#just moseying on from what happens immediately after this...

[monstrousgourmandizingcats]

WRITING!!!!

[lacroixqueen]

i can fix him no really i can (18+, dubcon) ex bf deadpool x down bad reader

Summary: your ex boyfriend deadpool shows up at your apartment after many years and he's badly hurt so you need to help him but he also wants to fuck you because he's toxic :/

Pairing: ex bf deadpool x fem!reader with unresolved feelings

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings/Tags: dubcon, making out, flirting, wounded, angsty

It was Friday night, so naturally, it was pouring rain outside. You were already snuggled up in bed with a bowl of popcorn and your favorite movie locked and loaded ready to play. Until you realized exactly what this perfect evening was missing: ice cream. You quickly got up out of bed and moseyed your way into the kitchen.

 

Before you could swipe your favorite gelato from the top shelf, you heard a loud crash emanating from your living room window. You froze in your steps for a moment, and then grabbed the largest kitchen knife you could find in your vicinity. 

Inching your way towards the noise, you were about to swing your weapon at the intruder before a nearby lamp flickered on and you laid eyes on a face you could recognize from a mile away. 

“Holy fuck, put that shit down!” the assassin in all red and black exclaimed, taking the knife out of your hand with ease. 

“Wade?!” you said, placing your hands on your hips. “What the hell are you doing here? I haven’t seen you in what, five years?”

“Great to see you again too, sweetheart,” he replied, noticeably clutching the lower part of his abdomen. “I just thought I’d swing by and say hi.”

“Wade, you are bleeding,” you pointed out, rushing to his side. “What the heck even happened to you?”

“Don’t worry about it too much,” he muttered through gritted teeth, sliding his arm over your shoulder, which immediately caused your back to tense up. “But if you want the short version of the story, let’s just say I pissed off someone who had a giant sword for an arm. Like, he drove that shit through my fucking brain! It’s okay though, I’ll get him back for that one of these days, he’ll see.”

“Oh my god,” you sighed as you guided him to sit down on your couch. “Just.. don’t go anywhere. I’m gonna grab some stuff real quick.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it!” he chuckled playfully. “Also, did you do something new with your hair? I love it. It’s like your old color but just subtly different. Hey, did you like tone it? Was it that salon next door? Because their cut and color deal is to die for.”

“Stop doing that,” you shot back, ambling over to your first aid cabinet. 

“Stop doing what?” he said with a feigned innocence. 

“You know what,” you responded bluntly, pulling out a set of tweezers, gauze, and saline. 

“What, flirt with you?” Deadpool asked, sitting up a little bit more enthusiastically now. “Honey, we’ve been broken up for a long time, do you seriously think I would pick this moment to hit on you? Because you would be sorely mistaken. I am happy to report that I am 100% completely over our relationship and have moved on to bigger better things in life like car sales and snorting cocaine with Blind Al. Oh, she said she misses you by the way.”

“Your timing has never been impeccable,” you commented, kneeling before him with your wound care supplies. Before he could protest, you parted his legs open and rested your forearms on his thighs. This was making him blush harder than he would ever care to admit to you. “Now can you lift your suit up for me, please.”

“We’ve barely caught up for five minutes, and you want me to strip for you already?” Wade chirped, placing a melodramatic hand on his chest. “I mean, I’m all for it but aren’t we moving a little bit fast here?”

“You’re doing it again..” you sighed while shaking your head. “Can you just please not make this more awkward than it already is?”

He grumbled a bit before finally lifting up his suit, revealing a sizable gash slightly to the side of his V-line. There were multiple shards of glass embedded into the wound, glistening menacingly in the dim lighting of your living room. 

“Holy shit, Wade,” you breathed while laying out your instruments. “What the hell have you gotten yourself into this time?”

“Look, maybe I pissed off an intergalactic space fascist or two,” he mumbled while shrugging his shoulders. “But who’s counting? Besides, the next time I get my hands on that freak I’m going to gut him from the inside out and make him eat it. Ooh, that would be satisfying, it’s making me so hard right now.”

“Always the pacifist,” you murmured sarcastically, taking your tweezers and dislodging one of the largest glass shards from his wound. “Have you ever considered, oh I don’t know, volunteering at the soup kitchen? Being a contributing member of your community? It doesn’t always have to be about bashing people’s faces in.”

“Jesus fucking shit on a stick motherfucker! Fuck!” he yelled as you removed the glass piece. “What kind of archaic method was that? At least numb me up first? Or I don’t know, buy me dinner?”

“Oh don’t be such a little bitch. If you wanted anesthetic, you could have just gone to the urgent care across the street,” you said matter-of-factly. “Besides, this isn’t exactly a professional clinic.”

Wade’s breathing became heavier when he noticed your soft tits pressing up against his leg as you focused harder on prying out a stubborn shard of glass. And how your lips curled into an adorable little pout when you were extra concentrated on something. 

“You know, this would be the perfect opportunity to give me head right now,” he said with a smirk under his mask. “Like, you could not be in a better position.”

You tried to ignore his lewd statement, focusing on removing the smaller shards of glass in his wound. You gasped when you felt his leathered hands reach into your hair, gathering the locks between his fingers to form a ponytail. 

“Wade!” you groaned, immediately setting down your tweezers. “I said stop, so quit it.” You shook his hands out of your hair, re-directing your attention back to his injury. 

“Oh, but you always looked so hot doing it!” he reminisced, clasping his hands together like some dazed fangirl. “And you were amazing! Like, took the entire length, it’s like you didn’t even have a gag reflex! I’ve never seen anything like it. Oh, and you always swallowed without me even having to tell you. Do you know how rare of a find that is? Because I haven’t gotten head that good since the day we broke-”

“One more word out of your mouth and I’m literally not going to help you anymore,” you interrupted, staring him dead in the eye, which was quite effective at shutting him up. 

You finally removed the last piece of glass, working a bit more efficiently now that he is not constantly interjecting with his fantasies about you. 

“Aaand, all done!” you said, tucking the debris into a wad of gauze. You cleaned the wound with some saline and covered it with a large bandage. “Yay, that actually wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.”

“Well of course, I’m literally a self-healing mutant,” Wade replied, pulling his suit back down to cover his wound. “Someone has literally shot me in the head before, but here I am, still kicking!”

“But it’s not like you can just heal foreign bodies out of yourself,” you countered as you cleaned your bloodstained tweezers with some bleach and a cloth. “You would have been in pain for days if it weren’t for me.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t get too ahead of yourself,” he sneered. “But thank you sweetheart, that actually did get me out of a pinch. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a big ugly bad guy to send back to his dimension, and time is money, so I really should get out there before he blows up another building downtown or God forbid beheads a baby or something.”

“Nope, you are going to stay right here,” you established as you closed the lid of your first aid kit. “Because I’m not gonna have you come back here multiple times again throughout the night and me not sleeping at all.” 

“Wow, so now you’re just being a selfish bitch!” Wade said, crossing his arms over your chest. “Did you hear that, innocent bystanders? She could give less of a fuck if the world was set ablaze the next morning because I wasn’t there to stop it!”

“Oh, the world will be just fine,” you stated. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I am going to go to bed and you are going to sleep on the couch-”

As you got up, your stance wobbled a bit and you found yourself collapsing face forward onto Wade’s lap, your lips just barely brushing against his mask. You grasped onto his shoulders out of instinct, steadying yourself. 

“Ohhh I see what you’re doing here!” the assassin called out. “You want me to stay so badly because you are just a horny little slut who can’t get enough of me! Well that’s no problem at all, because I am actually completely open and willing to do this, just know that my hard lines are scat, vomit, and furry. I don’t know why I can’t get into those animal costume things by the way, just something about the eyes..”

“I don’t want to sleep with you tonight, Wade Wilson,” you said, enunciating every single word. “I just.. lost balance.”

“Uh huh, ‘lost balance’,” he repeated, making air quotes with his fingers, his gaze not wavering. “Well if that’s the case, why don’t you kiss me and not do anything else? Since you’re so certain.”

“I’m not kissing you either,” you snapped, gasping a bit as you felt his hands slide over the curve of your waist, tugging gently at the fabric of your cami. 

“You’re just saying that because you know if you did you wouldn’t be able to resist doing more,” he accused, voice darkening all of a sudden. He lifted up his mask to reveal just his lips. “So kiss me, Y/N. Since you’re sooo not attracted to me like that anymore.”

You sighed a bit as you felt the tips of his lips brush against yours, his hot breath entering your mouth, almost inviting you to lean in closer. You also realized you were never one to back down from a challenge. You went ahead and wrapped your arms around his neck, rolling your hips into his. You tilted your head slightly to the side, allowing a couple strands of hair to fall down your face. 

So you kissed him, your soft pouty lips blending seamlessly with his bruised, callused mouth. He was hungry, voracious for you even, wanting you so desperately as he pushed his tongue into you. And you allowed him to. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you even closer towards his body as you kissed him back. Your tongue twirled against his, a little whine escaping from your lips as he broke the kiss momentarily to catch his breath. 

He grasped one of your bloodstained fingers, and sucked his own blood off of them, licking his lips mischievously after.

“W-wait, Wade, stop..” you gasped, leaning back a bit once you felt his hand sneak over your taut stomach and grasp your neck firmly. “I-I can’t do this.”

“Aw, but we were getting so into it babydoll,” Wade whined, his grip tightening a bit around your neck before finally releasing you. “What happened? Are you getting cold feet because you remembered I’m so good at it?”

“No, it’s just I can’t catch feelings for you again,” you admitted, unclasping your hands from over his shoulders. “I don’t like it when I get like this with you.”

You stood up from the couch and turned your back to him, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“Ugggghhhh you always get so dramatic like this,” he said, standing up to follow right behind you. “I promise you it’s not that serious. Think of it like this: just two people fooling around and then calling it a night. We don’t have to get into all that messy bullshit from the past if you don’t want to. We could just.. What’s the word my therapist says all the time.. Oh! Compartmentalize. Yeahhh that’s it. You know, you get really good at shit like that when you watch multiple people you care about die in front of you, it’s pretty great.”

“But it’s not that simple Wade, I can’t just..” you sighed as he wrapped his arms over your torso, pressing his chest tightly against your back. He slightly lifted up the bottom of your cami, playing with the top of your panties that peaked out of your shorts. “Please.. don’t do this to me.”

“What, this?” he asked before sliding his tongue over your exposed neck, still playing with the top of your lacy panties and twisting the little bows around his fingertips. “Love these by the way, are they new?”

“St-stop..” you stammered, breath quickening as he rolled up your tank top to eventually reveal your delicate bralette, which accentuated your cleavage perfectly. You felt his hot breath splash against your shoulder as he panted at the sight of your body gradually revealing itself to him. 

“Wow, you look even better than I remember!” he commented, playing with the little ribbon in the center of your bra. He used the palm of his gloved hand to rub aching, undulating circles over your toned stomach. “Have you been working out? And by the way, love the statement piece, it goes really well with what you have under too! Ugh, I love when you wear a matching set for me, which reminds me, remember that gorgeous lingerie you had on that one Valentine’s day? I still can’t get it out of my head! Oooh, do you still have it? Because if so I would love to uh, borrow it for a few days if you don’t mind?”

You broke away from him, stepping towards your bedroom door, back still faced to him. “I have to go to sleep now,” you said, trying to conceal how flushed your cheeks were getting in the dim lighting. “You can use the sofa but please be gone by morning.”

You twisted the handle to enter your bedroom and slammed the door behind you. You pressed your back against the cold wood, trying to regulate your breathing by counting numbers and steadying yourself by grasping your dresser while the room spun. 

“Welp, at least I tried,” you overheard Wade mutter nonchalantly. He stepped over to your living room window, unclasped the locks, and disappeared out into the night. Like it was just another pit stop in the evening for him. 

Eventually, you found yourself back in bed, staring at the ceiling as your heart continued to pound against your chest. You tossed and turned the entire time, wide awake, until eventually, you couldn’t take it anymore and had to find some relief. 

So you regrettably, masturbated to the thought of him, legs shaking underneath your sheets while you clasped your hand over your mouth. This was something you did way more often than you care to admit. And only then was sleep able to reward you. 

[tonyboneysblog]

MOTHER HEN: PART TEN

parings: hawks x mother!reader

wordcount: 3k

notes: GET PRANKED IM POSTING I ACTUALLY FINSHED PART TEN (also there’s two more parts left n im so sad😔)

warnings: angst: but then fluffly comfort😘

summary: you, the mother of Fumikage Tokoyami, are just a simple nurse! Who caught the eye of a certain pro.

something was wrong with hawks.

I mean he’s always a little weird, but this is different somehow?

sure the two of you have only been dating for about a week, you don’t expect him to show his skin and bones to you.

but he seems like he’s hiding something.

and he looks more…exhausted somehow?

and you know for a fact that he’s at least getting sleep because he’s always cuddled up in your sheets by the times you get home from late shifts.

much to Fumikages dismay.

he’s more upset that hawks took his spot in the bed though.

and that hawks scared the hell out of him when he casually flew through your balcony.

but you don’t except hawks to open up, but you’d like him to know your a good shoulder to cry on.

but it would get better right? wrong.

hawks got more nervous as the weeks went by, even when Fumikage interned with him- which you begged Fumikage to do- he still was antsy.

you two are adults right? You can have a great amazing conversation about eachothers feelings right?

so that’s what you were planning on doing tonight after you got home from the hospital.

Fumikages now at the dorms sadly so you and hawks have the time to speak.

when you finally clocked out you drove home like usual, got home around 12:40 which is the betters times.

Unlocking and opening the door to your home, you craned your head to see if you could see the tufts of blonde hair you liked so much.

wasn’t there though.

so you closed the door, walked through the house searching for hawks.

He had to be home right? You even asked him what time he would be home and it was definitely passed the 9:00 he was so proud of.

Hawks liked getting home early.

But here you were all alone in the house you were supposed to have company in?

You take your phone out from your pocket, calling him.

it rang, no one picked up.

so now you were slightly worried, and confused too.

hawks told you one night that he’d answer your calls immediately.

he thought you’d get too worried about him not answering after what happened with Fumikage.

and he was right, you are worried.

you rang again, no answer.

you shouldn’t be worried- he was probably just fighting a villain right?

fighting one when he isn’t even on the clock.

maybe his phone died- even though he always kept it charged.

bad reception? no he’s always texting and flying in that damn sky.

where in the world would he be-

“Hey mama bird.” He walks through the door with his hero outfit on.

You turned around with a small yelp, scared by his sudden intrusion.

“Hawks- you worried me sick, weren’t you supposed to be off by now?” You say slightly hurried.

he chuckles softly, “calm down, I got a call, had to answer, you know the drill.”

“I don’t, I’m not a hero.”

He huffs at a small laugh, you weren’t joking though.

Hawks walks over towards your room, presumably going to go change out of the hero clothes he was supposed to be out of three hours before.

you follow after, your socks padding on the ground silently.

“Why didn’t you answer your phone?”

“Did I? M’sorry I was busy.” He says apolitically.

No context, just that he was busy- isn’t that amazing Y/N?!

Hawks moseys over to your bathroom, “now if you don’t mind me- I have to change.”

He almost shuts the door until you stop it with your foot.

He looks up at you, slightly surprised with a curious glint in his eye.

You sigh- something has to be done about him.

“We should talk, after you change.”

He smiles, “I was planning on talking to

you.”

“No- we need to talk, it’s serious hawks.” your tone a little more aggressive than you’d like it to be.

hawks watches your expression, only staying okay until he mumbles a small, “okay.”

You remove from the door so he can close it, then you walk towards the living room.

Sure- you were a tad bit mean but he’s been worrying you for weeks.

even Fumikage asked if everything was alright with him- maybe hawks grew on him a little but still.

truthfully, you can not take another failed relationship- especially with another hero.

You sit on the couch, your shoulders tense waiting for Hawks entrance.

Maybe you working so much is forcing him to hide things? Maybe he just doesn’t wanna stress you.

Hell your a mother- some grown hero problems aren’t going to sway you.

not after Fumikages my little pony phase.

or the Pokémon one, or when he thought he was a unicorn for two weeks because some kid convinced him he was.

Then walks in hawks, sitting near you tapping his foot anxiously.

“What did you wanna talk about?” His voice doesn’t waver.

“You.”

Hawks expression doesn’t really change.

“What about me?”

“I mean- are you okay?” You grab his hands gently.

He chuckles, “I’m fine, are you okay?”

You sigh, “Hawks…I’m serious.”

“And I’m seriously okay, nothings going on.” He smiles, you know it’s plastered on.

“Why’d you come home at twelve? I thought you were the fastest.”

“I had business.”

Business? What business takes three hours.

“Could you tell me about it?” You try to say softly.

“It’s boring- you wouldn’t wanna hear.”

“What’re you hiding?”

Hawks goes quiet, his foot tapping halts.

He’s got quite the poker face on, but the secrets in his wings that are oh so tensed.

“I’m nothing hiding anything.”

his tapping starts back up, wings tense.

“Oh yeah?”

He hums, “yeah.”

Hawks truly didn’t even know what type of tactic to use on you with all the hero commission training, you also read him through his damn wings no matter how good of an act he played.

“Look- I’m just worried.”

Hawks smiles, removing his hands from yours to tap your chin.

“About little old me?”

But hawks knew you were a woman who “didn’t participate in romantic relationships” and he’d use that to his advantage.

He’s not telling you shit.

Your face is solid, “yes, I’m worried since you’ve been acting weird.”

“What if I told you I was just trying to control myself hm?” He says with a small smirk on his face.

what in the world is he on about?

Your brows furrow in confusion, “what?”

hawks pouts, “I mean Fumikages always around, I can’t do nothing without the guy yelling at me.”

He wouldn’t tell you about his new mission.

it’d break you.

“I mean- yeah that’s true but he’s at the dorms-” hawks hand slowly crawls to your waist then places a finger to your lips with a small “shhh.”

He whispers in your ear softly, “I’m just…a little pent up? want some alone time with my lady y’know?”

it’s not like hawks was completely lying to you, he just couldn’t tell you the truth.

You trip over your words, “yeah, I-i understand.”

Hawks chuckles, his breath hitting the side of your face, “Am I making you nervous?”

Suddenly, he starts pecking the side of your neck over and over again- quickly.

It’s makes laughter bubble out of your throat.

You can hear hawks giggles through his pursed lips.

and hawks was a little prideful that his distraction worked.

slowly but surely hawks little kisses were getting more slow and deliberate, soft and gentle.

He was comfortable laying over you as you laid on the couch, your head being propped up by the arm rest.

hawks was enjoying himself, until your cup his face with a less than happy expression.

kinda made him shiver a little- he would t tell you that though.

“Hawks…you can tell me yknow?”

His damn wings flutter softly against his back before he can stop them.

“Already told you, I just missed you.”

He wouldn’t tell you.

You sigh softly, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer.

“Alright, I’ll drop it.”

Then it got quiet, which is what hawks wanted but���he kinda liked that you worried so much.

but he still wouldn’t tell you.

You run your fingers through his hair, catching your fingers through the knots.

Hawks feels your throat vibrating as you hum a tune he can almost recognize.

He liked this.

Lying to you makes him feel way better if you treat him like this right after.

he’d like to be treated like this for the rest of his life.

You can feel hawks tension basically melt into you. Like putty almost.

You can’t stop staring at him, if he didn’t become a hero he would’ve been a great model.

Sometimes hawks would complain about all the clothing company’s that contacted him to model, but after you told him you like seeing him all dressed up in magazine he quickly changed his tune.

maybe you took your admiration with hawks too far sometimes, always trying to fit every detail on his face into your brain before he woke up late.

A couple minutes pass by, the familiar tune changes slowly into something hawks can no longer recognize.

He likes it, so he raises his head.

he won’t lie when he says he felt shy at your gaze.

“What’s the song your humming?” He says sleepily.

You smile, “Made it myself, it’s called my boyfriend won’t tell me what’s wrong.”

Hawks scoffs, then kisses you softly.

He doesn’t want you staring at him, like he’s a good person. Like he’s something.

You rub his back softly, scratching his wings like you would a cats fur.

When he retreats from the kiss, there it is again.

That stare.

he doesn’t like it.

You look at him like he hasn’t killed, like he hung the stars, like he was born for a reason.

Maybe the reason was to meet you.

hawks thinks it’s a wonderful reason for a moment, he doesn’t feel the first tear fall until he recognizes your face filed with concern.

You cup his head gently into your chest.

“H-hey, hey..what’s wrong hawks?” You say sweetly, your kindness leaking like coming from your mouth.

He hates how he retreats more into you, clutching your scrubs like it’s his lifeline.

You can hear him mumble out apologizes, one after another.

You don’t know what he’s apologizing for though.

“O-oh god- Y/N m’so sorry.” He muffles out from your scrubs.

You card through his hair, “hawks it’s okay, I’m not mad.”

And you wait until his breathes slow, until he stops shaking.

And he can’t bring himself to see you look at him that way again.

He sits up, looking away from you.

You rise as well, rubbing his back.

You watch him lean into his hands, covering his face.

“Hawks, I’m not angry- just tell me you’re okay.” Your voice no longer as strong as it used to be.

he shakes his head. Could he tell you?

no. No, he can’t the commission would have his head for leaking information to a civilian.

would you tell though?

he has so much he wants to spill to you, so- so much.

he doesn’t have to spill the mission yet. He can’t.

