#like into my ribs into my organs cold. how.

[thedogsleg]

I need to be CAKE's top listener. I need it. But i only listen to music like 5 hours a day. Even if its all CAKE im still fucked.

[whispering-about-the-tmnt]

Some headcanons regarding TMNT physiology

Over the years, I have come up with some headcanons regarding how I believe the Ninja Turtles' bodies work. I thought that perhaps it might be nice to finally share them with all of you.

These don't apply to all the iterations, of course, but they are pretty well universal in my mind, and I tend to incorporate most of them into my fanfics.

The Turtles (like leatherback sea turtles, echidnas, and some dinosaurs) are mesotherms, meaning they are neither warm nor cold blooded. They are, instead, in a middle-ground: they internally generate heat, but not to a constant temperature. In the Turtles' case, they will shiver when cold, and their bodies will not shut down right away when the temperature dips too low, though they may lose some energy and find it hard to concentrate.

Unlike many other modern reptiles and amphibians, who have a three-chambered heart, the Turtles have four-chambered hearts (like mammals and dinosaurs) that are larger and stronger than average human hearts and located at the center of their chests.

While the average human blood capacity is around five liters, the Turtles have about seven. Much of the blood flows under the shell -- a remnant of their lives as ordinary turtles, whose own blood does so in order to warm them when they bask. This means that the Turtles could lose close to three liters of blood before dying, while a human would only be able to lose two.

Their blood is also highly efficient at clotting, but that also means that storing blood for transfusions is difficult, and so must be directly transfused from one turtle to another in emergency situations.

Owing to their extensive circulatory system, they also have a larger lung capacity than humans and more oxygen-rich blood, and so are able to hold their breath for extended periods of time without adverse effects. Other than this, the Turtles' respiratory system is very much like humans', utilizing a diaphragm to inflate and deflate their lungs.

Like regular turtles, they do not have ribs, but rather their carapaces and plastrons serve that purpose, and they have muscles under their shells that keep their internal organs right where they belong.

Also like regular turtles, their spines curve along the insides of their shells. A direct hit on the center of their shells, then, could cause damage to their spinal column and nervous system, but fortunately their vertebral shields offer a fair amount of protection, so it would take quite an impact.

The Turtles are highly resistant to most infections and diseases, which increases their immunological responses. They do not get sick easily, and they recover quickly.

While their scales are not apparent, they are integrated into their skin, making it tougher than human skin. It takes a very hard hit to raise a bruise, and it is difficult to cut through without a very sharp or pointed blade.

Their bones are similar to humans, but are more resistant to breaking. They also heal quicker and stronger if they are broken.

Their muscles are also very close to human-like, but they are stronger than an average human due to compensating for the extra weight they carry in their shells. Because of this, their ligaments and tendons are also tougher, and it is difficult for them to have a joint dislocated.

Their sense of smell is more acute than humans, but not to an extreme degree. They are also not as bothered by foul smells (though this has more to do with living in a sewer than their physiology).

Their eyes are a bit tougher and more resistant to damage than human eyes due to a protective membrane that covers them. They see a bit better than humans in dark places and underwater.

Their hearing is somewhat more attuned to lower frequencies than human hearing, and is not dependent on external ears but rather an internal auditory system (making direct damage to their hearing unlikely).

They are capable of being knocked unconscious, but it takes a significant impact. Permanent or lingering damage to their brains is unlikely due to their structure, and so they also do not tend to suffer the same side-effects that humans would in the same circumstances (nausea, memory loss, etc.).

Although their nutritional needs are similar to humans, they do not need to eat every day, and in fact can get by quite well without food for a week if necessary (though they won't enjoy it). When food is readily available, however, they will eat as much as possible to store up energy. Their metabolism does not slow down when they do not eat, so overexerting themselves when they haven't had any food for a while can burn them out suddenly.

Their sleep schedules are much like most diurnal animals, though they are able to stay awake for extended periods of time and can get by on little sleep, if necessary. There have been times when they have been awake for days on end, getting by on short one hour naps here and there. In general, though, they like to have a regular sleep/wake cycle.

Like other reptiles, the Turtles never stop growing throughout their lifetimes; however their growth is slow, topping off at about 1-2 inches every five years.

Does anyone have anything they would like to add to the list? I actually had fun compiling it!

[mrsshabana]

𝐕𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐄!𝐆𝐘𝐔𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐎 ⛧ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎

꒦꒷‧₊ Summary Today is the day of your wedding, the day you will marry Gyutaro the vampire prince. The ceremony will bind the two of you together, body and soul, for all of eternity. You feel closer to your new husband, but you fear it may just be the work of his vampiric charm. ꒦꒷‧₊ Content Gyutaro x female!reader, 18+ MDNI, biting, blood, violence, arranged marriage ꒦꒷‧₊ Note 1.4k words

༺ Art ༻

⇢ Chapter one ⇢ Chapter three ⇢ Kinktober Masterlist

"Ow!" you yelp as one of the servants tightens your corset.

You're already feeling nervous as it is, and this corset crushing your ribs isn't helping.

"What's going on here?" a sultry deep voice appears out of nowhere.

"I-I'm sorry sir, I was just-" the servant tries to apologize but is interrupted.

"No need, you are excused," Gyutaro says as he walks towards you, his eyes looking over your body as you try to cover yourself as you're in your undergarments.

"Don't you know it's bad luck to see the bride before the wedding?" you say, flustered.

"Is that so?" he chuckles, "You humans have such silly superstitions."

You can't help but blush as he comes up behind you and adjusts the corset, his fingers working quickly and elegantly as if he's done this many times before.

"How's this feel?"

"Oh, much better. Thank you..." you mutter.

"You look beautiful," he whispers as he wraps his arms around your waist and leans into you, "You know... I never imagined I'd ever get married. Let alone to such a beautiful woman."

"B-But, you're beautiful," you mumble, nervous from his touch though you can't help but like it. "So many women come here seeking to become your wife."

"That's true," he sighs, "But it's easy to charm you humans. Believe it or not, amongst vampires I'm considered quite unsightly."

"You? Unsightly? I don't see how. You're the most stunning man I've ever seen."

"You flatter me, but it's true. My father was ashamed of my face, and claimed I was a disgrace to our legacy."

His usual cocky demeanor shifts to something more melancholy as he steps away from behind you and idly walks around the room.

"I know I'm not well acquainted with you or your family but I don't get that impression of you. You seem like a strong pillar for your kingdom," you try to console him.

"Thank you," he gives you a genuine smile, "My father was so ashamed of me that he hid my existence from the kingdom. I was never allowed to leave the grounds..."

"Gyutaro..." you walk over to him and place your hand on his cold cheek, "You didn't deserve that. You know that now, don't you?"

"I do," he smiles, leaning into your touch, "And thanks to my father's untimely death I'll be taking his place... with you by my side."

"I know you'll be a king that your people can be proud of. I hope I'll make a fine queen," you laugh nervously.

"Don't worry, I know you will," he kisses your cheek, "Anyway I'll let you get ready, dear. I'll see you at the ceremony."

After Gyutaro leaves the room his servants come in to finish getting you ready. You feel better after having a proper conversation with him. Of course, you still don't know him very well but you do feel like you got a glimpse of who he is behind his status as a prince.

Though you still can't shake the uneasy feeling you get whenever he's around.

Once the sun goes down and the moon rises, the ceremony begins just as Gyutaro had said.

You wear a beautiful blood-red dress with a long train that trails behind you as you walk down the aisle. You can barely see anything due to the veil covering your face but you can tell that a lot of people are in attendance. You wonder if any of them are vampires as well.

A gothic tune plays loudly on the pipe organs within the cathedral. The moonlight beaming through the tall stained glass paints the room with red light.

You feel everyone's eyes on you as you slowly walk down the aisle, trying not to mess anything up. Gyutaro's marriage traditions are a bit different from yours so you try to do everything exactly as Ume had instructed you.

You can see Gyutaro's tall silhouette waiting for you. Though you can't see the expression on his face, everyone else can. And he stares at you with awe in his eyes - like you're the most beautiful creature he's ever laid his eyes on.

Once you make it to him, you promptly stand in front of him, keeping your face covered.

Usually, the king would be the one to lead the ceremony, but since Gyutaro's father is dead Ume will be leading the ceremony.

You can't see him fully, but your veil is thin enough for you to see that his pale skin is radiating in the moonlight. He looks almost ethereal.

Ume and the wedding guests wear all black, Ume's gown is long and adorned with red jewels. Usually, she has a sassy and combative attitude but she knows how important this ceremony is so she puts her attitude aside for her brother's sake.

"Family, friends, spirits of the night," she addresses the guests in a loud and commanding tone, "We gather here tonight to cast a bond for all of eternity. A bond that even death won't break. Gyutaro, Y/N, are you ready to marry?"

"Yes, more than ready," Gyutaro states.

"Yes," you nod, feeling nervous but pushing through anyway.

"Very well," she almost rolls her eyes but stops herself, "Brother, please proceed." She bows and holds out a golden dagger.

Ume didn't tell you about this part of the ceremony, she only said to shut up and follow along, so you start to feel nervous.

But as Gyutaro takes the dagger and steps forward, you somehow feel safe being closer to him.

"Y/N, my love... You are blood of my blood, bone of my bone. I give you my body, that we might be one," he lifts the dagger and slashes his wrist, not even flinching when blood comes pouring out, "I give you my spirit until our life is done."

"Y/N," Ume says, "Do you accept this unholy union?"

"Y-Yes, I do."

Gyutaro can't help but smirk at your agreeance. With his other hand, he lifts your veil, only enough to reveal your mouth and nose. And he lifts his bleeding wrist to your lips. It's clear he expects you to drink his blood.

Even though you don't know the consequences of drinking vampire blood, there's a voice in the back of your head that compels you to drink. Makes you crave the taste of Gyutaro's blood even though this is the first time it's ever touched your lips.

Without hesitation, you take his wound into your mouth and savor the taste of his blood as it flows onto your tongue and down your throat.

Gyutaro smiles, feeling pleased to see you eagerly drink from him. His wound appears to seal on its own as he pulls away from your lips. A beautiful red now stained on them.

You feel dizzy as Gyutaro's blood infiltrates your body. Vision blurred and chest heavy. You feel like you can't breathe as you struggle to stand. Feeling weak, but strangely there's a strong urge to be closer to him. Like the only thing that can comfort and protect you is your new husband. Unbeknownst to you, an unbreakable bond began to form after you drank his blood.

"Splendid," Ume smiles, "Gyutaro, you may now claim your bride."

With a devilish smirk, Gyutaro fully lifts your veil. The hunger in his eyes growing when he sees that gorgeous expression on your face. The expression of submission.

Gently placing his hand on your cheek, Gyutaro whispers, "Please, give yourself to me."

Without hesitation you tilt your head, exposing your neck to him.

His eyes meet yours, like he's telling you to trust him, before he leans forward and pierces your flesh with his fangs.

It hurts but you can't help but submit to him, giving him all of you. In this moment you'd let him drink every ounce of blood in your body if he so wished.

All you can do is hold him close with weak arms, moaning softly under his touch. Allowing him to take, take, and take from you. Until your body grows weak and you can't keep your eyes open anymore.

Everyone in the audience claps when they see your body go limp in Gyutaro's arms.

Pulling away once you've passed out, Gyutaro lifts you in his arms, carrying you bridal style down the aisle. Everyone in the room claps and throws rose petals towards the newlyweds.

You aren't awake to see it, but this is the happiest Gyutaro has ever been. And seemingly by everyone's reaction, the ceremony must have been a success according to their tradition.

However, Gyutaro isn't able to wait any longer and immediately carries you to your new shared bedroom.

[i-drop-level-one-loot]

(I'm sorry it took me so long, I realized I wanted to participate in Kinktober after my ask box filled up with requests, then life got crazy, I moved, started a new job, got a baby (cat)..) CW: Gang bang, GN!Reader, multiple penetration, licking, both male and female partners, abduction, monster fuckers, non-con, forced oral, non human genitalia, urination

It's been two months since (Reader) fell.

They wondered if anyone had noticed they were missing.

Had their boss called the police? Maybe the apartment manager when (Reader) failed to pay their rent?

It didn't matter.

No one would ever find them.

There was a trail leading through a large patch of woods behind (Reader's) hometown that they often enjoyed hiking, but a couple of months ago (Reader) had made the mistake of traveling too far off from the trail. The young adult quickly became lost in the thicket, getting turned around as the sun went down. Then, they fell.

The hole seemed to go on forever, and they would have died, or at least broken something important, if a pile of soft bedding hadn't cushioned their landing.

"My, my, my.. what little snack has fallen into my chamber?"

(Reader) struggled in the mass of leaves and furs, frightened and disoriented from their sudden descent into the earth. But before they could sink deeper into the remains of animals unfortunate enough to have fallen before them, (Reader) was hoisted into the air by a strong hand clenching a fistful of their sweater. A giant creature larger than a suped up truck held (Reader) at eye level.

"Oh? What a cute little snack." The feminine voice echoed through (Reader's) skull. Whatever it was that now had (Reader) captive looked like a human woman that had a bug grow to a horrific size within her; soft pieces of human like flesh stretched out over a hard exoskeleton, tearing in multiple spots.

An exposed, human like skull molding into mandibles was presented as her face, with insect eyes lodged within it's sockets.

Because of the unrealistic, dreamlike scenario (Reader) found themselves in, they responded numbly, "Please don't eat me." It wasn't confidence that kept their voice from quaking, but shock.

Their request seemed to amuse the monstrous woman. She chuckled loudly, both within (Reader's) mind in a beautiful laugh and from her metal-like chest. The sound that reverberated from her body sounded like a knife being drug across a pipe. Her strong hand shifted, moving from (Reader's) sweater, holding them up like a kitten by their scruff, to cradling (Reader) against her bare chest. The chest was flat and without breast tissue, but it still felt effeminate to (Reader). Perhaps it was because of the soft curves above her hips, or the slender shape of her nape, but it made (Reader) feel almost embarrassed, exposed, in the nude woman's embrace.

The parts that resembled human flesh were cold like a corpse, chilled from the hard insides. Her skin was a dulled earthy color, and the longer (Reader) was pressed against it, the more the reality of their situation sank into their mind, transforming the numbness into paralyzing fear. And the monster holding (Reader) gently to her bosom smelled the change in their sweat, further entertaining her.

"Do I frighten you, little one?" Her hypnotizing voice that telepathically sang into (Reader's) head spoke in unison with the actual voice of screeching, ear piercing scraping of sharp plates.

(Reader) went rigid. This wasn't a dream. This was real. Their limbs involuntarily shook. How should the respond? What could they say in this situation?

"No." They lied. They didn't know how they found the strength to speak, but the lie tumbled out before they could clamp their mouth tight.

Another laugh rocked (Reader's) weak heart within their rib cage.

"How sweet.." An abnormally long, mostly armored finger stroked (Reader's) face. "You lie to the Queen.."

(Reader) was laid down upon what they assumed to be the Queen's bed, a more organized stack of furs and leaves. The Queen stood above (Reader), giving them a better view of her body. She had two sets of arms attached to a slender abdomen, with no belly button, her gently rounded stomach ended in a strange split at her pelvis( what (Reader) guessed to be her genitals), and from her hips were very large, inhumanly shaped thighs, without any skin texture, attached to rough and bumpy legs bent backwards and elongated, ending in insect like feet.

"Shall I eat you, little one?"

(Reader) began to tear up, feeling their bladder about to betray them. Their thighs quivered under the pressure of their fear.

"Or.. shall I keep you?" The Queen's upper hands traveled up over her chest, caressing herself, as her lower pair made circles on her lower stomach, inching closer to her exposed slit.

