#the knee replacement hasn’t even happened yet

[lavender-femme]

.

[writeyouin]

I love your writing so much! Honestly you need more credit. Could I get a request for a medic femme that died while saving another bot on a mission and their s/o (Rodimus, Rung or Whirl) had/is having a funeral service? Thank you so much and I hope you have an awesome day 💕💕

MTMTE / LL Bot X Reader Drabbles – Funeral

A/N – Hey, this was a long time coming, so I hope you’ve had many good days in the time you have waited for this.

Warnings – None.

Rating – T

RUNG

Rung thought he knew what heartbreak was.

He has been around for a long, long Yet, he never felt old until now.

He has seen friends come and go. The deaths of so many people he knew, but he wasn’t close to any of them, or rather, not as close as he could have been.

He never lost an Amica Endurae, or worse… a Conjunx, until now.

So many of his therapy sessions revolved around him comforting other bots through the worst losses imaginable. He has seen this before, known what it looks like, and felt the related compassion, but to go through it himself? Nothing can compare to this feeling of emptiness.

You were a medic. You followed the rules. You really believed it when you said: “Do no harm.”

Rung had seen you do commendable things. You even had to be dragged from a DJD bot once because you refused to distinguish between any bot that needed medical care.

It was Ratchet who had dragged you away, knowing that you were wrong and that the bot wouldn’t be thankful for your help; he would have killed everyone around him as soon as you brought him back online.

You had cried for weeks after that, letting Rung comfort you over the loss of a prospective patient.

For you to die when you weren’t even fighting- For another bot to murder you while you were trying to resuscitate a fallen friend- It was unspeakable.

Rung removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his olfactory sensor, overcome by grief and tears.

He vented a few puffs of air through his systems and tried to compose himself, surprised when he felt a servo resting gently on his back.

He looked up to Drift, who nodded grimly at him, eyes alight with understanding.

Rung nodded back, replaced his glasses and stood up.

He would cry as soon as this was over, but first, he had to give a eulogy in your name as was his duty. It was the hardest thing he had ever had to do.

RODIMUS

“You know kid, it’s okay to- Hell, to anything! Scream, cry, break something. Please!” Hound begs. He wishes that he wasn’t the one who had to tell Rodimus but he was there when you… When Rodimus’ Conjunx Endurae died.

Upon hearing it, Rodimus didn’t say anything. He sat down against the wall and looked to the floor. It’s like he hasn’t heard a word that Hound said, but Hound knows he did. Whether he’s processing it is another matter.

“Rodimus, I-”

“How did it happen?” Rodimus asks quietly, clutching at his knees hard enough to make dents.

Hound likes telling stories. He likes to tell bots what it’s like on Earth, about the best places he’s visited, hell, he even enjoys regaling the crew with his best fights, but this? The story of your death? He doesn’t want to recount it. It’s too painful for Rodimus to hear.

Instead, he shakes his head, “I don’t think-”

Rodimus shoots up, enraged and shouting, “HOW DID IT HAPPEN?! TELL ME. HOW DID-” His voice breaks as the coolant starts pouring from his optics, “How did (Y/N)- Why did it have to be (Y/N)? Why? WHY?”

Rodimus is being irrational. They both know it, but Rodimus is hurting too much to be reasonable, and Hound isn’t going to argue.

Hound hugs Rodimus, feeling awful for the young bot. He doesn’t exactly answer the full truth of what the DJD did to you for getting in the way of their mission, albeit accidentally since you didn’t know who the bot you were treating was, let alone that he was on the DJD’s list. Yet, without answering the full question, Hound gives a half-truth. “I couldn’t provide enough cover fire.”

That much was true, but Hound wasn’t the only bot with you. It had been Drift to call a tactical retreat, and by the time everyone had looked back, you weren’t with them. You had stayed with your patient, till the very end.

They went back for you, of course they did, but they needed backup and their communications with the Lost Light had gone down over a cycle prior.

When they found your body… Hound felt sick at the memory. Sufficed to say, there wasn’t much left to find.

“I’m sorry, kid,” Hound says, and he repeats the words over and over as Rodimus clings to him. Rodimus is also stuck on his mantra. “It should have been me. (Y/N) was too good. It should have been me.”

By the time your funeral rolls around, Rodimus is a disgrace. He doesn’t attend the funeral. He hates such events. Instead, he sits alone in his room, crying. Some people come by to try and coax him out, but he ignores them all.

He can’t bear to be around anyone.

Now, after the funeral, he hates himself. All he keeps thinking is that he should have gone. He should have been there, and now it’s too late.

WHIRL

When Whirl is told about your death, there are bots on standby, waiting for the inevitable rampage.

Sure enough, it happens but at first, they leave him to it, seeing as Whirl is only destroying the furniture and given the circumstances, that’s reasonable.

Then, Whirl devolves into a shoot-the-messenger mindset, running at Rodimus with a knife he’d concealed in one of his subspaces.

Rodimus does little to defend himself. Frankly, he’s also in shock by your loss, and losing any crew member, especially one as sweet and kind as you takes a heavy toll on him.

But, that’s what the other crewmembers were for, and even though Rodimus never called for backup, they ran to defend him.

It takes Whirl a very long time to calm down, and he only does so because there’s nothing to destroy in the brig.

Whirl feels like shit. On the last day that he saw you alive, the two of you had been in an argument which he had started.

And even though he had been a complete aft, you still put your arm on his shoulder-plate to try and apologise, even though the argument hadn’t been your fault. Then Whirl shrugged you off and told you to join the slag heap.

He’d felt you sigh at that, but you somehow managed to put up with it. You told him you loved him, and to take care of himself, and- and that you’d be back soon.

Whirl can’t apologise for the things he said. Worse, he hadn’t even meant them.

The only reason he’d picked that stupid fight with you was because he was terrified of losing you.

That morning, you had brought up the subject of performing the Conjunx rites with him, and Whirl had this feeling of dread. Dread that you would be trapped with him, and by extension that he wasn’t good enough for you.

So, Whirl did what he always did. He fucked everything up and tried to push you away, even though he always wanted to be with him.

Then you had gone to work and- ARGH! Whirl didn’t want to think about how you died. You were gone and there was no bringing you back!

Still, that’s all Whirl can think about. He spends the next few cycles alone, stuck replaying the stupid argument in his head and wishing he was dead.

When Ultra Magnus has security cautiously let Whirl out, Whirl doesn’t bother to fight.

There’s no point.

Besides, he won’t do anything to jeopardise attending your funeral. It’s all he can do to make it up to you.

So, when the day of the funeral arrives, Whirl makes a speech, and for once, everybody listens to him. No hatred or derision, only sorrow.

Whirl speaks about your character, strength, and how in a perfect world, this wouldn’t have happened. He lists your greatest medical achievements, brings up your proudest moments, and shares some of his private memories of you.

Ultimately, Whirl gives the perfect eulogy. He had to. He owed you that much. It’s the only way he can think to apologise to you.

[flowercrowngods]

🤍 also on ao3

Steve always gets that look about him when he looks up at the stars. Doesn’t matter if they’re walking in the dark and he looks up instead of where he’s going, trusting that Eddie will watch where they’re going, or if he’s sitting down, his back against a wall or a pole or the backrest of a chair, one knee pulled to his chest, his eyes cast upwards.

There’s something about stargazing Steve that just takes Eddie’s breath away and replaces it with words that get stuck in his throat. Words like, You’re so beautiful. Like, What do you see? What do you think? What’s happening inside that brilliant, brilliant head of yours?

It always makes him feel like Steve is in on some secret of the universe that no one but him will ever be privy to, and it leaves him with a racing heart and a tingling sensation in his hands where he thinks about reaching for Steve’s and finding out about all those words he never says.

Especially at night.

Eddie fell in love with Steve at night. Over the course of many walks in the dark, strolls around Hawkins because they both just needed to move, get away for a while, chase the sensation of running away together. Eddie fell in love with the line of Steve’s jaw and the smile on his lips, the reflection of the moon in those dark eyes as Steve looked up and looked so calm. So serene. Almost at home, with the stars in his eyes.

Steve doesn’t know, of course. Doesn’t know that he looks outright magical like this, doesn’t know that Eddie‘s watching. Always, always watching. Always wondering, too, and always on the verge of asking. Of touching. Of holding and keeping and—

He swallows heavily as he watches Steve beside him, hands stuffed in his jeans, the cool breeze of the summer air blowing through his hair and leaving goosebumps along his arms that carry constellations of their own. Constellations that Eddie has woven stories around on nights where he couldn’t sleep, nights that Steve spent beside him, covered in the light of street lamps or fairy lights; allowing Eddie to watch. To yearn. To fall.

The night sky above them is clear and the moon is merely a crescent, almost gone completely; and it makes Eddie feel like he’s in some kind of movie. Steve always makes him feel like that, but tonight with the stars above them bringing that look to his face, it’s almost unbearable.

���What is…” he begins, but trails off, not at all planning to speak in the first place, cringing a little at the way he took the tranquility away from Steve, who’s looking over now, blinking his eyes as though he needs a second to come back to reality.

“Hm?”

“Nothing,” Eddie says, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket, feeling wrong-footed again. Nervous and frantic when Steve looks so calm. So pretty. So at peace with himself and the world.

“Come on, Ed,” Steve says, lightly bumping his shoulder into Eddie’s without faltering in his steps, and Eddie is sure he stops breathing for a second there with how gentle his voice sounds.

It makes him want to know. Makes him want to find out everything about Steve Harrington and the things that make his mind be what it is.

But how do you ask that? How do you begin to know a person on that level without being painfully obvious about the way you’re absolutely certain that your life wouldn’t be the same without them. That your heart wouldn’t be the same without them. That, in fact, it hasn’t been for a while yet.

“It’s just,” Eddie begins, looking back at Steve before feeling all too caught, because Steve is looking back. Not up. Not away. “You… You always look like that when— Never mind.”

“When what?”

A sigh. It’s Eddie now who looks up, finding familiar constellations that have always remained the same, no matter the shit that happened to him. And they will remain the same even if he fucks this up. If he says the wrong things. They will still be there.

And, strangely, it gives him the perspective and the last little push that he needs.

“When you look up. At the stars, I mean. You always look—“ He gestures wildly at Steve’s face, searching for the words. “Uh. Good.”

A smile breaks over Steve’s face and he bumps his elbow into Eddie’s again — because that’s another thing about Steve under the night sky. He’s always touching Eddie somehow. Always trusting Eddie. With his silence, with the way they’re going, with the things he tells him after a deep, heavy sigh. And he always, always touches Eddie. Only ever briefly, but it’s enough.

It’s everything.

“You think I look good, Munson?”

“Yeah.” And it’s too genuine, too heavy between them, too loaded with truth, with yearning past and present; with everything.

So heavy in fact that it makes Steve slow in his steps until he comes to a stop.

“Tell me?”

Eddie swallows, coming to a stop just a few feet ahead of Steve. “Tell you what?”

“What you— What you wanted to say. About. Uh, about me and the stars.”

Oh, you don’t want that, Eddie almost says.

“It’s stupid,” he whispers instead. “A little. It’s—“

“I wanna hear it, though. Swear I won’t judge.” He smiles at Eddie again, in that simple way he has. That sweet, endlessly endearing smile that has stolen full nights of sleep for months now.

“Stevie,” Eddie rasps, but Steve looks so hopeful now and interrupts him before he can protest.

“I can… Close my eyes? If that’s easier.”

They look at each other for a second, and Eddie is careful not to sound defiant or refusing when he asks, “Why?”

“Because I… I wanna know. I wanna hear it.”

And Eddie can feel the air shift between them with the way Steve us looking at him now. Looking at him in that same way that Eddie has been watching for months now. It’s breathtaking, having that starry eyes gaze resting on him now, boring into him with the fire of a thousand suns, and it only leaves him wanting more.

More, like what’s been happening between them lately. More glances, more touches, more watching.

“Wayne has this thing,” Eddie says before he can think about it, approaching Steve slowly. “He has this— When he needs to talk to me, or thinks there’s something I’m not telling him, we go sit on the couch. Back to back, not looking at each other. And then we talk, and it’s easier.”

He places his hands on Steve’s shoulders and they’re so warm, Eddie never wants to let go. His breath catches when Steve leans into him just a fraction, and his thumb strokes a slow, careful semi-circle along his collar bone. Then, slowly, gently, scared that he might spook or break him, Eddie turns Steve around by his shoulders.

“Okay”

“Okay,” he repeats, and Eddie lets his hands slide away from his shoulders, down to his arms, watching the goosebumps chase his touch, and his heart is racing in his chest.

Then he turns around and leans back against Steve just a little, just enough for their shoulders to touch. It’s Steve who closes the rest of the distance, shuffling closer until their entire backs are pressed to each other.

“Tell me now?” Steve whispers then, and Eddie swallows. He can feel Steve’s heart racing, too, and he wonders if this is happening. If this can mean what it might mean.

He takes a deep breath and accidentally bumps his head into Steve’s. He leaves it there, and Steve doesn’t move away either. It feels so intimate, standing here like this on a side road beside a field that’s moving with the cool summer breeze, with only the stars as their witnesses.

“You, uhm. It’s… It’s a bit like summer nights were made for you. Or, not just summer nights, but those especially. When you look up with your little smile, like everything is right. Like you’re seeing an old friend up there, or a happy memory, and you just… You get, uh, you get this look. Not just in your eyes, but in your whole body. I can’t really— It’s. It’s good. Special. Makes me wanna watch.”

Makes me wanna watch — Jesus, Munson!

He’s looking for the right words, desperately wracking his brain for something to make amends, to make this less awkward, less creepy, less I’m absurdly and entirely in love with you.

“It’s a little bit like you’re in love with the stars,” Eddie says at last, and he closes his eyes, clenching them shut to cast out a world in which Steve would laugh at him and call him stupid, realise he was better off without Eddie’s tendency for dramatic declarations of truth, and abandon him here by the field, all alone with no one to run away with anymore.

But Steve doesn’t push away. Doesn’t laugh, doesn’t taunt him, doesn’t do anything Eddie half expects him to. No. There’s only a little sigh — breathless from the sound of it — and Steve’s warmth leaning into him a little further, seeping even through the heavy leather of his jacket.

“It’s not… It’s not the stars that make me look like that,” he whispers, his head bumping into Eddie’s again, gentler this time.

Eddie frowns. “No?”

Steve shakes his head no, but to Eddie it feels more like a caress, almost intimate in its slow, careful movements.

“No.”

“Oh. Then wh—“

“It’s the person who watches.”

The person who— Oh. Oh.

It makes me wanna watch.

But that means…

“It’s you, Eddie.” It comes out almost as a whisper, a tiny little voice that could be excused as an illusion if Eddie were any less hyper aware of everything about them, of every inch of his body touching Steve’s, sharing his warmth and soaking up his everything.

“You… Do you mean that?” He has to ask. He has to be sure, needs to know that he isn’t dreaming, needs his world to catch up with Steve’s, needs their realities to align so he can reach for Steve’s hand and—

Steve laces their fingers together but still doesn’t move, still leaning into Eddie, still not daring to turn around and face him yet.

“I do.”

And Eddie breathes. He sees. He squeezes and turns and pulls Steve in by his hand to wrap his arms around him.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Good,” he whispers into the crook of Steve’s neck, not quite believing yet that he gets to do this. That they’re so close. That Steve is so warm and right there. He swallows, breathing him in. “Me too. Can’t look away.”

“Don’t want you to.” It’s a plea, breathed into his collarbone. It’s a promise, spoken right into his heart.

They hold each other for a while there by the side of the road, the breeze picking up around them, and the treetops whispering their serenity about the two boys they know so well.

Hand in trembling, giddy hand, they walk back to Eddie’s, and Steve doesn’t look up anymore. He looks at Eddie now, with that same expression. With that same smile. And Eddie looks back.