“Hawks-“

He could tell you the truth about himself.

“Keigo.” His voice doesn’t shake.

You freeze for a moment, “what?”

“That’s my real name, Keigo Takami.”

You pause for a moment, soaking in the information.

Hawks can’t stop the words from spewing out his mouth, you have that effect on him y’know?

“My parents gave me hell when I was born, I lived in some run down shack and my dad would always make it his mission to hit me real good when I turned my back from him, and-“

Hawks was rambling, it was hard for you to process everything but you got the memo.

His voice was strained slightly when he finished.

He retreats back to his hands, his wings over his shoulders. “I-I understand if you don’t want to be with me anymore that hearing that.”

You let out a nervous laugh, “ha- keigo. Why would I leave you?”

Hawks lifts his face from his hands to look at you.

He trips over his words slightly, “because..I-i have too much baggage? that’s what Mirko says.”

“Keigo, ever since Ryuji..” you reach to grab a hold of his face, “I thought I was done for.”

Hawks places his hands on your forearms, but he doesn’t make them move one bit.

“I thought no one would love me after that, but then you flew in. With your dumb wing and cute hair.”

Hawks doesn’t break eye contact with you, you wonder if he even blinked.

“And you tried to be my son’s friend- and you taught him to be a good hero. To be like you.”

He’s sniffles, you can tell he’s trying to keep it together.

“Then you came to me, and I want you to stay even when you’re all old and wrinkly and your wings can barely move like they use to.”

You rub soft circles into hawks cheeks, he enjoys the feeling.

“I’d gladly patch you up after every fight- kiss every mark better. I want you to stay with me- I need you to Keigo.”

Hawks looks down, “I’ll stay then.” He mumbles out.

You candle his head back down to your chest, kissing his head softly.

And all hawks can do is soak it in.

You accepted this part of him, would you except the other?

the one where he’s actively helping the league.

the same one that hurt your Fumikage?

Would you still want him in your home after that?

He doesn’t understand why his heart doesn’t ache at the aspect.

part of him already knows you’d coddle and kiss him after he told you.

part of him knows you wouldn’t blame him for it.

yet he can’t get the words out of his mouth.

maybe it’s cause he can’t move, he feels so safe in your arms so what’s the point?

So safe he rests.

Was telling you about his past the right call?

you don’t really care where hawks came from, just where he is now.

and now he’s with you.

and soon Fumikage will be home, and maybe just maybe he’ll finally accept the “group cuddle” you’d been pushing him to do.

And when you wake, there’s your beautiful boys.

One on top of you and one glaring daggers at you from the door.

“Mother.” Fumikage calls.

“Fumi…”

He sighs, throwing his duffel onto the ground.

“Back from dorm life I see…”

Fumikage huffs a small laugh, he begged Aizawa to let him come home on the weekends.

Then opens his arms walking over to you and hawks.

And finally engulfing you.

Hawks stirs in his sleep, only to wrap one of his wings around Fumikage.

You ruffle Fumikages feathers, “How was your week?”

“Interesting to say the least.” He hums.

“We had to have team battles against the other class, plus Shinso.” His fingers twirl around a loose string from your old shirt.

“Did he getcha?”

“He could never.” He smiles.

Hawks grumbles in his sleep from the noise you and Fumikage are making.

Only then to flutter his pretty eyelashes at you, “Morin’ birdie…”

“gross” Fumikage complains.

Hawks retorts, “You’re not even supposed to be here.”

“You take my spot on the bed, my mother, my confidence- you won’t take away my house too…” Fumikage spits back.

You pop into the conversation, “When did he take your confidence?”

“Don’t ask.” They say at the same time, great synchronization.

You chuckle softly as their banter continue, yet hawks wing is still comfortably around Fumikage.

This feels perfect. You wish you could freeze time.

Hawks feels great too, he successfully evaded telling you about the league.

And Fumikage- well he’s just glad to be home.

Hawks didn’t plan on telling you on the information he had.

He wouldn’t tell you what would happen in four months.

that the liberation army would make there attack.

He should really work on that code to tell endeavor and the commission soon.

But for this moment, he’ll enjoy a simple life.

And after the attack, maybe he’ll enjoy it more freely.

And if there’s a bigger battle, maybe the commission won’t need him anymore.

and he’ll enjoy that life with you and Fumikage.

and he’d get to sleep in everyday, sometimes he’d wake up to delicious pancakes- or burnt ones if Fumikages decided to try out the skillet.

“What’re you laughing at.” Fumikage says darkly.

“What? Nothing.” Hawks replies with a big smile on his face.

Fumikage sighs, “get him dark shadow.”

You yelp befofe dark shadow comes out to flick hawks on his “dumb forehead” according to Fumikage.

Yeah, hawks could enjoy this.

He hopes you’ll forgive him in the future for not telling you everything.

And if he has to kill someone…

He hopes you’ll kiss the hands he did it with.

Because then they’ll hurt less when he looks at them.

And when he comes home at the end of today, he’ll enjoy a nice dinner with you and Fumikage.

You’ll get up and gather the plates when everyone’s finished, but Fumikage will insist he’ll do the dishes.

hawks cleans the table, you walk around to sit down on the couch to find some stupid scary movie Fumikage would like.

Then hawks would snuggle into you, and Fumikage would begrudgingly join in.

Fumikage would fall asleep, because according to you he always does.

And he’d have a conversation with you before he himself drifted off.

And before he slept, he’d hear you call his name.

“I love you Keigo.”

Yeah, that’s the simple life hawks wants.

Fumikage smacks his head, “stop day dreaming when mamas speaking to you.”

Hawks perks his head up over to you.

“What would you like for dinner tonight? Fumikage said it was your choice.”

Hawks can feel his stomach flutter.

Yea, he has something to come home to now.

He has you.

And after the battle, he hopes you’ll still have him.

TAG LIST: comment to be tagged!

@lost-in-horrorland @boopjuice @validveenus @qardasngan @arminsarlerts @star-the-rabid-dog @bunni-teeth81 @lightsgore @portgasdbruh @camejlo-35 @marsbars09 @tharae514 @yoongiwantsme @kimahrii @pink-jello-fish @l1vvvvv @miy-svz @bumblebeebutter @lacunaanonymoused @emmmeoo @sinagtala-zip

AN: I didn’t expect to write for mother hen until I answered that ask and then I got into a writing mood so… EVERYONE SAY THANK YOU ANNON!!

[zvdvdlvr]

Where Were You? Where Were You?

🩻 - Synopsis. Aaron realizes how badly he messed up, but doesn’t know if he has the strength to mend the wounds he gave himself and you.

🩻 - Warnings. Angst. No happy ending. Self isolating!Aaron. Boo hoo we’re all pitiful clowns here. Part one HERE! NOT EDITED!

🩻 - Author’s note. Part one got so much love!!! Thank you all for reading and commenting. I hop you enjoy the second part, but I’m bringing in the big guns for part three! :)

You stayed to get your psych evaluation. It took two tries. The first time around took a toll on you: reliving everything that happened, talking about it in explicit detail, and acting like everything was fine. But you knew you failed before it even began.

You took it again a couple weeks after. Even though you were officially benched from any cases, you didn’t complain.

All the time the team spent away gave you the opportunity to job surf. In reality, quitting the BAU was much harder than you initially imagined. Of course you would still be able to see them and talk to the team, it just… wouldn’t be the same. You would miss J.J.’s round of ‘good mornings’ as she swept by you all, eyes locked on the coffee pot a few feet away. You would miss Derek perched on Emily’s desk, teasing you, Spencer, and Emily like he was getting paid for it. You would miss Spencer looking over at you every couple of minutes to see of you were paying attention or not; making faces at you or mouthing words if you weren’t. You would also miss Emily spinning stories about her past, telling you the good and the bad, letting you closer into her heart. You would obviously miss Penelope’s hugs whenever she could tell if something was off, trying to cheer you up. And Rossi. Rossi buying the coffee at expensive places after begging him too, Rossi giving you advice during a case, Rossi being the father of the team he was meant to be. But… most of all you would miss Aaron.

Aaron speeding to his desk in the morning, desperate for something to wake him up. Aaron walking into casual Friday in a pair of tight-fitting jeans you didn’t know he had. Aaron stepping out of a hotel room in a quarter-zip, unaware of you ogling him. Aaron letting Jack go straight to you whenever the little guy swung by. Aaron’s smell when he hugged you. Aaron. Aaron, Aaron, Aaron.

No. You physically shook your head. Get rid of him, you thought, he’s just going to make it harder for you to leave. The computer screen was giving you a headache now. You finally decided to get up and stretch your legs.

As you moseyed over to Penelope’s cave, you noticed the time: 11:49.

“Hey Pen,” you greeted. “You eat anything? I’ll go grab lunch for us,” you offered.

“Hey mamas!” Derek greeted. You saw his face of the screen, smiling.

“Hey, you. How’s the case?” You asked, immediately happy to talk to the man.

Derek shrugged and looked at someone behind the camera. “Reid! C’mere. It’s y/n/n.”

You heard a couple gasps over the quiet chatter in the precinct and suddenly Emily and Spencer’s face showed up on the screen.

“Hi y/n!” Spencer greeted excitedly. You came to stand behind Penelope, poking her in the cheek as you greeted the both of them.

“Hey Spence! Hey Em!” You were happy to see the pair. Though you had seen them only four days ago, you missed them. A pang of guilt stabbed at your heart: how were you supposed to quit your job if you couldn’t stand four days away from them?

“-ffee shop you’d love. I got that mocha stuff you normally get to try, and it was alright. I guess I see why you like ‘em,” Emily shrugged.

“I’ve been telling you! Anyway, how’s the case?” You asked.

“Close. I can feel it,” the black haired woman said plainly.

Spencer nodded and started talking about the case. The unsub’s main slaughter technique consisted of an electrical wire- of all things- and a Swiss army knife, a different knife each kill. You nodded along, listening to what your friend said. Eventually, you heard “Reid!” and Spencer said a quick goodbye and he was out of frame.

“That’s our cue, baby girl,” Derek said. “I’ll talk to you two ladies later.”

You heard Emily’s ‘bye!’ and the screen turned black.

“Sweetness, I would love some food,” Penelope groaned. “I’ll eat anything you get, but I need a pink lemonade! I need it, y/n, or I may perish.”

You laughed. “Yes ma’am.” With that, you poked her other cheek gently and left.

— 🔥

Aaron heard your conversation. He heard your sweet laugh, how easily you fell into conversation with Derek, Spencer, and Emily. He thought of the few months before you were taken. You were excited about a stray kitten you had found, claiming that the little creature followed you from your apartment to the bookstore you swung by regularly. You hadn’t even realized the calico until you sat down and felt his little paws tugging on your pants, tiny mews trying for your attention.

You were overjoyed to have been- in your words- ‘decided worthy enough for the system to choose you’. Penelope had been buzzing about it too, especially after showing her numerous different pictures of the little fella.

Spencer had asked what you did with him, knowing you didn’t have the time to take care lf a kitten when you were gone so much. You told the team that you had given it to a cousin’s daughter, who was immediately taken with the kitten.

The joy in your tone as you gushed about the kitten was palpable. Aaron loved- liked so many things about you, and how passionate you are was definitely one of those qualities. But he felt his own smile fade off of his face as his eyes fell back on crime scene photos: he had a job to do. And you were unimportant.

— 🔥

You picked up Chinese food, ordering inside the restaurant because the line wrapped around the whole building.

After ordering, you paid and gave the cashier a smile. You kept smiling until you turned away, still feeling her wandering gaze drag harshly down your cheek, eyebrows furrowing as she tore herself away from the scar as dipped below your shirt.

As you stood back and waited, you felt like everyone’s eyes were on you. What an idiot, you thought: a government agent who doesn’t even have the confidence to buy some food. Your jaw tightened and you kept your eyes down, waiting until your last name was called. You saw a little girl look at you as you walked out. She held her hand up to wave and you smiled at her, the chubby cheeks of her face lifting into a bright smile. You looked away when her mother pulled her forward, sharp eyes glaring at you.

The little girl’s toothy smile filled your head as you drove back to the office. The ice in Penelope’s pink lemonade clinked around in the plastic cup as you drove. You drove in silence, thinking of the mother pulling her daughter away. Were you… really that bad? Ugly? Your heart sank into your stomach: a feeling you were starting to get used to. You saw your vision blur, but refused to cry. Maybe that’s why Aaron doesn’t want to see your face anymore. Because you were a monster. MacMillian had done his job- successfully.

— 🔥

Aaron stared at the text on his phone.

From Penelope Garcia 🖥️😄: u need to talk to y/n. ASAP. i  don’t think she’s okay and i think it has to do with the macmillian case

It had been three weeks since the case and you still hadn’t spoken to Aaron since before you were kidnapped. Well, you had talked to him, but it was stiff and professional. He looked over at Rossi who was speaking with a few officers. Aaron felt like an idiot.

He wanted bothing more than to drag you into his office and sit you down to talk. Talk about what happened, what he did, how you felt, how you’re feeling now. Aaron just wanted to help you heal but he knew he can’t. He can’t jeapordize your relationship or his job. Aaron felt a lump grow in his throat. He didn’t even know what he wanted anymore- other than you.

To Penelope Garcia 🖥️😄: How is she? What happened?

From Penelope Garcia 🖥️😄: she went to get food for us and came back all upset. i think the poor girl was about to cry :(

From Penelope Garcia 🖥️😄: and i think there’s something else i need to tell you

From Penelope Garcia 🖥️😄: but it has to be in person.

Aaron leaned back in his chair. “Damn it.”

— 🔥 

A day later the team came home. There was an arrest and the case was closed. There was a lighthearted conversation on the way home, Reid and Rossi playing a card game as Derek, Emily, and J.J. bickered over something (Aaron doesn’t know anything when they get together and scheme). But Hotch was looking out the window and thinking of Penelope’s texts. What had happened to make you shut down? What news did Penelope have for him? How were you doing mentally? How are you at home?

Hotch knew you had nightmares. Hell, everyone could tell. You had growing purple splotches under your eyes, a larger coffee cup every morning, and you zones out consistently during the day. You wore turtlenecks- that Hotch personally thought you looked amazing in- even in 85 degree weather. Not to mention how jumpy you are whenever someone touches you.

Reid had nudged you one day to get your attention; you were staring at nothing and it was time to leave. Derek watched you, a frown on his face after saying your name thrice. Spencer nudged your shoulder with a knuckle and you flew backwards, stumbling out of your chair, a hand coming to your cheek (where The Scar ran down your face). You played it off quickly after seeing Derek, Emily, Rossi, and even Hotch’s looks. But the fear in your eyes… Spencer knew you thought he would hurt you.

After landing, Hotch gave the team the day. As they all cheered and left to get their stuff, Hotch walked into the bullpen where he knew you were still working.

“Y/n.”

God, Aaron missed you. Missed seeing you, being in the same room as you- hell, breathing the same air as you.

You looked up from your computer, eyes falling on an exhausted looking SSA Aaron Hotchner. “Sir?”

“You may have the rest of the day off.” Aaron swallowed, holding your eye contact. Your eyes were one of his weaknesses. After a second of silence, you nodded.

“Thank you, sir.” 

Hotch turned on his heel and made his way to see Penelope. He felt his head spin: your blank stare and emotionless eyes felt like a knife to the gut. Aaron really fucked up, hadn’t he? Fucked up so bad you called him ‘sir’ and acted like you hadn’t bonded over your love for Phil Collins and old action movies. And how to looked away from him like you hadn’t slept in Aaron’s house clad in a pair of his sweatpants and an old sweatshirt, Jack lying on top of you after falling asleep to a cartoon. And especially the way your voice was monotone, completely different from the way you held up a quiet conversation after being sent home because you had a concussion.

“Garcia-“

Penelope stood up the second she heard Hotch’s voice. Tears welled in her eyes, shining brightly against the different colored lights in her cave. “Sir, it’s about y/n. I- I didn’t mean to snoop, but she’s just been so distant lately and ever since that case, she hasn’t gone out with me, Emily, J.J., or even Spencer! I’m really sorry-“

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Garcia. Slow down. What happened?” Aaron asked. He felt bile rise in his throat. He had a gut feeling that whatever the bubbly blonde woman had to say wouldn’t be good. He swallowed.

Penelope harshly wiped the tears off her face. She looked down and then back up, clearly distraught about the news. “Y/n applied to another job… and got accepted.”

🏷��: @zaddyhotch @jazzimac1967 @polireader @magical-spit @angelmather1 @pettydonuts @aremuslupinsimp

[sturniolobsessed]

ANXIETY - M.STURNIOLO

Warnings : crying, anxiety, female comfort, smut, oral male!receiving, swearing, use of pet names, kissing

Summary : Matt has had a very stressful and anxiety-filled day so when he goes home to vent to you, you help him out in other ways

Authors note : I am so fucking sorry! I have taken an unnervingly long break and I am finally back. My schedule will not be limited anymore because one a day was a little too much but I will try my best to post more. Send requests <3

Pink is Y/n

Blue is Matt

Word count : 758

________________________________________

Matt’s POV

I take a few deep breaths, trying not to burst into tears on the drive home.

I just want to see my girlfriend and I will feel ten times better.

I turn into my street and quickly park in my driveway, practically running inside to see her.

I find her sat on the sofa, book in one hand and a book in the other. She immediately puts the book down when she sees me and opens her arms for me.

“Hi, darling.”

“Hi…”

I mosey on over to her after shutting the door and I curl up in her lap, my head nuzzling into her.

My arms end up around her waist gently and my eyes closed, not saying a word.

“Stressful day..?”

I nod my head, which is still lay in her lap.

Y/n’s POV

Matt comes in and instantly collapses on my lap, hugging my waist tight.

My hand makes it’s way to his head and I gently start playing with his hair.

I can’t help smile, even though I know he is stressed because he looks so cute.. aww.

I pull him up a little, properly hugging him.

His head falls to my chest and my arms wrap around his neck, his around my waist.

“What happened, darling?”

He shrugs, nuzzling into me more as he looks up at me.

“You don’t know..?”

“No..”

Placing a kiss on his forehead, I tuck his head into my chest and bury my face in his hair.

Matt’s POV

As my girlfriend hold me, I feel my eyes start to water against her shirt.

My breathing becomes shaky and my jaw starts to tremble.

I guess that she senses this because she immediately pulls me in tighter and starts kissing my head.

“Shh… don’t cry, baby. It’s okay…”

Softly crying into her chest, my pain from today starts to slowly ease.

I take a few deep breaths and keep my eyes shut tight, calming myself as much as I can.

My eyes start to dry a little as she hold me, her soft touch soothing my pain.

Y/n’s POV

I feel him start to cry and I immediately start comforting him.

I am playing with his hair, kissing his forehead, whispering sweet things, the lot.

When he finally calms down, he pulls away from me and looks up, meeting my gaze.

“I love you…”

“I love you too, baby.”

He smiles and gently grabs my waist, pulling me onto his lap.

I blush to myself and smirk a little, my legs fitting perfectly over his.

He holds my waist, his arms linking round my back softly.

As I sit, I start to feel him grow hard beneath me and I watch him get slightly frustrated because of it.

I understand that it is a fairly awkward time to be hard but I don’t care.

“Matt.”

“Yeah?”

“How about.. I help you in a different way?”

I smirk at him, nodding my head down at his growing arousal.

His eyes widen slightly before he gives me a little nod, clearly embarrassed.

Matt’s POV

I watch as my girlfriend slides off my lap and gets down on her knees in front of me.

I start to relax a little, leaning back in the chair as she undoes my belt.

First my belt, then my trousers and lastly my boxers.

She pulls my trousers and boxers down to my ankles and my hard dick springs out.

One hand wrapping around me, I let out a deep breathy groan.

“Fuck… y/n.”

Slowly, she wraps her mouth around the tip, swirling her tongue around like a lizard.

My eyes are screwed shut from pleasure already.

Then, her mouth slides down my dick, my tip hitting the back of her throat.

I let out a deep groan, followed by a few little whimpers.

My hand flies to the back of her head, pushing her head further onto my cock.

My tip continues to abuse her throat and I feel the familiar knot in my stomach start to form.

A few more thrusts and the knot unties, my warm cum shooting down her throat.

She pulls her mouth off me with a pop and she looks up at me with those big, doe eyes.

Y/n’s POV

“Was that good, my love?”

“More than good.. fuck.”

He is still coming down from his high and I press some small, little kisses on his thighs.

A smile grows on his lips as he rubs my cheek gently.

“Still stressed?”

“Uh huh..”

He sakes his head no, his eyes locked onto mine sweetly.

________________________________________

Taglist : @astrolynnworld @mattsneezing @mattybsbitch @mangoposts @sturniolo0ntop @bluesturniolo333 @sturniolobessed @m2tts-slvf @sturngirls @slappedbymatt @ellaapsworld @mattsturniolosgf333 @scarssturniolo @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 @loud-sturniolos @sturnioloslife @sturnivoid @sturniolololover @33sturniolo @sturnsxx

[lurkingshan]

Japanese QL Corner

It's raining jql! Hang onto your butts because this is a jam-packed post. We now have three shows airing weekly on Gaga, plus several fan subbers making our dreams come true. What a time to be alive.

