#please forgive me if my writing is not good

[lxnarphase]

𓇼 FUCK HER, FLIP HER, BEND HER BACKWARDS !

❤︎₊‧⁺...synopsis : the church always says sex for pleasure is a sin, and nanami kento is a man of the lord. but fuck, if his wife isn't worth sinning for. wc: 4.3k

❤₊‧⁺...cw : n. kento x fem!reader, religious themes, traditionalist views on sex and marriage, loss of virginity, missionary to mating press, breeding kink, overstimulation, unprotected sex, nanami loses himself in your pussy, slight cum play, dirty talk

❤₊‧⁺...lunar's note : am i unintentionally coping with religious trauma? possibly but it is fun :33 anyways based of this! forgive me if my writing is a bit rusty, it's been a while but enjoy !!

the two of you have spoken about eventually having children many times, but knowing the steps it took...it kept you both pushing it back, knowing eventually you'd both be ready.

after speaking with doctors, asking for advice from the church, and having you grumble about the neighbors who welcomed a cute baby girl, the two of you figured it was time.

you did your best to act normal all dayl, trying not to seem to nervous or too excited as you went about your chores for the day.

it may just be an act to procreate, but...it's still your first time with nanami. you want it to at least feel special.

there was nothing in the bible that went against that, right?

well, you have plenty of time to overthink since it seems that your dear husband will be at work late. to pass the time, you wait upstairs in your shared bedroom, the TV on as a distraction.

you're so stuck in your own world that you don't even notice him in the doorway before he clears his throat, leaning in the doorway. "oh! hi, honey, welcome home!" you go to stand up, but he holds up a hand, making you stop before you can get up from the bed.

it's silent, aside from the noise from the TV, and you can feel your stomach flip in anticipation.

has...has he always looked that handsome?

he continues to stand by the door, still not making eye contact. "you said it...starts today, correct," nanami questions, focused on undoing the straps of his watch. it shouldn't be attractive, it's such a simple task...yet it has your stomach doing flips as you nod.

"mhm, my, uh...ovulation starts today." it's such a weird thing to say, it just makes everything feel so...clinical. but that's how it's supposed to be, right? those who use sex for pleasure instead of procreation are sinners, or whatever the reverend at the church says.

"mm."

slowly pulling it off, he sets the watch on the dresser before shutting the bedroom door

"good."

dear god in heaven, you think to yourself, struggling to swallow the saliva pooling inside your mouth as he starts to undress. please forgive me for such inappropriate thoughts about my husband.

he removes his suit jacket—black today, it seems—placing it carefully on his desk chair, followed by his cufflinks and tie. his shirt is next, each button popping to reveal his strong, well-maintained physique.

you have to stop yourself from pumping your fist in the air for getting so lucky with such an attractive man as your husband. too busy ogling him like a horny teenager, you miss him undoing his belt before tugging them down and stepping out of his boxers.

once you do realize he's fully undress, you blush hard once he approaches the end of the bed—it took everything out of you not to stare at that...monster hanging between his legs, dear lord—and climbs onto it, making his way to hover over you.

his eyes roam up and down your body, taking in the pretty silky night dress you had on. It’s a soft blue with lacy white trim with little intricate flower designs.

modest, yet sensual.

"this is new," he comments, voice low and sultry. you can't help but wonder if he meant to sound so...so...

you don't find the correct word for it, but this new tone lights a fire in your stomach that has your r thighs squeezing together just a little bit.

"well, i figured it was an important night...you know, finally popping our cherries a-and starting a family?"

it's a weak attempt at humor, your voice clearly giving away your nervousness. you just pray that he ignores it.

a soft hum leaves him, his fingers playing with the intricately designed lace trim. the idea that you want to make this whole ordeal special, that you want to give yourself to him wholly, and that you want to swell with his child...

it pleases him greatly, a small smile touching his lips.

"well, aren't you sweet, my dearest?"

such simple words, yet they relieve so much tension from your shoulders. you can't help but smile back before a little gasp falls from your lips when his hands start to lift the dress up. his hands, they're so big, so hot on your skin.

It's a struggle to remember that this is for the purpose of producing offspring and nothing else, but you try, you try so hard.

but when you hear the hitch in his breath at the realization you didn't have anything else underneath the dress after he pulls it over your head, it's hard to remember.

the thought just about completely leaves your mind at the way nanami, your usually put-together husband, looks so hungrily down at you, a look you've never seen before in those pretty hazel eyes.

his gaze lingers on your body for a moment, mouth opening before shutting instantly, preventing himself from saying something he'd likely regret.

calm down, kento, he reminds himself, taking a second to clear his mind. this is for the purpose of family, not sinful and carnal desires.

even so, he's drinking in the sight of you, unable to stop his hands from rubbing up and down your sides, the soft skin of you, his wife, warming his palms. all his.

"gorgeous," he mumbles, unaware he even said it.

the moment you feel his leaking cock brush against your leg, a thought occurs to you.

neither one of you has a single idea of how to do this.

sure, you both know enough about putting it inside and moving, but that was about it. is there something else you should do? things you should say, places you should touch to aid in the process?

they never explained the actual process of sex in church, and lord knows your mother and father would've keeled over and died instantly if you were to ask them.

'it comes naturally when god deems it your time' the reverend stated once during a sermon. you fight back a frown, realizing that man probably had even less of an idea of how to do it.

however, the feeling of his tip nudging against your slit rips a gasp out of you, bringing you back into the present.

"are you alright? you left me for a bit there," nanami asks, his brow furrowed in worry. if you weren't ready, he was willing to back off. he may want to fulfill this important aspect of marriage, but...not if you don't want it.

"n-no, i'm okay! just...wondering how all of this is going to work out," you softly reassure, giving a weak giggle.

he can't blame you, he isn't very sure either. but as the man of the house and as your husband, he didn't plan on letting you worry. he would do all the work, you just needed to lay there looking so pretty, so soft, so...he realizes he's doing it again, letting his mind wander to places it shouldn't.

"just...j-just relax, we will figure it out as we go along."

with your silent nod, nanami starts to push his hips forward, hissing silently when he realizes the wetness that greets him.

you were this aroused just from...talking?

the thought of scolding you for letting your mind wander crossed his own, but...it would be hypocritical when his cockhead is dribbling precum all over your soft mound.

you choke out a noise of pain when his cock finally notches onto you and starts to push inside. sure, your wetness helped get the tip and the few inches after it inside, but just that is already too much for you, and you're expected to take all of it?!

you do your best not to move, not really sure what you should be doing. you'd be a good wife and bear with the pain if you had to, your nails digging into the pillow under your head as you braced yourself for the rest of his cock.

but this is absolutely unbearable, how do other women bear with this and have 6 or more children?!

a flicker of concern flashes through nanami's eyes at the sound you made, and he stops moving forward. he may be a bit mean sometimes, but he wasn't cruel.

if you both are going to go through with this, he is not going to make you suffer and nor is he going to force you to endure a painful experience.

no true man of god would do such a thing.

"breathe, don't hold it in," he instructs, his voice somehow calm and collected. one of his hands laces with yours, hoping to provide some sort of comfort as his lips brush against your forehead. "i've got you, darling, the pain will pass, just...tell me to stop if it gets too bad. don't hold it in."

giving a soft nod, you try to match his breathing, your body relaxing and making it easier for nanami to slip the rest of himself inside, a near silent sigh escaping him. the tightness and initial resistance that greeted him nearly made him moan, his cock twitching violently inside of you.

something about the physical feeling and knowledge that you saved yourself for him like you promised years before you both got married sent a surge of possession and pride, knowing he has such a loving and faithful wife who is so willing to give herself up to him like this...he can only hope you feel the same knowing he saved himself for you and only you.

so, as a 'reward'—and totally not because he fears you'll strangle his cock off with how tight you are—he's so gracious to you, not moving to let you get used to the stretch and feel of him inside, the room silent except for your matching breathing.

a few moments go by, and you should feel embarrassed when you feel slick drip out of you and down your ass. the realization that your dearest husband, one of the most faithful men of the church, is letting his cock soak inside of your hot cunt makes you whine a little, slick walls fluttering around him.

he's so fucked.

"a-ah...i'm going to move now," he warns, taking your sudden noise as a good sign. nanami shifts his legs just a bit before giving an experimental thrust, his brow furrowing as he slowly finds a rhythm.

the feeling of your hot and gummy walls is absolutely intoxicating, divine, nothing he's ever felt before.

this is what it felt like?

this is what he waited for?

fuck, it felt...it felt so good.

too good.

for you, the pain completely melts away, and you silently thank god and the angels above for giving you a merciful husband who is so kind as to wait for you to loosen up around him.

little do you know, he would rather kill himself than start moving when you're still adjusting to the pain and stretch.

his gentle movements make you all but melt under him, your eyes fluttering at the unbelievable pleasure coursing through your veins.

no wonder your parents preached about saving yourself until marriage, and thank the heavens you listened.

the very thought of feeling this way with anyone but your kento puts a bad taste in your mouth.

meanwhile, nanami chants prayers in his head over and over again as he tries his best to focus on the 'true' purpose for this.

the sticky, wet, and gooey sensation of your plump cunt sucking him, practically weeping each time he pulls out is just unfair.

the poor man, he's fighting so hard to maintain his composure, to not succumb to the base instincts that those soft moans of yours are beginning to stir within him.

"s-shush, darling," he grits out, hips still following his slow, deep pace. "don't...don't make such noises," he all but pleads, voice tinged with a huskiness that betrayed his growing need for you.

“i-i’m sorry! just, it...feels good, y-you feel good, feels s-so good,” you whisper, hands coming up to cover your mouth and stifle those sickeningly sweet noises.

but of course, that isn’t enough because each push and pull of his cock stirs your drooling cunt, filling the room with wet, filthy squelching sounds.

nothing about this is holy, nanami thinks as he grits his teeth, hands fisting in the sheets next to your head.

look at her.

those soft, muffled noises are truly music to his ears, his pace morphing from the slow, deep grind into a faster pace as your soft body gives into the pleasure.

so wet, so damn tight around my cock., like she never wants to let me pull out.

"k-kento, y-you're goin' too deep, i-i can't be quiet, s'too much!"

messy little pussy, 's beggin' for cum, needs it, needs to feel my tip kissin' her cervix as i pump load after load into her womb.

he knows what that little voice is, and no matter how much he wants to claim that it’s the sound of demons pouring their sinful words into his mind, he knows that it's his thoughts, fueled by those dirty little noises that she can't hold back.

how pitiful, how sinful, doesn't she know she's going against all the teachings they've heard preached every weekend in their church?

doesn't she know she's giving into lust?

doesn't she know her pretty sounds are making his dick throb, painting her insides with his hot, gooey precum?

"hush, 'm not going to t-tell you again, you...you need to be quiet," he growls, the command lacking its earlier authority.

nanami also knows lying is a sin, and he's doing a damned lot of it right now as he tries to convince himself that you need to stay silent. after all, this—this is just a process of giving you both a child, just like you wanted, and nothing else.

but he's lying to himself.

he needs you to be quiet or else he'll lose it.

the poor man is barely holding onto his restraint, and these sweet noises pouring from your mouth aren't helping at all.

"y-you make this so difficult sometimes, my dear..." his voice is rough with need and desire, a stark contrast to his usual composed demeanor. "but, by god, you're...you're. absolutely. exquisite."

he punctuates his words with a particularly hard thrust, grinding his hips into you in a way that has the coarse hair on his crotch to rub against your clit. the pleasure it gives you is electric, your legs coming up to squeeze his hips as you try to grind with him.

his words, his simple praise only makes you hiccup his name, crying out louder as your watery eyes roll back as your needy cunt squeezed down on his fat cock.

you're such a sweet thing, trying oh-so hard to mute your sounds. each snap of his hips is all but driving you insane.