A horrified noise escaped (Reader's) nose as they felt warmth leak out, soiling their pants. The adult began silently sobbing, heaving as they failed at holding in both their crying and their urine. Before them, the Queen seemed to become excited, her antenna twitching as the air filled with (Reader's) scent, one only she could detect. Animalistic and hungry, she fell onto her hands and what appeared to be knees, crawling over (Reader) and tearing off their bottoms with unnatural strength.

(Reader's) body was revealed against their will, and they could no longer hold back their terrified screams. Their hollering didn't phase the woman as she felt their piss stained underwear. Her skeleton like fingers ripped open their wet fabric, purring as she investigated the human body, a reproductive body unlike her own. And it aroused her.

"You are an adult.. I can smell it.." Her mandibles opened, revealing a human like bottom jaw, with sharp, carnivorous teeth, and a long tongue dripping with saliva.

(Reader) couldn't fight back; their struggling didn't budge the Queen as she lowered her mouth onto (Reader's) wet lower half. Her long muscle explored (Reader's) warmth, before finding their ass. The skin on (Reader's) fists scraped and bled as they weakly beat the Queen's head, begging her to stop as her tongue entered their clenched hole.

"Stop!" Their screams fell on deaf ears as the organ seemed to elongate, pressing up even further into (Reader's) colon painfully. It pulsated as she tasted (Reader), breathing in deeply as she did so, relishing in their scent.

Her exposed septum rubbed against (Reader's) most sensitive place, exciting their nerves against their wishes. They fought against it, but their body began to feel pleasure despite (Reader's) emotional anguish. And the Queen could taste it.

The change in (Reader's) smell spurred on the creature, speeding up her movements as she fucked (Reader) with her tongue faster, enjoying the leaking fluids mixing with (Reader's) pee. Their stomach muscles tightened as their climax built.

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

(Reader) cried out a pathetic "No!" as they came into the Queen's mouth, writhing under her as their muscles spasmed.

But the Queen wasn't done with them yet..

Two months later, and (Reader) was glued to the Queen's side. Her new favorite mate, she never let (Reader) further than an arm's distance away from her, regardless of what she was doing. (Reader) had to be present for some of the most disturbing activities they had ever seen, including the Queen laying eggs. The Queen often told (Reader) that they were (Reader's) children as well, frightening (Reader) as well as confusing them. It was impossible, (Reader) thought, but they never saw the Queen mating with other monsters.

And there were other monsters.

Males and females, all significantly smaller than the Queen, hitting about (Reader's) height, who would occasionally enter the Queen's chambers to retrieve the eggs or bring food for the Queen and (Reader). Each creature was just as disgusting as their queen, with flesh stretched uncomfortably across ant like bodies. But it wasn't their anatomy that disgusted (Reader) the most: it was the way they stared at them. Monsters unable to blink, they never turned away from (Reader's) face whenever they entered the room. (Reader) didn't know what they were thinking, and wasn't sure if they wanted to know.

But they couldn't take it any more.

The Queen hardly slept, not needing to sleep as often as (Reader) did, only sleeping once since (Reader) fell, but when she did, she was out. Out hard enough where she was practically dead to the world.

And it seemed as though it was time for her to sleep again.

(Reader) stood by the drowsy Queen, naked. Their clothes were destroyed after their arrival, and the creatures had no need for clothing, so nothing was available to replace their hoodie and pants. It was a discomfort that (Reader) never got over.

"I shall see you soon, little one.." The Queen clicked softly as she curled up into the bedding.

'I'd rather die.' (Reader) bitterly thought, scrunching up their nose to prevent themselves from snarling like a caged animal. Although they did their best to keep their hatred off of their face, the Queen chuckled, seemingly taking joy in (Reader's) rage.

'You won't be laughing for long..'

They waited for what they hoped was an hour after the Queen passed out, trying to count the seconds down without the aide of a clock or ability to see the sky. Then, they took their chance.

On all fours, muscles sore from lack of use, body weak from nearly constant abuse, (Reader) crawled as silently as they could out of the den, unaware of the bemused twitch of the Queen's antenna.

They were silent, breathing such shallow breaths that (Reader) felt light headed.

But what they didn't account for was the stench.

(Reader's) tender sex and ass smelled of their's and the Queen's intimacy, even though (Reader) couldn't smell it, the rest of the hive certainly did.

As they snuck through the halls, the hive were alerted immediately of (Reader's) departure by the telepathic Queen, and were on the hunt for (Reader), following their smell.

It only took one to see (Reader's) cute little behind as they pathetically tried to crawl past for every member of the hive to know where (Reader) was, and for every worker not actively caring for younger members to immediately beeline for (Reader's) location.

And it didn't take long, for (Reader) to become hopelessly lost.

Panic began to fill their lungs and suffocate the poor captive.

"It is you!" A raspy voice exclaimed behind (Reader), startling a yelp out of the human. A male stood behind (Reader) with his hands clawing at his chest as if to steady his heart.

Fright rocked (Reader) to the core. "Please don't kill me.." They muttered nervously, already spun around on their knees to beg for their life.

The worker didn't seem to be listening, his antenna rapidly flicking about as he rambled under his breath.

"So sweet.. so cute.. so soft.. our mate.."

From his pelvis an endophallus emerged, pointed at (Reader's) face. The realization of (Reader's) fate caused a surge of adrenaline, propelling them in the opposite direction, running as fast as they could move their legs.

As they ran they heard voices down every corridor they passed, chanting words of love and attraction for their "mate". There seemed to be no escape; each hall (Reader) nearly turned down had voices calling out for them. They continued trying to run where there were no sounds, but eventually found themselves in a giant room of furs and leaves:

(Reader) had stumbled upon the sleeping chambers of the adult workers.

Tears filled their eyes as the room began to fill from multiple entrances with workers excitedly crying out for (Reader).

"It is!-"

"Our mate!-"

"Finally!-"

They wasted no time pulling (Reader) to the ground, ready to prove their love for their Queen's favorite mate.

As (Reader) opened their mouth to scream a long tongue entered and thrust itself deep into their throat. Choking and gagging, they were too busy trying to push the creature kissing them away to cover up their lower half. Like a dog pile, (Reader) was swarmed from all sides.

The workers fought one another just for the chance to touch (Reader). The second a crevice on their body was violated by a sharp inhuman dick, rubbing wherever they could reach, the creature would be thrown off, replacing the cock for a tongue or a hand. Sharp fingers massaged (Reader's) swollen body as every every hole was filled and every fold caressed. The long tongue was exchanged for a monstrous dick, but even that cold metallic-like phallus suffocating (Reader) was replaced by a female's vaginal slit as soon as the male filled (Reader's) stomach with a sticky liquid.

There was so much being touched at once that (Reader) couldn't focus on all the ways they were being assaulted.

If their ass was getting rammed by a cock, and their mouth was occupied by something else, with no holes available the creatures found other ways to fuck (Reader); folding their arms and knees and masturbating into the folds of their soft flesh; using (Reader's) hands like dildos and forcing (Reader) to enter their bodies; licking the sweat off of whatever body part they could reach while touching themselves impatiently.. Even the shallow button of their naval was molested by prodding tongues and fingers.

(Reader) was painted over and over again by fluids. All the while, the monsters would sing praises for (Reader) between their panting, grunts and moans. There seemed to be no end, with dozens of men pumping warm slime into (Reader's) stomach and ass while women rode out their orgasms on (Reader's) body.

Everything went black at one point, passing out due to a combination of a lack of air and exhaustion.

But when (Reader) woke up, they found that their body was still being used as a cum dump for another wave of workers. Their body was past the point of over stimulation, incapable of pleasure. It was pulsating electricity rolling across their abdominal muscles, contracting without (Reader's) permission.

They didn't know how long they were passed around for, but it was impossible to keep track of the number of monsters taking turns using (Reader's) body. Blood was dripping out of every orifice asking with cum and arousal fluid, the sharpness of their big like cocks and the hardness of the women's pelvises tearing (Reader's) body both inside and out.

The last thought (Reader) had before going completely dumb, was wishing that they hadn't left the Queen's side..

(A/N again, I'm so sorry it took so long! And that my drafts wouldn't let me edit your story anymore 😭 I hope you see this, Ant Anon!)

[deathbxnny]

Oh yeah, raising literal childish soldiers canNOT be good for one's conscious 🥲

But, I'm glad you're eager for more of that succulent emotional hurt, though this one will be... different the previous ones. And without further adieu, let's get into it 😈

So, I've noticed how, in this series, any harm sent mother's way has always been somewhat second-handed, and psychological in nature. Physical arm has always gone to the Children of The House. So, what if for this scenario, "Mother" is the unexpected one coming to harm?

Now, I could definitely write up a scenario of "Mother" getting hurt in some drastic way, and Arle and the House Kids retaliate in grand fashion, but that would be... kinda generic, no? Rather, I'm thinking of a scenario where "Mother" is hurt by the one thing that not even The Knave herself can protect her from.

Herself.

Or more specifically, her own body. Lemme explain.

So, "Mother" is in a position that can be IMMENSELY stressful and emotionally draining, so imagine one day, it's about as normal as life in the Hearth can be, "Mother" is at work, performing or assigning chores, or maybe prepping a meal for the kids, with some their help. When suddenly, she's hit with immense chest pains, as though her rib cage is squeezing around her heart, it becomes hard to breath, hard to focus because of how dizzy she's become. That's right, Mama suffer (or very nearly suffer, that detail is up to you) a literal heart attack, give everyone in the House a good scare, if you would 🤭.

And so, after this incident "Mother" is pretty forced to "take it easy" so that she can recover (which according to some brief searches I've done, can take anywhere from a couple weeks to a few months). And, considering how "Mother" is definitely seems like she'd be something of a workaholic, someone who feels she needs to be present and contributing to be a "worthy" mother, suddenly being forced to take a break from all her usual daily tasks must make for an absolutely miserable experience for her.

So, in the meanwhile, Arle and the kids try to figure out some things to cheer her up and keep her mind occupied while she recovers.

X Anon

Heartfelt devotion. | Arlecchino x Fem!Wife!Reader

(Part one) (Part two) (Part three) (Part four) (Read more parts under Arlecchino's name in my Genshin Masterlist!)

A/N: Hello X Anon! Thank you so much for your request. I really enjoyed writing this. In fact, this turned out to be a bit of a personal piece due to me having had the experience of an immideate family member suffering a heart attack, so I put some of that into this fic, which is why I took a bit of a different approach to your idea. Either way, I hope it's to your liking X Anon!!<33

Content: Heart attacks, comas, angst, hurt/comfort, wife reader, mentions of Curcabena, reader becomes a bit delirious, trauma, sfw

Reader is afab and uses she/her pronouns!!

((Not proofread))

The will of the Tsaritsa never rested for anything.

The expectation for everyone to continue until nothing was left of them always weighed on your shoulders, but it did little to ever make itself noticeable in the ranks of the Fatui. Exhaustion? Sickness? Death? None of that was an excuse enough to stop. You were all motivated by the goal ahead, even if uncertainty of what exactly it was often lingered in your mind. It was inspiring to work hard even in the face of pure agony and hell. It's just how things were. That's just how you kept going for so long as an organization.

The Tsaritsa's gentle kindness was ultimately not enough of a reason when the cold, icy snow and wind of your home ripped at your skin hungrily for more of your soul to take.

And you especially, as the wife of a Harbinger and "Mother" of the House of Hearth, felt that deeply.

Day in, day out.

It was all the same in the house of Hearth that forever kept busy no matter the occasion. You were unofficially the head of it all. Your wife often had better things to do as a diplomat and therefore entrusted you with your family from day one. The title and duties of the "Mother" weighed on you painfully, just as expected from you. And whilst you've spent endless years attempting to repair the relationship between that title and the family, you still didn't feel like it was enough. The woman that raised you and the 4th Harbinger haunted you with every step, always looking over your shoulder with that sinister smile of hers. You could feel the scrutiny in her gaze, see the rage in her grin, hear her venomous words in that sweet, gentle voice of hers.

Arlecchino had moved on from her by taking on the title of "Father," but you remained cursed. You remained in the past where you belonged, fixing connections that died for a reason, yet you were stuck with due to your own doing. There were no regrets in your actions initially, but now, after seeing the carnage and death you had caused to your own children by sending them off to the grim reaper yourself, you realise that over time, your mind and body has become worn down dangerously. You were beginning to fall apart, yet tried to keep yourself together just enough to continue every day. Like everyone else here.

It was getting hard to move and sleep lately, however, something that should've unnerved you when it was first starting to become noticeable. But you waved it off like everything else, your mind focused on your daily tasks and responsibilities instead. With your wife abroad back in the motherland for a Harbinger meeting, you were stuck shouldering absolutely everything again, not that you ever protested or cared much. You saw it as a necessity, perhaps even an honor to work at her side and take care of such an important part of the Fatui. If only the glamor and patriotism didn't melt away every time you got a new death report regarding more of your children. Crucabena used to read them as though they were the latest fashion magazine, a content smile on her lips every time. You, on the other hand, shed endless tears, finding no enjoyment in what you've become.

How did she do it? How was she able to be so indifferent and cruel to you all without feeling a thing? What was the secret to absolut absolvation from the guilt and shame? Years later, you still find yourself asking these questions in the shadows of the night, your blurry reflection in the water of the cold bathtub mirroring her image. You wonder if you even were any different than her ultimately. You felt like you did the same things as her, just less cruel, less callous. Was your care and love for the children enough to make a difference?

"Of course not. You and I are one in the same, my dear child." You often hear her voice whisper to you in those painfully sleepless nights, and you wished Peruere was there to keep her quiet again.

Taking a deep breath, you let out a weak hum when you felt someone grab onto your shoulder with a gentle shake. "Mother?" Lyney asked carefully, brows furrowed in worry at your near catatonic state lately. You barely seemed alive at times, your blank stare staring through everyone, some of your tasks even neglected seemingly unbeknownst to you. Your movement was sluggish, slow, and clumsy. Everyone noticed this, and the worry was beginning to seep into all the children belonging to the house. This was nothing like you. And yet, you didn't seem to be aware of it. Or maybe you were ignoring it.

Either way, Lyney had enough of just watching you suffer, his gaze becoming stern when you gave him a tired look. "Have you... slept or eaten properly lately? You look ill." The answer was 'no' to both, of course. You haven't been able to eat much due to the sudden huge workload you were confronted with ever since their Father left for much longer than usual. Sleep was out of the question due to the odd pain and pressure in your chest whenever you laid down. This led to you often sitting in a chair instead in front of the fireplace in hopes of getting some sleep that way... but unfortunately, that didn't work either.

Gently shaking your head, you mustered the strength to give him a shaky smile in hopes of calming him. "I'm alright, dear, don't worry about me. It's just a little stress, nothing more." Ever so perceptive, you sighed when you saw his eyes narrow. He didn't believe you, and you certainly wouldn't believe yourself either. Something was terribly wrong, but you had no time to deal with it. You didn't want Lyney to take on any duties he didn't have to yet, even if he'll most likely be your wife's successor one day. The pressure was too much. You didn't want him to feel the way you did.

Behind him, you saw two agents enter the kitchen through the backdoor. Masks obscured their faces, but the aura they let in was grim and cold. One you were so awfully familiar with, including the documents in their hands. A red envelope peeked out, a silent sign of more carnage and death raised by your own hands. The pressure in your chest suddenly increased once more when the guilt crept back up your body and whispered those evil words of self-doubt into your ears again. "How... How many this time?" You breathed out, a hand pressed to your chest in pain. Lyney grabbed onto your arm in surprise as your body nearly keeled over. Your mind was ringing, and you couldn't even hear the response to your question anymore.

It was all too much. You couldn't take it anymore. In the forefront of your mind, the woman that raised you gave you a "proud" smile, like she always did. It sickened you, for it meant that you've done something that once again proved that your title was cursed.