Summer nights are made for Steve Harrington. And Eddie gets to watch now. Gets to hold him, gets to card his hands through his hair and brush the gentlest of kisses to his forehead, his cheek, his lips. Gets to tell him that he loves him under the light of the stars that remain the same.

And Eddie never learns to look away. And Steve never loses his smile.

happy birthday @auroraplume 🤍✨ i wanted to give you a little bit of starlight. thank you for loving me 🌷

[blacktofade]

Feb 1 — Touch starved

Hookhausen

People know better than to touch Hook. Which means it almost makes sense that Danhausen doesn’t. Danhausen isn’t people. Danhausen doesn’t know better.

Instead, he pops up when Hook least expects it, eyes always bright, his gaze always far too perceptive. He may bat at and bump into Hook, but he somehow misses the worst of Hook’s bruises and the sorest parts of his body. It’s almost unnerving.

But then Danhausen stops popping up, stops lurking behind equipment trunks as Hook gets ready, stops seeking Hook out for insane vlog snippets. And Hook gets what he’s always wanted because no one touches him at all.

Except for in the ring. Where they make him hurt, leave him with marks across his skin, like that’s all he deserves.

The latest bruises from Ethan Page are fresh and stark across his body. Blending with the lines of his tattoos and still hot to the touch. The insides of his arms hold the worst of it. Where Ethan had held him aloft, fingers so tight that Hook can account for every single one with matching marks.

There’s a scrape on his knee from where he’d been dropped and it stings every time he moves, so he tries not to.

“Hook fought well,” a voice says from behind, almost startling Hook because he’d thought the locker room was still empty. He hadn’t heard the door swing open and closed. He hadn’t heard any footsteps.

He knows who it is, but glances over his shoulder anyway.

Danhausen peers back at him, one hand folded over the other, lingering as though he hasn’t yet made up his mind whether or not he’s staying.

“But Danhausen supposes Hook always fights well,” Danhausen continues, gesturing with one hand like it’s a known fact. “Danhausen would not want him as a tag partner otherwise.”

Hook didn’t ace his English classes in school, but he’s almost certain it’s not past tense. Danhausen wants Hook as a tag partner.

Hook looks away and stares back down at his knee.

Now that Hook’s aware of his presence, he can hear the way Danhausen moves, the light noise of his boots against the concrete floor, the way he mouth-breathes, the sound of his palms rubbing against his thighs as though drying them.

Danhausen climbs over the bench to sit next to him, leg pressing against Hook’s own, as though he can’t quite control all of his limbs. Or maybe he just doesn’t want to.

Not that Hook cares. It’s the first touch that doesn’t hurt and he stares down at Danhausen’s ridiculously glittery leggings and wonders how he’s let this happen.

“Danhausen has heard a rumor that perhaps Hook no longer has a tag partner.”

Jack had said it was one night only. He supposes that maybe the rumor has a little truth to it.

The sweat hasn’t even cooled on his body and Danhausen’s already there trying to fill a gap Hook didn’t really know existed.

After a moment, Hook nods, just once, and Danhausen’s thigh presses just a little firmer against his own.

“Hookhausen was a good team once,” Danhausen tells him. “Unstoppable.”

They were a ridiculous team, but it’s true. Weirdly, they worked well together.

“What about your Best Friends?” Hook grunts and Danhausen shifts beside him, almost seeming surprised that Hook’s said anything at all.

“Best friends are replaceable,” Danhausen tells him without the slightest hint of humor and Hook glances over, frowning.

Hook’s gaze darts around Danhausen’s face, but Danhausen doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move.

“So, what if you decide to replace me?” Hook asks after a long moment, and Danhausen shrugs, like it’s nothing at all.

“Danhausen doesn’t want to replace Hook.” Danhausen says and sets his hand on Hook’s leg, fingertips resting just above the scrape on his knee. Always more perceptive than anyone gives him credit for. “Danhausen knows a good thing when he sees it.”

The warmth from Danhausen’s hand radiates out, spreads up his thigh, across his hip, up and up until it settles somewhere in his chest.

[pettyrevenge-base]

Don’t let my fiancé sleep, then you don’t get to sleep either.

Mobile Post apologies for any formatting issues.

So my Fiancé 25m and his mom who well call Jolene 61f are on different schedules for work. My fiancé works 10 hr shifts 5 days a week from 3pm-1am sometimes even later, and Jolene works part time 2 days a week from 9am-3pm. Because she recently had a knee replacement.

So my fiancé always seems to get woken up by her at 7am in the morning because she wants to see him and let him know what’s happening that day and is just loud in general in the morning. And completely disregards the fact that he probably didn’t get home until 2am.

So in return whenever my fiancé comes home at 2am. He goes into her room to wake her up and tell her all about his day and work and bother her and just be a nuisance to her and interrupt her sleep like she does to him.

She still hasn’t caught on yet to what we’re doing so there might be a part 2 of the result of us stepping it up a notch and what happens.

Source: reddit.com/r/pettyrevenge

[honeydots]

"of course i’m here. where else would i be?" for Xanlow?

"Of course I'm here. Where else would I be?" 1k, xanlow from this ask game

“Laslow?”

Xander is sitting atop his horse, taking a short trip around the riding grounds. He couldn’t stand the sight of his chambers anymore, of an empty bed and an unfilled silence. He took to his horse, not for comfort or relief, but only to make himself move forward.

Xander hasn’t slept. Exhaustion stings the back of his eyes and aches through his jaw. He wasn’t sober in the nighttime, though he is now, and he figures he ought to stay this way. He’s never had the time or luxury for grief. He only wishes his body would cooperate.

Laslow left him yesterday. He always said he might, that he has a home which expects him—but that it’s also a one-way trek. And it’s never been Xander’s intention to keep Laslow captive, and he’s told himself it may be better this way. But still, the warmth of Laslow’s hands have long left Xander’s skin, and there is nothing but void to replace it.

He didn’t leave in so many words. But it was unmistakably a farewell, one still fresh in Xander's mind. It hasn’t yet been long enough for him to recognize any regrets, even. Though he’s begun to feel them take form, brewing coldly in the back of his thoughts.

And as such, when Xander ran into Laslow while he was riding, he thought he was mistaken. A cruel but hopeful trick his imagination played, already longing for what’s far out of reach. Xander almost simply rode past—but as Laslow’s figure became more clear in the dark, Xander slowed his horse to a stop.

And sure enough, when Laslow turns around to the sound of Xander’s voice, those wide brown eyes are unmistakably his.

“Oh,” Laslow says, sitting on one of the low stone walls that outline the riding grounds. He twists farther around, swinging his legs to the inward side. “Milord. I—um. I was just trying to work up the nerve to go inside. But I—well. I can’t shake these jelly knees.”

Xander climbs down from his horse, not letting himself feel any relief. He wouldn't be able bear the weight of getting his hopes up, not now. And even if something begins to work its way into his throat, he calmly swallows it away. “You’re still here?”

Laslow gives a weak grin, if you could even call it that. It's hardly an upwards twitch of his features. “Of course I’m here,” he says feebly. “Where else would I be?”

Xander, now closer, can see the red in Laslow’s eyes. Not still wet, but bearing clear evidence of tears. “You don’t fool me,” Xander says flatly with a frown. “That was a goodbye, yesterday. What are you doing?”

“Ah.” Guilt creeps up Laslow’s expression. He shuffles his feet awkwardly in the dirt and grips the top of the stony wall tightly. And as his silence persists, Xander goes on.

“Why… Are you back?” Xander asks. Laslow’s face tightens, and he slowly begins to stand.

“I should go, shouldn’t I. I’m sorry, I—”

Xander strides to him and plants his hands on Laslow’s shoulders, sitting him back down before he may even stretch his legs. “That isn’t what I’m asking for,” Xander says, and Laslow shrugs into himself under the pressure of Xander’s palms. “Tell me—why did you return here. What happened?

Laslow licks his lips. And he stares down at one of Xander’s hands, still holding him steady.

“I… Threw my way home into a lake,” he says, with only a slight waver in his voice. “So. Unless it begins to drain, you may be stuck with me.”

Xander stares. He loosens his grip on Laslow, moving his hands from his shoulders down to his arms. “What?”

“Odin and Selena left. We were supposed to go together,” Laslow continues. He scowls down at his feet. “We had magic to use, you understand. Crystals to travel with, one use only. But I—well, I hesitated right at the last moment.” He gnaws the inside of his cheek with an irritation, eyes still away. “But they left. And I—I panicked, and I got frustrated, I was alone and I didn’t think. So… I threw mine into the lake we were by. Because I’m stupid. And—it seems I have a pretty good arm.”

Laslow’s distress looms over him like a blanket. Xander releases his grip and goes to sit beside him instead. “…Oh.”

Laslow nods. “I hope it’s okay I’m here. I don’t know where else I’d go.” He folds his arms tightly, closing himself off further. “You don’t have to take me back.”

Xander wraps an arm around Laslow regardless. They sit, for a moment, in silence. Holding him now, it truly begins to register in Xander that Laslow is here again. “You said you hesitated?”

Something begins to spill, and tears bulge over Laslow’s eyes. He gulps, and an ache comes out in his voice. “I… I kept thinking, um. Of you,” he begins, pinching his arms. “I didn’t know if I—if I was going to be able to love someone like I love you. If the way I’d love them would be anything compared to how I loved you. Love you.”

Laslow sucks in a breath, staring down at his knees. He sniffs, and some tears do begin to fall, dully wetting fabric and dotting his thighs.

“And I think—I’m more of a lover than anything else.”

Xander leans down and kisses him. Feels the warmth of his breath and the angular point of his chin as he presses back. Xander tries to savor every moment, in ways he never did before. And when he pulls away, Laslow lingers close.

“I’m sorry for saying goodbye,” Laslow says, just above a whisper. “Would it—would it be okay if I said hello, now?”

Xander gives a low and short hum. His kisses Laslow’s forehead, trying to relax into him, trying to take not a single moment of his presence for granted. He grazes his arm up Laslow’s back and rests on his neck, petting the hair on his nape.

“Hello,” Xander says, voice just as quiet. “Stay.”

[socalwriterbee]

🍿 Guess what time it is! 🍿

Let's play Popcorn, where we create a short story by "popping" from one writer to the next! When it is your turn, build onto the overall story. You can even add new plots or new characters. Try to keep it under 300 words, then pass it on (either to another creator or even back to me). This is supposed be a stress-free activity of being silly! Have fun!

---------------

Sitting in a packed bookstore on the Upper East Side of Manhattan, Anna Schuyler-Dalton nervously bounces her crossed leg as she readjusts her Cartier watch on her wrist. 6:24 PM. Damnit, where is she? It's about to start. 

Anna cranes her neck around the crowd, looking for signs of her best friend while at the same time defending the empty seat next to her.

"Anna!"

"Jenny!" Anna exhales in relief, helping the redhead to her seat. "What on earth–?"

"You're not going to believe what happened," she sighs, rubbing her pregnant belly. "I was…

I was excited to see this! It may have taken me a bit of time to come up with something to add, and I finally DID and I may have not followed the keep it under 300 words bit, not by a lot it's under 500.

Allow me to Introduce..... Christian Meadows 🤣 (IFYKYK)

Now to the story! I've included the original part and bolded where I continued.

------------

Sitting in a packed bookstore on the Upper East Side of Manhattan, Anna Schuyler-Dalton nervously bounces her crossed leg as she readjusts her Cartier watch on her wrist. 6:24 PM. Damnit, where is she? It's about to start. 

Anna cranes her neck around the crowd, looking for signs of her best friend while at the same time defending the empty seat next to her.

"Anna!"

"Jenny!" Anna exhales in relief, helping the redhead to her seat. "What on earth–?"

"You're not going to believe what happened," she sighs, rubbing her pregnant belly. "I was…getting ready and you know how difficult that can be.” 

“Shhh.”

Anna and Jenny both turn and look over their shoulder to the woman who just shhh’d them. “It hasn’t even started yet.” Anna points out.

Her attention going back to her best friend who continues to rub her swollen belly. If she knew the speaker, and she knew him well, Anna knew they still had a few minutes before he graced everyone with his presence.

“I know how hard it’s getting for you, with you almost ready to pop. I would have understood if you couldn’t make it.”

Jenny lets out a laugh. “Then I wouldn’t be able to tell you who I ran into on the way here.” She turns to look at her best friend, knowing Anna was going to be in for the shock of her life. “I would have to wait to tell you and from the looks of it would have been hours from now.”

Anna gives a quick look behind them, seeing men and women sitting and standing, the crowd reaching all the way to entrance.

Yeah, they would be here for a few hours.

“Who’d you run into?”

“Christian.”

Anna gasps, a chill running down her back but quickly replaced by something unexpected. Crossing her leg over the other and squeezing her thighs a bit tighter.

“H..how…” Anything else Anna was about to say dies on her lips.

Anna never went into much detail with Jenny about her relationship with Christian, it has been years since she seen him. 

Now with the mere mention of his name had her wondering if those piecing blue eyes still saw right through her and made her weak in the knees. If those broad shoulders and strong arms would still hold her the same the way…if his lips.

No! 

Anna shook her head, her eyes went to her wedding ring. Her husband would be coming out in a matter of seconds to speak to everyone. That is who should be on her mind, not him.

“Who would have thought Christian Meadows would come back to New York—.” Jenny fans herself “How he got even sexier is still blowing my mind.”

“What did he say?” Anna finally whispered, trying to ignore the last bit her best friend said.

Before Jenny could answer, the host announces Sam and a rupture of applause breaks out from the crowd as he walks onto the stage, his gray eyes scanning the crowd until they land on Anna. 

Looking back down at her hands that rest on her lap, readying herself to smile when she looks up, but it’s no longer gray eyes staring at her but those far to familiar haunting blue eyes.

-----

Sending it over to @cariantha

[bragganhyl]

38. “i’m not scared but if you are, you can hold my hand.” fluff prompt with Aloth and Guara. Bonus points if Aloth is scared :D

Thank you, Anon, here you go 😊 It's not quite as tooth-rottingly fluffy as I planned, but it's still soft. It takes place at the beginning of Act 3 of PoE 1 so after a certain reveal

Word count: about 1630 words

There were nights when Caed Nua felt like a realm of its own: a strange pocket of space and memory somewhere midway to the In-Between. The night sky was clear and the full moon shone so brightly, that it’s gentle light managed to burst through even the thick, drawn curtains concealing the windows to Gaura’s room. The moonlight mingled with and clashed against the light of the Watcher’s face in the otherwise dark room and as her ears were filled with the voices of long dead souls still lingering by her home, she couldn’t help but feel like she was looking at a reflection.

She hasn’t heard any recent news about the riots since she fled Defiance Bay. For all she knew, it might have been still happening in that very moment, deep in the night. It was late, too late, to have such thoughts on her mind, to have such worries plaguing her. If she allowed them to linger within her, she wouldn’t sleep that night at all. She got out of bed and put on her boots. She made a silly sight wearing the finely made leather footwear and her ill fitting nightgown, but it was a passable attire for a late night stroll.

The Watcher quietly left her room and sneaked downstairs, but just as she was about to leave Brighthollow, she noticed light coming from one of the rooms – based on her familiarity, she assumed the hearth was lit by the reading corner she had set up. She cautiously approached the source of the light, only to find Aloth sitting by the fire, arms wrapped around his knees, seemingly doing nothing, watching the logs burning deep in thought. He looked up as she slowly made her way to his side. He only seemed surprised by her for a fraction of a moment, and even then his reaction was dulled by his exhaustion.

‘Can’t sleep either?’ Gaura sat beside him. Aloth took note of her proximity and seemingly shrunk where he sat.

‘I can’t stop thinking about Defiance Bay,’ he spoke quietly as anguish flashed in his eyes, then just as quickly as it appeared, his expression was replaced by one of guilt. For a moment, silence filled the small space between the two of them. Only the shadows moved, dancing on the walls to the soft crackling of the hearth.