Takara's Treasure

I love them, your honor. This show is from the same directing and screenwriting team as Our Dining Table, so it should come as no surprise that the characters immediately endeared themselves to me. Taishin is a lonely boy still mourning the death of his beloved pet bird and latching on to the senior who was kind to him in his low moment. Takara is a reserved tsundere who seems a bit taken aback by this weird kid who followed him to university, but Taishin's sincerity and gentleness is working on him already. It doesn't hurt that Taishin is not faking his interest in the things Takara loves, that boy is an amateur botanist. This one is going to be so much fun, and almost certainly make me cry. Can't wait!

I Hear the Sunspot

These two already own my heart. I loved that we took the time to get to know Kohei better at this early stage and understand how isolated and excluded he has felt since he began experiencing hearing loss. He needed someone loud and straightforward and unapologetic like Taichi to barrel into his life and pull him back out of his shell again. I was so relieved when Taichi confronted him immediately about his avoidance and cleared up the idea that he only wants to see him when he's being fed. The joy I felt seeing Kohei laugh and finally relax and play a simple game of basketball with his peers was immense. I could gaze at his smiling face all day.

Ayaka is in Love with Hiroko

Holy shit, I love this show! We begin our story with a makeover, and it only gets better from there. Adapted from a manga, this is an age gap office romance between an experienced lesbian and the purportedly straight junior who is in love with her. Hiroko is everyone's favorite boss at work, but she keeps her private life separate, so her colleagues have no idea she spends her nights at the local lesbian bar or that before work got so busy, she was a consummate party girl. Ayaka fell for her after an act of kindness, and she is on a mission to get Hiroko to take her seriously, but her perceived straightness is getting in the way. Shenanigans ensue! This show is charming as hell and so genuinely funny, and Hiroko is an instant fav.

Bonus: Ossan no pantsu ga nandatte ii janai ka

Episode 9 has is now available on @isaksbestpillow's blog, and besties, Daichi and Madoka are getting married!!! The way I lost my entire shit when this happened, you have no idea. I was carrying on so much I had @bengiyo worried something terrible happened, but THE VERY BEST THING HAPPENED.

Ahem. This was another fantastic episode! Makoto accompanied Mika to the Random show, where he developed his very own bias and a newfound respect for the power of kpop. Mika got to share the story of how her fandom saved her in a low moment, Moe and Makoto had a heart to heart about her lack of desire for romantic partnership and the expectations he should let go of, and the entire family is getting along so much better than we could have dreamed a few short months ago. And just as the fam was headed out for parfaits, Daichi appeared and expressed his own desire for a family, Madoka took the hint from the universe and proposed, and we all collectively held our breath and cried and cheered when Daichi said yes. What a fantastic show, I really cannot believe this drama exists.

Bonus: Zettai BL 3

And to complete this week's fan subs, @ikeoji-subs has begun posting A Man Who Defies the World of BL 3. Head here to find the latest, and if this is the first you're hearing of this series, mosey over to Gaga or Viki to watch parts 1 and 2 first! The episodes will be dropping over the next week or so, and I will share more complete thoughts about the season once they're out!

[sugurusdiscordmoderator]

your writing is so goooood wahhh the nanami fic had me on my knees, could you write a pizza delivery boy gojo x reader? maybe he's always picking up reader's orders so he can see her or something hehe (can be fluff or smut) ❤

WOOOO ANOTHER GOJO FIC

another college AU - slightly inspired by a story that actually happened in my life (it was less romantic irl and more creepy lmao)

reader is 20ish gojo is 22ish

cw: masturbation, sex?

-

Your sophomore year of college you absolutely scored when you found your apartment. It was on one of the main streets of the city so you could walk anywhere you want to go, hosted parties, and just had fun! The first floor of your building was a pizza shop which you occasionally stopped in; the owner of the shop owned the whole building so he was also your landlord and was a sweet older Italian man.

There was a tall employee that always caught your eye, but he was always working in the back. Most of the time you were picking up pizza your landlords sweet daughter was working the register so you never talked to the white haired beautiful man. However it seems like l you had caught his eye too? No you were just being delusional, he wasn’t staring at you… but how could you be mistaken with those bright blue eyes that you seem to look away as soon as you make eye contact with?

It’s not that you’re shy. It’s just that this man is so attractive your cheeks immediately blush and you can’t even try to talk to him. (hey Siri queue Gorgeous by Taylor Swift)

That is until one day, when you texted your landlord and asked if the delivery guy or someone could bring your order upstairs because you were “sick” (you were just hungover but you looked the part of being sick so whatever). He responds with a no problem and about 15 minutes later you hear an imposing knock on your door, almost entirely too loud for your tiny apartment building. It makes your head pound and even though it’s 4 pm and your hangover is still lingering around.

You mosey on over to the door, sweatpants, Ugg slippers, an ex boyfriends hoodie you kept, with your hair in a braid that definitely needed washed. You open the door, squinting at the fluorescent overhead lights before realizing just who was at your door.

The white haired man with the beautiful cerulean eyes was looking down at his phone waiting for the door to be answered and when he looks up the two of you lock eyes. Suddenly you become aware of just how bad you look and your eyes grow wide at your downstairs crush at your door.

“Are you…y/n? The boss asked me to bring this up to you.” The mystery delivery man asks with a shy smirk and hands you to box.

“Oh thank you yes I’m y/n,” you say fumbling in your pocket for the $20 bill you put in there earlier. “Um here…keep the change,” you awkwardly stick your hand out with the money in it, realizing how hot the pizza box is in your other hand.

“What if I asked for your number as a tip instead?” He smugly asks, now leaning his lanky frame up against your door frame. You bring your eyes up to meet his, trying to find if he was joking by the features of his face. He stuffs the $20 in his pocket and pulls out his phone and wiggles it in his hand, as if to say ‘see?’. Your lips draw into a slight smile seeing his goofiness, “sure,” you giggle making his smile grow wider.

He hands you his phone for you to type your number and name in with your free hand, your other hand still holding up your pizza you’ve been looking forward to.

“Thank you m’lady,” he winks at you when you hand his phone back and pushes off your doorframe and walks away down the stairs. “Text ya later,” he yells up at you from the bottom and you just smile and close your apartments front door, leaning against it and smiling as you open up the box and take a bite.

-

You anxiously await a text from the pizza boy only after realizing you still don’t know his name or his number but he has both of those pieces of information about you. The half eaten pizza box lays on your coffee table while Netflix drones on with a reality tv show in the background. You scroll through Instagram liking everyone’s pictures from the previous night out and daytime party shenanigans. You’re drawn out of your trance like state when you feel your phone vibrate, a message from an unsaved number popping up.

‘hi pretty lady 😘 - your favorite pizza boy’

He still hasn’t given you his damn name so you can’t look him up anywhere. Suddenly all flirting skills have gone out the window and you have no idea how to text back.

‘You’re such a flirt, do you treat all your customers with such kindness?’ you ultimately respond with.

‘only if their name is y/n and they live in apartment 2b :)’ he responds too fast and you’re immediately apprehensive. Why is this beautiful man flirting with you so brazenly out of no where? This smells like a fuck boy situation, but hey, what’s wrong with a hook up or friend with benefits? Maybe it’s time to up the ante and play with some fire.

‘Funny, I haven’t even gotten your name yet and you’re already laying it on thick. Seems to me you’re quite the flirt.’

*one image attached*

‘Am I still a flirt if I made this while thinking about you?’

‘yes actually, more so than before.’

‘fine :( but i need someone to share this with?’

‘I’m literally still working on the pizza you brought up here earlier, take it to the other girls I’m sure you’re also flirting with rn’

‘ouch shots fired’

You stare at your phone screen smiling like a teenager, kind of wanting to get to know this guy a little better. You smirk to yourself before typing out:

‘fine. I don’t want more pizza but I do want to hang out.’

The pizza boys only response for now is ‘😱😱😱’ so you decide to get off the couch and shower for the evening. Washing your hair, shaving your legs and other areas, exfoliating, and making sure you smell extra nice. At least if you don’t see a guy tonight you can consider this self care? After a relaxing 15 minute shower you wrap your hair in one towel and your body in another. You head into your bedroom and proceed to brush out your hair and put on some sweatpants and a sports bra while you get ready. Sitting down at your vanity, you put on a light amount of makeup before blow drying your hair to look “natural” as if you didn’t just spend an hour getting ready.

You start to get dressed as well, taking off your sweats first, when you hear a knock at your front door. Confused, you walk over and look out your peep hole. Oh god, of course the beautiful white haired man knew how to get into your building and just showed up at your door. You crack the door just a bit to stick your head out, embarrassingly saying, “Hey I’m sorry can you give me two seconds I don’t have pants on.”

Without waiting for his answer you close the door again and run back into your bedroom and put on the sweatpants you just took off as well as a light weight tank top that was laying on the bed next to it.

‘Did he really just show up to my door unannounced?’ You think to yourself reaching for your phone. It turns out he did respond earlier while you were in the shower, you just hadn’t looked until you picked up your phone right this second.

‘sounds good, what do you want to do this fine evening?’

You stared at the text, mouth opened, slightly resembling a fish out of water. At least you had gotten your hair and makeup done but it took you an hour of not texting him back. Rushing back to your front door you reopen it to him leaning against the wall on his phone playing a game.

“I’m sorry,” you sigh, cheeks flushed, swinging the door open for him to come in before stopping him in the doorway, “You’re not like a serial killer right?”

He throws his head back with a boyish laugh, meanwhile you just want an honest answer, you didn’t think your question was all that funny.

“No, I’m not,” he finally answers after noticing the apprehension in your face.

When you move to let the stranger inside your apartment, you throw caution to the wind and think, ‘well if I am going to die, at least it’ll be by this beautiful stranger?’ (damn reader, I think you would have LOVED Ted Bundy back in his day)

The man stands looking around your joint living room kitchen area, one hand in his pocket, one hand lifting his round black sunglasses from the bridge of his nose to on top of his head, resting among the snowy tufts of hair. He must have just got off an afternoon shift, smelling of Italian food wearing old jeans, a tshirt and converse.

Given it’s about 6 o’clock at this point, the sun has begun to set, setting golden hour aflame through your west facing windows of your apartment. The white walls glow orangish-yellow with tiny refractions from your little plants and decorations lining the windowsill, creating rainbows in random areas across the room. Your tv still hums in the background with a garbage show, before this potential murderer finally speaks up, as if he’s fully comprehended and assessed the room.

“The names Gojo, Satoru Gojo.” He smiles, only needing to take one of his large strides before he’s in front of you ready to shake your hand.

“Thank you for finally telling me your name,” you smirk, having to nearly crane your neck to make eye contact with him.

He wiggles his eyebrows and licks his lips before asking, “so no pizza but you wanted to hang out. What did you have in mind?”

“Well, I missed your text when I was in the shower so I haven’t put a lot of thought into it. We can go somewhere to grab a drink or do something or we can chill out here?” You try not to seem too bossy but not too submissive either, and by the looks of it Satoru is as confident as ever.

“Well the boss man gave me some free bottles of wine that I have in my car I can grab and we can watch some of whatever you have on, and maybe re-evaluate in a little if we want to do anything else?” He accentuates ‘anything’ with a wink and you swear your knees could give out.

“That sounds great.”

-

You make some popcorn and grab glasses of wine while Satoru goes to his car and grabs his duffle bag with wine and clean clothes and comes back inside.

“Sorry to ask, but can I take a quick shower? I kinda feel gross after an 8 hour shift.” A slight blush creeps across his cheeks while he pulls out four bottles of wine. He notices the shocked look on your face, “Oh sorry I didn’t know how much you drink so I just brought all 4 bottles he gave me, I figured we could have two each.”

“Two each?!” You laugh as he makes his way towards your bathroom. He smiles back at you before closing the door behind him. You stand up to head to the kitchen counter to uncork one of the wine bottles when you realize that the extra towels aren’t in your bathroom, they’re in the dryer right now! The last thing you need is a naked wet man in your apartment right? You grab and fold one of the towels quickly and hurry over the the bathroom door before knocking politely.

“Satoru?”, you question. “Sorry…I forgot to give you a towel earlier-”

You’re cut off by the door swinging open. The pale man’s almost completely naked save for his boxer briefs which he has no shame showing. You notice a scar across his chest, his perky man nipples, the defined pectoral and ab muscles atop his beautiful v-line, accentuated with a white happy trail running down the middle leading straight to… a bulge.

But like he wasn’t hard no, his soft penis must have been so large but even then he had a pretty big bulge. You wonder what it would look like when it’s -

“Well you answered the door with no pants earlier so I didn’t think it would be a problem here,” he cuts you off, smirking as he watches your embarrassed features. He totally just saw you checking him out, you feel no better than a man!! You hand him the towel before reaching over to close the bathroom door for him, walking wide eyed back over to the couch with a glass of white wine.

You can’t get the shape of his body out of your mind, god you can’t believe he was in there, using your shampoo and soaps and being naked while you’re right here on the couch, not able to witness it. You let the perverted thoughts take over your mind some, thinking about the way his pale skin would look covered in your nail scratches and bite marks. Or how about how perfect his cock must be? Everything else about him was absolutely gorgeous, so his cock has to be the perfect mixture of girth and length with a nice vein or two, and a cute pink tip leaking his precious pre cum right? You think back about his long deft fingers, and much better they’d feel inside you than your own. Being under the spell of your own horniness, you slip your left hand under the waist band of your sweat pants and lace panties thinking about this Satoru guy…slipping your tiny fingers around your swollen clit, giving it a pinch before sliding up and down your folds, collecting your wetness before slipping your middle finger in your tight hole. You close your eyes, slipping the throw blanket from the back of the couch over your lap as another layer of protection in case Satoru is quiet coming out of the bathroom, but he’s not a very quiet person so you’re not toooo concerned.

Although you’ve had intercourse fairly recently, you feel like you’re in the midst of a drought, a withdrawal from being touched. Your skin feels almost itchy, so aroused by this man even though today is the first time you’ve actually talked to him. You alternate playing with your folds and rubbing your clit thinking about how good he must look with the water running down his abs and through his glistening white hair. You think just maybe, you might have time to make yourself cum before he gets out of the shower. After all with how excited you are, it should just take a few minutes. You scurry from the couch to your bedroom gently shutting the door behind you, before throwing your pants off and reaching into your bedside drawer to grab your hot pink little vibrator to help hurry yourself along.

You think you can hear Satoru singing in the showering, making you sigh in relief a little knowing he still probably has another few minutes. Sticking your hand down your lace panties, you press up against your soaking hole area with your middle and ring fingers, while using your other hand to press the vibrator on and turning it up to the medium setting. You rock in and out of yourself at a steady rhythm, thinking about this man being on top of you. God, he just looks like one of those guys that is good at everything he does so you know he must be a great partner.

Letting go of yourself perhaps comes a bit too easy, laying your head back against your decorative pillows, letting out just a tiny whimper. Muffled whistling comes from the bathroom followed by what sounds like something squeaking. You think it’s the water shutting off, and proceed to panicking and switch the vibrator to high to finish while he’s drying off. You feel yourself getting close, reaching extra deep to find your own g-spot. Pushing against it your eyes immediately roll back and you feel yourself getting close to the edge. You do your best to bite down on your lip to keep noises from escaping, with both hands being other wise occupied.

Your thoughts return to the man in your bathroom, drying off, wondering if he’s gotten off to you in the shower right there, before getting a little sad because you wish he would let you take care of him! A particularly loud whimper escapes as your back arches off the bed, your legs threatening to shake violently.

“Y/n…?” Your bedroom door swings open, Satoru Gojo walking in right as you reach your peak. Your jaw drops half out of ecstasy and half embarrassment, closing your eyes and riding out the last few seconds of your orgasm. There’s no point trying to hide or make excuses, you got caught. Not only that, but Gojo’s jaw is also on the floor, the blood rushing to his lower region as he is still slightly moist from the shower but only wearing a new clean pair of boxer briefs.

“I’m - so - sorry -” you pant to him with your eyes still closed, slowly removing your fingers from inside you and turning the vibrating off.

“Fuckkkk, that was so hot!! ,” Satoru wines striding over to join you on your bed. He takes the fingers you were about to your juices off of and pops them in his mouth, staring you in the eyes as he swirls his tongue around your petite digits and groaning in pleasure. “I can’t believe you couldn’t wait for me! Naughty girl, I just - wow- you’re so wet??” Satoru stammers to you, leaning his large frame over your body, blush creeping across his cheeks, but you know your face is even more red.

You sit up and lean back from Gojo, “sorry that was an..accident. You weren’t supposed to see that uh, um, I have a medical condition!! And I have to - you see…,” your embarrassment just digging you deeper into a hole as you reach for your panties and sweatpants on the other side of the bed. It’s not that Satoru seems to mind though, he actually seems kind of impressed.

As you slip your panties on, he sits on the bed giving you space but wraps his arm around your waist, “Hey..y/n… you don’t have to make up a really shitty excuse or anything, I kinda thought it was hot. Like if you want to fuck me you could just say it?” He says almost cockily trying to lighten your mood.

“I’m sorry I just like it’s not lady like? And I didn’t even like go on a date with you or anything yet…not that we have to go on a date first! I just like met you today and I feel like really bad!” You ramble on, both of your heads leaning closer and closer as he strokes your hair to calm you down. He gently guides your head to rest on his shoulder, “don’t be embarrassed babe, it’s not like I haven’t heard you have sex before.”

Your head shoots up, a new wave of embarrassment coursing through you. “Huh - what do you mean?” You stutter out.

“You realize right under your cute little room is the office in the back of the restaurant…right? And the nights when I’m in charge after the old man goes home…let’s just say some of the men you’ve brought home don’t seem to have good rhythm.”

Your jaw drops at this revelation, immediately growing defensive. “And who’s to say your rhythm is better? Besides - I -”

You’re cut off by Satoru taking the lead, his finger up to your bottom lip as to get you to quit nervous mumbling. “Hush hunny, just let me prove it to you.” He gently pushes you back against your bed, his lips finding yours before you can protest. You give in to making out with his cute pink lips, he guides a hand to the back of your neck, taking power over the kiss. You nip at his bottom lip at which he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss further, pushing his tongue into your mouth. His other hand comes to grab at your chest through your sports bra as you grab the sides of his face with passion. He breaks the kiss just by an inch, enough to breathlessly ask, “you’re okay with this right?”

Satoru smirks, knowing he has you in the palm of his hand. Instead of answering, you kiss back, this time taking initiative to swirl your tongue with his. The heated make out section reaches a tipping point as Satoru leans more of his body weight against yours, now your pelvic regions touching. His harder member through his boxers rubbing against your soaked lace panties. The fabric on fabric contact in the sensitive region has you whimpering into his mouth.

“Oh sweetheart,” he says with fake sympathy, “I already have you whimpering and I’ve barely touched you.” You roll your eyes as he uses his long fingers to brush the hair away from your neck ghosting his lips leaving a fraction of a kiss from your jawline down to collarbone. His breathing against your skin makes goosebumps form, before licking a specific spot halfway down your neck, right next to your jugular. He sucks down, ripping another whimper from you, rolling your hips up to cause more friction against his erection.

He smirks against your skin, “I think I found your sensitive spot-” and you cut him off pushing him back up to attach his lips to your neck again. You moan a little more freely this time.

“Uhnnnn, Satoruuuu…please, I need more!”

You whine removing your hands from his hair and creeping down his muscular back, feeling every single defined muscle. You decide to have a little fun, scratching a little harder as you run your hands down before grabbing the waistband of his boxers. “Off,” you whisper and this time he moans, seeming just as affected by you as you are by him.

He sits up to take off his boxers and you take the opportunity to remove your panties again, and your bra this time. You swear Satoru’s pupils turn into hearts when he sees your chest.

“Oh my god I think I’m in love,” he whispers, before leaning in fast and attaching his mouth to the right nipple. He used a lot of tongue and a little teeth, making your buds feel so much better than you ever thought possible. As he switches to your other nipple your eyes roll back.

You reach down through your legs to start stroking Satoru’s hard member. Although you can’t see it with the way his body is situated you can tell it’s massive. Like barely can wrap your hand around it massive and when you go up and down there’s sooo much!

“Can I fuck you please?” Satoru looks up at you with lust filled eyes, a sheen covering his lips and your nipples. He looks like what you could only imagine as a milk drunk baby looking up at its mother.

“Please, Satoru, fuck me,” you respond, running your thumb over his tip and spreading the precum. He leans back to line himself up, and now you can see the full image. The muscular upper body, now littered with a few scratches from you. The snowy fully hair, his eyes blown out with lust looking like he could devour you whole. Plus that beautiful cock you got yourself off to not even 15 minutes prior. It’s just as amazing as the one you made up in your head thinking about him.

You bite your lip and smile as his tip touches your entrance, him squeezing your hip with one hand as the other grips his base. He pushes in slowly and gently, letting you adjust with gentle shallow thrusts until you’re able to manage. “Oh-ohhh my god,” his breathing hitches in his throat? “Oh my GOD you feel so fucking good!” He is acting like he has just won the lottery, taking his time with his thrusts.

You smile up at him as he holds your leg, calf up against your shoulder. He places a tiny kiss along your leg before grabbing your other leg and placing it on his his other shoulder.

“Baby, can I please show you my rhythm now?” Satoru practically begs.