"Mother!" Lyney yelled out in panic, quick to alert everyone around them to your collapsing form. This has never happened before. The Lady of the House never fell, never faltered. And yet, as you now laid there on the floor, hands pressed against your chest as you heaved painfully, unable to breathe, you realised that everything you've done in your life has led you to this point. This was karma. This was the pain you deserved. Your children's terrified faces faded away and swirled into your mother's dark, sinister gaze. She reached out to you, her gloved hand pressing against your sweating forehead and tearstruck eyes, but you didn't feel any comfort. You felt like another death report, her favorite and one she has been waiting for forever.

If this is how you died, then so be it. One thing about Curcabena was that she'll always find a place for you to sit next to her no matter what. This time, you supposed, it would be in hell for the hurt you've caused.

How fitting.

"... Is she going to ever wake up?" "Not for a while. The doctors said the coma is necessary for her recovery. The reanimation took too long and... it's on her now to awaken." Lynette took a deep breath, her voice coming out in hushed whispers in fear of being overheard by their stressed Father. When Arlecchino came back come after an emergency letter practically crashed into the meeting room through a panicked Fatui agent, she found herself in the middle of a near warzone. You kept the house together at all times. But with you being in a medically induced coma now, everything fell right onto Lyney's shoulders. The one thing you never wanted.

The Knave had yet to say a thing, her lips pressed into a thin line at all times, as she silently moved to reorganize everyone and ease the pressure off of the young man's shoulders. Not even three days of taking on everything, and he was done emotionally and physically. How did his mother do it every day? How was she able to function? How was she able to keep everything in mind, do every task with perfect precision? He had so much to still learn, and that's what your absence proved him so painfully.

But hope still remained. If you woke up soon, then things would get better. Then, no one needed to be so terrified anymore.

Freminet nervously leaned against the doorway to your room, red eyes casted downwards to his shoes in silent shame. Guilt was eating everyone in the house up, their hearts aching with the question, "Could we have done more?". Yet their father wasn't keen on answering anything, her reassurance coming in the form of stern orders and a call for strength from them all.

"I see... in that case, I'll stay and watch over her for the night. You should go rest, Lynette." The young man spoke, watching as his sister exhaled a deep breath and nodded reluctantly. No one was getting any sleep lately, but it's the thought that counted. Passing by him with a short hug they both needed, Freminet watched her disappear into the darkness of the corridor, the moonlight filtering in through the windows leading her way. Stepping into the room with a soft sigh, he closed the door behind him and approached your sleeping form. His father hadn't stepped into this room much due to how busy she was with the chaos that broke out with your absence... but when she was in here, he saw the way she'd just stare at you, the pain in those stern eyes melting the ice and leaving behind a worried, foreign gaze that was rare to see on her.

Pulling a chair to the edge of the bed, he leaned his head against your slowly rising and falling chest, his eyes fluttering close in hopes of catching the tears that threatened to fall again. He wanted you to wake up so badly. It hurt to see you in this broken, weakened state. You were so pale and looked hollow, like all the life had been taken out of you. It was a terrifying sight that he could only barely comprehend. You have never looked like this before. You were always so strong and domineering.

He just couldn't believe it.

Fingers running through his blonde hair calmly is what made him flinch back to reality, his body reeling backward in surprise, yet the hand kept him there firmly. "Calm down, child... don't be afraid. It's just me." It was your voice, yet it sounded raspy and defeated, a slight slur to it from the lack of using it. Freminet froze and stared into the white covers of your bed, his tears dampening the soft fabric. But you didn't seem to notice his plight at first. He wanted to stay still, in case this was a dream. He was afraid that a single sudden move would make you fall back into your coma, the irrational thought plaguing him painfully.

"Mother..." "... Is this... heaven, after all?" You whispered, mind returning to the woman that haunted you. Surely, this must be the bliss before the storm. You imagined that soon flames and the hands of the children you've sent to their death would reach out and drag you down with them. And yet, all you got was the blonde boy pulling himself back again and grabbing onto your hand. "N-No! You're... you're alive." He stuttered out in panic and confusion, wishing someone else would help him, someone else could be here with you and take care of you much better than he could.

But once you processed those words of his, your heart skipped a beat in panic. The emotions finally caught up to you, and the surge of emotions made you attempt to sit up. Letting out a small yelp, Freminet attempted to hold you down and comfort you, knowing how you were about the house and your duties. The doctors had warned about this happening, too. Yet nothing could have prepared him for the sheer strength you demonstrated despite everything that happened. Something which could prove deadly soon, if you didn't relax immideatly.

And as though the heavens had heard his prayers, the door to the room creaked open, and in came his Father, an unreadable expression on her face at the sight of your struggling form. You were alive and somehow filled with energy, which unnerved her a little deep down. This certainly was going against your bedrest orders. "Peruere, I... I'm sorry for disappointing you- I'll get back to my duties as soon as I-" Her hand rose, and your deafening silence came with it. Taking slow steps towards you, her hand came down to rest on top of her trembling son's head. A silent absolvation from his duties for tonight.

"It's okay. You have not disappointed me in the slightest. Now rest." Her voice was stern and cold like it always was, but beneath the icy surface, you could feel the warmth and worry spread through her like a wild fire. She didn't want you to feel this way, and you could tell that the state you were in hurt her deep down. You and your family were her only weaknesses. Wanting to ease her pain, you leaned back into the soft pillows, eyes not daring to look up at her anymore. Why did you feel so ashamed? Perhaps because you should have taken care of yourself better. If you had, then maybe you wouldn't feel like a burden now. As though she was reading your mind, Arlecchino gave her son a curt nod, which he immideatly took as his sign to reluctantly leave.

Silence now overtook you both until she sighed and took a seat in the chair Freminet was in earlier. The moonlight filtering in through the open window illuminated the side of her tense face, her unique eyes near glowing. It was a peaceful moment, despite the pain that now raked through your entire body and especially chest. You closed your eyes weakly in relief when you felt her clawed hand carefully caress your sweat drenched face, your throat feeling so awfully dry as you gulped.

"I... I need to get up... I need to go back to work." "Not for a while." "... For how long then." A week maybe, you hoped. It was more than enough. It was all you allowed yourself, and even that was pushing it. Your restless mind was spinning in circles at all the tasks it still had to complete, and you felt yourself at a loss for words when she shook her head with the faintest frown. She knew you too well. You were an open book she had read many times over and couldn't get enough of. "Six weeks. Perhaps even longer after, depending on your state-..." She stopped herself when she saw your body trembling, and in the dimmest moonlight, she saw tears glinting in your eyes.

"Please don't cry. This is for your own good. I was... afraid when I heard of what happened. In fact, I'm grateful that you are alive, my songbird." Oh, how delicate her words were. Her honesty was forever going to be proof of her undying love for you. The ache is your heart lessened at the gentle warmth that spread through you from her touch, her tone lulling you into the safety you've craved ever since you fluttered your eyes open again. If only the guilt left with it. "What of our children? I must've scared them terribly. Especially my poor Fremi'..." You whispered after a moment of contemplation. Arlecchino watched your sick, tired form with kind eyes that were only reserved for you.

She figured that you'd feel this way. You were always so desperate to prove yourself to absolutely everyone. Whether it was to her, your children, or even the entire organization, you wanted to show everyone that you were better than Crucabena. Yet no matter how many years past, and no matter how much you achieved, you were never able to realise the truth. You had always been better than her from day one. The moment you rebelled and refused to take her side on the day, Arlecchino defeated her was proof of it.

"Do not fret over them. The children are strong. It is you that we need to worry about now. Just take it easy and sleep." Her words were comforting, even if short and to the point. You trusted them with your life. And yet, the feeling of being a burden just creeped up your body until you fell into a restless slumber once more.

The next few weeks were filled with nothing short of attention and borderline spoiling from all children in the house and beyond. Whether young or old, they all took care of you in the same way you cared for them. Something you could only barely handle. You felt like you should be doing that for them only, never the other way around. Yet under your wife's iron gaze, you were left with no choice but to accept your fate and stay put in bed or, on the rare occasion, in the living room near the fireplace. Lyney and his siblings especially took charge of your care, and you couldn't help but feel guilty at what you've put them through. You had attempted to apologize to the young man plenty of times for simply collapsing the way you did in front of him, but he'd always wave you off with a gentle smile. One they all attempted for you to mirror again.

The magician and Lynette would perform small shows just for you, knowing how much you enjoyed their tricks. Freminet, who was practically glued to your side, would read books with you about sea animals, whilst the other children brought you tasty pastries and food. The house was kept spotless by everyone, and you didn't have to lift a singular finger. And your wife was more affectionate with you in her own special way. Gentle kisses and careful, early morning cuddles were the norm, despite her reluctance for physical touch beforehand. You could tell through her actions that the state you were in had hit you deeper than she was most likely aware, and it didn't help the small guilt that was still left in your heart. All she had left from her old life was you. The woman she considered her wife and the mother of the house.

And by the time you've mostly recovered fully, you realised that the past wasn't haunting you anymore. Crucabena's strict hold on you had faded away, even if you knew that she was simply waiting for your arrival in hell one day. But your small revenge would leave her seething, absolutely enraged for years to come first.

In fact, it felt so good to be alive now.

[herbs-and-poultices]

That pneumonia hit me pretty hard, but I am on the mend now. And I have, indeed, been taking notes 😉

Cmmon symptoms, treatment, etc can be found online from health organizations that actually know what they're talking about, so these are just going to be a few little things from my personal experience.

Feel free to use as inspiration in anything whump-related. Enjoy!

CW: irl illness and a bit of medical stuff

In general:

When they say it can come on fast, it can come on FAST. After a bit over a week with lingering cold symptoms and the occasional low-grade fever, my temperature went from normal (98.7F / 37C) to 102.4F / 39.1C in an hour, to 103.7F (39.8 C) in the urgent care half an hour after that. Fatigue, dizziness, and shortness of breath all hit all of a sudden about half an hour in.

I had lower left lobe pneumonia (inflammation in the lower part of my left lung) and for about 3 days I had what felt like a constant stitch in my left side, in my lower ribs, that hurt to lean against or lie on.

Breathing about halfway in felt fine. Breathing more deeply than that hurt and made my lower ribs and mid-back seize up.

I'm addition to being a lovely variety of colors, the gunk I coughed up tasted foul. Really bitter, in addition to about triple the usual clingy sickly taste of mucus. And it took a few minutes for the taste to go away.

In a chair, sitting straight up was alright, but it stretched my lower ribs and made it more tiring to breath deeply. Leaning forward elbows-on-knees was sometimes better. In a bed, lying flat made breathing a lot of work, even breathing shallowly; it felt like only the top 1/4 of my lungs was functional. Leaning back at an angle felt best. Any sort of turned/twisted position hurt and made my breathing shallower and more work.

Even after the congestion/inflammation in my lower lungs cleared out and I could breathe completely pain-free, my upper airway was pretty irritated. It felt like my trachea for a few inches above and below my sternal notch was made of tissue paper. Breathing into my lower ribs felt ok, but breathing into my upper chest felt tight and made me cough.

For a modern hospital setting:

Personally, how my IV felt was directly correlated with my fever, which went up and down several times. No fever, no pain as long as I didn't move that arm too much. Fever, and the whole inside of my elbow ached.

The nebulizer treatments made me feel like jumping out of my skin. Jittery, shaking, heart palpitations, heart rate up into the 120s (when it wasn't there already), for about three hours each time. My short-acting asthma inhaler gives me a little bit of that, so I wasn't completely thrown for a loop, but this was way more intense.

If you want to add in a little more hurt-to-help / it's-for-your-own-good, you might consider acquainting your character with an incentive spirometer (aka medical self-torture device). It's a benign-looking plastic apparatus that taunts you into taking painfully deep breaths, and then usually painfully coughing. I don't know what the standard is, but I was sentenced to 10x every hour.

[somehow-a-human]

Whose POV is it Anyway?

A Companion to Owls.

DO NOT ASK NEIL ABOUT FAN THEORY

Job 30:29-31 I am a brother to dragons, and a companion to owls. My skin is black upon me and my bones are burned with heat. My harp also is turned to mourning, and my organ into the voice of them that weep.

Continuing my analysis of the narrator/POV perspective of Good Omens season two with a look at the episode 2 minisode set in 2500 BC, Uz. God, I love this minisode.

For reference & context, I recommend reading these posts:

Whose POV is it Anyway? - Introduction

Lens Filters

POV "Your 'Something's Wrong' Voice"

POV a Trip to Hell and a 25 Lazarii Miracle

We open our journey into the land of Uz with Crowley giving Job's goats a speech that sounds awfully similar to his own troubled relationship with The Almighty. Crowley is alone here. The episode cold-opens and we've had no lead up to suggest otherwise, so this is Crowley's POV. His hair is short and more vibrant, I'd say this is likely the Black Diffusion FX filter.

Yes for the sake of this post I am doubling down on the fact that there are TWO SEPARATE WIGS. See more here.

Aziraphale arrives, he looks cute and silly, the permit is long, the goats are "destroyed" and they part ways.

The next scene we get is Aziraphale in heaven checking with Muriel and the Archangels that the permit Crowley has is in fact legitimate. This time, we are seeing Aziraphale's POV. Heaven is a stark white office building but the golden hue is almost overwhelming in this flashback. The Bronze Glimmer Glass filter is clearly being used here.

Aziraphale decides he's going to confront Crowley about saving the children, little does he know Crowley wouldn't harm them to begin with but regardless...

When we re-enter the minisode, we do so via a subtle zoom in on Crowley's face in modern day. We then enter the scene through Aziraphale's illustrated Bible and see Crowley asking Job where his kids are. We've again lost the golden glow of the BGG filter, moved back to the BDFX filter and into Crowley's POV. Crowley's hair is still short, Aziraphale isn't present here, he's alone, so these are his memories.

When we see Crowley walking up to the house to find the kids we have switched back to Aziraphale's POV. The scene is extremely warmly lit, it's soft and yellow, and Crowley is now in a different wig. His hair is much longer, softer and more attractive looking. In one of the X-Ray behind the Scenes videos I even caught a screenshot of the film slate from this scene and you can clearly that they've written in BGG as the filter used, so we have confirmation.

We continue through the Job minisode in Aziraphale's POV. The reveal of the goats, saving the kids, the ox rib temptation, the first conversation about loneliness, it's all from Aziraphale's POV. until after he "comes to" in the bookshop in present day.

When we revisit the minisode, and for the remainder of it we are seeing it from Crowley's POV which was an interesting thing to realize. We see Crowley and Aziraphale witness Job speaking with God, saving Jobs children, deceiving the Archangels, and having their emotionally revealing conversation overlooking the beautiful sea all from Crowley's POV. His hair remains short and more vibrant red throughout all of it, we don't see the return of his long long gingery waves. The lighting when the angels are present for the children's "resurrection" is very warm but I'm going to chalk that up to the Heavenly Hosts presence.

It makes sense that this reaction is Crowley's POV. Silly silly angel, did a good deed and thinks he's a demon?! But then he realizes how upset Aziraphale is, how scared and he comforts him. He tells him he isn't going to do anything that would hurt him, that would get him in trouble. Then, something about the fact that what follows is also from Crowley's memories, his perspective...

"That sounds..."

"Lonely? Yeah."

"But you said it wasn't."

"I'm a demon. I lied."

NEXT POV The Dirty Donkey & I think I Found a *Clue*!

[billy-cockblock]

SWTD Theory

Still Wakes the Deep has been a huge brainworm for me the past few weeks, so I wanted to make a post with one of my takes. Someone’s probably thought of this already, but I can’t find anything about it, so here I go. 