‘Yeah, me neither.’

The Watcher wasn’t sure what else she could say. They haven’t had a chance to talk, alone, just the two of them, since the riots began and Aloth confessed about his affiliations. He was a member of the Leaden Key. The group behind the riots, behind the murder of Lady Webb, behind Waidwen’s Legacy. The group that marked her and Kana for death.

And yet, when Gaura found their hideout under First Fires, she could walk right in there and walk out without anyone noticing the infiltration. It seemed to her, no one knew more than the least amount of information they needed to complete their missions. Not even the higher ranking members asked more questions from their underlings than what they absolutely needed answered. Chances are none of them even knew about the kill orders Thaos placed on her and Kana.

None of them, except for Aloth.

She has given him so many opportunities to turn on her. He could have given her identity away when she entered the Temple of Woedica. He could have helped those of his fellows that waited for her and her companions by the entrance of the Endless Paths, after they recovered the pieces of the Tanvii Ora Toha. He could have just pretended a spell of his went astray, during any of the battles they fought together. During any battle where she took it upon herself to keep him safe and in turn he watched her back. He could have struck her down in her sleep in the home she shared with him.

Now he sat beside her, tense, as if it took every last bit of his strength to avoid looking at her, to stop himself from asking for the comfort she was more than willing to give.

‘Do you want to talk?’ The Watcher broke the silence. Aloth gave her a look that she couldn’t quite read.

‘If… If you want to learn more about the Leaden Key, I’m not sure if I can help,’ he said. His gaze slightly drifted away, and lingered on a spot by her shoulder. ‘I feel like I learned more about their motivations following you, than I did working for them,’ there was a hint of gratitude hiding in the tone of his admission. ‘And you have seen how they operate, I’m not quite sure what else I could add about that.’ Aloth’s gaze met hers again. His look was apologetic and tired.

The Watcher shrugged hesitantly. ‘We can just talk. About anything. It doesn’t have to be about the Leaden Key,’ to give her words some weight, she moved closer to him. She half-expected that he would keep his distance, that maybe he would move even farther away from her than their original distance. But Aloth stayed where he was, seemingly taken aback by the offer, then a moment later a shy smile tugged at his lips and he turned away.

‘Forgive me, I’m… not really accustomed to…’ as he was trying to find the right word, something seemed to have occurred to him. A short laugh bubbled up from him that seemed to have removed an enormous weight from his shoulders. Gaura was almost convinced Iselmyr came forward, but Aloth continued. ‘You, I suppose. And to the kind of acceptance you have been showing me.’ He sighed as he looked towards the hearth, reminiscing. ‘I don’t think you realize what this means to me.’

The Watcher felt her hair flutter. ‘Don’t mention it,’ she hastily smoothed down a mischievous flame, ‘I… I meant what I said on the bridge.’ She averted her gaze from him as she took a deep breath. ‘I need you by my side.’

Aloth didn’t answer at first. When the silence started to grow uncomfortable, Gaura risked a glimpse, only to see the wizard shift, moving to sit on his trembling hands.

‘And I needed to hear that,’ he responded eventually, ‘more than I realized. Truth be told, I was terrified coming forward about my allegiance to the Leaden Key and… even the best case I had in mind didn’t involve… being treated as a friend.’ The wizard shook his head. He flinched at a thought and Gaura knew, it was best not to ask what the worst case he thought was. ‘All my life I have been following the paths people more powerful than I laid out ahead of me,’ he continued. ‘Whether it was my father, the erl he worked for,’ he let out a bitter, rueful chuckle, ‘even joining the Leaden Key was a desperate attempt to free myself from them. I remember those days… it felt like the world was closing in around me, until there was nothing left but the path I never wanted to take. So I… to use your words… exchanged one master for another,’ he sighed. ‘I was somewhat aware of the danger of doing so but I didn’t realize the true cost that I would have to pay, until I met you. I… I apologize for thinking you wouldn’t be any different from them. It was unfair of me to think so, you’ve never given me a reason to think that way, I just…’

Unable to explain himself, Aloth shrugged. The movement looked stiff with tension, however.

‘No need to apologize. You said it yourself, you… didn’t know how to expect better.’

Aloth turned to her. He watched her intently, as if he wanted to etch that moment deep into his memory. He watched her as if he discovered something rare and… awe-inspiring.

‘The world feels a lot bigger right now,’ goosebumps formed on the wizard’s arms as he came to the realization. ‘I admit, I’m a little terrified of it.’

Gaura smiled at him. ‘You sound like a novice expeditioner,’ she chuckled as she thought of her homeland, ‘the fear will go away, once you’ve done a little exploration and developed a taste for it.’ The Watcher then stood up and reached down towards Aloth. ‘Until then, if you’re scared you can hold my hand.’

Aloth blinked up at her. Then he looked at the hand she extended towards him. Gaura could’ve sworn she saw a faint blush color his cheeks as he placed a hand in hers. She pulled him up with a light tug and guided him away from the hearth, up the stairs, to his room.

‘Get some sleep, we have long days ahead,’ the Watcher said good night, only to find that the wizard wasn’t ready to let her go. He slightly raised their clasped hands and placed his free hand on top of them. He let his eyes close as he took a deep breath, and when he opened them again, he looked like he gained whatever comfort he needed.

‘Thank you,’ he ran a thumb along her knuckles as he spoke, ‘for everything.’ He let her go reluctantly and entered his room. He looked back at her, half-hidden by the door to wish her a good night.

Gaura was alone again. As she made her way to her room, the warmth of Aloth’s hand lingering on her palm, she remembered his words and she agreed: the world felt much bigger in that moment. She couldn’t afford to be afraid when Defiance Bay needed her to set things right. She had no reason to be afraid when she was safe in Caed Nua, surrounded by people she could trust. With her life.

[w9ndererdotcom]

“sorry for not being there.” | xiao argument  and the aftermath

warnings:

my first ever time writing on tumblr so sorry for crappy style😭😭

might contain some bad grammar or spelling

xiao yelling at you and comparing you to traveler

yeah all of that..............................

angst and then fluff at the end

reader with they/them pronouns.

the adeptus infront of you scoffed, “how could you let this happen?” he spoke, his gaze on your injuries around you.

you only looked a different direction, avoiding his gaze. shamefully and awkwardly.

deciding to break the awkward atmosphere between you you spoke up “i.. didn’t want to bother you.” you admitted to him, fidgeting with your fingers.

he sighed, again. the anger inside him growing, he doesn’t know what to say or do. especially if it comes to his s/o. who was harmed.

so you see, you were commissioned to go defeat a big number of camps nearby liyue harbor, guili plains, mingyun village, and the list goes on...

“i’ve told you before, have i not? when you find yourself in danger or cannot kill, speak my name.” he looked away pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“such a simple easy matter, yet you couldn’t do it. how weak.”

this caused you to stop thinking, fidgeting your hands and everything. its as if everything around you stopped for a whole second.

xiao never called you weak, never.

“you know, the traveler would’ve .........” he rambled and scolded on how apparently the traveler is better then you.

he must’ve forgotten how fragile mortals can be, he’s not thinking twice. wasting no time and comparing you to the almighty traveler.

you just stood there, stupidly. like a lost child. truth be told; you were lost. you were losing your sanity, the past few days xiao has been taking his anger off you and comparing you to the ‘famous traveler’.

“are you even listening to me??” he was starting to raise his voice. he never raised his voice at you.

“you know, if the traveler is that better then me.. why dont we break this off and they‘ll be your s/o.” you snapped. you couldn’t take in anymore.

pure silence, it wasn’t comforting at all. it was awkward and hatred was in the air.

but his eyes showed; he didnt mean to compare you to the traveler, they were getting glossy yet he held back the tears. he wants you, only you. no random traveler with a annoying pixie fairy can replace that. yet he didnt say anything.

you felt your vision get blurry from the tears escaping your eyes, you sighed. it was quiet for far too long.

“you know what, never mind. im leaving.” you wiped your tears, walking past your ‘boyfriend’.

“y/n wait-”

“save it.” you left wangshu inn, despite all your injuries and you limping as you walk.

he just stood there, devastated. he couldn’t believe what just happened.

he dropped to his knees, every disgusting negative emotion possible coming to him.

“no, no, no, no, please, y/n. not you too.”

mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmxiaoswaist

i mean

it has been a few days since the argument, and he waited and waited and waited..

just for you to come back home to him.

all he wanted now was you in his arms again, despite his tsundere-like attitude.

he’s teleported to numerous places in liyue, desperate to find you. and he couldn’t.

more negative thoughts filled and took over his head, what if you died?

he teleported, day and night. he isn’t giving up on you. 

“xiao?” a familiar squeaky voice spoke from behind.

stunned, he turned around. his eyes full of worry, but soon calmed down from the presence of the familiar traveler.

“we���ve been commissioned to- hey wait! xiao!!” he wasted no time listening to the annoying pixie, and teleported back to the inn.

tired, he returned to his usual spot where he usually patrolled over liyue.

before he could though, “ah, xiao. you’ve returned. here.” verr goldet (boss lady, owner of wangshu inn) handed the adeptus almond tofu.

he was amazed from the smell, he was starving. he hasn’t eaten anything ever since your argument. he refused to eat anything that wasn’t your cooking.

“a special someone cooked this and ask to drop this off.” the lady spoke with her usual greeting smile.

he could only stare, awkwardly.

“..thanks.” he grabbed the plate, but something snapped.

special someone?

instantly, he teleported to the top of the inn. where you two usually hung out.

he placed the plate down, and looked for you.

there you were, watching the sunset.

“y/n..” he made his way to you slowly, carefully, taking his time as if you were to disappear.

you turned around with a smile on your face.

“xiao!” you greeted, quite happily. as if you two didn’t have argument a few days ago.

“you aren’t.. mad?” he was confused and stopped his tracks, awkwardly staring at your now aided and bandaged bruises and cuts.

“mad? how come?” a confused expression was all over your face, but xiao was even more confused.

before he could ask more “i’ve missed you! come, sit next to me..” you invited him over, moving a bit over for some space.

he wasted no time and sat next to you, distancing a bit in case you want to push him away.

you insisted on pulling him closer, he awkwardly nudged closer to the point you pulled him by his arm and you rested your head onto his shoulder.

his eyes widen, why was this so familiar? nostalgic? 

it was quiet, far too quiet. yet it was comforting. the sunset made the scene even prettier.

“you.. don’t remember?” he broke the silence slowly holding your hand.

“hmm, what i remember.. is someone saw me passed out on the road due to the amount of injuries i had, they took me in and cared for me for a few days, i guess. which is why i couldn’t reach to you.”

so you don’t remember.

“i.. i see.” he awkwardly replied.

“i’m sorry.” you spoke gently closing your eyes.

xiao replied “no,” and took both of your hands, making you face him.

‘archons.. what am i doing?’

“i’m.. i should be the one apologizing. i’m so sorry, y/n.” he spoke quietly, leaning your foreheads together. he surely has no idea what he’s doing.

“hm? what are you saying sorry for?” you asked.

“for not being there.”

how was that? did u like it? i hope u did, cause this is my first time writing on tumblr so im still finding this out.😭

[annonniiiiieeeee]

Ann help I’m out of ideas for Lisa and Raph agenda as well as characterizing Kitsune and Gen I’ll leave Chizu out for now since her arc isn’t done yet

Any ideas?

I can probably give more on Lisa.

Lisa’s transformation is a punishment from the gods. The town wants to be turned back. All they know is that this curse was placed upon them because they upset Draxum with how they worship Raph.

So obviously the priestesses are the problem. Get ride of them and replace them with better priestess. Obviously the twin itself isn’t wrong. Raph is a god of rage he wants them to enact ragefull vengeance.

The attack the temple and Lisa has to flee. Not only has she been transformed but now she’s being hunted. She’s almost caught when three travelers come to her rescue.

The red one and white one defeat/chase off her attackers while the third one leads her to safety. They introduce themselves as Nardo, Sagi and Phael.

They heard that something was happening in the village and wanted to see if they could help. Pheal seems very upset when he learns what has happened to the priestesses. Lisa doesn’t understand. He didn’t know them, he’s never been to their village why what he so upset at their suffering.

Nardo convinces Pheal to stay behind with Lisa while he and Sagi go check out the village. (Aka Leo and Usagi are about to go explains exactly how wrong the villagers are. There will be no misunderstandings this time)

Pheal and Lisa spend some time together getting to know one another. Lisa can see that Pheal is angry about her village and her treatment. He thinks she must hate the god she once served. Lisa disagrees. She knows Raph is not the way the people think he is. He is kind and protective not a rage filled monster. She’s sad that the people can’t see that.

Raph is in awe of this priestess. He recognizes her voice as the one prayer that hasn’t been for rage and vengeance. His lifeline to sanity.

They get attacked by a creature. Maybe one that only eats salamander. It lives near the village and has never been a problem before. Lisa hates her transformation even more as it puts both of them in danger.

She fights hard but almost gets hurt. This is when Raph shows a little bit of his power and she realizes who she’s been walking with. She had suspicions earlier but now she’s sure. This is Raphael. The god she has served her whole life.

Raph turns around to find her on her knees bowing and he hates it. Lisa doesn’t need to have that level of reverence with him. Not when she’s the one voice keeping him sane. Not after all she has suffered because of him.

The two have to have a long chat about this. About how they have both saved each other in ways the other couldn’t imagine.

They make their way back to the village where Leo is in full god mode getting the villagers to fix their attitudes. He’s not playing with them and if anyone has anything to say about it the Leo’s husband is more then ready to step in.

Raph and Lisa enter the village and the villagers start to get mad at Lisa again. She brought down Leo’s wrath upon them.

Raph shows is true form and the crown calls for vengeance against the gods that have wrong them. Their prayers and voice sweeping around Raph pushing his powers into a fury. Lisa steps forward and rests her hand in his arm focusing him back in on her.

She explains to the crowd how they don’t understand Raph and what he’s really like.

Now from here two things can happen.

The crowd finally listens

They call for her blood and try to stone her.

If it’s the first she is placed in charge of the village and teaches them how to worship. Raph comes to visit far more often to remind people of his goodness and kindness. (He might also be visiting so much because he’s fallen in love with Lisa) eventually Leo’s tells Lisa to confess to Raph knowing that the two will go no where unless Lisa makes the first move.

If it’s the second. Raph burns the village to the ground. Lisa is his priestess and the only one listening to him. The village has already tried to kill her once. He’s not letting the second attempt go unpunished.

All of this is very much in beta.

@thenerdywitchofthenorth @furiousjellifish @fatalflawsy Give ideas.

I will talk Kitsune Gen and Chizu after their story is over.

