when they see that help isn’t coming for you. Panic rises in your throat as the hand on your thigh creeps further up, pushing your dress with it.

“Excuse me gentleman, if you don’t mind, the lady will be coming with me now.” You stare up at Taehyung, trying to process where he had come from, surprised you hadn’t seen him before now. He looks intimidating even outside of the lecture hall. The frat boys falter for a second before scoffing and brushing off the interruption. Taehyung does not take well to being ignored, reaching for a beer bottle nearby and smashing it against the table. “I said she is coming with me.”

The men glance at the sharp glass in your professor’s hand and then at each other before removing themselves from the benches, evidently deciding you weren’t worth the stitches. The relief floods your system as Taehyung lowers his self-made weapon.

“Are you okay?” he questions, holding his hand out to assist you out of the booth. You take it and slide out from behind the table. Your eyes don’t leave his as you straighten your dress out.

“Why are you helping me?” you’d meant for the question to stay in your mind, but it slipped out anyway.

“I couldn’t just leave you there, what kind of man would I be if I’d let them carry on.” You shake your head a little to dispel thoughts of a potential ulterior motive and whisper your thanks. “Can I take you home miss Y/L/N.” you nod and allow him to slip an arm around your shoulder, feeling protected in his embrace. He drops you at your apartment and the incident never comes up again. In class it’s like he doesn’t know you exist for a few days before he returns to making you wriggle with difficult question. He seems to take a sick pleasure in watching you. Finally, having had enough you decide to confront him after class.

“Do you have a problem with me sir?” just the two of you remain in the classroom when you corner him.

“I don’t know what you’re referring to miss Y/L/N.”

“Y/N call me Y/N, and I think you do know. You always pick on me, you see to enjoy making me feel uncomfortable.” He takes a step towards you and you tumble back, suddenly very aware of the intimidating aura that surrounds him. You long to cower away and leave but you feel hypnotized.

“Y/N” your name sounds amazing coming from his lips. He takes a few more steps forward and you find the back of your legs pressed against his desk. His arms fall either side of you, palms resting on the desk. “Whatever problem you’ve decided I’ve got with you is purely in your head, our relationship is strictly… professional.” His gaze falls to your cleavage on the last word and you swallow thickly, suddenly very warm. “Will there be anything else?” he releases you and returns to packing his things away. Your brain was left cloudy as you stammer out a negative and flea the room, trying to straighten out what had just happened in your head. All you knew was your panties were inexplicably soaked.

A friend’s birthday brings you to yet another bar. This one much closer to campus and filled with people you knew. Still, you are uneasy after the last encounter, eyes dating around the room to ensure your safety. Not allowing anyone to back you into a corner. Every little movement puts you a little more on edge. You wait until the birthday girl is sufficiently drunk and announce your exit. To your dismay no taxis are available for the next half an hour. You consider walking for a moment, but the thought fills you with dread. Seen as all your friends are in various states of inebriation you find yourself only left with one option. You grab your phone and send out a silent prayer that he is still awake and doesn’t mind.

“Professor? Can you come get me?

It doesn’t take long for Taehyung to reach the bar, but when he pulls up, he finds another student flirting with you. In all fairness this one is being far more respectful, but it still makes his blood boil. The man trails a hand down your shoulder, and you do your best to turn him down politely. He climbs from his car and makes his way to you.

“Y/N are you ready to leave?” you are shocked to find him there with you so soon but nod anyway. The other student backs away immediately, Taehyung’s glare enough to scare anyone off as he leads you to his car. You clamber into the passenger seat and wait for him to drive you home. It’s a quiet ride, until you notice him miss the exit for the student dorms, instead heading for the teacher’s quarters.

“Sir? Where are we going?” you pulse races when you see the way he is looking at you.

“Clearly you can’t be trusted to keep yourself safe, so I thought I’d take you back to my apartment for the night, is that okay?” You nod your consent, and his free hand moves to play with the hair at the nape of your neck. You lean into the touch as he pulls softly. He soon pulls into the driveway of a small apartment complex used by newer teachers. He turns off the engine. Releasing your hair, he opens his door before coming around to help you from the car. He leads you through the front door, checking the coast is clear of other professors. He swiftly unlocks the door to his own apartment and ushers you in. you barely get a chance to look around the room before his hands are on you. He feels every curve of your body, lingering at your hips. After what seems like and age, his lips find their way to yours.

It’s the most passionate kiss you’ve ever experienced. Your head empties completely, consumed with only the need to get impossibly closer to him. You find yourself moaning loudly against his lips. He pulls away from you, holding your shoulders so you can’t follow him.

“Shh baby, you have to be quiet or we will get in trouble.” He presses his lips to your forehead. “You don’t want that do you.” You shake your head in response. “That’s my good girl.” You keen at the praise, desperate for him to call you that again. He kisses you again this time lifting you. You instinctively wrap your legs around his waist, and he carries you over to a large desk to the side of his room. He places you atop the cold wood. You shiver at the change in temperature, leaning further into Taehyung for warmth. He slots in between your legs, allowing you the extra contact. His fingers trail up your thighs and settle against your damp panties.

“So wet already… is it all for me baby? Or did that college boy do it for you? Did you get turned on by his shameless flirting while you were waiting for me?” his tone is teasing but it makes you whimper, worried he was displeased with you.

“Only you Taehyung, all for you” your voice is whiny as you grind into his hand, desperate for some friction.

“Sir… you will call me Sir.” He removes the pressure from your core and undoes his belt.

“Yes sir.” Your eyes are glued to his waist, mouth dry as he pulls the leather away from his pants. The movement is agonisingly slow.

“Good girl.” He purrs watching as you bask in the praise. “whose good girl?”

“Yours sir, always yours” he pulls your face up to meet his, kissing you as a reward for your good behaviour. You savour his sweet taste. He grips your hair and drags you backwards.

“On your knees.” You slide from the desk with no hesitation and open your mouth expectantly. He chuckles at your eager response. Petting your messy hair before unsheathing himself. Your mouth water instantly, a comfortable width and above average length. He is staring down at you, holding himself ready for you. Nothing in your life could have prepared you for how turned on this man would make you. You lurch forward, licking precoma from the tip of his throbbing cock. He tsks at you.

“So impatient Y/N, good girls should wait for their reward.”You sit back on your heels and wait for him to tell you it's okay sad that you've disappointed him. He strokes your hair again head nods letting you know it's okay to begin. Eagerly you wrap your lips around the head letting your hands cover the base where your throat won't reach. You run your tongue along a vein on the underside of his shaft. He quivers at the sensation hands burying deep within your hair.

You smile to yourself knowingly, loving that you were able to cause him pleasure. It's not long before his grasp is forcing you to take him deeper gag as he pushes you past your limits deeper and deeper onto his cock you struggled to breathe through your nose. He feels your throat constrict in protest but doesn't release you.

“Just a little longer” you feel him tense on your tongue trying to hold back his orgasm and you suck harder. Before you can make him cum, he removes himself from your mouth and you mourn the loss. You take the time to catch your breath as he helps you stand pressing his lips back on yours roughly. This time he lifts you and carries you into his bedroom throwing you onto the bed joining you quickly. He straddles you and pulls your dress over your head. He also makes quick work of your underwear, losing them somewhere in the corner of his room as he throws them away. He trails his mouth down your naked form hesitating before diving into your core.

He peppers your thighs with kisses, His warm breath mixing with the cold of your slick making you shiver as he edges closer and closer to where you need him the most. Soon Helix slowly up your slit hovering above your clit before sucking it into his mouth. You arch your back at the contact. His fingers soon join the assault, two slipping within you. As he pumped them finding the rough spot inside you, you feel the high in your stomach building embarrassingly quick. While he works hard to get you off your moans get a little too loud again and he slaps your thigh reminding you to be quiet. You bite down on your hand trying desperately not to scream as he brings you to climax. He continues until you're at the point of overstimulation enjoying the small whimpers that make their way past the barricade of your hand.

Once he decides that you are stimulated enough, he makes his way back up to your face. You grasp on to his shoulders needing the contact of his well chiselled form. Soon you feel him lining himself up with your entrance. You worry that it will hurt from the overstimulation brought on by your previous orgasm, but you can't find that within you to voice your concern only wanting to please him. He slowly pushes into you. You clench around him at the intrusion, feeling overly full. He gives you barely enough time to adjust before starting to thrust, no longer able to hold himself back. You grasp the bed sheets to keep you steady as he sets an unrelenting speed in search of his high. His eyes on yours, boring into you intensely, daring you to see what would happen if you looked away from him or made a sound. Your mesmerized by the concentration on his face, drawn in by everything about him. He cums deep inside of you, burying himself as much as he could until his dick stopped spasming.