“i-i can’t, ken, y-you don’t understand, i-it feels so good, i-i’m so full! you’re pressing against all the good spots, kentoo, i-i love you s' much, b-but i can't!”

be a good fucking husband and do what you were made to, nanami kento.

his teeth dig into his bottom lip, trying to hard to ignore that temptation purring in the back of his mind.

the voice is so much louder now, echoing throughout his mind and muting any prayers or pleads to be mindful of the sanctity of this whole process.

fuck her. give her what she needs, what she deserves.

but it's too fucking hard, he can't his hips are speeding up, his strong hands moving to grip your thighs, unaware of how they start to anchor behind your knees.

breed your pretty little wife and give her a baby like she deserves.

with a deep groan, nanami finally loses all control, fingers digging into your supple thighs to push them to your chest and practically folding you in half.

this new angle has him openly moaning like a dirty whore, allowing him to plunge even deeper into your tight, gummy walls, the head of his cock kissing your cervix with each and every deep thrust.

"k-ken, kenny, k-ken," you sob, tears catching onto your lashes as your entire being is assaulted by the endless pleasure your husband is giving you. he doesn't even look like your kento anymore, his pupils blown so wide that you can barely see the ring of greens and brown of his iris.

"f-fuck. 's all your fault, you know that," he hisses, eyes narrowing as he weakly glares down at you. but you can see the hearts in his eyes as he gives in to the pleasure.

his dark eyes bore down into yours, the wet plap plap plap plap of his hips slamming into yours almost overpowering his voice. "if y-you just stayed quiet like i asked, w-we wouldn't be here."

a little spurt of wet gushes out of you, making his fall forward into the juncture of your neck with a groan at the dirty noise it makes,

"god, i-i can feel it, y'know? can feel this sticky pussy—such a dirty little pussy—makin' such a mess. saved it jus' for me, didn't you, baby? mmhm—fuckin' hell, 's tight—thank you god f' giving me such an angel of a wife." nanami is huffing nonsense against your neck, pounding into you with a force that has the bed creaking loudly.

if you weren't being fucked stupid, you would be worried he was about to break the bed.

"you can keep that pretty mouth of yours shut, b-but you jus' had to have the noisiest little cunt."

he's so mean, but it only serves to make you gush even more, the way juices pour out of you and only make the already filthy noises even nastier.

"she's talkin' to me, baby, y'hear it? i'm...i-i'm gonna breed you," he manages to whine into your ear, pulling away to press his sweaty forehead against yours.

his tongue, so pink and pretty—you want it in your mouth, want to taste it want to feel it against yours—runs over his top lip as he watches drool drip down the corner of your mouth while you nod brainlessly.

nanami's never felt so dirty, so unhinged, but it feels so right, feels so fucking good. he never wants to leave your pussy, never wants to pull out, this is where he belongs, buried deep inside you as his cock pumps load after load right into your tummy, giving you what you need, what you deserve.

"yeah? you want that? i'll give it to you, baby, promise, 'm gonna be a good husband a-and knock you up, gonna make you a mommy."

that has you keening, tears pouring down your cheeks at the pleasure it shoots up your spine. you know you're close, but it's different.

it feels different, feels too much, there's pressure you've never felt before from the few times you'd cave in and play with your puffy, swollen clit in the shower when you waited for nanami to get home from work to kiss you to sleep.

no, you feel like you are about to fucking explode. "ken, i-i can't, 'm gonna—s-something's coming," you try to warn, your hands fisting in his hair as you tug and tug and tug.

the pull of his hair makes him moan like a slut, it sounds so fucking good. his eyes are rolling back before he rushes to comfort you, pressing soft little open-mouthed kisses against your lips.

you don't need to fight it, you just need to give it to him, give him what he needs.

"shh, shh, don' cry, y' look t'pretty, honey. l-let it happen, cum for me, i've got you, angel, cum for me s-so i can fill you up," he coos, his hips growing erratic as he feels your silky walls starting to fluttering around him, feeling you teeter on the edge of release.

he shifts, just barely, just enough to better position himself to fuck deeper into you. but that slight movement has his cock smushing against something soft and spongy that makes you sob, growing softer and more pliant under him, and you know you are done for as all you can do is wail his name.

"please, pretty girl, cum for me, show me how good 'm making you feel, soak my cock, c'mon, you can do it."

with a loud mewl that nearly has nanami soaking your walls in cum, you dig your nails into his biceps as you finally, finally cum. and you're right, it is different, your cute pussy squirting and creaming all over his dick.

the poor man is choking back a whine, eyes wide in shock as your cunt just gushes slick everywhere, clenching around him like a vice as you cum.

your juices are soaking his cock and balls, splattering against his lower abdomen obscenely. the thought of making you do that again crosses his mind for a split moment before the need to fill you up for being so good overpowers any other thought.

not giving you a break, he continues his unforgiving fucking, ignoring your cries and pleads for him to slow down.

"nonono, shh, shh, shush, you can take it," he coos against your lips, no longer caring if this was sinning or not. all he could think about was the constant squeezing and spasming of your poor overstimulated slit that was milking him toward his orgasm.

you try to squirm away, but the way he has you folded in half has you unable to do anything but accept his stupidly deep thrusts that make you swear you can taste his cock in the back of your throat.

"t-tha's it." he's panting, slurring his words, his fingers digging into the fat of your thighs. it’s so wet, so messy now, but he can't find it in himself to care.

no, all he can think about as he looks down at you is how you'll have that angelic glow as you grow round with his baby, and everyone will know you're his, that he knocked you up, he pumped you full of his cum, that you're his you're his you're all fucking his—

"f-fuck, honey, i-i can't..." his hips stutter as he does his best to maintain his rhythm, but his own release is barreling down on him. his heavy balls are drawing up tight as they slap against your ass, your juices still pouring out and soaking all of him.

"'m gonna fill you up, 'm gonna pump this—this sinful little cunt f-full of m'cum, angel, gonna knock you up, gonna have you drippin' with me, g-gonna give you a fuckin' baby, shit—"

with a deep, guttural groan, nanami hisses your name as he buries himself as deep as possible, his hot tip kissing your cervix as thick, hot ropes of his potent cum pour right into your womb, hips grinding into you and giving little thrusts as you milk his cock weakly despite your overstimulation.

it's—it's so much, he's still cumming, how was all of this inside of him? you can practically feel it sloshing around inside of you, and you whimper when you feel it gush out around his now softening cock, dripping down your ass onto the bed.

a moment or two passes, and he sits up, pushing his sweaty hair out of his face and looking down at you.

oh.

you sweet thing, you're an absolute mess. you have tear streaks down your cheeks, your lips swollen from him unknowingly biting them between the little kisses he was giving you, a pretty sheen of sweat on you, and...

his eyes trail lower to where his dick is still nestled inside of you, and it takes everything in him to not accidentally thrust his hips a little bit.

it's a creamy, sticky mess, a mixture of his and your cum seeping out your poor, abused pussy.

"o-oh. sorry, my love. i'm...not quiet sure what happened there. i apologize for such...foul language," he mumurs, his hand stroking your hip. "'s okay," you softly coo back to him, your eyes fluttering shut as you try to catch your breath. "i-i liked it..."

but you quickly learn you've married both a man of god and a curious, insatiable bastard who can't help but drag his cum all over your pussy, quickly finding your clit. and the reaction you give him is one he decides he likes, your hips canting up as your soft, oversensitive walls squeeze around his cock again.

"k-kento, that's nasty!"

all you get in response is a grumbling noise in his chest as it takes you weakly slapping your hands against his chest to get his eyes to snap away from your gooey, creamy pussy.

clearing his throat, he looks down at you, that heated look slowly creeping back onto his face. "perhaps we...we should try once more. just to ensure it takes," he states, doing his best to show some semblance of dominance.

but it's impossible when his hair is sticking to his sweaty forehead, his pupils blown as he gazes down at your panting form like he's about to devour you whole.

"after all, a...a big family is what god wants from man and woman, right? so we...shouldn't delay and keep trying." his hand trails up your side before finding its way to your breast, squeezing the soft flesh.

his thumb experimentally rolled your nipple, and the way your body reacted, a soft gasp of his name...how is he supposed to explain the feeling he's getting in the confessional booth?

"y-yeah," he gulps, leaning his head down. you can feel his hot breath against your tit, and you swear you feel drool drip onto your breast. "w-we'll keep trying. jus' to make sure w-we do what the scripture asks."

may god forgive him for being such a fucking liar and a damned bad one at that.

all rights reserved © lxnarphase | do not repost, copy, translate, or alter my work

[evilslushy]

i really like ur ff ! it was so good . could u maybe write about hotboxing hamzahs car by the beach or something like that ?

HotBox Challenge ᯓᡣ𐭩

Hamzah x f!reader

Warning: a little suggestive! MDNI :)

(A/N): barely proofread this… but this is my first ever request outside of people I know!! I hope you like this anon,, I know I didn’t exactly let them hotbox the car but I hope you forgive me for that <3 MWAH (i luv ur request btw, truly challenged my writing #unique)

w: 1.4k

You shivered. Droplets of water dripping down your neck, leaving prints of a darker color on the fabric of Hamzah's dark green jacket. You licked your lips, savoring the salty coating on them as you rolled the windows up to block the breeze from blowing on you. You guys weren’t planning to get this wet but one thing led to another leading back to Hamzah (accidentally) aggressively pushing you into the beach. It wasn’t fully his fault, you kind of started it when nudged him for saying something you didn’t like.

Sighing, you pouted as you looked at the driver’s seat beside you. Your boyfriend’s guilt gnawed at him, pushing him toward a nearby supermarket for god knows what. “Hamzah, it’s fine!” You told him right before he sat you down on the passenger seat. “Just stay here for a second.” He cut you off, taking off his dark green jacket and putting it over you.

It’s been a few minutes since and he hasn’t been back, you wonder what he’s even looking for. Regardless, you hug yourself tighter—seeking warmth within yourself. Humming to a song as you waited for his imminent arrival.

Your humming must’ve been loud enough for it to block out the sound of Hamzah’s footsteps. A knock on the window snapping you out your own trace, turning to be greeted by your boyfriend’s half smile; ushering you to unlock the doors. You smile back, shaking your head left and right. Hamzah’s smile dropped, a muffled: “babe, open. Please.” Heard by his window.

Obviously you weren’t actually planning to serve him hypothermia on a silver platter. Leaning over to push the lock open for him. Hamzah immediately opened the door to set a plastic bag on his seat, his hand rummaging through it to give you whatever took him so long to grab.

You raised an eyebrow as he pulled out a packet from the bag. A packet containing a small item—something you'd typically find inside a box with several others alike. Hamzah held it out to you with a sheepish grin, as if it were some kind of treasure he’d unearthed from a hidden aisle. “Self heating pads” he informs, “I didn’t realize it was this small when I bought them… if this isn’t enough I got a box.” His murmurs go unheard when you take it away from his hand, ripping it out of its plastic wrap so it’ll start warming up. Revealing a piece of fabric, seamed on its sides. “Your jacket was warm enough, you didn’t have to.”

“I don’t know, I kinda just freaked out. It’s cold out. You might catch a cold.” He placed the plastic bag that contained the box of heating pads towards your lap. Sitting down and closing the car door behind him.