I have an idea for them when it comes to bishop

[darkeeveeanimatesus]

Fnaf ruin sun/moon angst

Sun lay in the corner of the destroyed pizza place, surrounded by the rubble that used to be the daycare center. His eyes, while one still glowing bright with a soft blue hue, were also filled with sorrow. They no longer had the same playful spark they used to, now replaced by sadness and a type of resignation. Sun was alone in every way; he was a guardian without a child, a protector without someone to protect. He had been abandoned, cast aside as the world changed around him, and that loneliness had left its mark on him. Physically and mentally. The earthquake that destroyed his home took away most of his right leg. He hated thinking of the agony of trying desperately to pull himself from the piece of the ceiling that crushed it. He was terrified every time he looked down and saw the mangled metal nub. He didn’t understand how, but it hurt. Every part of him ached. But most of all, he felt the pain of battles waged inside his mind. He could feel Moon clawing at his insides, trying to overpower him and rule over him mercilessly. It was like a daily battle for control, and Sun was losing. The strain of constantly pushing Moon away was slowly become too much. The daycare attendant cuddled up as close as he could to one of the only lights that still somehow managed to be lit. “Light on… light good…. Moon can’t be free as long as it stays on.” He whimpered. He retracted into himself; burying his face in his knees as his arms hugged them tightly. He finally let it out and sobbed as he remembered all the children who had found solace here, but were now gone. It seemed his only purpose was to remain here and fight, and yet he was failing at that too. As he wept in the silence, Sun began to accept the fact that any chance he had of happiness had gone. Thinking of this, Sun found himself crying harder as the misery overtook him. He was all alone, and it was all his fault. No… It was Moon’s fault. HE was the one who started acting up. HE was the one who nearly slaughtered Gregory. Granted, that child was a no-good rule breaker, but still! They were programmed to never hurt a child; not even think of it! Sun used to love turning into Moon to help the children with nap time. His cool blue eyes were so soothing to fall asleep too. But now they were as red as a blood moon. He was no longer his peaceful brother, but rather a monster that was ravenously trying to be the sole wielder of their body. He wanted to make sure Sun never took control again. He could NOT let that happen. Who knows what he would do running around unsupervised?! What if he harms more innocent people? More innocent children?! POSSIBLE NEW FRIENDS?!?? Oh, the thought was unbearable! Sun stayed curled up next to the light for what seemed like an eternity, just desperately trying to think happy thoughts. Eventually, he began to ache from sitting in the same position for what was probably over 2 days. He angled the light down at a downed playground tube and walked towards it. It was a blue crawl tube that had practically no roof. Inside was a collection of pillows, blankets, and foam from the inside of the giant plush building blocks. The exhausted animatronic crawled in and curled up. “Come on Moon… please stop fighting. We’re in our bed now- just please stop.” “Never...” A voice echoed in his head. “I’ll only rest once I’m the one in control. No more sun…” Sun glanced up at the suspended spotlight aimed at them. “You can’t come out. As long as I stay in the light, you’ll be kept at bay.” The sinister voice gave a chuckle. “We both know that whatever is working that singular light is going to run out of power eventually. This place hasn’t exactly been paying the electrical bills recently. That light WILL shut off. And when it does- no more Mr. Sun…” The daycare attendant felt a wave of darkness and pain wash over him as the lone light flickered at the end of Moon’s threat. He knew he was right. But for now- he just had to fight it a little bit longer. Even if the fighting tore them into a million pieces!

Moon would not win.

[calithal]

“ who did this to you ? ”

who did this to you?, accepting!  ༄

              god  fucking  damn  it.  this  is  so  fucked.  she  should’ve  buried  herself  instead  of  coming  anywhere  near  the  wharf.  on  bad  nights,  he’s  out  here  just  as  much  as  she  is.  cj  had  thought  a  roof  would  be  something.  better  than  any  ship,  with  people  who  care  too  much  about  things  that  are  wrong.  better  than  back  to  freddie.  if  harry  knows,  someone  else  has  to,  because  she  never  tells  him  anything.  not  like  this.  she  most  certainly  did  not  tell  him  this.  cold  shoots  up  her  spine,  and  she  could’ve  mistaken  this  picture  for  ten  years  earlier,  just  the  same.  cj,  weak.  harry,  looming  over  her  with  his  demon  eyes.  thundering  footsteps  coming  to  a  stop.  red.  red  all  over  the  place.  the  cold,  unwelcome,  and  unfamiliar,  is  replaced  by  red,  hot  humiliation.  this,  she  knows.  it’s  the  same  as  fire.

                it  was  stupid.  a  stupid  fight.  stupid  bruises.  stupid  cuts.  stupid  dark  shapes  of  hands  around  her  neck.  there  wasn’t  even  anything  to  patch  up  or  fix.  she  just  needed  to  fucking  breathe.  up  high  on  a  rickety  roof,  little  flat  bits  big  enough  to  sit  on.  she  doesn’t  need  him  here,  getting  all  weird  and  like  he’s  going  to  go  do  something  about  it.  the  story  she  has  to  tell  is  about  him.  about  baby  sister  cj,  weak  and  needy  and  caught.  it  was  a  short  story,  even  outnumbered.  her  being  here  means  something,  after  all.  she  doesn’t  budge,  even  a  little  bit,  curled  up  tight  and  peeking  up  at  him  through  her  mess  of  curls.  there’s  so  much  she  could  say.  she  doesn’t  want  to  say  anything  at  all.  she’s  so  bunched  up  and  frustrated,  she  could  cry.    “  fuck  off,  harry.  ”    he  hasn’t  even  seen  her  yet,  and  he  just  knows.  she  wants  to  strangle  him,  make  him  feel  it,  and  then  ask  him  to  tell  her  what  happened.  cj  changes  her  might,  shifting  her  head  so  her  cheek  lays  against  her  knee,  looking  out  at  the  sea,  very  beyond.    “  sex  thing,  don’t  worry  about  it.  ”

[ofthepuzzle]

The news collapsed on him with the weight of a stone wall and no way out. His father has been feeling unwell to the point of becoming physically weakened and put on bed rest. Atem desperately was asking what was wrong, what could be done to help this ‘sickness’. How did his father suddenly become terribly ill? One specific thing the heir noticed was that there’d been constant sadness in the Pharaoh’s eyes despite him outwardly showcasing the opposite. And that sadness one day came streaming as a painful cleanse, breaking the façade of pretense. Never had the boy seen his father kneel and beg— beg he did for the mercy of his son, so that he would take the suffering instead. That this was on his account and his son shouldn’t bear the consequences. Atem could only watch as his father was breaking apart. He was not informed of what these consequences are and was refused an answer. An answer… he won’t get personally from his father. The day had come when the Pharaoh was announced dead.

There was a scream coming from the depth of hurting lungs, of the soul aching. It was the kind of scream that bypasses the ears to speak right to the heart. Disbelief, grief, hysteria. It would be the three things that cut into Atem’s mental state. Emotions had gone haywire. He was not taught how to perceive death properly despite being shaped into a strong figure supposed to ascend the throne once the time comes. But the time came too soon, way too soon. And when someone told him even with the gentlest of voices, “Prince, calm down”, he would lash out,“ How can YOU be calm??” and cling to his father’s lifeless form. His hands clutched onto his father’s, squeezing, almost hoping to somehow wake him up the same way he’d done before each morning. Shimon’s intention wasn’t to upset the prince further. However, no one had witnessed the prince this horrified before and could only watch helplessly. Seth never imagined seeing with his bare eyes the one person who could hold his ground effortlessly and rival his own strengths fell apart just now. It was that or he didn’t know how to help in this situation. Mahad had seen Atem show weakness before. It was not news that the prince used to cry at little inconveniences such as falling and scraping his knee. The difference was that this was no little inconvenience. The innocence in Atem’s eyes was replaced by fear and he was acting defensively. Like a great portion of his safety was stolen from him. And Mahad understood that quite well.

Taking the risk, Mahad approached the Prince and attempted to have a talk with him. No one else felt inclined to do so, or more so no one had the right approach. But Atem was stubborn, not wanting to leave Akhenamkhanen’s side. The dead body must not stay bare for too long and undergo a ritual so that the Pharaoh safely travels to the afterlife. As much as Mahad didn’t want to do this, he had to forcefully pull Atem away. And when he released him, the prince ran out of the room. On his way, he passed Aknadin who could tell what may have happened just from the state Atem was in.

Atem went into his room and didn’t come out for two days. He was given food and drinks as they were looking after the now-future king’s health. Atem hasn’t accepted the fact that they will have to plan out the coronation ceremony where he will become the new Pharaoh. A day after the death of the former king they officially announced the news to the public. The mummification was complete on the second day. On the night of the third day, Atem didn’t feel like sleeping. He was staring at the Millennium Pendant that he inherited from his father. If this is important for his father, then he would wear it, he thought. The Millennium Items were created to fend off attackers and save Egypt, he was told. But the way he looked at the item was in a way that it belonged to his father and nothing else. How he would use it, he doesn’t know yet. And hopefully, he wouldn’t have to. Atem placed the pendant around his neck. He couldn’t take the suffocating atmosphere in the palace and snuck his way out.

On the second day, Atem confronted Mahad that something was kept from him. But this lack of information and explanation irritated the prince. He didn’t forget to add the ‘consequences’ his father was speaking of. There’s more to this than what meets the eye.

---

Atem’s steps are rushed on the evening sand. While he is walking he is met with the thought, “What am I doing?” and stops in his tracks. Where is he even going? He is searching for something and doesn’t even know what. He seeks peace that is true but he won’t get it out here. Yet, the breeze feels nice on his face, making the blond strands sway against his cheeks. Even if a little, he feels a bit free from the responsibilities in the palace. He shifts in position to look back to the path he trod. And just then, his eyes grow wide. What he sees next is not what he expects. A person is behind him.

He can recognize this familiar ashen grey hair from somewhere. However, that isn’t the only thing he fixated on. The robe the man is wearing— it resembles his father’s. But that can’t be, can it…? The ritual should be complete and all of the king’s belongings should be secured in his tomb.

“… What are you wearing?” His first instinct was to ask these words instead of who he was. Maybe that was a mistake. “Who are you?” He adds right after. He’s afraid of the answers because he feels like he knows them already.

Into the Shadow - Closed Starter

@ofthepuzzle

The nights had bled into days and he had been terribly busy.

Filtering the mood of a whole metropolis and making it ready for an upheaval... a stir so to speak wasn't an easy task, but he would make it work.

The upstanding citizens of Waset were beyond unhappy as their Pharaoh had gone on to the afterlife, entered the Duat... but that was just what happened. Something like an icy splinter had wedged into his organs, since that day. Like the night sky of small clear splinters had sliced through him and left only dread and emptiness behind.

He had been desperate and empty... and so, so angry that the rage in his veins had felt numbing with how heated it was.

Certainly a strange kind of grief, but he had felt it nonetheless... That wretched person... the former pharaoh had gone on... had performed the one sole action that he had condemned his people to never reach and then had left a state that wasn't read for the departure.

Wild hair, golden glimmer and bright big eyes flitted through his mind for a tiny second, but he let the fleeting memory pass on, out of his system. One of these days their destiny would be decided... one of these days he would see, if he had done the world a favor... or made a horrible mistake.

His hands balled into fists as he slipped through the night, his new mantle fluttering in the night air and barely making a noise. Once the rites had been completed and the tomb sealed.... he had made it his penultimate business to desecrate it in the worst fashion.

It had almost cost him an arm and left behind a huge wound, but it didn't matter... the dead man should feel the same grief that the ripped up souls of his village felt... and he would wear the garments of the late pharaoh as his trophy.

He hadn't had the opportunity to best him in life... but he could still ruin him in death.

Something caught his attention and he slipped onto a rooftop, watching a smaller figure darting through the night... hidden beneath a completely clean garment... the rich smell of cinnamon and myrrh tickling his nose... He didn't actually want to step into the awareness of the public JUST yet... maybe the approach of this meeting should have been clear to him, but it hadn't.... The thing that beckoned him to follow, the one dying grace of the smaller human slipping through the night was a spark of gold.... that one splotch of light hitting a hidden cursed treasure.

He was well on his way to follow without a sound before he could even make the decision, his stomach filling with madness and icy dread.

Maybe he would destroy the honor and false virtue of a whole family tonight-

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

have you talked at all about the animorphs going through a groundhog day/new game plus kind of time loop before? it's one of my favorite tropes / aus.

• Jake wakes up.  It’s a Southern California day like any other: sunny, 70, chance of aliens.  He showers, slumps downstairs, pours himself a bowl of Frosted Flakes.  Does his best to ignore the controller sitting across the table and staring at him.  Brushes his teeth.  Catches the bus.

Jake goes to Homeroom.  Jake goes to Algebra.  Jake goes to French.  Jake goes to U.S. History.  Jake goes to lunch.  Jake goes to Remedial English.  Jake goes to Biology.  Jake goes home.

“Remember,” Marco says, as they’re heading out.  “Tonight.  The usual place.”

Jake sighs, nodding.  It seems like that’s all they do these days, meet and try to talk their way up to going on the next mission.

He’s tired.  They’re all tired.

Maybe none of them more than Rachel, who is already grinding her teeth when she walks through the door.  “I can’t tonight,” she says.  “My mom needs me to babysit Jordan and Sara again.”

“Seriously?” Marco asks.

Jake knows why — this has been happening a lot lately.  It’s unlike Rachel to put off a mission, and yet.  It’s the yeerk pool.  None of them want to go back, even her.  Even if it means destroying an entire kandrona shipment Erek has pointed them toward.

But Jake’s in charge.  It’s Jake’s job to say “Fine.  We’ll try again tomorrow.”  And so he does.

• Jake wakes up.  He showers, he eats his sugar-covered corn, he does his best to hope he hasn’t caught the wrong kind of attention from the thing that looks like Tom.  He leaves for school.

Algebra seems like it’s been getting easier lately.  In French, he finishes a sentence correctly the first time the teacher prompts him.  Maybe he’s been getting better at balancing it all.

Or maybe it’s just been forever since they’ve been on a real mission.

“I can’t tonight,” Rachel says, when they’ve barely started the meeting.  “My mom needs me to babysit Jordan and Sara again.”

Marco’s response is sharp and sarcastic.  Jake curls his head forward, pressing it against his knees.  He gets why Marco’s annoyed.  This keeps happening.

“Jake?” Cassie asks softly.

He lifts his head.  “If this happens again tomorrow, we might need to plan to go without you,” he tells Rachel.

«That makes no sense,» Tobias says sharply.  «We can’t go without our strongest fighter.»

“Tomorrow.”  Jake can hear the tiredness in his own voice.  “We’ll make a decision tomorrow.”

• Jake wakes up.  He goes to school.  He sits through classes, through lunch.  He confirms with Marco that they’re still just meeting in Cassie’s barn for tonight.

“I can’t tonight,” Rachel says.  “My mom—”

“We know.”  Jake speaks more sharply than he means to.  He’s just.  He’s tired.  It feels like he hasn’t slept in weeks.

“She’s just really busy right now,” Rachel mutters.

«Yeah, dude.»  Tobias glares, or maybe he just looks Jake’s way.  «Chill.»

“We go tomorrow,” Jake says.  “No matter what.  Tomorrow.”

Marco salutes.  “Tomorrow it is!”

• Only they don’t go the following day.  Jake suggests it, and the others all shout him down.  It’s just one night, Rachel and Tobias keep telling him, it’s just for now.  The kandrona shipment can wait one more night, Ax says.  Cassie suggests they all just take a breath, take a break.

• Jake messes up.  They don’t go the next day either, and this time it’s Jake’s fault; he fell asleep during what felt like the world’s most repetitive History class, and got detention.

“You doing all right?” his dad asks, picking him up after school that day.

“Yeah.”  Jake stares dully out the car window.  “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“And...”

Jake can tell, by the change in tone, that they’ve gotten to the real reason his dad started this conversation.

“And Tom.”  Steve clears his throat.  “Has he seemed... off to you, lately?”

Yeah, Dad, he seems like he’s been replaced by a fucking alien, thanks for asking.  Jake wants to slide off his seat and onto the floor.  He wants to curl up in the footwell of the car and cry himself to sleep, right there on the spot.  “I don’t know,” he says.  “He seems fine to me.”

• The following day, Jake gets to the barn early.  He doesn’t like going on this mission without Rachel, but there’s a difference between waiting for a day and waiting for... he doesn’t know how long.  Several.  It’s been forever.

“Hey.”  It’s Cassie, standing in the door.  “You ready to go tonight?”

“Yes.”  Jake pushes to his feet.  “Yes.  Even if Rachel’s busy, we need to get this over with.”

Cassie frowns.  “Rachel didn’t mention being busy.  I know she’s had to babysit a lot lately, but she shouldn’t need to tonight.”

Jake snorts.  “No kidding, she’s had to babysit a lot.”

The doors of the barn swing open.  Rachel’s there, Marco trailing behind.  Two raptors land in the rafters, one after the other.

“Okay,” Jake says.  “I talked with Cassie, and we go ahead no matter what.”