“Mhmmm, please,” you moan, already feeling full to the brim with his cock but needing more pleasure. He excelerates slowly, snapping his hips with high intensity. You feel his skinny hip bones make contact with the back of your legs every time, along with the feeling of his heavy balls slapping against your lower region. You’re in love with his little babbles, you’ve never met a more vocal man in bed. Every few seconds he’s saying “fuck yeah baby,” or a grunt/moan, throwing his head back, or “shit y/n”

Your toes start to curl and he notices, along with the slight tremble growing in your legs.

“You close baby?” He stammers out lowering one hand to stroke your cheek lovingly.

“Yes -toru,” you stammer out, only able to get half of his name out with how out of breath and white hot you feel. His eyes roll back in pleasure at the nickname, moving the hand that was on your cheek down to your clit, rubbing tiny circles on the puffy mound to help bring you over the edge.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes!” You half moan half chant, barely having possession over your own body at this point.

“C’mon, let go for me y/n, please pretty girl go on and cum,” the combination of Satoru’s words and how he says your name sends you over the edge, pulsing around him, eyes rolled back gripping white knuckled on the sheets.

Seeing how pretty you looked cumming on his cock, Satoru is so close to follow, not even caring that his cum his going inside you (I mean hey you didn’t tell him not to?) he grips your sides as he lets go, a grip that you know will leave 10 little perfect oval bruises tomorrow. All he manages is grunts that border whimpers “so so good, fuck,” he says out of breath, laying down comfortably with you with his cock still in side and giving you both a moment to process what just happened.

“You proved me wrong,” you whisper and he looks at you confused. “That was the best fucking sex I’ve ever had, I don’t fucking care about rhythm or any other man at this point,” you continue, covering your face with your hands and giggling.

He chuckles along with you, “I think that’s the best compliment I’ve ever gotten, I maybe should get an award for ‘sex dick given to y/n’”

You giggle more, both of you in your post orgasm mood, just being silly and romantically pillow talking.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” satoru says after a few more minutes of banter, and before you and even go to sit up, he is too fast and picks you up bridal style to carry to the bathroom. He sits you on the toilet and lets you clean yourself as he gets a washcloth with cold water and washes his face, before washing off his now flaccid penis (which still looked good which is really fucking hard to do). Upon returning to your bedroom, putting on clothes again and regaining your composure, you watch Gojo going through your closet.

You tilt your head at him and he answers before you can say a word. “Listen I know this is like the opposite of gender norms but can I borrow a tshirt?” You giggle and show him where you keep them and let him pick.

You settle out in the living room with your glass of wine, bowl of popcorn, and a blanket, resuming your prior plans. He joins you a few seconds later, wearing an old tshirt from high school that has one of the United States presidents on it in a rocking chair that says “JFK ROCKS”

You bust out laughing, not only at that fact it was almost a little too short on him, but also you had no idea where that shirt was or how he found it. He laughs along with you, opening one of the other bottles of wine.

He sits on the other end of the couch so both of your legs are all tangled and cozy , covered by your blanket. “So,” he then takes a bite of popcorn, creating an awkward pause.

You decide to interject first, “I’m sorry that like you saw me getting myself off and that I had sex with you like right after meeting you… you probably think I’m a slut but I’d actually like to get to know you.” You blush and take a sip of wine as he looks like a crazy person, before repeating himself.

“So,” he starts, “what I was going to say is that we need to get some real food and stop at the store and get a plan b, then come back for round 2,” he sips his wine, “also you’re not a slut and even if you are I’m a slut so oh well,” another tiny sip of wine and popcorn, “so this is me doing things a little backwards. Would you be my date for this evening?”

“You’re asking me on a date?” You gawk at him on accident, just surprised with how this whole day turned out.

“Yes I am sweets, now go get a jacket.”

—

very sorry anon February was a rough month (and so is March) for me this has been in my drafts 4ever

[laughhardrunfastbekindsblog]

Photo Op

Summary: The Bad Batch takes a family photo. (That's it. That's the story.) Rating: G (Word Count: 1056)

Read on Ao3

Notes: This takes place a little after season 3, but pre-epilogue. Tech's alive, of course, and this time he has been back home with his family for a while (I'm going against my own headcanons here and having them reunited earlier than I usually imagine, because fanfiction!). Echo has just come back to visit Pabu for the first time since Tantiss. I'm loosely basing this story off my own experiences with family photos 😂

                Omega burst through the front door of the cabin with a wide grin. “Echo’s here!” she announced excitedly as the ARC trooper followed her into the house.

                Hunter might have retired, but he couldn’t help but fall back into some of his sergeant habits as he stood up from his chair. “Alright, everyone,” he commanded, “into the living room for pictures.”

By the time he finished his announcement, Tech had already started setting up his datapad in the large-view cam configuration; but the others were somewhat slower to respond. Wrecker was pulling the bread out of the oven, Omega was talking non-stop with Echo filling him in on what had happened on Pabu since he’d been away, and Crosshair was nowhere to be seen.

                “Let’s go,” Hunter urged them, prompting Omega to stop chatting and guide Echo into the living room. “We all agreed to this…”

                “We did NOT all agree to this,” Crosshair said, moseying out of his room and across the living room.

                “Hey,” Hunter protested, “this is the first full squad photo…”

                “Family photo,” Tech interjected, glancing at Omega.

                “… Okay, family photo we’ve taken in a while. We’re long overdue.”

                Wrecker, having ensured all the food was ready to go, finally came into the living room and plopped down on the couch. “Can we hurry this up? I’m getting hungry.”

                Omega looked at her brothers with mild curiosity. “I’ve always wondered: why is it the rule that group pictures have to get done before dinner?”

                Tech, finalizing his preparations, was the one who answered. “Crosshair in particular hates taking pictures, so doing this before we eat is the most powerful incentive we have to convince Crosshair to cooperate, especially since it motivates Wrecker, too.”

                Echo, patiently waiting for the equipment to get set up, snorted. “It’s the ONLY incentive we have,” he corrected, before calling out, “Crosshair, get out of the kitchen. You know the rules. Let's get this over with.”

                Crosshair, scowling as Wrecker got up from the couch and dragged him away from the food on the stove, complained, “I might be more cooperative if Hunter didn’t make us sit there while he takes a hundred photos and goes through every single one to make sure they’re perfect.”

                Hunter, heading into the backyard to get Batcher, objected over his shoulder, “I don’t do that!”

                “Yes, you do,” everyone called after him with one accord.

                “It takes forever!” Crosshair continued.

                Tech gave him a flat look. “Yes, well, don’t scowl for the first fifty photos and it might go faster.”

                Crosshair instantly stretched his lips into a toothy smile that more closely approximated a grimace, making Omega giggle. “Perfect, Crosshair,” she joked, “stay just like that.”

                “Don’t stay just like that,” Echo interceded. “Anyone who looks at the photo will have nightmares.”

                “Good,” Crosshair nodded.

                “Aw, come on, Crosshair, don’t make this worse,” Wrecker pleaded. “I’m starving!”

                Crosshair faltered for a moment, but then doubled down.

                “The soup’s going to get cold,” Tech, eyes still glued to the datapad, observed dryly.

                Crosshair immediately fixed his face.

                Everyone except Tech was lined up on the couch and ready to go by the time Hunter came back in with Batcher. Tech directed the two of them into place and took one last look at the positioning and alignment before nodding and taking his own place at the end of the couch.

                “Ready, everyone, smile!”

                Ten minutes later, everyone was holding their breath as Hunter silently studied the most recent batch of photos. The other pictures hadn’t passed muster for various reasons: Omega was blinking, Omega’s eyes were open too wide, Wrecker was looking away, Tech was rolling his eyes while Crosshair’s mouth was open (he was complaining about the repeated flashes blinding him), Batcher was drooling, Hunter couldn’t be seen because Batcher moved her head, Crosshair needed to smile more, Crosshair needed to stop smiling, Echo needed to sit up straighter, Hunter adjusted his position at the wrong moment…

                “This is good,” Wrecker now whispered hopefully. “When he’s quiet this long, it’s a good thing.”

                “Well, Hunter? Are we done?” Omega asked.

                Hunter hummed noncommittally. “Hmmm… Everyone’s good here…”

                “Yessss!!!!”

                “… except, well… Batcher’s eyes are kind of closed…”

                “That does it, we’re done,” Crosshair announced, launching himself over the back of the couch and making his way toward the kitchen.

                “Crosshair!” Hunter protested, but Tech cut him off while Wrecker discreetly slid off the couch to follow his brother, with Omega following suit.

                “It’s okay, Hunter,” Tech said. “I can use one of the other stills of Batcher and slice it into this one.”

                “Have you been able to do that all this time?” Echo asked with no small amount of exasperation, obviously thinking back to his other experiences taking group pictures with Clone Force 99, especially during the Clone Wars.

                Tech shrugged. “I never mentioned it because Hunter has never liked the idea, not even back on Kamino when we were cadets.”

                “Altering photos is cheating,” Hunter said flatly. “Photos are meant to capture the moment.”

                “Problem is, you don’t like any of the moments we capture,” Echo retorted.

                “Precisely,” Tech agreed, ignoring Hunter’s glower. “In this case, Hunter, for the sake of familial harmony and reducing the chances of Crosshair going on a rampage, alterations will have to be acceptable. It’s that, or displaying a photo with Batcher’s eyes closed.”

                “I think we should use the one where Wrecker is laughing at Crosshair complaining, Hunter is shushing both of them, Echo is facepalming, and Tech is the only one still looking at the cam,” Omega interjected brightly, coming over to join the conversation with a full plate of food.

                “The same one where Batcher jumped up on you?” Echo asked.

                “Uh huh.”

                “That one is a very accurate depiction of our usual dynamics,” Tech observed.

                Hunter sighed heavily and shook his head in defeat, before eyeing Omega’s plate. “Did you leave any food for us?”

                “I did, but you’d better hurry because Wrecker might not.”

                “Crosshair! Stop hogging all the soup!” Wrecker’s voice sounded from the kitchen.

                “Or Crosshair,” she added.

                Hunter sighed yet again before joining Tech in heading toward the kitchen. As Echo made to follow, Omega grabbed his hand. “Welcome back, Echo,” she smiled at him. “I’m glad we got more pictures together.”

                Echo couldn’t help but grin. “Me too, kid.”

[go-go-devil]

Pate and Patches: What's the Difference?

As an avid Patches Enjoyer, I had initially found myself a bit underwhelmed with Mild Mannered Pate after completing his questline in Dark Souls 2, particularly with his overall lack of any truly devious trickery towards my Bearer of the Curse.

However, I didn't think it was fair to him to completely compare his role to Patches's. So after much assessment and taking in all the gameplay & environmental clues I could, I think I may have finally deduced how Pate's differences to Patches help him fit into his own niche in this game.

Y'see, while Patches is a predator, Pate is a parasite.

Patches goes after his victims directly. He lures them in with the promise of treasure only to flip a switch that'll send them into dangerous/fatal areas or will straight up kick them down there himself. If they somehow manage to get out of his traps then he'll start groveling and offering gifts for forgiveness. He also uses this predatory tactic to determine which of the people around him are both resilient and forgiving enough for him to trust, which leads him to becoming a merchant and thus a kind of ally to you. A sketchy, devious ally, but one who actively benefits you and gives you his occasional musings on the world and its characters.

Pate, on the other hand, doesn't seem to want to get his hands dirty at all when it comes to scavenging his victims' loot. Instead his strategy is to directly attach himself to anyone who proves strong enough to get through any dangerous areas he stumbles upon. He does this by playing the role of an unassuming, cautious treasure hunter who gives you helpful advice about the immediate area and wishes for your safety. It can even be seen through his choice of clothes; Pate dresses in the armor of a common warrior, unlike Patches who proudly wears the thief's set.

I remember at first finding it strange how he of all NPC's was the one who gives you the white soapstone, contrasting how in DS1 it was Solaire, one of the kindest characters in that game, who gave it to us. Looking back, however, it does fit his strategy well. Summons directly benefit from their summoners by getting souls & items for their participation, and so Pate can offer his help by turtling with his greatshield and stabbing the boss safely with his long spear to get his fill of the large number of souls you acquire.

Once he becomes his next victim's "ally," all Pate has to do now is just mosey alongside them and keep finding areas where they can acquire great treasures. But only for them, of course! He's just too nervous about what terrible traps await, but surely his ally is brave and strong enough to persevere while he watches from a distance. If they were to die by a swarm of hollows, or fall into a pit of poison, well, it wasn't HIS fault that it happened! He did warn them, after all...

With that in mind it's easy to assume that Pate was pulling this parasitism on Creighton for a good while, tagging along with him and benefiting from all the undead, hollow or sane, that the man slayed. The two even stored their treasures together in the same hovel. Why exactly he locked him up is never directly explained, but if I were to guess I'd say it had to do with Creighton's claim of wanting to set up a trap for Pate. He began to grow wise (or maybe moreso paranoid) to the fact that he was being used, and once his mild mannered "friend" figured it out he tricked him right back, took what he could from him (that being the Ring of Thorns), and booked it!

And even after all of that, this man still has the gall to share this story with strangers by twisting it around and turning the guy who tried to kill him into this poor, foolish little warrior that Pate tried so hard to stop from falling into such an obvious trap.

That's what separates the two tricksters. Unlike Patches who defines himself by living independently from others, Pate cannot function without hooking his claws onto the trust of more daring individuals to do all the dirty work for him. After surviving Patches's tricks he becomes your merchant and ally, but Pate wants nothing to do with you after surviving all of his traps. While Patches locked up and warns you about Yurt and Lautrec in DeS and DS1 respectively because he was genuinely afraid of how cruel and violent they were, Pate locked up Creighton upon realizing he wasn't beneficial to him anymore and doesn't even bother warning you about the fact that he's a convicted serial killer, instead pretending he doesn't even know the guy.

There's also the fact that if you summon Pate for The Last Giant boss fight, he'll give you his clothes, spear, greatshield, and even the ring (or at least copies of them, he doesn't strip down in front of us). Since this is also when he tells us he's heard of a man who's out hunting for him, it's more than a little suspicious that he would want us to dress to his likeness. Especially if that certain someone might end up mistaking us as him.

All-in-all Pate may seem less harmful than Patches on the surface, but in the end he proves to be far more cowardly and arguably WORSE than him from a moral standpoint.

[captainmalewriter]

Down Under

Commission Story

Ryan was finishing up getting dressed when his phone chirped from a notification. He reached over to grab his phone and grinned when he saw it was a text from his friend Morgan.

"Hey! I'll just meet you at Rocky's okay, see you soon!"

Ryan replied and got back to getting dressed. He didn't want to keep his good friend waiting after all. Ryan had only met Morgan a month ago, but the two had grown to be pretty good friends within such a short time. Coincidentally, they met at the same restaurant/bar they were meeting up at- at Rocky's.

Ryan had gone to Rocky's for a date. He had waited for an hour until he eventually accepted the fact that he had gotten stood up. He unbuttoned his dress shirt and moseyed over to the bar side of Rocky's. Ryan sat down on a barstool, ordered a shot of tequila, and immediately downed it with a single motion. He then ordered another shot and downed that one too.

"Hey, maybe you ought to slow it down, yeah?"

Ryan heard some guy with an Australian accent talking to him. He swirled around in his seat to face him, ready to tell him to go fuck himself, but he found himself speechless after seeing the handsome stranger. The young Australian young man was dressed in faded blue jeans and a band T-shirt. He had a lit cigarette, and he took a drag of it while he walked over to one of the pool tables. He exhaled a sigh full of smoke before speaking again.

"I saw you at the tables over there, lookin' real sharp and what not. You been here a while... I take it it's been a bad night?"

"Ha, you don’t know the half of it..." Ryan scoffed.

Ryan joined him on the pool table. The man introduced himself as Morgan and asked Ryan what happened. Ryan then proceeded to spill everything onto Morgan. He wasn't sure if it was the tequila that loosened him up or if it was Morgan's kind, caring eyes that made him feel at ease, but Ryan just felt so comfortable in his presence. But to top it all off, Morgan never interrupted or shamed him for oversharing. He listened, and once Ryan was done, he pulled him in for a tight hug. It was as if Ryan had known him forever.

Ryan sighed and smiled as he felt the warmth of remembering when he first met Morgan. He was grateful that he managed to exchange contact information with him the night he met him. He had gotten to know him better since then.

Morgan was from Sydney, Australia and was visiting family in the US for an extended period of time. He was 24 going on 25, and he was a freelance DJ back at home. He was by all means a pretty ordinary guy, but Ryan could not deny his attraction to him. He was infatuated with Morgan since he first laid eyes on him, but as he got to know him, Ryan became head over heels for him. It was an attraction unlike anything Ryan had felt before, and he knew had to make a move.

Ryan left for Rocky's after packing a drawstring bag. He stowed it in the trunk of his car and hightailed it to the bar. Ryan waltzed in and saw Morgan smoking a cigarette. The tanned Australian matched Ryan's eye contact and grinned. Ryan felt his cheeks blush at the sight of those pearly whites. He then lied to himself that it was a date rather than just another hangout session. Oh, can a guy dream...

The two young men spent the night laughing, drinking, and smoking together until it was practically closing time. Ryan was ready to say goodbye for the night after sobering up enough to drive home, but then Morgan invited him over to his place for a night cap. Ryan accepted the invitation without a second thought.

"Alright, bud, make yourself at home," Morgan said as he opened the door to his apartment. Ryan stepped inside and took a moment to really soak in the surroundings. "It ain't much, I know, but it's home."

"Don’t worry, Morgan," Ryan turned around with a smile. "I'll feel right at home here."

Morgan then proceeded to make night caps for the both of them, but he had unexpectedly run out of alcohol. But luckily, Ryan came prepared. He went out to his car and brought back a bottle of scotch he had packed. It was a special brew, Ryan's original recipe.

Ryan poured out the drinks; scotch whiskey for Morgan, and regular water for himself. He watched with anticipation as he saw Morgan drink up the special whiskey.

"Damn! This is good! Where'd you get this?"

"Oh, you know, I've got my connections..."

Morgan was too busy drinking up to question it further. Ryan hid his smirk by drinking his glass of water. Soon enough after some time chit chatting, Morgan had finished his drink Ryan had made him. Then, after some more time, the sleepiness kicked in. Ryan saw how much Morgan was yawning and excused himself out. But instead of actually leaving, all he did was open and close the front door. He then waited patiently for the sound of Morgan's snores, then waited for the snores to die out too.

Ryan crept back to Morgan's bedroom. He peeped inside, and a devious smile spread across his face when he saw a flat, deflated Morgan laying on the bed. Then, no longer needing to be discreet, Ryan began to celebrate his success. That special whiskey was specifically designed to turn the drinker into a bodysuit. Ryan could only ever get his hands on one bottle of the stuff, but one bottle was all he needed. He just needed to make it count. And that he did.

He walked up to the bed and placed a hand on the bodysuit. Ryan was in awe as he ran his fingers across the plastic leathery feel of Morgan’s skin, accidentally squeezing out any air it had as he did so. He stripped the bodysuit of clothes and whistled when he saw Morgan in the glory of full nudity. He caressed the face while wrapping a hand around Morgan’s limp dick, then gave the bodysuit a quick peck on the lips. Ryan had a feeling that his attraction to Morgan went deeper than some random lust. Holding the transformed Morgan in his arms confirmed what Ryan suspected along. He wanted to become a part of him. 

Ryan leaned in and gave Morgan a kiss full of tongue. While French kissing him, he used his hands to stretch out Morgan’s mouth. It opened up like the mouth of a latex balloon. Once the opening was large enough, Ryan proceeded to dive head first into Morgan. Morgan being a slim guy leaning more towards the twink side made for a tight fitting bodysuit. Ryan was met with resistance but he pushed on at full force anyway. The bodysuit stretched like rubber as Ryan pushed his arms into Morgan’s legs; his fingers slipping into Morgan’s toes like a glove. He kept pushing and pushing until Morgan slurped up Ryan in one final wet gulp. Ryan filled the bodysuit to its limits, causing the bodysuit to drape over his own body like a rag. Morgan had become Ryan shaped because of it.

Ryan was filled with glee as he rested inside of Morgan. His little plan had worked, or so he thought. He tried to move around, but quickly found that he couldn’t. The bodysuit was such a tight fit that it wouldn’t budge no matter how much Ryan tried to move. Then, just as sudden, Ryan could feel the interior walls of the bodysuit closing in all around him. The bodysuit snapped into place like an elastic band, trapping Ryan inside. Ryan struggled but to no avail, and ended up blacking out inside of Morgan.

***

Morgan woke up feeling like absolute dog shit. His head was pounding, his eyes hurt, and his body ached all over. 

He laid in bed as he waited for the room to stop spinning. Morgan could vaguely remember what happened the night before. He visited his family in the morning, gym in the afternoon, then hung out with Ryan at night at Rocky’s then at his place. Morgan could still taste the crude mix of alcohol and tobacco in the back of his throat. But despite getting cross faded, Morgan was sure that he didn’t drink or smoke enough to black out. He then remembered the scotch Ryan had brought over. He only had one glass of the stuff, yet it knocked him out like a light. 