You didn’t know if it was because someone else was in the car now, or maybe the heating pads work like magic. Your body warmed up by the second, eyes shifting from the heating pad between your palms to the ocean waves crashing down—the only visible reflection on them being the bright full moon. So bright you could see the shoreline racing upwards as the waves came to an end, pulling backwards—the wet sand now richer in color.

Hamzah’s hands shifted around, from his thighs to the steering wheel. Lips twisting to refrain from asking what he wanted to ask. And if there’s anyone that can feel his awkwardness more than you… it would be Martin. Though regardless of that. You turned to look at him, Hamzah side-eyeing you with the same twist on his lip—slowly turning into a weak smile. “You look like you want to say something…” you softly noted.

Hamzah tilting his head, finally facing your gaze. He simply shook his head. Making you lay back against your seat with a sigh. You knew that look on his face. “Light it.” You mumble.

You guys were supposed to share a joint by the beach until he pushed you, then you got stuck in the car to warm up. You didn’t know that in his mind the joint was the main part of this rushed ‘date.’

Your excited boyfriend is not wasting any second to pull the joint out and light it. Chuckling at his urgency, you comment: “damn, I didn’t know you were that excited about it.”

Hamzah closed his eyes as the smoke filled his lung, sighing it out while resting his head back on the headrest. “Long week.” Was all he said in response. Passing you the joint without looking. “Tell me about it.” You held it between your thumb and index, bringing it closer to your lips. “Long year at this point.” Finally taking a drag.

Your boyfriend hummed in agreement.

You shifted the joint between your fingers, the motion fluid, almost like a second nature—you moved it between your index and middle finger—making it more convenient for both of you. Your hand hovered near Hamzah’s lips. As you brought it closer, your fingers brushed softly against his lips—just a brief touch, but enough to send a quiet jolt through you. His lips parted slightly as he took a slow drag, his eyes fluttering open to meet yours for a moment. When he was done, he tapped your hand, the gesture almost careless, but the way his fingers lingered on yours said more than the action itself.

The sudden sensualness in the air must’ve been pent up. Maybe it was the fact that you haven’t kissed him today at all, or your body was still in need of additional warmth. Or maybe… you were making excuses because no one can resist your boyfriend; especially post hair-wash day when his curls are that defined.

His hand hesitated for a split second, just enough to make your heart skip. Then, with a subtle shift, his fingers grazed yours again—only this time, they lingered longer, almost deliberately. Slowly, he wrapped his hand around your wrist, gently but firmly guiding it away, as if it took everything in him not to harshly pull you closer. He leaned in, his presence warm against your aura, his lips meeting yours in a slow, sweet kiss. His lips hugging yours perfectly, that aroma of weed stuck to be tasted between you both. You pulled away, a bit knocked out of breath from the kiss. Hamzah chased your lips for a second before noticing that you were stopping to take it in, foggy smoke escaping his lips. “What about the joint?” You took the time to tease.

“Fuck the joint.” He could almost go unheard, not wasting any time to crash his lip against yours again. This time a little harsher, hungrier. You wanted to fight back, argue that you guys need to finish this joint that cost Hamzah money. Except it seemed like a lost cause to argue with him.

The way he was kissing you bubbled a giggle in your chest, slowly breaking away to let it out. Hamzah looking at you, a puzzled love dazed gaze falling from his eyes. His lips plumper than before, a pink hue reaching the top of his ears.

“Hamzah.” You say in between your giggles. “What… what?” He asked, a breathless laugh to mirror your expression. Smiling, your hands go up to cup his face. “I think this is our worst attempt in hotbox-ing a car.”

“Isn’t it better to do it later with Martin and Mandy?” He didn’t waste any time, kissing you after. You kissed back, your smile felt against his lips. You liked when he gets like this—it was rare but once you bent him up enough (not kissing him good morning) he can’t stop.

Your fingers curled the hair on the back of his head, opening your mouth slightly, Hamzah softly entering his tongue—groaning at the warmth of your mouth. Again, you pulled away, a string of saliva still connecting you both. You turn your head, turning off the joint by putting it in an open water bottle snuggled in the cup holder.

Hamzah looked at you when you turned back, expecting you to continue on. But you slipped your hands away from him, sitting back in your seat.

“Go back home, I need to change.”

Hamzah snarked, “leaving me hanging is not cool.”

“Your clothes are now wet too!”

“I don’t care!”

“Shut up. Home. Now.” Your tone was demanding but your smile held a shortsighted smile. Feeling a bit guilty for leaving him hanging, you kissed his cheek. “Sorry, baby. Promise I won’t leave you hanging when we’re at home.”

He reversed the car to pull out of the parking lot, a shy smile on his face. Humming to show his understanding.

Hotbox challenge: failed.

[sortasirius]

"Confessions" and the Beginning

Hello fellow clowns, genuinely fucking unbelievable episode amiright?

FIRST OF ALL, welcome back Bobby's hot priest, missed u bitch.

I really did miss just like regular calls last season, it's nice just to have a random silly one to start an episode.

GIRL I MISS CHRIS AS MUCH AS EDDIE DOES RELEASE HIM FROM HELENA DIAZ'S CLUTCHES!!!!

This man is going through the most insane confessions of his life. First Bobby saying he's a murderer and now Eddie saying that his son caught him with his dead mother like give this man a break lmao.

"I don't deserve forgiveness, I gotta go."

And this is the beginning of Eddie's thesis: what he deserves. More importantly, what he thinks he deserves.

Buck is literally like the most awkward man alive. He has zero game I love him sm.

Bitch. ABBY???? FUCKING ABBY?????? SHE IS BUCK'S SHANNON, CONSTANTLY HAUNTING THE NARRATIVE.

"I wonder how many men she turned gay" Maddie is Abby's number 1 hater (besides Eddie lmao)

"Unless there's another boy" JOSH PLEASE!!!!!

The Glee reference Tim Minear you will pay for your crimes lmao

It's interesting that he didn't even seem to consider taking the next step with Tommy until Josh brought it up. Also really interesting how he ends up framing their conversation later, like it's more of an "honoring Tommy" thing than a "I really want to move in with you" thing. Now this could just be awkward scripting or awkward (no game) Buck, but I think it's worth mentioning.

I just love Chim and Maddie so much they are my true north always.

Eddie's tank top? Yeah make that an everyday look for him good lord.

"I'm straight" YEAH SURE JAN WHATEVER YOU FUCKING SAY.

He's punishing himself by not choosing the juice because he doesn't think he deserves it, because he doesn't think he's allowed to take it... He is the obstacle in his own joy. What is that joy? What is he standing in his own way of?

"Because the LAFD doesn't allow beards."

"So it's a disguise?"

"Something like that."

SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!!! ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME!!!!!!! HELLO?????

"What are you afraid of seeing when you look in the mirror?"

"A failure. Someone that doesn't deserve forgiveness. Or joy."

I'm literally beating my fists on the ground. It's textbook. Fucking textbook. He's hiding from himself, hiding himself from himself, hiding from his joy.

Nothing like 911 to give you the most insane gutwrenching side plot of all time when I tell you I was SOBBING over those two brothers. (To be fair it's been an extremely hard week).

"I'm the himbo" HE IS THE LOVE OF MY LIFE!!!!!

Look let me just get this out of the way: I really loved bucktommy. I liked their dynamic and I liked what he was able to teach Buck about himself, but I think Tommy is ultimately right: he can see the writing on the wall, just in the same way he said "my attention?" in 7x04. He was Buck's first queer relationship, but he will not be his last. And I think Tommy has an idea who his last will be, even if he kept that part to himself.

I do think it was kind of an insane speedrun at the end there, I'm not sure why he couldn't just ask Buck to pump the brakes instead of fully breaking up with him.

It's also just a complete manifestation of Buck's greatest fear: abandonment. Abandoned by his parents, abandoned (through no fault of her own) by Maddie, abandoned by Abby, by Taylor, and now by Tommy. It sucks for him, and I hate it for him and for Tommy, who also doesn't seem to think he can have good things, and would rather beat Buck to the punch than actually take the risk and be vulnerable.

I think that this was a good learning experience for them both, and I think they'll both be better for it in the long run.

"I'll see you around, Buck" killed my ass.

MADNEY BABY MADNEY BABY MADNEY BABY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

And lastly, Eddie shaving off the mustache, his barrier from joy, and dancing around his house in his underwear. Finding the joy in being himself, finding the joy in his life again. And Buck knocking on the door, not asking any questions, and them sitting together on the couch, shoulder to shoulder each of their respective "barriers" gone.

They have some things to figure out, but we are so close that I can taste it, I can feel it.

I haven't felt this way since the last season of SPN, and while that didn't turn out the way I wanted (due to network and Robert Singer's meddling), I am confident that that is not where we're heading here. Tim Minear is back. The show is on the Shonda network. Buck is out and Eddie is on his way there. Gay Eddie. Buddie endgame. It's happening, and nothing will get me out of this clown car.

[queenmelancholy]

Guys, I have written my first fanfic ever! And it’s about Thomas Barrow! Yayyy! This is the AO3 link. Please read it if you have time and tell me what you think :)

Title: "I'm Home."

Summary: It was July 1930 and Thomas was revisiting Downton Abbey. He had been homesick for a while in America under the pressure of being half exposed to the limelight and found himself missing his family back at Downton. He dealt with his belonging issues and nostalgia during the journey.

Characters: Thomas Barrow, Guy Dexter, Charles Carson, Elsie Hughes, Beryl Patmore, Daisy Mason, Anna Bates, John Bates, Phyllis Baxter, Mary Crawley, Robert Crawley, Cora Crawley, George Crawley, Sybbie Branson

Word count: 2807

Thomas wasn’t sure about how he should feel as he walked down the stairs to the servant’s hall for the first time in two years. He wasn’t wearing his livery anymore. Deep down he was thrilled to tell everyone how much he had seen in America. But he felt ashamed of boasting to those who used to work alongside him. After all, he was the most bitter about Branson and Gwen when they found happier lives with their socially superior partners. Thomas knew that Guy saw him as equal, but still, the similarities laid bare. He felt awkward about this. 

Guy repeatedly told him not to worry. They were his family and there was no reason why anyone would not be happy for him. But Thomas reminded himself that it was not true. It couldn’t be. How could Mr. Carson give him a warm smile he so craved like he wanted from his own father, when this man thought Thomas deserved to be horsewhipped? How would Mr. Bates congratulate him, when he violently smashed Thomas against the wall and called him a filthy little rat? How could Mr. Moseley care a bit about how he was doing now, when he seemed so annoyed by Thomas when he was struggling to even face himself? People just wouldn’t be easy on him, even after all these years. And Thomas knew himself was the one to blame. 

Although people said they were his “family” for twenty years, he couldn’t bring himself to believe it. He owed them a heartfelt apology for what he had said and done. They owed him their apologies, too. Thomas didn’t know why he couldn’t just say sorry to them the day he left the house. Things would’ve been much easier if he did. But he wasn’t sure whether they’d do the same if he had said then - it was probably why he didn’t say it in the end. Deep inside, he was still angry with them. He had been angry all along. 

Perhaps some things were just destined to be wrong and left unresolved. Why would he expect anything different now? 

During the two years in America, Thomas had followed Guy everywhere to film and do publicity. Guy’s friends were all very nice and welcoming. Thomas got close to a few of them through their cricket matches every week. He enjoyed spending time with this small circle of friends as well as his private time with Guy in their house. 