“Are you okay, baby?” is the first thing out of his mouth when he comes to. You nod and his mouth twists into a boxy grin. “That’s my good girl.” You cuddle into his side sleepily and try not to focus on what will happen when you next attend one of his lectures.

Masterlist

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[bunny-hoodlum]

Asynchronous With You: Ch 6

ship: naruhina

rating: teen (quite possibly mature or explicit later)

tags: Modern Day AU, Foster Siblings, Family, Angst, Unrequited Love, Poor Communication, Missed Opportunities

summary: An awkward journey full of self-denial and missed moments between two foster siblings. Perhaps their love will find the right timing someday.

"I think everyone should know," she said.

They were walking the usual route to their high school, the train station coming up ahead. Naruto kept a protective though furtive gaze on Hinata as he walked behind her on the steps.

He swore she's never modified her skirt. It would be against the dress code she's forced to protect. So he has no idea why it feels like he's seeing more of her than usual.

"Know what?"

Usually he's already doing this, because he's worried about perverts. Even in grade school, he was worried. If it weren't for their teachers educating them on Stranger Danger, he probably would have had to do it himself.

He had to learn it the hard way before Kurenai-obasan took him in, but so did Neji apparently. That's why he's gotten good at being less obvious with his suspicion, and also why he can better tell apart intent based on their body language.

He used to perceive everything around him to be potentially malicious. He never realized the toll that had been taking on him until Neji taught him how to really see.

He stood close behind her on the platform as they waited.

"That we're fosters."

A burst of wind shot through the platform, ruffling overcoats and business suits and whipping pleated skirts and loose hair in a sudden frenzy.

The PA announced the train's arrival, and it wheezed to a stop soon after.

He observed Hinata as she flattened her skirt down and smoothed her bangs, but none of it registered in his brain.

It was simply auto-pilot for him to follow her onto the train, then using his larger frame to block the other passengers from nearing his little sister.

Right. His foster sister.

In all of their nine years together, they've never told anyone. It wasn't that it seemed weird, it just… never occurred to them?

But now it did seem pretty weird.

"Why, though? In a couple years, it's not going to matter anymore."

She turned her face against her shoulder to look at him, but he didn't know what she was thinking. It was the same schooled features she put on last night when visiting Neji, like there was a one-way mirror and only she could see through him.

Then she looked away.

"You're not going to introduce a girlfriend to Kurenai one of these days?"

"Hmm?" The suggestion bloomed in his mind and quickly withered. The idea wasn't… very appealing. Something about inviting judgment onto his life and stuff. He defends himself in every aspect but at home, and he'd rather keep coasting on the good thing he's got. "Dunno. Hadn't ever thought about it."

He certainly wasn't going to introduce any of the one's he's taken to bed when the apartment was empty. He's rarely done it with the same girl twice, mainly because he can't help but lose interest.

He blames it on sexual incompatibility.

"Well, I know I will."

He misses the melancholy hedging around her words, and latches onto the opportunity for an easy ribbing.

"You're gonna bring a girlfriend over?" he's happy she shoots him a look so that she can see his corny grin, otherwise he worried she might've mistaken him for serious.

He's nonplussed by the severity of her glare, but then she says "Maybe when you're not around," and he no longer knows what to think.

"Wait, what? Hinata?" He's craning left and right in hopes of catching a smirk or a giggle from her, but she's evasive. Has she? "Hinata, are you--?" And since third grade she said? "Also, what's that supposed to mean 'when I'm not around'? Huh? Hey, what's that supposed to mean 'when I'm not around'?? Hinata???"

"We're getting off topic--"

"Bullshit! I have questions!"

She ignored him.

"I vote to tell our friends that we're fosters. And I'd like to have it taken care of during Lunch. What's your vote?"

Is this what she sounds like during her Public Morals Committee meetings? Because it was doing something to him.

Oh, right. She wanted an honest answer.

But… "What do you get out of announcing this? I mean, aside from knowing how to introduce me in the future or whatever. Have you thought this through at all?"

What's the rest of the school going to say?

The guys who share their skin mags with him might get wary and reject him. The girls he's dumped might try to get to him through her. Teachers might give up on disciplining him, essentially offloading their responsibilities onto her as both Public Morals Committee and his sister. And he wasn't having any of that shit again.

All kinds of things could bite them in the ass one way or another.

She hasn't replied to him at all, and he thinks she's upset again, but he has to make his point.

"Hinata, the way things are now isn't broken, so what are you trying to fix?"

"It would help me."

"Huh? How? With what?" He waited, and she was silent. A drop of dread sank in his chest for her. "So something is wrong," He leaned in closer, causing her to shrink. He sighed. "Hinata, for someone who wants the world to know we're fosters, you sure don't seem willing to rely on me like a sibling."

"I don't favor Neji-niisan over you."

"Yeah, well, you don't have to," Tension clutched at their throats. "People always have more history with their blood. I can't really compete, y'know?"

He can't compete at all, actually.

Sometimes he thinks his only true brother is Sasuke, but he still wants to work at this. She just has to let him.

"I'm sorry. I just thought it would be less lonely if we could talk to each other normally again. And we only see each other at school these days, so…"

He envisioned her waving to him in the halls between periods, or her having a reason to cheer him on during a deadlift tournament. It would prevent people from making the wrong idea about them.

Damn, he felt stupid now.

"Fine!" He intoned with mock-annoyance. "If it'll make you happy."

She looked over her shoulder again, and what she found was his warm, supportive smile.

________________________

Hinata gathered her friends, Kiba, Shino, Ino and Sakura.

And he gathered his friends, Sasuke, Shikamaru, and Chouji.

Ino had tsked in distaste when she saw Sasuke, had gone as far as to drag Sakura away so that the others sat in-between them. He caught some sort of nickname from her lips, but wasn't sure what she had really said.

As Naruto stood before them alongside Hinata, his gaze fell on the skinny lad scribbling away at his sketchbook, and immediately his fight instinct was switched on.

"What's your monochromatic ass doing here??! Did anyone invite him?!" He jabbed a finger in Sai's direction.

The monotone, softboy, little creep didn't even look up.

"I'm making a record of these proceedings for posterity," he lifted the sketchpad and flipped it around.

Inkified Naruto was pointing right back at him with an agape snarl. Sai then proceeded to show everyone else individually, and they all cracked up, one by one.

Ino was absolutely dying. Stomach-clutching and tears rolling, the whole nine yards. She snatched the sketchpad from Sai and begged if she could keep it.

"Whaddya want that for??" Naruto interrogated. He was so about to punch Sai and throw his art supplies in the pool. This was Hinata's announcement and the softboy was ruining it.

Ino mockingly tilted the sketchbook side to side. "Something to keep your ego in check, Charato."

Hinata faintly snorted. He wasn't sure until he saw how she had her face turned around and her shoulders were lightly trembling.

He frowned at her, feeling betrayed.

"Ahhhh, alright, enough! Me and Hinata have gathered you all here for a reason! So shut up and listen! Hinata, tell them!"

Hinata jolted out of her humor, her face flushing as though this were the first time she's done public speaking.

"Uh, Uhm… Naruto-kun and I… we're foster siblings. We, uh… we live together," Hinata froze up under their collective stares. With a stiff smile, she half-heartedly sang "Ta-da," and punctuated it with rather embarrassed jazz hands.

"And as our friends, you're the first to know," Naruto added. "Also we don't care if the whole school finds out. So don't worry, we're not sharing this out of confidentiality."

Their collective shock evaporated rather quickly.

Sakura was the first to speak. "Well, that answers a lot of questions. And raises plenty more." She ended it with a growl and a glare. That accusatory look irked him.

"Feel free to ask away! I've got nothin' to hide!"

Sakura flattened the back of her skirt as she rose up like a dignitary representing The House of Hyuuga. And then like a certain video game attorney, she pointed at him.

"I always wondered why you obsessively protected Hinata in the past, but never showed any romantic initiative towards her. Now I have to ask, knowing the sex maniac that you are: Do you ever sneak into her bedroom?"

"No," He answered unconvincingly. He looked at the jury one by one, unsure how much of their scrutiny was sincere or misperceived. Sasuke was leaning forward, arms circling around his knees. He looked a little too interested in the idea of him and Hinata… doing things… "I-I've never done that! I would never do that! Hinata's special to me, okay?! You've got a filthy fuckin' mind, Haruno!"

"Me?! You've tried to sneak into the female locker rooms!" Sakura took off her shoe and slugged it at him. "Multiple times!"

Naruto hunched up and twisted away as the shoe smacked his shoulder and bounced away.