I’m gonna take this time to shout out a little sub theory of mine that plays a bit of a part in my main point. 

For a little background, in populations of organisms, there are limiting factors on their growth and spread. Think of it as a series of funnels of different sizes: the rate of liquid that can flow through is going to be determined by the narrowest funnel. For example. if there’s a population that has ample food, space, and whatever else it needs, but has a restricted access to water, that water is going to limit how large that population could grow.

Before the Shape was dug up by the drill, it was probably dormant in the sea bed, doing its best to survive, the same as any other organism. Down where it was dark, wet, and cold, I think it had one main limiting factor: oxygen.

I don’t think the Shape can efficiently exchange gas underwater. Most of the untouched bodies Caz sees are only underwater, where an organism that thrives in air would struggle to access. Once it gets dug up and brought to air with plenty of organic matter to consume and grow with, its population explodes. When a limiting factor is removed, there’s nothing holding the population back any more until they hit a new limit. The Shape’s old limiting factor was removed, and it would only stop reproducing by running out of space to grow on the rig, running out of organic matter to use, or being killed (like, say, in a giant fiery explosion).

(I could go on and on about how the Shape potentially works, please feel free to ask me about it)

Now, I’ll get to my main theory:

I think Caz was dead the whole time.

Now, I don’t mean that in a “the whole game is in his head, none of it was real” way; I mean it in a “this man got Ethan Winters’ed” way. 

So, I started to do a little research into how tall oil rigs are to know how far Caz would have fallen off the helipad. I quickly learned there are many types of oil rigs and not every oil rig of the same type is the same size. I’m studying marine biology, not petroleum engineering like my brother, so I got tired of trying to guesstimate how tall the Bierra D’s helipad would be and attacked the problem with some simple math. 

Watching a video, I saw he fell for between 4-5 seconds; the acceleration due to gravity is 9.8m/s^2. Plugging that in a calculator while not accounting for air resistance to solve for distance gets me ~80-120m, depending on if I used the 4 or 5 second count, so I’ll guess around 100m. I’ve found many conflicting sources on what the tallest heights you can safely fall into water are, but I can safely tell you that 100m is much higher than any of them. 

Now, maybe the devs weren’t going with the mathematical exact timing it would take for a guy to fall off an oil rig, and didn’t mean for it to be implied that he fell from THAT high. Still, we can agree he fell from very high up, high enough to have likely ended in injury. Maybe he’d just fall on and break a leg? Maybe an arm or some ribs?

After falling off the rig, the last frame before Caz blacks out shows the water at the top of the screen, meaning he hits the water head-first. He may be wearing a hard hat (that somehow stays on his head through the whole ordeal since he clips his flashlight to it), but he still should have cracked his skull open or broken his neck. 

When they pull him out of the water, he’s cold and not breathing, which wouldn’t be unusual for a drowning victim in the North Sea in the dead of winter, but it would usually be a death sentence. They never explain how they dragged Caz out of the water, but it would presumably have taken a long time to get him out, and time is key when dealing with someone who isn’t breathing. The fact that he’s able to cough up water and start breathing on his own is a miracle, since it doesn’t sound like Brodie or Douglas do CPR when they bring him inside.

So, fall damage, head and/or spine injury, drowning, and hypothermia. By several different factors, Caz should be a very, very dead man. So why isn’t he?

My theory is that, somehow, somewhy, the infection from The Shape healed and brought him back to life. We know for a fact it has amazing generative properties, basically able to double, triple, quadruple the amount of tissue and organic matter in the crew’s bodies with no regard for conservation of mass, so what’s just a little regeneration of damaged tissues in a single body? Once Caz’s body gets someplace with better conditions suited to life (inside where it’s warm and there’s air), it just jumpstarts his body functions. The Shape’s presumably been dormant in the seafloor for a long time, so it could be able to go dormant and kinda “come back to life” as conditions change, similar to a tardigrade, and potentially pass this ability onto its hosts.

And Caz mentions how his head hurts a lot, especially when he gets close to the Shape. 

Now, this might seem like baseless conjecture, and y’all might say “That’s a good headcanon, but there’s no evidence that The Shape could bring people back to life!” to which I would say “Oh, but there might be!"

After the helicopter on the starboard side, we get a call from Bruce, who is actively drowning. Through his gasps, he tells us that O’Connor hurt his leg and couldn’t swim, presumably drowning. And guess who we see still kicking as we’re passing through the pontoon? My thought is that O’Connor couldn’t swim, drowned, and drifted to the bottom, landing on a part of the shape. Once Caz and Brodie start working in the legs and they drain, it exposes him to air and allows the shape to start growing again, assimilating him and bringing him back to life. 

Obviously, he’s not doing as well as Caz is. My thought was that, if Caz died as he was infected, the infection would’ve had to put a lot of its energy into bringing him back, not leaving much for itself to begin assimilating him into the Shape. Since O’Connor was in direct contact with the Shape, it could hook him up to its network to help supplement that loss. Caz, meanwhile, stays as far away from the stuff as he can and doesn’t even get anything to eat all day; guy's running on empty. He has small things where the Shape affects him, like the colors at the edge of his vision, but most of his hallucinations only happen after the Shape attacks him through O’Connor. Before, I’m pretty sure the largest incident (other than when he’s blacked out) is when we can barely hear Suze’s voice over the speakers when moving through the pontoon. It’s really only after getting attacked that he starts to hear her when he’s awake, near the Shape, or over phone calls. He only hears her clearly over the speakers in administration after he runs into the shape many times when he gets swept away in the flooding.

With my main evidence out of the way, I’ll also mention that Caz sees the “light at the end of the tunnel” from the end of the game in the oil flashes when he blacks out.

But hey, that’s just a theory. 

A GAME TH- I have received a cease and desist.

Man, this became a long read. Thanks for getting this far, and I hope you enjoyed!

[dustyrkives]

Satisfied with your care // A. Wong.

I know I might misinterpret things because I'm new to the fandom, but please, hear me out on this one🫣

Notes: Physician reader, hierarchy of doctors, !njuries, age-gap between the reader and Ada (7 years), female reader, Ada finding you amusing and interesting, size difference (my jaw dropped when I found out she's 5'7), Ada might develop an obsession for you and your notes but I think it's cute - *train passes by*. That's pretty much it, I think.

Not proofread, sorry :D

And feedback is appreciated <3

Thinking about Ada visiting the organization's medcenter to tend to her serious injuries before she either takes her leave or prepares for another mission.

That's when she set her eyes on you, the young mentee of her organization's physician.

At first, she finds you insignificant, always by your mentor's beck and call, standing behind the scenes while the doctor tends to her wounds before dismissing her with painkillers and reminders for her to change her bandages to avoid irritation and infection until several months later after returning from another mission, and it just so happens that the attending physician is busy with the other injured agents - which leaves her with you: a Fellow.

Ada kept a sharp eye on you while you tend to her injuries. Nothing serious - just a few cuts, bruises and some broken bones, ribs and fractures. But Ada's too tired to tend them herself so she leaves that job to you. You examine her injuries, surprised that she doesn't show any signs of pain in her cold, sharp countenance - countless missions must've hardened her edges, you thought.

"Are you just going to stare at me all day?" Her cutting tone snaps you out of your train of thought.

Embarrassed, a practiced smile plays on your lips, "My apologies," and began tending to her wounds.

The first thing Ada notices is the way you touched her: soft, gentle. Then again, so is any other physician while they treat their patients. But what makes yours...different?

Perhaps she was touch-starved.

You graciously ignored Ada's gaze as you tend to her injuries, something she finds interesting considering her gaze was enough to make some...targets fumble, but not you. But oh, she thought wrong. Ada saw the way your well-manicured hands twitch at her proximity - you were tending to the gash on the side of her waist. You were close enough to smell her scent: woody, warm spicy, vanilla...cherries.

The older woman's lips curl to a ghost of a smirk as she witnessed how you momentarily froze before tending to her wound before calmly leaning away from her and smiling rather nervously at the Asian woman before giving Ada her doctor's note and sending her off. Ada just stood there, outside the door as she looks at your note. Nothing significant, just some painkillers, antibiotics, reminders to change her bandages and, oh? A medical certificate for her injuries and a note acknowledging the state of her injuries. Contrary to your mentor, he would just tend to her wounds and give her some aspirin and send her off. Her lips curl upward. Interesting, Ada would thought before keeping your note.

Ada then discovers that she finds you amusing. Which also leads her to another discovery about herself: that she's a creature of habit, and that visiting the medcenter will be the first thing she does after returning from her missions. And so she did, every after her missions, you'd notice that she would prefer you over the attending physician. You find it flattering because it means one thing: she trusts you with her wounds. The Asian woman would always come back with her wounds slightly detrimental than the last - but no worries, you're capable of treating them. While you find it concerning, Ada sees it as a valid reason to feel the pads of your fingers against her skin.

And she loves it.

She loves the way you'd wipe the blood on her face and body away like a demented blush, or the way your fingers would delicately examine her bruises to the point that she finds herself fantasizing how your lips would feel all over her scars and bruises instead of your fingers. Every touch from you would figuratively bring the older woman to her knees; Ada has to admit, you have that kind of power over her.

You on the other hand, well, developed a certain liking for the older woman. Calm, verbally well-articulated and devastatingly gorgeous - you have no doubt that anyone who comes across her would be intrigued. But as a professional and an aspiring attendee, you had to bury that attraction, and you thought it was simple.

You were wrong, utterly wrong.

With every visit from Ada, there would be hushed greetings, piercing stares, low praises from her - it makes your spine tingle with glee and bliss.

"You'd get wrinkles if you do that." The older woman mused as she sits on the edge of the examining table. You shoot her a pointed look - you were comfortable to show your displeasure when it comes to her serious injuries. "How could I not when you look like 'that'?" You counter as you gesture at her state. The latter raises a brow as she looks down at herself. Her shirt is soaked with blood, she swore she had just changed before coming to see you but the blood from her poorly bandaged shoulder wound seeped into the fabric of the material, not to mention her small cuts and bruises. She quirked a brow, "You do realize that you treated far more serious injuries from me?"

"Yes, but-" You stop yourself before inhaling slowly to better articulate your words. "It's concerning-"

"Are you worried?"

A pause, "Of course," You sigh quietly before approaching her. "Are you able to remove your shirt?"

The latter raise a brow and you flushed. "I need to examine the wound-"

"Easy, pretty girl," She grins and the red on your cheeks darkened. "And I can't," She palms the bloody bandage. "I think I need new bandages and maybe some muscle tape."

You can't help but return her grin, "Stitches, probably."

The latter nods as you prepare the surgical scissors and begin cutting through her shirt. While doing so, Ada watches you intently as the cloth loosens, and cuts in half, revealing her scarred, lithe torso. You inhale slowly before gently removing the soaked cloth and tending to her injury.

"At this point, I think you allow yourself to get hurt." You stammered as you patched her up in a quick yet efficient fashion, "Well, I mean - I'm not saying it to undermine your capabilities as an asset or anything - what I'm saying is-" Ada merely chuckles when you're done. "I mean," The former slowly stands up. "Ada," You warned, "You shouldn't-" But the Asian doesn't listen as she gracefully steps toward you, you did the opposite.

"You really shouldn't," Your words die in your throat as her figure towers over you. Damn, was Ada this tall before? How come you didn't notice?

Reality sets in when your back presses against the counter. "Ada, your injuries-" Your pleas fall on deaf ears as the older woman traps you against the counter - she didn't even cage you in yet before she takes another step closer to you - uncomfortably close that she can take your fleeting scent: comforting, with the right amount of sweet, and mingling notes of Jasmine.

Ada's eyes dilated.

"For the last time, Ada," The former was brought back to her senses when your hand pressed against the base of her neck, your fingers are pressed against the muscle between her neck, and right collarbone. "Sit down, please - do you feel anything at all?"

The older woman slowly blinks before finally, trapping you with her arms blocking your sides as she looks down at you through her lashes.

You feel her pulse quicken beneath her cool, pale skin.

"I do now," Ada whispers.

[peachesofteal]

ok i have a question- for the dead disco fics, if there was a situation where ghost had to choose between reader and soap, who would he choose? idk why im thinking abt this LOL

Hey babe, what is wrong with you? (I love this so much it scratches my angst brain just right) Why do you want to feel this pain? (I too, want to feel this pain...let’s indulge)

Ghost x Soap x female reader Dead Disco - verse AU - not canon to the actual story. Warnings-tags: Angst. Inferred character death. Darling's usual (eating issues, depression, anxiety, despair, self destructive behaviors)

The bed is too big, as it always has been. As it always was before, and during. And as it always will be for now on, too. Your legs spread across it, kicking and swishing across pristine sheets like you're swimming in them, like you're drowning. Drowning, is more apt. Drowning is more akin to these feelings that swimming, certainly. Drowning is how you feel right now, smothered in your loss, lungs full of water, burning from the salt of your own tears. You're at the bottom of the ocean, lost beneath where the sunlight doesn't reach, far beyond the swell of the waves. Drowning is what it feels like, when your heart clenches in your chest and your stomach heaves it's bile free. Drowning is how you would describe this black, bottomless hole that's developed soul, the one that pulls you deeper and deeper with every breath. Drowning. You've drowned. And no one was there to pull you to shore. To safety. No one was there to save you.

"I'm home!" Your bag falls to the floor with a thud as you toss your keys on the island, loosening your jacket and heading towards the dining area of the flat. "Holy shit, wait until I tell you about my day. My boss was on one today, she was being a crazy a-" the words die on your tongue when you finally look up and see the expression on Johnny's face. At first glance, one might call it grim, but for those who know him, who know to look closer, you see the red ting to his eye lids, the rub of drier skin around his nose. He's been crying. "What's going on?" you ask, looking from him to where Simon sits, stone faced. Immobile. Neither of them answer you at first. "Hello?" The knot that's been loosely tied in your stomach tightens. Simon nods at the free chair next to him. "Sit, darling."

There are two boxes, in your bathroom. They sit, full of things, clothing, items, trinkets, pieces of memories, pieces of love. They idle next to your bathtub, waiting, watching you, every time you drag yourself towards the toilet to vomit, or whenever you muster up the strength to look at your toothbrush. The boxes have sharpie scrawled across them, big loopy letters that almost look like mouths, almost look like they could grow teeth and talk to you, or eat you alive with what's inside of them. You supposed, they could. If you were to open them, and actually look at the things inside, they would consume you. Chew you up. Spit you out.

"I- I don't understand." You take a half step towards Johnny, who visibly flinches, face torn fractured with despair, while Simon's lips press into a hard line before he speaks. "We will make sure you're taken care of, we-" His voice is cold. So, so cold it scratches at your heart, pin pricks of icicles working their way beneath your ribs. "Stop." you shake your head, willing yourself to focus. What is he saying? What does he mean? "Simon, what... wh-what does that mean?" "Darling we're so, so sorry." Johnny's voice, is the opposite of cold. It's molten. Hot, and burning red with orange, thick with something you think is sadness. "You are sorry." You repeat it, numbly. You're not crying, which is a surprise to yourself and probably the two of them too. Your brain is really working now, hard. It's compartmentalizing and organizing and shoving little things away, burying others beneath mountains of sand and locking memories into boxes that you'll never be able to open. "You can't. You can't just leave me... you... you promised." Simon stands completely still, while Johnny shifts his weight nervously, fingers tangling with one another as he watches you like a hawk. Like a solider. "This will be better... for everyone." He tries to soothe you, tries to calm you, even from where he lurks, five feet away. Simon offers you nothing. "I don't understand, everything was fine. I thought... we were okay." Simon finally moves, shaking his head with a no while you watch, mouth ajar.