It also gave him weird fever dreams. He was dreaming that Ryan had gone inside his body; just putting him on as if he was a piece of clothing. Both his mind and body could vividly remember the feeling of getting stretched out to its physical limits as his body took in another body inside of it. His mouth stretching as Ryan stuffed his body inside of him. His internal organs moving aside as they made space for Ryan to take over the space inside his body. The thought of having another person inside of his body unnerved him. That dream was more a nightmare than anything else. Morgan wondered if he got a cramp because of how strong that body stretching dream was. He thought about it for a minute, then shrugged it off.

“That shit was too strong...” Morgan muttered. It tasted good, but if it singlehandedly caused his hungover and fever dreams, Morgan wanted nothing to do with it. At least, not until it was a special occasion again. 

Morgan let out a loud burp. He smelled the foul scent of tobacco and something that smelled like fine leather. Morgan groaned and decided to go shower. 

Morgan was still aching all over as he showered. He hadn’t felt that sore since he attempted a triathlon years ago. As he showered, he noticed how bloated he was. But the bloating wasn’t limited to just his gut, he was bulging in various random places around his body. His thighs, his arms, his chest, he had just packed on extra mass everywhere!

But as soon as he noticed it, the bloating began to quickly go away. The steam from a hot shower obscured Morgan’s vision as he underwent a second body transformation. All the body swelling was melting away until he was back to his usual, slim self. It was painful, but Morgan endured it.

And at the same time, Ryan had woken up inside of Morgan’s body. He could feel Morgan moving on the outside, which meant he felt Morgan’s body once again closing in all around him. But it wasn’t painful this time; in fact, it was pleasurable. 

Ryan moaned from inside Morgan’s body, causing Morgan to moan too as the sound traveled out from within. Ryan’s body began to morph and stretch to accommodate its new shell. Ryan could feel the effects of having gone inside the bodysuit head first. Ryan’s arms filled into Morgan’s legs, his legs into Morgan’s arms, his face into Morgan’s cock and balls, and his groin into Morgan’s face. Only their midsections lined up as Ryan and Morgan merged into one human being. Now instead of just wearing Morgan, Ryan had become an irremovable part of Morgan. And as Morgan looked at himself in the mirror, Ryan could see himself through Morgan’s point of view too. He could feel everything now. 

Morgan inspected himself in the mirror. All the body swelling had miraculously just disappeared as if it never happened. Morgan was confused, but not able to come up with any answers, reluctantly let it go. He stroked the edge of his jawline with thumb and forefinger. Ryan could feel his beard stubble on his toes. Morgan then walked out the bathroom, slipped on some fuzzy slippers to lounge around the day away. Ryan could feel the slippers wrapping Morgan’s feet on his hands. It was as if he was wearing a pair of fuzzy gloves himself. 

And that was more or less how their lives played out from there on out. Morgan continued living his normal day to day life while Ryan got to ride passenger seat undetected from inside his body. Everything Morgan felt, Ryan felt the inverse of it. Every time Morgan took a deep breath or drank something warm, Ryan felt his own dick feel warm from the stimulation. The bodily sensations were a pleasure that were out of this world. Morgan fancied facial massages, which meant a hand job for Ryan; and whenever Morgan jerked off, a facial massage for Ryan. It was intensely and sensually homoerotic. Ryan still remembers the first time he shared an orgasm with Morgan. It marked the first of many, as he continued to live within Morgan’s, content with his new life as a young, scruffy, fiendishly handsome Australian twink. 

Thank you for supporting!!

[stevenssticks]

Hey,it’s still me,and I still wanted to ask if you could’ve write a smut about Jason Newsted X fem!reader where they where besties😋 and they were at a “sleepover” but they couldn’t sleep so they started talking (about anything you want i don’t mind) and then..yk 😊

Nah cus…look at him😭

uregghh this is so cute. i cant. look at himmm😭

being best friends w jase is already so so good. he’s so caring and sweet, always running by your house when you tell him you’re not feeling great. gives the tightest hugs ever. you’ve been friends for years and just clicked instantly in your teen years when you both still had acne all over everywhere and you were trying to get everything figured out. and after that you feel for him. hard.

cut to today, now both in your late 20’s, jason is in town after touring with metallica and he immediately shows up at your door with a duffel bag in hand and his bass strapped over his shoulder.

“jase!” you shout, wrapping your arms around him in the doorway. he drops his luggage to return your hug, holding you tight and breathing you in, smiling into your shoulder as you ask him how he is, before saying “oh, goodness, you’re still outside, please come in.”

jason smiles at you, once again picking up his things and throwing them off to the side and kicking off his shoes. the two of you mosey into your room once jason gets out a pair of sweats from his travel bag, it was 9:00 pm when he got off the plane that day. now it’s pushing 12:00 am.

you’re both lying in bed side by side kind of just looking at the ceiling, and you feel like you’re freshly 18 again, except something in the mood has shifted a little. your hands lay side by side and you are so tempted to reach out and grab it, so tempted to crawl on top of him and kiss him until your lips bruise. your love for him rushes up to your throat and it hurts.

“hey jason?” you whisper.

“mhm??” jason’s eyes are lidded. slowly blinking as he looks at you.

“can i say something insane?” you blink back.

“what are you talking about?” jason chuckles, “you’re scaring me.”

“well?”

“‘course you can, anything.” jason’s more attentive now, wide awake.

“i’m in love with you.” and you feel yourself just shatter. you’re frozen, you can’t believe you just said that, you can’t get up, can’t move, just wait and watch as your best friend of over a decade processes your declaration.

you watch in slow motion as jason says “can i do something insane?” in which you nod, and then jason is kissing you, soft and sweet. his hands move to the back of your neck and hip, pulling you so that you are situated laying chest to chest on top of him, deepening the kiss.

“can’t believe this is happening,” he mumbles into your skin, smiling so wide his cheeks hurt. he moves to kiss up your neck as he caresses your hips. sliding his hands all over you like he’s been wanting to for years. “so pretty…”

you’re getting needy quick, all this desire having built up in you for so long. you want him now, palming at his crotch and fumbling with his sweats until they’re down his thighs, before situating yourself over him again after you too remove your sleeping bottoms.

you keep kissing him, wet smacks that make you all hot everywhere. jason’s hand moves to your core, rubbing over your underwear just where your clit is under the fabric. “need to fuck you, baby. need it so bad…” he mumbles into the kiss, fingers pushing your panties to the side and sliding his fingers through your folds.

you whine for him, again reaching to his crotch and feeling him hot and hard against your hand. you reach into his underwear and wrap your fingers around him, pumping him a few times before pulling him out of his fly. lowering down and opening your legs, you push the tip of him through your wetness.

“cmon jase… need you..” you whine, and then jason is taking your hips and pushing you down onto him as you hold him steady, slowly sinking down in a delicious slide that makes your eyes roll back in your head. “fuck, that’s it!”

you roll your hips onto him, jason’s arms wrapped around your waist as you ride him harder and faster, moaning into his ear as he groans into your shoulder. crying out for you just as you do for him, repeating “i love you.. i love you s’ much” over and over again like a prayer. you keep begging him to say it again and again, never getting enough of hearing him.

your orgasm comes by surprise, you squeezing so hard around him, so hot, and jason is quick to follow you over the edge. grabbing your hair and pushing you down to kiss him again as a stray tear falls from your eyes as you get so overwhelmed by the feeling of him. your hips slow, then pull off, flopping down onto jason’s chest as you breathe him in. he looks down at you and smiles wide.

—-

okay i still have no clue how to close out fics. sorry. enjoy

[filthforfriends]

Bonus Chapter

Alpha!Damiano Omegaverse

Word count: 9.6k

Read the actual fic on my Masterlist!

You’d missed the first bus after school and were now running almost half an hour late. It’s not that Damiano would leave the amphitheater without you, but you texted him last minute. So last minute that he wouldn’t even get the message until after practice. Your heart only sank further when the parking lot came into view and you saw how few cars were left. He was probably hungry and bored out of his mind so you jog the rest of the way.

His car isn’t in the lot. That can’t be right, so you go the double check up close. 

Where are you?

Damiano attended these practices like clock-work. You mosey towards the field in case someone can tell you if Dami went home early and why. Star quickly walks past you, giving a tight-lipped smile and a small wave, indicating that he very much wasn’t feeling social. From inside the structure, a familiar voice you can’t place calls you over.

“Y/n, Dam is over here!” You feel sick while breaking into a run, but when you round the corner, the only people on the field are Julio and Nikolai. They’re bent over cackling at your concern, hands propped just above their knees. Immediately you see red.

“Weren’t you banned from the team?” You try to look down on them from a distance, even though they’re both taller than you.

“I’m not banned from the amphitheater. I just can’t use it when Romero has it booked for practice.” Julio spits back in venomous tones, meanwhile Nikolai is texting someone amidst snide chuckles. It’s then that you remember Damiano has his hearing with the collegiate board right now. He’s on the other side of town.

“Whatever.” You turn to leave, taking out your own phone to ask Clio for a ride.

“Oh and she gives up so easy!” Nikolai is goading you like you’re some young alpha, hell bent on proving herself. Omegas aren’t fighters. In fact, you can’t fight, and this knowledge plants a seed of fear in the pit of your stomach. Surely they didn’t plan to harm you and risk real consequences. You clutch your phone in your right hand and walk towards the exit.

“Not so invincible now, huh?”

“This is what happens when bitchy omegas don’t have their bitch-boy alphas to protect them.”

“Call me mediocre again. I fucking dare you.” The sound of Nikolia’s voice raises the hair on the back of your neck and you know you need to get out of here. When you speed up your pace, they follow, footsteps growing ever nearer as they jeer. 

“He hasn’t bred you yet, so there's still some hope of finding an alpha to put you in your place.” 

“I would give anything to see that,” yells Julio. The faster you walk, the quicker they follow, so you try to slow your pace and manage your racing heart. If you can just get to the parking lot you’ll be in plain view of houses and the skate park. Finding bystanders was a tactic embedded into your psych before primary school. You got to the cement hall that ran under the building and noticed someone coming towards you. 

In the shadows, you think you’re in luck; a bystander found you. His heavy work books click each step and then his face comes into view. It's the alpha that Damiano had to fend off three months ago. Turns out he went to Okoro Academy and hung around Romero after school, waiting for a vulnerable omega to victimize. 

“Hey, you made it!” calls Nikolai. His joy is a mockery of your fear, and you’re struggling to think straight. 

“Imagine my surprise when I found out my cousin Phoenix had been victimized by the same runt of the litter.” He grins when he says victim, enjoying the power trip and the irony. There’s no way to physically get out of this so you’re going to have to talk your way out. Fist fighting all three would be easier than making yourself demure and submissive. What do you want is too forceful, so you try to soften the sentiment.

“I don’t understand what you want me to do.” Phoenix breaks into maniacal laughter and the other two follow after a brief side eye. If they’re unsure about his actions that either means this front isn’t nearly as united as it looks or that you should be very scared.  

“I want corporal punishment so we can control upetty omegas that need to be fucking humbled and taught how to serve”

“And I don’t want mutants like Damiano to dirty the gene pool. He should be sterilized and kept away from the population.”

“How fucking dare you!?”

“Ah, there she is!” Julio says in a sing-song voice. He lunges at you, but it's a fake out, only a couple steps before he falls back, laughing cruelly. You’d tried to back up too fast and end up falling. Only one elbow was bleeding, but Julio’s eyes kept darting towards it. The contents of your book bag are strewn three feet down the hall. You crouch down while trying to clean it up, papers crumpled and haphazardly shoved inside. 

You’re so focused on looking at the ground that you don’t see Nikolai until his cleats come into view. Immediately, you straighten up like your spine is a titanium rod, eyes wide in fear at his proximity. Nikolai lunges at you too, so close you can see the storm in his irises. This time you fall hard, tripping over your bag and getting the wind knocked out of you when you land flat. At that point, all attempts at regulating go out the window while you struggle for a decent breath.

“Woah! Is she okay?” Julio is nervous and you stare at him with every ounce of panic and rage so this moment will haunt him, whatever happens to you. His eyes dart from one person to the next, but he never sustains a gaze.

“She’ll be fine. Maybe she should call her savior for help.” Nikolai cocks his head to the side and tries to put on a scowl. You still have your phone clenched in a fist and begin to type. But you stop yourself upon realizing that this was a trap. They know that Damiano will go scorched earth if your safety is on the line. Phoenix, Julio, and Nickolai probably think they can take him. Maybe they can and Damiano will destroy his body. Or, more likely he’ll destroy them. Either way Damiano will be excommunicated from society for his Alpha Dysregulation. Incriminating him was the whole point of this display of strength.

Forcing a deep breath, you bring your phone back to your side and stare at them willfully. Julio is the closest to breaking. He’s blanched and picking at his cuticles, clearly wishing he’s never volunteered to do this.

“I am not bait,” you spit, trying to back away. Their plan had failed and you were banking on them recognizing defeat. 

“Bitch,” Nikolai murmurs, spitting on your shoes and bowing his head. 

“See, I told you this wouldn’t work,” Phoenix finally speaks. His voice is monotone in a way that makes your skin crawl. It means that his friendliness three months ago was completely a mask. People who can mimic emotion so easily often lack empathy. It's all a performance for personal gain.

 You try to walk away but Pheonix blocks your path, stepping in front no matter where you divert. 

A quick glance over your shoulder shows that Julio and Nickolai are also unsure. When they notice you’re looking, both young alphas try to harden their expressions. Option one is getting past them and taking the next exit halfway down the field. Option two is avoiding Phoenix and bolting 15 feet. You decide on the second one and don’t even make it a full step before being shoved to the ground. You land on your fingers, rather than your left hand. Something pops, but not like a knuckle. At first, intense shooting pain moves all the way up your arm and then fiery throbbing pain settles in your hand. 

You’re shocked into silence, as is everyone else. When your body does register the injury, it’s trying to shut down to protect itself. To hide, to curl up, to become smaller, to become less noticeable, to limit points of vulnerability, to be silent, to survive. However, you can’t trust that Phoenix will leave you be. In fact, this act of wounding seems to stimulate him like nothing else has.   

Help

While the text goes through, you’re trying to share your location.

“Atta’ girl!” He shouts gleefully, thrilled his prey is finally doing something amusing. Phoenix rips your phone from your hands and throws it against the cement. It breaks into three pieces, battery skidding until it hits the wall.

“NO!” you scream, trying to scramble away and find a place to conceal yourself. The sound echoes within the tunnel, deafening.

“What the fuck, dude!” Julio screams in horror. Nikolai is disturbed, but he handles it slightly better.

“This wasn’t the plan! We were supposed to scare her, without touching her. Not break her phone!” A force pulls you backward and you realize it's Phoenix's hand on your hood.

“And you’re scared aren’t you?” he snarls. It must have been a combination of the yelling, the chase, the adrenaline, the control, and the sadism, because Phoenix has gone full alpha. His charcoal eyes are souless, the place where his pupil lay a swirling black hole. The tendons on his face and neck quiver like they’re about to tear through his skin. You’re running before you can see his teeth, and this time he lets you go. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” You’ve disappeared from view quickly, hiding in the bushes below the field until your assailants leave. At this point, all there is to do is ride out the overwhelming instinct to cower.

“Oh, come on,” Phoenix rolls his eyes. 

“No, you’re not supposed to do that type of shit,” insists Julio. Purposely sending omegas into flight or fawn was a major social taboo. It forces both an acute stress response and dissociation which occasionally causes tragedies. Omegas accidently darting in front of cars or hours of unnavigable panic reaching the point of mental crisis. The instict to hunker down until the episode passed left sick people without medical care and little children with traumatized parents. Originally, alphas tormented omegas endlessly because they couldn’t fight back before expectations were set up to protect their well-being.

“We should hide her stuff so they can’t trace it back to us.” Nikolai recognizes the new leader and reassembles y/n’s backpack. 

“And when she tells Damiano?”

“He’ll flip out. Mission accomplished,” Phoenix shrugs his shoulders, casually. “It’s our word against his, so you know what’ll happen if someone breaks ranks.” He glowers at Julio to make the threat clear.

  “Yeah? And in the mean time he could fucking kill me!”

“So, what? You’re afraid of him now? Phoenix taunts. Nikolai has fallen silent, holding the backpack like it's a bomb.

“Oh my – we did this because he’s dangerous! As someone who had their nose broken by Dam in a single punch, I can attest to that! He shouldn’t be in the general population, thats the fucking point.”

“What he shouldn’t be is so full of himself,” mutters Nikolai. He walks off to find a place to hide the bag with his head hung. 

“And that is the fucking point. Alphas like him are what's wrong with society. They don’t obey the natural order.

“You’re out of your fucking mind.” Julio picks up his duffel and walks away.

“We reminded an omega of her place! You should be proud of that!” Phoenix yells after him.

***

“We’re just thrilled to have you officially back on the team, drive safe!” The chair of the collegiate board walked the David’s out to the parking lot with a restrained, professional smile. They’d known which way the board was leaning as soon as the hearing started. Still, the end result was a huge relief. 

“Do you want to just pick up y/n on the way home?” Isabella was wearing a rare, full fledged smile.

“Yeah, I’ll call her!”

Y/n: Where are you?

[Missed call from Star]

Star: Saw y/n walk into the amphitheater so I think she forgot about the hearing. 

Y/n: Help

[Missed call from Star]

[Missed call from Athena]

Star: Call me as soon as you get this.

Star: Had a bad feeling and doubled back, but she was gone. Saw Julio get in his car. Nikolai’s car was still in the lot. Would they do something?

[Missed call from Star]

Star: I waited and saw another alpha leave. It might have just been her and them. Don’t panic.

Star: Stay calm, don’t panic.

Emmaline: Do you want help looking?

“Damiano? Honey? What’s he doing?” Matteo tried to get a good look in the mirror at his son whose breathing had doubled in pace and was shivering while sweating.

“I think he’s having a panic attack. Dami, what's going on?” Isabella turned around and took his clammy hands in her own. “Could be the adrenaline from the meeting?”

“I’m pulling over.” Matteo idled in a turn out.

“Amphitheater.”

“Honey, practice is over. You didn’t miss practice, you were excused. It's okay, let's go home.”  

“Amphitheater!”

“Do not scream at me, Damiano,” Matteo replies patiently. Dami slams his phone onto the center console. Isabella reads the notifications out loud and they’re headed to the field by the time she says ‘help.”

“She might be home already,” Isabella offers. Dami calls Clio, but he knows it isn’t true before she picks up.

“I thought she was with you.”

“So she’s not home?” Footsteps pound up the stairs two at a time. He recognizes the creak of y/n’s door.

“She’s not here,” Clio pants.

“Check –”

“I know I’m checking!” In the closet, under the bed, Clio looked in all the places y/n associated with calm or would hide as a child. If she’d been put in a state of terror, y/n would hide instinctively in order to survive. Until an omega calms down enough to think rationally, they’re an animal whose mechanisms of self defense are limited to the path of least resistance and making themselves invisible. The claustrophobia of being unable to fight back created some drastic evolutionary responses to avoid being targeted. 

Post societal collapse, omegas would likely survive to reproductive age at double the rate of alphas. However, in a first world country, it was an arcane instinct that could be manipulated to terrorize omegas. And that's what you were: absolutely terrified and alone. You needed Damiano more than you ever and every cell in his body was screaming with the unfulfilled urge to protect.

  “I don’t think she’s in the house, but let me just make sure…Dad? Thalia? Has y/n come home from school yet?” There’s a long pause and Clio is back on the line, panic in her voice.

“She’s not here. Do you know where she is, Dami? It still gets dark and cold earlier this time of year.” That's another thing you might be: hypothermic. 

“I know where to start, but you should stay there in case she comes home. So someone will understand what’s happening.”

“And what happened?” There's anger in her voice, probably suspecting y/n was only in this position because of Damiano. She was right.  

“I think she got cornered by three alphas.”

“Fuck, I’ll call my mom.” 

Before the car was even stopped, Damiano jumped out. He ran onto the field screaming your name then fell completely silent. He listened for a whimper, jogged around the perimeter trying to pick up your scent. In doing so, he saw a peak of green fabric, whose hue he recognized as your backpack. It was over the fence, hidden in an abandoned tire. Damiano scaled the fence quicker than he thought possible, taking a picture of the scene before digging through all the papers. Most had your name written in blue pen at the top.

Someone else had put them back in, crumpled and out of order. Why take everything out? If they touched this, had they touched you? He can’t suppress the pressure in his chest anymore and breaks out in loud sobs. At first they’re tearless, desperate noises, and then his face is flooded with saline and snot. Matteo makes his way over and hands Dami a tissue through the fence. 

“Wha – why, why would she leave it here? May – be be – because she’s around here. Y/n? Y/n?” For a minute, Matteo lets his son have hope. When his wife comes over they speak in hushed voices. Dami looks back at their preoccupied expressions, and wants to scream at them to search as well. Through that veiled pity, he realizes they’re not looking for y/n because they don’t think she’s here. 

“What? What is it?” he demands, wiping his nose on his sleeve like a toddler. 

“We don’t think y/n left it here, but we’ve already alerted the collegiate board and given them names.”

“Then how…” Someone hid it. Dami sinks to his knees, not wanting to think it, much less say it. In the background his mother talks about contacting parents and coaches.

“Do you think that they, that um,” a shaky hand covers Damiano’s mouth to muffle a scream. “They only care about hiding the evidence because they don’t think we’re gonna find her?” His voice loses all masculinity and courage, ending in a high pitched whimper.

“No,” Isabella states firmly. Matteo isn’t positive about that answer, but he agrees with his wife unequivocally. 