Hinata moved in between him and the one-woman mob. "Okay, this is getting out of hand--"

"I will never fucking do that to Hinata. I was in an orphanage for six years. And they're not all run by saints."

Dammit.

This was way more than he ever wanted to share.

He took a few steps back before turning tail. He jogged downhill as fast as he could.

What was he doing?

Uzumaki Naruto doesn't run away.

But it was either that, or… have them watch him cry.

________________________

AN: So this is missing a scene cuz I cut it. I might not use it anymore, and instead I'll see if the backstory I had expanded upon will be worked in later on in the plot. Because before I started writing this, I had anticipated that things would actually get cuter from here on out. (Also anticipating that I may work in at least one smutty chapter in the future. Yeah, it's totally diverging from this fic's original concept when I posted it for Secret Santa, but that's okay!) And the total Ego Death I unexpectedly wrote just feels kind of Deus Ex Machina in a way to Naruto's vices. I just can't have him maturing right now. That's a plot route I don't have any material for, and I don't quite see it as not defeating the other stuff I had planned to write. (I'm also happy to state that I'm starting to get a better picture of how to condense this content on AO3, because I honestly feel like this could be Ch. 2 now. :B I mean, it's too short on its own if I do, but it kinda has that hook for the rest of the story.)

I hope you enjoyed this update! 😘💕💕💕

[chaseatinydream]

pirate king (77) || atz

You hold your breath unconsciously, gazing deep into the inky depths of the sea as the waves roll beneath your feet. Your mind begins to count each heartbeat, one, two, three, four... and that’s when you see it move again.

Goosebumps creep over your skin, and you’re ready to run when it emerges, rippling against the sea, and that’s when you realise that it looks exactly like you.

A pair of vibrant blue eyes lock onto yours - and you feel its gaze deep within your soul.

You know those eyes.

Your lips part of their own volition. “You’re m-”

“Chin Hae?”

“Captain!” Your words come out more of a startled squeak and instinctively, you whirl around and shove the coat behind your back the fastest you can, schooling your face into the most innocent expression you can muster as your captain approaches you with a mildly exasperated, but amused smile from his cabin. “You scared me!”

“Only those with something to hide would wear such a guilty look on their face.” Hongjoong raises a meaningful eyebrow at you, settling in front of you on the bulwarks, one knee drawn up to his chest and completely at ease on his perch. There’s a twinkle in his eye as he regards you, and you laugh, a little embarrassed yet set at ease.

“Well, I’ve been caught red handed. I promise I’ll confess my crimes, but not right now. Don’t peek!” You scold when he tries to glance surreptitiously around you and your captain grins mischievously at you, drawing back. “Why did you need to see me?”

At your words, Hongjoong’s previously content expression darkens slightly, worry shadowing his face with its heavy weight. A sigh leaves his lips, tired and drawn out,

“Do you know who the head commander of the Royal Navy is?”

You frown, a little surprised by such an unexpected question. “No...?”

Hongjoong’s smile is bitter, lost as he looks out to the black sea, watching as dark clouds roll in beneath the half moon.

The signs of an approaching storm.

“He’s my father.”

Your eyes widen in shock.

When he sees your speechless expression, he laughs, the sound tight in his chest. “Surprising, isn’t it? That the son of the head commander of the Royal Navy would turn out to become one of the most wanted pirates sailing the seas.” One of his hands come up to touch the eye-patch over his eye, and his expression is so forlorn you feel your own eyes sting. “Captain...”

He holds up a hand before you can say any more, smile sad. You wonder if he even knows what kind of expression he is making, that makes you want to take him into your arms and hide him from all the pain in this world. “Don’t feel sad for me. My ties with that man have been severed ever since the day he did this to me. He is nothing but an enemy to me now. What I am worried about is that the only one with the authority to approve such a ridiculous bounty would be the head commander himself, which is why I’ve been trying to think about the reason why he would possibly do such a thing.”

“Maybe he’s insane.” The words slip out before you can think them through, and immediately clap your hands over your mouth in horror. Hongjoong looks shocked for a moment, before his lips split into a smile and he laughs brightly, amused. The urge to start insulting his father suddenly wells up in your chest just to hear that sound again.

“Oh, he definitely is.” Hongjoong’s chuckles fade into a warmer smile, and you can’t help but think it much better suits his features than that bitter expression on his face earlier. “But an insane man makes a dangerous opponent, and with what’s at stake here,” his eye lingers on you and one of his hands come up to cup your cheek, an emotion far too deep to be fondness flitting across his face. “I cannot afford to take any chances.”

You recognise that expression because you’ve seen it before, in another pair of green eyes filled with anguished acceptance at your rejection. Dread fills your chest, from the tips of your toes all the way to roots of your hair. Oh no...

“Are you sure you haven’t had any encounters with the Royal Navy before meeting us?”

Your captain’s question takes you by surprise, and it takes you a long second or two to answer. “No... I don’t believe so. At least if I did, I don’t remember them.” Your mind is still swirling with tentative worry, pondering whether you should ask him outright or not.

You can’t let his feelings for you continue to grow anymore - of course, should they exist in the first place. The kindest thing to do would be to stamp them out before they bloom, for a blossom to fall would be infinitely more painful than yanking out an ungrown seedling. But how do you go about doing that?

You’re not sure if you have the strength to push yet someone else away again.

Hongjoong remains silent for a moment as he thinks on your words, his one green eye searching your face, and your heart seems to pause in your chest. “You... don’t believe that I’m telling the truth?”

“No, no, no, of course I believe you.” Hongjoong is quick to reassure you, although his gaze is still faded, lost in thought somewhere. “It’s just... a mystery to me, you see. From what I heard from the Tortuga town officials today, the Royal Navy is offering more than the entire bounty on this ship to have you taken in alive. Which brings me to the question of: why does the Royal Navy want you so badly?”

From now on, we’ll be in immense danger because of this, goes unsaid by him.

A bitter taste lodges in the back of throat when you hear the words ‘Royal Navy’, a shudder running through your body. That’s a ridiculous amount of money, you think, despair seeping into your bones. “Will the crew be in danger because of me, captain?”

Hongjoong must hear the tremble in your voice, because his expression softens, and one of his hands come up to rest on your shoulder, almost painfully gentle. “Well, it’s not like we haven’t been in danger even before you joined, so nothing’s changed there.” Still, you can hear the strain in his voice, the worry that lingers in the back of his mind that clings to him like a relentless parasite. “I promise, we’ll protect you with our lives.”

“That’s not what I asked.” Your voice sounds tiny even in your own ears, and you look down at the floorboards between your feet, unable to meet his gaze. “I wanted to know if the crew would be in even more danger because of me. Because if it ever comes down to it, captain, you should just-”

The grip on your shoulder tightens almost imperceptibly. “Chin Hae. Hey, Chin Hae, look at me.” He coaxes you to look into his eyes, his fingers lightly grasping your chin to tilt it upwards. “Don’t go getting any silly ideas now. You’re a precious crew member to me. As the captain, I would do anything in my power to keep you safe from harm, and I know the rest of the crew feels the same.”

“But is that really all there is to it?” You’re shocked at the boldness of your own words, and for a second, your captain falters, eye widening in stunned surprise. Before you can catch yourself, the words that have been dangling off the tip of your tongue finally burst out, like a dam that has crumbled in the face of his raw sincerity. “Or is it because your feelings for me extend past that of a captain and his crewmate?”

You’ve seen many sides of your captain, angry, cheerful, drunk and mad with worry, but it’s the first time you’ve seen your captain truly stunned into silence, his mouth opening as if to say something, but then closing. His hand falls from your face as the two of you stare into each others’ eyes, searching for something.

You don’t know what you hope to find.

“So... you know.” Hongjoong’s the first to break the silence, running one hand through his hair as he turns away from you, and you feel as if a musket ball has just slammed you straight in the chest, the agony there radiating outwards. Something hurts there, so badly you nearly can’t stand it, but all you can do is to continue staring at your captain in shock.

“Yes, I do confess that my motives to keep you safe are not completely pure.” When Hongjoong speaks again, his voice is steady, eyes fixed firmly on the sea, unrepentant in the least. “I’ve grown fond of you, unimaginably so, it seems to me. I will keep you safe with all the power I have, and as the captain of the Treasure, the power afforded to me includes that of the crew.”

“But they’ll be even more likely to be hurt!” You protest weakly, fingers twisting painfully in the fox fur jacket tucked behind your back. Hells, what do you say - how do you respond? “There’s no rule that demands them to be taken in alive!”

I’m already dying anyway... you want to say, but the words remain trapped in your chest. Hongjoong’s smile is tender as he rests a hand on your head.