The boxes have been ripped into tatters now. They lay in shreds across the things in the bathtub, covering two t shirts of Johnny's, a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie of Simon's. Your silk bathrobe, and giant fleece blanket from the couch. There's also a book, a collection of photographs, a few pieces of jewelry. Worn index cards with recipes on them, Johnny's mum's, and a comic book, that Simon used to keep in his drawer of the bedside table. The final touch is the secret pack of cigarettes, the ones Simon used to keep in the closet, sans the one in your mouth. You inhale it slowly, breathing in the tobacco and the nicotine and the fumes of the lighter fluid, the entire contained dumped onto of the collection of things in the tub, waiting for your final flick. When it comes, you stay perched on the edge on the bath, barely interested, unmoving, as the fire rages. As it consumes.

"You fucking promised!" You scream. You scream it over and over until your throat is hoarse and Johnny looks panicked. Simon grips him roughly, sliding him half behind his body, as if to protect him from you. As if he thinks you'd hurt him. They both watch you with stricken faces, hunters tracking a wounded animal, and your breaths come in short bursts as tears track down your face. "You said you love me." It's barely a whisper, mournful and slow, and they both hear it. "We do." Johnny croaks. "We did." Simon counters, and you flinch. "But this is what's best, for all of us. It was always going to be him, darling. You've known this." It was always going to be him. It was always... going to be Johnny and Simon, over you. It was always going to be them, and not you. The truth stings, burns, bites. It twists it's wicked claws around your heart and tugs and tears until there's nothing left. You've known this. You idiot. How could you possibly believe, in the end, you'd still be in this equation? You'd still be a part of this? How could you possibly believe, that after everything, they'd still love you? Still want you? Simon's mouth moves, but you hear no sound. You hear nothing, as you turn on your heel and barricade yourself in the bedroom. You hear nothing, as they knock, and knock, you hear nothing, until the wood stops vibrating, and the front door open and closes with a final thud. It was always going to be them. You've known this.

"Bloody hell." Gaz whistles, eyes locked on the screen. Johnny wipes a towel across the back of his neck, mopping up the sheen of sweat that lingers there while Simon saunters through the rec room doors. "Christ. Didn't ya two live near there?" "Live where?" Johnny frowns, looking up. There's a heli eye view of a burning building on the news, it's entire structure engulfed in flames, firemen barely making a dent. The camera switches to a ground reporter, a pretty woman with a serious face, who's explaining that arson investigators believe the fire started on the ninth floor, where there's still a single person trapped, unable to be rescued so far by exhaustive efforts. Something glitches in Johnny's brain, something short circuiting while he blinks, and breathes, and blinks, trying to wrap his mind around what he's seeing. The ninth floor. Someone trapped. Didn't ya two live near there? The ninth- It's almost unrecognizable, but he knows. Of course he knows. The ninth floor, the ninth floor- His heart stops in his chest, and he turns frantically to Simon, who stands like a statue in the doorway, eyes wide and frozen. "No. Nonononono-" Johnny whispers. He stumbles, away from Simon, away from Gaz, eyes not leaving the television while he drops to his knees. "She- Simon." Simon doesn't answer, just stands, broken. Empty. Like a ghost. He has no words. He has nothing. And neither does Johnny.

[goodolddumbbanana]

[GOODGUY Nexus au] Meet Sun - The Depressed Asshole [1]

"What happened to my smile and my will to live? Gone."

"Remember kids, whenever you find yourself feeling trapped, feeling suffocated, that's okay!! Fish get eaten in the ocean and they choke on their own waste in undersized tanks everyday. If you are not dead, that means society has done its job." :))

***

They started out like the other Suns and Moons. Getting sentient, sharing the same body, and fighting for control until they nearly killed each other.

The only difference was that even when they were separated, Moon was still an asshole. They taunted and bullied Sun, and often used the threat of shutting him down to get Sun to obey.

They were like the king, and Sun was the sad clown who danced to the stick they would hit him with whenever he stopped.

Sun has tried to stay positive, but the more days go by, the idea of Moon love and care about him seems like a lie he is trying to deceive himself.

But things would get worse, Moon could kill him or he could tear himself in half until one day…

Anyways... Like a butterfly flapping its wings in the northern can cause a tornado in the southern.

Sun has changed, and the universe has changed with him...

It was a late afternoon, when the kids had all gone home and Sun was left alone to clean. The smell of cleaning filled the air, and with each ball he cleaned, he hummed a different tune.

"Hmm… Almost done, only 232 balls left. Haha… I hate my life."

His chuckle echoed in the empty space. The loneliness was like a cold pressing down on Sun's ribs and spine, making him unconsciously hug himself because of the sudden feeling of restlessness.

Moon wasn't here.

Who was he kidding, Moon never wanted to be here, unless his brother needed something, or wanted to push Sun into some dimension craps to turn him into a test subject again.

And it's not like he can say no...

Suddenly, his internal organs rattled as he slowly stood up, the pain tearing like a torch melting the circuit board inside his stomach before pouring more mercury in.

Moon had shoot him with some stupid machine they had built, and the aftershocks had blown a huge hole in his stomach.

It hurt like hell and Sun thought he was going to die, but then Moon had smacked him in the head to shut him up before fixing Sun as good as new.

Though… Why does it still hurt now? Sun winced, trying to get up and falling again.

His hands were shaking, his body was convulsing. His internal systems were flooded with bright yellow error warning symbols, the fans were running at full capacity, but his core was still hot enough to make his head steam.

He wanted to call someone but for some reason his voice box wouldn't respond, only emitting a staticky sound like a broken radio.

"Moon… Moon…" Sun still managed to scream weakly. He struggled to crawl out of the ballpit and crawl to wherever the camera could see him.

"Computer… Help." It is exhausting, and Sun has struggled to scream, even though it felt like he had a knife stuffed in his mouth.

"[Warning: Someone is injured, contact nearest support.]"

The dinging response made Sun's heart swell with hope, only for the computer's voice to knock that hope down and throw it into the mud.

"Oh wait, it's just Sun. I was wrong." The computer's AI looked extremely disappointed as it recognized Sun. Its voice was filled with contempt, as if Sun had soiled its eyes.

"No need to contact Moon. He always say to avoid calling them unless it's important."

The second AI was no better, just continuing to agree with AI one, completely ignoring him as he groaned in pain. A wave of nausea hit him like a wire was being ripped out behind his head and his stomach was popping.

Everything was spinning and before the feeling of breathlessness began to overwhelm him, everything went black.

That was how Sun passed out, realizing, oh, he was worthless to anyone.

***

- This Sun is more meaner. He is not afraid to open his mouth, and usually just loves to throw hands with whoever messes with him.

- He loves to beat the crap out of Monty whenever he has the chance.

-His relationship with Moon became much frayer, but they still love each other. (Kinda)

- He likes to crippled his enemies, because it is easy to live and feel the pain more than just die and get peace. His sadistic side gets shown a lot.

- He killed his Moon, not accidentally but intentionally. (Of course he still feels guilty about it, but things have already happened and Moon has forgiven him when he comes back so they are cool.)

- He and Nexus at first have the : "Who is that sassy child?" Vs "And you are an ugly bitch!" But then they slowly warm up to each other and care and treat the other more healthier than Moon and Sun ever do.

- After turning Nexus into a goose, Sun keeps Nexus in his room and reads them stories for goose Nexus to sleep.

- Sun is still silly, he just hides his side very deeply.

[morganitering]

Survive the Night (Mahito x fem!reader)

Warnings: Non-con/Rape, Graphic Depictions of violence

Contains: Smut, PWP, PIV - penis in vagina sex, degradation, psychological/emotional manipulation, face-fucking, threats of violence, fuck or die, sexist language, reader is into it lowkey

Word count: 5,1k

Summary: You had readied yourself for a party with your best friend, only to find Shibuya in a disarray, and yourself caught up in a war that wasn’t yours. Somehow escaping the monsters, you end up running into the lap of another kind of predator - an intelligent one.

A/N: Hey hey, this is my first fic and first smut! And ofc, I started with the most degenerate bs I could do. I don't even simp Mahito, but my bestie is down bad and what type of friend I'd be if I didn't help them out. English isn't my first language and no beta. Be aware of the warnings, they are there for a reason. Otherwise enjoy and feel free to like and comment <3!

Read on ao3

It was utter madness. There were screams so chilling that your heart started to ache in an empathetic rhythm, but this was no time to be kind and understanding. It was time to survive and survive you wanted, but your legs refused to move.

You saw people running around like headless chickens, crossing the roads, bumping into each other, as creatures of various sizes and colors roamed the heart of Shibuya, hands and mouths gaping open, reaching to anyone they could. You stood still despite the sheer fear in you.

You looked at your friend, cold sweat forming on your brow as you assessed the situation. Her golden wig falling on the ground in the force of a purple hand grabbing her. She cried out to you. Her Sailor Moon wand replica fell to the asphalt with her other belongings. You had a good bit of distance between the two of you since you tried to run over the crossing road in a hurry towards KFC.

The purple hand squeezed remorselessly. You could see it in her face, the sound of little crackling of her rib cage turning to bits and pieces inside her body, puncturing every vital organ one by one.The hand kept on squeezing, probably not even using force. The creature dropped your friend’s body next to her items. She was disfigured and limp like a soggy rag doll. You had seen death once after losing your grandparents, but this was no peaceful death due to old age, this was a god forsaken massacre.

It was supposed to be a fun night out. You hadn’t dressed up in anything special, but you wanted to support your friend so you had gone to her place, a few hours prior ending up going outside, hoping for the warm buzz of alcohol in your veins and maybe, if you were lucky, a lover you could regret in the morning.

But in all honesty, this was a script from a horror movie. You had always joked with your friend how you both would be the first ones to die in one, but neither of you had been serious about it.

“Fucking move!” You heard a man yelling, snapping you out of your trance. The purple creature’s multiple eyes were all looking in different directions in search of another victim.

You did what the stranger told you to.

Your body pumped out adrenaline forcing your limbs to finally move with strength you did not recognize in yourself. You started running as fast as your legs could take you, neon lights of advertisements flashed on your face as blood of other party goers covered you as they were snapped open, ripped in half, guts and viscera leaking on the ground. Puddles of blood splashed on your calves when the soles of your boots hit the ground. You were just livestock running away from the butcher in a small room, knowing full well that there was no escape.

Metallic taste popped in your mouth as you evaded monsters and people alike. Some folks were brave enough to fight against the creatures of the night. You were not one of them.

You took a turn on the left. An alley behind some type of shady restaurant. You noted that somehow the screams had quieted down. Your breath came out at an uneven pace as your lungs fought for their life to give enough oxygen to your struggling body.

You leaned on the brick wall, heart beating in every part of your body utter exhaustion knocking on the door. Instead of collapsing you just trembled. This is not real. This is not real. This is not- a sob interrupted your frantic mind.

Searching for the source of the sound your eyes adjusted to the dimly lit alleyway locating a hunched over figure. A man? He cried heavily, rocking himself back and forth on the dirty ground as his hands fisted the black fabric of his trousers. He was sitting next to a dumpster that was filled to the brim with plastic bags almost not being able to contain the multitude of waste. In hindsight you probably should’ve left the man on his own to tend to the trash.

You assumed him to be a victim of the attack too. Or maybe he was just drunk, you told yourself with suspicion in your mind.

“Sir? Are you ok?” You asked as you got closer to the sobbing man. It seemed like he didn’t even notice you, he just kept shaking and muttering to himself in between sobs. You were fairly sure that he knew you were there and since there was no answer you decided to attempt consoling him.

You dropped down on his level and stroked his arm gently. You weren’t the best at this type of stuff, but you felt pity towards the blue haired stranger wallowing in his thoughts. Suddenly you felt his arms stretching around you holding onto you like a child embracing their favorite toy during duress.

Panic seeped into you. You didn’t know this man at all, but you figured that he needed this and honestly maybe you did need it too. Awkwardly you placed your hand on his head, your blouse getting wet from the stranger’s snot and tears. His hair was luscious and soft, in a different situation you might have even been jealous.

“It’s going to be.. okay?” That was honestly the best you could do in your state of shock. There was a weird sort of kinship in his breakdown. Had you not been still full of fight or flight reaction you would probably be in the same situation as he was. Instead you felt calm as a day almost clear headed.

Bit by bit he collected his demeanor. His shoulders still shook, but it no longer felt like he was a spare leaf in a summer storm.

“I know a place,” he said, head still against your chest. You heard him but you were confused by his words.

“What?”

He raised his head now looking at you with his mismatched eyes. His face was full of stitch patterns as if he had been broken down and put together multiple times. You soon noticed him having that on his arms as well.

“Sorry, I meant that I know a place. I don’t think we are safe on the streets yet,” he said sniffling pathetically.

“You’re probably right. Where is it?” You asked.

Patch faced man stood up and offered his hand towards you which you gladly took and pushed yourself off from the asphalt. Having been in this place longer now, you really did not want to spend the last moments of your life next to the smell of biowaste and piss.

You walked behind the man who took determined steps towards the main street that was completely empty.

“Sorry I probably gave you a big scare,” he brushed his hands through his hair, swaying a few sections of almost ponytailed hair to the other side of his shoulder.

You wanted to say that there was no bigger scare, than the stuff that went down in the heart of Shibuya. A crying weird dude was a welcome change to the horrors, but you stayed quiet.

“My name is Mahito. Thank you for being there for me,” he smiled gently at you. You tried to return his smile as you told him your name.

“I like your name,” his tone was easy going and friendly.

“Here,” he pointed at an empty restaurant a few blocks further away from the alley.

The restaurant was still lit up, but completely empty. Its decor was homely and somehow very industrial. The lighting was warm and yellow with few pink-ish tints on the brick wall with a statement piece made out of pipes and lightbulbs. Overall it looked like a hipster’s favorite lunch place.

Some of the tables had half drunk beverages and meals. There were some spots where tableware had dropped on the floor and pieces of porcelain lay on the ground with napkins soaking into cream sauce.

Mahito found you both a clean booth and sat you down there as he sauntered over to the restaurant bar. You looked at him in confusion as he grabbed two clean glasses pouring soda from the soft drink dispenser.

“No harm in drinking something sweet after all this, right?” He said trying to smile again, yet it did not really reach his eyes. He seemed awfully cheery for a person that you had found crying just moments ago. It was as if he was wearing a mask. Maybe it’s a shock reaction, you intellectualized his behavior to yourself.

Mahito placed the drink in front of you as he sat next to you on the booth. You were squished between him and the restaurant window with nowhere to go. You hadn’t really noticed how big he was until now. You took a sip from the sweet drink looking at the bubbles that were forming on top of the dark liquid.

“So what happened to you?” You asked him, curiosity taking the best of you.

“I-,” he started confidently but quickly stopped. Mahito looked down at his hands that were placed on the cold table. You saw sadness on him.

“I watched how my friends died," he said quietly. “It was horrible. We were supposed to go to our favorite club. They were supposed to have some type of costume competition,” he explained.

“What are you supposed to be? It looks neat though, really real.” Maybe you tried to lighten the mood or maybe you were just really socially inept.

“Thanks, but uh, I’m not really supposed to be anything. I just learnt to play around with some sfx makeup. My big sis taught me,” he reminisced.

“I hope she’s not here too.”

You both fell silent, whether it was awkward or kind of nice you couldn’t decide. You had not even thought about your other friends that might have been stuck in the area as well. If there were any gods left you would make sure to pray to them every day were you to survive this hell of a night.

“I saw my friend dying too, by those monsters,” you said, sharing your own story.

“Really? What was it like?” His face seemed to light up in awe and as he did that you raised your eyebrow in slight annoyance.

“Sorry, that came out wrong. I just. I don’t know. It all happened so fast,” he quieted down again, seeming regretful of his words.

“Disgusting,” you said, not addressing his apology.