Nevertheless, Thomas was very much aware that the journalists had suspected his relationship with Guy from the start. It was true that America was an open society and most people were friendly towards them, but Thomas wasn’t very comfortable with being in the limelight. Newspapers would make up fake stories about him and Guy for gossip, and he disliked it. Every now and then, he would see his face in some local tabloid, and passers-by would sometimes give him the side-eye. He felt judged all the time, like his private life was put on the table for everyone to see, and they only saw him as that. Thomas found himself in this peculiar situation where he had to keep his mouth shut about an open secret, one that was known by millions of people. He didn’t even know how to behave in public anymore. 

Surely he loved Guy a lot, and he knew Guy loved him as much, if not more. But sometimes he just felt a bit tired of hiding behind the name of a dresser. And all these people who didn’t really know them would talk about them behind their back, saying things that weren’t true. Although he had Guy with him, Thomas just felt more lonely being surrounded by all these strangers in the strange city.

Thomas’s depression was slowly taking over him again. Sometimes he couldn’t sleep at night. He missed home. He wanted to talk to Mrs. Hughes about the things that were troubling him. He knew she would pat him on the shoulder and say no worries, all things would be fine. He wanted to open up to Phyllis about his insecurities and she would give him the wisest advice; he wanted to chit chat with Daisy about the silly little things, argue with Mrs. Patmore, play with the children, and many more things. He even missed Bates as his sparring partner. Thomas just needed someone who actually knew him, from when he was that spiteful young boy and watched him grow into this mature man. 

He knew the people back at Downton wouldn’t hurt him, not anymore. They were his family. He was safe with them. He knew it at last, but it might be too late to admit that. 

One day, Thomas just couldn’t hold it in anymore. In tears, he told Guy he was homesick. Guy was very worried if he was not doing enough to make Thomas feel at home. But Thomas reassured him that it was not his fault - in fact Guy was the only reason why he hadn’t fallen apart till now. Thomas blamed himself for being a coward who just knew how to run away from his problems, like he did during the war and many other times. He didn’t even have enough determination and perseverance to make a new life of his own. 

“That’s not true,” Guy told him, “Look how far you’ve come already. You have been through a lot. I know. You’re the bravest person I’ve ever known. If anyone had told me that there’s this nice bloke named Thomas Barrow who had been put through the wringer like this, I would think they were writing the protagonist for their upcoming production.” Guy laughed a little and pretended to contemplate, “Hmmm… if so, that character would be so challenging to play.”

Thomas kept looking at the ground. He blinked his eyes in silence before he mumbled, “Then that film would be a blockbuster. But I bet you couldn’t play the role.” He slowly smiled, “And you’d have to be really lucky to get a ticket for it.” They looked at each other and giggled.

“Yeah, that character would certainly be a legend. And I’m glad to know him,” Guy replied satisfyingly.

Finally, he persuaded Thomas to go back to Downton for a week to catch up with the Crawleys and their staff. Guy’s filming schedule was packed so he couldn’t travel with him. Out of guilt, Guy offered to pay for the travelling expenses and bought Thomas his commercial plane tickets. Thomas was reluctant at first but he eventually gave in to the temptation to fly for the first time in his life. Before he boarded the plane, he once again thanked Guy for what he did for him and promised to get better soon. 

As he flew across the Atlantic, Thomas couldn’t help but think about Richard’s words, “Fifty years ago, who’d have thought man could fly?” Well, he was flying now. And he felt simultaneously happy and sad about it. What would Richard be doing now? Did Jimmy finally get settled down? Was Edward watching from heaven and being happy for him? Thomas looked out the window and tears ran silently down his cheeks. 

Soon he arrived in London and travelled north to Yorkshire by train. The scenery gradually changed from city to countryside, and Thomas became more relaxed as he was surrounded by nature. The wind blew through his face and loose hair. He could smell the freshness of the grass and see the blue wide sky. It was a beautiful sunny day.

Once Thomas planned to visit Downton a month ago, he wrote to Mary as a courtesy. He didn’t want to make it a big deal to the downstairs lot so he kindly asked Mary not to tell anyone else. Mary understood that and agreed to keep it secret. Thomas knew that in fact she was excited to see everybody’s surprised faces when he appeared out of the blue. Yes, Lady Mary would be so. Thomas thought to himself and smiled a little. 

His ride back to the Abbey went smoothly and everything along the road was familiar, only that he no longer needed to walk the long way on foot. Time seemed to have paused in the village. Thomas could almost see his younger self stepping out of the post office after sending that telegram to Philip. It was like yesterday. How could these places still look the same while so many things had already changed? He thought of William and Matthew, as well as Ethel and Lady Sybil. He felt sorry for them. “I’m the one who got away.” “Gives hope to us all.” The days when they were here were long gone, but had they ever really left? Thomas suddenly felt overwhelmed by his complicated feelings towards this place he called home. Perhaps part of him had never left, too. 

When Thomas arrived at the Abbey and rang the bell, it was Mr. Carson who opened the door. They were both stoned and stared at each other for longer than usual. Thomas surely expected Carson, but he wasn’t prepared to see this tight-lipped wrinkled man with a head of grey hair standing in front of him. Was Carson this old when he left? He couldn’t remember clearly. Carson was equally shocked. The troubled man that he once supervised suddenly turned up as a guest to the house he managed. Didn’t he finally get rid of Thomas after he met the movie star? Carson shrugged as he recalled that. But he had been reminiscing about the downstairs life with Thomas’s cheeks lately - it was too peaceful without the naughty boy in the servant’s hall. It was somehow boring. Carson was surprised that he would find himself missing Thomas Barrow - like a strict father missing his difficult son. At times he would tell himself that maybe Thomas had found his happiness out there, so there was no need to worry. 

“Mr. Carson, it’s nice to see you.”

“You never fail to surprise us, Mr. Barrow.”

They stood at the front door, both a little unsettled. “Who’s that?” Asked Lady Grantham from inside. “We have been visited by an old friend, My Lady.” Carson raised his eyebrows as he couldn’t believe these words came out of his own mouth. Neither could Thomas, who remembered clearly how he was greeted last time he entered through the front door as acting sergeant. Carson and Thomas nodded politely at each other before they went into the house. Thomas exhaled a deep breath of relief. 

Both Lord and Lady Grantham were very much amazed by Thomas’s visit. They were eager to know how their former footman-turned-butler had been doing these two years. So they had a short conversation about Thomas’s life in America, and Robert seemed a bit too excited as he told Thomas about how it reminded him of his Eton days. Carson couldn’t control his eyebrows, while Mary cheerfully watched on and gave Thomas knowing looks at certain points. 

It was afternoon, the servants had been working on their chores at different corners of the house. So Carson went off to summon them all before Thomas entered the basement. He wondered what Carson would have told them.

Meanwhile, Thomas used the time to revisit his old room in the attic. No one used it after he’d left. He noticed how humble his room was compared with the luxurious room he shared with Guy. The furniture was still in place but it had lost its warmth as there were no traces of living any longer. A layer of dust had formed on the surfaces of his old cabinet and desk. Thomas felt strange. He remembered Dryden Park, the run down estate of Sir Michael Reresby. Would this room ever be used again? Was he its last occupant? What would it become in a hundred years’ time? Thomas sighed and took a last look at his room for eighteen years. He said goodbye to it and closed the door lightly behind him.

After a while, Thomas found himself descending the stairs to the servant’s hall. He felt his heart beating faster as he got closer to the bottom. When he was almost there, Thomas caught a glimpse of the framed writings hanging above the entrance to the servant’s hall - “Watch and Pray.” He was relieved that it was still there. He changed it when he was the butler. Thomas remembered how for fifteen years he walked past the former one every day that said “Trust in the Lord,” and couldn’t help but feel betrayed by God and everyone. He was furious then. But now Thomas was glad that he had grown into a better man and there was no need to be bitter anymore. 

Suddenly Thomas heard Anna’s voice from the servant’s hall, “Be quiet! Mr. Barrow might hear.”

“Oh, I can’t wait! Mrs. Patmore, just come and sit down!” Daisy was apparently in an exciting mood, and what on earth was Mrs. Patmore doing?  

“I just want to make sure it looks perfect.” 

“It’s very beautiful, Mrs. Patmore. I’m sure Thomas will appreciate it.” It seemed even Mr. Bates was here to welcome him. Thomas thought for a moment about what snarky things he could say to Bates. No, he wouldn’t do that, not today. 

“Mr. Barrow may be here any time soon. You get ready now,” Mrs. Hughes said softly. Who was she talking to?

Thomas had anticipated this moment for a month. He kept thinking of his guilt and how to make apologies. Things might have improved, but at the bottom of his heart he still thought they didn’t like him as much as other servants. And he could not fully embrace them for how they treated him in the past. Their misunderstanding towards him could perhaps never change. How could he truly belong here? Or anywhere? But the strange conversation just now might hint that things were not as bad as he’d thought. After all, they were the only people in this world who really knew him. So Thomas plucked up his courage and stepped into the servant’s hall. 

Three shadows rushed forward and hugged him around the waist. “Mr. Barrow!!!” The children shouted with joy. “We missed you a lot,” little George said softly as his big blue eyes looked up at Thomas. Oh god, these children had grown so much. George was almost reaching Thomas’s shoulders. Sybbie was already a young lady and Thomas could see Lady Sybil in her. Marigold was with her parents in London, but Thomas missed her nonetheless. The third little one was Johnny, who was always joyous and nothing like his father, much to Thomas’s delight. It was great that the children had not forgotten him. In fact, they couldn’t be happier to see him. 

Thinking of it, Thomas’s eyes began to well up and his face turned red. “Alright now,” Mrs. Hughes said to the children, “let go of Mr. Barrow or you will choke him out.” They laughed and Thomas noticed something on the dining table. It was a beautifully decorated chocolate brownie cake - Thomas’s favourite. “It was intended for the family’s afternoon tea today. But I asked if we could use it instead and Lady Grantham kindly agreed,” Mrs. Patmore explained. 

Thomas couldn’t believe it all. Why? Was this their apology after all these years? Had he been wrong about them all along?

He couldn’t look up at them but smiled shyly, “Thank you very much. Thanks for this warm reception. You don’t need to do this. I’m not worthy of it.” 

“Don’t say that, Thomas,” Daisy said, “We’ve all missed you. And your mischief, of course.” 

“I really don’t deserve any of this…” Thomas could no longer contain his tears and started to cry. The children couldn’t understand what was happening. They grabbed his hand and looked with worried eyes. “Why are you sad, Mr. Barrow?” Sybbie asked, “Tell us and we will find ways to help you.” Thomas cried even harder. He couldn’t control himself. 

“Mr. Barrow is just too happy,” Phyllis tried to explain it for him, “He has missed us as much as we missed him. So he is very happy to see us all at once now. Aren’t you, Mr. Barrow?” She approached him and offered him her handkerchief. 

“Yes, I am,” Thomas said as he wiped his tears, “I’m just too happy to see you all again.” There was no need for other words. 

Everyone’s eyes slowly turned teary as they smiled with contentment and joy. One thing was sure - Thomas was very much missed and loved here around the servant’s table. They didn’t know it before, neither did he. But now the big boy had come home.

“Welcome back, Thomas.”

Thomas smiled and replied softly, “I’m home.”

[fanvoidkeith]

sometimes family is a regular man, his surprisingly smart (and capricious) cat, his phoenix husband, the antichrist, an amorphous slime boy, a nature sprite, a gnome, a wyvern, a shapeshifter, a yeti, a much older and more powerful nature sprite, and her girlfriend the mayor

[zer0pm]

Imagine having dated Luis Serra in the past only to be reunited with him literally chained to you.

“Another late night?”

A sigh. “Sí. Wesker wants another update on the new medicine my team is developing.”

“Didn’t you just send him a report about it this morning?”