“And that’s what I love about you. You’re too selfless.” He says gently, and you choke back a sob. Look at yourself before calling me selfless, you big fool. “I apologise for being selfish, but I keep close what I value. I am a pirate, after all.” His green eye burns near iridescent in the night. “I fight till my last breath to protect my treasure. That’s what a pirate’s life is all about. The rest of the crew know that too, the day they choose to follow me.”

“Captain-” You try to speak, but your words can’t seem to escape your throat. Hongjoong releases you from his grip. His warm gaze remains firmly fixed on you. It burns, like salt water on an open wound. “I don’t... I can’t... return those...”

“I’m already aware that Wooyoung has already propositioned to you, and that you may not return my feelings at all.” Hongjoong says easily, but you can hear how carefully he’s choosing his words in an attempt not to put you in a difficult position, and the pain in your chest only grows. “I want you to know that there is no need to, and I’m doing this completely out of my own selfish desires. Even if I did not hold any romantic feelings towards you, I would still lay down my life to keep you safe, as a captain should to his crew. That was all I wanted to say.”

The two of you stand there in silence, seemingly trapped in a single moment under the storm and the faded light of the trapped moon.

“Stupid...”

The words escape you and then before you know it, you’re pounding on his chest furiously with your hand balled up into a weak fist, tears streaming down your cheeks. “Stupid captain... stupid, idiotic, moronic captain...”

There’s no point in keeping me safe when I’m already dying, stupid...

“Don’t cry.” Hongjoong brushes your tears from your eyes as you continue hitting him weakly, before he tugs you into his chest. You wail quietly into the shoulder of his shirt, and his fingers card through your hair, a pained smile on his face as he looks down at you. “I’m sorry I’m stupid.”

“Damn right you are.” You choke out between sobs, hitting him on the shoulder with each word. “I can’t repay you with anything, and yet you’re willing to give up so much to keep me safe? You’re so idiotic, captain.”

An insincere, apologetic hum. “I’m sorry.”

“So dumb.”

“Mmhmm.”

“So foolish.”

“Yup.”

He holds you close until your sobs have subsided into quiet sniffles, before he speaks out loud once more. “But this stupid captain is the pirate king of the seas, and he’s really selfish about guarding his treasure.” He pauses for a moment, pressing his cheek against the top of your head. “So can you have some faith in him, that he’ll keep you and the crew safe to the best of his ability?”

“Stupid captain,” you sniff again, into his shoulder. “If you ask like that, how am I supposed to say no? You don’t play fair at all...”

“Good.” You feel his smile, and he slides down from the bulwarks to crush you against his chest. “Now I have the strength to think of a way to run from the Royal Navy for the rest of our lives - and the courage to face them in a battle, if necessary.”

With a final ruffle of your hair, he turns around to head for the cabin once more, tossing ‘it’s late, you should get to bed,’ over his shoulder. But you find yourself watching his retreating back, as it moves further and further from you.

Unable to take it anymore, you run after him and grab him by the wrist, stopping him dead in his tracks. “Chin Hae, what are you-”

“It’s my turn to confess. I made a jacket for you.” The words spill out, unchecked, like a rushing river as you yank out the garment to wrap it around his shoulders. Hongjoong’s mouth parts slightly in shock, and you take the opportunity to adjust it on him. It fits him perfectly, you think, and your lower lip quivers. “More than me being safe, I want you and the entire crew to stay safe too, understood? So please...” your fingers clutch the lapels of the jacket tightly. “You have to stay safe too, Hongjoong... That’s me being selfish right now.”

Before he can reply, you run for the infirmary, slamming the door behind you. Hongjoong stands there for a moment in silence, before he looks down to run a finger through the red fox fur. The stitching is a little clumsy, but it only makes it all the more precious to him.

“You called me Hongjoong.” He whispers quietly, a gentle, sad smile touching his lips.

>>>

From the depths, a pair of blue eyes watch, unfeeling as the coldest depths of the northern sea, before they ripple and vanish with the riptide.

[xxrainstormxx]

Save it for the Doctor. Spencer Reid x Reader.

(A/N: this is based off a writing prompt. "You're... beautiful." "And you're concussed") Word count; 2,475 Part 2 (edit: my pleas for requests for stories are not reaching people so I will beg here. If you want a oneshot I’ll write it. Prompt or no prompt.)

I had heard a lot about the recent murders. I even had seen a few almost survivors on my mom's operation table, yet somehow I was wrapped up in the middle of it. Smack in the middle. No normal citizen even knew the FBI was investigating the murders and yet I was being interrogated. The man who sat in front of me was just mean, he wore a serious look and his eyes never moved from the narrow eyed glare he gave anyone who walked by and especially gave me. I was happy to cooperate, but the minute I was under fire I was fed up and wanted a lawyer. I was no killer, I had no upper body strength to move a dead body and believe me, I would know how much a dead body weighs thanks to my mom training me. I was a tired college student trying to get my damn degree so I could move on with my fucking life. And I was not in the mood to be interrogated when I could be working on my thesis. The mean man, Agent Hotchner I believe was just staring. I guess waiting for me to break or some shit like that? I don't know. I wasn't talking first. I didn't care anymore and this resulted in a match of silently staring waiting for the other one to speak. This went on for what felt like an hour but was probably closer to at least three minutes, I just sighed, "I cave." I sighed muttering curses as I shifted in my seat. "Go on, ask your questions I have a thesis to write and I would like to go home to continue it," I reluctantly urged on. He leaned forward in triumph I think as he demanded answers from me. "Where were you the night of Synthia Robbin's disappearance (Y/N)?" he began dwelling on the poor girls name. It made me frown, she was a 13 year old girl, a child, and she was gone. Kidnapped and found dead. It made me sick to think of what could happen to her. "So that's what this is about?" I hissed disgusted with the accusation "I was at the library with Emmalin." the mention of my sister's name made him further darken. "Your sister, correct?" he inquired. I rolled my eyes, "Yuduh" I sounded sitting back. "All your time is accounted for?" he continued leaving me puzzled for a moment. "There were maybe ten minutes in between where she left to find a book." I murmured unsure if the truth was the right thing to say as he stood and pulled out a file and threw it on the table making me flinch. "What about the night of Chris Bennidict?" he asked "A s-sports game" I stuttered "A baseball game I think. Rockies vs Rangers." I said shaking a little as he threw down that files some of the pictures falling out of the boy, shot twice. "Eunice Quiet, Quiara Basson, Basen Unice, Lynch Gryse, and Philip Jence!" he got  louder with every file he threw at me. "You were near by every single scene and you fit most of our profile" he concluded the pictures that fell out made me physically sick. Children, those poor babies. I sobbed and turned away gagging, he wasn't convinced it was real but I knew it was and up came the vomit that was caught in my throat.

I had no doubt I fit their profile but I worked part time at a daycare. Children were my life line, and it mad me sick to see them hurt. He answered a call and left the room leaving me there to cry over the pictures. A brunette woman walked in and sighed taking me out of the handcuffs attaching me to the bolted down table. "Come on sweetheart. We'll get someone to clean up that." she sighed very tired, I wanted to know why. They brought me out to the main area of the station and sat me down. They slowly cuffed me to the desk and I cried softly. I looked across the station to see Emmalin "Emmy!" I called but was ignored causing me to frown. So I shut up and listen to whatever raving was in my defense, "My baby sib? A murderer?" she asked "well... it isn't that hard to believe," she said making my jaw drop. "They've always been a little too obsessed with the idea of death." A lie, I had an emo phase and so did she, "Introverted" well partially true. "and well she creeps out her friends," she finished causing me to stand suddenly, "Liar!" I shouted "You fucking liar!" I cried ignoring the pain and stress on my wrist the hand cuff was causing. I was now a 45 degree angle due to the cuffs keeping me in place. She seemed genuinely shocked i was there. "Why are you trying to pin this on me. Your own sister!b You were with me everywhere we went and those bodies were found. Why aren't you being questioned too? Did you lie? Did you say I was the only one there?" I screamed as I was sat down. She hissed at me and most of the agents took notice. Agent Prentiss, the nice brunette sighed and walked to my now horrible sister and asked her to follow her into a different interrogation room. It felt like hours that I was sat there, and a curly haired man was sat in front of me just reading, or what I thought was faking, really bad faking. "Why are you even sitting here if you're just going to pretend to read?" I asked the "doctor". My mother was a doctor and I didn't believe this boy was any kind of doctor. I had gotten to know his name as Doctor Reid and I wasn't allowed to call him an agent so I had no other choice. He just looked at me thrown for a moment before shaking his head "I'm not pretending" He stated as he shifted "No one can read that fuckin fast ya damn liar" I muttered not necessarily hostile just a little vexed. "I can. Did you know that our unconscious minds can process sixteen bits of information per second? Our conscious minds, however, can process sixteen million?" I sat back unimpressed "You are... absolutely insane" I laughed "Insane, perhaps but I'm not being accused of murder." he stated, and my smile that i worked so hard to get disappeared "You think I did it too." I muttered, it was meant to come as a question but instead it came as a statement. He shook his head "Not fully, while you do supposedly fit the profile our profile, our unsub wouldn't inject themselves into the investigation. The one part that doesn't fit" he said sitting back and crossing his legs turning to the board filled with evidence, and all those pictures that made me sick sat right next to the happy photos of the children in their school uniforms smiling big. I tried to focus on those "Well maybe your profile is wrong, cause this is sick." I hissed "(Y/N), you're here most likely because you were in the wrong places at the wrong times. Kids being picked up and murdered minutes apart from each other, while you were out with your sister at those locations? It's not very probable."