Mahito’s eyes were now on you staring at you like a hawk. You didn’t really notice that as your eyes seemed almost glassy looking at nowhere in particular.

“She had spilt her guts onto the street,” you choked out the words as the picture of your friends dead body stayed on your mind like a thistle.

“Was there a lot of blood?” You felt the warm breath on your cheek, but you were so deep in your mind that only displayed the picture of the hand closing on your friend. You saw her eyes again, her mouth open in a shrilling scream that almost got drowned in the other voices, but to you it was almost amplified, it was the only scream that really mattered. You saw the blood that she coughed up as her own body got crushed and what was meant to protect her and hold her upright punctured her to death.

“Yes.” It was just a whisper of a voice. A tear fell down on your lap and your lips were slightly parted, your body shuddering at the horrible memories. Mahito’s face was now nuzzled in your neck and his eyes were half lidded with a slight smile decorating his face.

“You poor thing,” he cooed. “I’m sorry”, something about his words did not feel sincere at all. The blue haired man’s body started shaking and you heard the most absurd sound that returned you to this moment. You knew you had not said anything funny, so why was he laughing?

Mahito was almost doubled over as he roared next to you. He started clapping his hands like this was the best thing he had heard in the century. He opened his eyes that were now watering from all the laughing and placed his hand on your shoulder.

“You humans are truly pathetic!” He kept on giggling. You pushed his hand off from your shoulder, your mind still in disarray trying to grasp the things he was saying. His words hurt you and it felt unbelievable that this is the way he would react since he had lost someone too or was his sob story a lie? Part of you wanted to curse at him, but some part of you, supposedly the sane one, told you to tuck your head down.

“Oh noo, my little friend had spilt her guts onto the street. Oh woe me! I saaw someone diiiee.” Mahito drew out every syllable as he was mocking you and your tone, making exaggerated sad expressions and he brought his fists to his cheeks to make a boo-hoo movement.

“You idiots die all the time.” Mahito’s face turned serious as he sneered at you. His mismatched gaze steeled on you as he stared you down saying nothing for the time being.

Every alarm was blaring in your mind. Time felt like it was stopping just like it did during the attack. Mahito no longer looked like the almost boyish lost figure that you had found having a panic attack. Now he reminded you of a crazed beast toying with its food and you weren’t about to stay to find out how far his unhinged behavior could go. You had to take your chance of leaving.

You pushed the table with all your might as you took hurried steps out of the booth quickly giving thanks to whoever had decided to not to nail the furniture on the ground permanently. Glasses of soft drink toppled over and rolled to the floor and shattered into hundred little pieces as you hopped clumsily over the crazy man’s body.

“Nuh-uh-uh,” Mahito grabbed your wrist, his nails tugging into your flesh painfully. He had now stood up and was towering over you with an unreadable face.

A faint smile appeared on his face and he looked almost gentle again.

“I’m not going to kill you,” his voice was smooth like one of the finest silk.

“Look- I’m sorry for you and whatever happened to you, but this clearly was a mistake. I hope you have a goo-”

“Shut up.”

Mahito inhaled as if he was smelling the most appetizing meal, relishing in the lack of your voice.

“Much better.”

He was still holding onto you as he raised his free hand on your face to caress your cheek in an attempt to calm you down. Guess it was his turn to be in this role, although at least you had been sincere about it.

“I’m not going to kill you,” Mahito repeated, his eyes trailing down to your lips.

“I do have something else in mind,” he said, taking his gaze back to your eyes.

You gulped audibly and managed to squeak out a question of what he had in mind then. You knew already. Of course you did.

“This theme of death and destruction. It reeaally has got me worked up,” Mahito monologues on.

“I might be a curse, but I’m not beyond needs. I am interested in the human soul and its weaknesses as well as its wickedness,” he kept talking as his thumb started to trail down slowly towards your jawline “but I’m also interested in this”, his hand stopped at your throat.

His touch was feather light and had it not been this psychopath of a man touching you you’d gladly welcome it. Mahito’s words didn’t make a lot of sense to you, but you got the gist of it with threats and all.

“You can choose to fight me.”

He now had his whole palm on your oesophagus, his mismatched eyes shining dangerously.

“But you will lose.”

Mahito squeezed gently as a warning and let go of the wrist he was holding. He grabbed you by your scalp, bunching up some of your hair to tilt your head upwards.

“Do this with me and I’ll let you live. Maybe you even have a good time as well, or maybe I don’t care for your comfort at all and I’ll ditch you to the streets half dead with your panties tangled up in your ankles for the whole world to see your shame,” he blabbered on and stopped. He looked like he was thinking about something really important, pursing his lips together, tipping his head side to side like a cartoon character.

“I haven’t really decided yet,” his voice was sinister.

Your body had gone cold. Do this and he’ll let me live, you thought to yourself fighting the urge to flee. You didn’t want to anger him further, not that there was any winning chance with this man at all. Everything had gone the way he wanted from the moment you had laid your eyes on him.

“Okay, I want to live,” you rasped out.

Mahito looked content, almost affectionate. ”They always do.”

After those words the world turned into a haze. His lips were soft and plump. He was a demanding kisser, not that you even had imagined him to be a kisser in the first place. You thought that you would be simply bent over, but Mahito proved you wrong. Not because he cared, but because he simply did what he wanted to and this was what he desired.

He might have promised you pleasure, if you agreed to do this somewhat willingly but his soul was tainted, and you knew that were you to find enjoyment under him, it would be just a happy surprise to you.

His tongue delved into your mouth. It felt gross. Invading. His hands had moved to your waist going all the way down to your ass squeezing too hard to your liking. He swiftly lifted you up and placed you on the now dirty table where you had been hanging out just moments prior. His boots made crackling sounds as he stepped on the pieces of glass.

You felt sticky as the cola seeped onto your skirt’s fabric but Mahito did not seem to care. He pulled your hair, exposed your neck and bit as his other hand groped your breasts with force bordering on pure pain. Tears were forming in your eyes as your body and mind fought each other.

“You know you should feel special,” his breath felt hot against your neck. “Not everyone is able to see me, let alone touch me”

“Yet here you are.” He pressed his tongue on your cheek and licked away the one spare tear.

He ripped open your blouse cold breeze kissing your torso, before Mahito’s hands were on it. He grabbed your bra, stretching out the fabric with both of his hands until it snapped. He threw the remnants of your underwear on the ground placing his palms on your bare chest. He played and kneaded the tender flesh, arousal waking up in your core.

Mahito pulled you closer to him, your skirt hiking up till your hips with the fabric pressing on your skin, leaving you feeling uncomfortable. You felt him against your clothed sex, only his trousers, your stockings and panties between the two of you. Your breath hitched and his eyes darkened even more.

“I like this look on you humans, when you feel conflicted as to what to feel,” he teased you with shadows dancing on his face as the overhead light got covered by his head.

“He’s a bad man, he’s a crazy man, but why oh why do I like it?” His voice got higher as he imitated a feminine voice, playing up the caricature of a woman.

He pressed his hand between your legs, swiping slowly up feeling the moisture that had gathered there.

“Case in point,” he grinned satisfied. His fingers stopped at the sensitive bud and he started making slow circles looking intently at your face savoring every micro expression as you involuntarily bucked your hips up.

Your cheeks were burning up as small moans escaped your lips. You fought with yourself, tears threatening to spill over as your body moved on its own. What would your friend think if she saw you like this? She had suffered the most tragic death and this man had mocked you in the middle of a crisis and now you were enjoying his attention.

It was as if Mahito knew what buttons to press to get you going. You closed your eyes as you panicked under his touch. He applied more pressure on you as you helplessly grabbed the side of the table. Mahito’s grin widened the stitches on his face stretching out.

“Any self respecting woman would have run by now, even if it meant that they’d get killed in the process, yet you chose to spread your legs wide open to me,” he mused as he continued playing with you.

“You really must want me!” He let out a cold chuckle. Everything he said and did felt like an amateur theater student’s performance. He loved excess, big movements, big emotions - he was like a chaos incarnate. Insane, you thought to yourself, that’s what he was.

His fingers traveled on your panties over to the spot where he reckoned your entrance was and pressed lightly inside leaving a wet mark on the fabric.

He snaked his hands under your stockings waistband and started pulling them down with your panties. The only clothes you had on yourself were the buttonless blouse and a miniskirt that hid nothing. Mahito opened his trouser’s zipper and pulled himself out, giving a few languid pumps to his length.

“What do you say, you show me how much you want me and we’ll see how wet you can get when you service me?” He proposed already dragging you off the table and pushing you towards his cock.

You lost your balance and both your knees and an arm pressed on the glass shards on the stone floor as you tried to not to fall on your face. You winced from pain and you saw blood trickling down as Mahito laughed at your discomfort. Thankfully the pieces were not very big and they’d only leave a surface level wound but it still didn’t lessen the pain.

“Say aah!” Mahito grabbed your chin pushing his cock on your lips, smearing himself over your face.

You took him in your mouth hesitantly, a slightly salty tasty spread on your tongue. Unlike you, he did not hesitate and quickly snapped his hips forward setting up a brutal pace. You tried to be careful of your teeth as Mahito’s hands found themselves in your scalp.

It was hard to breathe, drops of saliva dripping on your chin and bare chest. All you could do was gurgling pathetically at his assault.

Mahito’s grip on your hair tightened as he hummed and moaned happily, an expression of pleasure on his wicked features. His voice got loud, unashamed of the way he was sloppily face fucking you. His sounds did something sinful to you, sending sparks straight to your core. It was a losing war you were fighting and Mahito reveled in it. You moved your own hand into your folds in a desperate attempt to relieve the burn in you earning genuine laughter from the man.

“Now we are talking, you’re getting into this aren’t you?”

Mahito pushed you towards his pelvis forcing himself down your throat, your nose pressing onto his skin. You were choking and your body involuntarily thrashed around him, but he kept you firmly in place.

“Relax, keep it there,” his voice was out of breath as you spasmed around him helplessly. You tried to bear it, but every passing second proved your task harder. You squeezed your eyes shut feeling the trails of mascara in various stages of drying on your cheeks.

Mahito pulled himself out with a loud groan. You were gasping for air as violent coughs shook your frame, his cock still standing in front of you in all its glory.

“You’ve got a splendid mouth, but right now I’m craving your cunt.”

There were no breaks for you as he manhandled you up and pushed your torso against the table. Your tits pressed against the cold wood, your hips pressing on the sides of the table. You felt messy, degraded even, as your slightly wet face came in contact with the surface.

Mahito started pushing in you carefully and you gasped, when you felt him widening you forcing you to make space for him.

“W-what about protection?” You talked for the first time.

“Not on the pill, eh? Well don’t worry your pretty head about it, it wouldn’t work anyways,” he said and sheathed himself fully in you.

Then it began. Skin against skin, noises of pleasure filled the empty restaurant leaving only your ever increasing cries reverberating in the establishment. His hips kept snapping onto yours, chest heaving as he panted and moaned. You loved the sounds that you both made your cunt tightening around him when an especially beautiful whine left his mouth.

You cried out loud when he found that one spot inside of you after one particularly powerful thrust. Your brows furrowed, hands seeking a place to hold onto as you quietly said his name. You hoped that he wouldn’t notice, but of course he did. Riled up from your reactions he made sure to angle himself so that he’d get to see your further succumb to the decadence of his actions.

His hands trailed towards your neck admiring how your hair was sprawled out messily, some strands sticking to your swollen lips. He massaged your back finally digging his nails into it and scratched it for fun.

“Isn’t that- ah- something”, you tried talking, “I’m supposed to do?” You were referencing his peculiar actions.

“Already thinking of the next position? We’ll see about that,” he jested but his words lacked bite as he pleasured himself using you.

Your back was burning as he kept swiping across leaving pink streaks on your skin. He grabbed your throat and squeezed gently, not trying to restrict the flow of your breath. He had had enough of that for now. It was merely a gesture to show who had the real power here.

You were getting close feeling the familiar coil about to snap. His movements got rougher and more sporadic. He drove into you like a beast, going deep into you at times hitting your cervix. You babbled incoherently, no longer caring for how you appeared, the only thing occupying your mind was the need to sprint to the finish line.

Your thighs trembled as you were on your tiptoes. The table inched forwards every time Mahito drove his cock in you. He was nearing his own end. He placed his fingers on your clit rubbing it haphazardly, partially disregarding how sensitive it was, hoping that this would drive you off the edge.

You didn’t know where pleasure and pain started or ended. They melt together creating one hell of an addicting concoction and you wanted more. Gods, how you did want more, your juices dripping on your thighs. You felt lightheaded and suddenly the sparks turned into a flame that engulfed you, spreading to even the most distant parts of your body.

Mahito fucked you through your orgasm and somewhere in your haze you felt him still when his cock pulsated in you as your body involuntarily returned the favor. Some part of your brain that was still present wanted to push him off, tell him to mark you somewhere else, anywhere else but there.

The blue haired man collected his breathing as relaxation coursed in his body. He pulled himself out of you looking curiously at the spot where you were just connected, delighted when he saw him trickling down your cunt. “Beautiful,” he muttered to himself as he looked at the wreck of a woman in front of him. The woman stayed put, probably too tired to move.

The restaurant door opened and heavy footsteps thumped on the floor.

“Is this really the best usage of your time?” He was disapproving.

Ah Choso, ever the killjoy. Mahito turned around not caring that the man who just came in would see all of him.

“God, put that thing away,”Choso said exasperatedly.

“We’ve been looking for you. Geto’s getting antsy when he doesn’t know our whereabouts,” Choso explained, taking a quick peek at the woman laying against the table not looking one bit more aware of her situation.

You were vaguely conscious, body and mind bruised from the event that just took place. Hands still ghosted over your skin even though you knew that Mahito was not paying attention to you at all. You felt exhausted, so exhausted that you felt yourself slipping to your mind looking for somewhere safe. It was like a dark veil was put on you, your vision blurred looking at the two outlines of men. Who was the other one again?

“Aw, that’s a bummer. I wanted to have more fun,” Mahito said, pouting.

“I think you’ve had enough of that already. Let’s go,” Choso turned his back to the idiot of a curse.

“Goodbye sweetie, try to get into a better position. You’ll break your neck like that,” Mahito addressed you jokingly as the wooden door shut behind them.

Breathing heavily you watched the two men walk outside from the huge windows. Mahito was practically skipping forwards while the dark haired man put his hands in his pockets and shook his head. Muffled laughter reached your ears and you were sure you’d recognize that sound for the rest of your life.

You maneuvered yourself up, body wobbling as if you were training to walk on a tightrope. You stretched out your arms rolling your shoulders to relieve the tension gathered in your tired muscles. You pulled your skirt down and tugged at the remnants of your blouse against your chest in a desperate attempt to cover yourself up.

You looked around the restaurant spotting a low table with couches as the seats. They were too small for an adult to lie down on, but that would do. You fluffed up the pillow and curled up into a ball skin feeling sticky due to all kinds of substances, but that was the least of your problems.

You wondered miserably, did this count as survival. If it did, the gods that let you still draw your breath had a shit sense of humor.

[my-claws-are-hard]

cagefighter logan!

a/n: i can’t believe i haven’t seen anyone else do this yet 😭 it’s all i can think about

summary: you met logan during his years of cage-fighting and the two of you hit off quickly. now you’re by his side as he fights.

pairing: mutant! f!reader x logan howlett

warnings: no smut, references to cheating (she doesn’t actually cheat), sort of gorey death.

three years ago today, you met your boyfriend, logan howlett. you noticed he was a mutant right off the bat, coming out of the cage without a mark to show for it. and you wanted him. bad.

you still looked back on the day you met fondly, reminding yourself of what you were able to catch.

it was late, the bar was near closing when you saw him alone, not an unusual sight, as he drank his victory. he hadn’t even put his shirt back on, and you nearly purred when you saw his dog tags hanging loosely from his neck.

you were going to be here awhile anyway, as you were hired to set up these matches from time-to-time, so why not have some fun?

making your way to him, you sat down, and you caught his eyes lingering on you from your peripherals before turning back.