“My thoughts exactly. But people like him, they’ll push because they can and keeping pushing until they get what they want.”

“Sounds familiar.”

The man stops typing away for a moment to turn and wink at you. “You like it when I push.”

You chuckle lightly in turn and pull up a seat next to Luis. The researcher welcomes you at his side, instinctively placing his hand upon your knee as soon as you settled onto the chair. His fingers dance upon the fabric of your pants, caressing the warm skin beneath while his other hand returns to the keyboard.

There is a tired expression upon his handsome face as he focuses back on the computer screen, but the tugged up smirk on his lips and the relaxed gleam in his beautiful grey eyes that appeared in the wake of your presence of you was unmistakable.

“It’s going to be awhile,” he says, a soft lull in his voice. “You should go home and get some sleep, mi corazon.”

You shake your head, returning him a gentle smile of your own. “I’ll wait, Luis. I don’t mind.”

“Can’t rest unless we’re in bed together?”, he says with a wag of his brows.

You quip back playfully, “We wouldn’t even rest if we’re in bed together.”

The Spaniard hums thoughtfully. “That’s a tempting thought. I better hurry up, then.” He leans his head against yours. “Pero, seriously. I don’t want to make you wait.”

A comforting hand reaches over to affectionately squeeze his muscles arm, “It’s fine. Stop worrying. As long as I’m with you, Luis, I’m happy.”

You feel him nod. The growing hairs along his fine jaw, softly scratching against your head. “Yo tambien. What is the expression, we’re… attached to the hip?”

“Practically chained together you and I.”

“Keep distracting me with ideas like that and we’ll never leave this place.”

—-

A deafening ring scratches against your ear drums, a dim light shines a dull pain in your eyes, and rusted metal scratches against your wrists. All these sensations awoke you gradually, a slow rude awakening. You’ve barely a moment to gather your wits and take in your surroundings before a familiar voice catches your attention.

“¿Estás bien? Are you hurt?”

It’s Luis, he sounded slightly disgruntled, but it did little to hide his evident concern for you.

You instinctively shake your head. “No. No, I think I’m okay. You?”

“Could be worse. Better than being in a musty burlap sack. And this time, I am in the presence of good company.”

Always the charmer. Some people just do not change, and when it came to Luis, that thought puts you at ease.

The last thing you remembered before coming to was finding Luis tied up in some basement. Leon was there, and another man, large and imposing, who approached the three of you unannounced. There were gunshots, and you recall a massive fist connecting with your head. That’s gonna bruise…

You look overhead to see your wrists clapped in irons and a pair of strong arms dangling alongside yours.

“Guess we ended up chained together, afterall.”

You feel Luis’ back slightly shaking against yours, a low chuckle rumbling from his throat. “I admit, this isn’t how I imagined it to be like either.” After a slight pauses, he sighs and calls you by name. “Pleasant talk aside, not that I’m not happy to see you again because… admittedly… I am- But what are you even doing here?”

You shrug. “Oh, you know. The views.”

The Spaniard scoffs. “Falsa. You’re a terrible liar. Always have been.”

Again, you deflect. “And what about you, Luis? This doesn’t exactly look like a cozy spot for a vacation.”

“I live here. Within the village. The house you found me under? Casa de mi infancia. My childhood home. It was, anyways, before…”

He paused. For a moment that felt like an eternity, he said nothing. It unsettled you.

“…Luis?”

He shifts a little behind you at your voice before a what sounded like a defeated sigh escapes his lips. “Joder. I was conducting research,” the man began. “After leaving Umbrella, I came back here to treat the villagers from a disease that has plagued them for a long time. Back then, it was bad. But now, it is much, much worse than when I left many years ago. I tried to help, but as you can see, I’ve had little success.”

Now it was your turn to fall silent. That was a lot to take in. After separating from Luis all those years ago, you continued to keep tabs on him. You made the excuse that you were simply monitoring his movements in case you were able to gather more information about Umbrella, but really, you just wanted to make sure he was okay. The last time you two spoke… it did not go well. And when he went off the radar, you thought the worst but never gave up searching. To say you were relieved to see him again and learn that he still practiced medicine for the benefit of others was an understatement. You feared that he may have gone off the deep end and we’re glad that you were wrong.

Luis speaks up when you said nothing. “Suppose it’s a good thing that you didn’t come here with me, after all.”

You pondered over what to say. There was plenty. You wanted to tell him that you missed him. That you thought about him every day. That you ended things between you two for his sake. But they all failed to reach your throat. Instead, you opt for a different truth. One that he deserves.

“I work for the government.”

When he doesn’t speak right away, you mentally prepared yourself for his anger and disappointment. You expected him to fly off in a rage and curse you a thousand times over, reproaching you for failing to come to him with this from the beginning. You expected him to question if your time together, if your feelings shared were genuine, and you were prepared to confirm that you and him were real. Instead, as often as Luis does, he surprises you.

“I know.”

You blink, your words faltering for a second. “Y-You know? What do you mean ‘you know?’ When- How-”

“After you left me. I did a little digging- on my own… and I learned some things.” He shifts to his feet and you followed suit, meeting his eyes. Despite their cold hue, his words came out warmly. You detect a hint of anxiousness from him. “I know why you did what you did, mi amor. Just wished you would have told me.”

Your heart flutters unmistakably from his term of endearment for you. You had to force your eyes down so as not to have your emotions betrayed to him even though it was already pointless at this point.

“I couldn’t…”

“I know.” Those little words again. “Still would have been nice to hear them, anyway. Well, perhaps not “nice”- Pero, it would have been ideal to try to work it out together.”

“Would you have wanted to at that point?” The question left you before you could bite it back.

Luis’ eyes sparkled at the almost hopeful tone in your voice. “With you, I want to do everything.”

This man is too good to be real. You wanted to hug him then and there, to pour out every apology known to man, to beg his forgiveness and declare your love for him. But the chains around your hands and the fear of rejection prevented you from doing so. However, the way Luis looked at you told you everything you needed to know, told you everything he felt and still feels for you, and you only hoped that your eyes said the same. Still, being one that wishes to validate their intentions, you opened your mouth.

Luis stops you. “Shh! You hear that?”

You focus your senses, trying to identify what he’s talking about. And sure enough, the distinct sound of garbled, inhuman groans reaches both of your ears. Your fists clench and your body tenses instinctively. This time, not of fear, but in disciplined alarm, ready to face any threat that dared to come your way. Luis picks up your stance instantly, a flash of amusement and admiration in his grey gaze.

“Now, despite my impressive physique, I’m actually not much of a fighter. So, would you…?”

You switch places with him before he could even finish his sentence, minding the chain that connected you both. The tall man reflexively shivers beneath your touch and as you left a hand lingering upon chest in a protective manner, he didn’t move away.

“Stay behind me and keep your distance.” You ordered sternly before throwing him a side glance, “And by the way, this discussion is far from over.”

“Muy bien. You got this.”

His tone was meant to be casual, but there was no denying the hint of admiration (and daresay lust) that rumbled within his thick throat. This was a side of you he has never seen. And although he can deduce that it comes from years of discipline and training; deep down, he knew your instinct to protect him comes from something much baser and more powerful. He knows, because he’s ready to protect you to despite his suggestion otherwise.

There was so much that needed to be said between you two. But that would have to wait until you were both safe. And without interruption.

“Just another long night, ¿si?”

As long as I’m with you, Luis, I’m happy.

You didn’t say it out loud. But he heard them all the same.

.

.

.

A/N: A continuation of Him.

Gif is also not mine, please support the original poster :3

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

WAKES UP IN A COLD SWEAT

Being childhood friends with Ajax after he gains the ability to change into Foul Legacy and he doesn’t have complete control over it yet.

Numerous times did you find yourself sitting in Ajax’s bed room, a much smaller, more scraggly looking Foul Legacy curled in your arms, chirping and trying to speak to you in Abyssal language. You can’t understand him and Foul Legacy doesn’t quite know why he’s so attached to you, his hazy memories still forming, but he does know he enjoys your company!

Foul Legacy being a bit smaller when Ajax was a child, probably around the size of the average adult, being a lot more lanky and fluffier, like a deer 🙁 My wet cat.

The amount of times you’d have to drag Ajax away from a conversation or potential fight (that he was about to initiate) because you noticed the clear signs of Foul Legacy coming out. Dragging him to his home or favorite fishing spot and just, being stuck with Foul Legacy for the next few hours. Not that you mind! He’s so curious about everything around him, and so curious about you! Will try to curl up in your lap as you comb his fur, happily telling you a story in Abyss, you simply nod and pretend you understand.

My baby 🙁🙁 i miss him

[📺]

ue ue ueeee (sound of me crying over this /lh)

being a kid from Snezhnaya, you're not really scared when you first meet Foul Legacy- honestly, you're mostly confused and worried about where Ajax was, thinking that this scruffy Abyss monster ate him. but Foul Legacy quickly trills, an odd, disjointed sound, and snuggles up to you, curiously poking you and tugging at your sleeve. Ajax feels safe around you, so Legacy does too- you're a bright light shining in the cold darkness of Snezhnaya, of the Abyss, and he much prefers the warmth of your embrace to the frigid winds outside. you can't understand his chitters and chirps, but the fluffy creature is just as talkative as Ajax, with his same bright ginger hair...

oh. your eyes widen with realization, and Foul Legacy lets out a happy peep and curls closer to you

the most telltale sign of Ajax transforming into Legacy is his eye color- what's normally a vivid, lightless blue deepens to a twilight purple- and you know to grab his hand and drag him somewhere quiet, for in your presence and your presence alone, the Abyssal hunger for blood falls away, leaving a sweet and affectionate Foul Legacy. he likes your hands and face most of all, gently squishing your cheeks and nibbling your fingers, giving your forehead adoring licks. for now he's still small enough to snuggle in your lap as you sit on Ajax's bed, although you know he'll grow, so you spend entire afternoons by his side, listening to him sing in some strange language that you can't quite grasp or reading one of your books together, watching the snow fall silently through the window

and he was your special secret- just you, Ajax, and his monstrous, adorable other half

[chapinii]

Many on Quesadilla island believe that Fitmc was very much closeted to himself and the world up until he arrived on the QSMP, but perhaps that closet wasn't quite as locked as some may presume.

With the environment of 2b2t being so rife with hatred and homophobia, a deep and meaningful relationship was always out of the question. But within its depths lay the rub, of Fit, going through the all too familiar queer experience of being very aware of his sexuality against this toxic landscape, and knowing the possibility of others out there being just like him. Others whom he could never risk reaching out to in public, but longed to all the same.

He'd heard and seen his fair share of casual to severe homophobia, as well as witnessing with some amusement how the homoerotic tension some players swear against can tear factions apart. He knows all too well the irony that comes with a land so dominated by toxic masculinity and bigotry. This is a place where a man will stare you in the eyes, caress your cheek so gently, then spit in your face in disgust before insta-killing you. Of course, the price for outing somebody in such a place is a pretty penny for sure. Being a blank slate in the land of anarchy is your strongest asset. The last thing you want to do is throw fuel onto the fire and give people even more of a reason to put your head on a spike.

And so, he kept his feelings repressed- for the most part. He'd hide a blush as he melted internally over a handshake with a particularly muscular allied base leader. He'd allow himself the luxury of a poster, of an old Hollywood western starring a (very) dashing cowboy, that he'd stick crudely on the bedroom wall of wherever he'd end up staying for a while. But perhaps, just a couple times, he'd had a few small but significant experiences: the touch of a hand on his for just a fraction too long, warm eyes from a face he can't quite remember looking him up and down, all but rendering him breathless. Split second opportunities that would make those feelings bubble up to the surface, too strong to ever truly ignore. Being a lone mercenary in a world of anarchy is all well and good, but God does it get lonely.