I just sighed knowing he was probably right "There aren't many coincidences when it comes to murder" he stated "Out of uh... curiosity what is an unsub? No normal person knows that is." I muttered as I tried to avoid the board, the thought of being in those places, not helping those kids, not even having a clue what was happening made me sick. "Unknown Subject" Dr. Reid said mumbling "Why aren't you uh... looking at the board. I thought you'd be proud of your work." He said as if to egg me on. I rolled my eyes "Those pictures make me sick." I muttered "I work at a daycare, it's my job to protect kids not watch them get hurt. I don't wanna see dead fucking children!" I shouted realizing I probably sounded fucking crazy and definitely like a kill. I hung my head in shame. "I know... I know it isn't fair to blame myself for what happened to those kids, but being in the places of the crime, the same night it happened, it makes me feel like I could have and should have done something. Something other than just sit there and wonder." I whispered "Yeah I feel guilty now but, not of what you think" I whispered looking to the board once more focusing on the pictures of the children when they were alive. "Sweet innocent babies... Never done anything to anyone. Probably were crying for their mom." I whimpered at the thought "They didn't deserve any of what happened" I looked away once more thinking about the mothers. "Moms.... Their moms" he stood up as if he had a damn epiphany nearly knocking me backwards in the chair. "Morgan, it's not an attack on the children it's an attack on their mothers." He said starting to put of pictures of older women. "think about it. They all went to the same cafe every day. It wasn't the day care, so it can't be (Y/N). They wouldn't see much of the parents" he enthused writing things down that I could not decipher because his hand writing was absolute shit. "But wouldn't that just give them more reason? They think these women are bad mom's for working instead of taking care of the child, and wants to teach them a lesson?" making him shake his head "That's stupid, if they wanted to make them suffer they'd just kill the women themselves, it'd be much more efficient and wouldn't lead to them doing the one thing they would dread doing!" he said circling one name on the board. Emmalin. "That's also sexist. Women work, children can't go with. Why would I have a fucking problem with that" I shouted across the room. "Who fits the profile while also holding these sexist values." Reid stated more than asked pointing to Emma's name again. "Oh dear god." he sighed "But my sister isn't a murderer!" I cried. "She's connected to the murders... and she's made it clear she doesn't think women should work." Morgan stated and went to the interrogation room. "You are a life saver (Y/N)" Reid said kissing my cheek out of pure joy, and I slapped him as a natural instinct and turned red "Shit! I'm sorry! I'm not used to boys doing that if they aren't being creepy! But at the same time that was really fucking creepy" I yelped as he held his face and laughed "No it's fine. Got too excited to fix what felt like a huge mistake." he said, and when I say I turned red I mean red. This was the first time I'd seen him as a human. Not a super genius, not as an agent, not an asshole. Just a normal guy with pretty eyes, a good jaw line, soft hair, and the sweetest smile I had ever seen. The blush was apparently very clear on my (skin color) skin because he hummed and smiled "Did you know blushing is speculated to be caused by a sudden rush of adrenaline making our blood pump faster." I giggled a little "Is that why you're so flushed?" I asked as he blinked not understanding just how damn pink he was after that rant. "Guess so." he shrugged. the door opened and out came Emmalin and she grabbed a ceramic vase off a desk and slammed it down onto Reid's head and ran away quickly. He fell to the floor because it was a heavy fucking vase, and I freaked out as he hit his head on the desk on the way down.

"Shit!" I yelled as half of them chased my very obviously guilty sister and I sat in shock as two of his friends rushed over to help him. Morgan uncuffed me and I blinked "Spencer?" Agent Jareau asked worried and I sat down next to him sitting him up and grabbing a water bottle slashing it on his face "Do not fall asleep." I said firmly "You could very well have a concussion." I said as an ambulance arrived quickly, he was cearly not feeling good because of the way that he was acting. I was worried about how sick he looked. He threw up half way to the hospital so I was told. I went with because I didn't feel safe with my sister on the run and an Agent in the hospital. Well I guess he wasn't an agent he was a doctor. The doctor, not Spencer, came out and i stood with the other two very worried. "He'll be fine. He has a mild concussion." as i thought "but he's awake, and on some pain medication. I take it you all know the situation and his limitations in the field?" he asked and Morgon and Jareau nodded "You can go back to see him now" he said and stepped aside "come on" Jareau said quietly to me "oh. Agent, I don't think he'd want to see me." I said quietly. "I'm sure he would like to know you came. You won't make a very good profiler if you can't even tell that Reid enjoys your company. And call me JJ, it makes it easier," she said giggling and pulled me right back with her and Morgan. "Hey man" Morgan started "What happened?" he muttered groaning in pain. "You got hit with a vase, took a pretty sweet fall, and got a concussion" JJ hummed arms crossed as she leaned on the wall. "Shit." he muttered making me giggle. "Oh hey!" he said when he saw me. "I want water, and jello" he muttered making small lip smacking sounds. "Morgan and I will get it" JJ laughed leaving me in a very awkward situation. "So umm.." I began before being cut off. "You know.. You're beautiful" he said staring at me causing me to snort "And you're concussed." I laughed shaking my head "Well, a concussion based on the severity doesn't necessarily affect your judgement of a person especially if it's a first time thing. I thought you were beautiful long before I was concussed but you were a suspect. Suspects being beautiful, hard to comprehend sometimes." I laughed "You're a dumbass" I snorted "But I-" he blinked and i walked over pecking his lips. "How about a date sometime? I'll give you my number" I said quietly. "Yeah... okay..." he whispered. "A date."

[slashingdisneypasta]

Can you do a headcanon where a disney villain get bitten by a werewolf and they experience their first transformation? The villains you can use are Clayton, Professor Ratigan (as a human), Sykes, Judge Claude Frollo, Gaston, and Captain hook. I wish you a lovely day.