“saw you out there,” you said as you eyed his body yourself.

“yeah?”

“mhm,” you hummed, scooting too close to him for comfort, “impressive, dethroning the five year long champion with no scars to show for it. matter of fact, been eyeing you for a while. how peculiar that you haven’t got a single scratch.”

he turned his attention to you, narrowing his eyes. “look, lady i don’t know what your guy told you, but i won that fight and i don’t care how—“

you cut him off with a laugh. “easy, tiger. i never said i was with that shithead.”

you saw his muscles soften, but he kept his guard up.

“you seem tense,” you purred, “i can fix that.”

he turned his head back to you, leaning away to create space between you two. “sorry, ‘m not sharing my winnings.”

“do you make exceptions for your kind?”

in the blink of an eye, he grabbed your wrist, leaning in as he glared down at you. “you got a problem?”

you smiled back at him, snaking your free hand up behind his neck. “as long as you don’t have a problem with this.”

before he could ask what you meant, he smelled something and looked down, seeing flowers blossom from your palms. they were red, smelled like sweet roses and bubblegum and. . . something else.

“those poisonous?”

“smart boy,” you praised, closing your palms to make them disappear. “knew you were worth keeping around.”

“what’s a mutant doin’ all the way out here?” he asked you, his grip loosening on your wrist.

“should ask you the same.”

he leaned in closer, your noses now touching. “gotta pay for this somehow,” he told you, referring to his drink.

“likewise.”

you slithered out of his grip, your other hand trailing up his chest until you reached his dogtags.

“it gets awful lonely up here,” you pouted. “cold, too.”

you could taste your victory when his hand reached for your jaw, thumb trailing down.

“why don’t we fix that, then?”

you pulled him in by his dogs tags, and victory sure tasted great.

the loud ring of a bell snapped you out of your thoughts, signaling the end of the first round. you stood amongst the crowd, obviously in the front as you watched logan’s stumbling figure. you could tell he wasn’t in the zone.

“come on, baby, kick his fucking ass!” you yelled.

“down in front!” a man yelled behind you.

“say it to my ass!” you yelled back.

“only if you’re offering!”

of course, you were at all of his fights, not only because you organized most of them, but to keep him tamed. throughout the years, other men started noticing his lack of scars, and they took it as a challenge.

“hey, pal, how’s that cracked rib going?”

the two of you were sat peacefully in the corner of the bar, you behind him as you massaged his tense shoulders. and you didn’t enjoy being interrupted.

“better than your nose,” logan quipped.

the man’s face tightened, and it looked painful as the bandage on his nose shifted. “wanna say that again?” he threatened, attempting to pick logan up by his undershirt.

immediately, logan tensed, standing up to push the guy back, but he persisted. “you don’t wanna do that, bub.”

“oh, i think i do, sideburns,” the man assured. “i’ll enjoy knocking the teeth out of your smile.”

you watched as logan’s fist came up to the man’s jaw, a telltale sign he was going to unsheathe his boney claws. not wanting to get chased out of town, you wrapped your hands around your boyfriend’s chest, guiding him to sit back down.

“heel, boy,” you whispered sultrily into his ear. “don’t waste your time on this chump, baby, you already won, remember?”

one of your hands trailed down his clothes abs as your other went back to easing the tension from his shoulder. you felt him relax into your touch.

the man still glared at you, growling in frustration. “this ain’t over, buddy.”

yes, it was, you decided. “give me a second, baby, i’ll be back,” you assured logan with a quick peck on the cheek, walking up to the man.

“listen, how about me and you discuss this. . .” you strategically looked logan’s way, making sure he wasn’t looking and lowered your voice, “away from prying eyes?”

the guy’s sneer turned into a smirk, clearly satisfied with this turn of events. “say, ten minutes in the bathrooms?”

“behind the building,” you told him. “wouldn’t want him to hear.”

he walked away, satisfied.

“what the hell did you do?” logan asked, lighting a cigar.

“taking care of competition,” you simply stated.

he raised an eyebrow at you. “what happened to keeping a low profile?”

you made your way back to him, sitting on his lap. his free hand rested on your hip.

“i should be asking you that, thought you wanted to stay here. can’t do that if you skewer his head.”

he blew the smoke away from your face, rolling his eyes. “don’t wanna stay here. this place is a dump.”

you wrapped your arms around his neck, bringing a hand to his jaw to make him look at you. “aw, come on, it’s not that bad. you got me.”

“guess, you’re right,” he murmured.

“of course, i am, now give me some sugar,” you told him, inhaling the smoke he blew out, feeling his lips.

you did end up meeting the guy behind the building, promising that if you weren’t back in a few minutes, that logan could step in. and as expected, the man was already there.

“what took you so long?”

you shrugged. “oh, you know, gotta tell him i’m fine on my own. he tries so hard to protect me, doesn’t let me do anything by myself.”

he scoffed. “figured, guy’s got a mess going on up there.”

you walked up to the man, who immediately grabbed your ass to pull you in closer. you wrapped your arms around his neck, inhaling his scent. sweat and whiskey. typical. you started off by kissing your way up slowly until you reached his ear.

“where do you get off insulting my man?”

before he had time to respond, you pressed your palms flat against the man’s ears and he gasped. you focused your energy on the vines you were summoning, and soon they started growing out of his mouth and nose. still seeing he was alive, you concentrated harder and saw blood trickling down from his eye sockets.

“come on, you piece of shit,” you said to yourself.

a few seconds later, and two large oleander flowers appeared in place of his eyeballs. you let go, watching his body collapse onto the snow.

you heard the heavy metal door open and saw logan’s head around the corner.

“thought i told you to wait inside,” you reminded him.

“and i told you i don’t want to do that,” he responded. “so much for keeping it on the low.”

you waved the man’s body off, “he can’t say anything if he’s dead.”

he knew you were right, so he didn’t put up a fight. “why don’t we head back inside? it’s half off all drinks for another hour.”

the sound of another bell rang, this time indicating the end of the first round and for a two minute break.

you immediately climbed onto the railing, hanging onto the metal fence as logan scanned your features. “what’s wrong, honey? you’re losing out there.”

“i know,” he mumbled, running a hand down his sweat-covered face. “m’tired.”

“but you gotta keep going, baby. i know you can.”

he groaned to himself, resting his forehead against the metal. “that’s the fucking problem, i can’t.”

then, an idea popped into your head. you pecked his lips through the small gaps, surprising him. “even if i told you i’m not wearing panties?”

his eyes quickly scanned your body, seeing your old ripped top that revealed your stomach and denim shorts that rode up the curve of your ass.

the bell rang, and his break was over.

you lowered yourself back from from the fence, a few boos following.

in the ring, logan faced his opponent. “this has been fun, bub, but now i’ve got to get back to fuck my girl. it’s our anniversary, you understand.”

needless to say, logan ended up knocking the guy out. he went straight for you as he walked out, not accepting water or a towel from the crowd. he immediately held your face as he kissed you with so much force it made you stumble back, but he caught you. he always did. you could smell the sweat off of him and feel his heartbeat with your hand, and it only made you crave him more.

“told you, you could do it,” you teased, keeping him close with his dog tags.

“yeah, yeah,” he breathed out. “now why don’t i enjoy my anniversary gift?”

—v

part ii?

[biteofcherry]

What story you would write for him - randomagnes0210.tumblr.com/701345413474729984/chris-you-inspired-me-and-i-didnt-know-i 👀

Holy fuuuck 😳🥵🥵

I'm sorry, my brain kinda short circuited. I need time to get it back to function. Damn. Wow. Okay.

that's a soft!dark Steve Rogers

An enforcer/mercenary Steve (maybe for mafia Bucky? idk), who can make things really bloody and still keep his slate clean of any evidence. From organizing a disposable group to do the dirty work, to a stealthy kill done by himself if needed.

He has a sleek beast of a bike, as well a bullet-fast camaro. There's always a weapon on him, even when he looks like he's there to chill only.

You don't see a gun? No glint of a knife? There's a garrote in the wristwatch, or in the beads he wears on his wrist. Not to mention the things he can do with his hands alone.

It's those hands that got you staring when you approached him with your little nephew at your side. The boy, being all moto crazy, couldn't stop tugging at your hand when he saw the Camaro. So you did what any good aunt would - you took his small hand in yours and approached a stranger, asking sweetly if he won't mind your nephew taking a closer look at the car.

Steve's eyes when they settled on you were cold and sharp like a blade. Almost made you take a step back. Then he glanced at the kid, who was staring at his car with pure awe, and back at you, his gaze softening.

"Sure thing, cherry."

His voice had a rich, raspy timbre, reminding you of how your own voice gets after a few good orgasms (which you gave yourself with the use of your toys, since your latest dates lacked in that area).

Steve's eyes shifted to your chest when he said that, a smirk curling the left corner of his mouth upwards. Your top had printed cherries on it. You found it cute when you bought it. Now you felt embarrassed wearing something so sweet it was almost childish.

You dropped your gaze, muttering a thank you.

You let out a breath of relief when Steve's eyes finally turned away from you. He bent over the hood again and your own gaze slid from his tight ass (you scolded yourself inwardly for even daring to look that way!) over the wide plain of his back to his hands.

Those damn hands that would be your undoing, you thought as you stared at them. Nimble and skilled fingers tinkering with something, a vine of dark ink starting atop his palm and curling upwards over the corded muscles of his forearms, to disappear in an array of color beneath the rolled up sleeves of his shirt.

You saw splashes of tattoos on his chest and reaching up to his neck. Your mind wandered through images of exploring hos the pattern looks over his back, his it moves over his ribs when he breathes.

If there are tattoos leading down his abdomen...

You were so lost in it, you didn't hear what Steve was saying, until you felt your nephew tug on your hand.

"Can we? Can we, please?!" The kid looked up at you with hopeful eyes.

"Um." You swallowed, uncertain of what exactly was asked of you. Feeling all the more embarrassed for it.

"Of course you can, buddy." Steve decided, not waiting for your brain to catch up with his proposition to take you both for a short ride in his car.

His smile was bright and charming, yet held a hint of predatory satisfaction. A cocky confidence you usually hated in men.

Steve's eyes held a mirthful glint as he caught your gaze, but also something dark that quickened your pulse.

"I'm sure your aunt craves a good ride, too."

You had to clench your thighs at the surge of heat that filled your belly and spread down, pooling in a small wet spot on your panties.

You should've said no. Your body may heat up for this tattooed, hot as sin stranger, but your instinct all but yelled at you to run away. There was something dangerous about him, in more than just sexy way.

But it's something you would find out much later.

Too late to run away from his possession, or to stop wanting him so badly.

If you only knew how lethal he was, you wouldn't say yes to getting a lift to your place after you dropped off your nephew at his parents.

You wouldn't follow Steve's raspy command and let him fuck you in the narrow space of his camaro - bruises from the steering wheel faint compared to the marks Steve's hands left on your thighs and around your neck.

If you suspected the dark web awaiting you, maybe you wouldn't like how he called you sweet cherry.

Maybe you wouldn't cream on his cock as he fucked you right outside of your apartment, in a dark corridor where any of your neighbors could walk, with his hand pressed over your mouth to muffle your screaming orgasm and hips snapping hard into you.

You wouldn't whisper a weak Yes, Steve when he told you where to meet him, scribbling down the address on a piece of paper and slipping it under the waistband of your ruined panties.

But you said yes to all of those things. You allowed Steve to do those dirty things to you. And you wanted more. Even if your instinct still alarmed of danger.

[beauttifullife]

Rio coming in hot 🔥🔥

Rio’s gaze held steady, lingering on Agatha, as if she were savoring the charged silence, waiting to see her reaction. Finally, she spoke, her voice low, carrying a weight that seemed to settle deep into Agatha’s bones.

“Before we get into rules,” Rio began, her tone soft yet unyielding. “I have a question.”

Agatha huffed, rolling her eyes and flicking her hand impatiently, a gesture urging her to get on with it.

Rio’s smile spread, slow and wide, her teeth flashing in an almost predatory grin that instantly set Agatha on edge.

Whatever was coming, she knew it was going to throw her completely off balance.

“Can you cum multiple times,” Rio asked, her voice casual, as if she were inquiring about Agatha’s favorite color, “or just once?”

Agatha’s mouth fell open, words failing her.

The audacity of this woman.

“How—what—why…” she stammered, tripping over half-formed thoughts.

How was she even supposed to respond to something so bold, so casually delivered?

Rio leaned forward, her gaze intensifying, focused in a way that made Agatha’s heart hammer against her ribs.

“Agatha,” she murmured her voice like velvet, edged with command. “Tell me.”

She moved closer now, her fingers dragging slowly up Agatha’s leg, each inch an intentional, maddening tease. Her hand traced along the inside of Agatha’s thigh, moving higher until Agatha’s breath caught again, her nerves on fire. Just as Agatha’s head lulled back, a traitorous sigh escaping her lips, Rio withdrew her hand, her breath warm against Agatha’s ear.

“Can you cum multiple times, or just once?” she repeated, her tone laced with dark amusement.

Agatha’s pulse thudded as her eyes slipped shut against the sensation, her head pressing back into the leather.

“Why…why do you need to know that?” she managed, her voice barely steady.

Rio chuckled, low and rich in her ear.

“Because, Agatha—it tells me exactly how I should treat you,” Rio murmured, her voice a slow, tantalizing drag that seemed to slip under Agatha’s skin.

She pulled back and looked Agatha in the eye at her next words.

“Should I take my time with you…” she murmured, her words were deliberate and calculated. “Pull it from you, inch by inch, bringing you closer and closer to the edge until I decide to let you fall?”

Her fingers were back on Agatha’s, sliding up once more this time not stopping, just barely grazing her the fabric of her leggings with a featherlight touch that made Agatha’s whole body tense. She gripped the door with white-knuckled intensity, struggling to keep her breath steady.

“Or…” Rio continued, her voice dark and rich, “can I push you over again and again, until you have nothing left to give?”

And then, just as her hand reached the place Agatha’s pulse was hammering for her, she withdrew, leaving Agatha breathless and reeling.

Her mind raced.

With men, she typically only came once—twice was rare, reserved for the few lovers who knew her body well enough to bring her there. But on nights when she was alone and feeling especially frustrated, she had managed to push herself over the edge a couple of times.

So, technically, she knew she was capable.

She felt Rio’s fingers tap impatiently against her thigh, a silent reminder to answer.

Agatha swallowed, feeling a flush creep up her neck, and opened her mouth, her voice coming out softer than she’d intended.

“Multiple,” she said, hating the breathlessness in her own voice.

The smile that overtook Rio’s face was nothing short of predatory. She leaned back, her gaze assessing, as though seeing Agatha in a whole new light—like a child with a new toy she couldn’t wait to explore, to test, to push every button.

[satancopilotsmytardis]

Drabble-A-Thon Prompt #14

Pairing: ShigaDabi

Rating: Explicit

Prompt: Octopus!Shig/Human!Dabi from this post

Contents: Character Death (Minor character, off-screen), Suicide Idolization, Suicide Attempt (drowning), Dub Con, Fuck Or Die, Tentacle Sex, Anal Sex, Breath Play (Drowning), Fear Play

He already nearly killed himself by burning, how bad could it be to do it intentionally this time by drowning? Standing on the precipice of the ocean with that in mind makes the chilled air and choppy water of early spring feel all the more desolate and cruel. Dabi didn’t think he wanted to die. He wanted to come back as a ghost to haunt his father, the skeleton in his closet that had sharpened his ribs to knives and slit his throat in a display for all the world to see. 