He and Pac like to take things slow. It's a mutual decision. Neither of them have ever truly felt the need to sit down and discuss why. Fit wouldn't like him to know what he thinks about whenever the subject drifts towards the two of them going any further with their relationship. Every time Pac makes any kind of suggestive advance, heck, even if he looks at the man for too long, his mind can't help but think back to one quiet night on 2b2t, so many years ago. Flashes of encountering a stranger, deep underground, of a clumsy, desperate kiss. Stubble on stubble, the raw smell of dirt and sweat and cigarette smoke. He remembers the thrill, the terrifying electricity of it all, until a clatter was heard in the cave behind them and the moment was gone forever. It meant everything and nothing at the same time, that chance encounter. It was the closest he'd ever came to a real connection with somebody. He didn't know what became of the other man who so urgently whispered 'run', into his ear. He could have killed Fit right there, made a point of it, and yet he didn't. The mere memory of it petrified him, but by God, did he feel alive.

All the same, he didn't dare risk anything like that again. That was until he came to the QSMP, a place where he didn't have to hide himself from others, but still he airs on the side of caution. He's afraid of getting things wrong, of throwing himself into something he can't run away from. This isn't just some random encounter with a player in 2b2t. Pac is different. Fit knows he's got a past of his own, he sees how it torments him sometimes. What if daring to make a move, even kissing him opens up old wounds for the both of them?

Fit's no longer hiding in the dark. Making things 'official' with Pac is not a once in a lifetime chance, but the longer Fit hangs around him he feels like it is. He wants to keep Pac safe just as he kept himself safe for all those years. When he finally lets himself get closer to his roommate, one wrong move and another hypothetical cave noise could sound, followed by the form of something even more terrible that could rip the two apart forever and send Fit straight back to square one.

Slow and steady wins the race. Slow and steady keeps them both safe.

But God, what he'd give to feel that thrill again.

[lattedusks-mochadawns]

Lower!Wild Kratts AU

Haha I have made an AU. The outfits are from that hit game Project Sekai from the Hermit Card Set. The concept is based off of Lower One’s Eyes by Nulut (the Vocaloid MV version) mainly for Koki and Aviva’s backstory. Hence why this is called the Lower!AU.

This AU is sorta set in a fantasy world in a medieval-ish era (I guess it’s mainly fantasy.) The most summary I will give for now is that bros wanna form a creature adventuring group but the townsfolk are too pussy to join. They meet Koki, then Aviva who both join but have unresolved conflict from their past life before. And they pick up Jimmy who was napping on a rock upon their first meet. Jimmy is just Jimmy in this AU. Or is he?

[weather-mood]

Danlou Rec List

A compelling case for Danlou. Be converted to Danlou in 10 fics or less.

nothing left to give you now (E) by @diasdelasombra

baby, I’m your man (M) by @devotiondroid

long live the car crash hearts (M) by @keepoffthetardis

be still my foolish heart (T) by @keepoffthetardis

a ghost is a memory (T) by @keithal

a memory is a ghost (regret, regret) (M) by @enterprisery

and he was mine (E) by watertiger

the first interview (E) by @kittyldpdl

What Pawns Can Do (E) by @nakiaslilhoodoo

Anything from the Danlou noir collection

Bonus

latent energy (E) by Anonymous

[smile-files]

just a kind word for all of you lovely folks out there: if you say the r-slur or you don't call out your friends for saying it then i hate your guts :)

[seariii]

My take on Kotoko as a morally gray person, about a morally gray character who thinks in black and white

first of all, i absolutely love this woman, so all of this comes from a kotoko enjoyer, but when talking about canon i can not turn the blind eye to the wrongs she has done. i will talk about my perception of her murder, of her as a character and about her beating up the guilty prisoners (i will put this emoji 🐺 when i jump subjects just to keep it organized)

this next phrase is my personal take, i know some will disagree with me and thats okay, which also works as a tl;dr:

Kotoko didnt do anything wrong outside the prison, but she did wrong inside of it

i know beating up people isnt actually good, but she did research upon research to get to the bottom of the cases she was investigating and found the culprits this way. "but she could've brought them upon justice" and you arent wrong about that, but the victim she actually murdered, even when his identity was revealed to the public, the law didnt bring justice upon him.

screenshots & translations from @/maristelina (i didnt put everything in here, if you wanna check all the articles, please go check on their post!)

her victim was a child murderer, he had already killed 10 girls in 2 years, but even then, he was still free because of his father’s position of power. 

then we have her other victim, the man she beat up and sent to the hospital

there are a couple articles dedicated to this one. but a quick run down: the man, Mikio Oshii, was wanted for theft and assault, having tricked at least 2 or 3 elderly people, pretending to be a bank employee, and convincing them to hand over cash, he pushed one of his victims, fracturing her ankle. 

then we have the article about Kotoko’s assault. again a quick run down: someone heard screaming and found a man lying on the ground, who had lost consciousness after being beaten up, and was taken to the hospital. the police suspects a man (kotoko was wearing men’s sneakers and covering herself up). the victim was wanted for theft and assault charges and was Mikio Oshii.

further proving that she was aiming at people who prayed on the weak, she had good intentions (at least at first), and we also have the facts that she was trying to go through the lawful(?) path at first 

she was studying law, showing us that she genuinely believed her cause, bringing justice to the world and protecting the innocent, or “weaklings” as she calls them, more on that later.  that she was gonna try and go for the morally correct route, but what changed? what is that thing she “wants to do”? i hope we get to see her reasoning on the next trial. for now i agree with the theory that says that her or her family was victim of someone like the guy that was above law for having money and a father with a position of power. showing her the flaws of the law/justice system and thus taking matters into her own hands.

🐺 i personally believe that there are some people who dont deserve second chances, like pedos and rapists, and like the man kotoko murdered, between others. so this is why i forgive her from her crimes. she did proper research, she is passionate about it, she wants to protect the weak, or thats what she tries to convince herself of, because this brings me to my next point

she does have those violent tendencies, and she enjoys them

“this feels so good”

this is from the t1 trailer, people suspect this were phrases they said after their murders. so i think there is a possibility that while she was trying to convince herself that her actions were for justice, to try and protect the weak, and i dont doubt that that was where it came from at first, she ended up doing it out of personal enjoyment.

i once read that “if you do a good deed because you want to do it, it means that you arent a good person. to be a good person you need to do good deeds without wanting something in return” meaning that you should be uninterested on even the satisfaccion of said deed. this is a phrase that i absolutely hate and dont agree with, but i think it applies in here. kotoko was trying to do something “good” (morality is on the bearer’s eyes) by bringing to justice people who kept escaping it, by taking revenge for those weaklings she so desperately wants to protect, and while thats her main motivation, she also does it because she wants to.

i believe my girl has a thirst for power. she is self righteous, the way she refers to the people she wants to protect as “weaklings” its like shes putting them down in some way, the way on her VD she just wants to keep rambling about her theories, the way she inserted herself on Mikoto’s interrogation, the way she just assumes Es’ intentions and doesnt seem to accept when they call her out on it. she doesnt listen to others at all and once her mind is set on something, there is nothing that can move her from there. she isnt a good person…. but also, she isnt a bad person, and i feel that the fandom forgets those two statements can coexist. even if she sees herself as a saint, and firmly believes that she did nothing wrong, thats because

🐺 her world view is black and white. and this is why while i condone her actions on her murder, i do not condone her actions of beating up the guilty prisoners.

a lot of the prisoners have a black and white morality, heck, milgram itself as a system IS black and white. and from what i’ve read, a lot of the fandom also thinks in black and white. all of which i find extremely… interesting…. tbf its the nd majority vote game about nd murderers on the nd website, so makes sense (im half joking, sorry)

kotoko attacked the guilty prisoners because thats what she had been doing, and thats what she got voted innocent for on t1 (i wasnt around). but no one told her to do that, she acted on her own, she misinterpreted her judgment and forced her opinions and methods on others, claiming it were Es’, without their knowledge and without ours.

as a side note, when i first got into the fandom, i found surprising to see that kotoko was inno and fuuta was guilty on t1, since from my perspective their crimes are basically the same, they both exposed and harrowed “bad” people.

i make a lot of emphasis on black and white thinking, since its something im familiarized with, for example lets talk Amane since its her trial is still going

she is the type of girl who will correct other’s mistakes, who will call them out and try to fix them so that the others can be right, like her. her truth is absolute and even when it flails, she stands her ground and proceeds to believe in herself and her views of the world. in what i said, you could re read that and it would also apply to kotoko, and just like her, Amane also convinced herself of doing something she wanted to do by telling herself it was the right thing to do. kotoko’s “protecting the weaklings” directly translates to amane’s “punishing her mother for her sins (hurting the cat)”. so while in both cases there were hidden feelings, something tells me neither of the girls knew about their own ulterior motives, thats how well they convinced themselves.

people who think in black and white just see it as it is, right or wrong, left or right, green or blue, there is no other choice but those two. and from my personal experiences with myself and with others, its something you end up applying in almost every aspect of your life and its really difficult to change up this way of thinking. beginning to see the grays of the world and its other options its not an easy task without some proper help

overall, i dont believe she was right for hurting the guilty prisoners, and fuuta losing his eye because of her gives me a horrible gut feeling. overall, it also ties on her need for power, since she firmly believes shes Es’ “fang”, thus reducing herself a weapon for justice, not implementing her own judgment anymore, but someone else’s, ours, which my problem with her actions in this scenario. i firmly believe that if outside the prison she had came across mahiru or fuuta, she wouldn’t have attacked them, but  after her t1 inno, and getting her ideals supported, her beliefs became radical, and now shes going based on our ideals, our judgments, our right or wrong, our black and white morality, MILGRAM’s black and white morality.

🐺 im still a kotoko inno truther, and i love her, shes my favorite character. but i dont expect her to get innocent this trial, as she did wrong. i dont want to say it was our fault that she harmed the other prisoners, since we had no way of knowing this would happen. in retrospect we can say whatever we want, but none of us can read the future. 

i dont even have a real argument on why you should vote her innocent “shes pretty” is not good enough lmao… but who knows, maybe we will see something that makes her worthy of an inno vote on her second trial a few months from now (not counting on it, probably wont be enough)

in the end i wrote this because im really passionate about this character and her black and white views on the world (shes so intense). and because this beautiful person @archivalofsins told me to "keep talking about kotoko" and i have zero self control regarding this fictional woman.

🐺 i believe with the help of a third party, someone who could act as a moral compass to her and could teach her that the world has more colors, more choices, and if she actually learns about this, she would end up being an amazing thing. 

also, if the theory about her being an accomplice of the serial killer turns out to be true, i will puke and cry :) 

[midnight-wood]

Thank u for reading Nightfall. 🥺🥺🥺 Means a lot to me since I worked very hard on it but it just didn't take off.

Omg of course!!!!!!

I really enjoyed it so so much 🖤🖤🖤

Should you ever add to it, put me on the tag list!!!!

Also I will say, back when I wrote consistently, (pre COVID, a lifetime ago) nobody ever loved the ones I put my all into??? But that did not stop me and it should not stop you. 🖤

[vaugarde]

ash’s sinnoh team is so good (mostly) and im fond of the core six and then you look closer and you remember that only half of them were treated all that well

[writereleaserepeat]

So, I finally dove back into some great writing by @peachy-panic after some chapter updates to their stories Do No Harm and Fifty-Eight Days. I really adore the setting and characters in Fifty-Eight days, and anonamously received the blessing to write some fanfiction, so I did! Spoilers for Fifty-Eight Days below the cut - please go read their work if you haven't already!