“Three high schoolers, right? Maybe they just didn’t know what to do with it,” he offers.

“Maybe they’re sadistic little shits that wanted to make the search even tougher for you.” Matteo and Dami are shocked at an ever-composed Isabella’s crass language. Yes she was an alpha, but Isabella limited the world’s perception of her as such. 

“They could have planted it there to send you in the wrong direction or terrify you. It could be as harmless as taking her backpack because they knew it’d annoy y/n. Maybe they threw it over the fence as a laugh and the little shits went on their merry way. So get back over this fence, show me her route home, and everything will be fine by dinner. Okay?” Isabella didn’t leave any room for argument.

“Her phone isn’t in there,” Damiano announced when his feet hit the turf.

“Then it's probably with her,” Matteo concluded. Feeling like an absolute dumb ass, Dami calls y/n right away. She doesn’t pick up the first or second or sixth time. Damiano sees why as he steps off the field. Somehow the whole family had missed the phone smashed against the cement. Dami drops to his hands and knees crawling around trying to gather the pieces, because maybe it wasn't yours. Sure it was the right model and color, but millions had been manufactured. 

Then Damiano finds the backing and wails with anguish. Thalia had insisted y/n decorate her phone with some volcanology stickers. The biggest one was faded where his omega rubbed her thumb in a circle absentmindedly. For a second Dami can’t take any more of this purgatory. I need her safe. I need her safe. I need her safe, I need her safe, I need her safe. IneedhersafeIneedhersafeIneedhersafeIneedher.

***

You hide in a wooded area a block from the amphitheater. No one would suspect, because you’d only visited once on a field trip. Phoenix might be watching, unsatisfied and yearning to inflict some real sadism. So you stay hidden until it feels safe, completely still, like a fawn. Movement can trigger predators. 

The problem is night falls before it feels safe. The woods are dark so you stumble for 50 yards, moving towards the street lights. Tripping on a log and face planting doesn’t even trigger a pain response. When you get to the treeline, you search for your assailants. There’s got to be a safe place with better lighting, but you’ll have to stay awake all night, so you can disappear into the shadows if they hunt you down. That is, unless you can get on the other side of a locked door. Then you’ll be safe. 

The darkness only worsens the fear. You can feel yourself being followed, but not see the steps that stalk you, always on your heels. Each time you whip around, Julio, Nikolai, or Pheonix manage to hide. It's an hour's walk home and this is too exposed. You’ll ever make it, might as well be waving bait in front of the predators. 

The first bus that passes, you get on. Everyone’s staring so you sit in the back. After the last stop, the bus driver tries calling out to you, but the sound blends into the idling engine. He has to physically tap on your shoulder, which makes you scream in surprise. He seems almost as jarred as you feel, scampering off the bus.

“Are you hurt? Miss? Is there someone I should call?” You run until you’re breathless, bending over and clutching your chest. Phoenix probably couldn’t keep your trail, but your body was shaking in a way you recognized as shivering. This didn’t look like home or safety.  Nothing here evoked memories. All you could do was walk until the world became familiar.

The sliver of moon cast long, distorted shadows, making mundane objects look sinister. A cat darts across the street. That makes you jump out of your skin and cower behind a bush. How long have you been walking? It could be 20 minutes, or an hour and a half. Working up the courage to continue might take even longer. Each time you scan for predators, their absence is never comforting enough to make your way back to the sidewalk. Eventually, you clench your teeth and do so anyway.

***

Y/n’s house has become missing person’s ground zero. Even Sandro helped search. Or rather, he kept watch while Damiano grabbed Julio by the lapels of his jacket and dragged him up a wall. The terrified alpha spilled all the details immediately, but it was more useless information. Sandro assured his little brother that this wasn’t a big deal and things like this mostly turned out alright. Damiano shoves him to the ground and the snarling accidently instills in Kevin the power behind that shiny exterior. He is much more self aware when he speaks to Damiano, reiterating that he’s confident everything will be fine. 

“She’s a fighter.”

“That's what I’m worried about. Alphas pick on omegas that challenge their power.”

“But she’s a brave girl.” One more platitude and Damiano was going to throttle Kevin.

“And that's what I’m worried about! Submission is the only way out!” Dami storms outside and paces in the backyard. It seems like the entire family is living in denial as a coping mechanism. Yes, y/n is probably fine, but the fact that he hadn’t an ounce of certainty sparked rage at all these people who could eat, sleep, read, and communicate without y/n, unharmed, in their arms. Dami could barely think, was still in disbelief that almost four hours later you hadn’t turned up. 

He heads back inside, keeping his shit together because he has to, and for no other reason. Before the squeaky door could announce his entrance, Dami overhears Thalia rattling off facts from her serial killer podcasts that make his heart stop beating.

“Statistically, the further you are from the time of abduction, the less likely you are to find the victim.”

“Bad timing Thalia.”

“But I’m not talking about missing omega statistics. Interesting enough, they do follow the same trend, but not with nearly as steep a curve. Other people aren’t what's most deadly, it’s mostly accidental and natural. Getting hit by a car or bus, accidentally injuring oneself and bleeding out, ravines, drowning.” Damiano shuts the door, pulls off his sweater, crouches down in the middle of the lawn, and screams bloody murder into the fabric until his throat hurts. Then he cries, imagining all the ways you could die, in pain and alone. 

It's a reminder that one of you has to go first. He might have to live decades, knowing you no longer exist in the world. That could be true right now, maybe you were already gone` and security would find your body by morning. Maybe you're about to fall off the edge of the earth and he can’t stop it because he doesn’t know where you are. Could fate be cruel enough to only give him four months? How many times had he said ‘I love you?’” 

“Well, there has to be something we haven’t thought of,” sighs Olivia, as he walks back into the living room.

“Friends, family, routine or preferred places,” Clio lists off. “They all know to call right away. What about that other little shit? Nikolai?”

“His parents reported he came home earlier this evening. His story matches, swears he didn’t put his hands on her. However there will be repercussions.” Isabella speaks in a calm, clinical tone, but her voice sounds strained. Anyone who looks at Damiano can see he wants revenge, not repercussions. Its torture, being unable to act on this properly, because he just got his life back. No, that’s what he wanted: torture.

“It's unfair,” he says through clenched teeth. 

“Yes, it is,” levels Matteo, putting a hand on his son’s back.

“Maybe this is an over reaction and she’s at a friend’s house! Hasn’t realized she lost her phone? I know I was that careless at 15.”

“Darling, that’s not what –”

“I found her backpack,” snapped Damiano.

“Listen, I fully believe that you think you saw her backpack, but –”

“Excuse me, what are you imply –”

“The papers had her name on them, you imbecile!” The entire room falls silent and Dami has to focus on not turning into a snarling alpha. “Excuse me,” he says tightly, stomping upstairs with his hands balled into fists. In the background, voices continue.

“Are you questioning my son’s honesty or connection to reality?” Dami pauses after turning the corner, surprised to hear his mother speak so sharply. “Because I can assure you, I saw the same thing. In fact, he has a picture on his phone if –”

“No, no, my apologies, Isabella. That won’t be necessary.” Olivia cringes, wanting to contradict her husband, but shying away from it.

“Obviously Damiano’s perspective is distorted because he’s y/n’s alpha, but I’m starting to be concerned, too. I know we’ll find her by morning, but she might have hypothermia by then and –” Dami walks into your room and closes the door behind him. If Clio is the voice of reason, we really are lost. For a second, he’s the calmest he’s been all day. That very quickly turns into devastation.

“Come home. Come back to me. Tell me where you are. Find someone with a phone. Fucking anything,” Dami babbles into your pillow. It smells like you, but it’s not enough to quell his asphyxiating anxiety. Only the real thing can do that. He’s never believed in God, or fate, or energy of the universe, but right now he’d plead his case to any higher power that would listen. They were all at a loss. You’d moved three hours north when you were nine, so all those childhood spots were on the coast. There were a few routine hangouts, then people’s houses.

It felt silly to call up everyone in y/n’s life and ask them to report your appearance. As if any decent person wouldn’t call the parents of a dissociated 15 year old who showed up at their house unannounced in the middle of the night. It all felt futile and Damiano couldn’t tell if being in your bedroom made him more or less miserable. This thought jogged a memory of your voice. I want to like – I don’t know, walk to your house, climb in your window, or something crazy.

There was no way. Damiano checked the security cameras at the front and back of his house. They hadn’t filmed anything, but if you did literally go in through the window…It was possible the motion sensor wouldn’t pick it up. Possible was more than he’d had for the last two hours. Damiano is half way down the stairs, ready to announce his great idea, when it hits him that having seven people watching may make you feel worse.

“Hey, I’m sorry about earlier. I think I just need to go home and get some sleep.” Everyone reassured that no mistakes had been made and it was all very understandable. How impressive of an alpha to have so much self reflection. Of course, Isabella would use the geotracker in Dami’s phone to make sure he wasn’t going to commit homicide. Thankfully, it couldn’t tell her how fast he drove.

“Y/n?” He took a deep breath in, while taking off his boots. Dami had started hallucinating your scent before the one hour mark, but this was definitely real. Strangely enough, it didn’t lead straight to his room.

“Y/n? Baby, where are you?” He follows it to the back door and around the perimeter of the kitchen. The David’s didn’t leave windows open habitually, but every single one was locked. They’d never bothered to lock the skylight above the reading nook after having it installed because who the hell is going to repel down from the roof? It’d been locked. There was blood and a muddy footprint on the counter. No one else who’d do that but a paranoid omega.

He breaks into a jog, then slows down before the door, expecting to be locked as well. It’s not. You hadn’t locked him out. Damiano bursts into the bedroom and drops down with his chest to the carpet. You’re here in this room, or at least you were, but there's nothing under the bed. He would have bet money you’d be here. Nothing behind the desk and the whole closet always smelled like you because he’d never washed the sheets from the first time. He always sat in here when he touched himself, but couldn’t touch you. The stains told a story that he never tired of reliving.

The reality was that with the unlocked door and empty hiding spot you probably weren’t here anymore. But if he’d gotten here faster…Damiano still had to do his due diligence which meant locating the flash light that was likely under all this mess. Trying to conjure emotional stamina, he takes a deep breath that gets caught in his throat.

“Are you okay?” The voice is barely audible, but he recognizes it. 

***

“Y/n? Y/n! Where the fuck are you? Love? Oh my fucking god,” his voice breaks. Dami drops to the ground, feeling around for an arm or a leg. You climb out from under the pile of laundry and pull him into the shadows, behind the closet door. Dami blindly reaches out for you, vision not adapted to darkness.

“Who’s with you? Phoenix?” He could have deceived Damiano into thinking he had information and tricked his way into the house to get at you.

“What? I’m alone. Baby, come here,” he reaches out, anxious to finally hold you after this excruciating day. “C’mere, y/n. Just…just come to me,” he pleads. Damiano doesn’t want to freak you out further by forcefully hauling you out of your hiding spot. However, not doing so is torture. The sound of his voice tugs deep in your chest, but nothing can compete with this fear response. 

“Lock the bedroom door.” It was irrational, but the only way you’d feel safe. “And turn off the ceiling light.” You peek around the corner to see if the curtains went all the way to the ground. Slats of light from under the fabric would alert any passerby that someone was inhabiting this room.

“Y/n, you’re safe now.” It was a comforting sentiment, but there was no safety with Phoenix hunting you down to finish the job. Receding away from the corner brought you within inches of Dami’s face. As soon as you make eye contact, he extends a cautious hand.

“Phoenix, he’s – I think he’s dangerous,” you hiss. Even though you saw it coming, Dami’s hand on your waist startles you.

“Shh, shh. You’re okay. You’re okay,” he whispers. The sound of his voice evokes so many memories of gentle, loving touch that they blend together. Damiano reaches his hand around your back and to the other side, so his arm is wrapped around your middle. Your first instinct is to pull away to make sure he’ll allow it, but a much stronger urge to move towards this force of anti-chaos prevails. 

“I’m dangerous,” he emphasizes, forcing your brain to recalibrate. Damiano was so doting that his increased capability for destruction slipped your mind. Phoenix was just a regular alpha, without the motivation of a mate. Hearing your breathing change, Dami extended his other hand very slowly. He loosely wrapped his thumb and pointer finger around your wrist, and pulled towards him.

“You’re my omega so I become a weapon of lethal force to anyone that threatens you. In my presence, you are always safe.” The words take a second to process, but when they do you finally feel something again. That prospect is intimidating enough that you’re reaching for Damiano, just as he hoped you would. He pulls you into his lap and hugs you too tight. Instead of squeezing and releasing, he keeps you that close, until you have to ask for air. 

“Sorry, sorry.” There are tears on his face and when he roughly wipes them away they’re replaced two-fold. “Fuck, come here,” his voice breaks. This time you try to return the hug, even as your arms feel weak. Dami splays his hands out and rubs up and down, covering as much surface area as possible. His face is pressed into your neck, hair caught between in desperation. Heaving breaths try to replenish your smell like a diver has to replenish the oxygen in their bloodstream.

“Please scent me,” he whimpers, sniffling. You go through the movements, but getting back in tune with your body isn’t instantaneous.

“Are you shivering? Your cheeks are cold.” The back of his hand presses against both sides of your face. You offer up your uninjured hand, which, admittedly you can’t feel. The concern in his expression is so adorable that you kiss Damiano without thinking. It’s just a peck and he’s too startled to kiss back. You’ve obviously interrupted his train of thought because Dami opens his mouth to speak, but the words come a second later.

“We need to call your parents and tell them.” In retrieving his phone, Dami shifts his weight and you wrap your legs over his hips. Closer feels safer.

“Hey, I found her…Yeah, in my closet, actually. Mostly, but she’s really cold. Do I take her to a hospital?” You shake your head vigorously and try to snatch his phone. “No hospital apparently!” he exclaims, dodging your attempts. “Um, I mean her lips aren’t blue at all, but she’s shivering…Yeah, okay. Okay. Mhm, bye.” As soon as he lets down his guard, you grab Dami’s phone and slide it across the room. 

“I guess, we should get up anyways,” he scoffs. To sit on the bed, is the implication. Or maybe in the dining room. Both would leave you so exposed that anyone could come in before you had the chance to hide. Damiano gets up to retrieve his phone and pull back the covers. However, when you crawl off his lap, you go back into the darkness and refuge of the closet. Instantly the shivering worsens. Your hand throbs, too, but you can’t feel why. 

Instead of arguing. Dami climbs into the closet after you. He reaches up to pull a gigantic sweater off a hanger and removes his top. Just him being shirtless, you can feel heat radiating from his body.

“C’mere,” he coaxes. Damiano pulls the sweater on, but holds out the hem, inviting your under. There isn’t a moment's hesitation before you sit between his legs and duck underneath. Your face is pressed to his bare skin and just absorbing that one sensation takes you a second. All his warmth is trapped by the sweater, which is a bit musty but Dami’s body odor is heavenly. All the anxiety had him sweating through his deodorant. Damiano grabs the extra comforter from the bottom of the closet and throws it over your legs. He pulls it chest height and wraps his arms around you. In return, you experiment with scenting again, brushing against his chest.

“Whatcha doing?” he endears, looking down through the stretched out neckline. You take a deep breath for the first time in…

“How long?”

“A little over four hours.” 

“Shit,” you wince.

“Not your fault.” The anger radiates from him just like the heat. “Julio said he and Nikolai didn’t touch you, is that true?”

“Technically, yes.” Having to go back to that mental state is not only unpleasant, but jarring. “Can we talk about this later?” you whine, hiding your face against his skin. Guilt settles in the pit of his stomach.

“Some of it, yes. Some of it I need to know now. I’m sorry love.” You nod your head and Dami continues.

“Who was there besides Nikolai and Julio? Phoenix? Bystanders?

 “No bystanders. I tried to escape so other people would see, but Pheonix got in the way.” The word escape momentarily makes Dami lose his cool and he’s glad you’re not looking at his face.

“So you went into the amphitheater and all three were waiting?” You shake your head. “Okay…” Dami takes a deep breath and applies more pressure with his hand while rubbing your back.

“I think Nikolai texted Phoenix because they’re cousins. He’s the alpha that attacked me three months ago.” 

“Right,” he replies tightly. Keep it together, or she’ll absorb your anger. You can punch something later. 

“They wanted revenge.” On me. This is my fault and they took it out on her. I’m going to slit those fuckers neck to navel and flay them like a fish. I’m gonna take everything they –

“Dami?”

“Yes my love?” 

“I can feel you thinking about murder.”

“Sorry,” he winced, refocusing. He had to ask the hard question, the one he didn’t want an answer to.

“So did Phoenix,” deep breath, “do something to you?”

“Pushed me to the ground, broke my phone, and he, um,” your voice gets small then disappears at the memory. 

“He scared you?”

“All of them.”

“All of them tried to scare you.” 

“But he…” you’re both holding your breath. “Went into headspace. Then I ran.” Dami holds you too tight again and kisses your head. You may not know how dangerous the situation was, but he did. Retelling it was visibly distressing, so he tried to think of something to calm the anxiety. 

“Want to watch the security camera footage from tonight? It only covers about 60% of the house, but you can check the main entrances.” This sounds like a splendid idea. Dami pulls up the app on his phone and hands it to you. The idea that Phoenix and possibly Julio and Nikolai have been following you for four hours becomes less and less likely in your head. However, you’d been so damn sure and it felt unquestionably real.

“I – I feel like I’m…going insane. I can’t tell if I was actually being stalked.”

“The paranoia is normal. I’ve heard coming out of it can be a real mind fuck.” You nod, handing Damiano’s phone back to him. There was nothing on the footage except a bunny in the backyard. It’s embarrassing, the way you’d reacted, even though you couldn’t help it. 

“And everyone was freaking?”

“I was the only one freaking out.” He kisses your head again and again, drawing a heart on your scalp with his lips. Dami keeps running into dead leaves and twigs that he carefully picks out. Internally, you feel like an inflatable toy that's lost 25% of its air. 

“I called your dad an imbecile.” When you don’t laugh in response to this, Dami knows how sleepy you are. The shivering has stopped and your face has color again. Your lips part as little puffs of air hit his chest. The knowledge of how differently today could have ended up makes him nauseous. Instead of wrapped in his arms, you could be in a hospital bed with a cast, or bruised ribs, or internal bleeding. Whatever boundaries Phoenix might have set for himself would be second to his desire for violence.

Omegas have alphas because they can’t defend themselves. The only time you’d asked for his help, he’d had his phone off. Dami vows never to do that again, no matter how unprofessional it was for a call to interrupt a meeting. You needed him, so he should have been there. The volatile part of Dami fantasizes about how much he could fuck up those three alphas, given the excuse that they’d attacked his omega. How many bones could he break and still be met with understanding from the public?

The rumble of a barely audible purr wrenches Dami from his fantasies of vengeance. Your arm twitches against his chest as you fall asleep. The first thing he was gonna do when you were settled was text all his close alpha friends what had happened. Even if they didn’t have a personal stake in your life, they had their own omegas to protect, values to uphold. There were ways to make it impossible for your attackers to ever victimize someone again, both judicial and with brute force. He was fine with either.

Your soft purring continues distracting Dami everytime his thoughts take too dark a turn. The sound evokes the warmest sensation he’s ever felt in his life.

“Such a smart girl, knew you’d be safe in my den.” You nod against Damiano and yawn, nuzzling his chest. Running, walking, and hiding in a state of hypervigilance for four hours was exhausting, especially with your body attempting to compensate for how cold it was. The adrenaline spike from the attack had also taxed your endocrine system, as well.

Dami had completely forgotten that both sets of parents would be coming over until the sound of the door made you startle and cower. He whispered assurances, reminders that you knew these people, and that they were safe. Isabella and Matteo were first down the hall, since they already knew where you’d be. Olivia and Kevin followed, and it was momentarily hilarious to watch all four scan the room.

“Well that is a great hiding spot,” Isabella exclaimed. She murmurs something to Matteo who nods and slips out of the doorway.

“You said y/n was here,” Kevin states, a bit gruff. Isabella gestures to Damiano with a nearly indiscernible smile, who lifts the corner of the comforter with his foot to reveal two sets of legs.  

“Well what's she doing in your clothes?” your father interrogates, like cuddling is inherently something perverse. “Y/n?” he calls, as if you’re not within hearing range. His voice is so loud that you cringe. You can feel Damiano take a deep breath and hope he’ll call your father an imbecile again.

“She’s sleepy.” He kisses your head twice as punctuation. “And getting warm.” You look up at Dami with a pained expression, knowing you’ll have to part.

“It's a rather inventive way of sharing body heat that they’ve come up with.” Isabella is trying to model behavior for Kevin like he’s five. Floorboards creak as Matteo comes back into the room with a thermometer. He hands it to Dami, who passes it down to you.

“This is ridiculous,” Matteo whispers, to Olivia, who gives him a scorching stare.

“You have a more effective way of warming her up?” Damiano challenges. The thermometer beeps, and you pass it back up.

“96.7 so it’s a miracle she isn’t shivering. Normal is 98.6.” He resumes rubbing your back. 

“People lose a lot of heat from their scalp,” Olivia adds, surprisingly helpful. Dami tucks your head under his chin.

“One of the alphas pushed her to the cement. What can we do right now?”

“Is she okay?” exclaims Isabella.