“I can’t tonight,” Rachel says.

“Wow,” Jake mutters, “how did I know that was coming.”

Everyone stares at him.

He stares back.  “No one else is getting frustrated with this?”

“My mom’s just really busy right now.”  Rachel crosses her arms.

“When is she going to get un-busy?”  Jake knows he sounds mean.  He knows it.  But it feels like they’ve been having this conversation since... Since... He doesn’t know when.

“Definitely by this weekend she’ll be fine,” Rachel says.

“Weekends.”  Marco sighs, flopping his wrist against his forehead.  “I remember what those were like, back in the days of yore.”  He’s overdoing it, trying to break the tension.

“What...”  Jake frowns, a sudden uneasiness saturating his stomach.  “What day is it today?”

“It’s Thursday,” Rachel says.  “So the weekend starts tomorrow.  I promise, it’ll be fine.”

“Thursday.”  Jake looks at his watch, not that that’s any help.  “I could’ve sworn it was...”  He trails off, looking into space.  He’s never sure what day it is anymore.  And yet, that answer doesn’t sound right — this whole thing doesn’t feel right — for some reason he can’t put his finger on.

«Let’s just go tomorrow, yeah?» Tobias says.  «We can’t go without our strongest fighter.»

“Yeah,” Jake mutters.  “You keep saying that.”

Still, they go home.

• Jake wakes up.  He doesn’t feel rested, but at least he doesn’t remember dreaming.

“Jake?” his mom asks over breakfast.  “Have you seen Tom this morning?”

Jake shakes his head, hoping that’s not a bad sign.  He leaves for school.

“Remember,” Marco says, as they’re heading out.  “Tonight.  The usual place.”

It’s not like Jake was at any risk of forgetting.  This is their third? fourth? meeting in a row.

He goes to Cassie’s barn.  “I can’t tonight,” Rachel says.  “My mom needs me to babysit Jordan and Sara again.”

“I thought you said she’d be free by Friday,” Jake points out.

“Yeah, and today’s Thursday.”  Rachel crosses her arms.

“It can’t be Thursday, yesterday was Thursday,” Jake snaps.  “We’re already at the weekend.”

“Weekends.”  Marco sighs, flopping his wrist against his forehead.  “I remember what those were like, back in the days of yore.”

Jake stares at Marco.  His whole brain is tilting, spinning, horizon losing its contours.  It’s not unease he’s feeling.  It’s dread.  Panic.

“Hey Ax?” Jake says, voice very small.

«Yes, Prince Jake?»

“N...”  He takes a breath.  “Never mind.”

• Jake wakes up.  He checks the level of the Frosted Flakes.  He should’ve gone through the box, and yet...

“Hey Mom,” he calls, still inside the pantry.  “Did you replace these lately?”

A shadow falls over the door.  Tom is blocking the opening, staring hard at Jake.  “Why are you asking that?”

Jake tries for a natural smile.  “Just wondering.  Did Mom ever find you?  She was looking for you yesterday.”

“Wait.”  Tom’s eyes narrow.  “What?”

The shelf impacts Jake’s lower back, which is how he knows he stepped back.  “Just wanted to make sure that...”

“Jake?” his mom calls.  “You said my name?”

He grabs the cereal box and runs.

When he gets to school, they’re still on integer-valued polynomials.  And conjugating “tournoyer.”  And Chumash-Mexican alliances.  And split infinitives.  And the krebs cycle.

“Remember,” Marco says, as they’re heading out.  “Tonight.  The usual place.”

And for the first time in his life, Jake doesn’t even bother to go.

• Jake wakes up.  Jake stays in bed.  He’s tired.  He’s tired, and he’s starting to understand what’s happening here.  If his mom asks, he’ll fake sick.  But either way, fuck school.

• Staying in bed gets old fast.  Jake spends an entire day actually teaching himself the one-hour lesson on polynomials.  And then another day on regular conjugation of multipart verbs.  And then two more, one each for the Chumash and Mexicans.  And then skips another school day, because he doesn’t give a damn about infinitives, and then finally the krebs cycle.

• He hasn’t been on an Animorphs mission in...

A while.  It’s been a while.

And he’s feeling fine.

• “I’m telling you, if you even tried kidnapping Spider-Man and adding him as a Robin,” Marco says over lunch, “then Aunt May would just go out, buy a shotgun, and cap Bruce Wayne’s ass.”

Jake stares at him.  He’s been letting this conversation wash over him, but now... “Don’t you ever get sick of talking about this stuff?” he asks.

Marco’s face does something complicated.  It takes less than a second, before his smile is back in place.  It has an edge now.  “It’s not like we can talk about anything real here, you absolute gravy stain,” he says through his teeth.

Jake nods.  He pushes to his feet.  And then he stands up on the table.

“Marco!” Jake says, and the cafeteria falls silent.  “Marco Sant-Alonso Grant Dominguez, will you marry me?”

There’s laughter, and then there’s whispering, and then there’s booing.

And then there’s detention, for breaking the school’s policy against homosexual conduct.

It’s something different, anyway.

• Jake lives.

• Some days he walks out of the house before anyone else is up.  He goes flying, and spends the day with Tobias and Ax.  He morphs wolf, runs out to find Toby, and spends the day there instead.  He attends a Sharing meeting, walking uninvited to its back room and noting as many faces as he can before they drag him back out.

• Maybe it’s not fair to everyone else, Jake thinks on some days.  Maybe they deserve to live and grow.  But maybe they deserve to not be at war, and maybe they’re not, not really, not while they’re in this holding pattern.

• Jake thrives.

• “Detention, young man,” Chapman says, because Jake hasn’t bothered to go to English class for quite a while now.

Jake whirls around, staring him down.  “Did you just try to put my host in detention, Iniss 226?” he demands.

Chapman’s face freezes.  His whole body is caught between one motion and the next, mouth hanging halfway open.

“That’s what I thought,” Jake says.  And then he spins back around and walks out the door.  He’s laughing by the time he reaches the sidewalk.  Laughing uncontrollably, laughing with stupid little snorts mixed in.  Laughing like he hasn’t since...

A while.  It’s been a while.

• Jake goes joyriding in his mom’s car.  Jake goes joyriding in a stolen Bug fighter.  Jake’s lonely, but Jake’s been lonely for a long time.

• “My name is Jake!” he announces, the next time he feels like standing on a cafeteria table.  “And I’m an Animorph!”

• Jake messes up.

“Hey Jake?” Jake’s mom says over dinner one night, the way she often does.  “Cassie called a few times.  She sounded worried about you.”

Jake stirs his food (he’s so so sick of stuffed cabbage), not looking up.  “Don’t worry,” he tells his mom.  “She’s annoyed because I’m not planning our ten thousandth attempt to bring down the Yeerk Empire.  But it started to feel pointless after a while, you know?”

His dad asks if this is something to do with a video game.  His mom asks if he and Cassie are dating.  His brother’s face is blank, twisting into horror.

Jake throws Tom a wink, and waits for the explosion.

It never comes, to his surprise.  Instead Tom stares at him in silence for the rest of dinner, not eating, not talking.

The yeerk must be — and Jake laughs aloud at the thought — planning on doing something about it tomorrow.

• Jake wakes up.  He wakes up, because he can’t breathe.

There’s a hand pressed over his nose and mouth.  There’s a two-hundred-pound human body pinning him to his bed.  There’s a knee jammed into his diaphragm.  Any one of these could account for Jake’s drowning-man struggle, clawing at Tom’s wrist as his body starves for air.

“Don’t worry.”  Tom’s voice is silky-low in his ear, and Jake doesn’t care because THERE’S NO AIR.  “I’m not going to kill you, you little shit.  Then I’d be alone in this loop.”

He lets go, sitting back.  Jake sucks in a breath so violently his whole chest arcs off the bed.

Jake sits up.  They stare at each other.

Yeah, Jake fucked up.

“Hi,” Jake says at last, hoarse.  “My name's Jake.  You are?”

The yeerk doesn’t try anything cute, like claiming to be Tom.  “Ardek 5851.  Sub-Visser Two-Oh-Nine.”

Jake nods.  “You’ve been in the loop... how long?”

“For me, this is the eighty-sixth time it’s been Thursday, May tenth,” Ardek 5851 says.  “What about you?”

Jake has no freaking clue how many days it’s been since he noticed, and he has a nasty suspicion it took him at least a week to notice at all.  He settles for shrugging.

“Fine.”  Ardek sits Tom upright, cross-legged on the end of Jake’s bed.  “On to the elephant in the room.  You’re helping the andalite bandits.  And so is Cassie Moises.”

Jake is aware that he’s the stupidest person ever to live, thanks.  There’s no need to point it out.

“Well?” Ardek raises Tom’s eyebrows.  “I gave you my name and rank, midget.”

“Don’t call me that,” Jake snaps.  He shoves to his feet, fists clenched, chest aching.  “And yeah, I’m helping them.”

Ardek snorts loudly.  “Clearly they’re not helping you, or else you wouldn’t still be here.  What, no Time Matrix on loan for their lowly human ally?”

Jake shrugs.  He has to play this carefully.  The variables have changed overnight: now his survival is likely to hinge on that of this creature.  This is bad.  “Maybe I like it here.  Maybe I haven’t bothered telling my andalite contact, because I don't think it's worth the trouble."

Ardek squints at him.  “If I didn’t know you, I’d think you were telling the truth.  Since I do know you, midget, I know you’re telling the truth. Damn.”  He laughs, shaking his head.  “I mean, I knew you were fucked up, because Tom knows you’re fucked up.  But this...”  He shakes his head again.

“So.  Guess we’ll go back to how it was, then.”  Jake shrugs again.  “You do your thing, and I’ll do mine.”

“Jake.”  The name seems like a deliberate choice.  “Jake, you know we can’t go on like this forever.  Work with me, kid.  If you don’t want out, what do you want?”

Jake lets his gaze flick to Tom’s body, and then back up to his eyes.  “I think you know.”

Ardek grimaces.  “Fine,” he says.  “Agreed. He sucks as a host anyway.  But you can’t let him go blabbing the truth after I give him back.  And you let me go my own way."

"Fine."

"There’s this bod I’ve had my eye on anyway, this local cop who’s also a ranked weight-lifter.  Shouldn’t be too hard to grab.”

“I wish you hadn’t told me that,” Jake murmurs.

“Hey, you get Tom, I get Officer Jenna Richards.  Everyone wins.”

“Just...”  Jake presses his index finger and thumb to the bridge of his nose.  “Tell me what you've already tried, to end the loop."

• When they part ways, Jake doesn’t go to Ax.  The part about not wanting to trouble him was true.  And after their little trip to the Cretaceous, Jake is pretty sure Ax has no idea what he’s doing when it comes to sario rips.  Instead, Jake finds Erek.

He doesn’t start by asking about time loops, but with “You remember when we helped you guys fix the pemalite ship?”

Erek nods, because of course Erek remembers.

“Okay,” Jake says.  “So this is going to be one hell of a return favor, but...”  He smiles weakly.  “How do you feel about breaking the space-time continuum?”

• Jake wakes.  Ardek is sitting on the end of his bed again.

“Rise and shine, little bro!” he says.  “Who’s ready for some breakfast?”

Jake groans, rubbing a hand over his face.  “I’m not your brother.”

“And I’m guessing Tom got better sleep on the last-ever May ninth than you did.”  Ardek grins at him.  “So?”

“My contact didn’t get an answer right away.  I’m supposed to come back.”

“So Prince Whoeverthefuck can start running the calculations again?  From the top?”  Tom’s fists are tight on the bedspread.

“Yep.”  It’s Jake’s turn to grin obnoxiously at him.  “So I’d better get over there, don’t you think?”

Ardek flips him off, and stalks out of the room.

• Erek starts from the top, every morning.  Usually after an hour’s worth of exhausting the same suggestions he made yesterday, with Jake shooting down each one at ever-increasing speed.  Erek hits a dead end, every evening.  And he gives Jake something to memorize and recite back to him the following morning.

• Jake comes home to find Tom splayed out on the floor, the whole room stinking of strawberry schnapps.  Ardek is vague-eyed, loll-headed.

“What are you doing?” Jake says slowly.

“Livin’...”  Ardek hiccups.  “Livin’ like there’s no tomorrow.”

Jake considers.  And then he sits on the floor next to Tom.  “Strawberry schnapps, huh?”

“Yep.  Dad’s got shit taste.”

“He’s not your dad.”

“Thank god for that.”  Ardek hands over the bottle.

Jake takes it. “No tomorrow, right?”

Ardek fumbles behind himself in the pantry, comes up with cooking sherry this time.  “No tomorrow.”  He toasts with it.

Jake sips the schnapps.  Yep, even more awful than it smells.  He sets the bottle on the floor, grateful when Ardek doesn’t push the issue.

“So how’s the world’s slowest war-prince doing for you?” Ardek asks.

“‘Slow’ is about it.”  Jake doesn’t sip again.  “Why can’t you ask any of your fellow sub-vissers for help, while we’re waiting?”

Ardek snorts.  “I wish.  Cooperation within the Empire isn’t...”  He trails off.  “It isn’t.  Period.”

“Sounds like a pain.”

“Okay, so.  You got Visser Three, stomping around on his itty-bitty hooves like he hung the stars and we should all be kissing his ass.  You got Visser One, whose deal is...”  Ardek blows a raspberry.  “I don’t even know.  Scary-ass lady.  And you gotta pick one or the other or else your ass is grass.  But you’re stuck either minioning for Visser Three, or betting everything on some alleged revolution that inn’t even going to come through ‘cause...”  He hiccups again.

Jake chuckles.  “Sounds like politics.”

“Y’know, every time I try to tell people my host used to live next door to Visser One’s host, they think I’m making it up?” Ardek says.  “That I’m trying for, like, the position of kissass-in-chief.”

“Would you take it, if you could?” Jake asks.  He takes another wincing sip.

“What, a vissership?”  Ardek slurs the word, stopping to work Tom’s mouth when he’s finally got it out.  “In an instant.  An instant.  It means being safe, being visser.  It means not having to kiss up anymore.  It’d mean no longer having to deal with this...”  He flicks Tom’s finger against his temple, like getting rid of a bug.  “And getting a nice, quiet, voluntary host instead.  I’ll kiss all the ass in the world for that.”

“I guess I never thought about it that way before,” Jake says quietly.

Ardek snorts.  “Like you’re not kissing the ass of some war-prince, just to be allowed to be in the war at all?”

Jake hums noncommittally.  Sips again.  Wonders if he should try to hide the bottles before his parents get home.

Let them ground Tom.  It’s not like it matters.

• Erek makes little progress.  Ardek comments on it constantly, but Jake still won’t let him come along to meet this contact.

• Jake wakes.  This time, it’s because he’s been dumped out of bed and onto the floor.

“Hey.”  Ardek crouches next to him, straightens up, bounces on the spot.  “Hey, hey, asshole.  I tried your idea, man.  I tried your brilliant damn idea of, of, asking our technician about time loops.”

Jake sits up slowly.  “And?”

“I died, man!”  Tom’s voice rises into a screech.

Now Jake scrambles to his feet.  “You died.  Yesterday.  Last loop.  You—”

“Those utter grass-munchers reported me, said I was losing the plot, and of course they didn’t want to deal with me, we’re already over budget and understaffed, yadda yadda, so they shot me!”  Ardek is still bouncing, wide-eyed, manic.

“They shot Tom,” Jake says.  “And you both died.”

“Yes, you stupid human, he died too!”  Ardek makes a dismissive gesture.  “I’ve done the drills, we’ve all done the drills, on how to get out of the skull in an emergency, but all the blood was coming out everywhere, and all the circuits were shutting down, and the stupid host was screaming, and...”  He wraps both arms around himself, shuddering.

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” Jake says slowly.

Ardek punches him in the arm.  “Damn straight you’re sorry.  ‘Why don’t you try asking your people’s technicians?’” he says in a truly awful imitation of Jake’s voice.  “‘See if they can help.’”