There's a nameless woman mentioned in the flashback that starts "Reconvergence," and I thought it would be interesting to see the rescue scene from a different point of view (and perhaps from the point of view of someone who is mostly lucid at the time). It's obviously a fan work, so there are some canon divergences and creative liberties just to make it flow, but I really love the characters and hope I did them a bit of justice.

Spoilers for Fifty-Eight Days by peachy-panic

TW: implied non-con, aftermath of non-con, nudity mention, strong language, kidnapping, blood mention, gore mention, violence mention

---

“You should be prepared for anything,” the Lieutenant Colonel had said. As any dutiful officer would, Eleanor Martin took those words to heart, and prepared as well as one could. Naievely, she thought she had prepared for anything. But that pre-mission briefing felt like a lifetime ago now that she was staring at the gore-soaked aftermath of the compound raid. 

Voss’s men had put up a fight, just as they had expected. The winding halls were lined with bodies of the nameless henchmen, grey brain matter collecting in puddles alongside skull fragments, crimson splattered up against the walls. Ivory paint was pock-marked with countless bullet holes, and the smell of gunpowder lingered alongside the pungent odor of copper. Death permeated every pore of her body. 

It hadn’t been hard to find Voss’s room, an elegant suite tucked away at the heart of the sprawling compound. He had thought himself a king, and the bedroom had clearly been built to reflect this sentiment. 

The only crown Voss wore now was a ring of liquid red. His eyes were already glossed over with the pallor of death, and he was gazing up at the ceiling with a permanent grimace etched in his leathery skin. For a man who had been hunted by authorities for years, a man turned into a monstrous specter that rivaled the devil himself, he seemed so small as he slumped lifeless against the bedroom wall with a bullet hole between his brows. 

But it wasn’t Voss that had seared an image in Eleanor’s mind when she entered the room. It was the two young men, the very ones they had also hoped to find in this place, caught amidst the gunfire and the chaos. Naked, soaked in blood, the whites of their eyes showing like frightened dogs. They hardly resembled the two photos that authorities had received six long weeks ago, but it was unmistakably the two missing missionaries. And amidst the flurry of uniformed men entering the room, it was clear that no one knew what to do with the surviving victims. Perhaps this was because they were never expected to be found alive. 

“Gordon, call the medics in,” Eleanor barked at her colleague. He nodded, shoving his pistol back in its holster before running out of the room. Eleanor tried to ignore the fact the other soldier looked as though he were about to be sick.

Movement caught her eye, and Eleanor turned her attention back to the victims. The boy she recognized as Grayson Dawning scrambled off the bed, his face stained with tears and blood, an expression of hopeless despair frozen in place. Alive. He was alive, unmistakably, honest-to-god alive. 

While finding both victims alive was better than any of the authorities involved had expected, Eleanor could already tell that survival was not a kindness to either of these young men. The near-catatonic one—Elijah—was still facedown on the bed and gagged. Even among the armed men reorganizing themselves to sweep the rest of the compound, his cloth-stifled soft sobs still filled the room with heart-wrenching pain. 

“You- you gotta help him,” Grayson mumbled as he staggered to his feet beside the bed, hands pulling at the cloth gag that was stuffed in Elijah’s mouth. Grayson didn’t seem to care that he was still exposed, burdened by the stench of sweat and sex across every inch of his skin. Eleanor’s stomach turned. 

Be prepared for anything.

“Easy, Mr. Dawning,” she murmured, unsure of what else to say. After all, what could she say? It didn’t take an expert or a medic to understand what they had stormed in on. 

Blood streaked down Elijah’s legs, across his face, all over the sheets of the bed. From the mass of wounds on his back and his thighs, it was hard to tell which injuries were fresh and which were just gnarled scars. But rather than attempt to stymie the bleeding, she took to pulling Grayson away, trying to get a handle on the situation until the medics arrived. 

“I’ll get that,” she promised as she nudged Grayson’s trembling hands away from Elijah’s head. The young man didn’t offer her any resistance as she carefully undid the knot buried within the unruly curls. She couldn’t help but wince as her own fingers shook, but soon the knot loosened, and the crude gag finally came undone. With as much caution as she could muster she eased it out of his mouth. 

“Elijah, please,” Grayson cried softly, his hands touching Elijah’s shoulder, trying to break through the fog that had overcome the younger of the pair. But as Eleanor could clearly see, Elijah’s eyes were unfocused, welling with tears, vacant but for the slightest spark of life. She wondered if he could even hear his companion at all. 

“Well, shit,” Adam muttered as he looked at the two boys on the bed, the medic suddenly having appeared at Eleanor’s side. He dropped the medical bag to the floor and began his usual procedures, pulling the zippers open to reveal his instruments and supplies. There was no mistaking the urgency with which the man had gotten down to business.

“Adam, this is Grayson and Elijah,” she said, gesturing to them each in turn. She wasn’t trained to interact with patients like Adam was, but the least she could do was give them a name to attach to a face. Maybe she hoped it would give them some comfort, ground them amidst the chaos that had just rained down. It just seemed like the right thing to do. 

She wasn’t even sure there was a right thing to do in a situation like this. 

“Hey, Elijah,” Adam said as he settled down by the bedside. “My name’s Adam, and I’m here to help you out.” Elijah didn’t respond, eyes still staring off into empty space, tears leaking freely in streams through the blood and grime. 

“Please, you have to help him,” Grayson said, pleading. “Please, Elijah, I’m so sorry. I’m- it’s going to be okay. I'm sorry.” It was impossible to miss how Grayson’s hand wrapped around Elijah’s, squeezing tight. Whatever they had gone through, they were the only ones that could understand each other now. 

“I’m checking your vitals now,” Adam continued, narrating his actions to Elijah softly beneath Grayson’s panicked chatter. “We’re going to start with your blood pressure and your heart. Eleanor, can you finish untying him?” 

Shit. Eleanor hadn’t even thought to undo the restraints binding the boy’s wrists. She made quick work of those so Adam could slide the blood pressure cuff around Elijah’s recently-released arm. Moments later the rest of the medical team arrived, two gurneys and more medical supplies in tow. 

“Yeah, we’ve got to load them up and get them out of here as soon as we can,” Adam said as he stood up to look at Eleanor, face taut with a newfound urgency. Whatever numbers the paramedic had pulled from his devices, they hadn't been good. “Our team will take Elijah here, and Joe’s team can take Grayson. We’ll take them both to the predetermined hospital, but it’s up to your folks to get the American authorities down there.” 

“Fuck, right, I’ll let the Lieutenant Colonel know,” Eleanor answered, reaching for her walkie-talkie on her belt. The fact that these boys were alive was going to spare something of an international incident. She was supposed to let the Lieutenant Colonel know as soon as there was any definitive contact with the boys, dead or alive. Somehow, that had slipped her mind upon seeing their condition, that scene she had walked in on. If word of what truly happened got to the press, she wasn’t sure it would be much better than if they had been found dead. 

After she made the call to her boss—yes, they were alive, and they were about to get brought out to the awaiting ambulances—she helped pull Grayson away from Elijah. This gave the other paramedics enough time to get to work on Grayson, running a rapid assessment of his vitals and responsiveness. As soon as he had lost contact with Elijah’s skin, Grayson seemed to disappear in much the same dissociative state. 

This older one of the pair, supposedly a group leader that had pursued Elijah after he went missing, was barely more lucid than his catatonic companion. And as Elijah was rolled out of the room on a stretcher, bodies cleared out of the way as they went, Grayson seemed lost in a fog. Eleanor kept her grip on his upper arm as he looked around like a lost child. 

“Where is he?” Grayson asked, panic renewed as he came back to himself, if only just. “Where did you take him?” He pulled himself from Eleanor’s grasp and stumbled towards the hallway, past the broken door, feet passing over the puddles of blood without hesitation. 

“Where is Elijah?” He called out into the nothingness as Eleanor and the other paramedics followed after him, prepared to intercept and bring him to a gurney of his own. 

“Mr. Dawning,�� a shorter paramedic pleaded, “You need to sit down and let the medics look at you. We need to get you to the hospital.” 

It was obvious by the full-body tremors that Grayson wasn’t particularly amiable to that suggestion. Eleanor, not versed in the art of comforting, and without a maternal instinct in her body, again attempted to soothe. 

“It’s over now,” she said as she prepared to guide Grayson out of the winding compound. “It’s over, you’re safe.” He seemed to flinch when she reached for his shoulder again, so she drew her hand back. It would have to be enough to walk by his side. So she did, walking close by his shoulders, the paramedics rolling the gurney and their supplies a few paces behind. But she may as well have not even been there as they navigated the winding halls, Grayson still calling out Elijah’s name, eyes darting to every face they passed. 

Once they were outside in the driveway, washed in the bright white of industrial grade lights and the flashing of emergency vehicles preparing to depart, Grayson seemed to snap back into focus. Of course; it seemed that Elijah was about to be loaded into one of the waiting ambulances, his body atop a stretcher and draped in blankets. 

“Elijah!” Grayson cried out, voice cutting above the fray of uniformed officials trying to make some sense of the carnage that was unraveling inside the compound. From the chatter on Eleanor’s radio, it seemed that these wayward missionaries were not the only victims to be found in the recesses of Voss’s personal playground. More ambulances - and coroners - would likely be on their way in a matter of minutes. 

Grayson nearly tumbled to the ground as his foot caught on the edge of the gurney, but somehow the emaciated boy caught himself and continued to propel forwards towards Elijah. That spark of desperation pulled again at Eleanor’s heartstrings. She watched the paramedics try to ward Grayson off, refuse his entry into the ambulance, their faces stern. Even Adam seemed prepared to put his foot down and protect the patient in his stead.

For a moment, Eleanor was lost. She likely would never see these boys again, not in person. Perhaps on the news or in her nightmares. But even if she would never see them again, she would remember these moments for the rest of her life. Perhaps they would too. What kindness could she afford them now? 

“Let him,” she said, walking a few paces towards the waiting ambulance. “Let them go together.” 

One of the paramedics looked like he was prepared to argue, but Eleanor knew that her rank was visible on her chest patch. A short tilt of her chin and squint of her eyes was all it took to make them fold. 

As soon as wordless permission was granted, Grayson grabbed onto Elijah’s hand, both of their knuckles white. Fear still danced around them, but in the last few moments that Eleanor saw them before the doors closed, she knew she had made the right decision. Whatever awaited those boys in the future, and whenever they had to reckon with what she had glimpsed upon breaching that door, that would be saved for another day. For now, for these few short minutes before they were subjected to a thousand questions and countless doctors prodding at them, they would have each other. Maybe that would be enough.

[shanie]

The Lost Shanie Fanfic [Untitled]

SOOOO, I was cleaning out my cloud drive......

I have been trying to clean out my computer and cloud drive all night in an attempt to make the whole shebang work better, and in the process stumbled upon a fanfic that, upon extensive investigation, I had written on the weekend of March 5th, 2022. It was started the morning after the Madison Square Garden where Sami and Kevin hugged the first time after the 2021 feud and abandoned, fully completed on Monday (The Raw where Kevin first called out Stone Cold Steve Austin). If memory and cagematch are in sync here, the reason it was abandoned is because it factors in house shows, but then I realized on Monday evening that factoring in house shows would negate the entire fic because the next house show for Kevin was in Allentown, while the next one for Sami was in LAVAL.

But, see... I'm not as hung up on that shit now as I was at the time. And now, two and a half years later, nobody remembers the existence of that Laval show, while the imagery of Kevin hugging at MSG lives on to this day.