“I don’t know yet,” Damiano answers honestly. For the first time, Kevin seems to grasp the seriousness of the situation.

“If he’s 18, we can have him arrested tonight,” states Isabella.

“Really?” you whisper. Damiano nods, and switches to pressing his cheek to your hair.

“He’s a 12th year at Okoro named Phoenix. Not on their soccer team. Blond, about six feet. I don’t know his last name, but I’ll recognize his face. He’s bothered her before.” Isabella nods while dialing, pacing to the other side of the room.

“What the hell do you mean ‘he’s bothered her before?’” blurts your dad.

“I took care of it and I will again.” Damiano’s tone is surprisingly measured, like he’s stating objective facts. Your alpha’s ability to convey power without raising his voice was infinitely more impactful. You can’t see faces through the knit, but the tension is still palatable.

“I think we need to assess y/n’s health properly, to see if she’s okay. We can’t do that while she’s in your clothes.”

“We know she isn’t okay. She was hypothermic 10 minutes ago,” Damiano snaps.

“Which is why we need to assess what else is wrong.”

“So she can be hypothermic again? That sounds productive.”

“I do not appreciate the tone you’ve been taking with me, young man.”

“Kevin!”

“What Damiano is trying to say is that a health issue is already being addressed and we can only do these things one at a time. To switch back and forth before we’ve finished addressing one health issue would ruin all progress and be detrimental to y/n’s health rather than beneficial.”

“Let’s listen to what Matteo’s saying,” implores Olivia.

“I’m her father!”

“And I’m her alpha.” Dami can’t prevent a bit of canine dialect from sneaking in. His voice has a growl to it that is definitely sub-human. The room is so quiet you could hear a pin drop. You could hear the hypothetical idea of a pin drop. It was so quiet that if a pin had ever dropped in this room, at any point in history, you’d be able to hear that sound echo through time.

Rather than rest on Damiano’s torso, you wrap both arms around him. The sensation of your injured hand brushing against the wall makes your eyes water in pain. This whole conversation had you stress sweating and now that sweat was drying against your skin. You start shaking again, teeth chattering.

“And now we’ve stressed her out, terrific.” Damiano wraps you in a tight embrace and rocks back and forth. The trembling doesn’t stop and the lack of control of your body makes you panic. He can see it in your eyes when he checks in and whispers apologies. Kevin is trying to assert dominance through some sort of macho stare-down which makes Damiano roll his eyes. The utter disregard for the gesture is apparently unacceptable.

“Y/n! Out. Now.” The yelling was so horrible that you just obeyed.

“This is so stupid,” say’s Dami, shaking his head. It sucks. It really, really sucks. Without Damiano and without the dissociation, you can feel how cold you are, how much your feet and hips hurt from walking in bad shoes. Your elbows are sore. It feels like there's half a dozen needles poking you under your clothes. And your hand hurts like a mother fucker.

“So co-co-co-cold.” You look behind yourself for that wonderful heat source and Dami is already waiting to welcome you into his arms. He pulls the blanket up while glaring at your father.

“So glad we did this,” he bites, as Isabella comes over.

“Okay…” She absorbs the scene with uncertainty on her face, also unsure why you’d been extracted from the most effective way of raising your body temperature. “Let's put her in warm, dry clothes.” Kevin huffs in agreement, and all of them leave. Hanging in the doorway, Damiano can see his expectant expression, that the alpha would leave his omega unguarded. Like he would trust anyone else to care for you right now. It was absurd.

Kevin gestures to Olivia to go into the bedroom. At first she’s happy to help, but then sees the battle of wills between Dami and her husband.

“You’ll be alright in here?” she asks Dami.

“Yes, thank you,” he answers cordially. 

Olivia nods once, closing the door as she hisses, “I’d like to talk to you” at her husband. The Davids have graciously given them the hallway to discuss, and are making tea in the kitchen.

“What in the hell?” she whisper yells, aflame in anger.

“I know! That kid doesn’t have an ounce of respect. I say we take her home right now and deal with this ourselves.”

“Do you know why we’re here, in this house?”

“Cause y/n’s here,” he replies dumbly.

“And why is that?” she snaps. Kevin had never seen his wife with so little patience.

“Because she walked here?”

“Because when she was scared for her life and needed somewhere that felt safe, somewhere she knew she’d be cared for, she. Didn’t. Come. Home.”

“Yeah, she wanted an excuse to go hang out with her boyfriend,” he dismisses. Olivia grabs him by the chin and forces Kevin to look at her.

“An acute stress response is not a social call. If they were mated that’d be one thing, but they're not. Her brain was operating on instinct and her subconscious believed that these people would be more likely to give her the help she needs than her own parents.”

“So we’ll have them spend more time at our house.”

“Kevin she was right!” Olivia doesn’t mean to shout and immediately lowers her voice. “Who did all the reporting to the collegiate board today? Who got the thermometer? Who contacted the security force? All to protect our daughter, not their son. Think about that.”  Kevin does, in fact, have a very rare moment of self-reflection.

  “I guess even focusing on Thalia with the speech therapy and the programs and all the psychologists was…a lot. It was overwhelming. Then Clio became – she was overwhelming and I didn’t have much more in me. Y/n has always been so tough that I didn’t worry.”

“Kevin, hear me when I say, I don’t give a good god damn whether you like that boy or not. If they stay together, he is gonna get a certification from trade school while y/n is in her 12th year and he is gonna take her anywhere in the world she wants. If we don’t like it, there are two wonderful people willing to fill our shoes and our daughter doesn’t ever have to deal with us again. If you want to have more than another two summers with y/n, then so help me jesus christ, you will make friends with these people. Because I am going to have a relationship with her and this family with or without you.”

***

“Ugh, I just wanna cuddle and go to sleep,” you whine. 

“I know, baby.”

“But my hand hurts so fucking bad.” You scoot into the light and all the swelling and bruising makes your stomach flip. You squeeze your eyes shut and turn your head away.

“Dami, Dami, scent me.” You reach out with your good hand, opening your eyes just a crack in the opposite direction of the injury. Instantly he’s there nuzzling and holding you close, humming. The stress in your voice was palatable, but he doesn’t see the reason for a couple seconds.

“Oh my god.”

“When he pushed me I landed wrong. Distract me.” You say all in the same breath. Injuries on other people bothered you only slightly, but injuries on yourself made you feel severely ill, like combining the flu with vertigo.

“We have to –”

“I don’t care, I don’t care, distract me!” He rocks you back and forth, singing in your ear, scenting so heavily your brain went elsewhere for a couple precious seconds. You take a couple deep breaths in this refuge, and Damiano breathes with you.

“I’m sorry for yelling.” You open your eyes completely, still facing away. “Is it broken?”

“Yes.”

“Can we go to the hospital tomorrow?”

“The bones are already healing. They could heal the wrong way and you’d have to rebreak –”

“Okay, heard!”

“Can I tell them now?” he whispers, still rocking. You shake your head.

“I want to change my clothes first, if we have to go to the hospital.”

“Baby, you can’t change your shirt, but…Wait, were you in the woods?” A full two inches of the hem of your jeans is soaked and muddy.

“Help me change my pants please.” He nods, and you’re strategizing how to get off the ground, when Damiano wraps both arms around your ribcage and brings you upright with him. Habitually, you embrace him back and moving your fingers makes you hiss in pain, then double over. Your eyes squeeze shut while reciting every swear word you know. Upon opening your eyes, the broken hand is in your periphery.

“Is that fixable?”

“Absolutely.” He sounds so damn sure that you take a deep breath. “I’ve seen a lot of bad breaks, you’re gonna be fine. Do you want your leggings or my black sweats with the paint stain?”

“Uh, both.”

“Good idea.” Damiano had accidentally given you your own drawer, or rather half of one. You pointed it out and both laughed about passing this relationship milestone without realizing. When Matteo did the laundry he’d set your little pile of clothes to the left of Damiano’s on top of the dresser. It all happened so organically.

Your wet jeans were heavy and stuck to your skin. Undoing the fly one handed while sitting down was possible, but then you realized you were getting Dami’s bed dirty. 

“Ah, shit,” you stood up and looked behind you at the forest green blanket with little embroidered flowers. The fabric was too dark to judge.

“Your underwear wet too?” he asked, pulling down your pants for you.

“Why, you got something planned?” Damiano huffed a laugh and hung his head. You’re trying to keep things light, even as you continue to shiver. Knelt down, Dami pulled off your socks too and put on a pair of his wool ones. Getting two pairs of pants on involved a little laughter and almost falling over, despite a one-handed grip on Damiano’s shoulder. When he finished pulling up the waistband of the sweatpants, you put your good hand on his cheek and waited. After a couple seconds, Dami’s focus returned to your face and you kissed him.

There’d be no chance for this at the hospital, so you take full advantage of this little, private moment. Dami is unsure at first, then very confident, falling into the familiarity of your body. You take the hand on his face and drag it down his neck, chest, into his back pocket. The new grip allows you to eliminate the space between, pulling Damiano’s hips closer to yours. He moans, gets a bit feral, then forces himself to freeze and pull away. 

Damiano busies himself changing his own clothes, but he has a tell. He blinks much slower when trying not to get aroused at an inappropriate time. Dami is doing it right now and diverting his gaze away from you, trying to distract himself. A knock on the door makes Damiano clear his throat harshly and fiddle with a hanger, back turned.

“Yep. All good. Come in,” he voice breaks at the end like he’s 14 and you snicker.

“Oh you couldn’t find a clean top?” Isabella’s question is rhetorical. She actually means why didn’t you change into a warmer shirt? You extend your hand out and someone gasps, which isn’t very reassuring. You’re trembling from the cold, still.

“My first instinct would be to ice that, but – actually let's take your temperature again.” Isabella looks up for the thermometer Matteo is already handing her. While Olivia is clutching her sternum in horror, the David’s are entirely unfazed. Having two athletic alpha sons seems to have rendered them comparatively unshakeable. 

“I know Y/n and Damiano are going to be attached at the hip till she’s feeling better.” Isabella says it amicably, but also as a statement of fact. “I’d be happy to take them to get that wrist x-rayed right now and I assume y/n will feel safest sleeping here because it's Dami’s room.” It's charitable wording, to make it about feelings, which are so much easier to trivialize than instincts. Olivia and Matteo hold eye contact, one omegan parent to the other and there's an understanding.

“I'll take them to the hospital and drop them back when we’re done. Does that work? Can I get you anything on the way back?” offers Olivia. After the Davids and your mother agree on a plan, you breathe a sigh of relief and tune it out. It doesn’t matter. Your father’s preferences don’t outweigh the other three, no matter his entitlement or the size of his ego. A minor draft from the vent or windows makes you shiver violently, teeth chatter. It reminds Dami to take your temperature, and he doesn’t like what that reveals.

“96.1 of course she's losing body heat. Warm up the car.”

Notes: So this was a sub-plot I was gonna explore, but Guardian Angel is already to overwhelmingly long. As a result, I've decided to stick with all the other plot points so I can hopefully get this thing finished in under 20 chapters since I've been working on it over well over a year. (What the fuck) Thank you for reading and encouragement .

Taglist: @bieberhoodforever @blackberryblossom @butkutee @cuzimitaliano @elvirabelle  @iamtashaquinn@icarodamiano @ilwiwbysmv @immrbrightsideeee @little-moonbeam-666 @maneslut @mortyandem  @the-chaotic-cow @wasteddoubts @weareoddlydrawn @whore4damia  @azertyhug @biancathecool@bohemianrainbow @daisy0gf @dustyinkpages @katyldamusic@obiw4n @persona1read1ng  @gr8rainbowpunk @hiraetheral @l0standn0tf0und@que--sera--sera @stardustingold@teenyweenynightghost   @softmullet @solacestyles @thegeminisgirl @slavicgoddess13 @bright-shiningstar@lizzylynch1 @hauntedpostperson@harryssshouseee @lonnybunnys

[wakabahan]

what if you got read something of mine? what if that happened to you? i always use songs for chapter titles, the link is to the song.

Threshold

Shasta and Mamoru had decided on Boogie Woogie Steakhouse for dinner while her sisters all scattered to their own destinations. The night was perfect, warm but not overbearing. The mother and son decided to walk back to their hotel. That, and Shasta needed the fresh air, the aloha blonde she had ordered had gone to her head just a little more than she liked and the bbq chicken, while delicious, was heavy.

They chatted together happily, Mamoru swinging Shasta’s hand as they moseyed down the street. Her youngest was currently over the moon with his meal and couldn’t wait for when they flew back home and he could tell his older siblings all about it along with everything he had yet to experience. Mamoru was feeling particularly spoiled to be spending a holiday on his own with Shasta. At first he was put out that he wasn’t included in his older siblings’ trip, stating he was too young. Now it was the last thing the kid could possibly care about.

The quiet of the area was shattered by a door bursting open. Shasta immediately stopped and yanked Mamoru behind her on instinct to guard him. The door bashed against the wall, sprung on its hinges it couldn’t even swing back.

Shasta watched as a young man wearing a white polo over blue jeans and loafers in a wheelchair was hurried out of the room like a bat out of hell. Pushing the man was a face she remembered from photos, or rather, she remembered his hair and red suit.

“...Ichiban…Kasuga?” Not entirely sure she remembered the name right.

He didn’t notice her and continued to fly down the street, fleeing something.

If she were anyone else, she’d leave it alone. But no one launched themselves out of a room like that unless there was trouble. She waited a beat, not seeing anyone following after Ichiban and his companion. From across the street she could see the faint light of a knocked over lamp.

“Hold my hand tight. We’re going to cross the street.” Shasta instructed.

Mamoru did as he was told. Together they quickly jay walked the quiet street.

Hearing no sounds of alarm from the ground floor hotel room, Shasta parked her son between the door jamb and the broken window. She took Mamoru gently by the shoulders.

“Stay right here, okay? Do not go inside. I’ll be just a second.”

Mamoru looked up at her with big, curious eyes. He nodded eagerly, knowing his mother's tone when she was absolutely serious.

Shasta couldn't hear anything but exhausted breathing. The room was trashed as she crossed the threshold; broken chairs, an end table with a snapped leg slumped with a lamp hanging off it by its cord. It smelled faintly of sweat underneath the natural perfume of the city.

Who the hell are these guys? Stepping passed two men, walking on the outsides of her feet, soundless in her sandals.

“What the hell happened in here?” She whispered.

She gave each man a cursory glance. Shasta was looking for someone who seemed like the one in charge.

Not him, not with those sandals. Several of them wore aloha shirts and sunglasses despite the sun being long set. Her foot tapped someone else's.

Looking down it was a sizable pair of feet, wearing double monk strap loafers. She followed the length of his long legs. Tall, broad shouldered and spread eagle on the floor. He wore a nice pinstripe suit. Of all the other men sprawled on their asses, it was clear he was the one in charge.

Shasta crept down onto her hands and knees beside him. He was so still Shasta couldn't be sure if he was even alive. She reached under the neck of his sweater, two warm fingers pressing into the side of his throat.

He's not dead, good pulse but his skin is cool, weird with this weather.

Slowly, she slipped a hand into the breast pocket of his suit, pulling out a plain black wallet and she flipped it open.

Up close she smelled good soap, masculine and woody; but little else. Judging from his face and hair; she figured he didn't spend too much time on himself other than keeping his facial hair groomed.

“Yutaka Yamai…with a nicely done fake ID.” She mumbled, pausing for a second. “That's probably the best I've seen.”

She made a note that his photo was just as ugly and unflattering as any officially issued license, including hers. Quickly she put it back, he still hadn't stirred.

-

Yamai was conscious. He was just waiting. The smell of high end perfume as the person kicked his foot and bent down told him it was a woman. He sensed her kneel down, keeping still as her fingers, the tips soft, pressed into his neck.

Yamai let her reach into his breast pocket. With the intoxicating perfume; the sound of her voice made it hard to picture what she looked like, low and soft, but raspy as she mused over his ID. She leaned over him, the ends of her hair brushed over his cheek, tickling.

-

“Hey, Scarecrow.” She called softly, tapping his gaunt cheek with the back of two fingers.

He then stirred. Despite his size he was quick, snatching her by the wrist, just tight enough where she couldn't worm away. Lurching up off his back he came nose to nose with her, Shasta felt her nose briefly tickle. Meeting his eyes directly, they looked a little worn, deep set with dark shadows under them. Yamai and sleep were estranged if she had to guess.

“You know Kasuga?” His voice was very deep and round, a little reedy; it rumbled in Shasta’s ears.

It's almost eighty degrees, is he sick? Spying a peacoat cast aside beside them that paired with his suit overtop a ribbed turtleneck. The thought of all that fabric made her itch. Shasta mentally picked him apart. His demeanor, neck length black hair he let hang in his face, his dogged stare. He could be bad news.

“I know you can speak, little sister. Heard you when you came in.”

Shasta swallowed, keeping her nerves and temper in check.

“He's a friend of my cousin’s. I saw him leaving just now like there was fire on his heels.”

She watched his tongue run along the inside of his mouth in front of his bottom teeth, deciding if she was telling the truth. All she could do is be calm and wait.

Yamai gazed at her, her jet black eyes in the low lamp light glittered. She was pretty with fine lines at the corners of her eyes, beauty marks scattered on her face. Thick, well-groomed brows bent into a bit of a scowl. She didn't take her eyes off him and she didn't cower away from him.

“Do I know you?” He asked absently. Something about her face struck him as familiar.

Sizing her up; petite but buxom, her chest raised calmly with each breath. Wearing a dusty pink short sleeved turtle neck tucked into high waisted light wash jeans. She had curvy hips that were brought to attention by the thin white belt at her slimmer waist. Casual but she reeked of class. Money.

But she looked familiar, something about her was like a memory.

Yamai wondered how a woman like her would know a yakuza, and one who inadvertently spearheaded the ending of the two largest clans in Japan.

“We’ve never met.” She replied curtly. Her mouth; full and rosy blush colored, naturally set into a frown. Her head tilted down and in slightly, trying to ease her wrist from his long fingers without seeming desperate.

Yamai caught a glint by her right ear. The tips of her ears stuck out from her silky faux blonde bob. He let go of her wrist and nonchalantly moved her hair, tucking it behind her ear. Brassy gold hoops that hugged the lobe, with a connecting ring that held a pear cut yellow diamond. It caught the light and sparkled, almost dripped from her lobe.

“Your fuzzball friend cost me a lot of money. How much do these go for?” He asked, flicking the jewel with the pad of his forefinger.

Yamai fixed his gaze back to center away from her ear, fingers still lazily teasing her. She licked her lips before she spoke feeling a bit like a prize the way he leered at her like a crow to something shiny. Shasta couldn't help but flush as he continued to play with her ear.

“...As a pair they're 45k, so half that. I imagine not a single one of your lackeys has ever made you that much…except maybe that kid with the glasses by the door, he's cute.” She replied calmly, tone certifiably bitchy.

“Mama?” Mamoru interrupted them.

“I told you to stay outside, honey.” She called back.

Yamai watched her expression flit to panic for just a split second, but she never took her eyes away from Yamai.

He could feel her body wind up. Every muscle torqued and ready to fight if he decided to divert his attention to her kid. Just the two of them, she’d been letting him lead. Now she was going to strike if need be.

“But Mama, you’ve been inside for–”

“Mamoru!” Her voice with its rasp was harsh, putting her son in his place.

She's a fighter.

Saying nothing, Yamai popped the latch of her earring with his first finger and slowly slipped it through the soft tissue of her earlobe and into his hand. He watched her eyes cast down, lashes obscuring her eyes, watching him rolling the stone in his palm with his thumb. Her face gave nothing away as she watched his hand.

Guess she wouldn't care, they're probably insured.

“Go.” Ticking his head back towards the open door.

“What, you don't want the other?” She asked, eyes cutting back up to him. He scoffed, he liked her prissy attitude.

“I’ll come find you if I change my mind.” He snarked back.

Shasta gave him one last long look before pushing off her knees and onto her feet. Her face rocked dangerously close to his. Yamai felt her breath breeze past his cheek and another waft of her perfume hit his nose. It wrapped around him for a moment and then was gone. He swallowed the weird unidentifiable twinge of emotion.

Without another word she moved past his men, bonking the one she had called cute in the head as she went.

-

Yamai got to his feet, and cleared the room to the door, also giving Tomizawa a knock in the head. Tomizawa balled himself up and held his head tight, groaning loudly.

Yamai skulked out of the room and watched Shasta walk quickly down the street, holding her son's hand while she texted someone with the other. The boy had a mop of curly black hair. He looked up to his mother, talking to her, still within ear shot.

“Mama, who were those guys? Why did they leave the door open? That's not safe.”

She looked from her phone to him and squeezed his hand, giving him a smile. “Those guys were up to mischief.” A bit of humor in her voice.

“So they’re bad?”

Yamai staring after her so hard Shasta turned, eyes meeting at a distance. The smile she gave the kid was still in place for a split second that hammered right through Yamai. Again a memory he didn't have that faded along with her smile.

She blinked and turned back to Mamoru.

“No, baby. Not everyone who does a bad thing is bad.”

The boy thought about it before nodding. “Okay. So where is Wakaba’s friend?”

Yamai just barely heard the ping of her phone. “That…is what I am about to find out…” Trailing off as she sent another text.