Sure thing! Hope these are okay, I got a bit sleepy at the end. You have a wonderful day, too! ^^ 

~~~

Captain Hook:

·         Of all the beasts trying to get a bite of me, it had to be a WEREWOLF!? (By beasts, he refers the Tic Toc, the sea monster, Peter Pan, the lost boys, and all the Darlings)

·         Captain Hook is cursing is deliciousness right now.

·         It’s a whole thing when he gets bitten. He is in such panic, and its all Smee can do to get him to bed all wrapped up! Never mind getting the captain to sleep in this state.

·         He’s already traumatised from getting bitted by Tic Toc! The next couple of days, he’ll be shaking and extra easily frightened. Smee will be the only comforting part of his life.

·         When the full moon eventually comes, our Captain has been so anxious leading up that he didn’t eat. Which makes for a very, very hungry werewolf. Which is never good.

·         (The mermaids are about to learn that they should stay under water on the full moon for the foreseeable future. Especially seeing as Hook will not age and die any time soon)

·         The only good thing about this situation is that Peter is able to distract him (For fun, of course.) all night by dangling himself before the hungry eyes and then zipping off in the air again so Wolf!Hook has to make chase.

·         When Hook wakes up the next morning, he dry heaves. See, the uncontrollable hunger from when he was a werewolf (Since he didnt actually end up getting to eat anything because of Peter) transferred to his human form and he’s so hungry, and also so sick from fear and anxiety that he needs to vomit. The nausea is so terrible it literally leaves his stomach feeling empty but he’s too unwell to eat.

·         Eventually Smee makes him eat some porridge and he starts to calm down…

·         He decides his next transformation will not turn him into this nervous wreck. Not him. Not Captain James Hook.

Clayton:

·         Clayton is pissed when he gets bitten- more from the outrage that an animal hurt him instead of the other way around (I mean, with all of his experience in the field you would imagine he would be able to take care of himself sufficiently). So, he’s furious and wielding his machete (Or better yet a gun) instead of being worried about the wound that is gushing out blood from his arm (He would never let a predator near his middle. He’s too practised in defence - and more notably offense, - to let that happen).

·         Now, he doesn’t realise that what he came in contact with was a werewolf, of course. He just thought it was… I don’t know… just some kind of large, steroid implanted dog.

·         It gets away before he can shoot it. Now he’s pale from blood loss, hair a greasy mess, his muscles are weak and the wound probably has had dirt rubbed in it from the struggle of surviving against a werewolf.

·         So, for the time before his first transformation, he’s very sick and gangrene is creeping around his wound and down his arm. He’s vomiting, he’s got muscle weakness, and theirs a metallic taste stuck in his mouth all the time. A doctor sees to him and says that its expected that he would die from this, seeing as they’re in the middle of nowhere (On whatever expedition he’s on. He’s certainly nowhere near a proper hospital, not that they could have done much more to help then this field surgeon anyway. Although, they might have had anaesthetic) unless he lets them cut off his arm and cauterize it with a branding iron. Of course, he would not let that happen and continues on like a brave (Stupid) soldier.

·         By the time the full moon comes around, he’s already a disgusting, struggling mess. So when he’s tossing and turning in his cot that night- no one there really does anything. He’s just left to struggle.

·         Not that they could have done anything to make his first transformation any easier, or save themselves.

·         Of course, when the next day breaks, Clayton wakes up sprawled on the forest floor with a killer headache, and when he gets up and wonders who the hell carried him out of his tent last night, he finds that he feels… oddly better. Healthier. Pulling up his… torn?… shirt sleeve, he tries to assess his wolf bite... just to find that it isn’t there. Perfectly clear, unscarred flesh stretched over muscle sits there instead. 

·         He’s so confused. Was all that about the beast and his bite, and the nightmare afterwards, just a fever dream? Did he eat something bad out of the forest?  

·         … But then, he finds he still tastes metal on his tongue. A deep taste of iron that Clayton cannot deny is blood.

·         Then he looks around, and his heart plummets (Not because he feels remorse because 1. He doesn’t realise all this mess was him yet, and 2. Clayton? Remorse? Hahaha) to see the nearly unrecognisable bodies on the floor around him and the tents torn to shreds not half as bad.

·         He’s beyond confused, alone, and has a mess to clean up. But he does feel better then he did before the transformation, at least. 

Gaston:

·         Gaston is similar to Clayton. He can take the injury, but he is furious that an animal, a beast, was able to get the drop on him.

·         I think Gaston would have claimed this beast that bit him was a werewolf (Or something along those lines) even if it was just a fox or something. The shame! The shame, of Gaston getting beaten by an animal (Or anything or anyone)!

·         He goes ahead and tells the town that he beat 2 werewolves but the last one got him when his back was turned- and he was so strong that the powers of lycanthropy didn’t work on him! A lie, of course. Because, I mean, he did end up scaring off the wolf after he had been bitten, getting some good hits on the beast as well with his knife, but did he beat the wolf? I don’t think so. And there was only one werewolf. 

·         So when he does turn on the next full moon, he’s mortified and furious… and that transfers into uncontrolled rage in his wolf form.

·         The last thing he remembers when he awakes is the claw marks he left on the wall, through the wallpaper. With his own damn hands. Like a beast.

·         And when he does wake up to his room in disrepair; Wooden chairs ripped away their legs, claw marks on the walls, antler’s ripped from the frames on the wall, scratches along the wooden floor… its just a mess. A huge, monstrous mess, and it shocks Gaston.

·         He literally has nothing to say. He knows if he leaves out his front door, people will ask what the noise was last night (I mean, he’s GASTON. Everyone wants to know about him. He knows this.), and he just doesn’t want to talk. He doesn’t want to explain away a reason, he doesn’t want to make any sort of mouth noises at all; Especially not to anyone.

·         He gathers up his gun and his rucksack and he sneaks out the backdoor and into the forest to do some camping and hide out for a couple days… or a week.

Judge Frollo:

·         Oof, what a thing for a ‘religious’ man like him to become… Maybe he’ll finally admit that he isn’t as pure as he thinks he is.

·         He knows what he’s being hunted by the moment he sees those glowing yellow eyes. He rushes into the cathedral, for safety. As if those pillars and stain glass windows can protect him from what’s coming, as if the cross could.

·         The werewolf just follows him in, and that’s where he attacks. Bites Frollo in the shoulder because he was dumb enough to turn his back on the animal, but luckily the priest of the cathedral hears his screams and comes with silver and scares off the yellow eyed devil- saving Frollo from certain death. He never would have been able to fight off the wolf himself. No one could (Well except Gaston)

·         He feels absolute dread and anxiety up until the full moon. He can feel the monster growing in him, feeling it taking form and taking control of his instincts, ready to strike and take his strength and mind, too. (Whether this is his delusions or a real thing he’s able to feel because he’s so aware, you can decide).

·         It makes him volatile and extra murderous in those days leading up to the full moon. 

·         When he wakes up the morning after the full moon, his limbs are heavy and Frollo just rests head back on the wall he was just able to drag himself to with remaining strength, and he cries. He sobs. He begs God to excuse him, he asks what he did to deserve this.  

Sykes:

·         Ooooh, Sykes would make a great werewolf. He’s huge on a normal day- can you imagine how big he is as a wolf? How vicious? Luckily he’s usually pretty calm. So, he’d make a large, well humoured wolf. He just wants to chew on some shoes and rest.

·         Anyway- the wolf was aggravated by the smell of dog already on Sykes and that’s why he got bitten. He didn’t hunt the creature, didn’t step into his territory, didn’t do anything to purposely aggravate the creature at all like most of the others.

·         Also unlike the others, this werewolf just bites and runs. It doesn't attempt to take Sykes completely down or anything. This is purely a hit and run kind of dealio. Probably because it heard Desoto and Roscoe respond to their Daddy’s pained yell and decided to leave on a high note.

·         Sykes tries to brush it off. Just applies pressure to the wound until he can properly dress it, and then ignore it. He has more important things to do then focus on that huge wolf that bit him. He doesn’t know what it was, he has no trauma’s surrounded the incident, and he’s stressed usually (Being a successful gangster and all), so how he feels leading up to this first full moon since he was bitten isn’t much different from how he usually feels. He’s driving around everywhere, putting the fear of Bill Sykes into people like Fagin, and doing paperwork. He doesn’t even notice the bite in his side unless he stretches, or he showers

·         (Which, by the way, doesn’t occur as often as it should. He’s very busy).

·         When the full moon finally occurs, it’s the one night in like a month that he finally gets to have a rest. So he’s just in his living room, reading a newspaper, eating his dinner, reclining, when he starts to feel an uncomfortable prickling feeling rush up his back like a hot flash. He tries to ignore it…

·         But then he looks at his hand, and its furry. And then the claws start to break through his skin and he’s in horrible pain and of course terror for about a minute before his eyes change and he loses human consciousness.

·         The next day, he wakes up with sore gums and an aching jaw, and as he sits up from the odd position of being half on the floor with his chin on the bed, rubbing his throbbing jaw, he sees various pairs of his shoes, chair legs detached from the chairs, and… doorknobs? On the floor around him? They all have dents and scrapes all over them as if a dog (A huuuuuge, stroooong dog) came along and had the time it its life chewing on them.

Human!Professor Ratigan:

·         Ratigan is, obviously, a smart man. But he didn’t see this coming. How could he? He’s a man of science. He got himself home, disinfected and dressed his wound / s and thinks that’ll be the end of it. Apart from, possibly, some mental scarring, but luckily- he is also a trained psychological practitioner! He can handle this.

·         But of course, that’s not how this goes.

·         On the first full moon after the attack, he starts to feel… symptoms. He wonder’s if he’s getting sick, or if he neglected to disinfect his bite properly but- no. No way would he make a mistake like that. His wound is securely taped all the time, so even if he had missed out on disinfecting it one day after a shower or something, how could it be infected?? Its very unlikely. So, then, where is this sweating and general irritation coming from? He’s not usually an even-tempered man, but this is becoming… concerning. Even for him.

·         Like I said, he’s a man of science, but when a little after he retires early for the evening, fur starts to prickle up and all over his skin, he finds he’s able to figure it out just before he loses consciousness.

·         Lycanthropy.

·         That was a werewolf that bit him.

·         He has to do somethin-

·         When he wakes up in the morning, puffing out the experience and rage of the beast inside him, he starts by standing motionless in the shower that’s so hot his skin goes pink, but he can’t feel it- he’s too lost in his thoughts. Analysing everything, trying to remember what he did, asking himself if he can weaponize this with any accuracy (Like find out how extract the venom and inject it into Basil), calculating how this can be possible... trying to just figure out how to fix it because this will absolutely not do.

[hainethehero]

The HARRINGROVE War AU that no one asked for...

"Jetty!"

"Oh fuck!"

"Fucking hell man! We're fucking dead-"

"Shut the fuck up Meyers!"

"Andrews! Get the medic!"

"Fuck- my goddamn arm!"

"Tommy-!"

The sounds are still in his head, knocking around his brain inside his skull. His eyes haven't closed in days and he's pretty sure his skin is falling off his bones. He feels sick and dirty and his hair feels dirty and unkempt. It had grown back so fast in the short period of time he'd been here... in Hell.

His body hurts, bones jarring and scraping against each other with every movement. There's a throbbing on the left side of his ribs, and the stinging pain of a festering wound on his right. It's been burning for days. His legs are sore, right leg wrapped up to the knee and oozing thick, dark red. The bandages around his head have started getting sticky with sickening ointment and congealed blood. His lips sting painfully every time he passes his tongue over them. They're cracked and busted in several places, red and raw where the skin's been opened.

God, what had they done to him?

He feels a presence near him and freezes, even though the bombs ringing in his head don't quite stop exploding.

"Hi Ms. Nancy, how's he been?"

"You're always right on time Soldier."

The woman's voice sounds familiar but he can't place it in his hazed state.

"I made him a promise." The man responds, a dark, echoing loneliness in his voice.

"Of course," Ms. Nancy replies, walking closer to fix something very near to his left side.

And somehow, his body fails him and goes stiff, sitting upright with his eyes wide and frightened. His jaw is locked tight and his fists are clenched, knuckles white. Every instinct in his body is warning him to get away- to run away from the danger, as if he'd be torn apart by the bomb Ms. Nancy was currently setting atop the bed. A terrified whine escapes his throat and a solitary tear runs down his pale cheek.

"He's been getting worse huh?" The Soldier asks, not unkindly, just kind of sad.

"So far, we've only seen nine cases of men recovering from shell-shock. It's not promising... one of them died last night."

"Died? Did it spread?"

"No Soldier. He put a gun in his mouth."

There's a sudden silence that falls over them, cold breeze billowing through the over-arching windows of the stone Catholic church they'd set up the triage in. Even the pained and terrified moans and cries of grown men had fallen into the hush, as if God himself were present.

Then Ms. Nancy speaks again:

"There's been a new shipment of iodine and sodium hydroxide today. From the French. We've been ordered to ration it but I think he needs his wounds cleaned again."

"Thank you."

........................

He hates when the nurse bathes him.

Hates how useless it makes him feel. Hates that he'd become so cowardly, like a child afraid of the dark. Her thin but gentle hands wash over him, soothingly passing the clean water over his skin, careful not to disturb the wounds. But he feels so wounded all over.

By the time he's back in bed, the night has taken over for the day, and hundreds of his comrades have already conceded to sleep. But he stays wide awake, terrified and paranoid that a bomb's going to go off in the middle of the night and kill everyone while they rest peacefully. So he keeps his rifle by his bedside, ready for a fight.

"Goodnight Soldier." Ms. Nancy says softly, not to him, but to the man sitting beside him.

The Soldier's been with him since the trenches. He was a good man, and a steady presence of stability in these crazy days. He could recall some kind of kinship between them, comprised of half-hearted banter, terrible jokes and early morning conversations that were for their ears only. Talking to him had made being in those vile and unsanitary trenches a little better. They often talked about being back home, safe and surrounded by friends who loved them. Their families were another story but that was beside the point.

"Got a letter today," the Soldier tells him, drinking out of an aluminium canteen. His finger twitches, almost as if he's fighting to respond but is paralyzed to do so.

"From Maxine."

Maxine was Soldier's sister...

She told me that my Dad and Susan were planning to move out of California. Stupid, right? She said something about Indiana, and starting over in a small town. Who knows pretty boy? They might even move to that good ol' Hawkins you keep telling me about."

Pretty Boy... that's Soldier's pet name for him.

"A letter came for you too. From your father."

He must've gasped in shock because suddenly the Soldier is staring up at him with those unreal blue eyes, lips slightly parted in surprise. He feels the Soldier's hand on his shoulder and it's warm and comforting. It beds down the shock a little bit; shock at the fact that his father had written a letter to him. He may have been in shell-shock but even his mind could recall the time when John Harrington said that he was dead to him. That until he'd made something of himself, he would never be accepted- would never be his son.

"Steve? You with me kid?"

Kid.

The Soldier always called him that, despite being not much older himself. He preferred that nickname to rookie though, since he'd only just started while the Soldier had been on this tour since late last year. He remembers the absolute feeling of dread that had filled his body when the draft had come around and his name was on that godforsaken piece of paper. His parents had been all too ecstatic to ship him off on his merry way. He'd been writing to them, feverishly begging for their mercy. Hadn't gotten a letter back since he'd started writing to them.

"Wh- ...what d...does it say?" he hears himself ask softly, throat shaking with emotion. "Can- ...um, can you read it to me Bill?"

Billy- no longer the abstract Soldier in his mind- sighs and leans over in the chair, elbows resting on his knees. He's holding a piece of paper in his hands, fists closed tight, his knuckles white.

"Please Bill..."

"Hold on pretty boy," Billy whispers as gently as he can, blue eyes staring hard at the neat, professional penmanship of who must've been John Harrington, Steve's father. It was concise and void of any kind of human emotion.

"Steve,

Stop sending us letters. It upsets your mother and I'm much too busy to sit down and write replies."

Billy feels his heart break into pieces for the poor kid and he doesn't have the heart to put him through such harsh words. He folds it up quickly and clears his throat.

"Y'know what? I brought Max's letter by accident."

"W- what?"

"Must've left it in the command wing. It's fine, we can always get it some other time."

Steve looks at him, big brown doe-eyes confused and sad at the same time. "What if it's an emergency?"

Billy scoffs. "Trust me, they ain't fighting a war back in ol' Hawkins. Your folks can wait. You on the other hand, need to get some sleep."

A soft smile creeps up on Steve's pretty face and he blushes soft pink. "Well at least tell me what's been going on Boss."

That was his pet name for Billy.

"Where's Tommy?"

Billy's expression suddenly changes and he's no longer pained. Just angry. And lost and so fucking confused. War brought out the worst in men, and it was always hard to fight alongside the corpses of men he'd spent weeks, months in the trenches with. They were all family, and losing even one of them was the worst pains Billy had ever faced.

Steve's hopeful expression turns ever so slightly and now he looks awfully worried.

"Bill? Billy where's Tommy?"

Billy glances up into the kid's eyes and sees nothing but hopelessness there as realization dawns upon him. Steve bursts into wailing tears and crashes back onto the pillows, hands covering his face. His wails trigger some of the sleeping men and they wake up in a shock, disgruntled yells and curses filling the large hall.

"Settle down Soldier," a tired looking nurse hisses, looking more panicked than mad. She gives Billy a pointed glare and goes about on her way to putting the terrified men back to sleep.

Billy sighs and shushes Steve as gently as he can, petting the boy's soft hair until he quiets. He feels a weariness wash over him and crawls into the bed to lay down next to the kid. Steve wastes no time in burying his face in Billy's neck, silent sobs wracking through his frail body. Billy wraps him up in his arms, a scalding hot wave of protectiveness flaring inside his chest.

"It's okay kid, I've got you. I promise," he whispers in Steve's ear, stroking his back in slow, deliberate motions. The pretty brunette cries and cries until he cries himself to sleep, snuggled into the larger soldier, as if he was the only protection he needed.

Billy just holds him through the night.

[faangirl101]

Revolution pt2, spec ops guys x reader

PART 1  PART 3

Pairings: Alpha/tank x reader,Riot/reader

Warnings: Smut, pain

Authors note: since the first part was so short im just going to post this part right away! ps look at that pic, I KNOW HE PACKING