Jake gets a hand around Tom’s bicep.  Gently pulls Ardek down to sit on the edge of the bed.  Ardek curls forward, both hands pressed over his face.

“You people aren’t even worth it, you know that?”  Ardek speaks through Tom’s fingers.  “You don’t have blades, you fall over all the time, and pretending to be you involves wasting so much time on the most inane crap...”  He lifts his head.  “You know, if you’d take one tenth the time and resources and brainpower you people spend on this shit—”  He plucks at his shirt hem — "and ditch the clothes, you’d be shuttling to deep space and outgunning the andalites by now.”

“Probably,” Jake says.  “Why are you here, then?  If we’re such a crappy species.”

“No choice,” Ardek says dully.  He flops back onto Jake’s bed.  “If you try to not go to whatever shitty backwater planet they assign you and recruit the locals, you end up...”  He shudders again.  “Like me, yesterday.”

Jake never expected to feel this much sympathy for a yeerk.  Much less the one currently puppeting his brother.  “You could stay,” he offers.  “In the loop.  Just... hold.”

Ardek rolls onto his side.  “I,” he says slowly, “have not eaten—” He pokes Jake’s leg.  “A single drop of kandrona.  In one-hundred forty-three fucking days.  I was scheduled to go first thing, the morning of May eleventh, but nooo.  I haven’t talked to my friends in that long either, because I can’t exactly pick up the phone and do a check-in, now can I?”

Another angle Jake has never considered before.  “Do you even... want a host at all?” he asks slowly.

“Beats being stuck in the kandrona tank twenty-four-seven,” Ardek says.  “I don’t like eating that much.”

There’s something in there, something about all the yeerks feeling like there are only two choices and both suck, that... Jake has a half an idea.  Less than.  He has to run it by Cassie, and then...

And then have Cassie forget the whole thing, over and over again.

“Why is this happening to us?” he asks Ardek, flopping next to him on the bed.  “I mean, why us?”

“Extremely localized sario rip went off in the basement,” Ardek says immediately.  “Caught us both sleeping, sent us into a loop that’s spiraling slowly down until we both die.  Like that... Jacob’s Ladder movie.”

Jake hums.  He’s already lived that one out, in Brazil, and he’s pretty sure this isn’t it.  “Wouldn’t it have collapsed when you died, then?”

“Yeah.”  Ardek sighs.  “For the longest time I thought it was something you andalites did to us, but that doesn’t explain why you’re here.  What about you?  Any thoughts?”

“Crayak.”  It slips out almost before Jake means to say it.

“What’s that?”

“Cosmic being.”  Jake stares at the ceiling.  “Doesn’t like me.  Would pull crap like this, most likely.”

“Then why am I here?” Ardek whines.

Jake doesn’t answer.  And then he figures there’s no harm in answering.  “I think... he wants me to make a choice.  The same one he’s been pushing me toward for a long time now.”

“And that is?”

Jake rolls over enough to look Ardek in the eye.  Enough to look into Tom’s eyes.  “I’m working with the andalites.  You’re a controller.  Figure it out.”

Then he stands up, and starts getting dressed for school.  One more round of infinitives won’t kill him, and if his suspicion about how to get out of the loop is correct then it beats the alternative.

• Erek works out a shorthand for himself.  Jake teaches it back to him every morning, and memorizes a page of notes written in the shortened code every evening.  He deserves extra credit in Algebra for this, even with his new expertise on polynomials.

• Jake’s parents keep catching him to ask about Tom.  They’re worried — he’s stayed in his room all day today.  All day today.  All day today.

“I’m close.”  Jake stands in the door of Tom’s room.  Ardek is curled in a ball on his bed.  “I swear, I’m getting close.”

Ardek lifts Tom’s head.  His eyes are dull.

Jake has been there.  Jake knows.

He shuts the door when he leaves.

• “Forget all of that,” Erek says, ten seconds after handing Jake today’s notes.  “Forget all of it.”  His auto-generated voice sounds excited.  “How long do we have?”

“The loop resets at midnight,” Jake says.

Erek nods.  He’s grinning.  “We’ll be cutting it fine, but I think you can do this.  Because it all fits, if you just add in the Neuguyn Equation and drop the exponential term—”

“—over lambda,” Jake finishes.  “Because then it’s symmetrical, and simplifying it takes half the time.”

Erek raises his eyebrows.  “Dude, how many Thursdays have you had?”

Jake shakes his head.  “Neuguyn Equation.  Teach it to me.”

• Jake wakes up.  Jake throws himself out the window, hitting the ground hard.  But he’s up, morphing to Homer even as he goes at a mad sprint for Erek’s house.  Neuguyn Equation, in place of the exponent.  Neuguyn Equation, in place of the exponent.

• Jake throws open his front door, three hours later.  “Ardek!” he yells.  “Ardek, we’ve got it!”

“Jake?”  His mom’s straightening up from where she was working in the living room.  “Shouldn’t you be at school?  Tom’s home sick, are you also...?”

Jake ignores her.  He’ll apologize tomorrow, if there is a tomorrow.  “Ardek!”  He pounds on Tom’s bedroom door.

Ardek yanks it open.  “You have an answer?”

Jake nods.  “We got it.”

Ducking back into the room, Ardek yanks on shoes and socks.  “Yes, yes, yes!”  He leans down the stairs.  “Mom!  We’re borrowing the car!”

Jake’s mom says something in response, and it doesn’t sound like an affirmative.  Ardek’s already grabbing the keys.

Jake gives directions to the Kings’ house.  His own heart is pounding, his fingertips tingling.  Please let this work.  Please.

• Erek answers the door, smiling pleasantly.  “Please do not be fooled by my human morph,” he tells Ardek.  “This is just a temporary means of avoiding suspicion by the neighbors.”

Ardek takes this with a nod.

“You’re ready?” Erek asks Jake.

Jake takes a breath, and rattles off the math.  It’s a ten-minute process.

Erek nods.  Then he reaches out, grabbing Tom by the wrist.  “I need you to stay here, as you risk getting hurt if you stand too close to the collapse when Jake sets it off.”

“Yeah, okay,” Ardek says.  “Fine with me.”

Jake walks over to the sphere of what looks like ball lightning, floating in the middle of the Kings’ living room.  It’s hard even to look at, eating light and energy from the world around it.

He grabs the first of the metal rods from the floor, and plunges it into the current.  The power jolts up his arm, throwing off the rhythm of his heart, making his hair stand on end.  He grabs the other rod, closing the circuit.

He shifts them apart, then brings them together, building up the flow.  Does it again.  Does it again.  His body is burning, stuttering.  He’s falling apart.

There’s a pop of displaced air, and the world goes into reverse.

The sun plunges down to the east, the sky going dark.  Ghostly shapes, echoes of past possibilities, shoot past in reverse.  Jake feels those universes collapsing into his chest, thousands of possibilities yanked back into his body in a single brain-exploding instant.  The air sucks out of the room, drops back in.  Shutting his eyes does nothing to help, because he can still feel those branches being pulled back into him.

And then it’s done.  He’s standing in the living room, the ball lightning absent, just Erek and Ardek and Tom.

“Did it work?” Ardek asks.

Erek frowns.  “Did what work?”

Jake’s head snaps around.  “Emergency override: six.  I’m sorry, friend, but we cannot play today.  You require maintenance.”

The pemalite code, despite being translated, despite not having been spoken in forty thousand years, works perfectly.  Erek goes blank and dead, hologram shutting off entirely, body freezing in position.

“Uh.”  Ardek tries to yank Tom’s wrist away, makes no progress at all against that relentless thousand-pound grip.  “What the hell?”

“Mr. King’s in the other room,” Jake says levelly.  “He’ll get you food and water, and he’ll make sure Tom doesn’t die.  But he can’t hurt Erek, or Tom, trying to get you loose.  And he doesn’t have any kandrona.”

Jake doesn’t know if the math suddenly fitting helped him to make a decision, or if it suddenly fit because he finally decided.  But he does know that one thing is always true about Crayak’s traps: that the Ellimist is very good at leaving the Animorphs a third way out.

“Please,” Ardek is begging.  He’s yanking harder now, but Erek doesn’t move.  Can’t move, until Jake turns him back on.  “Please, please, I’m sorry.  I’m sorry!” he screams, in Tom’s voice.  Straining Tom’s throat.

“I know,” Jake says.  And then he walks out the front door.

It’s Thursday.  It’s Thursday, but he’s pretty sure tomorrow will be Friday.

• Jake wakes up.  He wakes because his mom is shaking him.  “Honey, we need your help.”  She sounds frantic.  This is new.

“What day is it?” Jake asks.

“Friday,” she says dismissively, not noticing his sharp inhale.  “Honey, nobody’s seen Tom since yesterday morning, your dad and I have called everyone we know, and —”

Jake rolls out of bed.  “I’ll go looking for him.  I know which friend he might be with.”

His mom rushes out of the room.  It’s Friday.  It’s Friday.

• When he gets to Erek’s place, Tom is slumped against Erek’s unmoving legs.  His wrist is swollen black within Erek’s grip.  Ardek lies dead on the floor.  It’s Friday.

• The cops knock on Jake’s front door, less than an hour after they get home.  This, even though Jake’s mom called to cancel the missing-persons report 30 minutes ago.

Tom answers, right arm tucked into the pocket of his coat.  Tom tells the officers, his voice hoarse and ragged, that it was just a stupid bender and that he’s very sorry for going out drinking underage.  Tom assures them both it won’t happen again.  Tom sees them on their way.

Jake shuts the door, locks it.  “Those were...”

“Controllers, yeah.”  Tom coughs, winces.  Ardek must have screamed all night.  “And they’ll be back within the hour.”

Jake nods.  “Pack your stuff, then.  We’re running.”  He knew this might happen.  He knew.

“They’re going to find us,” Tom rasps.

“Only way out was through.”  Jake thinks.  He hopes.  “Don’t know about you, but I was getting pretty sick of Thursdays.”

Tom nods.  “Should contact your war-prince first, though.”

“Yeah,” Jake says.  “About that.”

[trashmagines]

Fault Line: Four x Reader x Eric Short

TrAshy Says: Not one person said they wanted angst and yet,,,

Warnings: Insurgent spoilers!, major character death/mention, blood, break up, general sad feels 

_____ 

fault line

NOUN

a divisive issue or difference of opinion that is likely to have serious consequences

The chill in the autumn air causes you to shove your hands deeper into your pockets as you stroll down the mostly empty sidewalk. You don’t have a destination in mind, you rarely do these days, but you can’t stand being in your apartment for very long. Not when it holds so many soul-crushing memories. 

“Y/N?”

You continue walking, offering no response to the familiar voice that’s now a little too close behind you. You hope he’ll take the hint, that he won’t trap you in another unwanted conversation. You don’t get your wish and Four suddenly passes you, stopping right in front of you and almost causing you to slam into him. He grasps your upper arms to keep you from colliding, but then uses his grip to hold you in place. 

“Y/N,” Four tries again, his voice only slightly above a whisper. 

You look up at him, finally, but your eyes are void of the spark he fell in love with. He can only see sadness, and although he doesn’t regret his actions, his heart still aches painfully.

“What do you want, Four?” “I...I wanted to know how you were doing.”

You scoff and roll your eyes. 

“Fucking peachy. Now if you’ll excuse me...”

Four still hasn’t moved his hands from where they’re resting, and he tightens his grip a bit when you try to maneuver out of it. 

“Let go.” “I miss you, Y/N.”

Though his statement shouldn’t come as a shock to you, it knocks the breath out of you anyway. You lower your head as memories of that day come rushing back, and even though you really don’t want Four to see you cry, hot tears have already started falling, wetting the gray pavement beneath your feet. 

“How could you? How could you do that?” 

You refuse to look up at him, but your broken tone of voice conveys the emotions you’re feeling and it destroys Four to know that he’s the reason.

“Eric committed heinous crimes. You and I both knew he could be an asshole, but truthfully, he just wasn’t a good person. You saw the records; you know I’m right.” “You fucking killed him!” 

You shove Four hard and he stumbles back, your upper arms stinging slightly from how tightly you were being held just a second ago. The sadness in your eyes has been replaced with anger -and hatred. Anger and hatred for a man that, up until the incident, you would have given your life for. 

Your arm moves before your brain registers what’s happening.

Four’s head whips to the side due to the power behind your strike, and he can taste the blood beginning to pool in his mouth. You grab the back of his neck and pull his head down as your knee flies up, colliding with the former leader’s chest. He’s doubled over for just a moment, staining the pavement red when he spits. When he stands tall again, he stares at you, eye’s conveying hurt, though it’s not from physical pain. 

“You can hit me,” he starts, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “You can hate me. But I did the right thing, Y/N. I know I did.”

You open your mouth to respond, but no words come out. You have nothing else to say. You’ve said it all. 

Wiping away the rest of your stray tears, you stuff your hands back in your pockets as the wind picks up.

“Goodbye Four.”

He doesn’t stop you from walking away. 

[plush-rabbit]

Aphrodisiac Induced Villains

Request: im obsessed with your aphro induced brothers !!! can i request the same scenario with the leave of villains + overhaul and chrono?

Word Count: 1K each

A/N: Sorry for it being so late!! I love aphrodisiac plots and I think I’ll never stop thinking about them. (esp moth shig and spinner during a heat)

-

Every breath is like water that fills his lungs, suffocating and one step closer to some hellish end. They aren’t usually so clumsy, so blindsided by rage. They’re tactical, able to evade heroes for as long as they live and yet- here they are, slumped over some alleyway, dirt sticking to their clothes and the noise of the outside so deafening that they can’t even hear their own blood rush in their ears. It’s horrific, even more so than anything they’ve ever endured in their life; this need to feel so cold and hot at once, their body so off putting that you’d think he’d shed his skin and become a new man simply because they are unable to think of anything coherent at that very moment.

Their hand cups over their face, bumping and squishing their nose and the scent of the damn quirk is still strong, still heavy against their body. It’s sweet like vanilla, and strong like peppermint, sticking to their skin and invading their body. His eyes flutter to a close, thinking of the scent that is consuming them, burning them from the inside. The sweet aroma that filtered out of the hero’s body like perfume. The way that their defenses dropped, how their mouth salivated, and the only thing on their mind was primal, something so animalistic that has now taken over. What type of fucking hero even has an aphrodisiac quirk? What good is it unless you want a bunch of salivating and aroused villains in your custody? The other hand clutches over where their heart should be, where they hold on so tightly to their shirt that they stretch the fabric and ruin it. His heart beats erratically, pounding and bruising their ribs, and this quirk truly is ruining them from the inside and out.

Slowly, their hand falls from their face, bumping into their other hand that falls from their chest and they rest heavy on the ground, weighing him down like anchors. He can’t think straight, not with this burning desire inside of him that makes it so impossible to think. With a groan, he stands from the floor, uncaring of the dirt and mess that has stuck on him, uncaring of how sweat falls and drips from their nose and chin. The only thing on his mind right now is to rid himself of this quirk, to ease the ache between his legs and stomach, to finally think straight. At this very moment, the only thing on his mind is to go to you, to stagger and kiss your lips and have his own desires just flood out of him.

Bubaigawara Jin:

There hasn’t been a time in his life where he hasn’t had to fought for survival. He’s been in desperate situations before. Clawed and fought his way through and for survival, for the sake of not only him, but for his sanity. He’s been through the worst of it all. He’s felt betrayal, felt blood rush and blind him as he stayed strapped to a chair, unable to even realize if he was real or not, and yet, it’s the aphrodisiac that makes Jin fall to his knees just before your door. He’s knocking rapidly against it, banging the end of his fists against your wooden door and your name is a godforsaken cry that tears through his throat. He can’t think of anything else but you at this very moment, to collapse onto you and rest his weary head on your shoulders. The only fear that courses through his body is the fear that you won’t answer the door. Jin is at your door, his erection bulging against his suit and every movement is sweet friction that his heart racing and blood rushing. You open the door to him and he does just as he pictured- he falls into your arms and holds you tight while he kicks the door close and pushes you further into your home.