Walking around the corner out of sight, Yamai couldn't hear the rest. She had a cold snobby air about her and a bitchy expression. But she was classy. To Yamai she was reminiscent. The diamond earring was warmed in his hand, rolling it between his fingers, a shiver ripped viciously down his spine.

-

Walking down the avenue with Mamoru, she rolled through her contacts. Down to the J’s she called out.

-

In Chicago a cell phone angrily buzzed on a desk. Jay Halstead was fried. It was going on two in the morning. His fair, freckled skin had a chill from being tired. He had been zoning out watching snow flurries dance in the windows. He grimaced at his phone, wondering who could possibly be calling him.

Jay had drawn the short straw and was stuck drawing up the DD5s on their latest case. The cold quiet made him all the more tired and the coffee he brewed tasted like shit. If he had thought about it, he'd have brought better from home. But he was so confident that he'd get to go home at a reasonable hour.

He scratched his jaw, feeling the day growing in as he turned over his phone and saw Shasta’s name flash on the face.

“C’mon.” He complained, answering. “Hawaii sucks that bad you have to call me?”

Shasta wrinkled her nose. “You answered so you're worse off than I am, it seems. Can you ping a phone for me, please?”

“You’ve been in Hawaii for like, what, two seconds? How are you already working?”

The dry humor of the young detective made her roll her eyes, she could picture his snarky expression, those big blue eyes bright.

“I’m not trying to, but of course, I stepped into something.” She rattled off the number to Jay.

“Uh-huh!” He chirped sarcastically, quickly waking up his computer, and pulling up the proper software. “I got an…Ichiban Kah-soo-gah..?”

“Not quite, but you tried. Does it show where he is?” Shasta asked.

“Guy pinged a cell tower heading west on Aloha St.”

“Thank you, Jay.” Ready to end the call.

No way he was going to let her off the phone without giving her a hard time.

“Shas, you gotta bring me back something cool, or I’ll be totally put out. I- I might even die if I don't get cool swag–” Feigning hard his impending doom.

“Goodbye, Jay–” Promptly she hung up on him.

Shasta sighed, slipping her phone into her back pocket. Mamoru looked up at his mother and smiled, a coy smile. He was waiting for his mother to explain properly.

Shasta let go of his hand and put her arm around his shoulders and hugged him to her.

“It's probably nothing, baby.”

Despite her words; Shasta had a feeling that there was a lot more than Ichiban pissing off a small group of small-time shitkickers.

-

Dug out of a box he carelessly tossed CDs and DVDs that sat in the corner or his room. It wasn't the original. That one was vinyl and was still in his childhood bedroom.

That is if his older sister didn't shitcan everything he had left behind when he left home.

It was vivid in his mind. Yamai could see himself, that gangly, homely preteen. He remembered that his arms and legs had ached like hell all that summer from a growth spurt. He was passing a little record shop and in the window an album cover had caught his attention.

The record was a bait and switch. It had the clear look of an indie pop album; a young girl, maybe a few years older than he was, with a smile that rotted the teeth. It was so sweet, too sweet. The girl had mostly straight teeth, canines top and bottom a little crooked. The top of her gums visible as she beamed. She was standing in a sunlit field, shielding her eyes from the sun, long black hair swept up in a heavy breeze looking directly at you. Her ears stuck out, adding to her darling charm. She wore a sleeveless denim dress with a floral sailor collar.

The music was pure unbridled anger. The heavy chug of guitars, deep moody bass, drums that if you pressed your headphones hard enough to your head it threw your heartbeat off. The woman was a singer with a smoky siren allure but could startle with gut wrenching growls. It was everything a bratty teenage boy could want.

But it was the girl on the sleeve who pulled Yamai in. He jumped another kid to steal his allowance to buy that record. He had beat the kid bloody to get what he wanted. He had to have it. That girl with her goofy ears and smile wooed him for years until he was an adult.

Yamai found the CD and sat on the edge of his bed, staring hard at the disc cover. His teenage muse was still as beautiful as ever. When CDs came out the booklet had more pictures that didn't make the final cut. He hadn’t really looked at the booklet, he had merely seen the album in a second hand shop here in Honolulu and picked it up without thinking about it. He had been moved purely by nostalgia. A time where life wasn’t frigid and didn’t suck shit.

Thumbing through it there was no doubt about it. Her body was a little different, hips and breasts fuller from age and childbirth. Her jaw was a little softer, crows feet from scowling. But there was no mistaking the placement of the moles on her face. The flare of her ears that made them peek through her hair. One of the pages the girl wasn’t smiling, just her face at rest. That natural downturn of her mouth at the corners.

The woman in the hotel room was this same girl.

[ferlost]

The engines nodded in agreement. Gordon puffed with satisfaction. "Very good. Now, Edward, if you would be so kind," with but a light 'chuff' of steam, the letter flew from its envelope and landed on Edward's buffer beam. Thomas whined as the letter fluttered right past his funnel, half-expecting it to land on him instead. "Hey, no fair! I asked to see it first!" Thomas complained. "Edward will read it so everyone can listen at the same time, and you'll like it like that," Gordon scoffed and raised a condescending eyebrow. "If you don't, then you're free to leave, or mosey on to sleep. That was the deal." Thomas's cheeks flared red and he steamed with irritation, grumbling quietly to himself. "Meanie."

"Don't worry, lad. There's always next time. Now, let's see here..." Edward chuckled, donning his reading glasses and tooting his whistle twice in quick succession. "Lights, please!" The overhead light clicked on with a soft buzz. Edward cleared his tubes. "... Dear Gordon,

You are probably wondering why anyone would be sending letters to an engine. I'm sure it must seem out of the ordinary, but this is a most extraordinary situation.

I felt it was only proper to send you this note - as it happens, I recently came into the possession of some property that I feel rightfully belongs to you, rather than in some hobbyist's collection..."

The engines listened intently to Edward's narration of the mysterious message - until Henry noticed something in his peripheral. His gaze lingered back to Gordon and he glanced upon the envelope the message had been posted in, still sitting just atop the great engine's buffer beam.

It wasn't empty.

From the corner of the envelope, another sheet of parchment had slipped out - glossy on one side and rough on the other. A few old nicks and specks of grime had stained the once white paper until it was slightly off-colored, with one noticeable crinkle warping it right through the middle.

"...Oh. Gordon?" Henry whispered, not wanting to interrupt his companions. "Hm? Not now, Henry, I'm trying to listen," grunted the bigger engine. "No, look - the envelope. There's still something inside..." Gordon only intended to glance at Henry, but his attention was keenly stolen by the look of concern that brewed from the wrinkles that had multiplied on the green engine's forehead. Gordon looked towards the spot Henry seemed so focused on - and found the extra page that now sat just under his own chin. He frowned, looking closer.

"...A photograph?" Gordon wondered, "But, a photograph of what - ?"

He did not wonder for long.

And, in the immediate moments after looking upon the moldy photograph set before him - not only did he wish he hadn't wondered - but he wished he had never received the letter at all.

part 3/x

[themarginalthinker]

RPM

(Prompt for @ria-coolgirl, who suggested a sleepover with the boys listening to cheesy pop music! Sorry if this kinda got away from that, but hopefully you'll think it's cute lol)

Paul likes music, and wants something to keep him and everyone occupied. He decides to hit up his favorite record store.

-

Call him crazy, call him a tippy-tapping fool, but if ever one was to meet Paul Harris meandering down the Boardwalk, you'd almost have to call it dancing.

Always a tune in his head, always something playing that only he could hear the melody of. Paul danced to the beat of his own drums, and it was some damn good music if he did say so.

Such wandering, feeling the rhythm, took him lots of places. Little pop-up stores that happened over the summer months, here and gone again for the warm nights. Markets and art fairs that stayed active after sunset were fun, Marko liked those. Sometimes he'd mosey into a shop just following an idle thought, see what was about, and under the stares of the clerks (who tried their best to pretend they weren't staring) he'd make his way back out. Usually with something tucked into his jacket or pocket they weren't aware of. (Hey, you can't leave a store without getting something, that was just stupid.)

Tonight, the music in Paul's head was quiet, and disorganized, like a radio you just couldn't get to pick up a signal. It needed tuning - and he needed something to sink his (metaphorical this time) teeth into.

Streetlight Records, his haven away from haven.

Tucked neatly between two much larger buildings, the door for it almost hidden away just around the corner and in an alcove, one might have almost walked right past it. The doorway, however, was lit with garlands of twinkling lights they put out in the summer, and the base of something was humming out into the street, advertising for all who wished to open their eyes and ears, and take a chance.

Paul slips into to the doorway.

The shop was longer than it was wide, and it wasn't a whole lot of that to begin with. Along the left wall and down the straight middle isle, starting basically at the door so close you'd bump into it if you weren't careful, shelves upon shelves of LPs and EPs. Bins filled, racks a mash and collection that a vinyl dragon would go green with envy over. Some were arranged by year, others by genera. Artists' faces in posters and their album art, if they were popular enough, hung from the light strands wound around the ceiling and support beams. Under those were cases of cassettes, displays for tape recorders and the empty tapes to go with them.

The right side was a little less packed, but no less interesting. The glass case under the counter top and register boasted more gift-shoppy material, for those who only knew what played on the radio and when confronted with the font of auditory wonders before them, chose to stay in shallower waters. Racks of post cards, books of music history for the well-listened eggheads, more expensive maintenance tools for people's instruments.

And speaking of, further in the back sat displays of sound equipment for bands. Paul had spent more hours than he could reliably remember giving the old Fender some much-needed love and attention, here with lights and amps where it's rich, rolling sounds could be appreciated.

The place was a feast for anyone looking to discover something about themselves, and Paul was never satiated.

Paul slips past the immediate shelves to get to the front register, hands finding the glass surface and beginning to tap along to the muted cacophony in his head. It was deserted for the moment, but you didn't need supernatural senses to smell that someone had been here not too long ago, partaking in something that made the music sound even better. Paul leans over the desk and eyes the thick, beaded curtain that lead to the back rooms.

"Hey Randy! If you don't come out here someone's gonna come in and steal your signed Grateful Dead shirt!"

Indeed, said shirt was hanging up, proudly displayed on the wall behind the counter. It was a much prized possession - and in some real amount of danger from some fingers more sticky than not. It was also a surefire way to get the attention of a certain shop owner.

There's some sounds from behind the curtain, shuffling and maybe something falling over as someone jumped up, either at the threat or the owner of the voice issuing it. Paul hears the shout back before he can actually make out the words. If there were words being said at all.

Judging from the practically-visible cloud that follows the man who emerges from behind the curtain, it's more likely the latter.

Randy's and older dude, not 'old' but certainly a decade and a half Paul's (visible) elder. His hair is crow black, shoulder length and wavy, held back with a tie and a wrapped, psychedelic bandana. His eyes are blown to space, he's got a red press mark on his face, clearly the picture of a man getting ready to close up for the night and getting the evening come-down started a little early.

He'd probably known who had come in from the shout, but seeing him at the counter changes something in his face. How his back straightens. Eyes dart to the doorway, and then into the depths of the store. Looking for people who follow like ghosts in each other's wake.

His shoulders only relax a little when he finds it's only Paul, still looking at him expectantly. His half-smile could simply be the weed, and being tired. Paul lets it be.

"The man of the hour," Paul says, holding out a hand.

Randy huffs a laugh, and reaches out to take it, grasping it and pulling it in to touch forearms. To his credit, he no longer reacts to the cool skin as it touches him. One too many smokes - or maybe one too many touches with something like Paul to bother reacting.

"Yeah, sure. Only for you."

Paul takes his hand back and places it on his chest. "I consider it the highest honor, dude."

Randy nods a little.

These were words exchanged back and forth easily enough. Informal formalities, but a certain script maintained all the same. Like the glass counter between them. Crystal clear, but a barrier.

The shopkeep shrugs, and leans on his elbow. "Well, you got me here. What's up?"

Paul keeps drumming his fingers on the counter. A pattern only he can make sense of.

"Well, believe it or not, I'm actually not here for anything in particular," Paul says. "I'm uh. Actually looking for something along the lines of. New."

Randy blinks, cocking his head a little. "New?"

"Ya."

Believe it or not, immortality came with downsides. Well. Maybe not downsides so much as reoccurring stumbles. One of which being that the 'new' turned into 'old' faster than one would think, and even for someone who could listen to the same song on repeat for a whole day, there was a whole world of new things being made. New songs, new artists, new sounds. Collecting them to preserve perfectly forever like all the trinkets of the past stored in the cave. Immortal memory.

Randy however, looked over Paul like he'd started growing a second head. However, he knew better than to quibble. The script had run out, and Paul was looking at him expectantly. He was the expert in these things, and his customer had asked for goods.

"Well, we do got some stuff here, towards the front-"

Paul knew what Randy was pointing out, but he shakes his head. The silver bangles Marko had threaded into his hair shake with a metallic clicking, his blade of his earring glinting in the low lights. Randy stops mid-sentence, not about to waste Paul's time on the air it took to make the words. He knew better.

"Nah, man, I don't mean like, new releases. I mean just. Like. New. Somethin' different."

Something to scratch the constant itch of eternal stagnation amidst constant, unstoppable change.

Randy is silent, looking at him. There isn't much of a semblance of the polite, sleepy smile he'd been wearing earlier. Paul keeps looking right back at him, fingers drumming, drumming, drumming away at the counter. Nails clicking against the glass. Dragging.

It's only when Paul moves, shifting from one foot to the other, in a fidget, that Randy comes back into motion.

"Right. Sure. Okay, yeah, I just- hang on."

Paul nods a couple times, a little 'sure' thrown in as well as Randy moves off with maybe a little too much pep in his step, especially considering it's back behind the curtain and into another room. Where Paul's relaxed stare isn't on him the whole time.

There's the sound of boxes being moved, the clack of plastic cases - ans to ears more sensitive, dark mutterings. Paul pretends it's the rattling of the old water pipes along the ceiling.

He reaches over, to one side of the counter, and snatches up a couple jacket patches from the bins left out for sale. Marko had mentioned wanting to potentially start a new jacket project soon. Paul tucks them into his pocket.

Randy comes back after a few minutes. In his hands is a box, and in that box is a mess of things. A couple records, their sleeves looking a little battered, more than a few cassette tapes that looked much more recent, though one had a cracked case.

Paul reaches forward before Randy can say anything and pulls out something from the lot - a magazine, and from the provided pouch in the back of it, a small disc.

"Oh, I love Flexis!" Paul says, grin wide. "They're not making them much anymore."

He holds up the small, colorful record disk, and Randy's shoulders relax a little. He'd pleased the beast.

"There's not a whole lot, I think they only ran that edition with the Flexi for a while, but I had it kinda lying around, so."

Paul snorts. "What, you're using this to pawn your junk off on me, man?"

He flicks a finger at the box, tapping it rather harshly. Randy, again to his credit, doesn't flinch. But from the twitch under his eye, it's a near thing.

Paul grabs the box from him before he can try to say anything else. "I'm joshing you, dude. Jeez. You need some stronger stuff if you're this wound up. You know I'll take anything. You got good taste."

Randy lets Paul take the box from him, fingertips meeting for only a second. Paul's nails are sharp against his skin.

Paul tucks his prize under one arm. With his other, he digs into some pocket or another in his coat. From it, he produces a set of bills. He slaps them down on the countertop.

"You're a pal, Ran-the-man. Catch ya next week!"

Without waiting for Randy to open the till or count the money, or even a goodbye, Paul is already out the door. Barely a sound follows him, just the now empty store, playing its low background music under soft lighting.

When the man does blink out of his stupor, and counts the amount given to him for his motley collection of odds and ends, it's enough to make even his mouth go dry.

He doesn't ask, though. Never does. He simply straightens out the notes, and sets the stained paper in the drawer.

-

"Oh, I wanna dance with somebody! I wanna feel the heat with somebody!"

The music echoed in the main hall, the voices rising and falling with it perhaps not the most in-tune, but the enthusiasm was all that was really necessary.

David watches Star try to keep her smile down at Paul as he strikes a pose, singing into an invisible microphone, swaying her own head side to side with the melody. He lets himself smile with her.

Marko and Dwayne occupy the couch on either side of her, critiquing the performance.

"Good hip movement."

"You know, if he permed his hair, he might actually kinda look like Whitney."

"I vote eight point seven."

"No way, this is freestyle, tens across the board."

"No, there's always room for improvement."

The tall blond shimmies his way over to her, and Star can't help but let out the suppressed giggle at his exaggerated lip-syncing. She protests a fair bit as she's pulled up, and brought to the 'dance floor', her eyes flitting over to David who only raises an eyebrow, before Paul is pulling her in, spinning them around in a dance that doesn't exist and is made purely of the need to move and feel the music.

"Yeah, I wanna dance with somebody! With somebody who loves me!"

The tune in his step matching the music in his head, and all around him. Harmony.

[saatvamattresses]

Saatva Mattresses: {Official Website} Where Can I Buy It?

What Is a Hybrid Mattress?

Days of old's innerspring-just mattresses have been refreshed, with extra layers of froth as well as cushioning included request to increment solace and decrease the sound and sensation of turning over and making the bed shake, shiver or squeak. A Saatva Mattresses is additionally an extraordinary split the difference between individuals who like or despise adaptable padding, since Saatvas offer a portion of the pad without the profound soaking in sensation of an all-froth mattress.

😍🎁👉𝑺𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒍 𝑶𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒓- 𝑭𝒓𝒆𝒆 𝑺𝒉𝒊𝒑𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑻𝒐𝒅𝒂𝒚🎁😍👇

https://supplementcarts.com/saatva-mattresses-official-page/

What Does the Saatva Mattresses Feel Like?

The development and materials of a mattress to a great extent add to how the mattress feels, yet this is somewhat emotional, as well. Feel can boil down to individual inclination and discernment, as well as your body type. For instance, mattresses will generally feel firmer to lightweight sleepers (under 130 pounds) than they do to heavyweight sleepers (in excess of 230 pounds). Along these lines, we had analyzers that fall into every one of the three weight classifications attempt the Saatva Mattresses and depict how it feels to them.

What Was Resting on the Saatva Mattresses Like?

As I've progressed in years, I've progressively relied upon a decent mattress to truly adjust and uphold my body to not just straightforwardness from a day of strained shoulders and tech neck, yet additionally to recuperate from actual fatigue from burdening exercises. Regardless of what minor throbs or agonies come my direction, I know whether I can simply mosey down into bed, my spine adjusted thanks to my number one pad, it's inevitable until I work it off

💲 𝐎𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐖𝐞𝐛𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐞 👉: https//www.saatva.com/

The Saatva Mattresses was a blissful shock since it has the ideal combo platter of agreeable and body-supporting components. Beforehand, I've partaken in the vibe of adaptive padding mattresses, yet thought that they are hot. The Saatva Mattresses has a top layer made of breathable natural cotton and three-inch pad top comfort, so I've won't ever overheat. What's more, the whole layer-cake of its development is designed to offer help where your back needs it most — the top is extra-knitted in the lumbar district, and there are extra lumbar backings made of wire and high-thickness adaptable padding. The mattress has two extra layers adding up to 1,300 curls in two different steel densities to keep you upheld and drifting on the mattress, not gulped down into it. Lastly, I value that it is created with a decent firm guard of high-thickness rails around the bed so they don't hang, similarly as with such a large number of adaptable padding mattresses.

Since my most memorable night on my Saatva, I've seen I consistently dream more, which persuades me to think I'm sinking quicker and longer into what neuroscience says is the recuperative REM dream state. (Beforehand, this possibly happened when I neglected to take my enemy of nervousness drug for several evenings.) I awaken feeling more revived, and to be honest, I float off to rest quicker, since I'm not thrashing around to feel great.

😍🎁👉𝑺𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒍 𝑶𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒓- 𝑭𝒓𝒆𝒆 𝑺𝒉𝒊𝒑𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑻𝒐𝒅𝒂𝒚🎁😍👇

https://supplementcarts.com/saatva-mattresses-official-page/

Goodness, and the Saatva Mattresses extraordinary touch, as far as I might be concerned, was that after I requested the mattress on the web, it didn't come moved up in a container. It was conveyed by a *two-person* group that put it right on my casing, however they likewise eliminated and disposed of my old mattress for nothing. What's more, there was no compound smell that required off-gassing, so I had a good sense of reassurance to make the bed immediately, no 12 hours of open room windows vital. Also, particularly, don't bother utilizing that drawn out ensure offer — I'm clutching my Saatva Mattresses for good.

What Does the Saatva Mattresses Consist of?

The Saatva Mattresses has six unmistakable layers and is flippable. There are two GOTS-confirmed natural New Zealand fleece layers on the top and lower part of the mattress. These layers help wick away dampness and direct internal heat level. They likewise go about as normal fire boundaries. Under the top fleece layer or more the base fleece layer lie one layer of drafted vented plastic. These are the primary tension alleviating layers and furthermore add to better wind stream. The two center plastic layers offer help and strength. The mattress is shrouded in natural cotton that is likewise drafted to offer more help in the lumbar district.

💲 𝐎𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐖𝐞𝐛𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐞 👉: https//www.saatva.com/

Pressure Help

Plastic mattresses are known for offering prevalent strain alleviation, particularly when contrasted with normal polyurethane froths. They form your body without a lot sinking and are more responsive so they can rapidly adjust as you change positions. Another analyzer, a normal weight sleeper, said he felt particularly upheld and agreeable while lying on his back.

More Relative Blogs