And then Enji had gone and died without his permission. 

Dabi goes over that fight again and again. He doesn’t know how it could happen. How he could have gotten overwhelmed, which blow must have caused the internal organ damage that had gone unnoticed at the end of the fight, and only killed him half an hour later when he was helping the police save people from the rubble that the ambulances on site couldn’t help with. He’d needed an OR twenty minutes before, and he died before he even knew there was something wrong. He’d died and stolen away Dabi’s revenge the same way he stole everything else. 

Today is the funeral. He thought about showing up anyway, thought about burning his corpse, and standing on the ashes, and screaming to the whole world what Enji Todoroki had done to him. But what would really be the point? His father died saving people. He had no evidence of his claims, and his siblings wouldn’t know him anymore. Enji Todoroki died too soon and now Dabi doesn’t know if he’s supposed to die too. 

The water is cold as he takes his first few steps into it, fully clothed, but his quirk rushes up to meet the chill, keeping him insulated against it as his body seems to want him to live. He keeps walking anyway. Knees, hips, waist, shoulders. He’s treading water when he gets that far out. All he has to do is stop. He just has to let a wave crash over him and take a deep breath. He doesn’t think that this will hurt nearly as much as burning. 

But he stays there, treading water, for a long time. His thoughts ebb and flow like  the water around him, and he can’t find a way to move forward. He can’t even decide if he should try or if he should just make it all stop. 

He still screams when something coils around his ankle tightly and drags him through the waves, seeming to make the choice for him as he can’t keep his limbs coordinated and his head slips under the waves, blasting him with icy water. 

Dabi is sputtering when he comes back up from the dark, saltwater burning in his eyes and nose, and hands gripping him tightly around his arms as he tries to get his bearings. He’s not expecting for a white-haired man with bright red eyes to be looking at him with such naked fury and disgust as he holds him tight and forces him to stay afloat. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He snarls.

“Let go of me,” He tries to raise a hand, raise his temperature, but his skin is so chilled by the water, so soaked by every wave that crashes against their bodies, that he can’t actually light himself on fire. 

“So you can kill yourself? On my beach? No.” Dabi thinks the man is going to kill him himself when he holds onto him tightly, one of those strange iron-clad coils around his waist, and he drags him through the water faster than Dabi has ever been able to swim on his own, until he’s suddenly being hit by much choppier waves and he’s sumbling as he ends up fumbling through as much sand as he is water. The man shoves him hard up onto the shore and Dabi is coughing water from his throat as he lands hard against the sand, turning back to look at him. It’s only as the tide pulls the ocean back in preparation for spraying them both again that he sees that a scarred, pale, muscled chest makes way for smooth black skin at his waist and a mess of tentacles beneath. He slips back into deeper waters and calls back to him, expression grim and angry, “If you want to die, do it somewhere else,” Before he ducks back into the water and disappears. 

And for the first time since the news broke, Dabi doesn’t have a single thought about Enji Todoroki in his head. 

///

Dabi goes back to his apartment that day. He’s dry by the time he gets there, and he doesn’t turn on the TV to see what the news says about his father’s funeral. That guy must have been a heteromorph. He had to have been. He couldn’t have had an actual run-in with an actual mermaid– merman?-- or something. Right? He’s sure he couldn’t have. 

But it doesn’t stop him from going back the next day too. The strip of beach he chose is off of the edge of a cliff, the water too dangerous here for swimming, and a good section of the beach is completely blocked from sight because of the way the cliff overhangs it. Dabi thought it would be a good place to go if he didn’t want anyone to see him or try to stop him. And the next day, he doesn’t know if it’s more curiosity or despair driving his actions when he walks right back into the cold waves, but it’s some sort of awe when the same octopus-man as before finds him and sneers, dragging him back up to the beach and telling him to fuck off. 

He does it again the next day, and the next, and the next. 

A month passes like this. Dabi uses his morning ‘swims’ as a heavy tarp over the agony and rage he feels in his veins every time he thinks of his father. He gets a bathing suit that he wears as spring turns to summer and starts to warm the water, and the strange man who keeps stopping him from drowning, stops snarling at him, and starts looking at him with some kind of curiosity, that the self-destructive thing inside of him tells him to stick around for. His self-preservation burned alive when he was twelve. 

///

It’s going to rain today. A heavy thunderstorm that is brewing and already making the waves so much choppier than normal that Dabi doesn’t risk going any further than waist deep when he goes out into the water for his morning swim. The white-haired man slips through the water, closer, circling him, but not breaching the surface yet, but Dabi waits. He always comes up, always pushes and pulls at his skin before he drags him back up the beach before he disappears in the dark water again. 

But he lingers around Dabi for a lot longer today, and when he does come close, he doesn’t show his face, watching him from under the waves as his tentacles move to twist around Dabi’s legs. He shivers. He never gets used to the sensation of those, the suckers always putting little points of suction against his skin, and the entire length of the appendages always feeling unnaturally slick and cold as they move. But he’s been touched by this man plenty of times. He knows what to expect. 

Until he doesn’t. 

Dabi yelps, and rears back when the other creature brings a tentacle up his thigh, slithering up the trunk of his swimsuit deliberately. He’s not expecting the other to take advantage of him when he’s off-balance, but he pushes him over as he does, making Dabi fall back and his head go under. The water rushes over his face and he thrashes as his breath is suddenly taken away from him, trying to regain his footing. But the octopus-man doesn’t let him. He pins him into the sand, his torso solid over him as he holds him down, as his tentacles wrap around his legs, having more than enough of them to hold him in place and more to pull his trunks halfway down his thighs. Panic surges through him, but before he can try for his quirk, the other man pushes his head down below the water, mouth sealing against his as the saltwater floods his nose and eyes. It’s instinctive for Dabi to bite at his lips, hard enough that he tastes the barest flicker of blood among the briny water before it has pulled away from him again. 

The octopus-man pulls back too red eyes glaring at him, blood dripping down his lip as a tentacle presses up between his legs, suckers immediately latching onto his cock and balls with soft kisses that are sensations that might feel good if Dabi wasn’t filled with panic as he anticipates the next wave and whatever pain this monster might bring to him. “What is more important to you? Biting me, or breathing?”

He makes Dabi choose right then as he catches his lips again, just as the wave crests over them both. Dabi tries to push at his skin, tries to light up his quirk, but they’re both so soaked, and his body is so smothered that he can’t manage it. He bites him again anyway, too stubborn for it. The other man pulls away from him, and Dabi hopes to get some relief, but he’s strong and he uses one of his extra limbs to hold Dabi’s wrists tight, and uses his hands to hold him down below the water, even after the wave passes over them. Panic roars through his body as he does his best to get out of the grip, but he doesn’t manage it. He is held there, his chest aching for air, his heartbeat pounding in his ears, a burning that rivals the heat of his quirk is starting to scream through his body. 

He’s drowning. The creature who told him again and again that he wouldn’t be allowed to die on this beach is killing him.

Black spots burst across his vision and Dabi has one sharp moment of pure terror where he realizes that he doesn’t want this. He outlived his bastard father. He lived through someone that no one thought he could handle. He survived for eight years without anyone to rely on. He already was better than Enji Todoroki. He can’t kill him to prove that now, he just has to keep being better than him and stay alive. Show the world he has the most powerful fire quirk that exists. 

The octopus-man presses his lips back to his and licks at the seam of them, trying to get him to open. Dabi does, and his lungs fill with air as he breathes it into him. He is immediately dizzy from the relief, his body flooding with endorphins as the other creature doesn’t just give him his air, but licks inside and kisses him. He doesn’t think he means for his muscles to go slack with relief, doesn’t think he means for that spinning in his head to turn into some kind of distant pulse of pleasure, but he’s kissing him back, breathing through his indulgence as his extra limbs move between his legs. The air that he’s getting from the other is still thinner than he likes, he feels like he’s hiking at a high altitude, but he’s getting enough to survive, and that’s all he needs. 

The tentacle that rubs against his cock, teases him for a moment before it coils around his length as many times as the thick limb can, engulfing him from root to tip, and making Dabi even dizzier as he’s met with a pressure and texture unlike anything else he’s ever had against him there. He doesn’t mean to moan, but it… feels good. His cock is starting to harden. 

The other pulls him up from the sand enough for his head to breach the water, and parts from his lips, letting Dabi take in as many deep, gasping breaths as he can before the next wave comes. 

“I’m going to fuck you, or you’re going to drown like you’ve been trying for a month. Make your choice.” He lets go of Dabi’s hands, so confident that he won’t be able to get away no matter what he tries, and from how his limbs feel like steel cables around his body, Dabi doesn’t think he will either. 

And he can’t die now when he’s just decided how badly he wants to live. So when the next wave comes, Dabi reaches up and tangles his hands in the other’s long, wild hair, and yanks him back in to steal his breath again. 

Once he’s made his choice, the octopus-man doesn’t relent. He kisses him hard and deep, his hands roaming Dabi’s body, fingers finding the different textures of his skin, scars, and staples, as his tentacles tighten and stroke everywhere else along Dabi’s body. He never puts his whole hand against him, always only ghosting four fingers over his skin and Dabi isn’t sure if he’s ever touched him with all five at once. He isn’t sure if it’s the danger, the thinness of the air he’s getting, or the fear that is all going through him, but there is a heady cocktail that is spurring his arousal on. Every time he gets enough breath to waste, he’s moaning softly, whining as his hands end up pinned into the soft sand above his head, the grit of that against his scars irritating, but not something he can escape. He can’t escape anything that the other man decides to do with his body. 

Dabi isn’t sure if he wants to go slower or faster because his body is overwhelmed or if he just wants it to be over, but it doesn’t get any easier to determine when he feels one of the tentacles move up between his legs, pressing his cheeks open so that it can flick against his hole. The coldness of that appendage touching him there, the fear he’ll push it inside and tear him apart, make his muscles tighten, but through the water, he hears the octopus-man churr at him softly, his kiss going a little sweeter as he touches him. He moves slowly, working the tip around and against him, and Dabi only then realizes that it’s shaped differently than the other tentacles, seeming to taper but having a wider flare an inch or two from the tip before tapering again, curved up against his hole like a spoon. Not the same smoothe tapered shapes of his other limbs. Something different, something that secretes a fluid so viscous that it clings to him even through the unrelenting rhythm of the crashing waves, and makes him slick. A cock, or whatever the equivalent that octopus mermen have he supposes. 

The slickness and soft touches are enough for his muscles to relax, and Dabi lets out a soft whine against the other’s mouth as he starts to press inside. His tentacle is less rigid than a cock, and it is thin enough at the tip that he can take him without anything else. But he hasn’t fucked anyone in… a long time. Certainly never thought he would be in a position like this where he had to choose this or death.

He doesn’t want it to feel good, but the creature keeps every nerve of Dabi’s body alight as he starts to feed his cock inside, going deeper and deeper because there is so much of it. The tentacles around his cock squeeze and stroke him, his suckers kissing his length and everywhere else where their bodies are touching. His mouth stays on his, his tongue finding the places that take away the breath he’s supposed to be giving back to him. And when he’s got so much of his cock inside of him that Dabi thinks that he’s deeper than anyone else has ever gone, he starts to thicken the appendage. He knew that octopuses could change the girth of their limbs in some ways, but he didn’t know that they could do the same for their cock. The limb thickens and fills him even more, stretching his hole and not fucking him the way he’s used to, but moving inside him more like a finger, undulating and stroking his walls. When his strangely shaped head finds his prostate, he cups it over the gland and starts to pull and push against the layer of flesh and muscle separating it from his touch, until Dabi feels so sensitive that he’s twisting against him again, grinding more sand into his seams, and unable to care because he feels like he’s drowning in the pleasure of the touches as much as he was when he was being held beneath the water. 

It doesn’t take long against that onslaught of pleasure and terror for Dabi to lose it, his cock twitching in the creature’s grasp before he’s splashing his cum against the tentacle holding him tight. 

He knows that the other must be able to feel it because he can feel how burning hot his release is against his cool limb before the water takes that away too. And then he starts to move his cock inside of Dabi more deliberately, chasing his own pleasure. Dabi is already exhausted from what has happened, sapped from his orgasm, and much weaker than the octopus-creature. So the only surprise that comes when he pushes him back down beneath the waves and holds him there, is that he keeps his head above them, watching as Dabi realizes he’s not going to let him breathe. He’s going to kill him anyway. 

The terror of drowning comes back to him at full force and he tries to fight again, reaching out and trying to sink his fingers into the other’s gills, but he barely gets his hand on his skin before a tight four-fingered grip is pushing his wrists back into the sand. His body seizes up–

And he feels the tentacle inside of him twitch and then a thicker fluid than the water around them start to flood his walls as the appendage keeps moving in the same maddening rhythm. 

His lungs begin to burn again, stars bursting behind his eyes, and darkness starting to come in at the edge, his body begging him not to hold his breath anymore, while his brain screams that the relief will only exist for a split second and then there will be nothing–

And then he’s pulled up from the water, pulled up as the tentacles pull out of him and pull him away from where they were. Dabi struggles, unable to make sense of what’s happening until he’s being dropped onto the cold, wet sand where only an inch of water reaches as the waves roll in. The octopus man doesn’t stop. He keeps moving forward, and Dabi sees black tentacles come back together and morph into human legs, as scarred as his torso and arms. He gasps for breath, coughing up the water that still got into his mouth and nose from being held under, sure that his eyes would be streaming tears if he could do that from the fear and the burning salt water. 

The now-human man who Dabi is finally sure just has a strange quirk, half turns to him. 

“My name is Tomura Shigaraki. I saved your life, I spared it, now you’re going to share it with me.” His tone leaves no room for argument, and for a moment Dabi just stares at him. They’re out of the water now. He doesn’t have the advantage anymore. Dabi can light him on fire faster than he can close the meter of space between them. He could kill him for doing that to him. 

“Fuck you, I don’t owe you shit.” 

“We’ll work on your manners. Get up, I have more important places to be today.”

It still takes him a second, but Dabi pushes himself up from the sand, sure that he’s an absolute mess with it stuck to him, hoping that he’s not covered in a mixture of their cum as he tries to pull his trunks back up over his legs, though Shigaraki doesn’t seem to have any qualms about his own nakedness. “You’re a piece of fucking work, you know that?”

“Hurry up.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fucking going, I’d like to see you try to walk after taking your big fucking octopus dick up your ass.” He stumbles a little, but he does move up the beach towards the other man. “Who the fuck even are you?” 

“I already told you my name. You should learn some manners and give yours before asking me for more.” Once Dabi is at his side, he moves towards the cliff and Dabi hesitantly follows after him. 

“...You can call me ‘Dabi’.” 

“I’m going to be the most prolific supervillain in Japan.” He says as he leads Dabi to a small cave that he never even knew was here. There’s a towel, neat bundle of clothes folded there, and a slick black phone on top. He starts to dry off, wiping the sand from his skin as he turns red eyes on him again. “Is that going to be a problem, Dabi?” 

“...Works for me.” 

“Good boy. Come here, you’re a mess.” There’s a second towel and Shigaraki wraps his around his waist before reaching for it, his red, and the one that he uses to start to clean and dry Dabi’s skin blue. The touch is far, far more gentle than he would have expected as he starts to try and get the sand away from his seams. 

“Yeah, and who’s fault is that?” He grumbles. But he lets the other clean him, lets him dress and bundle Dabi in the towels as his body tries to warm itself after that chill, and then follows him to a car that’s been parked off the road a mile away. He lets him offer a hand as he climbs inside, and they drive away from the beach. 

It’s six years later as he’s lying against Tomura’s chest in their bed, Japan theirs at last, when he realizes that they never went back after that day. 

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