So, have at it. The Lost Shanie Zowens Fanfic, taking place after the MSG show in March 2022 where Sami and Kevin officially begin the road to reconciliation.

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

[Fic Untitled] Rating: T for language Pairings: Sami Zayn/Kevin Owens Characters: Sami Zayn, Kevin Owens, Johnny Knoxville (mentioned), Roman Reigns (mentioned), Seth Rollins (mentioned) Other Tags: kissing, mutual baggage, references to Final Battle 2010, references to Day One 2022, sadness, Sami Zayn is Not Okay (is he ever?) Fanfic under cut.

“You don’t hate me anymore,” said Kevin Owens.

It wasn’t a question, mostly because he knew that if he asked the dejected, depressed man sitting on the steel chair in front of him, he probably wouldn’t like the answer.

But as Sami Zayn turned his sad, dark hazel eyes up at his former best friend, he knew he didn’t have to.

Sami’s voice was low and quiet as he spoke and Kevin was grateful that Sami had chosen a quiet out of the way place to sulk.

“I have more important people to hate,” he replied, before amending, “well, not more important. Just a bigger fish to fry.”

Sami’s eyes closed as he seethed. “I hate him he’s a jackass.”

“Literally.”

Sami’s eyes stayed shut. “You didn’t cost me the title, he did. So yeah, forgive me if my hatred of you is diverted at the moment.”

“I would have stopped him.”

Sami’s brow furrowed and his head shot up in puzzlement at the remark, as though he didn’t understand the words Kevin had just spoken.

“You would have what?” he asked.

“I would have stopped him,” Kevin repeated. “If I had been there, you’d still be champion. Hell if it were up to me, you’d be Universal Champion. Roman is a bag of dicks and since I couldn’t take his belt I had hoped you would.”

Sami’s eyes stayed on him a moment before he shook his head and looked away. “Yeah right,” he said. “I’ll never be Universal Champion. This whole company has it out for me.”

Kevin was struck by the utter sadness in Sami’s voice. He hadn’t changed his mind, he still believed in his theories, but it was as if he’d run out of energy to scream; it was like losing his beloved title a third time had left him too broken to fight back anymore. That said, Sami’s quiet mourning for his IC belt was the most coherent that Kevin had seen him in over a year and he’d have been lying if he said it didn’t warm his heart to see.

Still, he knew that Sami needed comfort and he was damn sure going to give it to him, all previous bloodshed and violence aside.

“I don’t have it out for you, Sami,” Kevin told him. “I’d give anything to see you succeed in this company.”

“Really, Kev? Because last time I saw you, you tried to break my back. Again.”

There was no malice or anger in his voice. Hell, there was barely any emotion at all and it broke Kevin’s heart how utterly empty Sami’s words sounded. There was no rage, but also not a trace of Sami’s former wellspring of hope and optimism.

Kevin was right. Sami didn’t hate him anymore. He was indifferent.

And it made Kevin want to scream.

His breath caught in his chest as he tried to respond, but Sami did nothing to break the tense silence, simply sitting there staring at the floor.

After a few moments, Kevin managed to get out two words.

“I’m sorry.”

There was a tense silence between them before Sami sighed. His voice was little more than a whisper as he returned, “Me too.”

Silence fell between them once more, nearly tactile and Kevin could feel it choking him. But after a minute or so, Sami rubbed his hands on his tights before standing up.

“Well,” he said, matter-of-factly, “this is awkward. I’m gonna go.”

Kevin watched as Sami turned to leave and he could feel his soul burst. Wrestlemania was a whole month away, and with them on separate rosters, he knew he wouldn’t have the chance to see Sami again before that. Also, he had no idea which Sami would show to WrestleMania. Would it be the one standing before him, depressed and empty, but calm? Or would it be crazed, paranoid Sami who you couldn’t hold a coherent conversation with if you wanted to?

No, Kevin knew he couldn’t let him leave. Not yet. Not when they were so close to…

“Wait –” Kevin said, grabbing hold of Sami’s wrist to prevent him from leaving.

“Kevin…” Sami said warily but Kevin wasn’t letting go. He tugged on Sami’s hand, coaxing him to turn around.

“Look at me, Sami.”

Sami didn’t meet his eyes.

“I mean it, look at me.”

Sami raised his head slightly, peering upward to gaze forlornly at Kevin.

“If we ever get drafted to the same show again,” Kevin told him, “I’ll get you your title back.”

“I don’t need your help, Kevin.” Sami returned and, there. Finally, Kevin saw a spark in Sami’s eyes. It wasn’t much, but there was just a hint of stubbornness in his friend’s tone that gave him hope. Just a small flicker of the old Sami Zayn, with his never-say-die attitude and underdog heart and soul that Kevin used to hold so dear.

And he couldn’t help but smile at the sight of it.

“What?” Sami asked in an accusatory tone. “Why are you smiling?”

Kevin kept smiling. “Nothing, just… I missed you.”

Sami shot an annoyed glare.

“And you’re right,” Kevin added. “You don’t need my help. But it is nice for someone to have your back.”

Sami’s mood shifted instantly at the statement, and he yanked his hand away, rolling his eyes and shaking his head.

“What, like Seth?” Sami scoffed. “Kevin you can’t trust him, he doesn’t care about you!”

“He does!” Kevin protested.

“He’s a manipulative bastard! He’s not your best friend and he never will be! He’s going to stab you in the back, he does it every time.”

“Yeah well so have I and we’ve made it work!”

Kevin regretted the words immediately as he watched the full weight of their meaning fall over Sami. Sami, the one person who he had betrayed more than anyone else. Time and time and time again he’d betrayed Sami and honestly, Kevin knew he was being foolish if he thought there was a world where they could still be friends.

Maybe that was why he had been so determined to keep Seth around. Seth was just as much of a prick as he was. Scum tends to stick to its own kind, why wouldn’t they be friends? They were so much alike.

Still, Sami’s wounded look was pressing on his heart.

“You’re right,” Kevin admitted, his voice catching on the words, “He’s not my best friend. Never was.”

The silent, unspoken implication of who Kevin’s best friend truly was wasn’t lost on Sami, and, drawing in a sharp breath, Sami’s face clenched as he turned away. A whole gamut of emotions ran across his face ranging from pain to frustration to regret to what looked almost like hope and, after almost a full minute, he relaxed, his shoulders slumped and his head hung. His eyes were closed and Kevin wished more than anything he could know what was going on in the redhead’s mind. What he was thinking. Was the hatred returning? Had he messed it up already and it would end up in yet another fight? Or was Sami sad, in mourning over what should have been a lifelong friendship that both of them had managed to bungle into oblivion.

Mostly Kevin. He’d have to be a moron to think the blame was equal on that front.

But still, he really wanted to know what was going through Sami’s head.

He didn’t have to wait long.

“Did you mean what you said?” Sami asked. “At Day 1. Did you mean what you said about me?”

Kevin’s tongue was thick in his mouth but he got the words out regardless. “Yeah, I did. You’re my…”

The final word died before he could say it, stuck in his throat and refusing to break free.

He didn’t have to say it.

“Soulmate,” Sami said through gritted teeth.

Kevin was grateful for his saying it but he didn’t seem very happy about it, and his suspicions were confirmed when Sami let out a growl and turned away, scrubbing his face and pulling at his hair. Kevin was stunned, unable to move as he watched Sami’s rage, balling his fists and, out of nowhere, throwing the chair he’d been sitting on to the side before turning to face Kevin once more, a pissed-off finger shoved in his face.

“YOU!” he snarled, “You don’t get to do this! Not after all we’ve been through!” He began waving his arms wildly the way he always did when he was worked up. “You can’t just show up ask for a hug, pat my cheek, and think it’s all fine! It’s NOT!”

“I thought you said you didn’t hate me,” Kevin replied.

Sami grabbed Kevin by the shirt, pulled him forward, and roared, “I DON’T!”

KO’s eyes went wide and he froze. Their faces were only inches apart and Kevin couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. He hadn’t been this close to Sami in forever and it was killing him.

But, after a few seconds, Sami let him go, stepping back with an errant sniffle.

“I don’t,” he repeated, his voice much softer. “But I don’t trust you either.”

“I hurt you.”

Once again, it wasn’t a question.

“Far too much,” came the response. “I can’t just forget.”

“I know. And if I could do it all over, I wouldn’t have. I would have done it differently, stayed with you, protected you, anything. I wouldn’t have hurt you and I wouldn't have screwed things up like that.”

There was a frantic nervousness in Kevin’s voice, a shrill edge that was equal parts anxious and begging. Kevin wasn’t sure who he was begging but a part of him wished that whatever forces or God was running the universe would listen to him, to give him what he dreamed of as he slept and, when he couldn’t sleep, what kept him tearfully awake and in prayer.

A second chance.

Well, another chance at least. He was pretty sure he’d wasted his second, third, and maybe fourth chances by that point. But those weren’t the chances he longed for. He wanted to go back, back to before he’d destroyed the best thing that ever happened to him in the first place. Before he’d ruined everything.

He wanted to go back and tell the dumbass kid that he was not to do it.

Because it wasn’t worth it. All his ambition and drive. Sure it had earned him accolades and gold. So much gold. But it was at the cost of something far more precious than gold and he’d gladly give all those shining belts back if he meant having his friend at his side once more.

However, as he stood there before that friend, Kevin saw what could only be resigned disgust cross his face.

“Yes, you would have,” Sami told him bitterly, “I know you better than anyone, even yourself. You still would have turned on me. It’s who you are. I wish it wasn’t, but it is.”

“I wouldn’t –”

“You treated me like trash even when we were teaming,” Sami rebutted. “The only time you ever gave a damn was after I saved your life and even then you didn’t stick around.”

Kevin’s jaw clenched. He didn’t want it to be true. Memories, cold, harsh memories of rejected affections and shouted abuse came flooding back and he knew Sami was right. Few things in life were certain. Death, taxes, snowy winters back home, midday storms in Florida, and somewhere on that list, Kevin Owens being a shit friend.

He sighed. Sometimes, he really hated when Sami was right.

He stayed silent. There was nothing to say in response that could or would ever absolve him of his crimes, so he didn’t bother.

Sami, however, just wiped the tears that Kevin hadn’t even noticed from his eyes and, shaking his head, said, “Goodbye, Kevin.”

Kevin let him go. He didn’t reach out that time, instead watching as Sami turned and headed down the hall.

Kevin was about six paces from him before he called after.

“I do love you, you know,” Kevin called out. The words were more for himself than anything. “I meant when I said that too and I’m not going to stop.”

Sami stopped. He didn’t turn around though and Kevin watched as he huffed in what could only be exasperation before shaking his head. His back was turned and his voice distant but he heard the distinct sound of his friend cussing.

“Criss,” Sami swore, and, suddenly, he turned on his heel and strode back to Kevin, grabbing him by the face and smashing his lips against him.

Panic surged in Kevin’s chest and he had barely managed to register the kiss before Sami had pulled back.

Sami was just staring at him, his eyes sharp and piercing, and Kevin could feel his entire self being unmade by them. All his strength and composure were torn away and, before he could stop himself, he wrapped his arms around his friend, pulling him close and holding on for dear life.

He didn’t care if Sami hugged back that time either. Kevin didn’t need him to. He just needed to hold Sami, to feel long, copper curls against his cheek, and as Kevin buried his face against the man’s shoulders, his eyes drifted closed.

He didn’t know how long they stayed like that before he felt Sami’s arms wrap around his waist in return and the faintest whisper escaped his friend’s lips.

“I missed you too.”