When you bring him, your hands wrapped tightly around him, it doesn’t take much for the man to confess what happened. All the details told to you without question- the scent of the aphrodisiac, the strong sensation, the way that he feels so pulled apart and grounded all at once. He is a weak man at the very end of it, wanting nothing more than to bring you and him down to your knees, as he;s held in your arms. You pull him to your room, telling him to not worry as you’ll be here for him and he knows that you don’t know the severity of the aphrodisiac. The way that it pains him, how nothing is on his mind but the way that your lips look so cute when in a pout, the way the soft pink muscle flashes out to wet at your lips and he can only nod. The back of his knees hit the bed and your hands are coming up to his neck, peeling off the mask and he’s so drunk on lust, that he doesn’t even realize that the simple graze of your knuckles against his neck is enough for him to fall to his back on the bed.

Depravity is not the thing that ails him. It’s the burning desire to be by your side, to continue to feel your hand knits through his and the gentle way that you call his name. He can’t remember when his name was said with such adoration, and now, it just makes his cock throb and he’s thankful for wearing black or there'd be such an obvious stain on him. The bed creaks under his weight and the scent of you on the sheets is enough to replace the scent of vanilla and peppermint. It’s much sweeter, stronger and much more intoxicating. You reach over and your hand is curved over his forehead, the scar pressing against your palm and when you pull away, he grabs your wrist. He can’t be alone. Not right now. Not when his erection is aching and causing the worst pain that he’s ever felt. Everything is too much at this moment. Coming to you was a mistake, but it was the best mistake that he ever made. You’re the only thing keeping his grounded at this very moment.,

With your wrist in his hand, he pulls himself up, and pulls you closer to him, your knees bumping against the edge of the mattress and he pulls you down. His lips are on yours and it’s messy, spit slipping between the corners of the lips, his hands clawing and tugging off your clothes and he doesn’t have the patience to take off his. His bulge is pressed against your thigh, rocking back and forth. It’s a steady motion at first, something so sweet and slow that it leaves him groaning out your name filled by a lovely curse. Soon, everything becomes filthy. Heavy rocking motions that leaves him panting and drooling over your shoulder as his hands palm over your breasts and tease at your nipples and his face i flushed, a deep red that paints him in a heavenly glow and he’s begging for you to remove his suit, to touch him and kiss him. You cry underneath him, try to latch onto him for another kiss but his eyes are half lidded, his hips thrusting until he’s he’s crying your name and holding you close, his breathy moans echoed into your ear and it’s the sweetest thing when he looks at you, and his first thought is kiss you once more as he shudders above you.

Jin wonders how he must look to you. So desperate enough that you’d listen to him without another command. You’re quick to pull his clothes off, the black suit leaving nothing to the imagination already exposes his muscular body, but without it, he stands proud with a dark blush over him. He’s beside you, and his cock springs free, pre-arousal drooling onto your stomach as he rises above you. Sweat is already on his body, faded scars that curve around him and he’s toned, sharp and rugged while you are soft and everything nice. It makes his heightened arousal feel all that much filthier. He’s a gentleman no matter the situation, his lips on yours as he shares a passionate kiss with you, sucking on your pink tongue as he fingers at your hole and he’s so close to spilling when he hears you squeal and open your legs, stretching your hole to fit more of his thick fingers and he spills over your stomach in hot seed, painting you white. His fingers leave you and he can feel your hole flutter against the tip of his cock and it takes just a single push to bury himself inside of you, your back arching and hands clamping down on his biceps as you call his name. His smile is wide, charismatic and holds all the charm of the world as he ruts against you.

Dabi:

Dabi is burning, his body is hot and it’s absolute torture. His erection is pressed against the inside of his jeans and His body is hot and it’s not in the way that it is, so consuming so heavy, full of dread and he goes to you because in the end, he has you all to himself. The man who tries to hide all his emotions is breaking, ripping apart- figuratively- and he’s racing towards you, running and pleading to make it you and he’s knocking on your door, trying to fight the urge to seem so desperate and pathetic when you don’t answer. He can’t seem desperate, not when you’re so close, not now. He’s lasted for this long, he can last for just a few more seconds. The moon is high above him, and his clothes smell like vanilla and peppermint mixed with cheap alcohol and smoke and it makes his stomach churn and acid laced on his tongue. He knocks once more, his nails scratching at the door and he doesn’t beg, but the plea is so thick in your name, that he might as well be on his knees and ask for forgiveness if it meant you’d welcome him into your arms.

The door opens and half his face is shrouded in shadows and the other is illuminated by the dodgy street lamps in your neighborhood. You welcome him inside and he brushes your touch away and he’s never been so thankful before to wear a jacket. He isn’t sure how he would react to having you touch his bare skin, not when it's painful enough for him to touch himself. Concern is laced thick in your words and he shakes his head, trying to fend off your worry as goes to your bedroom. His straps are staggered, his hand on the wall as he walks to your room, and in the room, the scent of the aphrodisiac shifts into else- something more than the basic churning in his stomach and into him having to sit down and remove his jacket, the heat finally catching up to him. Your shadow stretches into the room and when he looks up, you’re already walking towards him, kneeling before him and grabbing his hands in yours. He isn’t sure how to tell you that he got hit by a quirk that’s making him lose his mind, that’s making him picture you dressed in nothing, and when your hand slips from his to cup gingerly at his jaw, he leans into your touch. It takes nothing more than for you to call his name, a soft whisper that he can barely hear through his beating heart that echoes and pounds in his ears, to confess what it is that's making him act in such a way. It’s embarrassing for him. He doesn’t want your worry, he doesn’t want your gentle touches and the way that you coo his name. He can’t stand how you sit beside him and refuse to leave him. It's making him feverish and you gently nudge his face so he’s looking at you.

Even looking at you proves to be too much. It’s too hard for him- his erection pulsing in his pants, the lack of air in his lungs, and his mind so foggy that the only thing he can do is stare at your lips that move in soundless words. He can’t focus. Not one bit, not with the quirk and you being so prevalent in him when he’s this close to you. There is nothing he can do but to kiss you. His lips meld against yours, his hands twisting into the shirt and staining the fabric with his hands, and he keeps you close, not wanting to pull air for air even if his lungs really are starting to burn. You’re so close to him, so soft and delicate under his touch and he’s lowering himself, bowing before you just to kiss your lips. You’re beside him, the bed dipping under his weight and you’re just here with him, so real and touchable, he can’t help but rush to touch you.

Clothes are removed, limbs entangled and knees bumping into each other. It’s sloppy and rushed, and it’s enough for him to climax and leave his thighs in white and dark purple and peach. His hands hold onto your body, never once leaving your body without his touch. His body burns and there’s a stinging pain in his abdomen, and he isn’t sure if it’s the aphrodisiac or his quirk that’s making him so feverish. Your hand wraps around his cock, massaging at his balls and slipping upwards to the base. Your thumb slides the arousal down, slicking it around his cock until he’s pleading in your ear to touch him. Everything is just too much- there’s too much emotion that is bubbling inside for him to even fathom, the sensations making his head spin, and the taste of you fading from his tongue. He wants you, he wants you in a way that is dependent and obsessive. Ever so needy, he’s kissing you harshly, sucking on your bottom lip and orgasming from a simple handjob. He pulls away from the kiss, his eyes half lidded as he nudges you with his shoulder, falling into his back, his cock still erect and bubbling with semen that drips off of him in shining pearls. He’s naked on your bed, his climax strong and enough for the lights to blind him and he can’t think of anything else when you climb above him.

You run your hands against a trail of staples, and it’s enough to make goosebumps appear over his body as you lower yourself onto him. His entire body is sensitive and sex fills the room and he can taste just how sweet you are, and he’s deep inside of you. He smiles sweetly, and you feel so good on him, so nice and soft, and he’s swiveling his own hips, aching to feel you deeper and deeper. His climax is flush, his body burning and hands reaching for your thighs, holding you close to him. When you lean down, he captures your lips in a kiss, smiling against you. Dabi’s own climax is burning against his skin, his scars tingling under your touch and your lips pressed against his jaw and his eyes are wide, his hands clawing around you and he pushes himself deeper, and even with you on top, he’s doing the work. Deprived of everything sweet and overflowing with bitterness, he can’t help but keep you close to him. Scarred and muscular, his arms wrapped around you and keeping you close to his chest, as he just soaks his cock in you. There is nothing but pain that feels, and yet, he feels all of you, so warm and soft compared to him.

Iguchi Shuichi:

With the aphrodisiac settling inside of him, he rushes towards you, eager and fearful of all the arousal that is bubbling and consuming him. Shuichi is running through the night, his legs sore and muscles begging for rest, but he can’t stop, not until he’s by your side, not until he’s safely nestled in your arms. The burning desire inside of him is making his lungs burn, more so than all the running he did. It’s a chill that enters him and makes every breath sharp, a chill that runs through his body. He stands in front of your door, and he’s catching his breath, hands on his knees as he breathes in and out, his claws digging into his knees and when he stands, he’s already knocking at your door. He’s shakily grabbing and jiggling at the handle as he calls your name in a hushed whisper. There isn’t much that he can say other than he needs you to open the door, quickly, before someone other than you sees him in such a shameful state.

There’s many advantages to having a mutation quirk- especially one that’s a variant of an animal, and that is that most, if not all, your senses are heightened. He can hear your careful steps before he can see your shadow between the door and the floor. He can faintly smell your dinner, the sound of the television in the background and he can smell you, something mixing with the aphrodisiac until it’s just you at the very end of it. You’re the one filling his lung with the shape and painful scent, replacing the vanilla and peppermint, something so thick and wonderful gone in just a simple breath, only to be replaced by you. The effects of the aphrodisiac are still in effect when you open the door and they're heightened even more. You stand in front of him, the light illuminating you in a heavenly glow and with worry creasing your features and he’s the one to take the first step and lean into you.

It’s the gentle look that you give him, his name on the tip of your tongue, and already so weak, he falls into you, letting you hold him as you struggle to close the door and he’s little more than dead weight against you. His hand already having snuck to cup his sex in an attempt to avoid having you feel it, but the pressure is more than enough for him to hiss. You ask what’s wrong and he doesn’t know how to tell you what happened to him, but when you run your hands through his hair, the words are already rushing past his lips. He speaks faster than he can think, the story mixed with events as he rushes through it, while he palms himself through his jeans. He can’t look at you while he does something so humiliating, but he can't pry himself away from you either, his snout pressing against the soft curve of your neck as he presses the heel of his hand further into himself. He’s gasping, and whimpering, acting so painfully shy that he even whispers your name is something perverse. You continue to stroke his hair, and it’s panting, whining and humping against your leg that he can’t take it, that the sensations are just too much at the moment. He needs for you to touch him, to just do something more than pet him.

The points of his teeth nips at your shoulder and he’s struggling to keep his moan muted as his body shakes against yours. He’s apologizing and he’s ashamed of his actions to palm himself in front of you, that he can’t look at you. When you cup his face and have him look at you, he’s apologizing, and telling you that it just felt too good and that he can’t think with you so close to him. You pull him onto the couch, the television shutting down and for a brief second, silence fills the room. You sit on the couch, the cushion soft underneath you and your hands grab at his as you pull him close to you. The aphrodisiac is making his mind muddy and slow, and he can only watch as your hands carefully and tantalizingly slow undoing his zipper and he’s flustered. With tears in his eyes as his own shaky hands grabbing at your wrists but it does nothing to stop you. You undo him, and you're so soft against his cock, freeing it from the confines of his pants. Your warm hand is wrapped around the base, giving it a few slope strokes where the friction makes his leg jerk. His head is thrown back, hands covering his mouth as you wrap your lips around his cockhead. Soon into the rhythm, his hands are on the back of your head, pushing you down to the base of his cock, your spit soaking him and something salty and thick squirting down your throat. The soft feel of the inside of your cheeks press against his side, hollowed cheeks as your hand grip onto his thighs and your little whines and whimpers make him thrust haphazardly into your open mouth. He keeps you there until you pat against his thighs and when you look up at him with tears in your eyes and drool running down your chin, his eyes go dark.

Shuichi goes for you, pinning your back down on the couch as he captures you in a kiss, his tongue thick and slimy inside of you, and he’s pulling your shorts down, rubbing his coarse fingers against your slit, spreading your arousal around the entrance of your hole. He’s animalistic, holding the traits inside of him, dominant and needing to breed, the want to push himself deep inside you overtakes him and he muffles your moan with a kiss as he unsheathes himself in you. Your sex pulses and throbs under him as he frantically ruts himself against you. He’s nipping at every exposed inch of skin, ripping your clothes off and suckling on your sweet breasts, his head buried in your chest and when he rises, your chest is covered in a thin layer of drool. Your hole is soft, gummy walls that wrap around him, twitching when he hits a certain spot and he can’t think, can’t even make out a sentence, and only your name is the most coherent thing that is said as he fills your hole with his seed.

Sako Atsuhiro:

There is nothing worse for Atsuhiro than what is happening now. He holds an image to the public, to his comrades, to you- and that is that he is composed, he’s a showman and when in the public eye, he maintains his appearance. Yet, the quirk, something like a perfume that wrapped around him, has stuck. The aroma was- or rather is- sweet and no matter how far he runs, it just won’t leave him. It’s humiliating. This is one of the worst things that has ever happened to him and he’s seen and participated in his own share of hell. His pants have become too tight, his cock straining and begging for release and even just the idea of pleasuring himself leaves him with a hot face. Without a second thought he rushes to you, his steps quick until he’s running and sweat beads and makes his clothes stick to him. He doesn’t want you to see him in such a disheveled state, but then again, you’re the only one that can see him like this, that can see him as anything less than him. He’s running and breathing roughly and his heart is pounding against him and there is nothing more that he can think of than to go to you, ignoring the stares and fighting his way through his own personal inferno just to be near you.

The lights are on and it gives him all the motivation to rush to your door and knock frantically; he’s begging to be let inside like it’s death that is chasing him. The lock clicks and when you open the door, he’s quick to rush past you, removing his mask and giving a kick to close your door as he captures your lips in his. Everything is so easy with you, and yet, standing just in front of you and kissing your lips proves to take his breath away, it drains him, and he’s drowning all over again. Peppermint leaves his lungs burning, and with your lips on him, it’s replaced by sweet hibiscus, flooding and sprouting from his lungs and he never wants to let you go. He holds you close, his hands on your waist and when he parts from you, you look at him stunned and he can’t help but laugh. It’s soft, a simple chuckle that grows as he buries himself in the curve of your neck as his laughter grows. Your hand rests at the nap of his neck and your fingertips tease at the edge of his balaclava. The simple graze of your skin against his has him press his weight against you. His hands haven’t left your sides and with a tired voice, he tells you what happened- the quirk, the scent, the way that his only thought was to be with you. It’s all so draining to just be in front of you, and with his erection tucked in his pants, he isn’t sure how much longer he can wait until he’s creaming and staining the inside of his clothing, to be so humiliated in front of you as he pleasures himself, but he can’t hold back, not when you’re in front of him and the feel of your tongue is making his length throb in his palm.

Your nails scratch along his neck, trailing over the bumps of his spines and a shock runs down his body, his breath catching in his throat and his hands squeezing down on your sides. Slowly, he lifts his head as his balaclava is lifted and removed, his hair is left ruffled and curls left messy. He leans towards you, trying to capture you in a kiss once more, but when you pull away, he lets out a groan, bowing his head and resting it on your shoulder. He’s begging for you to touch him, to just let him kiss you one more time. It's too much heartache to go without you for a second longer. You coo his name and lift his head, brushing back his hair that is stuck to his face. It’s too much to feel your gentle and cool touch against his burning body and he’s shaking his head, grabbing your hand and pressing it to his chest where his heart beats against your palm. It’s too forward of him. He knows that this isn't him whatsoever. He’s a gentle lover, your needs are put first because even just seeing your blissful expression is enough for him to feel the familiar knot in his stomach. This, however, is just too much, to have you touch him so softly, a ghost over his skin and your lips brushed against his, he’s dying and gasping for breath, reaching towards you as a hand unbuttons his pants and he’s massaging his cock over his briefs.