"I'm riot", his dreads bobbed when he raised his head to look at me. I was returned to the couch by Tank, who left shortly after. "Riot", i raised an eyebrow "Really? Riot and Tank?". He made a muffled noise which i suspected was a chuckle "we like to keep our identities hidden from the authorities". I let out a "oh" before trying on a smile "My name is y/n". Then i fell quiet. Had i hidden my identity? The previous hours seemed dimmed and blurry. We both sat still and silent, watching each others like preys and predators. Who was going to say something. It turned out to be riot. "You should take a shower and i can wash your clothes, get off all the cs particles", he let out an inviting hand which i had no other choice but to grab. I knew damn well i couldn't get up on my own. "I-i", i looked down at my feet "I hate to ask this but, but could you help me?". I promised that if he didn't still have his helmet on he would raise an eyebrow. "I can't stand on my own", i tried to ignore how close his body was "i dont think i'm capable of showering". He chuckled, probably directed at me and not with me "you want help?". I could feel a brush threatening "shut up". I joined the laugh creeping behind the mask as he somehow nodded "il help, no worries".

I was stripped down to my underwear, hands nervously fumbling with the last of my clothing. Riot was sitting on top of the toilet, leaned against the wall behind him. I felt his burning eyes stroking my body from behind his helmet. For a polite guy with manners he wasn't scared to let me know he was watching me in my privacy. "So", i needed to break the silent desperately "what do you look like under the mask?". He stood still, didn't move a muscle. I for a second thought he simply did not hear me but then he lifted both his huge hands and clicked the sides of the helmet. i could feel my heartbeat beating so hard i could've sworn i felt my ribs shattering. He slowly lifted the helmet revealing a handsome face. Dark mocha skin glistering in the sweat from the helmet. A well trimmed sculptured beard and a sudden hit of cologne was what i noticed first. Short after it was his caramel dark eyes moving up and down my body freely with no shame. Lips tucked in between cologne commercial worthy perl teeth. The thick dreads were tucked in a lazy pulled together ponytail at the low on his backhead.

Fuck, did he have to be that attractive. I was now more intimidated then before, but now for completely different reasons. This man? This ridiculously good looking man was going to help me shower. "Not what you thought i was going to look like?", he brought me back from my daydreams and i realized i had been silently watching him for too long. I quickly collected myself as i smiled embarrassed "to be honest, i don't even think i was expecting a human beneath". He chuckled and stood up with the helmet under his arm. "You can try to shower, call me if you need help", he turned his backside to me to finally give me the privacy i needed. Relieved i dragged of the last clothing protecting my "innocence" as i on dangerously shaky legs moved my way into the shower. After a few thoughtful seconds of figuring out the controls i turned the knob. Crystal clear warm water started to stroke down my bruised back. I moaned quietly, in a mix of pain and pleasure of finally getting the tear gas of my body. I watch the water return down the drain mixed with dirt and what i hope wasn't blood. I had to keep the hand on the side of the shower, similar to an old lady, to keep myself from losing grip of the ground. When i felt my body being remotely clean i reached out for the schampo but groaned in response. The pain aching in my shoulders kept me from rising my hand further then my hip. "You okay y/n?", hearing my name fall from his lips made a shudder go down my spine. I closed my eyes, cursing silently. This was so awkward. "Yes, sorry, could you help me?". I heard rumbling on the other side but when i heard the clasp of a belt the realisation clicked in. He was going to help me undressed. I wasn't exactly sure what i was expecting, but the thought of it made an excitement rush down my body. Another heartbeat starting beating, one i was desperate to keep calm. The shower drain was pulled to the side before i could cover my body. I kept my eyes on a strain, keeping them on his face. I needed to control myself. His body underneath the suit was huge as well. Everything on this man was huge. Fuckfuck. The heartbeat skipped a beat as a warmth startin radiating down my belly. Under control, right. I had to remind myself to keep myself from looking at it.

He seemed to have similar ideas as his eyes were only on mine, keeping themself from searching my body. "You needed help?", he asked as he took another step into the shower, shutting the curtain behind him. His frame took up most of the shower, forcing our bodies to be closer than i would've chosen. "Y-yes", i stuttered and gulped down the insecurities creeping up "i can't wash out my hair, my arms can barely move above my body". He nodded as if i had given him an order as he struck out his well sculpted arm. It moved over my head, reminding me once again of our height difference, and grabbed the shampoo bottle.I held my breath as he lowered his palms filled with glistering white schampo down into the roots of my hair. I kept myself from shivering when his fingertips touched my scalp. Slowly he started massaging it down into my wet hair and without really thinking about it i leaned into his touch. His fingertips were slipping between my strands of hair, over my sensitive skin. My mouth fell open in a O when he applied pressure, pushing all the right spots. When he brushed by an aching placed hidden behind my ear i let out a quiet whimper. I shot my eyes open in surprise to catch his reaction to my outburst. His eyelashes were heavy of waterdrops, and the eyes seemed darker than before. My mouth fell open on instinct once again when he pushed his tips against the same spot without missing a beat. This whimper was harder to hold back when he slipped multiple fingers over the same spot. It was like pulling a switch. Suddenly my hair was pulled back in a hard grip, angled up at his down leaned figure. He pressed his soft lips hard against mine. Desperately, i moaned into his touch. I moved my lips together with him, like it was rehearsed. His tongue slipped between my swollen lips, exploring my mouth like it was the best thing he ever tasted. He moved his angle, pushing me up the wet tile behind me. My lips wrapped around his wet strong tongue sucking teasley, a trick i learned in high school. He groaned in response, two of his hands slipping down the sides of my body. In the heat of the moment, he still took it slow and careful with my bruised body in mind. He looked at me for approval when he grasped my thighs and wrapped them around his hips. If i shifted my hips the slightest i would feel his member, but i fought the urge. Instead i wrapped my arms, the best i could without hurting them, around his neck. We seperated, catching our breaths. As i tried my best to regain control he started mouthing down the skin on my throat. I leaned back against the tile, giving him more access which he gladly took. He left hickeys and bite marks in the path up to my mouth again. Our tongues started dancing again and i enjoyed the hint of toothpaste and whiskey stinging in his breath. I didn't catch him slowly putting me down until i felt the familiar cold wet hard floor beneath me. I broke our kiss to look at him, puzzled at his actions. He scanned my body like if i was a work of art which made my insides scorching hot. His long finger was wrapped lazily around my neck, letting his thumb follow the marks he left. He then lost all contact with my body which i whined in response. I saw him holding his serious demander and holding back the smile twitching in the corner of his full lips. "Turn around", he muttered underneath his breath as he swiped his own lip with the tip of his thumb. Breathless, pacing over what his next move was, i obligated. I placed my hands on the tile, closing my eyes. I heard him moving behind me, inspecting my new position. I felt his burning hot eyes on my backside before he finally took a step forward. I let out a embarrassing moan when i felt his hot and heavy member pressed up against my cheeks. He quickly wrapped a hand around my mouth but not applying pressure. A warning more then a threat. "You have to keep quiet or Tank is going to hear", he whispered in my ear as his hot breath against my neck lifted the hairs on my arms. His words made another shock of excitement go through my body. I nipped at the inside of his hand, not bothering to answer.

The hand that wasn't clamped over my mouth moved down my spine. His finger stroked the skin, getting closer and closer to where i wanted him. As if to motion him lower i arched my back, pressing my ass hard against his member. He growled and bucked up between my cheeks. His hand slipped between our bodies, distancing his cock from my pounding heat. I tensed up when his fingers brushed against the rim of my hole before he moved down. His ring and middle finger slowly stroked between my wet lips stopping right before my clitoris before moving back. "Riot", i whispered with closed eyes against his hand. "Hmm?", he was mocking me, his breath heavy next to my shivering shoulder. He now completely stopped touching my pussy and dragged it to my inside thighs instead. He prickled lightly over the skin, up and down. So close yet so far.

Pissed off, at his constant teasing i moved my hand backwards and found his member. I gripped the base tightly in which he hissed. "Good boy", i teased back as I moved my head just enough to suck down three fingers from the hand covering my mouth. "Shut up", he muttered and grasped the hand around him and placed it on the small of my back. But, he kept the fingers in my mouth, figuring it would keep me quiet. He finally moved his fingers back into my second heartbeat and started slowly moving the tips in circles. I whined around his finger in appreciation, and sucked down harder. "Fuck", he muttered before slipping a finger inside. I clamped down on it, happy to finally be filled with anything. "Fuck", he repeated, louder as he moved his finger in a painfully slow rhythm. "Riot", i moaned out, bucking back at his finger "if you don't go faster i will go and fuck Tank instead".

Apparently, a sensitive spot. He growled deep in his throat as he added another finger and started slamming them hard into me. His fingertips brushed against a good spot and my head fell back onto his shoulder. He dragged the fingers out of my mouth with a pop, and let them go down to rub my clit in a forceful pace. Now, filled with two  huge fingers and a fast rate i was gasping low down in my throat. "Quiet", he whispered before biting down my neck. It was the final strike. I let out a breathless scream, so deep in my dry throat nothing came out. Ecstasy filled to the brim in every nerv as my walls contracted down onto his fingers which returned to a sloppy rate. The steam set ceiling become smattered with white stars. He rides out my orgasm, until my knees went weak. If i could barely stand before, it was damn near impossible now. "Okay baby", he smattered kisses down the bite marks on my neck "let me take care of you".