It doesn’t take much for him to spill in his briefs, to his hand moist and sticky and his body shaking and moans filling your mouth as he continues the motions. He needs the sweet friction that is making everything much too sharp and too powerful for him to just lay there. He’s dying and pulling you close and the way to your bedroom is messy. You’re already on his lips and he won’t lose that feeling again, not until the bed is underneath you and his hands are on either side of your head. The covers are wrinkled and his clothes are discarded as he eagerly touches you, having them disappear into nothing but glass in his palm. You’ll pout and reprimand him for ruining your clothes, but for now, he’ll muffle your annoyance with a kiss as his lust clouds his mind.

Nimble hands tease against your slit, spreading your nectar around and massaging at your entrance, the tips of his fingers slowly spreading you and familiarizing the stretch of your hole.. The feel of your plush walls has him tight, his muscles tense and body feeling as if it were about to curl in on itself. His cock is erect, standing at attention, his tip tinted with red, blushing and bashful as milky white pours from him and drips against your entrance. He enters you with a euphoric moan, so sinful and depraved, that he stills for a moment, his muscles rigid as he tries to not to ejaculate so soon. Atsuhiro has just entered you, he can’t waste this opportunity when your hole is cushioned around his cock. The moans that leave your lips are rich in lust, his own muddled with sobs as if entering you is pure ecstasy. Ever the gentleman, he's always made sure to give you the first orgasm, but he can’t now. He’s already taken away that first pleasure, and as greedy as it is, he can’t stop. His hips move faster than he can think, skin slapping against skin as he moans your name, filling you with his seed and continuing even when you squeeze around him and claim that you’ve already reached your own climax.

Shigaraki Tomura:

It’s terrifying to know how much control one can have on another. Tomura is upset, a frown on his lips and the anger in him is quickly snuffed out, replaced as soon as it came with lust. It wraps around him in a thick smoke, encasing him and filling his lungs until he’s unable to breathe. An aphrodisiac is such a cheap trick, and he hates it. Embarrassment courses throughout him and he’s left doubling over, his hand so close to his erection until something metallic is on his tongue. He’s a man of many depravities, but he’ll be damned if he touches himself in an alleyway simply because of a quirk. He already has you and he’s chasing you, running through the street with you on his mind and his hand outstretched as if he could actually touch you. The friction of the seam of his pants has his breathing more rugged than if he were just running. He knocks, and he tries to avoid raising his voice, but the pressure is building, and he’s already undoing his jeans and reaching past his briefs to release his erect cock.

The door opens and you stand there with a smile to greet him only to recoil in surprise when you see what he’s in the middle of. You make a joke and if it were any other day, maybe he would laugh and reply with something of his own, but he can’t. He pushes past you, kicking off his shoes and removing his clothes, sweat so heavy on his body and his body so hot that the cool air of your air conditioner is leaving him in goosebumps. It’s cruel how you touch him, your hand over his bicep and when he looks at you, his cheeks are pooled red. Every touch is electric, his mind numb and body moving on its own before he can register what he’s doing, he leaves your touch behind him. He goes to your bed, collapsing and removing his clothes on the way, leaving a trail for you to find in your home. You follow him, his name on your lips and hearing you call for him just leaves him laying on your bed, removing his briefs and fisting his hand around his cock. Your hand curves over his forehead and you tell him how he is burning as if doesn't know that. You date a killer, and you’re still so naïve and it’s adorable in a way that makes him want to ruin you. He doesn’t waste time- he tells you what happened and grabs your hand, moving it beside to touch the side of his face and he watches how your lips part ever so slightly, commenting on how red his ears are. He laughs and moves your hand closer to his mouth. You’re real, touching him and there is worry laced into your features and words, and it’s so genuine that he feels a heavy hand wrap around his heart.

Time is ever passing, continuing on and never returning and he’s hot, and begging, his cock erect and balls full with unspent semen. Pain is etched around him in scars and bullet holes, and he’s telling you in a broken whisper how it hurts, how he’s in pain and with how reddened his cock is, you have to believe him. Your fingertips touch against his chapped lips, his tongue peeking out to lick at the tips before he slides your hand down. Your hand curves around his neck and you linger for a moment where his heart is beating eagerly, rapidly as if threatening to pound out and leave him bleeding before you. Lust is clear in his eyes, his mouth parted and you kiss him, and he eagerly returns the gesture, releasing your hand to grab your face and deepen the kiss. Your hand moves on its own- sliding down his chest, brushing against his pebbled nipples and lower against his stomach and falling to his crotch to wrap around his pulsing cock and tug on it, spreading the pearling bud over him until he’s panting with his head resting on your chest and mouth open.

Thick ropes of white coat your hand and your name is sung out in a groan, depraved and everything bad. It isn't enough to just have your hand wrapped around his cock, to be given a handjob, he wants more. He craves it like a sinner to their vice. He’s erect, and his breath fans against your lips. Begging has never been so immoral as it is right now when he pleads to you, begging for you to touch him more, to let him do more than kiss you. It’s you that he cares for you, and even with your kiss and his climax, he wants something more, he needs to feel you underneath him. He pulls you close to him, your body clad in just your underwear and he's grinding above you, his spent cock over your underwear, his mouth latching on a breast and toying the nipple with his tongue. He grinds and it’s harsh, your underwear slick with your and his arousal, a string of semen connecting him to you as he pulls away and hastily removes your remaining clothes.

Your face scrunches in pain and you let out a whimper when he grabs your legs and pushes them to your chest, his cock aligned with your fluttering entrance. He watches as your expression changes from pain to pleasure, your sex tightening around him. Clicking fills the room, your entrance allowing him to slip in his body twitches in response, every nerve and hair on it’s end as he feels your insides wrap around him. It’s animalistic, his hips moving on their own, the rhythm barely there and he’s only interested in his own climax. His mouth is slick with saliva and he’s above you, with your legs bent on your chest and his hips rocking back and forth. The inside of you is gummy, molding around the shape of his cock. It’s as if he’s going to leave your sex in the mold of his cock, never to have you forget who it is that is making your heart beat and sex tighten. Your hands entangle in his hair, threading his hair together as he buries his cock inside of you. He’s chasing his high, mouth open in a moan as a thick trail of drool drips from his mouth and coats over your collarbone. It’s filthy and degrading, but to him, seeing even a small portion of you covered in his spit has him spilling his seed inside of you. Tomura kisses you and it’s wet and messy, but it’s perfect as his lungs are deprived of oxygen and he gets to feel your hands claw at his back.

Chisaki Kai:

Filth clings to him so easily, that painstaking amount of time that he wastes to keep himself pristine is all for naught at the end. All ruined because of a simple quirk. His mask is lost, a casualty of the fight and all that he can breathe in is the air of the sick and depraved, the air of something sweet and intoxicating. Kai hates it all. When the drug is perfected and in the masses, he’s sure of who will get one of the few. The damn reminder of what and who it was that brought him to the floor of some alleyway so rotting that it makes his anger boil, his face hot and whether it’s from frustration or anger, he isn’t quite sure. He covers his mouth and nose, and the poor attempt at a mask is just that- a poor attempt. He can still breathe in everything, still taste the air that is filled with smoke and the dewy weather of the night. It’s horrific. He forces himself to go to you, because at this point, it’s either touch and ruin people and risk getting himself covered in more filth, and go to you and do what the quirk is making him do.

The cheap paint touches his knuckles as he knocks at your door. He doesn’t want you to be late in answering the door, you have to hurry up. Hurry up and get him out of this sickness outside. Hurry up and bring him inside where he can shower and rid himself of these clothes that have been sullied by everything but you. You open the door the second he raises his palm, a frantic and desperate attempt to let himself inside, to fix some cheap wood just as quick. Why he hasn’t moved you in with him yet is unbeknownst to him, but after today, he’ll start to push for it. When you open the door, he walks inside, kicking his shoes and ridding himself of his clothes before you can lock the door behind you. You call his name and his eyes snap towards you, bright golden irises that hold the fury of the sun behind them and he’s breathing heavily. He’s not in the proper state of mind, but damn it all. He tells you, and with every passing second, he becomes angrier. Stalking and following you throughout your home, until you’re backed up against a wall. At this very moment, he has lost his control.

You’re scared and that should be his top priority but he can’t think. He can’t focus on you when his erection is strained between his pants and your breath that smells like mint is against his own. Your eyes flutter to his crotch and when you catch a glimpse of his erection, his name a soft murmur of your lips, he pushes himself into you. His erection presses into your thigh and he can feel the shift of your muscles, the tightening and the jump, the feel of your breath changes into a shaky gasp and exhale and he’s in front of you, silent and face spoiled red. You reach out to touch him, your hand slowly going upward but just as you're there, just as he can feel the warmth of your hand hover against the side of his face, you retreat. He reaches for you immediately and places your hand against his face and he’s out of his mind, too consumed with lust to ever focus on the filth that once touched him, and too focused on you and the way your fingertips flutter against his cheekbones.

It’s an intense moment where you touch him without the feel of the mask or gloves, and he’s so soft. And when you blink, his mouth is on yours. Everything about him is all about control and precision, and yet, with this simple act of kissing, he’s sloppy, too forward and bumping his teeth against yours, trying to nip at your bottom lip only to give up and focus on your neck. Your hands have moved, cupping his face to curving against the back of his head and knotting your fingers into his hair, your own body grinding into him and pressing against his erection. His own hands wander through your body, touching underneath your shirt and cupping just the underside of your breasts to leave and trying to undo his own zipper, aching to release his dripping cock. Exploring your body in such a drunken state is new to him, every movement slowed down and leaving his knees weak and body filled with needles and pins- he can’t get enough. Your hands bump against his and the friction is enough for him to spill onto your shorts, staining it with a pearly white that is thick like cream and drips onto the floor.

His cock is in your hands, slick with his cum and just the right amount of friction to leave him moaning into your mouth. Clothing pools around you and him and his bare skin is touching yours. It’s rushed, knuckles bumping into each other, his cock teasing against your sex, and the sensation is elevated with the aphrodisiac of the quirk and it’s making his mind blurry and jaw wet with saliva. Your body and his are sticky with sweat, sweat pooling in joints and crevices and he’s disgusted but when he pinches around your pert nipple and you let out a sweet moan that has your nails digging into his biceps, he ignores all of it and focuses on you. Kai is high with lust, elevated and drunk and his lips are on yours as he enters your hole. It takes nothing more than a few pumps to get him to spill, to fill your sex with his cream and let it drip onto the floor as he pounds into you, too focused on his release and your quivering sex to focus on how you call his name. His face is flushed, sweat that curves down past his cheeks and drips onto your body as presses you deep against the wall and lets the aphrodisiac take control.

Kurono Hari:

There is no time to waste as he rushes to your home. The heel of his shoes click against the concrete and he must look like a madman as he runs through the night. The night is humid, sweat causing his clothes to stick to his body and the mask is held in his hands, the confinement of it all making him unable to breathe. Hari needs to go to you now. He needs to see you before his legs give out and he collapses onto the ground before him. It’s the damn quirk that is making him act so unlike himself, ruining his image and tainting his composure with such filth that perhaps there is truth behind eradicating quirks just for being wicked. He’s lost, his mind hazy with lust, corrupting the very essence of him, and it’s perverse. He doesn’t know how to take it. He reaches your door and he stands, catching his breath, his heart beating against the confines of his body, and he’s standing there, willing for the door to open, and unable to move his hands. It’s just then, that he notices his cock that throbs in excitement. He takes a deep breath and reaches for the key to your home in his pocket and quietly, he opens the door.

The inside of your home is cool, and it feels as if he’s been transported somewhere else, everything moving in slow motion as he walks through it, wading against the pool that is your home, his hand touching and never leaving the wall as he follows your singing. It’s loud and at certain points you mumble, but it's you. He’s growing closer, and closer until he finds you with your back turned, undoing a blanket and laying it down on the bed. You don't hear him as he walks behind you, and when he wraps his arms around your torso, you yelp and laugh when you realize that it’s just him. He isn’t sure what the aphrodisiac did to his mind to make it feel so out-of-body, but he enjoys how you press against his erection, how the sensation is doubled and when you give him a cheeky smile, he captures your lips in a kiss.

His hands are clawing at your body leaving lines in its wake, removing your shirt and grabbing a hand that cups his face to his erect cock. His lungs are burning, the kiss hasn’t broken since you’ve removed your shirt and he’s currently kneading at your bum, his hands removing your shorts and when you step out of them, he only pulls you closer to you. His fingertips tease at your rim, and you’re already dripping with arousal, staining the tips of his fingers with your sweet essence. You’re the one to pull away first, gasping for air and falling to rest on the bed, and you look up at him, your eyes wide and body naked as you glance down to his erection giving him a kitten-like grin. His hand reaches upwards and wipes at his lips, thick with saliva and full of the taste of you. Slowly, he removes his clothes, not wanting to waste time on such little things and he lets them fall onto your floor. His lungs crave for air, taking in as much oxygen as they can fill, and he’s leaning towards you, his hands on either side of you as you rest on your forearms, your grin now a mixture of nervous and excited as you ask what’s gotten into him. It's true, he's not so obvious in his advancement, not so needy to touch your body, much rather having you beg for him and grind yourself on his thigh, but with the aphrodisiac coursing through his veins, his composure is lost and damned to hell. His smile is sadistic, eyes piercing into yours and his answer is simple, as he whispers it to you, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear- “the cause of an aphrodisiac quirk.” He’s above you, jerking himself off in front of you and within just a few tugs, he’s spilling his seed over your stomach, watching it spurt out of his cock and slowly end in a drool that falls onto your pelvis.

It’s so damning to see him as anything less than who he is and how he presents himself and yet before you is a degenerate who gathers his semen in two fingers and pushes it inside your mouth, letting the taste fall onto your tongue. His grin is wide and he’s above you, pushing you down on your back and he captures you in another kiss. He wants you. He needs you at this very moment, more than he needs air, more than he needs anything. It’s just you that he wants. He ended you to kiss him and to run your hands down his body. He’s a degenerate, but he’s desperate, whining for you and grabbing your hand and letting it curve over his breast. He says nothing, but it’s a big enough clue to let you know to inch his nipple between your index and thumb and pull on the sensitive bud. His whine is echoed in your mouth and his erection is drooling on you once more. A blush creeps from his chest and onto his face, coloring him pink as his lower half is tipped with red and pearls that adorn his shaft. He aligns himself until his erection is pressed against your thigh, warm cream dripping and sliding off of you.

Your pillowy thighs pinch around his cock, and he hides his face in your shoulder, his hands gripping at your biceps as he pleasures himself using your thighs. Soft clicking sounds sound from him using you, his orgasm shaking through his body as he leaves open-mouthed kisses on your neck, grabbing you and pulling you close to him. To lose himself in pleasure is something he’s never allowed himself the pleasure to do. Hari would much rather prefer you with a drunken look of ecstasy on your face, your face in a heavenly blush and your hole leaking with his semen, but now he realizes the pure joy of it all. To mindlessly hump at your body and kiss your mouth and touch your warm body that squirms for him. Your hand curves over his cock and he moans your name, arching his back and hiding his face as you press it to your entrance. He slips inside, and the feel of your gummy insides makes his mind go blank, only the need to release is clear in his mind. He rocks himself inside of you, and the degenerate is gone, only a desperate man who wants to orgasm remains with a blissful flush and your name on his lips.